Long Implies Poems
Long Implies Poems. Below are the most popular long Implies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Implies poems by poem length and keyword.
The poem "VANTABLACK" exhibits a profound exploration of emotions and existential themes. As a poet, one would appreciate the nuanced use of language and the depth of introspection conveyed through the verses.
The title, "VANTABLACK," immediately draws attention to the darkest substance known, emphasizing a profound sense of darkness or void that permeates the poem. The tumultuous street and the notion in flight evoke a sense of chaos and uncertainty, setting the stage for the emotional journey that follows.
The poet skillfully employs imagery and metaphor to convey the complex emotions experienced. The notion that "hastens in haste" and then "averts its gaze" suggests a fleeting and elusive quality, mirroring the transient nature of emotions. The descent of the heart's echo into a "crimson abyss" hints at the depth of emotional turmoil, perhaps symbolizing pain or longing.
The lines "Your name, I called, yet emptiness replied" and "A bloom of yours, I drew, withering away" express a sense of loss and unfulfilled connection. The act of calling a name and drawing a bloom implies a desire for presence and beauty, but the responses are characterized by emptiness and withering, adding a layer of melancholy.
The exploration of choices in the lines "Life's lines extend before me, To choose, where your love resides" delves into the existential theme of navigating through life's possibilities and seeking love. The word "resides" suggests a search for a meaningful connection within the vastness of life.
The recurring ritual mentioned in "This ritual unfolds each day" implies a cyclical nature of introspection and perhaps a daily struggle with emotions. The poet peers within, describing it as a "melancholy abode," suggesting that the internal landscape is characterized by sadness.
The concluding lines, "Where my heart, a vantablack canvas, remains," encapsulate the essence of the poem. The heart being a "vantablack canvas" signifies an emotional void, absorbing and reflecting no light, emphasizing the depth of emotional darkness or emptiness.
As a poet, one might commend the poet for the rich tapestry of emotions woven through carefully chosen words and metaphors. The poem invites readers to contemplate the complexities of human emotions, the ephemeral nature of connections, and the existential quest for meaning in the face of emotional voids.
Listen and you can hear the wind whisper
the name of a lost ship and its skipper.
The wind’s name is Favonius, winged god
His sotto voce is but a whimper.
Gentle breeze doth tell of China Clipper
Bound back toward London by English shipper
Lost from sight ten days out of Adelaide
for all those involved a real fear gripper.
Fast Lammermuir was used in the tea trade,
Built by W. Pile’s Company twas then made
Clipper’s capacity a thousand tons
With errant compass windjammer now strayed
Off course by three degrees vessel now runs,
till Mate’s use of sextant now captain stuns
Ocean current is also a surprise
This phenomenon Captain Bell now shuns
The current wants to go counter clockwise
Loss of ship’s control is what this implies
Sails unable to give pull to the right
though steersman at wheel with strength vainly tries
Lammermuir was in a terrible fight
Not turning right was a dangerous plight
All hands on deck knew their situation
Hard battle continued both day and night
Exactly where was their lost location
Question captain sought with much vexation
Average speed of Jammer was fifteen knots
Get back on course or it’s their damnation
No welcome sight of other ships or yachts
Current’s tying captain’s stomach in knots
Break free now or else certain death will come
Possibility gives worrisome thoughts.
New day same latitude they’d started from
A three hundred mile circle left all numb
From circling current they couldn’t break free
Trying all things they refused to succumb.
Lighten ship over the side went the tea
Sails pulled harder still that wasn’t the key
Rear stern chaser was next without effect
Flying, scared lady raced over the sea
Caught fast in a maelstrom of no escape
Swirling in circles of concentric shape
Ever decreasing circumference toward hole
Ever increasing speed toward yawing gape
West wind speaks no more of piteous sight
Wraps wings to cover eyes from ship’s bad plight
Finis, finis, Lammermuir sails no more
Ending day ends in blanket of black night.
Distance To London From Adelaide is:
10110 miles / 16270.47 km / 8785.35 nautical miles
Distance To Shanghai From Adelaide is:
4706 miles / 7573.57 km / 4089.4 nautical miles
What but ‘warmth’ speaks of ‘love’ to a child, to the aged,
Warmth all poems convey (that get launched from tome’s heart?)
I pray love gets displayed, found in stranger filled room
That you aren’t fishing for when it leaps (getting caught
In sun’s light), reflects heat in some heart-stopping way?
Must sex sing where there’s ‘love,’ what’s ‘insistence’ of hand
Or a foot reaching out though it knows you’re asleep?
A line’s rhyme in the distance implies rhyme upstaged
Or suggests deep connections? But readers have part
To play (ditches get jumped) if faint hearts dare presume
To think they grok my meaning, though that’s all that’s sought!
If a verse seems beyond your grasp, might you delay,
Think to savor the moment, take ‘lay of the land?’
Can a twist’s joy surprise if all content is cheap?
Grok the birth of this poem in a story mom shared
Of my dad’s father’s plight in a hospital bed,
The last days of his life (with his hands strapped to boards
To prevent the removal of tubes meant to serve.)
Hear his plea as he said his pet name for my mom,
“Sis, I’m feeling so cold, could you warm me a while?”
I still feel mom’s false guilt that she dared not assist.
It was not mom felt close, or that customs impaired,
The fault warmth that was missing in her heart instead,
My folks there more from duty! (Will held no rewards!
Dad’s gift only one dollar!) as Granddad’s last curve
To ‘First Son,’ knee not bent in a tragic sitcom,
For my dad did not hate his dad, served in ‘his style,’
Though true love that’s a servant will never insist!
I have friends who in aging aren’t courting new friends
It’s too much of a burden, say friends disappoint
And I have to confess there’s a stress when friends die
Or when they move away, and you can’t share your voice.
Watch more trails disappear when you see TIAs,
Love retreats in dementia where nothing connects
And to Love with clean diaper is good as it gets.
While it’s true our first thought of love isn’t Depends,
If an accident happened, would you not appoint
To be Pres. of your fan club, the one who’d not shy
From whatever was needful, if you had a choice?
Substitute at ‘home plate’ if your friend’s in a daze,
For all life must be lived in, we aren’t architects,
A warm harmony’s felt when folks share their vignettes!
Brian Johnston
28th of November in 2019
The mechanism of seeking the connection
Especially with motivational bias
Intrinsic or decoherent formation
The access levels breach by human mass
The mechanism of seeking the connection
Is due the common bias that supports
Desire for all process automation
The physical the fitness is the sport
The mechanism of seeking the connection
Whether desires of others shall we satisfy
The mass affect on psyches with exemptions
The mechanism is probably WIFI
The mechanism of seeking the connection
Implies that humans are the chemical the mass
Because all these in Internet and politics “reactions”
TerminolOgy of the human this bias
The mechanism of seeking the connection
Are differenciated between you and wild
And while is none the business yours is wild the nature
I am also one of you if I am filed
The mechanism of seeking the connection
Between my file in organs and the me
Existed maybe be rather for the penetration
The very outdated is your C
So let's address ID of yours
They say when children are the young
They seek their own ID
Perhaps their souls and their minds
Won't really fall for category of the fashionable stan??
In search for their Ids
In time of war prepare for peace
In time of peace prepare for war
What are you really for?
The mechanism of seeking the connection
Are fading as your prioritization are disproved
In seeking many ways for the monetization
Your whole existence is a giant unwanted spoof
The mechanism of seeking the connection
Between radar of military and the airplane
You reckon, buddy mine of the negation
That this particular the generalization
Would render system of your build as sane?
The mechanism of seeking the connection
Of weird human groups who's eager to assist
Resistance is a trait of this negation
My human right is kinda to resist
The mechanism of seeking the connection
Draws value out of you as you degrade
The round is degree of the 360
How is this calvin would convert to centigrade?
The mechanism of seeking the connection
The mechanism of seeking the connection
The mechanism of seeking the connection
The mechanism of seeking the connection
*organs are term in russian lingo for intelligence services, such as NSA in US, maybe because short for organization
In the digital landscape of TikTok, scammers operate stealthily, strategically identifying their targets within vulnerable demographics—specifically, older Generation X users. Each profile is analyzed meticulously, revealing weaknesses that can be exploited. The anticipation builds as the scammer initiates contact, contemplating who will be ensnared next.
“Will she be my next target?” he reflects, as the initial engagement elicits a promising response: “Sure, count me in.” This raises a question of accountability in a game that resembles Russian roulette, fraught with risks on both sides.
The scammer initiates the conversation with manipulative charm: “Greetings, gorgeous! What’s your name? Where are you from? I have seen the signs of opportunity.”
His subsequent messages reveal a formulaic script designed to elicit emotional investment: “Could you be the one I’ve been searching for? The crucial piece in my heart’s puzzle?” When moments of silence ensue, he prompts, “Hello? Are you still there? Let’s continue our discussion.”
The language employed is rife with metaphor: “You shine like a star, yet I hold your wings.” The transition to a more secure messaging platform, such as WhatsApp, is an intentional maneuver aimed at bypassing TikTok's monitoring mechanisms. He nonchalantly suggests exchanging contact information, self-identifying with playful anonymity as “lover, lover.”
The nature of the communication implies a predatory mindset: “Lingerie or satin? To me, it makes no difference.” The scam artist masquerades as a fabricated identity—a “Nigerian king”—exemplifying the archetype of a rogue operator in the online ecosystem. The shared traits among these scammers highlight a systematic approach, appealing to the fleeting desires of unsuspecting individuals seeking connection.
Currently, he manages multiple admirers simultaneously, each vying for attention in this digital charade. The fluctuations of interaction underscore a transactional view of affection, framed as an authoritarian relationship—“Oh, what a night! Oh, what a dictator.”
**Advisory Note:** Elderly Generation X users must exercise heightened vigilance against online impostors. With economic instability as a backdrop, they remain prime targets for unscrupulous actors operating in the digital realm.
Through pristine glass observed
autumnal leaves a scatter
the litter of the season
to dishevel and clutter up the garden
Sweep the crumbs away
lay polish to the smudged and smear
for glinting tiles speak ever more clear
to build the walls security
Settle leaf it’s time is spent
amid the moss is it’s fading feeding decay
in vibrant earth again some day
will know the kiss of sun out breathing sent
So by chromium faucet quench the thirst
in bottled plastic catch each drop
and flitter dust from out the corners dirt
bacterial inch upon the forests advance
And this filthy earth stains the finger nail
showers of rain bring their unwelcome rotting smell
then by chemical impostors of a flowers perfume
seek to cleans the air in a solitary room
Such isolation proves it’s security
neat clean and tidily scrubbed
hold fast the separation of technical morality
these things devoid of insect footprints
Lay soap to order the odor of sweat
yet beg the bloom for it’s delightful scent
to cut it’s throat upon a table set
the vase the only carefully treasured object
Hanker, oh hanker for the green living pasture
all the verdant aspirations of life in nature
tingle for the worth still caught in the veins
but choking on the wish of concrete remains
Through pristine glass observe the vegetation
the autumnal leaves flutter from the trees desertion
the trigger of another season
comes to rot and disarrange the perfect garden
Such fear prefers isolation and security
would rather heed the babblings of a technological morality
aspire then beyond the dumbwaiter of nature
a vase polished of any smudge or smear
Better to be in a clinical retreat
and by habit accept what is so clearly of need
take this germ free vacation
the trees are happy in their branches for the leaves desertion
Dumbwaiter
a small elevator, manually or electrically operated, consisting typically of a box with shelves, used in apartment houses, restaurants, and large private dwellings for moving dishes, food, garbage, etc., between floors. The term “A dumbwaiter” typically implies an unseen or unconsidered workforce below, this anonymous workforce deals with the contents of the dumbwaiter, kitchen staff, garbage collectors and laundry staff
More Beautiful With Age?
Do men grow more beautiful ageing?
It may not be fair but seems true,
Some process that’s secretly working
To bring a man’s heart into view.
And women seem openly jealous,
Divining miraculous change,
While counting their wrinkles and skin flaws,
Anticipate worse things downrange.
The male’s role though does have its downsides
Among them are job loss and war,
Through stress we die thirteen years sooner,
And leave behind those we’ve worked for.
But men now approaching their sixties,
Surrender their need to control,
Their chance to advance almost over,
Priority given to soul.
Resigned more to what they’ve accomplished,
Their life’s reputation in hand,
Find time now to reach out to others,
Permission to live off the land.
But women it seems are less happy,
Still struggling to keep things in check,
Their children successfully launched now,
The mothers still fearing shipwreck.
Perhaps it’s the shock of child leaving,
The change much more sudden than man’s,
A man can wind down expectations,
Has more time to rearrange plans.
Why is there a different stature,
This gap between woman and man?
A woman’s life still gets less credit,
Though BOTH wilt in life’s frying pan.
At times it seems all about money
Is anyone happy with that?
If money is life’s final answer
Oh, let me just die in the fat*
There always are men who are scoundrels,
That doesn’t mean all guys are bad,
And women who pop choc’late bonbons,
To punish a world that’s gone mad.
In virtue there’s always decision,
The wise should be happy with that,
There’s one simple truth you can count on,
‘Not easy,’ is life’s caveat.
Disparity is not an answer,
A shipwreck on rocks of life’s shore.
What value there men can be proud of?
Guys! Our gals should be honored more!
Perhaps there are lessons for both here,
A chance to evaluate loss,
Appreciate gifts that are given,
Remind ourselves God is true Boss!
Brian Johnston
August 24, 2014
Poet’s Notes:
* ‘out of the fat and into the fire’ is an English idiom that implies that in trying to
escape a little heat (in the fat - responsibility perhaps) one can fall out of the pan and
wind up directly in the fire (most certainly worse).
ONE DAY BEFORE FATHER’S DAY
I stopped by the park today
Pondering
One day before father’s day.
In the deep corner of my mind
My father’s memory opens up.
Year 1905 he was born
In a third world country
Where the farms, the mountains, the rivers, the live stocks
Were the main source of livelihood.
His voice resonating in my mind today
Early dawn during rainy season, a shout here and a shout there
Kick everyone in the butt
To the farm
Planting rice is never fun!
My memory brings me back to the mountains, where
He brings me and my siblings during dry season.
There, there’s a free-flowing stream in between the valleys
We clasp our hands to serve as a cup to quench our thirst.
There, we gather guava and duhat fruits, self supporting trees,
Sacks and sacks of fruits we bring home at the end of the day.
Eels, catfish, mudfish, clams, snails from the rivers
Weird, interesting foods he brings them home, I dared not to eat!
Goats, cows, chickens, pigs from the backyard
Organically raised, no steroid to pump them up
Naturally preserved under the sun
Painstakingly stored and prepared by him to a family of thirteen!
Most of all
His compassion and love
Were etched in my mind
A shelter to a homeless couple, a land donated to a church.
His vision and hopes for a better life
Lives on.
Terms:
Duhat: purple-like berries. They are oblong and elongated in shape. Their size is
about the size of an olive. The fruits have seeds inside that cannot be eaten. (spit
it out when you eat the flesh) Most of the trees grow naturally in the mountains or
simply in the backyards in the Philippines.
Guava: a tropical fruit with seeds inside that can be eaten with its flesh. It can be
greenish or yellowish in color. Some varieties are purplish in color. Guava drinks
have been popular in the US market.
They naturally grow in the mountains in the Philippines but they have been
cultivated in Hawaii or in other countries for commercial purposes.
Dry season and rainy season- In the Philippines there are only two seasons: the
dry and the wet season.
The dry season is sunny(summer equivalent in US) while the rainy season is wet as
the name implies.
Written: September 15, 2023
If This Was The Last Contest Sponsored by: Silent One
_____________________________________________________________
If this was the last, final chance
To partake on an altar of lyric trance
While words weave and wishes wane
A verse contest, a feathery gateway.
Is it glory and notoriety we seek?
To be special, unique
Or to persuade others to speak?
The goal isn't solely to win
But to enhance readership
Reaching souls, affecting hearts
Igniting a blaze, building a loyal rapport.
If this was the last poem for a contest
A bias to those who read my words
I'd cipher zeal, fire, and passion to it
Awe may dazzle minds and souls.
Explore the subject thoroughly
Hidden realms behind-the-scenes
What a poet does is not always obvious
Discover and explain what it implies.
In a contest of words and rhymes
To strive for distinction and shatter the limits
Poetry, my dear friend, is beyond a game
But a vessel for the truth, a taming flame.
Carried out with care and accuracy
The writing reveals passion and mood
The magic is in the words and verse
Share verity using your hidden voice
Poetry can serve as a spark for a fight
To stand up to evil to shed it to light.
If this was the last, may it be the best?
A fitting climax to a wonderful jewel
A nod to the clumsy tale of tenacity
To decipher, we must delve deeply
Consider, gain wisdom, and plunge
A verse spirit, meaning, or nudge.
Do not despair if you lose a contest
The sponsor decides them
With their unique tastes and opinions
This does not jeopardize your poetry
The best poetry is distant and specific
Perspective, emotional mirror.
You still breed with your words
So let us embrace its brilliance
Glory to our brave, untamed words
Write with passion and insight
Poetry serves this aim
To win is lower than freeing one's mind
It's not around fame
But, the unquenchable flame?
Let us rejoice in the beauty and zest
Let us be heard akin to celestial wings
So write with passion and zeal
Allow your words to rise
Don't only focus on winning
But, on the eternal love of creating.
4th place contest winner
On a bitter cold snowy, snowy day
She entered the world her own way
My sweet courageous daughter 'Shelly
Beautiful blue eyes and a Fire in her belly
Bubble gum stuck in her curly blonde hair
With a heart full of compassion to share
Always up for a double dare
Full of life"s hardest unanswerable questions
These are some of my heartfelt recollections
A child so full of incessant meandering chatter
There were days I felt like the Mad Hatter
But then she'd flash an impish grin
Propelling my perplexed heart to pitter patter
She never grasped what was the matter
For 'Shelly was steeped in innocent love to flatter
A cherished memory she loved to pursue
To climb aboard her rocking horse and yell "Yahoo"
There wasn't much that little girl thought was taboo
When I think of her now, I say, " Good for You!"
She's charming, alarming and so full of wit
As I've come to realize, my Darling Daughter has Grit
Of course, I was much older then, I'm younger then that now
But I hope you don't mind from time to time
If I access from the corner of my little girl files
of dance recitals, volleyball MIP's, and soccer uniforms
An absolutely fearless solo jet ski mile with your signature smile
Your first pearl necklace, grown up dress and shared color forms
If I could imprint these weaved words into a locket
For you to keep it in your pocket and read during life storms
My message would be I'm with you as your life transforms
Although sometimes we dance to different drummers
What wonderful memories we have of shared summers
Your brave and bright, a novel delight, I don't always get it right
I pray nothing more for you then you reach YOUR height
whatever that may be
and that your journey is filled with inspiring insight
as your dreams take flight
Because I am your mother and I Love you with all my might
As I reminisce the day of your Birth
I am proud of the value you brought to this earth
You have loved and lost and felt remorse
And still you climbed back on your rocking horse
My, what courage that implies as you dried your eyes
But then ...Silly me....Your a force, of course!
and I LOVE you and your re SOURCE fulness
~Happy Birthday Michelle~