Long Instinct Poems
Long Instinct Poems. Below are the most popular long Instinct by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Instinct poems by poem length and keyword.
ATTEMPTED BAKE
Everything prepared the day before
Reading a recipe book for sure
The Flour, Butter and Sugar all added
It’s not the Pillsbury Bake Off
It was a need for dessert
Bake on Bake on
The oven is good and hot
Soon a layer cake to eat, I hope
Better have the Pepto Bismol ready
Just a matter of wait and see
Lord, please help me
The Layer cake was done
It was supposed to be a Layer Cake
Heaven’s sake
The cake turned into a flattened sink
I must have used the Titanic Recipe Approach
This cake came out as a joke
I might could be served as a pancake
My first instinct was to get my tire and pump like a flat tire
Like I said, attempted bake
No give nor take
Simply a mistake
Garbage with no partake.
Trapped in a box of the oppressors mind
A paradoxical sentence where we don't get to survive
Silence a promise to a world outside
Compliance a prison confined till we die
Discombobulated choices
Either way each decision an enemy
A fight for survival
The endgame autonomy
But freedom is a prize - unsure if we will win
When survival equals suicide
And resistance is treason
A lose - lose situation
A competition that'll never end
In life and in death
Peace was never our friend
Narrative controls our fate
Power manipulates the truth
Dead or alive
Our voices are of no use
A truce is not an option
When equality they hated
They needed reason to stay relevant
To feed delusion and an ego complex
What is a decision when there was never a choice
Where our fate is decided, yet are told we have free will
Like a game of Chinese whispers
Used to mess with our heads
No clear path
Just a warped road ahead
How do we who are black ever get to rest
When a world so heavily dependent
Decide our torture will never end
Or maybe it's just instinct
An ancestral trend
A legacy carried through the oppressors generations
A paradox so tangled a struggle to undo
A game of tug and war where both sides are losers
As long as their hate exists
We'll always be stuck as players in a game we were forced to play
A game created where being black solidified your status
In a game built on racism - will we ever have any black winners?
Why root
for underdogs?
Easy. They just don't quit;
odds against them, tremendous, yet...
these tough Rocky Balboas
of the world fight
to win.
Why root
for underdogs?
We see ourselves in them.
When they taste victory, we win.
Their survival instinct
is a treat to
behold.
Why root
for underdogs?
They often surprise, so...
don't be quick to bet against them;
their determination,
surely second...
to none.
Why root
for underdogs?
They roll with the punches;
Davids at war with Goliaths,
at disadvantage, yet...
no fear shown, no...
retreat.
Why root
for underdogs?
The question is why not?
After all, they give us their best!
Their heart is in the fight.
When they lose, they...
still win!
Submitted for...
Heptastich Poetry Contest
Sponsored by William Kekaula
Date written: 06/05/2021
When testing time invades profoundly my private space
I build a wall to protect the sanctum of the inner woods,
create a captive cocoon of imposed isolation
for the soul to be preserved in the bliss of insulation.
I become a lone prisoner of my own making,
behind the wall of false sense of volatile pride.
I find the world disappear beyond my guarded garden,
take away the fragrance of flowers I see blossom.
I’m caught in the dichotomy web of entangled confusion,
whether to break the wall or stay secluded within.
When time comes to travel to the sinking skyline,
the instinct of self-preservation dwindles in debris.
As the wall encloses the shattered senile sagacity,
I see the sensual sequins in the last rays of the spent sun,
drizzle through the confined thicket’s chromatic canopy,
from the free sky where my soul seeks to fly like a bird.
The twilight time is tinged by the hues of the horizon,
sinking within the hazy strata of the discontent dust.
With the cornucopia of the longing life unlived,
I etch the Rubicon line walking the last mile.
The defining moments within the marked territory,
design the innate paradigm of emotional epitome.
Awareness assures that the die is not yet cast,
crossing the conscience line would defy self-actualization.
Stopping at the boundary stimulates spiritual sensitivity,
ameliorates the pain of existential predicament,
saves the psyche from the clasp of evil’s embrace,
and in insecurity mayhem unfolds the divine leitmotif.
HARK, whilst thee singeth melody,
gauged labyrinths midst harmony,
ransom subconscious, placed thee free,
persuade possessed, heed thy purged glee,
beg reposed heart thy beating plea.
Themes prune labor to a degree,
song finesse thine assent of thee,
music quell sorts of thine decree
tune thy hearts, minds, souls let agree,
sensed voiced symphonic guarantee.
BEHOLD, tis fortes air, breathes content,
weighed thy heartbeats, tempos augment
impressed moods, thy amour be sent
meant lovers twain souls gleam, assent
thy course treats fair, thy issue spent.
Serendipitous time errant,
thine art grand resolve thy arms bent,
caressing untouched hearts invent
distant tests and trials, relent
thine lips, intimate kiss advent.
FORSAKE thine naught our past mistakes,
indulgence sought hearts for our sakes,
soften tones merged spirits partakes,
resumed innate instinct awakes,
forming trust fusion overtakes.
Suffer our ascent, farther takes
gift deeply, frothed measure inflates
ardor ties revive, blissful fates
balanced fragile hearts insulates,
assured embraced love gravitates.
HAIL youthful thoughts in elder heads,
man tests, steads boy within, joy spreads,
astir thee dreamers from their beds,
recite poems of their misreads,
dawn assails starred twilights to shreds.
Unspool thy sunrise; rays shone threads
day, strings purpled veins thy night's steads,
pump life ballads, hymnal bloodsheds
squander blues, swapping sparkled reds,
gloom bides thy shift whilst clung gold treads.
VIEW love gifts thee thy lamps, soft coats
pure sought breeze, mild trace, handful floats,
tis thy time spreads trend, loom moon draws
waft breeding told claims, thy hour thaws,
cares borne thy primes spills yon be culled.
Crowns thy verse brushed lobes set are lulled,
rouge mouths favor Cupid's pierced aim,
Cherubs lyre naught burnt Rome, thou blame
flamed trails, lust swells lovers tender
tinged warmed hearts, goeth thee, their splendor.
A Champion must lust for that ancient adrenaline
the primal prize alive in the eyes, trophy of thunder in the pulse,
a Champion's heart welcomes adversity with teeth gleaming sharply,
worships the battlefield with risk righteous in ripped tradition,
doesn't celebrate the strikes that knock the foe into awe
finds glory in striving for the impossible
creates Legend from the unthinkable become visible,
buries the adversary's soul in the winter of forever woe,
the Champion says with disciplined effort and presence pure in practice,
lightning is comin for you, blasting your bones, bashing your boasts
tear you up and down and all around
your dreams nor dare, will not be found,
The Champion must adore the trauma of training,
remembers the humility of a Beginer's trouncing,
must pray with innocent instinct, thank Providence with confident conviction,
makin bravery out of bruises and being headstrong amidst hecklers,
invents technique like a Freeborn freak,
they shame the opposition into reverence with indisputable excellence,
true Champions are unforgettable, architects of shock and hope irrevocable,
indestructable like a titanium pyramid,
To be a Champion is to have a demolishing drive,
they must excel when underestimated
and must dominate when expected to succeed,
the Champion's Faith devours fear and punishes pretenders,
to finish the foe with decisive declaration, " Check Mate! "
a Champion always defies, and never dies,
there is no calculation of defeat for an Angel following a Divine beat -
J.A.B.
Why am I attracted to certain types of women
The ones that display that indescribable feminine trait
Demure yet with that certain openness and lust for life
Those that send out those unmistakable signals
All men know what I'm referring to
It's a very feminine charm that beckons us to come hither
That says I want to know more about you
And we are all too eager to oblige
Hence the beginning
Stage two of this trial period happens
Engaging in conversation, we size up each other
And then it either ends at that point
Or it becomes the beginning of a relationship
With further exploration
More times than not, the relationship flourishes
Because the initial attraction was genuine
And is followed by a lasting affair
It is amazing how one's instinct
Usually steers us down the right path
Until we discover it, love is very difficult to define
It is all encompassing, life changing
The ultimate emotion, three cheers for love
LOVE, LOVE, LOVE!!!
Compartmentalization, a labyrinth of the mind,
Dissociation, a dance with fragments blind,
Fragmentation, where sanity threads unwind,
Within this mental content, secrets we find
In the depths of the psyche, a world untold
Dissociative identities, stories unfold,
The heart weighs heavy with stitches torn,
Tender scars hemorrhaged; love core is worn.
Dangling damage, as shattered glass, gleams
Reflecting on the chaos, the pain, and the screams,
The cerebral cortex fires, a bull eye strike fatally,
Instinct walks the line, logic is useless, and hastily
Shattered visions, a maze within the soul,
Where reality ends and illusions control,
Lost in the labyrinth, searching for the light,
Betrayed by the mind deceptive might.
Within this maze of mental content
The battle to reconnect and prevent
Childhood trauma, the catalyst of this plight,
A shattered sense of self-taking flight.
Each compartment holds a piece of the truth.
Yet the puzzle remains incomplete, uncouth,
A jigsaw of memories, scattered and torn,
A puzzle of identities, tattered and worn.
Fragments of memories are scattered and lost
As the mind tries to bear the unbearable cost
Memories encoded and stored deep within
But retrieval becomes a battle to begin.
Fragments of life scattered such debris,
A shattered mirror, reflecting what used to be,
The mind labyrinth, a maze of confusion,
A battle within, a constant intrusion
But amidst the chaos, a speck of hope
A chance to mend the pieces, to learn to cope,
To embrace the fractures and find strength within,
To embrace the scars and let the healing begin.
Within broken visions, a spark of resilience resides.
A spirit that refuses to accept any abides.
By compartmentalization and dissociation,
by fragmentation and mental isolation.
The cerebral cortex may fire, but the mind will rise.
And rationality, once blasted, will find its prize.
Instinct will gracefully dance with grace.
As the shattered visions find their rightful place.
So let us navigate this maze of the mind.
With compassion and understanding, we'll find
Behind the shattered glass and fractured dreams,
Lies a resilience that utterly gleams.
Built to Bend, Refusing to Break
Some days, the weight is quiet,
a heavy coat you didn’t ask to wear,
sewn from words left unspoken
and the cold, sharp truth of feeling unfair.
It settles deep within the chest,
a hairline fracture in the stone,
a sudden ache that reminds you
how heavy life gets when carried alone.
You learn to breathe through the bruised spots,
to speak in a voice that doesn’t shake,
to trace the outline of your own ribs
and count the promises you didn't break.
Because strength isn't the absence of tears,
nor pretending the sharp edges don't cut—
it’s keeping your heart open to the light,
even when every instinct begs to keep it shut.
So let the storm do what it must;
it cannot wash away what’s real.
You are not made of glass to shatter,
you are the iron forged to heal.
You carry the hurt, but it does not carry you.
You stand, you endure, and you begin anew.
We go through waking, dreaming and deep sleep,
imbibing impressions in accordance with our awareness,
strangely making peace with our self-evident ignorance,
living by instinct, investigating not the truth of our being,
content in nurturing aspirations of decaying body-mind.
Even though we intuitively recognise heart as our centre,
for that is where glimmers of love and light as yet sparkles,
we negate soul’s truth impulse and wallow in the shallows,
in bondage to the incessant cravings of wayward ego,
which offers neither joy in permanence nor wisdom we seek.
Are we an ephemeral entity hanging like a puppet on a string,
an organism seemingly sentient to relay impressions garnered,
a plaything of a loftier consciousness controlling our destiny,
including the way we think, feel, respond and enact our role,
as we flounder about oscillating between fears and desires?
We feel like an object within a dream conjured by a dreamer,
in that we are hemmed in by limitations and have no free will,
for as long as our mind is unconscious and heart unawakened,
we are simply drifting through life like a dead man walking,
full of deluded self-importance whilst knowing not who we are.
Now, if the character in the dream chooses to become detached,
nonchalant to outcomes and becomes a witness to its existence,
this silent rebellion by thought cessation ends the dream sequence,
whereupon the dreamer, the subject and the dreamed object merge,
that both as one awake together within the drama being so enacted.
Extrapolating from this line of intuitive introspective contemplation,
we opt to meld our head with the heart in resonation with love,
animating our attention in agendaless vibrance innate to our being,
bilocating between this here duality manifest and singularity unmanifest,
thus transcending by becoming both immanent and transcendent.