Long Institutional Poems
Long Institutional Poems. Below are the most popular long Institutional by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Institutional poems by poem length and keyword.
From the heart of green naïve village
surrounded by corps field, mosque, ponds,
ancestral grave yard, school, college,
madrasah (islamic school) etc he is
brothers, sisters with parents, a beautiful family
with relatives, neighbors he had
learned person he was, full memorizer of
the Holy Quran and institutional study was 10th grade
but dreams touched his eyes, his breaths, his veins
the dream in the hollow eyeballs of him
flaring dreams have been gathered in his sight
dreams touched his ideality, his mediocrity, his learning
against the holy verse
dreams touched him inseparably
dreams touched him within vain clothing
dreams touched him within flirting industrialist mind
dreams touched him within merciless sky scraper building
dreams touched him within fake benevolent charity right hand
dreams touched him abortive assurance giving to others in generosity smiling
dreams made him blind to the path of income
small income once made up him happy with family and relatives
but leaving small, come to big on the lame stretchers dreamy boat
he did not understand- dreams in lazy hands is
misfortunate hell for upcoming every steps
dreams made him luxurious ambitious as
the begging bag before learning how to beg
dreams made him laughter in garrulous argument
as happiness of billionaire under torn blanket
in biting cold winter dreamy night
dream made him foolish dandy in business world
as Xerox machines copying activities
which has no personality to make another root
to survive with it as parasite
dreams made him passerby the dark path
dreams made him lonely walker
dreams made him lonely resident on title-less building of hill view
dreams made him unknown religious in the eye view of unfamiliar him
dreams made him a dark horse in flattering broker world
dreams made him hilarious land lord in his verbose copying documents
dreams made him a beggar in heavenly real eyes of the sun,
crystalline day approved him he was dreamer only
from the dreams he made his journey to be great
benevolent helper of relatives and neighbors
he was dreamer but in paralyzed bone and indolent veins
and this dream awakens him in tears of mysterious death
(Written on my Maternal Uncle Hafez Abdul Allam 4th July 1962-29th July 2018, who was inactive but great dreamer, but sudden death of him makes us heart rending cry)
WHITE ROSES
Red horizon, sunset beach
Cranes fly over the moon
Artificial reality removes
time, condenses motion;
Sounds collide ghostly echoes
Adhere to the walls;
Institutional humanity
Created and fortified
By judgments, opinions
And medical melancholy
un scripted performances,
rages in a cage,
humanity undervalued,
brains unplugged, fed a diet
of labels and acronyms,
mentally incomplete
Unable to mount defenses
held back by imaginary
boundaries, a Labyrinth
of altered consciousness,
capricious, raw, unsettling;
white roses pirouette
within a glass house hastened
by the clock completing timed
synchronized routines repeated
daily, solemn, systemically;
Icy rain, frozen window pane,
fairies dancing on the rim,
Star to star, to the moon
Mania manifested fearless in
Raven hair, red hat dancing with
Shadows, giggles erupting sporadic,
Eagles carry flights of fancy
as sallow daffodils draped
In regret hint at depression,
a catatonic companion
Infected minds disrupted routinely
by medical decisions, robotic
White roses deliver good intentions
In thorny silence
Restless stupor, drug induced
Still life…fractured memories,
casualties coated in liquid gloom
Invisible mouths whispering,
beware;,white roses lifting their
colorless petals ever vigilant,
victims escorted to cloistered
confessionals,
psycho-babble economized,
sixty minutes of wordiness
psycho babble
tiny sun lit window,
glittering diamond dust
falling, free,
liberated, swirling
around a bald head
white roses, nodding
puppet-like offering
tiny cups full of hope
curative offerings seeking miracles;
as if they were body of Christ or some Holy Mass,
repeated, day after day reminding
the outcast of their maladies,
despair, cruel defects,
traumas and bruised ideals,
victims of apathetic politics
white roses, silhouettes,
ever vigilant shuffling in
and out always separated
from cerebral misprints
intelligence in storage,
locked behind
facades of architectural
esthetics
White roses, shadow origami
cranes fly over the moon
Form:
That men have no emotions is a misconception
But we drop them with little reception
So we bottle them up inside
Ironically finding the bottom of the bottle to confide
Men are taught to be strong
And that any weakness is wrong
But in my 28 years I've found
These are lies and the truth might astound
Take for instance the little boy with skinned knees
Who happened to fall while enjoying the breeze
Maybe comfort that little boy when he feels weak
Instead of making him feel meek
Men get so used to holding it all in
Until their soul bursts from within
And they lash out in violence
Because they've suffered in silence
And I'll be the first to say it shouldn't be that way
Not day after day after day
Men are taught not to talk
And yet when they strike out we simply balk
At the idea that maybe the problem is institutional
And we might have to move away from the conventional
When men have a higher rate of suicide
And men are more likely to be victims of homicide
There's a toxicity in the foundation
That doesn't fit the narrative of the news station
We're just taught that's the way men are
But this damned lie has been spread too far
To get rid of violence
You must eradicate silence
And some will argue men have every opportunity
But tell that to a young man in the inner city
Who is so used to a cycle of drugs, thugs, and crime
Perpetuated by the media all the time
He's just trying to survive
In a world that will never see him thrive
But as a poet I feel there's something strong in verse
And this social construct is something we can reverse
And I don't condone murder and rape
Just that men need a safe place to escape
And no place is safer than the written word
So encourage your sons to be written and heard
Give them outlets to express their pain
And that it's okay to think with their brain
Instead of resorting to their fists
When they're lost, afraid, and pissed
So that we know men having no emotion is a misconception
Maybe next time give them a little reception
It's an institutionalized war against a black man,
Yet we celebrate deceit, glorify the shallow plan,
Brothers lost in lust, in lies, in shame,
Building a broken nation, feeding a hollow flame.
Where are the men, strong and true,
Who see the war, who know what to do?
Disciplined, focused, committed, and wise,
Not distracted by lust, but lifting the prize.
It's an institutionalized war, and yet, here we stand,
You call me a scammer for holding Bitcoin in my hand.
While you chase cars, debt shackles your feet,
I hold 25 Bitcoin, the future beneath my seat.
Twenty-seven cars? I’d rather own land,
Twenty-seven hectares, where true wealth stands.
But you worship vanity, you chase the wind,
Uninformed, unaware, as the cycle spins.
The balance sheet empty, no cash flow in sight,
Yet you celebrate the shine, ignoring the fight.
The school failed to teach you, left you a slave,
Chained to material, to the shallow wave.
It’s an institutionalized war, but where is the brother,
Who tells you to build, support one another?
Instead, they laugh when you break from the grind,
Escape the matrix, leave the 9-5 behind.
This moral decay, this ignorance we feed,
Is tearing our nation, planting the seed.
We don’t keep it real, we let each other fall,
Indulging in vanity, ignoring the call.
The ripple effect is clear as day,
A nation lost, as brothers stray.
But until we rise, and call out the lie,
This institutionalized war will never die.
THE GREAT WALL
It’s funny and this is true
Years ago, I thought hopefully of being locked away
I envisioned more of an institutional setting
Nothing to do but roam in my robe
Fingertips lightly brushing the sterile, white walls as I go
No responsibility
No need to even say a word
There’d be talk of Crazy Sachs
Staring into space, wandering wordlessly
Much of this has come to pass
The walls are green and I’m a bit more verbose
But there is that talk
And not much is asked of me besides being seen not heard
I offer this anecdote
For it is the second biggest example in my life
Of the difference between fantasy and reality
Novelty fades fast
Occasionally instantaneously
Expectation begets exaggeration
Excitation leads to exasperation
All in all, between dreams and evil schemes should be a Great Wall
Mine was more an invisible fence
I passed through and was aghast to view the consequence
Slashed through thick vines for a sick crime
I was them first two pigs
Dicking around with straw and twigs
Unhinged when the wolf blew in
hit bricks because the walls were too thin
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, you might find
What you want isn’t what you get once it’s got
Now you have to lie down in an unmade cot
Ruin, subvert
Cause one to hurt
Feel lower than dirt
That’s it in a nutshell
Just swell I’m in a jail cell
Bars make for a fine wall
Look, not touch at all
Plan how to build
With my unskilled
Hands that killed
Nearly
If all the green-blue world
is a RightBrain stage
while all the LeftBrain map
remains red and yellow and blue and green
and black and white textualized two-dimensional
with ironic ecological correlated analogies
with positive sacred nutritional theologies,
We might develop an everyday outside/inside global passion
for historical deep-felt accuracy
over stuckness in stale orthodox religious cultural mendacious
disenchantments,
ignorance of good faith WinWin Paradise analysis
for international green standards to restore justice
and positive energy peace.
Whether map or stage
or both
Creation is transparently
intimately
sacredly correlational cause with effecting
each StoryTeller's original EarthMother roots
"Nutrition"
means not patriarchal/not-matriarchal institutional,
healthy, yet sometimes ticked off about environmental bad-vibe stink,
residue of Win/Lose parents
from school-based LoseLose evolutionary dogma
and Earth-drama,
heavenly rapture of EarthDenial,
scriptural entertainments and fantasy
OldSchool theological mythic maps
for negative RightWing
too-permanent patriarchal stuck theology.
While every map
and any stage
begins with an original ZeroZone Center,
actively pursuing integrity of flexing healthy maps,
cooperatively receiving slow-grown synergy staged wealth
Restoring stages
post-revolutionary creolizing ages,
transubstantiating actors,
co-acclimating breathers,
eco/theo-logians.
I’m glad to hear that your meditation practice gives you the means to define your sense of purpose in life. That is an enviable state of affairs. My own charter would be less ambiguous and my agenda more coherent had I certainty regarding the disposition of such matters.
It seems to me my sand has nearly run out; the frontier is closed and I don't do reservations. You'll never know whatever became of me. You'll think about it once or twice, then forget I ever existed. Till one day you'll come across something that brings me to mind and you'll hurt to imagine lost might-have-beens.
Like 24 karat gold, my kind of purity makes me too soft to be of much use in any practical sense. That's my problem. As a result, I have cultivated an outer shell that is hard and crusty. I think it might crack soon. I don't want anyone to be around when it does. The mystery of existence will continue to puzzle me, but I’ll not accept institutional dogma as answer to the question of why I’m here. A little dogma creates a big stink.
As a result, I make it a point to always go out of my way to avoid stepping in it whenever I choose to take a stroll. There is no truth, but that which one chooses to believe. Any other notion is childish speculation. Oh, and I am sorry about the time I told you have a fat ass. I didn’t really mean it the way it came out. What I meant to say is – you have a fat ego. But that didn’t sound angry enough. And I was very angry.
Poetry is spontaneous, pure, raw emotion,
don't you dare label what I say as cliche.
This is my perspective of life in motion,
through experiences encountered day by day.
Bleeding and leaking in the form of ink,
my mind paints a beautiful picture.
Writing for the soul pushed to the brink.
Joy and sorrow, such a beautiful mixture.
Poetry fuses all emotions,
time to forget the foolish notion,
that experience stays strict to form,
Time to recreate the norm.
Life's not in Iambic Pentameter,
but it still moves with a lyrical flow.
What some read may come off as amateur,
To others inspire spiritual growth.
As Autumn leaves fall,
Spring begins to blossom,
change is almost here.
Catalyzed by thoughts shared through honest words,
emerging from the emptiness deep down,
A blank verse forged through the pain and sorrow,
Brought to the light through happiness and peace.
Redemption echoing like a shriek in an empty house---
emptying out feelings of defeat.
Poetry is water for the dehydrated soul---
warmth from the desolate cold.
Such a powerful tool should not be limited,
poetry frees me so I write freely.
Free from the burdens of stress carried for so long,
free from the bondage of guidelines to tell my story.
I Write to inspire, to spread desire like wildfire.
No different than mankind, poetry should by judged by its content,
the body and form are institutional nonsense.
Poetry is spontaneous, pure, raw emotion,
don't you dare label what I say as cliche.
This is my perspective of life in motion,
through experiences encountered day by day.
Bleeding and leaking in the form of ink,
my mind paints a beautiful picture.
Writing for the soul pushed to the brink.
Joy and sorrow, such a beautiful mixture.
Poetry fuses all emotions,
time to forget the foolish notion,
that experience stays strict to form,
Time to recreate the norm.
Life's not in Iambic Pentameter,
but it still moves with a lyrical flow.
What some read may come off as amateur,
To others inspire spiritual growth.
As Autumn leaves fall,
Spring begins to blossom,
change is almost here.
Catalyzed by thoughts shared through honest words,
emerging from the emptiness deep down,
A blank verse forged through the pain and sorrow,
Brought to the light through happiness and peace.
Redemption echoing like a shriek in an empty house---
emptying out feelings of defeat.
Poetry is water for the dehydrated soul---
warmth from the desolate cold.
Such a powerful tool should not be limited,
poetry frees me so I write freely.
Free from the burdens of stress carried for so long,
free from the bondage of guidelines to tell my story.
I Write to inspire, to spread desire like wildfire.
No different than mankind, poetry should by judged by its content,
the body and form are institutional nonsense.
Dear J
I’m sorry this is the world you live in,
walking the streets judged by both sides.
I know you’re called a milky way-
not fitting in to the black or white divide.
But if you could choose who to align with I
think you’d be confused.
There are innocent black men labelled as murderers,
attacked by law abiding officers.
I won’t give you the names of the deceased from my era,
my head pounds when I recall the list.
We used to have a term called institutional racism,
back then it still exists,
There were many who tried
to erase the problem it was always short lived.
Still today mothers cry-remembering their babies buried in the soil prematurely.
I will tell you to google “Black Lives Matter,”
Oh J I the uproar when the protests started in 2021.
Suddenly people asked didn’t their lives matter too.
It wasn’t about that, don’t let anyone tell you different.
The movement wanted to show how the world hadn’t achieved Martin Luther King Jr’s united dream.
I remember suddenly we started talking about racism again,
I had hoped we could have stopped the rage.
But how could we when we hadn’t erased the problematic pain.
Some people didn’t understand,
it was weeded in institutions
It had grown from decades
of not understanding all flowers bloom differently.
I had hoped now you’re a man,
things would have changed but still I see the hate in some people’s eyes.