Long Internalized Poems
Long Internalized Poems. Below are the most popular long Internalized by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Internalized poems by poem length and keyword.
My narrow hands made minarets
Of castles in the sky
The phantom figures that I traced
Were but for just my eyes
I did not draw upon the sand
For fear the rising tide
Would devastate the effort
And then – what left – have I?
I did not sketch in quarters
The public would review
For fear their introspection
Would taint my simple view
And what my slender finger drew
Upon the canvas blank
With such utmost authority
Took just my breath away –
Alone I viewed my handiwork
Took stock of every line
Internalized the ephemeral
Nature of the rhyme
Which set the spirit of the thought
Which grasped the shades of earth
And shaped my castles in the air
In minarets of verse –
Spirits of unnatural forgiveness
for past bullying behavior
and sacred redemption
from internalized shaming,
self-blaming
Begin in our shared multiculturing
co-empathic nature
uncomfortable with win/lose historic
and contemporary choices,
ecopolitical system analyzed
and deep ego-centrifugally felt
Longing for an interfaith return
to win/win healthy solidarity
as part of regenerative
indigenous TurkeyWisdom Earth
with all Her multiculturing
multigenerational
organic and energetic
matriarchal fore-giving
indigenous life systems
Democratizing
co-operating
co-empowering
co-enlightening
Skills with verbal and nonverbal,
left and right hemisphere,
non-violently laid down listening life
communication
Not playing shame
and self/other blame
win/lose judgmental competition games
embedded in negative emotions,
not positive win/win regenerate motions,
notions,
songs and impulsive dances,
positive analogies
and deeply complex metaphoric
healthy
wealthy
wiser experiences
When our gratitude remembers to ask
Is this my best
shamelessly ecological EarthPatriotic/Matriotic self?
Does this theologically reflect
our healthiest ecosystemic
ecotherapeutic wealth
of perennial win/win communion meals
ego/eco-balancing EarthWisdom?
I want to produce a Thanksgiving InterFaith Feast
that extends my feeling
and awareness of graced multiculturing family,
verbally and nonverbally communicating
gratitude for healthy compassion,
But, even more deeply,
we long to become a polyculturally deep feeding
and breeding spiritual paradise naturally pleasured
Thanksgiving Banquet
of win/win blue/green
secular/sacred loving
wide/deep listening communion,
Not so much triumphalistic
and communications empirical;
More deeply EarthEvangelic,
co-messianic
as purple mountain Wonder
Awesome majesties.
Drink, drink enough water
To flush or to cleanse the liver
Drink, drink, and drink
Something pink
Sometimes to unwind
The convoluted mind.
Drink from the full water pitcher
To make the voice clearer or fresher
Powerful words must be hypostatized
They ought not to be internalized
The truth shall continue to set us free
Respect, dignity, pride, death or liberty.
Ultimately, drink a glass of wine
To relax and strengthen the spine
Drink, drink, and think
About something red and pink.
Copyright © September 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous books of poetry.
Apparitions of buried memories exhumed with rash eulogies
Arouse dried up tears that ever fail to cleanse the robe of guilt
Arraigning again before the partial jury of tormenting thoughts
Kaleidoscopic filial relationships hypnotize the mind to dumbness
Kamikaze images on ethereal screen longingly beckoning for a role
Kedging the ship of life’s voyage with sorrowful tugs to damnation
Intentions misjudged rivet spiteful labels reflected by wicked eyes
Impaling arrows of hate perforate the spirit to seep out its essence
Invitation to invasion by dark fiends to fetter the mind’s fragile walls
Neglected on shore as brothers and sisters sail out with patron’s hearse
Neighbors cut out their flesh of revenge measuring with unjust scales
Neutral judges acquiesce with stolid silence as the gavel of authority
Black skin refuses to be cajoled by those richly perfumed emollients
Bronzing came by nature’s quirk and glistening the sweat of its kiln
Brawn cultivated in the gymnasium of hard labor threads the body
Anodynes are moments of laughter with friends that rob sorrow of joy
Allayed fears sucked into the chasm of oblivion by a vortex of pleasure
Annoyance a rare display on a platform erected on the base of candor
Mistakes of the past hurled as fiery pebbles of insult across continents
Mark with contorting bruises turning the face into an offensive mask
Maturity date for restoration of loaned out bond suspended on a caveat
Intermittent pulses race to recesses of cranial bank to withdraw memories
Intractable dramas staged to the roars of disgust banished with entreaties
Internalized are kernels of the fruit of life eaten hurriedly in ignorance
Emeka Akpe
There is a bang to our
Personality.
We have accepted our
sexuality.
We are full of
Nervous energy.
No confusion with
Our Identity.
We are of sound mind
And Conscience.
Feel the intensity,
The time is upon us.
We stuff down
Our feelings.
With us there is no
Concealing.
Ready to snap and full
Of anger.
It spreads through us like
Cancer.
Confused about
Being alive.
It's a miracle any of
Us survive.
Feeling guilty, inadequate, and
Shameful.
It makes it difficult to remain
Stable.
Drug and alcohol abuse is a
Common occurrence.
We can go the distance,
We have endurance.
Discrimination is openly
Expected.
We are treated like
Were infected.
So much internalized
Homophobia.
It's not all rainbows and
Utopia.
You're not always going
To be accepted.
The looks, comments,
You feel disconnected.
When you're told that
Your evil.
It makes it hard to
Be civil.
Turbo1904 ?
Opposing standards is one of Tim’s favourite past times
Not for the sake of difference but to cherish critique
to brush away his take on ignorance searching for his truth
Internalized self-evident and for the sake of future revelation
Creating creativity is far too laborious its
stifling not impulsive enough and stale for it
resembles conscious attempts of spontaneity
Contorting to conformity defeats Tim’s objective
togetherness is fine and so is shaping the world
but pluralism beats boredom and to follow a crowd
Oxymorons in tautological proportions repeated again and
once more affirm vulnerable souls who never put a wrong step in
front of the other as they move happily backward just the same
Conforming consecrating concreting confirming the evens
win far too often when odds are on blowing the norm
Cremating corrupt cretinous crap creates cohesive credentials
Timessa interjects that once every one shapes novel ideas and
follows a different tune in perfect synchronous ‘harmony’ what then
and thereafter but paradigms shift and diversions re-enter the stage
Archetypes polar opposites contradictions disagreements
compliment complementation fashion intricate concoctions
inaugurate new designs and refuse to create devious disarray
Tim decides that Timessa has a linear point yet would rather be a
lonely clairvoyant in the desert than to drown in quick-sands of time
Still he asks his feminine namesake to take a holy vow of communion
Two lovers with their own points of convictions are a miraculous convention
When they come together its everyone’s guess what circumstance and their
genes may result in with the magic flow of a near perfect union bubbling with joy
29th October 2016
#Point_of_no_return
When is enough, enough?
How long can I carry this soul dispersing cross on my back, how long, is long enough?
How far should I be restricted by these shackles on my legs, how long can I drag it and how far should I reach?
When there's not enough strength in me to fight anymore?
When my body shuts itself or when I drop dead? When the daily building-up bruises on my legs eventually cuts off my legs?
When I can't drag myslef any further than to my grave?
Who should rescue me, when and how?
When I'm dripped with tubes in ICU?
When I'm laying numb, motionless, facing up in a casket?
When I'm voicless, pain having taken all that I was?
Who salvages me to my suicidal thoughts, who keeps tabs on me, when all I do is cry. Scapegoating myslef for everything wrong happening.
When I see no wrong in always being one at err.
When I self internalized fear of what will people say.
When will my voice matter, my internal feelings,
my pain,
my sorrows and
my dilapidated fending strength?
Should I wait for death to rescue me to peace?
Should I wait until nothing of me left to show I'm at a point of no return.
What about those I love, those I live for, my purpose on this earth? Those who look up to me, those who leans on me, those whom my presence matters most to?
At this point, I have exhausted all my returning chances, all my silence, that would one day silence me to my grave. At this point its either death or liberty. A point where a decision dictates whether I live to tell or die without word.
At this point, this ultimatum decides my fate, the fate of those dear to my heart, fate of my sanity, my health and my purpose to this earth.
At this point I'm obligated, strangled by fear, in dungeons of public perceptions. At this point I chose me, I chose life, I chose my health and my sanity, I choose to embrace the love of those who does so unequivocally so, at this point of no return, I chose to return to life, to peace, to love and self value. I chose to return to fight blood and nails, until my soul is salvaged, at this point of no return, I return
Many musical giants sprang from small places in the region of my birth.
I heard some of them live as they played their guitar or harmonica.
Others I heard by way of radio from fancy faraway and distant places.
Their discovered talent had made them famous and taken them away.
They had lived where I live; we walked the same delta dusty roads.
Their stories like mine originated from the cotton fields of Mississippi.
Some of us drank away our misery and pain; others sang and played their pain.
The songs were called 'the blues'; that 's why I call that region Delta Blue.
It is said that fame is fleeting, and I believe it to be true in that sense.
But in another sense, it is also true, because it makes the famous flee.
Away they fled to places North, because they refused captivity by misery.
I knew them from afar, because they became bigger than their place of birth.
Humble abodes and inhumane experiences often made them sad and blue.
Experiences were internalized and recycled into great sounds of popular songs.
From Delta Blue I too did sprang, but I sing neither happy nor sad tunes.
When I hear those home grown sounds from Delta Blue, I understand them.
03112017 PS, Any Poem Written in March-Not for Contest, Laura Loo
Epiphany Poetry Contest, Sponsor - Constance La France. Date written: 08/27/2026
manacled...
by gnawing self-doubt;
a life-long affliction
voices in her head
incessantly spewed
lies and half-truths
that grew like watered seeds
planted by naysayers;
she internalized all the nonsense
she lacks self-belief,
but she miraculously turned a corner;
all she needed
was a little nudge
by a caring new friend
to confront the moment of truth,
a reassurance of...
"Trust your gut; you can do anything!"
she listened,
she prayed,
she fought,
v e h e m e n t l y,
against those voices of defeatism,
against negative forces
telling her...
"Not so fast! Think twice!"
she found
the inner strength
she never knew she had
to bravely walk into God's radiant light,
silence the echoes of trepidation
and seize the power
that was always hers.
with every breath
of her newfound freedom,
she finally realized
that she's infinitely greater...
than her circumstances.
Unorthodox nonestablismentarian epitome
Describes celibate bent aegis.
Mein kampf illustrates gravitas.
Underdog muted lest intimidation
think bully brandishing fist in my face
threatening to buzzfeed me
a brassy knuckle sandwich.
While breezily reading Judy Bloom,
(whose material geared
toward young adult)
book titled Blubber - published in 1974,
(which year found yours truly - me
undergoing amazing transition
classified as puberty)
bemoaned childhood's end - id est mine
interestingly enough romanticized boyhood
livingsocial within Lake Woebegone
(way before Garrison Keillor
named said fictitious town),
purely swiftly tailored
harried styled fabrication,
although that first decade
found torturous growing up years
more so courtesy
self exclusion from reindeer games,
thus during lunch or recess
(two most favorite classes)
bullies turned me into minced meat
taunted and teased
a severely socially withdrawn boy,
who never shared emotional agony,
he internalized verbal slings and arrows
eventually physically succumbed
from brickbats indiscriminately
lobbed at painfully shy
once upon a time happy go lucky lad,
(with a button nose),
when he whiled away days of his life
as the world turned
first at Lantern Lane
for about a half dozen plus years,
then at 324 Level Road
for approximately
one third of present existence
unbeknownst to him
that psychologically dark shadows
lurked within the outer limits
of the twilight zone
haunting corporeal essence
attached to those lovely bones,
now saddled with excess adipose tissue,
especially around belly of the beast
housing hunger artist
starving for knowledge,
and peopling his overactive imagination
with exemplary protagonists
blithely thwarting incendiary threats,
cuz of natural born defense against
gunning character assassination
courtesy fearsome imbeciles
hell bent on nasty, short and brutish fiends,
who did their collective bidding
vis-à-vis cut throat leviathan,
who overshadowed and locked in
propensity to live free and clear
analogous to unfettered noble savage
cannibalizing yours truly (me) as fancy feast.
Soul asylum salvation sought
as if survivor of mental health challenges
akin to foreigner trying
to sidestep gingerly self annihilation.