Long Invasive Poems
Long Invasive Poems. Below are the most popular long Invasive by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Invasive poems by poem length and keyword.
The front of my building has bushes
But also unfortunate gluts
Of something invasive and ugly –
A mountain of cigarette butts.
I’ve never seen somebody toss one –
I doubt if my tongue could be held –
For such utter contempt for the garden
Is certainly unparalleled.
Though smokers must bide by restrictions,
On streets they may puff as they please;
So when time for a toss is upon them,
They answer to no referees.
You’d think they would be diplomatic,
Considerate, civil and kind;
But second-hand smoke and its dangers
Isn’t all that they’re leaving behind.
The next time I notice a smoker,
I’ll follow his trail as he struts,
And gently remind him that Nature
Has no room for his ifs, ands or butts!
EarthMothers
know we breathe in
a cooperative
domestic
micro-economy of sacred organic co-redemption,
Universal green ecological salvation
uniting EarthTribes' co-empathic
healthy democratic wealth
for restoring win/win global EarthHealing
Empowering
enlightened restorying of non-violent communication
in-between all MotherEarth's polypathic Voices
investing in polymathic
cooperative health/wealth ego/eco-binary Choices.
EarthMothers also glow
with dispassion for monocultural invasions,
global extractions,
degenerations
Of robust
polyculturally resonant
multicultural health
indigenously sustaining multi-generational Here/Now wealth
of cumulative
synergetic
integral Wisdom
Of EarthMothers
anxiously aware
that this global climate pandemic
is an unnatural public
and privately unspiritual defiance
of an anthrosupremacist
monoculturing
invasive patrilinear weed patch
Of inhumane
anti-religious world views
rationalizing StraightWhiteMale privilege
over sleek and sexy entertainments,
Investments in satiated comforts,
alcohol clouded abuse,
addictive gambling on unhealthy risks
of depopulating Earth's humanity
And civility
and complexly felt compassion,
nonviolent communication
ReBirthing EarthJustice
restoring resiliently healthy
multiculturing wealth
of regenerations.
Who knew
the fires could burn so hot
all-embracing and consuming
rejuvenating the heart with a newfound love
born to be alive with you forever
and no other, pure and unconditional
as the entire world slips away.
New life rises
feelings of emotional tenderness
to shiver the soul with chills and perspiration
joy shared so profusely it drowns out the self
so that all else fades to oblivion
between the two, steadfast and genuine
living without would be unfathomable.
How true is this love
how long-lasting
how pervasive, invasive, abrasive
mysterious and delirious
like nothing ever felt before
true love like true lies whispering
can this be real, everlasting, forever?
Only the lovers
bound and entwined in the dream
within its hidden secrets bound tight
will ever know
as they are drawn in the heat
and the fires in the distance of time.
for Chantelle Anne Cooke
True Love contest
1/24/20
Oh, the slow invasive horror
of my love’s demise.
I can hardly imagine how he felt
though I could see it
dwelling there more and more
in his frightened eyes
As If Black Excalibur
were plunged into his soul,
hope was trickling out of him
like blood from a broken bird
who had lost the capability to fly.
Simultaneously, despair gripped his brain
as it drained his memories away.
Over a period of months,
nearly all recollections fled from him
until there was but a flicker of recognition
when he heard me calling his name.
Slowly and then more quickly,
his memories were surely reduced
to fleeting images of only
his childhood ghosts.
At the end, terror reigned
in his eyes grown wide
as he choked,
forgetting even how to swallow
but struggling instinctively to stay alive.
I grasped his hand and felt his futile grip,
which loosened after a while.
He breathed his last breath
when I felt his soul release.
With nothing to live for,
how violently still he fought his death.
He is free now from the sword of despair,
but sometimes late at night
and in my darkest dreams
as my heart beats wildly,
I feel the sharpness of its cold blade
pressed up against my chest.
What if our planet is sentient
In ways we don’t understand
And we by out actions have
Upset events it had planned,
Brought forward change
By hacking down the trees,
And Interfering in many ways
That just didn't please.
On a body the size of a planet
We are just like irritant fleas,
Or maybe to be considered
As an invasive skin disease.
Perhaps a period of vulcanism
Would quickly clean the skin
Clearing any infestation
Allow new things to begin.
First came grass and weeds,
Followed by spreadIng trees,
Skies full of returning birds
Flitting insects, droning bees.
Animals occupied
Ruins left by man
Earth slowly returned
To its interrupted plan.
Soon the shreds of
Plastic waste
Being Man’s only
Lasting trace.
In a very short time
Mankind had gone
Earth had shrugged
And just carried on
Perhaps the next infestation
Would be more compliant
To the wants and needs of
Its benevolent host giant.
A minuscule spot of dust
In a universe so vast
Without concern for any
Concepts of future or past.
*** RATE THE BATTLE ***
Rate your pain, they always want to know,
On a scale of one (least) to ten (worst — “like hell,” they say),
Although, I think, that should be reversed, because at
One, first, this pain is anguishing; wanting to be foremost;
Rooted under everything.
I see a numbered One level pain as insipid, blocking out life —
Like an iceberg
Able to sink a ship; with there being
One, only one way eyes feel when popping out from such pain;
One level of invasive emotional or physical pain that
Makes the soul groan and
The lips try to repeatedly keep their shortened breaths
Whispering, “Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord…”
At One, or Ten (by their scale again now), I refuse
To imagine even a peek into hell.
I refuse to walk on a bed of flaming embers. Blut, at
Nine, I might lay bare on a bed of unpolished, sharply-cut lapis,
Trying to picture some promise of miraculous beauty
Underlying the monstrous pain.
A Nine would keep me in a self-induced trance of complete
Stillness,
Holding my breath, before I’d let it consume all my humor; and
I’d try, yet again, to find praises in the suffering;
Wherein, too, Faith in God can bring the strength and hope
To survive the scales of pain
In favor of the whole spirit’s long on-going,
Felt rise in gratitude.
(Deut. 9: 1-3)
————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 12/10/2022
Thanks be to God…
In the land of Teeny-Brites,
skies are never dark at night
and castles high with moats afloat,
are filled with itty-bitty boats.
Skies of pink and turquoise blue,
reflecting upon waters, true
are filled with cotton candy clouds,
that would make any baker proud.
The trees, alive with curly-cues,
look musical in many-colored hues.
Swinging bridges cross the lands,
yes, Teeny-Brites builders, did well plan.
Doom dare not, befall this place,
for Teeny-Brites, are quick of pace;
These tiny faeries are swift to flee,
anything that disturbs their peace.
Being faeries, they cast dark spells,
upon invasive, ne’er-do-wells.
You may find you’ve two or three,
perhaps even ninety, knobby knees.
The Teeny-Brites, are loyal friends,
to kind souls who venture in.
And you may find yourself their size,
when you leave, your height will rise.
If one time, you’re blessed to see,
this wondrous land, oh so carefree;
you’ll be elated, I surmise,
for it is truly, a surprise.
Love Revisited
He welcomed the somber silence,
and cursed the torpid time that had passed
since his last visit.
Invasive weeds had overrun the place:
Colorful weeds ‘tis true
strange purples, yellows and rusty reds,
scattered here and there
embellishing the lonely place.
He sat on a stone and stared into a void.
Memories rushed into being:
memories long pushed back,
where murky banks held telltale thoughts
he always wished to repress.
How beautiful she was so long ago!
Could he forget that beauty after so many years?
It was not important. He loved her still.
A feeble bunch of forget-me-nots
Would mark the place he saw her last.
Were they enough to convince her soul
that he loved her still? No matter.
She deserved more that a small poesy
of low cost frivolous flowers,
bought on the spur of the moment
as if their offer would alone
atone for his disloyal past.
Is it not strange that after all these years.
he had come to pay his respects?
To remember the good and the bad?
The happiness and the sadness?
The dreams and hopes
and the disappointments
they shared together.
Yet together they made it,
They survived until some years ago
A heart block killed her.
Now she lived in a better place
And he could do nothing but sit alone grieving
and thinking fondly of her.
All around was silence
Except for the dirge of the cicadas song.
In his yearning, he discerned:
sometimes love is not enough.
Many adults seem
like they are
spiritually broken
and the youth
already knows
so when we
show the light
and call
things out
openly
the ones
who do not
know how to
be honest
or self-regulate
will always
send forth
what we write
to one another
all just so they
can psychoanalyze
and crash out
about what we said
to whoever will
listen
even though
the ethical
healthcare
experts
tend to
agree
with us.
Note: Alison Smith: Deep down I genuinely want you to leave me alone and stop commenting on my poems. You are being parasocially invasive and I don't welcome your intrusive energy.
No Holding Up Signs,
No Chanting,
No Looting, No Crimes,
No Soliciting,
They approach you, not you them,
then you hand them the literature for the cause of this organized event,
and if per chance you are asked any further questions,
about the cause that you are publicly demonstrating,
most should respond with, "Research And Learn More @ blah, blah .com,"
and if per chance they want to get into more detailed questions,
to me or any of my distinguished colleagues you may refer them,
and then we will get into the more detailed questions with them,
and all press, all media must be referred to me,
or any of my well known distinguished colleagues.
The rally is comprised of simply walking,
in great numbers in the streets peaceful, non violent,
sometimes engaged in conversation, but not necessarily,
about the cause at all, conversation superficially,
sometimes all walking in great numbers silently,
never being invasive to anybody.
A 5K walk, or a walking marathon,
on the sidewalks, no roads need be shut down,
or perhaps a walking constant loop,
over and over again around a public park large enough too,
for a few hours and then all quietly disperse,
back to your home, your lives, feeling a great sense of self worth,
with your role in striving for a better way, eg, the restoration of Mother Earth.