Long Irregularly Poems
Long Irregularly Poems. Below are the most popular long Irregularly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Irregularly poems by poem length and keyword.
Sharpening the cells in cerebrum and cerebellum
Through meditation, arts, knowledge and strategy
With emotion, motion of sad and happy persons
From the history up to date and the moving pages
Writers write, artists art in front of the open universe,
The mysterious nature focuses the light of unknown
In the power of truth beauty in place and time both
Creation, destruction, origin of things and beings
With lots of evidence, imageries similes, legends,
Live examples, pictures, proverbs, experiments
The outputs are literature, history, logics, philosophy,
Geography, various sections of science, knowledge,
Once there was direct reflection of these branches
With the rising spirit in creativity, sensitivity, morality
Like fragrant in rhythmic life spread and surpassed
All that happiness sparkled in all as green as grass
The past disputes, misdeeds sunk in the Dead Sea
Spirituality, celestiality pervaded all hearts to please,
Now wrapped colorfully they are in libraries, shops,
In readers’ showcase, box, broken and left drawers,
Though they are available in educational institutions
Like school, college, departmental board, university
They are read irregularly that only in some occasions
And the readers are seen fruitless, reluctant in study,
In technological, multimedia flourish, worldly progress
Time is passed in over all progress making, fun, mock
Audio, video, radio, internet, face book, twitter, email,
Park, party, cyber, studio, footpath, automobile, mobile,
Drama, movie, gathering, indoor-outdoor multi events,
At lame excuse, cheap emotion Romeo-Juliet flirtation,
Writers, write on– artists, art on– in full swing, spirits
Let the curses of white sheets be dispelled from you
The curses of every written sheet will never grasp you
But you will see no one is out of the curses and tricks.
There will be a test, three questions, my spirit guide told me. I heard the first one upon entering the astral plane. “Who did you love?”
A fuzzy gate was less than ten feet away, gleaming like the brightest white sun ever made, I had to shade my eyes. I could barely see.
Everyone, I thought. I loved everyone. My traitorous heart laughed. It began showing me a series of photos, of everyone I had stopped loving, or given up on, or cast aside. I gasped. Would this mean they would not let me in?
A second question immediately flew into my head. “Who did you help?” My mind went completely blank. My heart began beating loudly and irregularly. I pictured myself in the bowls of hell, and expected to be there in two seconds.
An angel who looked more like Mother Theresa than Mother Theresa walked toward me. She placed her hands on my shoulders and said “Rest”. I felt an immediate almost overwhelming love, an indescribable, absolute all-knowing God-love, and I fell onto a cloud, my eyes shut, safe.
When I awoke I heard the final question, and I knew it was the real one. “How precious is life?” As precious as love, my spirit-soul answered. The only reason we agree to live another earth life, the ONLY REASON we agree to live another human life is so that we can experience the most precious things with our most precious and revered soul-people, who are our “real” precious things.
The gates flew open.
Colors I had forgotten and souls I remembered only in my dreams were standing to greet me and hug me and love me and sooth me.
I was the prodigal daughter, and I was home!
Written 10-08-2018 Contest: How Precious is Life?
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
There‘ll be black humour today,
Gentle ribbing, banter and jokes,
Stripping away of egos, repartee
Among our mixed group of folks.
Bruising conversations maybe,
But in a non malicious way.
No place for the thin skinned
That’s just not how we play.
It’s the way it’s done from
First moment of greeting
It’s our irregularly held
Veteran’s Breakfast meeting.
Just a couple of hours
Of banter forces style
Carrying each back
For just a little while
To much younger times
From a very different past
When each passing day
Could have been the last
Some of us are damaged
But none of us are broken
Some carry hurt in their eyes
From experience unspoken.
Some have seen combat
Still carry mental scars
From frontline service in
The country’s various wars
Some fought with a rifle
One fought with a pen
Each gave part of their life
As an active serviceman
The Padre’s not a Veteran
But we’ve known him years
He’s earned out respect as he’s
listened to our hopes and fears
A range of ages gathered
For a morale boosting talk,
We’ve all worn the uniform
We’ve all walked the walk
There are common experiences
That each of us have had,
We’ve been there for each other
In the good times and the bad.
It’s a meeting of brothers
And we all know what to expect,
Ruthless character assassination
But with affection and respect.
We’ll all be looking forward to,
Though not knowing when,
We’ll receive our invitation
To meet up and yarn again.
We’ll shake hands goodbye
Making the occasion complete
Feeling emotional benefit from
Our irregular breakfast meet.
.
“No Words Spoken: Eyes of a Soul to Eyes of a Soul”
No words. Eyes of a Soul speak to Eyes of a Soul.
No words
can interpret the loss of such beauty, such innocence, such promise.
No words
will ever express the internal evaluation of such another,
young, graceful, innocent soul turning inwards irregularly,
to be pushed so far over the edge to consider and then execute
that premature freedom of choice.
No words
to capture the depth of despair
of yet another invisible falling child -
prayers unheard
speaking to the reflection in an invisible chair.
No words
When the heart is gutted.
Eyes of a Soul speak to Eyes of a Soul.
What is wrong with this damned world?
It has too many words, and no one really listens close enough.
No words.
Tears do no justice at all.
While the world watches on, nothing changes,
its bigots, bullies and trolls carry on.
We see the warning signs,
In this instance, 20 times,
we turn our eyes away from it all,
the windows closing, slowly,
be brave, it will get better,
tomorrow’s another day,
we hear it said,
again and again
We see the warning signs.
We turn our eyes away from it all,
Not my problem, not my world.
The windows closing,
No words.
Eyes of a Soul.
No words spoken at all.
Eyes of a Soul to Eyes of a Soul.
Candide Diderot. ‘24
(Sammy Teusch, 10yrs, Ft Wayne, Indiana)
No romance today.
The cemetery was deserted,
at the far edge of the tiny village,
shrouded in a fine sultry fog.
Large black trees threw darkened shadows
over the deserted gruesome sepulchers.
Few cared to visit, few cared to tend the tombs.
A large hawthorn hedge, irregularly grown,
surrounded its oblique perimeters.
Cursed, the villagers said
for it never flowered red blooms
during any time of the year.
An old hunchback lived there,
he lived all alone, with no one to care
No one fed him, no one was his friend.
No one knew where he came from,
no one knew his name,
but he loved the lonely forsaken place:
he weeded out the desultory paths,
and cleaned the old dreary tombs,
he planted evergreens and white flowers,
to welcome the damned and the doomed.
Only one woman came to visit,
constantly, rain or shine, every blessed day.
The hunchback would give her a white flower.
And she returned the gesture with a dime.
No word was spoken, nor looks exchanged.
She’d go to a small tomb, presided by a tearful angel.
The grave was covered with a cold white marble slab.
There she’d leave the white flower,
stand for a while in silence till she left,
No tears fell down her wrinkled old face.
The cemetery prevailed in gloom.
He’s a strange kinda guy,
even he wouldn’t challenge that assertion
When you see him, you sense
something’s a bit off
But don’t bother asking him,
his appearance will tell you why
Wearing clothes that don’t color coordinate;
his socks are always either Oxford or silk,
and his bow ties are never fully clipped
He likes to arrange his peas and carrots
neatly in a row on his plate
And he feels strongly
that it’s a
necessary thing to discuss personal hygiene
on the first date
Mister Oddity is he ...
Head scratcher as a Mad Hatter can be
Trying to figure him out
will drive you crazy
He likes to mumble important reminders to himself;
he don’t mind taking a tumble,
pumping his cardio up from really getting after a ref
He’s an odd fellow indeed,
he’s a hard one to read
Sometimes his speech may not make sense to you and me,
and often at night he likes to talk to the owls in the tree
Apart from that,
he’s perfectly abnormal, absolutely
Mister Oddity,
lives strange and quite irregularly
But the one thing he loves to boast about the most
is his peculiar longevity:
He says he was born on the thirty third day
of the thirteenth month,
in the year
when Earth's second moon floated away
in the cosmic sea
Undulating flights from skinny dipping ears of corn is not that noted in spring. But dashing through and over crevasses is just an absolutely amazing sight. It is often performed in ten minutes whilst the moon plays a tune on a wooden harpsichord. How rather clever. And so the push off from the shore is a tree lined avenue of expectations and angst. But only if the tides change their patterns. Rising vertically in mists. Rising and chaining nautical miles of steel framed floaters. Failing flailing falling framing frantically. And still that dove is cooing pleasantly in an ornate garden. Landing politely on an outstretched arm. And smiling as the corn bud is offered. Many many walls. Long time make. Explode not a pineapple in a kitchen. For the sap falls irregularly causing much waste,much mess. Rather take shelter in a biscuit tin or a stand of cakes. Round up round up the donkeys are coming for tea. Great. No ionisation in a testicular vision of many hooves. Ridden and unridden. Baskets and bums on backs. They will need to rest. Fetch water and vegetables and bracken. Nomadically needing nutritional nursing. And a linguistic lounging learning link. Creates a pond in house. Xxxxx no ha. Ho ho. Xxxxx justifications z
Form:
middle of the night
high on cocaine
cigarette smoking in the ashtray beside me
upset
frustrated
my heart aches
it hurts
it beats irregularly
i can feel the burn in my chest from the stress and anxiety and confusion and pain
she said she was coming home at 2am
it is now 4:30am and she’s at a party
I felt it in my chest before she told me
i knew it
i sensed it
i sensed something was in the works and I guess she felt it needed to be hidden behind the curtain
she could have told me anytime that her plans were changing
i lay my head down at 3:00am expecting her to walk through the door
...nothing
I wait in bed, thinking random thoughts
not being able to relax due to the fact that I am expecting her
she keeps me waiting
my mind continues to race
i feel disrespected when someone states they are doing something
then they do the opposite
why did you say this to me?
why did you keep wondering?
I care so much for you that the pain felt dealt by your actions cuts deeper than beautiful truth
you are beautiful
i know this is true
i just can’t understand why we have this obstacle of trusting one another
our relationship has been broken
the cast we used healed the fracture
but the pain still exists
Form:
Rolling
Again today I am begging, an umbrella in raining
I am forgetful to sake out for future from child hood
My emphasis remained pass days from others support
In it nature itself increases hands towards me.
Laziness developed from it I did not do any thing
Inner within me a perfect engine performs my eating
Title headed to me crazy suits a lot
Otherwise how could I match with the head of others
A running man came with his dog near to me
Broadened chick and passed in between nodding
Wagging tail touched in my knee a sensation born
Seeing man and dog’s affinity gave birth of nature
Noises of the road like down river’s flow
In that height and curves many more
Produces an imagination in me irregularly
How I am different from them as engine throbs.
Father used to say read school’s lessons first
Then go to play with other brothers
One day you will grow up and up like him
Collective suggestions I used to hear half between.
So now I am half everywhere with wife and children
In society my counts stand in million between
Happy I am and are happy all we scream
Just we pass in roads and towns with blow of lovely wind
(13/08/2014)
A prose poem based on Copotronic love (Scifie)
by Tamanna Ferdous
One day, I was all prepared to test him about his IQ.
After testing him with different questions in general knowledge,
I read him from an antique Bengali poet, Jibanananda Das.
"The resting place placed the restful here
Never certain if the restful is resting here, though.”
Then I asked his opinion about these two lines.
He informed me," A humane quotation with an outlier in deeper introspection."
When he was showed an art piece of Paul Gaugin,
of a polynatian girl,
he tried to perceive the art from different angles and then said,
“A deformed body had a strange reason to occupy the usage of all the colors
used otherwise irregularly.”
The valuation of paul gauguin and the remark,
it was too difficult to control a wild laughter.
After a while I stopped my loud amusement and asked him.
What was I doing?”
“You were laughing.”
“What is laughing?”
“A physical procedure devoid of meaningfulness.”
“Please try to laugh!”
He followed up with a mechanical noisy aptitude, sensible.
Prometheus, he was a machine!