Long Lifeline Poems
Long Lifeline Poems. Below are the most popular long Lifeline by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lifeline poems by poem length and keyword.
Right on time
Have you ever gone through a rough time when you felt so alone and there was no one you could turn to for a lifeline?
You cried, and you cried, and your tears would not dry.
You searched and you searched, but no one was in sight who would reach out and give a word of encouragement or even a helping hand.
Instead of a kind word from those whom you know, they cast their assertion and turned up their noses.
You thought they would help, but they make matters worse.
One day after another, your situation gets worse.
You feel so rejected, despised, and alone.
Your ship is capsizing, and you see no way out.
But thank God for Jesus, who provided a lifeline and brought you out on time.
You cried out to Jesus, and He came through on time.
His love and compassion caused you to smile.
Thank you, Dear Jesus, for coming through on time.
We were both operating together,
vibrating at an oscillating frequency -
short-band radio signals reaching
no greater than brief steps away.
It was love, but it was also that infinitesimally
narrow gap between heaven and hell.
A bulbous red on/off button,
the size of a large tomato or small planet,
kept our brains alert
to any nuclear explosions
that might otherwise have destroyed
those thin strings of real intimacy we could
have accidently blundered into.
In the end, slips of the tongue
led to neither truth nor lies,
only figures of speech.
Friends and on-lookers
watched as we turned off
all the early warning signs, one by one -
then to no one's great surprise,
we were done.
When a plant
an organism
a biological system
is young,
this is nature's season
for segregation and simplification,
specialization.
Time to ego grow internally
toward full flowering
and re-seeding maturation.
Just so,
when a plant,
an ecosystemic planet,
an individual's lifetime,
a nation-state's cultural lifeline
reaches historic maturity,
mid-life crises of climates and landscapes reverse direction,
reverse patriarchal dominance
to patriot-matriotic ecobalancing isms,
so that what had been WinWin ecopolitical recessive
must become species dominant for continuing healthy outcomes.
MidLife Systems tip toward new-dominant norms
emphasizing integrity over segregation,
polypathic and polyphonic-nutritional complexity
over Either/Or
Win/Lose
LeftBrain dominant over-simplification.
Both/And
matriarchal
reverse-hierarchical
midlife crisis revolutions
reweave purpose and meanings of day and night together,
life and co-redemptive losses and suffering,
Yang strength and Yin-flowing nurture,
polycultural integrity
revolutionarily new-delineating
notnot bilateral LoseLose segregations of history,
suddenly opening new vistas for cultural creolization,
WinWin complex resolutions
for natural cultures sustaining balancing climates
of ego/ecosystemic harmonic health.
When we are young,
post-revolutionary embryonic,
we develop toward maturity
through deductive dominance of simplifications
and segregating cultures and language.
Yet, to grow into grace-abundant harvest,
summer's Yang vigor
increasingly embraces Yin's flowing integrity
and interdependent cooperative networks
of bilateral-appositional politics,
dipolar co-arisings
of old simplifications in newly resonant amplifications
to support future and past and present regenerations,
cultures of health,
integrating both internal economic climates
and external political nurturing landscapes.
from depths of our heart desires arising
crystallises thoughts with potent power
with universe instantly responding
manifesting wish of the soothsayer
all seeming reality illusion
being but thought forms by ourself chosen
this simple truth known in meditation
recognising our divine origin
having chosen to ensoul fleeting form
we descend into vibrations lower
each node containing bliss elixir warm
rescue device if from fear we cower
manifesting fine but for indulgence
entrapping us in a hypnotic trance
succumbing to ego lost innocence
delusion compelling earthy parlance
let us then use the lifeline created
present within each and every impulse
let us no longer be thus sedated
void of silence liberates us at once
19-November-2020
(syllabic rhyme)
Some say I'm soulful,
Others the Devils tool,
One minute I might find you doleful,
The other acting quite the fool.
Yet that's patently unfair,
One aspect that I can't abide,
For I'm as pure as the morning air,
A child of the gentle ocean tide.
You may not think I live, but live I do,
Spawned in my cocoon of flames,
I thrive, but then die too,
Often amongst angst and conflicting claims.
My pedigree is strong,
Admired and always wanted,
With me you simply can't go wrong,
At times even something to be flaunted.
Your forebears held me close,
I'm privy to their secrets,
Through me their lifeline flows,
Despite them lying with the crickets.
I'm a chameleon, color is my muse,
I change according to my company,
Treat me well, never abuse,
For at my core a fragile symphony.
Where I came from no one knows,
But the world is my own oyster,
Having neither friends nor foes,
Life itself is what I foster.
Now you ask, who can I be
Someone quite so clearly needed,
Look around and you might see,
Generations that preceded.
I am the wind
You cannot see me ,but you can feel me
breezin' gently through your hair
Brushin' slightly across your cheek
Whisperin' softly 'neath your ear
I am the wind , whirling , howling
roaring fiercely against the desert sand
which sifts silently through
the hourglass of your soul.
I will not fail you, nor leave your side
till you smell fresh rain again
and soak under cascading waterfalls.
I am the wind ,extinguishing wild fire
which scars the lifeline of your palm.
I am the wind , blowing fragrance
in the honey of each meadow
where you lay down beneath a half sun .
I breathe warmth where your cold fingers
gather forget-me -not petals, that fall ever so slow
with every drip drop of my fluetish tapping sound.
I am the wind , I will carry you to places , far...
I'd tickle your lips with fluttering feathers of early doves
that soar above your mirthful past.
I'd strip your thought bare till I touch your heart.
I am the wind wafting by your pillowcase
I play within your dreams ,with each seductive move
I capture the hour of a star.
I linger in the depths that once were dark
I pour rose-scented zephyr in the alleys of your night
Then I leave , I leave to return closer
Closer enough to let my song reveil your sight.
For Personification Contest ,sponsored by Lewis Raynes.
Afterglow
by Michael R. Burch
The night is full of stars. Which still exist?
Before time ends, perhaps one day we’ll know.
For now I hold your fingers to my lips
and feel their pulse: warm, palpable and slow;
once slow to match this reckless spark in me,
this moon in ceaseless orbit I became,
compelled by wilder gravity to flee
night’s universe of suns, for one pale flame;
for one pale flame that seemed to signify
the Zodiac of all, the meaning of
love’s wandering flight past Neptune. Now to lie
in dawning recognition is enough:
enough each night to bask in you, to know
the face of love: eyes closed, its afterglow.
All Afterglow
by Michael R. Burch
Something remarkable, perhaps,
the color of her eyes, though I forget
the color of her eyes; perhaps her hair
the way it blew about? I do not know
just what it was about her that has kept
her thought lodged deep in mine; unmelted snow
that lasted till July would be less rare,
clasped in some frozen cavern where the wind
sculpts bright grotesqueries, ignoring springs’
and summers’ higher laws; there thawing slow
and strange by strange degrees, one tick beyond
the freezing point which keeps all things the same
till what remains is fragile and unlike
the world above, where melted snows and rains
form rivulets that, inundate with sun,
evaporate, and in life’s cyclic stream
remake the world again. I do not know
if we can be remade?all afterglow.
To the Post-Modern Muse, Floundering
by Michael R. Burch
The anachronism in your poetry
is that it lacks a future history.
The line that rings, the forward-sounding bell,
tolls death for you, for drowning victims tell
of insignificance, of eerie shoals,
of voices underwater. Lichen grows
to mute the lips of those men paid no heed,
and though you cling by fingertips, and bleed,
there is no lifeline now, for what has slipped
lies far beyond your grasp. Iron fittings, stripped,
have left the hull unsound, bright cargo lost.
The argosy of all your toil is rust.
The anchor that you flung did not take hold
in any harbor where repair is sold.
Human ingenuity leapfrogs beyond ordinary
Buoying upon wings of intellectual curiosity
Sustaining innovation, creative imagination,
Breaking barriers once thought impenetrable,
Daring to conquer the arduous, unknown~
Resistant to understanding, inert to inquiry.
Unfathomable is force of scientific curiosity
That opened doors to discoveries, inventions:
Telescopes that explore the origin of universe,
Space flights landing on Moon and Mars,
Defying gravity, exceeding the speed of sound;
Telephones, electricity, computers, automobiles,
Untold preventive medicines, therapeutics,
Vaccines holding in check reign of pandemics,
Treatments for diseases, cure for hepatitis,
Nuclear fusion searching new source of energy
Reducing emissions to sustain life on earth.
Curiosity is the flame of wisdom, inspiration,
Lifeline for mortality pursuing life and liberty;
Promise of yesterday, today, and tomorrow,
For explicating phenomena less understood,
For guiding aspirations of cognitive intellect,
For directing journey on roads not traversed.
January 8, 2023
Placed 1st: This or That, Vol 15 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
I’m tired.
When I say that,
people ask me,
“How much sleep did you get?”
They tell me,
“Go to bed earlier then!”
I joke and say that I try,
or I lie and say about 6 hours.
But in reality,
I barely get 3,
if I’m lucky.
I’m physically tired,
but when I say “I’m tired”,
I don’t mean it in that way.
I mean I’m exhausted.
I don’t want to get up in the morning.
I want to sleep, but I can’t.
I have no motivation.
I have to fake my smile.
I have to hide my tears,
from the voices in my head.
I have to force myself to work,
so I don’t fail.
When people ask how I am doing,
I tell them “I’m fine!”
and give them the brightest smile I can muster.
I joke about my sadness,
as a way to cope.
I have no motivation.
I have no real happiness.
I play a part,
like my life is a show.
I put on a performance,
for the people to enjoy.
I play the dumb friend,
so I can keep being the “funny” one.
I smile at everyone, and treat everyone nicely,
so I can stay the people pleaser I have always been.
It’s tiring.
It’s ing exhausting.
I have no one to talk to.
I feel nothing.
I feel empty.
There is nothing in my heart.
I care so deeply,
but it hurts when I’m just used.
People like me because I’m kind,
but they don’t know how I really feel.
When someone likes me,
and I don’t reciprocate those feelings,
I pretend, and date them, so I don’t break their heart.
I know they may find out,
but I don’t want people hurt because of my actions.
I’ve hurt people though,
and I hold on to the guilt like a lifeline.
I take it out on myself.
As I drag the blade, and watch the red flow,
it feels so good, and it makes me forget,
for even just a moment,
the mental torment.
I’m so drained,
that I feel as though I’m just…
Numb.
Numb to the happiness.
Numb to the sadness.
Numb to the anger.
“Numb” to the pain.
I want to feel better,
but I don’t know how.
I have lost the one person,
who gave me the motivation.
I have no one.
I’m alone.
I write these poems,
to hopefully feel something.
Though it never works,
it’s the only thing I can do.
Only way I can talk,
only way I can let out the pain.
I need help,
to stop feeling this drained.
But I can’t get help,
and I never ask,
because I will always just be a burden
with my problems, and my thoughts.
I’ll always feel tired,
and nothing will ever change that,
no matter how hard I try.
A whispered word in the silence of dread
A deep, dark tunnel with Light up ahead ...
A bright ray of sunshine in storm filled skies ...
A promised return when saying goodbye ...
A kind smile on the face of sincere friends ...
Forgiveness from one you deeply offend ...
A newborns sweet cry after death sneaks by ...
And failure that leads to just one more try.
Hope is a lifeline that we all must seek ...
When fears are real and bodies are weak.
Hope gives us that fervent life breathing spark ...
To the dying embers of our cold hearts.
An unearned love after meeting hatred ...
Kindness given, when so much was taken ...
Feeling worthy despite of who we are ...
Salvation found by following a star.
Hope Is healing and hope gives us great strength ...
To keep trying no matter what they think.
Hope is a mighty power all its own ...
So when we have it, we must make it known.