Long Listener Poems
Long Listener Poems. Below are the most popular long Listener by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Listener poems by poem length and keyword.
I opened the box with joy in my heart.
The label said in quaint old English lettering:
"Universal Instant Translator"
I pulled back the lid and there it was—
A tiny lapel pin, like a badge, or a nameplate.
And a tiny earplug.
I fitted both without delay.
The simple instructions said:
Ask your guest: "How are you?" or some such phrase.
When they reply—even a few small words will do,
Whether they've understood you or not—
I just need their voice to begin.
Now I have all I need,
to instantly translate for both of you.
Next time you speak, whisper softly;
You'll hear me shape the words aloud
in the listeners native language—
Instantly, and with no delay—
while your lips are still forming the sounds.
likewise, when they speak,
in their own language,
you'll instantly hear what they say
flow into your ears, in your native tongue.
The longer the conversation goes,
the better my translation becomes,
for both the speaker and the listener alike—
An instant “speak-easy,” if you please!
Stand by for the next update!
A full into the brain transplant!
Coming to Heads - In Real Time Soon!
So speak away, hear away—
the talking is so easy now,
Every border has begun to fade
We all speak and everyone understands, instantly!
We hear whatever they want to say.
Language, dialects and accents
become irrelevant, as perhaps they should be—
for all of us can now join in
the universal conversation,
that brings the whole world near.
I want to open my eyes and embrace the new day..
Not a worry in the world for whatever comes my way.
Just take everything in my stride and meet it head-on..
There's nothing to fix because nothing was ever wrong.
I don't care for judgement of what other's may think..
But if you catch me in passing I may give you a wink.
Status, opinions, the wealthy and poor..
Unless you're sincere then don't knock on my door.
I'm a great listener and always a good friend..
I will tell you how it is and I wont pretend.
I'm no one special and don't claim to be..
But I'm honest, I'm loyal and genuinely me.
He met her on a plane from San Francisco to Des Moines
Why and how she mesmerized him, he could not possibly coin
She was the best listener he had ever had and kind too
the crush he had on her was incredibly intense in ninety-two
Thirty-three years since he said goodbye to her that day
Never saw her again after a taxi whisked her away
Did not get her number, but never forgot her smile
Every song he wrote was about her after awhile
An unrequited love that would have surprised her
She has a kind heart that is incredibly pure
He wonders sometimes if she ever thinks of him
His memories of her have never flickered or dimmed.
On an airplane flight from New Orleans to Chicago, Mr. Oxford met Mr. Patrick.
For conversation purposes, the two
Were a perfect match. Mr. Oxford had
A great need to speak his mind about
A matter that was dear to his heart. Mr.
Patrick was a great listener with no need
To express his opinions about anything.
Mr. Oxford began by saying:
Don't much care for historical movies;
Especially those where I see me woven
Throughout the story. Although not about
Me personally, I clearly see me like green
Leaves on a late summer tree; And like
Trees striped of leaves and bare, that
Barely survives for lack of care.
I see the selfish attitudes in the social structure.
I see the sickening Christianity in the culture;
Religious hypocrisy with no hope of a future.
No, I don't need to see 'on screen' today
What I lived years ago 'off screen'.
I need inspiration today to move forward;
Not reminders of forces that took me backward.
Maybe it's just me and not you.
Maybe it's me who doesn't have a clue.
Last night, I watched a movie about which
I had reservations; not because it was
Indecent or low rated. I ceased to finish
Watching because it reminded me of a
Place and time period that I hated.
It was a movie that to many would be a
Great motivater and an inspiration.
But sadly, it was to me dark memories
And a source of consternation.
Some things are difficult to explain;
Things that once brought heart aches and pain.
I need things that no longer rattle my brains;
Things that no longer bind me in chains.
Mr. Oxford then said to Mr. Patrick,
"Thanks for listening". Mr. Patrick
Said, "You are very welcome".
July 12 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Psalms 144-150
Key Verse – Psalms 144:15 Happy is that people, that is in such a case: yea, happy is that people, whose God is the LORD.
PRAISE BE TO GOD FOR MAKING US HAPPY
Praise be to God for making us happy:
Strengthening us through His power
Saving us amidst His protection
Shielding us in His providence
Securing us with His peace
Subduing our pride
Psalms 145:2 Praise be to the Lord for
preserving us with His:
Great might
Grand majesty
Gracious mercy
Glorious miracles
Generous magnanimity
Psalms 146:10 Praise be to the Saviour for
reigning forever as He:
Preserves His saints
Provides by His supplies
Prevails in His sovereignty
Perseveres with His Scriptures
Performs according to His standards
Psalms 147:5 Praise be to the Almighty
for His greatness in:
Building up our faith against discouragement
Bracing our fortitude despite distress
Blessing us by His faithfulness daily
Brightening future in His drive
Blocking faulty deed
Psalms 148:2 Praise be to the Creator
for drawing us, His people, near unto Him to:
Walk in His wisdom
Worship by His Word
Work inside His worthy will
Watch for His warnings in our walk
Win while waiting for Him wondrously
Psalms 149:2 Praise be to the Omnipotent King
for letting us rejoice in Him Who is our:
Listener of our thanksgiving
Lover always trustworthy
Leader so triumphant
Law giver of truth
Life in our trials
Psalms 150:1 Praise be to the Holy Spirit
for His mighty acts of:
Redemption toward our salvation from hell
Rejuvenation through His sufficient help
Restoration against spoiling sin-hurts
Revival along His Scriptural healing
Repair by His steadfast hand. Amen!
July 12, 2024
A very nice English lady
Very good to walk in different places
Of the so fantastic city where I live
In the central, in different districts
In parks, silent roads and squares
… and …
In cemeteries, oh magnetic graveyards minds!
Yes, it’s true, so true, there are so high and super lives
Lives? More than lives, spirits of the science of life!
Teacher of mortals, masters these souls, the immortals
Yes, this is my opinion about the past, from that local past
Come here, to learn is a blessing to me from the life of your life
I love you, oh a demonic kind of being of a creature of the Life
It’s not important now, just a memoir from a past time of life
Yes
Life
Always
Comes and goes
Just walk and walk in the cemetery
Silence, solitude, peace, life of the past
Just follow the way, all the paths
I met with an English lady in this cemetery
She was so kind, friendly, and a good listener
An intellect, she is a life, loved by mind’s hearts
This was the highest point of the day
A noble lady, she gives instruments to live
Instruments of impressions of the impressive being
She is kept in my heart
I loved this heart
Real kindness
Again and again
Welcome and…
… Goodbye
Kindness
Of heart
Honesty,
Respectful and …
… Trusful life
Goodbye
Welcome
Sock drawer poets they called us,
All our scribblings secreted away,
Composed then filed unread,
Hidden from the light of day.
And then along came the Tablet
And universal broadband,
Fast Internet coverage spreading
Length and breadth of the land.
Friendships made on common
Interest sites, ideas exchanged
Unpublished works published
Concepts read and explained.
Performance Poets appeared
Open Mic nights became the rage
The musician and the poet often
Willingly sharing the same stage.
We performed in bars, pubs clubs
And they called it Spoken Word
And against all the odds
Sock drawer poetry was heard.
It’s a thriving living culture now
Not quite, they say, high art,
But in its own little way
It’s certainly playing its part.
The poetry of the intellectual,
Needing a classical education,
Has now greatly been replaced
By that accessible to the nation.
No longer is it necessary to have
A dictionary of quotation to hand
For the reader or the listener
To appreciate and understand.
Let them have Ballet and High Opera,
Their Fine Dining and Modern Art,
All those acquired tastes that help
Split out society into its various parts.
The culture of the masses has given
The common people greater choice
It’s vital and it’s vibrant and growing
And it’s given the people their voice.
Words are arbitrary,
Who says that is a W?
But who NAMED it?
Could not a W have been written as a Y?
Once upon a time, when someone created an alphabet?
Could not a 7 have been an S?
Liberating words.
Angry words.
Feeling words.
Written words.
On cave walls, parchment, canvas, paper.
Who says graffiti is not words? It very well might be.
Just because you cannot decipher, does not mean the words are not there.
Words passed down help us bring history to the ancestors without leaving anything out.
Words written down help us go back and have a do-over if we are unsure what was said.
Words. Glorious words.
I needed my children to love them.
Because I did.
When they were toddlers I began an intense word game that covered the house.
Everything was labelled. Door had a sign that said door. Pencil had a sign that said pencil.
I labelled toothbrushes, cups, bibs, bottles, drums, toys, dolls, and sometimes my husband.
I put DADDY on him.
I do not remember if I worded myself.
It was a long time ago.
The floor had a floor note but it did not last long.
The refrigerator had three notes taped together because I wrote big
And I had pre-chopped my word notes the same size.
Words.
A form of telling and communicating
That is not only good for a listener.
Words.
What would a song be without them?
How boring books would be if they were lacking.
Words.
The best invention of all, if you ask me.
From Latin and ancient Greek, English derived three words:
poesy is the creation, the art work of poetic composition.
poem is the created, with beauty of language and expression.
poet is the creator or maker, with the gift of poetic thought, imagination,
and eloquence of expression.
A poet is born with a troubled and jangled spirit within,
forced to express what is seen, imagined and dreamed in words
for themselves and for anyone who hears or reads their works.
A poet is a miserly wordsmith, in love with words, their meanings, sound and strangeness.
A poet is an artist, painting with words and expression, but not constrained by form or method.
A poet is a skilled craft person, creating and making works and compositions,
but is not restricted by tools nor craft rules or disciplines.
A poet is a skilled musician using rhyme, meter and rhythm to create word scores,
but can also use line breaks, punctuation and the words themselves to create sounds.
Often the sounds made are jarring and discordant to create an effect or evoke a response,
but not all poetry is for a performance.
A poet is a peddler of emotions and feelings evoked in the writer and reader,
eliminating from deep within and as reactions to what is happening or not happening.
Poets are free to use whatever verse and form they choose.
There is no right way to eloquently express their art and craft; it is the poet's choice.
The best description of a poet is a person with an eternal fountain of jangles.
The jangles of emotions, feelings and life's journey within must be expressed, written or spoken about.
Nature and the world about triggers jangles, metaphors, memories, responses and associations to be expressed.
The poet writes to be read and have their thoughts and mind outpourings jangle response in their audience.
Artistically rendering words, much loved and cherished, in ways to evoke intense emotion in the hearer and listener.
The poet seeks jam sessions of free improvised jangling with self or with anyone who reads or listens.
The poet a lover of words, a wordsmith, peddling jangles.
Truth is still truth even if no one believes it . . .
A lie is still a lie even if everyone believes it.
Unknown Quote
in this journey called my life I have found that there
are three sides to every story and every dispute
mine, theirs and the truth . . . but I usually fold my wings
I choose home and quietly heal from any nastiness
while the other person may be quite adept at spreading lies
some liars can create believable stories
and the weak-minded will accept that as the truth
when I watch the news it is a one sided story being told
is it truth, is it a lie, what can be believed as fact
my side, your side, the truth is challenging to find
for this reason I tend not to judge people too much
unless their actions find them guilty without doubt
then, the truth will tell the story and there is no denying
most people will believe the one vocal as true
but in truth it is likely the quiet one is the key to truth
it is an endless circle of mine, theirs, and the truth
for life is a circle of trying to exist in peace and harmony
while others are trying to destroy it ...evil sent by Satan
I must be strong to not fall victim it is best to turn away
and be the silent me, healing, in my peaceful nest
while the liar twists an ever expanding narrative to all who listen
do not become a listener of lies who speak with confidence
a liar is skillful at creating narrative ... do not be a follower
and never assume the quiet one is not the stronger one