Long Malady Poems
Long Malady Poems. Below are the most popular long Malady by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Malady poems by poem length and keyword.
Making and doing (poetry) pursuing, with the re-membering of feel
and shape concerned, yet not by all..! all are not intaking of
the coming awareness, with life in rude health and how it forms!
a quest of proportion & perception now unnoticed and unsung
and LOVE..? is it LOVE.? with the (unlovley) or the plain function
or..? even the unfunctioning of humanity not to sing or portray
its truth where..? is there not beauty? if not in all.! all of life as it is
manifest, & with no malady to intrusive! for the negating of mankinds
intrinsic judgmental leaning, both inner and outer to an eventuall despair,
(is ever the better love of all & in all affairs.)
I
There is a mud brick house
with roof of palm fronds and thatch -
behold a little girl named Marie
in possession of my farthest dispatch.
My picture on its pale mud wall
above her barest earth floor bedding.
I hope one day her crying tears
will be tears of great joy shedding
II
On darkest Africa’s west coast
a small Temne village in Sierra Leone,
gathering windblown palm nuts
or fetching water to carry back home.
Grandmother inside making oil
and villagers irrigating planted plots,
Marie and her busy little friends
are chasing the birds from the crops
III
The Port Loko District foothills
in the Kalamera Development Project,
home of tribesmen shepherds
and witch-doctors to malady correct.
From day to day her people lead
alas a subsistence life in every breath.
Might Marie and her family live
till next harvest to again cheat death
IV
I lie awake in my bed at night
with my own misfortune as my curse -
it is then I think of you, Marie,
and am reminded whose plight is worse.
God bless you my sponsored child
and cheerful speak your native tongue,
the greatest gift you give to me
that you grow to be your tribe among
Written: September 1996
Why the deep, dark valleys in my life,
Why the high peaks of heavenly rife,
Why the unfertile and fruitless leas,
Answer me, O Silence, answer me?
Must I live and die in netherworld,
Frozen in a paralyzed curl,
In search of light beyond dark of night,
Believing life is incessant strife?
The highs that lift me upward to God,
The lows that bury me in foul sod,
Days cast out upon bellowing seas,
Answer me, O Silence, answer me?
In the darkness I seek out and try,
To understand and mull over why,
There seems to be no curative balm,
To heal a soul that’s, empty of calm.
Are you so aloof that you don’t care,
Do you think my illness is too rare,
Are you fully clad in apathy,
Answer me, O Silence, answer me?
How long must I voice this fervent plea,
To be set free from this malady,
I grow tried playing this hide and seek,
O Silence, wake up and answer me?
Poetry_po e try_cadence like the lapping of the sea against the shore
A soft lapping which can become erosive in a time of storm
Poetry's beauty can bless
Feeding the spirit with joy
The gentle lapping lifting the soul to euphoric heights
Poetry can cut deep reaching to the core of the spirit
Dissecting every ill, malady of humankind
Leaving the reader wondering?
Did the poet know my deepest thoughts?
God's poetry can cleanse and make whole
If only one would
Invite His cleansing power into their soul
Magic is everywhere, but stage magicians,
have no clue, as to what it really is.
Magic built our universe.
That something so complex, as the universe,
could be born of a few elements of pure…magic.
That, intelligent organisms can grow,
from carbon and evolve; that’s magic.
A flower, bush or a tree, unfolding from a seed;
that’s magic.
Real magic; the nature of everything.
An atom, cell, molecule of DNA…magic.
The Visica Pisces in the seed of life,
gives birth to the flower of life.
Metatron’s cube is geometrical magic.
That, all that exists, is composed of numbers;
real magic.
Ideas are born of, dream magic.
Whole civilizations, are birthed into existence by…
dream magic.
Magical wonders, reflected in young eyes;
stir the emotions and captivate the senses.
Scientists…magicians…they’ve no idea,
of how real magic works.
The magic that creates all life,
is beyond known physics;
metaphysics and its comprehension’
lie in hidden realms, where human ego,
blocks science from going.
The real magicians;
those who dare to cross the line,
ego has drawn,
are persecuted and maligned by colleagues.
As magical history unfolds,
wisdom is revealed.
The same science that says:
“humans use only one third of their brain capacity”;
all too swiftly, negate the other two thirds.
Society, self-limiting;
minimizes its own knowledge;
its own magical existence.
Doubt is a game, played by fools;
while belief, is the magical wonderland,
of materializations; yet to manifest.
What exists. in the imaginations magic hat…exists.
Just wave the wand of belief and produce.
Skeptitis, is an overwhelming malady.
Its swollen tendrils,
have kept the world in,
stagnation; far too long.
Belief is the only cure;
the magic of faith,
does move mountains.
Feeling down, and really out,
mind now clouded up by doubt.
I know that this is not like me,
for my soul always soars quite free.
Depression is an ugly bird,
that has no wings and is absurd.
for nothing's changed, except for me,
just feelings that should never be.
My heart is sad, I know not why,
comfort now would be... to die,
where is that spark that filled my soul,
I'm sinking now in life's dark hole.
I know the path, I've been before,
and only me can force the cure,
no medicine will rescue me,
but God it's hard to struggle free.
I think it comes when I've been high,
when scorching wings against the sky.
what right have I to love my life,
when most of it is torn with strife.
But this I promise to myself,
I'll cure this malady of health,
for all life's wonders are still there,
It's only 'me' who doesn't care.
I'm over worked and over stressed,
is this the reason I'm depressed?
Alas, I know that's not the case,
I take both these within my pace.
It's being happy when I know
that others cannot share my glow,
I think I share in worldwide grief,
to give my soul it's core belief.
But I must quickly let it go
before it traps me down below,
return to life and start to run,
shake off this care and have some fun.
There's time and place for everything
and sometimes we must bear life's sting,
it's up to me my way to choose,
but left to feelings, I'd just lose.
I have to find the will to live
with only logic left to give,
ignore the aching in my soul,
and claw my way out from this hole.
Ivor G Davies
Discombobulation thunderously
torments, triumphs, tumults
courtesy deafening,
earsplitting, fracturing...
(think emotional bomb cyclone),
whereby unbearable mental anguish
rents psyche asunder
into bajillion pieces
singular recourse necessitates
invoking cerebral powers
to engender feeling
comfortably numb skull,
hence tried and true value accorded
transcendental meditation practice
offering absolutely zero choice
incumbent upon yours truly
to remedy cerebral chaos,
an unpleasant quotidian experience,
whenever yours truly
exits deep sleep
more potent and holistic solution
versus following pharmacological medications:
GLYCOPYRROLATE, TAB 2MG
CLOMIPRAMINE CAP 50MG
RISPERIDONE TAB 1MG
FLUOXETINE CAP 20MG
PRAZOSIN HCL CAP1MG
BUSPIRONE TAB 15MG
PRAMIPEXOLE TAB 1MG
CLONAZEPAM TAB 0.5MG
AMITIZA 24 MCG
(prescription laxative as needed)
the former closed eye process
to instill peace of mind,
plus elevating cosmic consciousness
allowing, enabling and providing
pronouncedly heightened awareness
acutely poignant insight
permeating throughout this body electric
calming, fanning, jumpstarting
vitally important discipline
in order for lifetime anxiety riddled
disabling affliction upends
potential to satiate existence
(oft times state of severe panic -
triggering chronic sweaty palms
extremely bothersome
physiological manifestation
induces suicidal ideation
i.e. opened arms death welcomed),
which onset regarding
ordinary agitated state
inchoate congenital malady
probably coalesced in utero
extremely intolerable,
especially incorporating socialization,
cuz no contra dance partner
(cue Irish jig and reel
musicians playing lively tunes)
favors grasping hand
analogous to wet dishrag.
Tom, the rebel cat was obstinate and stray
Though active, intelligent, quick and strong,
He always kept himself unfed for long
Till he hunted and got his own prey
His old master, for this, had kept
A set distance for him to move about and mew ;
He did it often with a straight tail, skew
Till he had to take his hunting stance inept
Miss. Havisham, senile and fastidious ,had chosen
Molly the freckled cat and dressed her well,
In colours, scarf and on the head a hat, swell
She was most pampered and with over- care frozen
Molly, despite alarm had learnt not to move,
And at all odds and ends around stay cool;
Her custodian had made a hard rule :
'Avoid all male creatures and never make friends'.
Things went well and Molly turned saucy,
Ever floating in a world dreamy and sly ;
The changing wave entered the casement high;
And before her, slouched Tom the proposer ,classy :
' This is Tom, from the house across the parapet
' I have watched you closely and from far
' With love, I find we are upto par '
Molly waited not, as if things were all set
Right under the pointed nose of the old lady
The duo strode ; and Tom did smirk
And mewed , finding that his own ways do well work :
' Right proposals rid of lapses and all malady'...!
Back on the river, forward into the howl of the unknown,
for three days Sergeant Floyd has been crippled by excruciating pain in his abdomen,
as the only man here trained in internal medical matters it is incumbent on me to treat him,
Doctor Rush's "Thunderbolt" pills are failing to alleviate the malady
and the ground Peruvian bark hardly sedates Flyod, his agony is bleeding into the eyes,
for 48 hours the rains have been rampant making the river sizzle in cool agitation
the mosquitos are swarming like whispers in a brothel
they are the devil's needles, we resort to spreading lard on ourselves as a repellent,
ironically, despite the downpours the wind is high at our backs
so the sails are up and we are moving swift as a curse off a witch's lips,
Sergeant Pryor woke on the boat this morning with news of death
his voice didn't wait for breath, the steps of his boots broke open my irritation
after informing me that Charles had recently died,
I believe he expired from a ruptured appendix which we had no remedy for,
he had the soul of a lion, Godspeed to him,
while I slept my spittle smeared the ink in my journal
forming a pictorial omen of a tombstone on the page,
the only question is whom be it for,
Clark has identified a suitable burial place for Flyod on a large hill,
no one speaks, its just the slurp of the paddled water
and a handful of gold finch birds that seem determined to skip on the wind
reminding us that there is always a place for a soul to go,
coming up on the riverbend we are accosted by an armada of geese
so plenty that the trees wish they had that number in leaves,
my Lord, the ruckus these creatures are generating in honking indignance
as they lift into flight is nerve pinching,
its like an army of imbecilic people shouting in panic all at once
yet these geese are noble in their beauty and militant nature
and I see this moment as a sign that no Indians will interdict our passage,
J.A.B.
You’re our Creator, God, and we’re Your creation
Thanks for reaching down to us for our sure salvation
To offer us Your fellowship of sweet heaven’s jubilation…
We’re Your people heading toward Your set glorious transformation.
You’re our Potter, God, and we’re Your clay
Thanks for designing us according to Your way
To shape us up by Your fellowship we can experience everyday…
We’re Your people living as vessels of honor while in Your plan we stay.
You’re our Master, God, and we’re Your servants
Thanks for calling us by Your immutable covenants
To include us in Your fellowship along Your reward-grants…
We’re Your people laboring with contentment against vanity-wants.
You’re our Head, God, and we’re Your body
Thanks for cleansing us from sinfulness’ malady
To perfect us in Your fellowship with Your truth so sturdy…
We’re Your people, waiting for You; and for Your coming, ever ready.
You’re our Leader, God, and we’re Your followers
Thanks for enabling us to obey You and Your orders
To bring us into Your fellowship upward maturity towers…
We’re Your people, living by faith, striving to be biblical defenders.
You’re our Vine, God, and we’re Your branches
Thanks for upholding us steadfastly midst stormy glitches
To nurture us with Your fellowship that spiritually enriches…
We’re Your people, bearing fruits by Your love, grace and mercy’s touches.
You’re our Shepherd, God, and we’re Your sheep
Thanks for delivering us out from death-valley’s deep
To carry us to Your fellowship where our hearts You safely keep…
We’re Your people*, trusting You from the time we awake till we sleep.
*Romans 11:2 God hath not cast away his people which he foreknew.
June 3, 2018
4th Place, "People" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux; judged on 6/10/2018.