Long Mannerisms Poems
Long Mannerisms Poems. Below are the most popular long Mannerisms by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mannerisms poems by poem length and keyword.
Your foibles,
the characteristically odd ways
of your individual life appearance,
its mannerisms
your behavioral peculiarities,
and picadilloes,
will all fall away by and by.
What eventually will be left
is this alien species that bears your name.
You have died a thousand times already,
every feature of your character
has been replaced or modified
many times.
Your physicality
rinsed and recycled through
an ever-turning time machine.
Even now, the way you walk, and talk
is at the mercy and behest of a universal tide
and its shifting dunes.
The dead confirm the dead,
what never lived must pass away,
it was all a game of death
that soon will lead to the everlasting,
but not yet,
all is a work in progress,
until then
the Universe of All That Is
experiences itself as
you,
you playing hide and seek
with what you truly are.
This place called Pandora
With its islands in the sky
What a world, will we ever see
Or will it see the likes of you or I
With their human characteristics
So indigenous in every way
Mannerisms of a perfect race
Which man will never display
Where nature has taken a different slant
With creatures I would love too see
Their umbilical of species peace
Seems the perfect place to me
There's instinct in their message
A sense of survival we will never see
All their life from their planet earth
In the shape of their Hometree
This place called Pandora
A figment of our imagination
Will there ever be a time in our lives
As we look down from a future space station
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/avatar.php
You adore the reflection you see
So beautiful you are, so pure your beauty
I see through the crack in the door
Brushing your hair so devotedly!
I know to them the favourite you are
Your eyes glisten like far away stars
I know that to them their angel is you
You’re so perfectly pretty, anyone would love you
I study the mannerisms of you. Your smile stops hearts beating - it is so beautifully you.
I cry in the night because of you
I lose sleep and am tired because of you
I look at the reflection of me
My eyes, my skin is just not your beauty.
I fool myself saying how pretty I am
But your teeth are so perfect and white you light up a room no matter where you are
I accept that I’ll never be you
The shadow, the one always behind!
The people we meet don’t see me
They look at you and see all they want to see
I love you but hate you as well
I can’t stand when you laugh as their attention is no where else
My sister you will always be
The boys, the men will never see me!
I’m sorry to hear how you are
The lines and the age dimmed the light of the far away star!
They don’t open the door for you anymore
Your complexion lost the glow of who you were once before.
Though pretty you always be, when youth became a memory so did your drop-dead beauty!
Now age is as cruel as cruel can be
The Woolf whistles now call for someone else’s beauty
I’m sorry that you can’t let go of the perfectly pretty you
But you can’t dress like that anymore and be in anyway cool
Let go of the youth that was you
That was innocence’s fool
You are so much more than what you see.
You are much more than what they will ever see.
Let go of the past, you’ll always have memories
Be a women.
Be more than they think you are.
A women is much more than a smile or the eyes of glistening stars
Be a women for what you want to be
Be a women of substance, be a women like me.
I was an odd little girl. At a very early age writing, and seeking out nature. I
loved to wander libraries and art galleries, while other little girls played with
dolls together. A loner, lost within my thoughts. I grew up to be a bit eccentric
and offbeat. My style of dressing is whimsical and unique to me. I love
seeking out vintage. The key is to not wear too much at one time! My pose
and mannerisms are quiet and gentle, people have commented on how calm
I seem. I found my Zen a long time ago. I do yoga and meditate each day.
Something about me is my need to know what is going on in the world.
I watch the local news, the Canadian news (yes, I am from Canada), varied US
news, and the World news each morning. Only then can my day begin! It is an
oddity I think as so many do not listen or read about the news. I like to read
books but not on a Kindle or on the computer I want, must actually hold a
book, I love the feel of the pages in my hands. I collect old books, well old and
fragile anything. A beautiful vase or plate with a chip perhaps found in second
hand shops. I do not need an expensive antique to satisfy my need for "old".
Well, that's the oddity of me, a whimsical, unique and a bit offbeat girl.
the forest quiet
the sound of soft snow falling-
I stop listening
_____________________
February 7, 2018
Poetry/Haibun/'This Quirky Girl'
Copyright Protected, ID 9985-61-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Your Favorite Poem Written In February
Sponsor, Laura Loo
Third Place
Planting seeds of life - growing self awareness...
(Subtitled: kudos beloved Amelie Beth)
Dilly gents gal lore spellbinding
metaphorically exhuming, ferreting, gleaning...
insightful handy dandy blues clues
unearthing treasure trove motherlode,
(and father lode) eye opening discover re:
visa vis our family of origin ancestry.
Painstaking efforts undertaken
courtesy thee i.e. eldest sister
(age difference between her and yours truly
thirteen months and twelve days)
ye (figuratively) dug deep
within plethora of genealogical database
mine insight piqued
following genetic revelations.
Raw bits (nuggets - comstock
rivalling wealth of Croesus
sowed countless generations ago)
enlightened this protoplasmic broth heir,
(a biological composite dada
elicited factoids ginning
humongous, illustrious, judicious...
awareness, that allows, enables provides...
knowledge linking me deoxynucleic acid
with forebears, whose good n plenti
inherited characteristics, desires
(under the elms), mannerisms,
predilections, quirks, urges,
yearnings, et cetera contra dance,
flickr, golong, kindle, shutterfly...
within mine contemplative,
intuitive, reflective...soul asylum
explaining, informing, liberating...
natural inquisitiveness percolating within,
not necessarily to excuse
deleterious, egregious, infamous...
(hyperbole for poetic impact)
behavior (mine), nonetheless
delighting, educating, fascinating...
assimilating, bridging, semen ting
heritage invariably jumpstarting
dormant desire to acquire
increased comprehension whereby,
I experience surge to learn
greater familiarity affecting
heightened awareness, where
countless questions once incubated
regarding spiritual communion,
where lovely bones of mein kampf
feel linkedin with spirits
of thee dead ancestors.
Hence awesome accomplishment
piecing together (with assistance from relatives)
once puzzling enigma shrouding
past lives (not sainted)
comprising Harris family of origin.
down into the valley of doubt, my demons haunt
hauling in all mannerisms with glaring despair
My nights just day without light
in the glee, hopes and dreams
In my human spirit is the mystery of life
with a racing mind; this cruel world
where hard work never pay
with frustrations; a daily dose
Then I sit up into the empty night
checking my clock it's three AM
twisting and turning to ponder over my well known frustrations
my youthful dreams shadow all the contributory
sparking memories of a once promising future
flourishing businesses at 22
a happy family at 23
a car at 24
a happy serving christian in the sanctuary
a generational inspiration;
touching lives as I am touched.
all swept under
To misery-filled life where
The thought of hope is bare
struggles and despair
sparking this thought of dare
quiting this so called school of life
My house blew clear to Texas the cowboy said.
His spittle hit a saddle, and my face turned red.
He was crude for sure, but his stories were great.
I waited to hear more, and it was worth the wait.
He had stories about tornadoes and rattlesnakes too.
Shared some horrific details about hangings before he was through.
Why do you listen to that old coot? My mama said.
She does not know the beauty of an old crazy man’s head.
He can entertain the best of us with stories of far away.
Much farther than most of us will ever travel if Ma has her say.
“Past Abilene that old house began to fall apart, he said with a grin.
I love his stories, his mannerisms, his invented words, and his fantastical vim.
Somewhere out there in the world
There was a girl, No! strike that—a woman.
He saw as a girl, but knew as a woman.
And loved her only like a man, only a real man can.
A full grown man. Past his trials and tribulations that plague an adolescent youth, posturing while attempting to prove his valor, worth and to much a female’s ambivalent chagrin, his dominance. In his tiny kingdom. Which was really the vast universe of all that crazy phenomenon human beings gave the quirky abstract thing a name. They called it love.
That’s been written about by bards and authors alike. Between a male and a female, the dark to your light. Hey, who is dark anyway? It must be Eve.
Anyhow. Somewhere in the world this forthright, upstanding citizen of a girl, this woman had such an “understanding that she’d see him [in his entirety] like a poem or a story. And "find his words so valuable after all that when he confessed his apprehensions she would explain why they were in fact the very things that made him precious to her.” The Gestalt view of the man. She knew him entirely. Read him like a book. She knew the plot the exposition, the conflict the Rising Action (wink wink) the dénouement and the resolution. As the French would say, n'est-ce pas.
No, like a poem. A poem she wishes she could write. She knew where the best pages of him were. Existing in dog-eared pages with phrases that described earmarked features. Monumental features that tore her heart asunder. Features that filled her up. As god as her witness shed never be hungry again. To lie awake and think of his soul, seeping out of his mouth with words reverberating her own. Oscillating tiny bones, giving semiotics new meaning with each locution.
Don’t over analyze the symbolism here reader. She’d lie awake and ruminate his gestures, his mannerisms. His smile. And the way his face would look in different light. And how when he laughed the crinkles that formed around those intelligent eyes after he eloquently would mouth some truism. And she knew this face appeared throughout history. And she knew a writer of ballads wrote “don’t shove me while I’m drowning… were all just hunting for love” and she read once an author noted: “almost all the people on the boardwalk were paired off into couples.” The end.
Sometimes in your life there's a love, that comes along.
This particular love you long for you don't need to wish for because it's written its ment to be and it will happen and you know it's going to be wonderful, its part of you it's what makes you whole.
In my case it is truelly my sister.
The minute she was born she was mine forever. I looked at her and knew. The connection between us so powerful and wonderful there are just no words to describe.
And as she's grown into this amazing women she's got every attribute I could have dreamed for her.
She is beautiful down to her core, she's intelligent in a text book way and wise before her time,
Yet she's extremely witty and funny and can bring me to tears and the amount of belly laughs she has made me have has caused me pain and to wet my self copious amounts of times.
She is full of heart, so loving, empathetic and caring beyond words, organised and practical, but carefree and messy when she's having fun.
She is black and white but open for reason and alternative ways.
She is not judgmental, but if needed will pull you in line out of concern and love. She is spiritual and harmonious. She is ambitious and successful and thirsty for knowledge and new things.
She is generous and will help you in anyway she can and is old School in her mannerisms and has utmost respect for the elderly and needy.
She's a family girl and will do anything for all and they know she has got there back. She's a mother an outstanding, mother blessed with a pigeon two that she totally deserves and has completed her world.
My sister to you I say Thankyou. Thankyou for giving me the privilege of having you as mine. As my parents masterpiece and my lifelong gift the most precious gift I have ever been given.
My love for you is the sort of love that will never compare to any other and my wish to you is of eternal love, health and happiness and for every wish for you to wish to be granted for too.
I love you my little sister and all I can say is you changed my world the minute you entered into it and life just hasn't been the same.
You are my Earth angel my gift from the heavens above and how lucky am I to have had the opportunity to feel real genuine, heart exploding love.
Thankyou ***
I'm the strangest man you'll ever meet
For I can see into your soul
I'm not here to change your life this hour, this day, this week
I'm not here to make you whole
I'm just a man with a gift unique
I see through your life facade that taken years of time to grow
It's not the other face you show to the world
It's the one behind you never show
I see your journey in your eyes
Your smile of faded shine like melting snow
I don't even know your name
But your mannerisms are on show
I know your story without your words
I know where you do and do not want to go
Life's journey bends it's curve in time
Do we ever feel at home?
To seek happiness somehow, somewhere with someone?
I see we've met at the same stop in life's little roam
Two journeys crossed in line, in time instant
I don't know if my sins will let me go
But I do think you'll find your path
I think you'll score your goal.