Long Matters Poems
Long Matters Poems. Below are the most popular long Matters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Matters poems by poem length and keyword.
Each thought train immerses us in deep trance,
emerging from which we then awaken
in staid silence, making erect our stance,
that in dreams, light of Self was forsaken.
Between crown and Bindu, a chakra stirs,
throbbing with bliss, whence we know all is well,
that in joy as our tremulous heart purrs,
we are there and then free from ego’s spell.
Kundalini as always has Her way,
as sublime magic mind cannot translate,
which matters not, since life’s a divine play,
where during each pause, nodes within gyrate.
Bliss nectar pierces each body vector,
wherein we’re but a humble receptor.
Within my own axis,
It did not slant
It did not drizzle.
The void shunned the grey clouds.
Lightning was rare.
Thunder turned mute.
Leaf-tops shook with the sleepiness of
Shameless drunks, casting ghoulish shades,
Causing affrays among wild species.
Rivulets rippled in hunger and in thirst,
Circling firths with methodical anger and protests.
The grass blades lost their verdancy and cringed.
Within this place,
The air was proud and still, unfeeling —
Thus blocking the nostrils of weaverbirds, so that
Their breath choked with the intensity of seasonal hate.
Our soils were burnt and frazzled.
Hoe-teeth were dull-edged, producing clangs of
Stony noise while only reflecting the rays of the
Killing sun.
Woe was upon us and upon the anus of the earth.
The corrugated roofs rattled loudly at noon,
Protesting the agony of torture, and like the air,
Sent down particles of aging thirst at night.
On the grounds of this zone
Came the trace of waste and powdered perdition.
Vultures constantly were late for repasts,
For the sandy ground was greedier.
Earth, pall of misery, exhumed Death
Among the dead, and exuded worms in the
Warmth of lost sempervirence.
Apoplexy on living matters reigned.
Consider the lives of old calabashes
Laid waste in the core of the desert;
The exhumed bones interred in prelapsarian order.
Imagine the still existence of the blacksmith’s forge,
The ground of the phoenix in her laboratory of rebirth —the
End product of its old life . . .
That was for us the twelfthmonth of horror.
I'm an African boy, full of dreams and hopes,
The place I'm from, I hardly recall it home.
My spirit and mind are torn, every way to succeed feels gone,
I'm studying harder, desperately trying to keep up my grades.
"They are something that matters,"
"Education is the only way to succeed," our headmaster would say.
And from then, I'm not free anymore.
I can't use my talents, I can't think of anything else, other than books.
I wonder if I will finish college,
And find a good job, doctor—my lifetime dream,
Or will college finish me,
Tear me apart, and leave me to shame?
I dream of a nice life,
A warm home, beautiful kids, a beautiful wife,
Beautiful cars, a beautiful home,
United in Christ, and echoes of happiness all over.
But sometimes I wonder,
"Am I dreaming? Am I okay?"
'Cause I'm scared, I'm scared to fail this life,
I'm scared to fail, I'm terrified to miss the opportunity.
I look to my parents, they age so fast.
"What can I do?" I'd ask myself.
"Do something, Frank," I'd tell myself,
But I can't steal, I can't give them the good life they deserve.
Why do I feel like I won't make it in time?
What if I make it too late?
What if I'm so obsessed with the future
That I forget to live the present?
What if I'm right? What if I should start working part-time?
What if I shouldn't be happy for anything,
Carving all my efforts, to make sure,
They breed the success I'm visualizing?
I would look at couples,
Walking alongside the roads,
Sitting at fancy restaurants,
Smiling at this life, while I'm burdened with stress,
Wondering if this life is the best I can live.
But I trust in the Lord,
Jesus Christ, my maker,
My destiny writer.
I believe I'm special, smart, and it's okay
To be the way I am.
So,
I will keep the smile,
As a surplus, a replacement
For any day, I shall fall sick of agony
Or sadness, due to obsession with this life.
What's life anyway,
If I can't feel,
I can't enjoy every moment?
This is the reason I chose poetry,
Because I'm alive in my fantasy world.
The sparkly dress that spins so wide,
The secret garden where I hide.
My favorite doll with braided hair,
And chasing bubbles through the air.
What matters is my puppy's kiss,
A world of magic, play, and bliss.
And when the night begins to fall,
That Mommy holds me close and small.
The highest grade upon the test,
The heavy sigh inside my chest.
I wish that I could just fit in,
Instead of hiding in my skin.
What matters is the words he'll say-
The boy who turns his eyes away.
He knows I like him, yet he's still,
And silence hangs just like a chill.
The diamond ring, the wedding gown,
The roots we're sinking in this town.
The struggle of a busy life,
A daughter, woman, boss, and wife.
What matters now is making ground,
To keep the spinning wheels around.
To hold his hand when times are tight,
And know we'll make it through the night.
The silver strands among my hair,
The wisdom that I grew to wear.
The motherhood that leaves the nest,
The quiet place within my chest
What matters is the health we keep,
The simple joy of solid sleep.
To look at him across the space,
And see the years upon his face.
The morning sun upon the floor,
I do not chase the world anymore.
My wedding album on my knee,
A lifetime drifting back on me.
What matters isn't what I bought,
Or all the battles that I fought.
It's knowing that I loved it all--
The girl who learned to stand so tall.
Complex harmony
What matters is that some souls are loyal to the mind,
not falling into years and holding youth by image saint.
Echoes of wisdom by candle’s bright,
orchestrated shades between the gentle light.
Freedom of the noted speech in poetic rhyme,
knowing the love source as delicate humane.
Bearing off the longing searching riddle,
chosen sacred bride as ever constant middle.
Taken old crabbed mysteries into new perspective,
cutting strains beyond life’s connective.
Holding passion as strength of thought,
the bounty of blossom from light of night besought.
The firmament of changing peace and its multiple rights,
captured reflections through many lives lights.
Perplexed synchronicities in stories told,
the old in the new forever bold.
Torches of bewilderment raised by politics,
hushes for the exited lunatics.
Not seeing the picture of the text,
and inquiring the if possible next.
The solitary truth as implacable straight line realm,
the wandering horizon of the architected dream.
A livelong hour in a little story painted,
when the moon swam in full by compassion sainted.
The anxiety of that passionate youth,
as miracle of knowledge introduced.
Grow slowly exquisite spring blossoming dear,
the songs of the fairy bird so gently near.
Hearts of weary and wonder like the sea,
cleansing waters by love’s inheritance to be free.
26 July 2018 8:11 Pm
Facebook is good to keep up with the days ins and outs
But face to face interaction is what life is really about
Do not let facebook and other computer programs
Take the place of real life with family and friends
Let no excuse keep you apart
Cement the bonds in person heart to heart
Lend a hand not just an ear
Lend your shoulder to catch each others tears
Reach out and take each others hand
And walk together across this land
Remember when you had visits from aunts and uncles
When you played with cousins catching bugs and jumping puddles
You bonded with real memories precious and dear
You relive them through phone lines from mouth to ear
Would you not rather hug them close
And show them you love them in the way that matters most
Go see each other have lunch and pick nicks
Make memories that last and forever stick
You will see your love grow ten fold
And you will train the young who will to soon grow old
Peter (my bf) and I are keeping it modest, practicing the art of the small things. Among our repertoire of pleasures are simple conversations, after long, exhaustive school days, in non-technical language.
Shall we wax poetic-ish?
Ever, my heart had blazed as if branded by fire.
Then love finally arrived to sweetly quench that unseen, smoldering blaze..
Fate, for a while, like scissors, came between us.
But having thus far proceeded, I did sorely miss the confections of closeness.
So, I shamelessly plotted to conjure sordid-reunions.
You may damn the force of my weaknesses and think me devilish,
but I am, after all, a living, female thing.
Do I relive that awful trauma? No, living in the past is like reheating nachos.
No one wants that.
Or do we? We take so many pictures, now-a-days.
Are we sore afraid of losing our yesterdays?
.
.
Songs for this:
matters of the heart by lovlaine
Oh Honey! (I Love You) by Peach Tree Rascals
Backyard Boy by Claire Rosinkranz
though long loftier are visited much
like space empty needed seeing some stars
your wisdom scales twice thrice at least as such
brings peace ends bloody loud proud wicked wars
less more deeply thought seals the sentence fought
upfront counting costs gains what matters most
asides any passions which wrath has wrought
humbly speaking what all others would boast
exceptions abound all you only one
heart once longing can no longer endure
when love finds disappears passion's deep fun
or holding true forever fixed and sure
falls victim arbitrary disease death
builds wall thick long tall none can ever climb
memory pain lingers each ev'ry breath
capacity drops words cease out of time
quiets all long-winded pseudo gravity
calms hears soothes sighs sees always brevity
Dark life matters
Woke up in the night it was very dark
put a hand out couldn´t see it.
I wonder how it is to be blind?
In this flat, if no one rearranges the furniture
it would be easy, find the kitchen too.
Opening the fridge is a breeze, it is of no interest
if its light comes on or not.
Remember to clean your hands!
On nights like this, I should be contemplating my death
but my vanity gets in the way.
Should I smile or look grim, and would they remember
to put tanning cream on my face?
I friend of mine who works at the local supermarket is black and carries his skin with pride,
is always glad to see me.
How can you drive at your age, he asks?
Easy, I feel my way.
He finds this hysterically funny.
If I stopped at a handicapped place and a police officer
asked me why I parked there.
I park here because I`m handicapped.
You don´t look handicap, he will say.
I will take off my sunglasses and say, officer, I´m blind.
It was one of the red-eye flights I got,
Everything went dark as we started to depart.
He seemed pleasant in his appearance,
I exhibited my great scholarly brilliance.
In matters of poetry, science, finance…
I found him maintaining innocent silence.
I switched on my subject to travel by flight,
Ticket prices, I said, are touching the height.
I swore at the system and the owners,
That often they behaved as though loaners.
The comforts they give is sheer meager,
And in mere business they are eager.
Take any owner, I said, for instance,
Rich, richer and richest is their existence…
The business they perform just one percent,
The profit they earn as though cent percent.
Well, the system has fully gone to dogs,
Will it possible for dogs to become gods?
Thus I poured out my entire grievance,
As though with him I had great vengeance…
He seemed not to criticize my comment,
Nor did he ever my statements amend.
As the trip was almost coming to an end
And the crew started the announcement
I introduced myself very elaborately
And seemed response from him generously…
I saw him taking a card from his pocket
That resembled an artistic locket
I read the details and fell silent
As though all my vanities came to an end…
Alas! He’s the proprietor of many a such flight
Which I was criticizing with all my might…
I woke up ashamed, shocked from my deep sleep,
To find none nearby but the lights loudly beep…
My neighbor on the flight was my red-eye dream,
The Questioner and the question were me, the same.
19 June 2021
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