Long Mayhem Poems
Long Mayhem Poems. Below are the most popular long Mayhem by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mayhem poems by poem length and keyword.
Not enough people will remember this April night.
It is an unforgettable night for me, and its history
is forever stored in the deepest portals of my heart.
57 years have come and gone--a very long time.
43 people were killed across the United States.
In Chicago alone, 11 people were killed.
I lived very close to ground zero.
Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated.
It was the end of the man with a huge dream,
But it was not the end of his daring dream.
Unfortunately, what I witnessed on that day
and night was not a dream but a nightmare.
I had a front roe seat with a clear vìew of mayhem.
In my neighborhood, the power went off, and
the lights went out. And the only light I saw
was the fiery flames that lit up the night.
I was 18, and fear, darkness, and fire became
my initial introduction to adulthood.
Just 7 months prior, chronologically, I had
become a man. Fresh out of high school and
filled with more than enough ambition. I had
Picked my peak and was ready to climb
any mountain that I had to face.
Deep inside of me, there was never any doubt
that I would overcome the fear and dispel the
darknèss. Moreover,, a fresh fire was rekindled
in my spirit that enabled me to touch many
of the crushed and broken lives in Chicago.
Fisherman's Luck
The rocks brushed by the waves,
caressed and embraced by the ocean,
slowly wearing down the land,
to be carried away in pieces
back to the depths of the beginning.
Marla Mayhem danced.
She pranced across the sand,
like it was open land.
She was a fisherman's wife.
She knew that the day had come,
and her man would return.
He would give her a fish,
and a wish...
Yet, out on the sea that day,
somewhere out beyond the fey...
The old man struggled still.
He could not make it home.
He paddled at will,
yet his boat had taken its fill.
He was floating
just above the level of the line,
that told the time...
it would take to take him...
down to the very bottom of
the dead man's world.
He tried to get home.
but he was alone against the wilds of the wilderness,
a desert, the undrinkable sand... of seawater.
He knew his woman was waiting there,
but he could not care
more about that,
except for the mermaid...
he had trapped.
She lay in the nets just off the bow,
singing her last song, so long,
he would never forget the sound,
all around, as the fish wept in her passing.
A whale watched,
and could watch no longer.
The beast dove beneath the waves.
He came up again entangled with the net, wet...
snagged by the barnacles on his skin.
He pulled them all in.
Then again...
to the deep, he swam
to the end of the rainbow.
To the world beyond this,
and far into the next.
In desperation...
the fisherman took his knife and cut himself loose,
moments before the world would fret...
saving himself and losing all he was worth.
A treasure that no one would believe,
grasped close, and lost by fate.
Marla was still waiting,
standing by,
and she tried hard,
not to cry, but it was too late.
Yesterday Deborah and I joined a large diverse group of people in Asheville, North Carolina
(the line of people stretched as far as we could see)
In a peaceful protest of our president, our government and what we see as their abuses and cruelty.
We raised our voices in unison against the injustices we see…
our goal: to build a better world…one filled with peace and love and harmony.
There were a wide variety of protest signs…
(the entire scene was captured by drones hovering above)
and though I was also there to protest…my banner read ‘Choose Love’.
Because of all the things we have to protest…so many on which to concentrate
for me it all comes down to one…I was there to protest hate..
Protesting those who hate the things they do not and are unwilling to understand.
Protesting what that hate has done…to our people, our government…our land.
But there’s another reason I was standing there…protesting in my own way…
because I knew when I awoke this morning…the sun would rise on Father’s Day.
And as a father I want my children and grandchildren and great grandchildren to know
in the midst of this government’s tyranny and mayhem..
that not only was I there for me…I was protesting there for them.
I want them to know I’m willing to speak out for what I believe in…
against the hate that has permeated this land…
that in order for them to live in a better world…I’m willing to make a stand.
I want them to know as long as there is discrimination, inequality
abuse and oppression…taking away a woman’s choice…
I will stand on a street corner to protest…I will be there to raise my voice..
I want them to know I believe in justice, diversity, equality, inclusion and woke-ness
and I will do whatever it takes to see this vision through….
I want them to know that ‘Choose Love’ is not just a banner I hold up in protest
It’s something that I do.
I may not succeed in my life time…to change people’s feeling and perceptions
to make those who hate finally understand…
but if the next generation of my family takes up the banner…’Choose Love’
I know I’ll be leaving it in good hands.
So future father’s on Father’s day….will be able sit back and smile…because
‘Choose Love’ will no longer be a banner to be held up in protest
it will be something everybody does
Unearthed, their vivid colors bloom as buds unfold
wafting in Mariah's breeze, in hues bright and bold
Beautiful flowers, mere words cannot rhapsodize
Secreted are their roots, from sight of human eyes
Concealed beneath the ground, tangled and gnarled
lies their source of strength, enmeshed and snarled
As blood in a man's veins, roots sustain botanical life
A blow to their vitality if afflicted with human strife
Blossoms would wither and die on each delicate stem
Gardens destroyed in the gruesome state of mayhem
The splendor of a flowering landscape adorns the Earth
but credit the source; the Hand engendering their birth
Let's dance in the moonlight
Your eyes shine bright like starlight
Hopefully, you'll stay by my side for a little while
You're like a diamond in the cave in sexy style
Headlights
They sparkle bright
In the dead of night...
Oh! Oh!
In the dead of night...
Oh! Oh!
Streetlights
They shine bright
Like starlight...
Ooh...ooh...
Like moonlight...
Ooh...ooh...
Headlights
They sparkle bright
In the dead of night...
Oh! Oh!
In the dead of night...
Oh! Oh!
Give us some of our last chances
To impress you with our delightful dances
In a trillion trances...
In a trillion prances...
Dancing in circles forever it seems
One day, we will have perfect dreams
Dreams that will come true all the way
So we can dance and sing the night away
Merry voices sing aloud
In the happy-go-lucky crowd
Let me enchant you with our prances
And impress you greatly with our dances
Enhance us with several crazy cirumstances
Headlights
They sparkle bright
In the dead of night...
Oh! Oh!
In the dead of night...
Oh! Oh!
Streetlights
They shine bright
Like starlight...
Ooh...ooh...
Like moonlight...
Ooh...ooh...
Headlights
They sparkle bright
In the dead of night...
Oh! Oh!
In the dead of night...
Oh! Oh!
Let's watch time fly with wings so bright
Your ears will hear sounds from afar tonight
Maybe someday, you'll take your leave in peace abundantly
You're like a dandelion in the precious prairie, my fairly lovely fairy
Headlights
They sparkle bright
In the dead of night...
Oh! Oh!
In the dead of night...
Oh! Oh!
Streetlights
They shine bright
Like starlight...
Ooh...ooh...
Like moonlight...
Ooh...ooh...
Headlights
They sparkle bright
In the dead of night...
Oh! Oh!
In the dead of night...
Oh! Oh!
Let's see the future unwind right now
Your sweet spirit soars serenely and takes its final bow
Remember to forgive the mistakes and misgivings of the past
MIsfortune and mayhem will be gone...YAS! At last
Headlights...
They glimmer anew
Out of the blue...
Ah! Ah!
Out of the blue...
Hmmm...oooooh...
Groove Culture
yo, to the mixes that keep on flowing, jazzy house, the real deal, a natural movement, let that rhythm heal/
Groove Culture, WHOOO YEAAA, blast it out, let the world hear you shout/
with huge speakers thumping In the trunk of your ride/ feel the heartbeat let the bassline guide you with some of the sickest slickest beats in your drive/
James Brown’s got his sex machine workin’/
the dude had style and was a true pioneer/ JB funkified the soul of the nation/ and lit up drive-in back set love-making/
Nasty girls moving, Booty up, baby, living the dream/
hip Hoppers, standin’ tall, much respect to DMX, Black Rob, Shock G, and Biz Markie, legends for all time, their echoes live on, eternally/
people gonna be jamming to their cuts a hundred years from now/
man, rap, hip hop, music that transcends time/
rap and basketball from the 90s/what a slam jam/
so let’s celebrate the sound in the round/ the rhythm that unites, never uptight/
In the heart of the groove, where we love to do the Humpty Hump Dance/
Massive respect, and many blessings, keep it real people/
In this culture of mayhem, threats, and political gain/
keep the truth alive with no pain…
I was at work in Chicago when shots were fired in Memphis. I had no idea that shortly thereafter, cities would also be on fire.
It was close to quitting time when my boss said to me, "He's dead!". I do not remember my reply, but no doubt confusion filled my head.
So I boarded a city bus for home from 'The Loop' to the Westside. But before I made it home, the flames had already lit up the night sky.
I have had many a peaceful dream as well as some horrific nightmares. This was clearly not a dream but a living front-roe-seat nightmare.
From the streetcar, I could see mayhem and a city out of control. Aghast, bewildered, filled with disbelief, eye to eye with hopelessness.
There had been progress, but the wilderness wandering would continue.
A young man of 18, I was both sad for Dr. King and shocked for America.
Massive violence had erupted upon the violent death of a non-violent man. Irony defied imagination as logic, reason, and sanity bowed to emotion and passion.
Presently, as I write this on the west coast, it's 5:30 PM in Chicago, just about the time that I received the news 50 years ago. 50 years ago today, the voice of 'The Dreamer' was silenced, giving way to the alarming siren sounds of fire trucks and police cars.
04042018cjPSFB
There sat in opulent xanadu, the
demagogue of empirical hedonism,
his granary once fuelled regal reign of epicureanism:
gregarious, restive, much-awaited successor of imperial dominion,
neurotic, obstinate, was the cynosure of cynicism.
The eldest child of Duke and Dutchess of York, erstwhile Prince of Wales,
the proclaimed young heir, stood far from the course of sceptical euphemism;
The heir apparent had a historical encounter with Wallis Warfield Simpson by fatalism,
by wooing Wallis, the royal blood encountered, clangorous cynical criticism.
The resultant mayhem broke, the blue- blood became the bottleneck of idealism;
sagacious, was brooding strategies to be the prototype of unprecedented heroism.
The proclaimed marriage faced vehement oppositions:
encompassing : religious, political, legal and moral objections.
The outright denial to accept Wallis as the king's consort, broke the anticipated rebellion,
Edward's refusal to give her up, led to his final abdication.
When was quite apparent, he could not marry his beloved Simpson,
finally settled to rebuke the throne from etched imperialism as emancipation.
The man of the hour was then entitled "the Duke of Windsor", a transformation stunned the world and wrote an unprecedented statement in chronicle after abdication.
Edward VIII, once epitome of monarchism, became an ideal icon of asceticism.
A sybarite, turned commoner by deserting the successive chair of the british kingdom to wed his ladylove;
a tale of unprecedented impeccable loyalism.
The abdicator's epitaph on Royal Burial Ground, Frogmore,
is still bearing in indelible transcription,
the testimony of an uncustomary love saga of renunciation.
An epoch making transformation, decades have ever witnessed from iconic monarchism to transcendental loyalism:
through unprecedented renouncement
of the bequeathed throne
to array chronicle's unrivalled iconoclasm.
All Rights Reserved © SILPIKA KALITA
How many are realities? Is a question,
How many one actually wants? Is option?
Monism, like single-focus telescope, stands firm,
While dualism, like binoculars, less confirm...!
I who see the flower observe the bee as well,
That, like unidentified guest, within it dwell;
I focus on flower, yet, bee I don't ignore,
Bee and bloom are harmonious; in union soar...!
Absolute is one; from that utmost have all come,
Flies, bees, birds, animals, reptiles - those speak or dumb;
Existing in any habitat they do preach,
Of the truth, to which, these all ultimately reach...!
Multiplicity must give way to simplicity,
Souls-convergence should erase all complexity;
My body and soul are in me; I am in them;
If one has no life in it, won't thing turn mayhem...?
Universe is a gadget that gladly partakes,
The great principle of Brahma, who makes and breaks;
To diminish every divisibility,
And bring in indissoluble pure unity...!
Advaita - body-mind one - beings become whole,
Parmatma in atma dwells as a cosmic soul;
Can one remove blood from flesh or heat from fire?
Each in each one; all in all; Agape grows higher...!
10 August 2022
Non-dual awareness Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Time present will be time yesterday
Time present will lead to time tomorrow
While standing on the one-time-only bridge
Can we afford to look the other way
No way
Now that time is in the pink hug
Melting red heat in my fountain
How come you raise past and future
In spite of the heavenly bliss we reap
No way
The tree last Tuesday was uprooted
Two explosions at Brussels Airport
Now is the time for relief and restoration
No blaming and counter blaming now
No way
The farmer sows seed in the spring sun
Seeds of sweet hope seeds of blue frames
Come what may rain or mayhem
Can he leave his golden present
No way
Yesterday is to commemorate
Tomorrow is to be shaped out
Out of what we dream and do today
We must not delay to pave the way
No way
Any love that I can pour on you
Any poem I can write with dew
Any metaphor I can coin anew
I shall not defer for the mystery of tomorrow
No way
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March26, 2016