Long Mentally Poems
Long Mentally Poems. Below are the most popular long Mentally by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mentally poems by poem length and keyword.
The chaotic storms of mountain. Made winds and valley breezes.
Awakens the soul and wisdom's fountain
So as the words are written the pain seizes.
Eyes grey as the ice of men's heart
Words uttered seem crazy like the island shutter
Soul as deep as the tomb of the arch
Psychotic metaphor in sync with thunder.
Unlike the followed thinkers of past
Who Were intrusted to build the future
Now poets free thinkers those who could save us at last
Are discredited Because the masses are mentally neutered
Ignorance individually applied
And then through treachery
Introduced thru the subconscious mind
To teach a complaicent society into self induced trickery
I’m so grateful to God you’re in my possession
My heaven’s precious gift, so beautiful--unique in comparison
I enjoy your hugeness and tenderness like any kinds of foam
Others and I can feel your comforts…coziness to lean on
Your space is so wide to accommodate with empathy
Where anger and sentiments never stay permanently
A mystifying powerful love had taken your largest territory
Burning inside of you to melt any poison injected mentally
Soft and tender you are, yet hardened by faith and courage
Urging me to move forward with virtues to face life’s challenges
My mind’s spring of wise decision, endurance and kind consideration
Your lights are oceans of rays to my wisdom-filled comprehension
Oh, dear heart, you’re the loveliest rhythm of my soul
Every beat you take is my life that God had breathed in me, installed
I’ll feed you with goodness, healthy thoughts and God’s words
For strengths at times of hurt, resilience from stabs of knife or swords
Bringing you along in my missions, may God projects in your splendor
I’ll cherish you dear heart and keep your Love in a shining ardor
Thank you for your warm hospitality and sweet accommodations
Beyond my control to live with my brothers and sisters in unison
Jan. 30, 2023 11.15pm
Not entered in Dear Heart Contest. Too late but it's fine.
Fraught With IBS Irritable Bowel Syndrome...
Rear lee if ever suffices as an apt poetic title
amidst bookish canon - while
this writer (similar to other aspirants
in their respective creative pursuits)
aware arbitrary perusers may deem vile
core body of voluntary selective readers
mentally affix probationary trial
before unequivocally gravitating
toward my genre or signature style,
which unique modality
of expression eventually
accruing some degree of popularity
affecting unseen frown or smile
nonetheless, accepting, enjoying,
and tolerating how I playfully rile
aware that anonymous reader's
patience can wear thin relegating mine
worded persona on par with a reptile
unknowingly breaking fragile bond,
hence she/he might not reconcile
without awareness a valuable kinship,
dismiss me as puerile,
thus forsaking tenuous link, one
that may never bare tangible fruition,
yet all along self scrutiny occurs to refine
thy cerebral thought provoking profile
also intimating months gone by bias
arises toward my
figurative handily prehensile
expansive vocabulary, could
(and/or does) rank as a pile
of unpleasant gluteus maximus
sphincter muscle missile
imposing effort to tone down exuberant,
flamboyant, and gallant mercantile
flashing blindingly exasperatingly,
and inflamingly nauseating vocabulary,
not deliberately juvenile
but this luxe lavish embellishment
a labor of (lost) love with English
Language (inherent since...
in utero), thus...infantile
asper taking shape without conscious
deliberation, though imbecile
appellation possibly affixed
as lasting impression,
perhaps even engendering hostile,
whereat no effort to exhort
unconditional acceptance of me guile
will transpire, cuz this chap
recognizes how tenuously fragile,
the online choice to remain a steadfast
virtual friendship quintessentially fissile
oft times casting the notion how facile
mine arrangement springs from one
core textured intellectual domicile
that houses persona of one docile
amphibious descendent, whose forebear,
yes twas a crocodile!
Not All Created Are Equal
By Franklin Price
1/9/2015
Not all created are equal
I'm really so sorry to say
The differences are quite distinctive
They're as clear as the night is to day
Some are born to live in a mansion
Some from a ghetto will be
All others are in between somewhere
Where we end up we're going to see
All will have heads on their shoulders
And varieties of brains there within
The ability to use them so varied
It's hard to tell where to begin
The color of skin placed in order
From the darkest to lightest to be
With the world standing shoulder to shoulder
The division we never will see
The physically strong can take over
While the mentally strong will control
Then throw in the man with the money
And you better watch out for your soul
The puzzles of life have their pieces
In one or more we have a fit
Some stay in their ones of creation
While others branch out just a bit
If God has bestowed upon you
The intelligence to think on your own
Then create the best puzzle for your life
Don't blame others and don't moan and groan
Gently close your eyes
And pay attention.
Wallow in the state of calmness
And mentally snip off
All tethers of here and now.
Escape to a blissful,
Uncharted no man's land.
Just listen attentively.
Hear that?
Ah, the sound of rain...
What could be more soothing?
Thousands of drums,
Simultaneously beating;
Rain rattling the roof
To make your joyous spirit dance.
Take time to listen
To the sound of rain pelting the roof.
Relax and empty your mind.
Surrender to glorious serenity.
Explore your imagination
And let it run wild.
What could be more enchanting?
Date written: 10/31/2022
I see, and fear, a trumpian landscape,
usually, and more casually, outside any safe inside sanctuary.
Infrequent glances inside windstorms
and rivers of underground currents
surreptitiously culture shape
mold
transform vertically visual landscapes,
motherlands of ecotherapy above, outside
forests and deserts,
Earth's inside
farms and gardens, windblown
oceans and continents in-between violent storms
and ego-magnetic rabid inside voices
from underground aquifers
reappropriating information originally borrowed
from outside sacred spaces
Now over-invested in big WhiteHouses for patriarchal elites
purchasing trumpian ego-greedy competitions
to conquer physical elective losses
with mentally unhealthy unbalancing wins
against SuperEgo's timeless ultra-violet, climate
Green Gaia/Diana Goddess, client
Holy Matriarchal Spirit, common
EarthSoul's ZeroZone, everyday
whatever within healthy core
LeftBrain label you prefer, bling
because of early childhood market language
and competitive culture, nurturing
neurological and psychological development.
EarthSouls learns more in an outside voices hour
observing our trumpian landscapes within
and without
than would be possible in a humane domesticated lifetime
of ignoring what neither God nor Goddess could love,
Absence of prime WinWin creative relationship
robustly ultra-violet not not light
ecstatically deep resilient color speaking
non-trumpian resonance, positive energy
multiculturally peopled
and polyculturally populated, democracy
within merging bilateral inside-outside health, integrity
in religious liberal loving consciousness
with multicultural soul-conserving unconsciousness
of cognitively dissonant trumpian winds
and cold, wet winter estuaries, hope
terrorizing elite polynomial faith
in irrational left without right
unloved remainders.
When talking to a born again Christian,
I need to think certain things about them,
That they’re at the baseline mentally ill,
For saying that Jesus, who’s dead, is alive.
An opinion is an opinion, it can stand,
But Christianity makes a claim bold, stark,
About an historical man who effected,
Christians say he is god, so lives today.
I believe it to affect your mental health,
‘Cos this has real imprecatory waves,
For those alive today with a condition:
Christians give them faith healing.
This is wrong and can’t be tolerated,
Needs diminished and categorised,
Relegate Christianity to the lower way,
And assert yourself within secularism.
To the Mothers and the Fathers
(for David, Patti and Chandler)
By Franklin Price
To the mothers and the fathers
For the children you have raised
Who went to the Marine Corps
One and all of you be praised
Parents left at home
Were to remain be left behind
Thoughts for the child who left them
To grow in body and in mind
Was a difficult decision
Parents and child had to cope
Would not be physically together
To climb the wall and slide the rope
Mentally and physically
The child had to be in shape
For the stress and strain of drilling
And to stand up to the tape
When the Crucible was over
And the last test had been passed
The Eagle, Globe and Anchor
Would be your child's at last
A child no longer standing
For a grown up now is seen
One who has earned the title
Of United States Marine
Some say I am bewitched
Others believe that I am cursed
Many think I have gone mad
But what they don't know is that I am mentally ill.
I did not choose to be this way
And I did not ask for this
Neither did I wish to be like this
It just came to me just as it might come to you
It makes me see things others don't see
It makes me hear voices others don't hear
At times I become so aggressive that i just want to fight
At times I become so depressed that i just want to be alone.
People have developed fear towards me
While others make fun of it
Some lock me up because they say I am an embarrassment
Only few understand me
My wife I have lost
That even my family have distanced themselves
Because they say I am crazy
They say I have lost my mind...
But what they don't know is that i am mentally ill
And all I ask for is support
With tolerance as my need
To bear with me for I am still a human being.
Desperation is destruction
It position you
In the side of frustration
Moving without destination
Always wanting others approbation
What the society endows
You always confide in
Can't fight for what you want
Always fitting into the box.
Desperation
Is a dysfunction
Instant gratification
Putting you in stagnation
It breaks you
Making you to be station
Instead of been flexible
You become still
Making you mentally ill.
Desperation
Is manipulation
Catapulting you into a place
Filled with commotion
Instead of promotion
Blurring your vision
Blindfolding you from reality
Into delusions and illusion.