Long Mind Poems
Long Mind Poems. Below are the most popular long Mind by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mind poems by poem length and keyword.
It wasn’t that she was the only woman
in the group, that mingled precariously
beneath the bronze figure, or her classic
stance, when placing immaculately the
newsprint covered bottle to lips willingly
breached, but more her opulent style, her
contrast of attire, her hair as yet unspoilt.
Although jewel less except for a wedding
ring in her recently pierce blood stained ear
lobe, (this bearing signs of some street wise ritual?)
she still wore a suave sophistication, eyes
that bred a wanton life, fingers more use to
the gentle stem of the crystal goblet, than
the demure grasp of the shapeless neck of
the common brown. But alas maybe the
corrosion has not as yet penetrated her
foreboding mind, a mind that in time will
be given to surrender, never to realize that
this volatile life will plunge her deeper, into
one shambolic life, whilst still trying to escape
from the previous. But! Who knows what ills she
was force to bear, what tribulations life brought
upon her, maybe her new found acquaintance
comfort her, listen to her sympathetically,
understanding her predicament, also a novelty
this sharing, this caring, respect and reverence
showered upon her, like solicitous petals
falling gracefully upon her shoulders,
removing the burdens of a lifetime.
Her head
began to lift higher and higher with every
mouthful of distant courage, every courteous act.
Then! A look of deep despair, as the bottle was
released from her reluctant deep red lips, a
senseless shake only proved her greatest fear.
Immediately to her aid, came one of her new found
companions, swiftly finishing his own endless gorge,
he commence to wipe the neck of his perpetual habit,
with his mucus soiled cuff less sleeve, before
passing it on to her veracious hand, his eyes eagerly
awaiting its return.
One can imagine when the long day
is over, the sun finally at rest, only the motley bench will be hers, only the best that fleet street can offer, will cover her chilled body, her metabolism soon accelerating, to become one with theirs, a license to enter their dissipation, only then will all options for her diminish, external metamorphosis soon to blend with inner corruption, life’s destruction almost completed!
© Harry J Horsman 1991
Tell me what does it mean to be free?
I find myself not free but locked up in a creation that desires... creation! Freedom is not just to move beyond the walls of confinement. The walls of confinement are not just of mortar, brick, iron or wood. These walls that confine this creation are more than just walls of flesh. These walls are walls of idealism and ignorance. These walls are reinforced not by bone and marrow. But, these walls are reinforced by the unknown. For if it was known then the freedom of this creation would pass beyond the strings of entanglement and would fly to the greatest height and to the lowest depth. This creation would endeavor to dream and create. This creation would move freely from realm to realm and would be a part of the greatness that created it...
The glass of images is just a mere reflection of creation. Images are reflected from the ice of hatred. Images are reflected from the heat of illusions. Images are created from pain, sorrow and defeat, and yet, images are created from victory.
How the heart is smothered in the sorrow of defeat... Yet, the mind soars as if freedom is the energy that propels the heaviest soul. Tell me again, what is freedom? Adventure is the glow that shines from lucid eyes not hindered by life taught.
Life taught? Walls are made from experience, from damage, from the hurt of another creation. A child. A new life. A beginning fresh and untouched by creation. Adventure seen through the eyes of a child... freedom from entanglement, freedom from illusion and images.
The prison begins it's walls of confinement as each day becomes weeks and months. The walls become stronger and impenetrable as the years go by and turn quietly into decades. Hardening of the mortar brings a numbness that reaches beyond the tenderness of kindness. This hardening grows colder as the eyes no longer are lucid. There is no fear in this state of prison... Nothing can tear down these walls of confinement. Nothing!
Yet a sparkle of remembrance goes unnoticed as a new life begins and thoughts of freedom start a crack in the walls of a hardened fortress. As a bubbling brook in spring cracks the ice of a cold winter, a heart begins once again to search for the freedom that will bring to life the adventure that no image of defeat or sorrow could ever again mire the soul...
Tell me... what is freedom?
Pernell Rodocker 8/19/13
If your crazy for loving over and over you see,
then crazy, yes crazy I must be,
I get my heart broken time after time,
my heart comes back to it's own rhythm and rhyme.
The year's have caught up to me now,
to love again I just wouldn't know how.
So I have given my all unto God, to learn how to love,
He sent the answer from Heaven, on the wings of a dove.
Whole heartily, with all your heart, mind, soul, and spirit,
love loud enough for all to hear it.
For all thing's has 2 different side's,
the good one we try to show, while the dark side tries to hide.
So if we don't give our hearts to love and be loved you see,
we wouldn't understand the depths of the person we should be.
Lesson's that are the hardest, sometimes holds the most beautiful thing's,
It makes the heart merry and the lip's to sing.
Love loud and hard, while you can, but with true love I do say,
as you want to be loved and treated, to them be the same way.
If they defile the love that you give with all your heart,
you will stand strong knowing you did your part.
To be the one that defiles true love, I would not want to be,
for they fill their own hearts up with heartaches and misery.
If your crazy for loving over and over you see,
then crazy, yes crazy I must be,
I get my heart broken time after time,
my heart comes back to it's own rhythm and rhyme.
The year's have caught up to me now,
to love again I just wouldn't know how.
So I have given my all unto God, to learn how to love,
He sent the answer from Heaven, on the wings of a dove.
Whole heartily, with all your heart, mind, soul, and spirit,
love loud enough for all to hear it.
For all thing's has 2 different side's,
the good one we try to show, while the dark side tries to hide.
So if we don't give our hearts to love and be loved you see,
we wouldn't understand the depths of the person we should be.
Lesson's that are the hardest, sometimes holds the most beautiful thing's,
It makes the heart merry and the lip's to sing.
Love loud and hard, while you can, but with true love I do say,
as you want to be loved and treated, to them be the same way.
If they defile the love that you give with all your heart,
you will stand strong knowing you did your part.
To be the one that defiles true love, I would not want to be,
for they fill their own hearts up with heartaches and misery....
Our Love
Our love, like hydrogen's bond,
Is the simplest, yet profound.
Like helium's lightness, we float,
In each other's arms, we bloat.
Lithium's fire ignites within,
A spark that's always been.
Beryllium's strength is our foundation,
A love built with determination.
Carbon's essence fuels our fire,
As we create our own empire.
Nitrogen's breath is in our lungs,
A love that never fails or slums.
Oxygen's embrace is like a kiss,
That fills our hearts with pure bliss.
Fluorine's passion is in our eyes,
A love that never tells lies.
Neon's light shines in our soul,
As we journey towards our goal.
Sodium's presence is always felt,
In the love we both have dealt.
Magnesium's spark has made us whole,
A love that's pure and full of soul.
Aluminum's bond is unbreakable,
A love that's true and unshakable.
Silicon's strength is in our mind,
As we journey and unwind.
Phosphorus's light guides our way,
Through the highs and lows of each day.
Sulfur's heat fuels our desire,
A love that's deep and won't expire.
Chlorine's essence is in our scent,
A love that's pure and innocent.
Argon's stability is in our heart,
A love that's never been apart.
Potassium's spark ignites our soul,
As we become each other's goal.
Calcium's bond is our foundation,
A love that's strong and never shaken.
Scandium's essence is in our will,
To love each other until.
Titanium's strength is in our being,
As we embrace and keep believing.
Vanadium's spark ignites our fire,
A love that's true and never a liar.
Chromium's bond is our connection,
A love that's deep and full of affection.
Iron's strength is in our love,
As we soar like an eagle above.
Nickel's essence is in our trust,
A love that's pure and never rusts.
Copper's spark ignites our passion,
A love that's strong and full of compassion.
Zinc's bond is our commitment,
A love that's true and never indifferent.
Silver's essence is in our purity,
A love that's deep and full of security.
Tin's spark ignites our flame,
A love that's pure and never lame.
Gold's bond is our unity,
A love that's strong and never petty.
Lead's essence is in our loyalty,
A love that's true and never disloyal.
Platinum's spark ignites our soul,
As we become each other's goal.
*_@Otieno Elvis Gikoi_*
*_30LettersToMyGirlfriend_*
*_THE ELO’S POETRY_*
*_ArtFromHeart_*
You're nothing
You're a disgrace
You've been dishonored
You've been unmasked
For the villain
That you are.
You know not
What true love is
You know not
The meaning of family.
All you know is yourself
Self-centered and egotistic
Who deserves the spotlight
Shine upon him
Thinking the world
Revolves just for you.
I hate to burst your bubble
Of your twisted perfect reality
But the world revolves around nobody
Not even for a scumbag like you.
The spotlight shines upon all
It doesn't play favorites
Your not the star of the show
Your just a stage hand playing pretrend.
You talk amongst your blood
But don't praise your offspring
You dont' spare time
To fix what is broken
You let it all go to ruin.
Your heinous crimes
Can never be forgiven
The lies you spout
Tried to warp my mind
But no more lies
I'm through with you.
You put yourself before others
You think highly of yourself
You care not for emotions
Not know what they are
Your like a robot
Without an empathy chip.
You've hurt many people
Your road is crumbling
Burning bridges behind you
Poisoning the family tree
With your sickening presence.
No more, I say!
I take the axe of change
Chopping the rot
Right off the tree
Drench it with fresh rain
To bring it back to life.
You're a waste of space
You're a disgrace to the family
You're a disappointment
You're a lazy bum
You have no respect
You have no morals.
I shout from the depths of my soul
I shout for the world to know
The courageous roar of a dragon
Planting her feet deep in the dirt
To announce her right to say
"YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME!"
Be gone, foul demon!
Return to hell from which you came
Away you go from my sight
I wish to never see your face again!
You're a burden
You're a parasite
You're a moocher
You're a sloth
You're a liar!
Ye who dare to bring our family shame
Try to bring ruin to our name
I cast you out of my life!
Your no longer my father
The father I knew
Died a long time ago!
Replaced by a lout
Replaced by a bum
Replaced by an imposter
Replaced by a Jackass!
You mean nothing to me!
You're an embarassment
You're not my father
I've lost all respect for you!
Away with you now
Get the hell out of here
I don't wish to see you
I don't want you in my life
You mean nothing to me
YOU ARE NOTHING!
Written: June 07, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
********************
The Phantom Choir
In the quiescence of last Sunday,
Prophecy heralded the hour past two,
I heard a whisper at hibiscus dawn—
a seamless voice I swore I always knew.
In blissful flutter—it said night was wide,
Chrysalis sorrow stirs a bed for fools,
that in the hush, when hearts collide,
The lost willows are left to wade in pools.
Facing the kernel until the street thinned,
And my shadow’s sepals bled away,
Rusted voice strings within me spoke again—
It's hymn frills poised for slow decay.
The Hollow Pact
Will I wake to descry my cracked mind,
emptied of all its sharpened teeth?
Will murky echoes break their binds,
Or gnaw beneath the sheath?
The alchemy battle sparks, but I am dust—
wispy strands, a soldier tied in flimsy chains.
Each idea erodes the periwinkle ones I trust,
while the weight of stress remains.
You graze me with a maze—why do I stand so still?
Resurrection of the soul—so why shake your hands?
But dread can have its way to fulfill—
The transcendence of love is lost in vicious demands.
The Third Mourning
Wise chakras buried beneath the walls I built,
the zen voice still scrawls its wordless plea.
It concedes my yantra’s vulnerability, my guilt,
peers where peacock pleadings wane into a spree.
It hums inside the tremors of sapphire light,
I close my eyes as it runs over lily-filled shorelines.
Bits of lunar-glazed silver dust grow in quiet nights,
and procrastinated pledges become lies.
In my dour dreams, it tells me not to resist—
“You know that silken shivers favor sound.”
Amid cyan azure peace, I learn misery persists,
for flickers of love fear the burial mound.
The Acoustic Waltz
In nocturnal dryness—sing soft verses in the dark,
claims the enamored inked words are not hers.
She plucks cerulean hymns without leaving a mark,
The tune of her carved kohl was lost in slurs.
She sways in the russet yarns of neon glow,
bows beneath the ricochet’s wild haze—
a phantom waltz in katabatic motion, moving slow.
a cosmic voice garden, too faint to truly be a maze.
Her pocket holds a ring of black gem glass,
won as a child’s dare, a piece of smitten ink.
She warms it, sighs, and watches it pass
through flaming flecks—hands that fight to sink.
"Color me red" this he did say
This is Satan and you must obey
The call of the wild for is it ok?
Who cares as I destroy the day
The red you color is from your vein
The ink that spilled from ever shame
You raped a child in the name of me
You will now suffer ever in eternity
I feel the words escape from your dying breath, "Please Lord dont take it out with
a noose around my neck"
For if you kill me you kill your religion, I promise you, if this noose falls through
the gallow then I will trek
I will find your kind in the after life, even if it down in the basement with your wife, I
will come and get you
You're the one who told me so, created my mind to enlist your blow, is this a
reason you are telling me?
That I must not fight but run away in flee? I'm a coward like you, you see, I die for I
believe in your creed
"My son you are not one of mine
I enlist your soul to preach my kind
You create your own from words of mine
Now rot in hell for the breach of time
And conjur a smell to remember your lie
Befriend your mind as you are left to die
Alone as you wish for your wish is a cry
You are no longer a part of my embassy
Trade your wings for the treatory that be
For a mask supposed to look like me
Horns for you stab at your constant envy
Dont you ever compare you with thee
For are weak and f&ck all that you percieve
Form:
Your words, which seem to be my words,
are but footprints on the fen floor of
the white page, echoes of wand'ring lyric loping.
And if, perhaps, the P's that B have blessed,
they click, they crunch, they sweetly rot underlip.
Tearing words from mind, squeezing through that jealous heartspace.
Tearing follows, wetting page after page, piling into a formless stream.
They clatter upon the mocking whiteness, an array in disarray.
A shattered and graphic mythography, mud clots on tile
after a hike. Why do not my hot words summon Leidenfrost?
I love words, no...I love meaning.
I love meaning, I don't love
the promise of words' bringing of
meaning.
It is National Poetry Month and Shakespeare.
died today.* The first time he died today was
four hundred years ago. I am set to write and read
'publicly' (which spellcheck insists and my heart
does not insist is better writ as 'public ally') some
'poetry' while dancers carve the air, in response to,
in love with, in relation to, hand/heart drawn trees
which have drawn, well-
wishers to wine 'n cheese' 'n chit 'n chat
an opening. A gallery.
But Prince died last night.
The artist formerly known as Prince Rogers Nelson,
and formerly known as a symbol,
and now formerly known as Prince. He died.
The symbol has gone and I don't know what it means.
The words are here behind my teeth, within my fingertips,
astride my heart, tickling that lump in my throat.
It is Earth Day, too. I'm supposed to say some words and make
them meaningful. And make them sing. And ring in the hearts as though
my ditherings are one tine of a tuning fork and the other is the spirits
of those dearly beloved, gathered here. Our coils unshuffled, for in our
sleep of life what dreams may come. But we stand upon, today, both
the funeral's grounds and the corpse to be. The Earth. We are meant
to celebrate her life as she withers. Strangled, starved, and trampled. And I?
I can't.
I just...
cant.
-ShhDragon
*He died today but every day we don't give birth to him with our tongue, on the stages of our heart, he remains a fetid, rotting, beautiful corpse. ’Lo four hundred years ago he died, but every day he isn't summoned, isn't animated, he remains dead. The fact of anniversary is our failing, our repeated failings, to bring forth what might be dead.
Humdumpty was an analyst, a Cambridge Ph.D.,
A noted bio-atomist, whatever that might be.
Indeed, from earliest childhood it was his single aim
To analyze no matter what might enter his domain.
He analyzed his father's watch and next the neighbour's cat.
Ah! Little more was seen or heard of Felix after that.
Astounding learned pedagogues, hard pressed to keep his pace,
Humdumpty grew up daily--in knowledge if not grace.
And then at university his intellectual power
Decimated Einstein and the works of Schopenhauer.
With ease that was amazing he romped a Double First,
And yet, for all his learning, nought quenched his burning thirst.
Despite the storm, and tumult that marked his inner life,
Humdumpty found the leisure to woo--and win--a wife.
He loved her--Oh! so dearly, his idol and his joy!
Alack! How oft our dearest 'tis we ourselves destroy.
One day in stormy weather he raised his eyes above,
And posed himself the riddle: "What constitutes her love?"
One night--to angels' weeping--the dark thought seized his mind:
"By scalpel and analysis the answer I shall find."
Full soon she took a sleeping draught, and when the time was due,
He set about his gruesome task, inspired by love so true.
How tenderly, how lovingly, he cut into her heart.
With what profound emotion he set his spouse apart.
To isolate that molecule in which all love resides
He scrutinized each corpuscle, and did much else besides.
All data was computerized, and ere a while had passed,
A reasonable hypothesis was imminent at last.
How tantalizing is the truth, how far--and yet, how near!
'Twas in the corner of his eye--and then would disappear.
It dawned at last upon him, his efforts would prove vain,
Unless he somehow managed to join her up again.
Of every art that served this end he tried the whole range through.
He first tried biophysics--and his last resort was glue.
Alas, alas, Humdumpty! There is a fateful law:
Some things men set asunder no mortal can restore.
They did not need a hangman or Madame Guillotine.
Before another week had passed, he died of bitter spleen.
Now some say he's in Heaven, and others, he's in Hell.
I'm not a theologian, it's difficult to tell.
For sure, he cut his dear wife up, and who would call that right?
But was it not his quest for truth that brought about his plight?
Regardless of our faith, in Love we can believe,
For Love's within us all, if we choose to retrieve.
Should we choose to leave Love in a dormant state,
Then we invite into our heart the bitterness of hate.
Those who believe in the power of Love,
Radiate and spread around all the beauty of.
Those who deny Love to flourish within their heart,
Spread misery around, since it's all they can impart.
We have all been blessed with the greatest Gift,
Though some choose to away from Love, drift.
The presence of Love or not is always crystal clear
In how we treat others; how others we revere.
Love is not selfish, cruel, apathetic, unforgiving;
Does not embrace greed or a miserable way of living.
Instead, Love is selfless, compassionate, and kind,
With consideration for others a natural state of mind.
Love is not ego serving, boastful and bragging;
Doesn't tune out a guilty conscience nagging.
Instead, Love is humble, modest, and reserved;
Accountable and accepting of what's deserved.
Love is not jealous, envious, resentful, or bitter;
Nor shallow, spineless, a flip-flopping fence sitter.
Instead, Love cultivates virtue, values, and integrity,
Making real in oneself a comfortable place to be.
When, our Gift Of Love, we cultivate with care,
We then reap to scatter Love seeds everywhere,
Always hoping they'll take root in another's garden bed,
Where there's being tilled the opposite of Love, instead.
When in our hearts we grow Love, we never have to feel
Afraid that another will come along and from us, steal
What we are growing and therefore, in possession of,
Because all they can take from us is some of our Love.
Once in the thief's possession, Love can only grow,
Infiltrate and change the current seeds they sow.
So, when we give the Gift Of Love and without request,
We can know in our heart we have given the very best.
In this day and age of money taking precedence,
Love is still free to receive and to dispense.
Love cannot be bought nor can Love be sold,
Making the Gift Of Love untouchable by gold.
We need not save our Love for special times and places,
Just for special occasions and to gladden special faces,
For the magic of Love is released every time we give
And multiplies within us when the Gift Of Love we LIVE!
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2017-12-24 16:52:00 (EST)
All rights reserved.