Long Mix up Poems
Long Mix up Poems. Below are the most popular long Mix up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mix up poems by poem length and keyword.
Prejudice dark, discernment light
So let us not mix up the two
Distinguish between black and white
Whilst we let not toxic fumes spew
The jaundiced eye is judgmental
Prejudice dark, discernment light
Let then our love be radial
Yet recognising wrong from right
Never disembark from loves flight
Vibrant thus, in stillness sedate
Prejudice dark, discernment light
Wary of thoughts that agitate
Heart aglow, fused with mind mellow
Hold still attention, with clear sight
Go with the flow, yet always know
Prejudice dark, discernment light
27-June-2021
[The earliest known true mammal and hence man’s
earliest ancestor was a creature very similar in both
size and appearance to a modern day shrew]
*
The years since the rock hit are sixty-six million,
the dinosaurs died and the sky was vermillion.
Finally, out from the shadows, there came
rodent like creatures that look much the same
as many that still crawl the Earth to this day,
surviving that rock that had hurtled our way.
*
But fallout ensued and the skies filled with dust
and the journey from mice into men took a thrust
but these tiny steps to mix up nature’s law
began many millions of years before
When boulders from space hit primeval shores
And wee bitty things mixed with huge dinosaurs
*
They’d travelled in convoy, arriving in droves
Though most of the others were not wearing clothes
And though one had suffered a crash landing blip
It seemed they had given their chaser the slip
And as they slept, enveloped in ice
they might have imagined they’d wake in a trice
But Antarctic ice would see no diminution
And safe landed colleagues would face evolution
Who might have guessed what ‘mice’ could become
Or that the mice in the ice were not done?
Little kids keenly hover round an anthill
held there by ant-motion individuality
or their helter-skelter movements as a family
~ for hours and hours on end
Pure joy and propensity
such unmatched intensity
~ happy as cats-caught-a-rabbit all day ...
Though the smile and the mess on the face
of a toddler eating ice cream and cake
is so open and toothy, for godness sake
~ not to mention the glee in his heart
But why compare? It's not fair
to mix up and confuse this fine pair
~ of acts of childlike mirth and amusement
When years pass
and we grow old,
our enthusiasm sold
to those twin ravagers
~ Time and Ill Health
There still is a way, a wonderful, wonderful way
for us to enjoy anthills and ice cream every day:
We can light up our Muse
Reignite our sleepy fuse
and pen ourselves a poem
~ What have we got to lose?
It’s 2022, we’re in the final battle for the soul of the world.
There is no Indo-European root for soul,
the Greek and Germanic roots mean quick-moving, fleeting, mercurial.
I’d add evanescent, impermanent, ephemeral
disappearing, diminishing, dwindling
tenuous, brief, short-lived.
Whatever forever—that’s where we’ll be after WWIII.
World, home, think, breathe: man,
woman the vital force in man, the Anthropocene, men together
violence, virtue, virility. Also, werewolf.
War: to confuse, mix up, make worse.
The old are paying close attention but my sons ignore the thunder,
plate tectonics, gamma ray bursters and mortars on the Eurasian front.
Peace out—the end, limit, boundary, never to have been. So long,
sayonara, shalom, salaam. Take into eternity my hail and farewell.
Hey up me old mucker,
how`s tha doing me old mate,
where did tha get that big shiner?
has tha bin in a fate.
av cum round to see thee,
for thee to give me a hand,
cos av just had delivered,
a couple tun o sand.
am puttin extension,
on back o me house,
place is so small,
a cudnt swing a mouse.
wife keeps on moaning,
ses house is too small,
she`s gonna stop me tap,
if i dont start that wall.
so am beggin ya mate,
will tha give me a hand?
pass me sum bricks,
an mix up the sand.
wen its all finished,
al tek thee down to pub,
will have a few pints,
an sum rate tasty grub.
i can go back to me wife,
with me cap in me hand,
an thanks to me mate,
things ill be grand.
tha never did tell me,
how that got that big shiner,
but thanks a lot mate,
me best mucker, me old china.
16/5/2023
My daughter had been sickly for a time
The flu, they said, her health will shortly climb
A few days later came the call we dread
I'll ne’er forget the words the doctor said:
"We got your daughter's blood work back today.
I'm not sure there is any easy way
To tell you she has cancer of the blood.
I'm sorry, but the outlook isn't good."
I dropped the phone and couldn't hide the tears
My daughter hadn't yet to reach six years
This had to be a mix up or mistake
But her frailness confirmed this wasn't fake.
We sat down on her bed and held her close
So tiny and so perfect in repose
But before either one of us could speak
She smiled and spoke in a voice small and weak.
"I know you want to tell me that this flu
Will not be getting better, but I knew
See Jesus sent an angel to my bed
Who said I needn't fear what lies ahead."
"I asked about the c-word sometimes used
By mom and daddy talking while I snoozed.
He told me about cancer inside me
And said that heaven very soon I'd see."
And seeing tears, my daughter grabbed our hands
“There's one more thing you need to understand
The angel had a note for both of you:
Said, 'Courage is a mighty C-word too.'"
Where she was laid to rest a stone highlighted by the dew
Reminds me she said, "Courage is a mighty C-Word too."
December 12, 2016
Rip down the statues
Rename the streets
Police the language
Label it hate speech
Burn down the cities
In peaceful protest
Justice is racist
Thus, civil unrest
No longer about
Seats on the bus
A bus itself
Is labeled unjust
Envy a sin
Yet the very basis
Of a pernicious movement
Mislabeled social justice
True justice is blind
Social justice sees
Skin tone blamed
For all disparity
Media propogandist
Mix up the facts
Left is right
Right is wrong
Gaslighting Americans
With their fake news
Giving demonic takes
Editing out truth
Hate your enemy
Get up in their face
Resist reality
Let ideology replace
Tragedy in the schools
Fools blame it on tools
Deceived bunch of souls
Who forget man reaps what he sows
How it all ends
Is known in advance
Simply have faith
Knowing it doesn’t happen by chance
It's not because of flood or fire,
nothing more than a desire
that's prompting us to tear apart
all that we've established here.
Tired of treadmill tedium
breakfast always at eight am,
walk the dog by nine o'clock,
skim the pool tick tock, tick tock.
Time to find new closets, in which
to re- arrange familiar things,
possessions, we can find in our sleep
Convenience, imprinted on memory
Decisions now on what we must cull
things we thought we'd always keep.
Oops, there goes the baby grand,
the price of shipping way too steep.
We know of roads we've yet to take,
new friendships that we've yet to make.
Unseen rainbows and unformed dreams,
leaving behind established routines.
Beyond - a new horizon rises
Freedom comes from letting go
Detachment happens from cutting strings
Mix up the pieces - start again
We two try to walk parallel,
Our relation not marital.
Unable to walk together
but we can't walk away either .
Don’t try to judge who is better.
as oil can't mix up with water.
Happy ending is not certain.
This chance may or may not happen.
Truly, we may not get along.
Yet not to separate life long.
Necessarily we feel thrill .
No commitment but making deal.
Facing clash at every corner
Useless to know, who is winner.
When I come, she is sure to go.
Yet my ego not to forego.
If oil goes on an explosion,
Water controls situation.
Yet we can't prepare 'Solution.'
Mixing yields just an‘Emulsion.
Our action and interaction
always end in contradiction .
Whatever, we cannot break up !
Somehow we are bound to tie up.
grandma never knew her name until she was an adult
and it was Helena (some kind of birth certificate mix up)
she embraced her new found name
it was lovely sliding off the lips like a waterfall
later, she found her Ojibwe roots
and I hear the drums of my ancestors in my heart beating
grandma was our family storyteller
she fascinated me and sparked my imagination
I would watch her lips as she spoke
how her voice changed
how her facial expressions changed
I never grew tired of listening to her stories
stories told over and over until her death of people and places
nothing was written down
they died with her. . . I think that was meant to be
grandma had given me a book
a journal for my small girl thoughts
and told me- write it, write it
write it, for the world to know
so I did, I wrote in my room stories about my cat and flowers
in time, I wrote of my sadness that made grandma cry
I had a gift just like Helena
I was a storyteller but in words
a poet was born
in a old attic room
I was lost in a sea of emotions
everyday over tea I would read my words for Helena,
I was able to pour my heart and soul on paper
my skill grew with me like a cool rippling stream
the drums of time ceased
for my Helena and I wrote and read her eulogy
my heart swelled with a sea of tears
then, I heard weeping echoing in the church
within the stained glass window glow
and I knew then that I had a power
Helena's gift... I had inherited
because of her I am a writer
the bond between us a delicate flower
and she had said to this sad little girl
find the sweetness in the dregs of sorrow
for life is a lighted window and a closed door
_________________________
August 3, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/Her Name Was Helena
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1122-142-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.