Long Modern life Poems
Long Modern life Poems. Below are the most popular long Modern life by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Modern life poems by poem length and keyword.
IDENTITY
I just want to be who I am, or even to know
Living this modern life is like being in armour
True freedom, now merely a fading memory
Following the script like a long running drama
But perhaps something out of this might grow
Personality, misshaped by many laws and rules
So what then, does individuality mean anyway
There’s a chest of treasures locked up inside me
That in this age, may never see the light of day
In our millions we’re numb, and acting as fools
Can it even be safe to release the unknown beast
That prowls and explores this unexpecting world
It might be a cute little mewling thing that blinks
And if threatened, huddles like a flag that’s furled
But it still deserves it’s freedom at the very least
Yet maybe this is mere hesitancy and speculation
The first challenge I must face, is to know myself
To be embraced for what I am, or could become
In life’s mission to discover all that hidden wealth
And to have caused at least a minor perturbation
The flotilla of the ivory-varnished sailing clouds,
gliding across the cerulean sky of serenading spring,
turned into the menacing fleet of sudden scare.
Its shadow of invisible danger has changed our lives,
maybe forever.
Tangled in the complex social web of modern life,
the distance created on the track of changing times,
enhanced perforce at coercion of survival instinct.
The widened crevice in kinship will remain unclosed,
maybe forever.
But I still see in the sunburst splendor of dawn sky,
rays of hope etch golden lines on gloomy clouds,
it won’t be long when surely they will melt away.
If there is a time to venerate the ravaged nature,
it’s now.
Wrapped within collapsed wings of the caged bird,
confined psyche crumbles in the abyss of desolation,
fortified it’ll rise from the debris like the sphinx.
If there is a time to keep the morale sky high,
it’s now.
April 1, 2020
Contest : What Matters Most To You
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
Computer dear
Everyday when I switch on my computer,
I say to myself,
Gets up from sleep at my one touch,
Recharged, he appears with a huge smile,
Is he in love with me ?
Taking all my commands throughout the day,
And still giving his best,
Eye to eye without a flicker,
Working with me in unison,
I have the keys to his heart,
As he unlocks my brain,
Takes me to google,
And we travel around the world,
Keeps me updated what come may,
One button click and its a child's play,
Anything that becomes obsolete,
He helps me by selection of delete,
Each data that will sincerely behave,
I am able to place it under save,
He is my work passion, a must obsession,
Modern life, technology will surely steer,
There's no life without you computer dear !
Written April 8th, 2015
For contest "Computer poem" by Carol Eastman
Awarded 1st place
Free life
I need to live a free life
The independence of God
But I can’t from modern life
Disgusting. This is an error
“They can’t recognize. All sick
That psychology is poor in soul."
"Their sexual problem is your life
You are heterosexual. Abnormal!"
Said Satan
I live in England. I love women. Only
“You are an observed suspicious person."
What?!
“You live alone. A Bible reader. You love women. Only?!
That could be a problem there. You are not sexually modern.”
I live alone, like a priest. Is this a problem? Why?
“Yes, you are a meat, that psychology needs meat.”
??
“They spread their lifestyle. And they stop your seed there
You must be homogeneous there. You are inferior.”
Thank you. Now everything is clear
But where does this come from?
“But where does this radiate from?
Hmm. Well, well, you found a building.”
Where is free life? Where?
Where is independence?
"There is only one
In your heart."
Said Master Satan
Everyone’s complaining
‘Bout how it’s always raining
And we’re all getting soaked to the skin
Everybody’s whining
How there’s no silver lining
Optimism’s growing kind of thin
Everyone is moaning
You hear the constant groaning
Darn it! Can’t you see how it’s unfair?
We’ve all caught the fever
Become a true believer
Then exhale it out into the air…
Got to be a better way…
Everyone is shaking
With childish bellyaching
Looking for somewhere to place the blame
Everybody’s grumbling
Fumbling and stumbling
No one knows the rules to the game
Everyone’s protesting
But no one is suggesting
Any way to fix all that is wrong
Anybody can see
Equally we’re guilty
Of going with the flow to get along…
Got to be a better way…
Walk
In the park. Old wood, natural. Gives life
I love. I find. Here. Love. Nature touches me
Just walk. Make the photography. Photos
Silences, objective moments. Life’s monograms
Can I stay here? Let me live here? Only here
A pure world in the civilization. Presented ancient life
From the past. All the time. Just live inside
I want to live in Paradise, to feel love
I don’t want walk. I don’t want a walk. I don’t want to walk
I need a point. A nest.
Hmm. A dream. Only.
No more time.
In the time
Pass, pass
Modern life!
I need hairy
Hairy nature
Paradise
Original
Life feels so incomplete,
Without a real soulmate to greet.
Illusion of lovers everywhere,
But true love's embrace is rare.
Garden flowers keep me company,
The roses' beauty mirrors her face tenderly.
Jasmine's fragrance swirling in the air,
Bringing her presence close, almost there.
A timeless beauty waited at my door,
Cherry blossom adorned her hair,
Now silence falls, peaceful and deep,
Rustic charm lies where memories sleep.
In a world of synthetic lights so bright,
Neon love dreams emanate from the city night.
Swirling like fog in the crisp night air,
Modern life with rustic charm to share.
I can sense the air a changing, through my eyes in peripheral see
This I have to await, to await what she brings to we
Oh! this trepidation, I'm in fear of what we've been told
For her skies are not what they seem in fear of her unfold
Suddenly azures are bleached, diminished from their blues
Maybe the headlines, the news informed, are now becoming true
Cobalt bluey greys, amidst blackened silvery delights
Beckon my eyes in see, this night a changing sight
Sporadic openings honour, it's as if their about to clear
Then thunder like kettle drums, reignite my fears
With one hell of a mighty crash, resonating thunderous noise
Straight away my mind reminds that nature knows destroy
Mountains in the distance, in daylight so far away
A flash here, a flash there, their standing in disarray
I stand here awaiting, knowing, that her heavens are about to burst
Her cascade, cacophonous noise, she rarely lets us thirst
Ice bullets teeming, streaming, amidst droplets of what could have been
Crashing, caressing, stressing, man's modern life now screams
Stop-lights, signs swaying, flaying, crashing to the ground
But even the designs of man, can rarely imitate her sounds
Seconds, minutes, hours pass, now a calmness before her storm
There will never be a day, when even we conform
For I marvel in fascination, so vivid in what she displays
In lightening we appear to be, but we will never outweigh
7/18/02
In a tropical place, the climate
becomes a way of being.
Fruits and flowers on shirts and dresses,
breakfasts of bananas,
pineapple flavored passions of
afternoon, pathways to the moon on
evening seas, coconut-milk tipped waves at dawn,
palms tilting horizons and gulls gliding
the edge of time.
Yet, where I live does not define me.
Not like the Irish dairymen, who
rain or shine, milk cows they
could easily set their clocks by.
Here on this perfect stretch of sand,
I am rootless - envious
of those who have never moved.
I feel puppet-ized by modern life;
a little schizoid - liking where I am,
hearing the voices, while
a part of me pines
for pastoral beginnings.
("Blue Egg In Red Sea", 2020, original oil)
Person Non-Grata
Call me old-fashioned,
but I’m glad my mother was a woman.
I’m glad about a lot of things actually,
the little things in life
like a stable marriage, well adjusted children
a good education and something tenuous
yet pervasive enough to take for granted;
the Rule of Law.
So many things to be grateful for
(as I write this on a laptop, in a warm, well lit
comfortably secure home).
And yet, the reality is
if I say these things
all but a few frown, or nervously look away
wondering who might overhear
the heretic ranting on his soap-box
tainting by association
all the pleasures of a modern life
better left taken for granted
and appreciated in private
as the world continues to turn
looking for the next
person non-grata to burn.
(1/19/24)