Long Mori Poems
Long Mori Poems. Below are the most popular long Mori by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mori poems by poem length and keyword.
MEMENTO MORI
"Remember you're going to die", Latin phrase
that reminds us that death is certainty...
Art prepares human beings for death
imminent...
Anyway I took the second dose
of the science vaccine ...
I can already think of dying
before the start and closer
of the end...
For enjoying my eternity ...
I can realize I'm eternal
for this virus ...
I Will have best care of myself
for what is to come ...
If I happen to die of it,
it will be fatal for wellfare ...
Health will have left evil
win ...!
I have faith, but let's see,... !
A poem is a mirror.
A ?o??i?.
A yes-I-can with crayons the color of Tachyons,
rushing out of whirl’ds where past-meets-future,
reaching for-words…
yet going back-words for some more.
It makes reflections, like a ripple,
but you’re at zero-point too,
where the puddle tessellates to a past in the future you,
and you reflect it back-words and for-words
’til it reverberates…
right there.
Now.
Here.
Like an invertendo-innuendo that’s an in-your-face…
?o??i?.
And this mirror-Kah… it rackles with the spirit of the times.
This mirror… reciprocates.
And everything recorded is written everywhere for anyone to see—
a hit-list for the insurgents,
a collapse scenario for the empire,
as the top one-percent feed the roots of alien, alternative… cycles.
But listen.
‘I see you, you see me’
and maybe together we’re spied-upon in an irony
of what it’s like not to be truly free.
So we carry on.
In a more human innuendo,
a more momento-mori story,
mirroring each other… more merrily.
Another cycle of the Sun,
rollin’ ’round the earth ‘yer on,
then in cycles turned your way,
yes, another day…
where cycles in the Sun are glimmerings on the Sea,
making many reflections,
and sympathetic tessellations vibrate in our oceanic-brain,
where the orbits perigee,
where we learn the lessons of leaving behind
and faltering forward,
where we would-if-I-could be the king who would be a man,
riding these cycles of the Sun by the Sea,
going on this way…
over and over…
mirrorly.
So thank-you, Poets.
For the many reflections.
For the big-hearted yawp of freedom to be who you want to be.
Thank you for sharing your wrought-out ramblings
where my meaning-making takes a rest
and instead, with great exaltation, I surrender
to how you all ‘fess-up and down and around
and always… with a wry wit in it.
It’s bright.
It echoes the numinous in-us.
The euphoric-eunoia.
The bright language of connecting,
an authentic friending in a lightning look…
in intertextual-fugues,
invertendo-innuendos,
or mirrorly… by-the-book.
So is that it then?
This eunoia-euphoria…
this urge-to-merge?
Is that it?
Expressed in longing waves,
swelling in each other as sister and brother?
Is that it?
When you’ve engaged both sides of the brain…
the scholar and the minstrel…
is that the euphoria we’re after?
The abyss swallowed you
Into the ocean of despondency,
Right above death's holler,
And you couldn't quitclaim.
No skepticism, no demurrer—
You took fate lightly.
Memento Mori, your guts finally cried out
To space and sky.
No one to reckon with
But your aimless shadow.
What fate bestowed upon you
Is beyond your hamper,
And what claim have you to the Messiah
That the life that's yours isn't what you chose?
Take what's yours—
No one needs your debacle,
For each man has enough already.
If fate made you deplorable,
Make lime out of lemons,
Or otherwise, yada-yada-yada.
But what’s not acceptable
Is a sheep’s tears
And a wish not to live out your life.
If misery didn't visit you,
Who then should it claim?
For there to be balance in life,
You must accept fate—
And I too will accept mine.
SUBLIMITY
eerie
empty
&the bizarre
sublime
resemblance
now apparent
the
idiosyncratic
& experimental
& intense
expressiveness
anticipating
the hidden
poetic
possible
dwarfed
in the
abyss
a place
of mystery
swallowed
by an
oblivious
translates
the pleasures
of the joyous
surrounding
the sublime
so full
of
meaning
a
memento mori
of
stilled
life
a missing
link
hints at
reality
layered
in
our
yesterdays
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
(In the Middle Ages, tombs and monuments
often bore carvings of skulls or decaying corpses.
The idea was to remind the onlooker that he, too,
was marked for death. These figures were known
as "memento mori".)
Approach me, stranger. Nothing in my story
should startle you. Your flesh has always known it.
I just remind you. I'm Memento Mori.
Yes, this is what awaits you. Don't disown it.
You came in laughing, vital, carefree, easy,
but now your peace is ruined. Go, bemoan it,
and when your Pinot Grigio, risi e bisi
no longer please your palate, and your lover,
so far from comforting you, makes you queasy,
think hard. There's more to life than quail and plover.
Many things may never happen. This one must.
There's less to life than hope, as you'll discover.
For what you are now, that's what I once was. See?
See what I am? It's what you're going to be.
Let no war death that wears a shroud,
And memorialized, do us proud.
Loud salutes distract us,
Nor pomp make undue fuss,
In vain are young heads rolled
For the ambitious old,
Silver streaks, stripes or not, dark goes death cloud.
___________________________
Happenings |16.12.2024|war, death, youth, old
Poet’s note: Wars are raging on many fronts in the world today. The ambitious old and the powerful plot these fights and young men pay the price with death. We must remember this before we commemorate fallen soldiers who are felicitated with medals in the spirit of Memento Mori in a matter-of-fact manner.
The skeletons in my closet are trying on my clothes
Posing a fashion show of history
Using bony toes to throw memento mori
"watch your head!"-puts hand over grin
My diary redacted, an exploding think tank
Plastered on pages, so pretty to think so
Making a pact with the top hat that
marinades my mind into overflow
"a poet's guts are a beautiful splatter!"
The black boots I used to reinvent
A thousand miles that were walked and spent
Stepping over trial and error
Crying over unpaid rent and electricity terror
"light a candle and revel in the silence!"
The gloves that scoured the couch
for a dollar in change to feed the mouths
of my heart and soul sitting in front of me
begging for a bowl of spaghettios
"innocence resides behind smiling blue eyes!"
Slightly tattered from the cold weather
an old, black sweater with a sewn in locket
carries the charm of car and job
problems in it's pocket.
"I've got thumb holes in my hand hats!"
The little ties that put a knot in my throat
from all the lies that once were spoke
so properly placed on a plastic hanger
to easily be broken by words from a stranger.
"No wire hangers, ever!"
Sipping on sunshine through a dixie cup
My skeletons and I are playing dress up
It reminds me that I'm alive and my past is dead.
I'll buy better clothes in the days ahead.
"life is beautiful!"
Yours is a healing and life-giving balm
that behoves me my merry thanksgiving,
I am by my own twist of fate becalmed
and I am wiser to wonderful things.
Memento Mori and Carpe Diem -
there is much to see and much to begin
so live well and long that in years to come
you not look back and muse what might have been.
Now if from your helping cause I abstain
or when in lonesome brooding I am sad
in futile excess, I’ll beg once again
to hear you curing say “I love you dad!”.
O’ wife and child it’s you and only you
that makes me love and do the things I do.
Written: March 2005
I've cried enough tears till my eyes could weep no more.
Pain, a mere consequence of love—
felt sometimes when it's here, other times when it's gone.
Given at times, taken at others.
To heal, we must learn to forgive ourselves,
to endure rather than run,
to grow even in the harshest conditions.
What is life without the will to strive,
to serve and, when it's our turn, to receive?
Life is but a pendulum,
swinging ceaselessly, offering both joy and sorrow.
So we learn Amor Fati, embracing what comes,
and Memento Mori, remembering what must end.
To live as we are willed,
manifesting the glory and grace of God.
How can we fulfill God's will if we refuse to shine?
Whom do we serve when we shrink from our light?
What benefit is there to those we love,
if we dim ourselves for fear of shining too bright?
To love is to teach.
The Sea of Tranquility gives rise to a parasitic plague,
Colonizing mechanical machines grinding,
Robotic arms frantically fabricating an inhospitable habitat.
Plumes of blackened smoke drift off into zero gravity—
A profuse profanity birthing intergalactic implosions.
Forfeited steel domes replace a once-pristine satellite,
Whilst humanity, like vultures, journeys to their new paradise,
Foaming at the mouth to exploit the dark side of the moon.
Looking outside the frosted rocket's windows,
Earth's decaying corpse is nothing but a mere memento mori in the rearview window.