Long Mortality Poems
Long Mortality Poems. Below are the most popular long Mortality by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mortality poems by poem length and keyword.
Life can be a different nightmare
when philo-sophias self-righteously
uprightly leave us behind
so long in search of success
measured in wealth of commodified acquisitions
rather than health of natural/spiritual capitalization
of virtuously co-managed left/right
co-balancing cooperative structures
for co-investing future resilience,
Like a thirsty hummingbird
living in a too-red environment,
Like dissonant notes
hiding in a too-rich symphony,
Community, communion investing in health
not as ordered by MotherEarth
as demonic TaskMaster of perpetual raw-spot punishment
in perpetually vicious win/lose competitions
against past and future disgraced generations,
rather than wealthy sacred interdependent venerations.
Philosophers and politicians
preachers and prophets
parents and their prey
might instead invest in Earth rights and lefts
as our dance and play Mother
embracing more cooperative win/win choreography,
ecological theologies of color
and scale,
More of a sweet spot multigenerational tango
searching out climatic self-governing unity
rather than a righteous raw spot monocultural war
of nightmartish lose/lose uniformity
unto climate collapsing apocalypse,
Mortality of life
giving way to ecocentric wise dancing regenerations
of local through global multicultural Earth,
enjoying nature more cooperatively-managed,
never competitively-owned in spiritualized theories
of universal Yang Domination
with too complexly uniform marching into fragmented war orders
over-ruling uniting invitations
into win/win multigenerational YinDance,
Now wiser about distinguishing
between individualistic capitalism,
supporting business as usual
monoculturally colonizing patriarchy
And Earth's cooperative capitalization,
actively inviting natural/spiritual
sweet spot win/win dialogue
more than raw spot,
Who is the biggest Loser of vanishing success?
academic debates
Confusing wealth requirements
with healthy response to
What is winning?
Since before liberating philosophers
severed natural nutritional eco-healthy balance
from spiritually robust wealthy ego-investment.
Life in and on Earth's resonant ecosystems
can be a different nightmare
when philo-sophias self-righteously
upright leave us behind
so long in search
of health's wealthiest eco-political success.
Passage of Time
Time, that unforgiving mistress, whisks us away like autumn leaves on a gusty day, scattering our lives like petals in the wind. She wraps her bony fingers around our hearts, squeezing tight until we gasp for breath, reminding us of our mortality, our fragility. Yet, within her embrace, we find a strange comfort, a sense of belonging to something greater than ourselves. We realize that our fleeting moments are part of a grand tapestry, woven from threads of time past, present, and future. Time is a thief, stealing away our youth, our vitality, our dreams. Yet, she also gives, bestowing wisdom, exsperience, and the gift of looking back on a life well-lived. As the clock ticks onward, marking each passing second, we hold onto what matters most- the love the laughter, the moments that brought joy to our hearts and filled our days with meaning..?
Thinking it sophisticated, he declared himself a sophist.
Dwelling deep in Plato’s cave, he became learned in the shapes of shadows.
Enamored by their dim dancing, he concluded there can be no truth.
One day he realized that for this assertion to be true, it must be false,
and if it is false, it cannot be true.
Stepping out into ambrosial, golden dawn,
Departing at the new glistening inception,
he carried the heart of a befuddled terrified nomad.
A drifter, always hungry for affinity.
Rootless, always foraging for simpatico.
He became the vagrant ferreting the ambient gleaming
reaches, never certain of what he found, but convinced
that his search was urgently necessary.
In luminous amber ambience, he ambled the ambulatory.
Though his methods seemed antiquated and antique, he knew he could
never return to the cave shadows of antiquity.
No, they would never deceive him again.
But then as explorer, he confronted new dilemmas,
choosing between the newspeak of alternate realms.
His path lit by ubiquitous glittering rocks; he felt the glow penetrate in ways
he never before conceived, for he had always been soaked in stygian tenebrosity.
Common minds traverse comfort zones, seldom seeing beyond their boundaries.
His new freedom granted an empathic eye, remembering his hardest anxious choices.
Never before did he recognize how this residue, he collectively shared.
Upon this subliminal shoreline between mortality and the sublime, he could reify rapturous grails. He knew then, this divination was made possible only by his relatedness of being.
Moral codes based on inclusive truths make civil discourse achievable
because universal joints join collective being with unadorned conscience.
Howl fir tree, the cedar is fallen
From this narrow lane of time,
from this uncertain strait and burdens
from these enclaves of wearying vanity fair,
from this time bound journeying among mortals,
from its temporal “Joys” and many sorrows,
from pain of fickle frame,
from the cheers and Jeers,
from time to time innumerable,
from mortality to immortality,
from Death to Life beyond.
this Jordan in-between,
here i mourn before my time,
but in Hope beyond the grave,
Through the everlasting covenant,
Left with your memories,
Rest Maami,
Adieu.
Dedicated to the priceless gift of providence.
The Best Mother to walk this earth.
Life slips away like a passing thought,
enjoyed, and then the moment is lost.
And yet, every second is precious,
for our mortality bears the cost.
Time favors the impetuous young
by slowing down to extend their play.
To them, a week's an eternity,
and a moment can feel like a day.
But as the years drop like falling leaves,
time noticeably picks up speed.
And although you may wish time would slow,
it can but continue to proceed.
We see time as either friend or foe,
and yet, neither assertion is true.
For it's how you perceive time that counts,
and that is entirely up to you.
A turning point with
advantage of 20/20 hindsight
identifies severe dislocation
birthing emotional plight
intervening years since psyche wrenched
by rather innocuous event at first sight
exaggerated haunting shadows
sparred illuminated by dim backlight,
now conviction hammered home startdate
coffin unwittingly nailed airtight
death of spontaneous bright
eyed bushy tailed
spunkiness extinguished
gored me lifeless,
asper bloodless bullfight
all entrails left intact,
and no obvious insight
fledgling, negligible, tentative...
flickering soon snuffed out light
describing nascent ability to delight
no longer extant within my
then young featherlight
undersized physical height
complemented with familiarity of shyness,
no recall red flagged
a lad in capable to smite
an unmanageable all consuming debacle
in retrospect unable
to coax forthright
severe retrogression, retribution, retraction...
unleashed nefarious sprite
occasioned when father and mother
aloft in their prime topflight
ages buying dreamhouse did excite
unaware psychological convulsions
would forever roil sole son
darkened to midnight
impetus to live defeated
with abandoned might
nonverbal communication,
would soon reveal, how expert playwright
stymied to comprehend
tote toll impact, and mortality craved,
nee stole perky me overnight
linkedin to poorly acclimating
moving away from familiar digs right
into the waiting maws of shipwreck
forever stranded, where no searchlight
rescued malicious conjurer's wicked sleight
of hand prestidigitation rocketing me
into infinitely far orbital spaceflight
an untethered ball of skintight
grateful dead lovely bones.
COMMONPLACE V
A feeling od desperation,fleeting impressions
a never ending quest susceptible to misfortune
sounds hanging in the air akin to a
tempest conspire to frustrate.The ignited
by the most mundanr,ideas appear in
the mind,intangible,seemingly from
nowhere.A phoenix risen from the
ashes brings to light the oral to the
aural,adds value by mouth to ear.
Surreal ,perhaps romantic,a feeling
of contentment of being there at
the point of soft promise,of this
I never tire.This struggle,truth filled
by words mortality living in verse
to radiate into the reader’s eye& ear.
From Retrospective a commonplace book 2009
Listen to me recite this part phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthys chiro
Old oak takes time to grow intense
Each year tumbles wrinkled leaves before the snow
Slow in the morning to rise higher
Shad covers mortality below
Cracking branches show maturity
Limp on the timber twigs
Lingering still beneath cold bark
Sparrow eggs in nesting homes up there
Oval is their nature; wait to crack
Smaller birds spin blue and yellow
Weave speed like magic on the air
Through dark ages of green foliage
Collisions are rare while darting tangled obstacles
In an out instinctively
Old oak compliments the activity
With good intentions the tree holds fast
Bare to exposure, the fragility of life
Through the mortal edge birds fly
Pale pink peonies, I carried on the day we said, "I do."
Not the innocence of white Queen Anne's Lace of spring,
nor romantic stems of red roses on a sultry summer day.
In all the years shared together, we were never apart,
but now, my heart grieves as it does for withered petals.
On each anniversary, you gave me a large bouquet,
and not once did you ever forget the day, my love.
In a crystal vase, the blooms were arranged with care
and enjoyed for days until the petal's color began to fade.
This year, there will be no pink peonies on the table.
I bought some for you, and tomorrow I'll take the walk,
to bring them to you, arranged in a crystal vase
carefully placed in front of the nameplate of your grave.
I wish my wedding flowers had been roses or tulips,
for the number of their petals are far less than a peony.
Pity for me that as each fragile flower head droops,
each petal will wilt and one by one fall upon the ground.
A tear for each one will ribbon down my cheek
and although my lips will form the words, "I miss you,"
I know they will be impossible for me to speak.
The stem of a peony has no thorns to prick my finger,
but when each velvet petal plummets to its death,
I will hear the notes of Reveille echoing in my ears
as if it was being played in a brass section of horns.
I will scorn the mortality of death, and the sorrow it brings
as the pain buries itself deeper inside my heart.
I am withering like a flower from my wedding bouquet
that has been pressed between the pages of Keats.*
We are crumbling and fragile, now that you are gone.
**********************
*Two favorite verses from John Keats' 'Hither, Hither, Love'
Though one moment's pleasure
In one moment flies ~
Though the passion's treasure
In one moment dies; ~
Hither, hither, hither
Love its boon has sent ~
If I die and wither
I shall die content!
English onomatopoeic words tick tock does punctuate...
audiological "second" associated with ordinary soundlessness
Second of time not decided arbitrarily, but...
Under International System of Units,
the second currently defined as
duration of 9,192,631,770 periods
of radiation corresponding to transition
between two hyperfine
levels of ground
state of caesium-133
atom at temperature
of 0 degrees Kelvin.
Even if deaf and/or
blind Impossible Mission
to escape incessant
atomic elementary coalition
my dear Watson,
through rigorous erudition
pursuant, predicated,
postulated, plotted, pinpointed...,
whereby basic interval
of time engineered fruition
jarring inquisitiveness regarding
yours truly intuition
one body moving thru space
and time till manumision.
Upon mortality liberation comprising me
molecular constituent parts will thus free
repurposing (reincarnation higglety pigglety)
without preserving jammed consciousness, ye
might beg to differ,
yet that precept re:
guarding retaining awareness
previous life thee
less prominent poetic
intent to squander ably
(slight bias, I aver)
precious minutes agree
gated intuiting the
invisibility of ethereal me:
deem (or quantification
thereof) measuring je
nais sais quois (extent
of French words known
to yours truly), whose
lofty ambition key
ying focus, how
every moment allocated
into base unit to run
of the mill by the floss see
George Eliot (Mary
Ann Evans) garden variety,
generic *****sapien,
(no matter differentiation sets E
shove us apart).
Inescapable maddening
march to maximize
potential choice to exercise
fulfillment, or nurse regret
case in point I surmise
extensive disappointment,
though Matthew Scott tries
to separate the figurative
wheat from the chaff and vies
to distill some semblance
of value, cuz he doth realize,
how tempus fugit defies
longing to go back
to the future as he espies
countless reasons that qualifies
as his life left unlived no surprise
since aforementioned sentiment
mentioned, in tandem with
self destructive behavior I despise.