Long Non Poems
Long Non Poems. Below are the most popular long Non by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Non poems by poem length and keyword.
The spirit moves us, giving us feelings, like good and bad, and also just simple no feelings.
Spirit, is like the inner self, the one God taught us about, the one that moves with no arms or legs, it is like the wind it moves freely.
Spirit, is always present, it is unseen but always felt, like a force, it takes flight, it moves, it seeks, it continues through life and beyond.
Spirit can be loving and non-loving, it can heal and hurt, it has power, it can send us into the abyss.
Like cold and hot, and medium, spirit has the same degrees, it has all it needs to move and to set its tone.
There are many spirits, as God told us, some seek to destroy us, some shield us, some love us and guide us home to our forever place.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
To use “that” or substitute “which”
Knowing this would make me quite rich
Wrong words are a glitch
That we hate and do switch
Since an editor’s ire is a b*tch
Author's note: I have been writing technical material for the past year, which has taken all my creative energy. I have missed many of the wonderful poets who live here. The good news is that the people I work for are beginning to embrace database publishing.
We have all the paragraphs in one table, and "assemble" the paragraphs into documents using another table by importing record keys. Most people are not interested in this kind of thing, however, it could save us all a lot of money and lead to better technical publications from my employer.
So, the site has some filtering for political correctness. At first, I thought I had left a word off, but alas, no. Is a little humor that bad?
I heard from PrimeAryan DT
that socialism kills nations.
I thought it was fascist totalitarianism
that killed nations,
the lack of democratic social intelligence,
social investment,
non-violent communication,
restorative,
therapeutic
win/win social justice.
My grandparents,
at least on my mother's side,
who seemed ancient and fragile to me,
often opined,
"When you lose your health,
you love everything."
I don't know if they literally meant everything:
your faith,
your active hope,
your love,
your integrity,
your egocentric voice,
your hate,
fear,
anger,
obsessive-compulsive wealth,
despair,
cynicism,
narcissism,
xenophobia.
Probably they meant only everything good,
all things social,
Beauty fading into inconsequential,
Truth into lack of significant meaning,
Life into absence of future purpose.
I was young and apparently immortal
and could not hear their wiser warning.
Now older,
I find I have little more to add
to health's imperative
standard for resilient Wealth:
much older and more integral,
historically and multiculturally deeper
than money,
or even humanity;
older, even, than verbal communication
about healthy v pathological social-system experience.
So, why isn't this same observation
first on the list of every political party's platform,
every faith community's regenerative mission statement?
If we lose our democratic win/win social health,
we've lost our greatest wealth.
If we optimize
our actively co-invested trust
in global interdependent health,
we regain our most resilient dreams
of cooperatively-owned wealth,
communal peace
served up with personal integrity.
"Make America Great Again"
whether triumphantly declared as "mission accomplished"
or somewhat more humble,
errs in dreaming way too small
When we could more robustly
courageously
compassionately choose
"Make Earth Healthy Again"
Which would, of course,
also make America wealthy
in all the democratic social positives,
and none of the aristocratic anti-social negatives
again?
I guess sometimes healthy restorative justice
is more like exploratory win/win polycultural justice,
more pro-social green peace meadows
than elitist
monocultural
grab and crab grass.
We held a raucous street party, most of the street did attend
There was dust and leaves and sticks on the ground
But with Dancinleefablowin, from junction to bend
The road was all clean with no crackley sound
The start was delayed for those Whogozewerkinback
We could not deny them such fun
We knew they'd be coming as flat as a tack
Not to attend after it had begun
Of course the leaves could return with a breeze
With a Gustifertreezadrop more
We could clean up, or leave as we please
We don't want to make it a chore
I looked at the sky with great trepidation
If it snowzadontwannabe
Praying for early cessation
C'est la vie, whatever will be
Pre-puberty years
Playful innocence
Warm ready embrace
Quarrels, aberrations
Rapidly erased
An uncluttered mind
Open, forgiving heart
Reborn each morn anew
Growing up, ego manifests
Taught to be street smart
Testosterone levels high
Feral instincts prevail
In the game of one-upmanship
Need to win our obsession
Heart shrouded in darkness
Conscience whispers in dreams
Upon expending our energy
Recognising earth life transience
We look at dark thought spirals
A Frankenstein we created
Remorseless devouring our soul
We are astonished and dismayed
Looking at these sunken vibrations
We have chosen to stagnate in
To erase negativity from its roots
We stop the flow of turbid thoughts
By shifting our attention inwards
Into the hidden recesses of our heart
In time stretched stillness and silence
Negating the oscillations that surface
Until we become a rippleless lake
Choosing to remain for eternity thus
In timeless time, the false falls away
Fulcrum of our consciousness, space
Our mind-body now an empty shell
Cleansed of erst ego borne dark stains
Reveals from deep within our heart
Our true self shining, bubbling with bliss
Magnetised by the healing light divine
Suffusing all nodes with ecstatic rapture
Boundaries blur between others and us
We feel underlying interconnectedness
Recognising in time that love alone real
All other vibrations but thought constructs
Entrapping our attention in myriad illusions
Plunging our consciousness in delusion
Thus we meld head with heart and love
Twice born here now in the flesh, erect
Earth dream life yet plays on in as ordained
We enact our role in resonation with love
Our vaporised self is immune from harm
Simply because there is no identity within
That that is, is a bliss mist, a living light
Empowered by the sublime breath of God
Thus we inhale vital life force with gratitude
With exhalation in simplistic childlike surrender
16-October-2021
I have no terribly strong ambitions
and no burning desire to do something totally new.
I’ve seen, heard, smelled, tasted and felt so many things.
As a child I daydreamed.
Today such dreams are rare.
The wisdom of the “ages” has proved to me
the futility of dreams too high,
for I have learned by now
that if I had truly wanted
the fantastic things I’d once desired,
surely I’d have fought and gotten them by now.
And when I think of it, I did manage to achieve
some measure of success with poetry,
having wished once upon a time
to be able to write as did my beloved mentor -
hundreds upon hundreds of poems!
I live the fantasy of life vicariously through movies!
If I had any kind of bucket list, I suppose it would be
to watch every good movie ever made
and every one that will be made in the future!
However, that cannot be a suitable item for a bucket list
when I am always watching movies anyway to achieve that goal!
I am satisfied with life.
Even on a bad day, I am thankful for small comforts,
my home and family, friendships, poetry, the many pets I’ve loved,
the joy of simple pleasures such as music, books and food,
past experiences, future plans, and the daily routines I enjoy.
And so I search my mind to know what would be on my bucket list,
but I honestly can’t say.
I have only this to say about the “bucket”:
I hope I might learn how, in the end,
to painlessly *kick it!
* For those who don’t know: To kick the bucket means to die.
Written by Andrea Dietrich
For Frank Herrera's Bucket List Contest
To jab or not to jab, why is it even a question?
Get the shot or don’t, it shouldn’t be a global inquisition.
This site is for poetry, not sharing your views on a blog.
Post it as a poem, then you won’t agitate the dog.
The only genes being changed are folded up in a drawer.
Come up with new material, this is really a bore.
I’ve had family die because they thought like you.
They listened to the same lies that you now spew.
Keep your opinions to your bloody self.
I think your facts are checked by an elf on a shelf.
If you don’t want the vaccine that is entirely up to you.
Do you see any blogs by those of us who do?
Go get a pill that can help with your mental type.
The government is not trying to kill us, that’s just hype.
Use your words as a poet if you have such wit.
I read your crazy blog your words are just spit.
You tell them, that a poet has lost his words.
You tell them, I never thought being numb could hurt.
If I was to lay back and gaze at the skies,
I would be embraced by the dirt.
For my soul no longer burns,
it no longer yearns to run, be free.
It desires no thing, like a tree
no longer holding, the Earth beneath.
For my heart turned hard, like a stone,
thrown into the ocean, I sink alone.
For love it is cruel,
love it is all but true.
as love comes, love is through
and I a poet who lost his truth.
So you tell them,
you whom hotter than the sun.
Tell them it is you that dried
the soul of the poet you shunned.
Tell them why my hands are dry,
and ink no longer leaves this mind.
Tell them now, before my words run out.
FIN.
All conflicts must be healed by love alone,
was the message of the wisdom download
and so taking these as words etched in stone,
our bliss suffused heart sang to God an ode.
Leading by example, masters have shown
that all being one, love alone’s real
and in time will blossom seeds we have sown,
pervading space with its boundless appeal.
How then should we deal with unconscious minds,
when it’s not possible to walk away
and a call to arms as of karma binds
estranged hearts who their assigned roles so play?
One actor will live, the other will die.
We are simply left with the question: why?
25-March-2023
a line drawn in the sand of time
plucked from the depths of my mind’s eye
curled edge of what’s real what’s not
that line that never should be crossed
plucked from the depths of my mind’s eye
things we’ll forgive but not forget
built an imaginary fence
washed away by tides yet lingers
curled edge of what’s real what’s not
distinguishing what’s right from wrong
what’s acceptable from what’s not
comes to a full and sudden stop
that line that never should be crossed
willing to turn and start anew
choosing sides for worse or better
a line drawn in the sand of time
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Form: Retourne (8 syl)