Long Nuances Poems
Long Nuances Poems. Below are the most popular long Nuances by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nuances poems by poem length and keyword.
Ubuntu
P andemonium the polymorph perverse un-reflected paradigm of our time casts
A narchy tumultuous turmoil killing sprees beheadings senseless hatred and results from
N ihilistic never-ending bombing wars hatred colonisation kills for money oil and land
D istinct in death demise and depravation dogma causes hunger poverty disembowelled
E ntrails blood and gore splashed for the highest bidder of murdering virtue and emotion
M oulding peace with weapons is like having sex for virginity so stuff some flowers in guns
O nly nuances of push and near extinct pull away from total insane annihilation’s madness
N ests and nurtures compassion communal sharing un-consumerist tradition
In kindergartens schools and homesteads sporting fields of lived experience in
U niversities higher learning centres TEACH ‘Ubuntu’ Nguni Bantu human kindness
M ake love not war with heart and soul and refuse to be abused in pandemonium
27th July 2016
The Vacation
A couple had read in a glossy magazine that
Norway was beautiful, so they went on a week's vacation
They were met by an agent who told them how
Beautiful, his country was, said without the slightest hint
of irony; since an airport is an airport, they didn't see
the fabulous beauty
The couple saw the deep fiords, the mountains, and not
to forget, the pulpit, a rock sticking from the berg side
looking like a pulpit
Later that evening, they went to a comedy show, where
A Norwegian comedienne told jokes in English, but lacked
In nuances and hints, the jokes sounded rude
They were also surprised by Norwegian drink culture
When they drink, it is to be drunk, and that is the only point
In Oslo, one day, when his wife had gone to the hairdresser's
The man sat alone in a cafe, reading a book and drinking a pint
of lager, after a while, he ordered another pint
The man served him that and also gave him a brochure where
to seek help if he had a drinking problem
When the vacation was over, and he was sitting on the plane, his wife
asked, why are they dressed so poorly, to that, her husband said
It is because everyone is equal in this nationalistic society
They know nothing about other nations, as they think their
Life is wonderful
An etymologist…(from an article I happened to see)
is a person who studies words…their origin and their history.
This particular article…(I am happy relate)
mentioned in the English language there are more words that describe love
than there are that describe hate.
The article did acknowledged that throughout our language’s history
both love and hate have had a wide range of terminology.
But here’s something to keep in mind…
(something this article was positive of…)
in our language there are more subtleties, more complexities…
and more nuances to love.
Because it has more subtleties, more complexities and more nuances…
(if you’ve listened I’m sure you’ve heard)
love can be expressed with a greater variety of words.
And it’s comforting to know…(this news I am also happy to relate)
love has been in our vocabulary for a much longer time…than hate.
As I was reading this article….this thought occurred to me…
Something it doesn’t take an etymologist to see:
To begin to make our world a happier more joyous place…
one everyone can adore
we should be using words of hate a little less…
and words of love…a whole lot more.
In darkness there was light
so subtle, a see-through substance
of coloured ions, neon bright
the plasma of experience-
not toned down the shift when night
pursues pallid day's nuances...
While in gardens of full sunlight,
bright flighty beings pursue hearts
nectar nurturing-no more fight
for sustenance-life's true art
of Giving is no pursuit of might.
Empowered, each plays its tiny part.
The Hunt is on. No interlude
where white and black may merge as One.
Too hazy the fearful phase in mood
before death and hate be ovecome.
Milked shadow's only fight is to be good...
And so, all shadows chase till gone.
Posted 16 July 2020.
Poem written 1990. Edited.
Is this chair free?"
"Sadly, not. Finest oak, sprinkled with fairy dust
hence extremely and extensively expensive!" she teased;
their eyes touched then bumped away.
He was French and a little confused; she just wanted to be!
A smile sprang off the top springboard of her mouth,
performing a perfect somersault
pirouetting onto his bottom lip
to linger with warm intrigue.
Simultaneously they laughed
and for a few seconds
their mirth seemed to tentatively hold hands.
Days later... that relationship
had threaded a gossamer cobweb of attraction.
Weeks later... nuances dallied,
private thoughts revealed, intimacy heightened.
Months later...they reached the stage
and page of mentioning age;
they just nittered and nattered
that it mattered... not!
He was twice her age;
she, half his size.
He was French, she was English.
The perfect fit!
And so, the relationship jitterbugged forward
expressed with a language of love.
The narrative over the years
dictated by humorous commas, tender semicolons,
occasional crusted exclamation marks
until time's clock ran out and, sadly, the final full stop laid.
She sits now, turning the pages of warming memories in her mind;
pulling back those first few words he had offered her.
"Is this chair free?"
She mimicked the smile that had first enticed him
and painfully whispered, "C'est maintentant, mon cheri!"
Idlers, paved paths with active energies, purloining, feigning amity.
Dodgy & concealing past immoral dregs by comradely, waspish mien.
Obdurately empowered by this stranger plucked from their nocturnal fantasies
Wanton mistresses of countless broken walls in desperation for time.
Unbridled intrusion cloaked in religiosity vexed by undefined arrogance.
Oft, in pretext, manipulating, with energies stronger than the POPE.
Habits of a thuggish intervention foist on bewitched “soul tie”
Ill-beseeming nuances summoning this Stygian to their unsealed brothels
Obvious cliquish vindictive venom of a barrage of past bed felon.
Zestfully compelling, violently intrusive and surreptitiously preying.
Ending the farce, Rapscallion oozing countless entries on the rotten hole.
Circumstance so familiar by memory painted sphere,
nuances of colorful thoughts looking through that window there.
The same song that gives this canvas its dimension,
doors to the threshold by mystic reason as ascension.
Generous nature in divine synchronicity is taken care,
the reservoir of unfulfilled dreams is waiting there.
Stairways leading to the rapture fields of grace,
surprised and wondrous why I see your face.
Still so exciting to talk to you in myriads of sense,
never understood that metaphor of our consequence.
Tasting your salty skin in my mind while talking,
another round of detecting motions rocking.
Your charm in smiles and laughter so symphonized,
feeling already by your comfort so baptized.
How can it be that this foreign land you are?
sitting on my stoop like a tempting avatar.
Changes with no name, disguised and yet the same,
or do I have to see that image in a different frame.
Unfinished resolutions from destinies whisper,
choices by subtle conscious to consider.
Facets of love light reflections to polish the spirit crystal,
visions of transitions incomprehensible.
Singapore tryst
Old times bordering;
Restored trade regime
Old Chinatown alleys
Winding streets await;
Takeaway souvenirs
Buzzing bazaars
Colourful wares shout;
Attractions ply
Smith Street
Chinatown circuit;
Oriental stuff
Strange name
Telok Ayer Street?
Meaningful glimpses
This Chinese temple
Tourists assemble;
Photo snapshots
Old men playing
Chinese chess;
Stone table forum
Street vendors
Crafts and wares;
Brisk commotion
Somnolent sunset
After light drizzle;
Swamp of human faces
Lost in the crowd
Two tiny specks
Seeking ***** bargains
Tucked in a corner
This awkward shoppe;
Viagra and company
Loud music blasts
Accompany footsteps;
Curiosity in-transit
Sea of faces
Mini United Nations;
Cosmopolitan nuances
Old shop houses
Clusters of modern comforts;
Brisk eateries
Chinese medical tonics
Healthy equilibrium;
Discerning aphrodisiacs
Feel the pulse
Crowd en passant;
Curious eyes feast
Bumpy movement
Feet gravitate;
Looking and searching
So much to see
Discover again;
That long-lost find!
Leon Enriquez
15 Apr 2014
Singapore
DREAMS
Many nuances – in the faces of my Children – come to me in the night.
In multi coloured – shaded shadows of dreams – they come to light.
They – in their histories journey – show me the way of free flight,
a flight into what this soul has already come to know,
so long ago - long before – on the screen – it came to show
where it is , we come from, where it is we are bound to go.
No Bite left in Life
These tired old eyes of mine - no longer have teeth.
They no longer chow down – from above or beneath,
all that youthful, younger eyes - full of that precious heat –
devour with such passion and agility, a mental feat
capable of, by souls and spirits filled with divine nourishment
while I, in a black hole, lost to the dark firmament,
live, within my hunger, starving in my blindness
for a taste of all the beauties and all the kindness
they so graciously and generously sent my way
while I , without ever attempting to repay
for more than has come, on wings, to me.
I think I now know ?, I think I now can see ?
B. J. “A ” 2
November 1st 2002
He toddles toward the pebbles, tumbling the smooth stones over
in his four year old palms, rubbing them like Aladdin’s lamp, tossing
them back into the mix, impishly shining with the zest of a boy.
He sees the overflow of snowy petals, finds the lowest hanging
stem, the gardenia bends to touch his greenhorn nose. Forever
that scent will remind him of grandma’s garden like she remembers
the tubes of trumpet petals in her own grandparents’ backyard. A
twinkle of tremulous joy impacting the fingers of her and her siblings.
The rare treat of parties, the round table laughter, heartfelt antiquity.
The boy explodes from the bottom of the driveway into the steep
mossy front yard, feeling each measured bounce, ne’er a straight
path to the door, exploring the red and yellow roses, the crumbling
timbers, walking the wall, following scurrying lizards, stepping on
ants, a roving eye for the fearful red, yet no thought of turtle monsters
nor copperheads that have precariously occupied my property,
nor coyotes that have encroached the boundaries. Unboundless energy,
nerve, verve of a courageous man in the making, trampling his feet,
owning the property then oh so gently snapping a stem, handing
his childhood princess a gift, pulling strings of a puppet’s heart,
winding the twine like pulling in a windswept kite, ever learning
nuances of my mind, tucked away to love, rebell and trust.
6/1/19