Long Often Poems
Long Often Poems. Below are the most popular long Often by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Often poems by poem length and keyword.
Life of Needs and Wants
We begin our lives from the start of our birth to only thinking of our needs to slowly gravitate to not only needs but also wants. Here we will remain for many years to come fulfilling our needs and dreams of our wants. As years go by often to find we struggle for our needs because of our wants like a mouse racing on a carousel.
When and if we are lucky enough to reach those golden years our life goes full circle back to just the needs and no more wants are important. You look back upon the circle of your life knowing the circle will soon close and those needs of family, love, friends and the simple things in life far outweigh the wasted years of wants that brought you back to the simple needs that really are what made your life complete.
Going within the shrine of my heart's hidden mind,
In things without, the truth I often do not find;
I dream of greatness. This I expect in others.
As each, in life, have individual druthers...!
The facts of my universe are truly well-known,
I should meditate on my true forms clearly shown;
'Cogito Ergo Sum' - Descartes so proudly said.
Mind and body are not one. Thus, he went ahead...!
I love dear Plato, for his world of ideas.
He gave us Platonic love, highest from above;
No flesh in it; none touches before hearts touch,
Only such love can free me from every grim clutch...!
I do love and respect Aristotle, the great,
Who reduced truths forms to a great idea- bait;
Knowledge comes from within the realism does hold.
To unrealities, often, my conscience is sold...!
Metaphysical epistemological,
Each philosopher, for me, has been logical;
Excellence in beauty and divine perfection,
Is there, to idealism, any exception...?
Socrates accepted the bitter cup offered,
For his idealism he did greatly suffered;
Who he did not ever in his life influence?
Each heart and mind should flow in his great confluence...!!!
19 January 2023
a September preview
snowberries sunbathing..
a late... peepshow
shades of shadowing fall
sun ,highlights the pampas grass-
rose hips ripening
neath the chestnut tree
flakes of green cover this scene-
autumn blankets me
NOTE:
why hiku ?
HAIKU the ' phonetical&cultural original 'in Japanese'
whereas HIKU
is the English language version(including translations)with similar economy of words without "telling all" thereby to ' show ' (conforming to the key to true imagist poetry),&to avoid 'as'&'to' & the use of past tense verbs (often without verbs,adverbs,adjectives )A verse freed from syllabic constraint within its triplicity of format& inherently enigmatic & still with a caesura and surprise ending
As a carefree lad I used to lie awake at night and wait,
To hear the mournful wail of the Nickel Plate midnight freight,
As it slowly wended its way thro' moonlit hill and vale,
Across the verdant Hoosier prairie on its silvery rail.
I dreamt of the far-away places from whence it came and went.
'Til I tasted the adventure if proferred, I'd never be content.
To be the engineer of that mighty brute was my aspiration,
And I vowed to pursue that dream with youthful determination!
The fireman stoked the coal, creating a feathery plume of smoke,
His massive hulk keeping the firebox full, never missing a stroke!
The conductor from his throne in the trailing red caboose,
Managed all, the other crew thinking him somewhat obtuse!
I even learnt one of its signals that I remember to this day:
Two long, one short, one long, meant it was crossing a highway.
I often wondered what loads it was carrying across the nation;
Corn, wheat, cattle or hobos heading for a greener destination?
I suppose that young boys dream and old men tend to scheme,
Striving their best to capture that ever elusive dream.
Alas, I never became the engineer that I wanted to be,
But it created in my soul a desire for places I pined to see!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
She will often disguise herself in various ways
She might even put on a mask or color her hair
I tell you, he might even rage and pick a fight
He's subtle and clever but can never be satisfied
She might go on a very pricy shopping spree
He might go hunting or disappear in his cave
It's just very hard for him or her to be at ease.
Like the biblical character who built a bigger barn,
Not because he needed it, but because he could
Wine, women, song, or more stuff are simply never enough
You see, our divine heritage was to be named Contentment,
But we would have none of it because we allowed
Our once gentle life of tranquility to slowly slip away
from us, and we changed our names to Discontent. And
since then, we have been unhappy and restless. Such
Is the sad saga of many a pilgrim like you and me who
Lose our sense of our God-given identity with a name
Called Contentment and take on the name of Discontent.
100419PoSoup
The curious thing about lying is,
that you need not even speak words aloud,
to foster poisonous untruths; their bliss,
can come from lips tightly sealed by a shroud.
Many days, long years, in fact, I have tried,
to manage my affairs from quiet hills.
I thought p’wr would come from the fears I hide,
yet I know now that restraint often kills.
I could abide, in my sanctum, alone,
ignoring truths that are dying within.
Alas, now I see that others are prone,
to losing strength on account of my sin.
Lies kill truth and I rip others apart,
letting poor truth rot away in my heart.
23 June 2016
Written for “Sweet little lies” contest, sponsored by The Silent One
There is a spot hidden deep within the wood
so that if like me, you drive up the back roads
the autumn leaf cover still keeps it secret.
Few others know of it, though if you look
you can see faint paths imprinted
where searching feet pressed hard upon the ground.
One of many paths in the Watchung Mountains
winding quietly, lost and serene beneath the mighty trees.
Whenever I had gone and that was often in my youth
there was no parked car, no one else there walking,
to glimpse the open view far beyond the rocks and brush.
It was my place of solitude and prayer,
the place where I could go and breathe the air in deeply,
safe away from the noise and clamor of the world without.
I go back now too infrequently eyeing the still worn paths
grateful that some things remain unchanged in this life.
Let me step there firmly just a few more times
and walk along the earth in awe and admiration
of the mountain’s view and memories held within.
Let me reflect on the path my life has taken
it was here among the trees and solitary paths
that often gave direction, guidance and on occasion,
Came the answers to my prayers
as I walked in the thicket of the Watchung Mountain
and all the secrets sought and hidden there.
I care I search, and always I come to find
All is fair in love and war, but love is blind
Who dares to besmirch another is unkind
It is an insult when a person is maligned
I care I search but it remains undefined
how some lurch from shadows to spellbind
Who sits on a perch and is often inclined
to mock others? A caged parrot who's confined
I care I search but I will never be aligned
with racists whose hearts should be colorblind
Some attend church, hoping to be enshrined
but there they will find no peace of mind
I care I search but nothing can make me resigned
to spare the birch branch. I would spank a behind
We were excited to walk on our favorite beach…and at the same time ascertain…
if and how our favorite beach had been affected by the hurricane.
Some parts were still flooded…and just as we had feared
although there was still a beach to walk on…much of the sand had disappeared.
The sky, the trees, the water retained their vibrancy but…near as we could tell
many of the vivid hues that once painted the beach had been washed away as well.
Until we rounded a bend where in a pond formed by the tides
enjoying a little food and drink…
was a bird we’d never seen on our beach before…a flamingo…painted pink.
“Excuse me, flamingo.” We said. “We’ve never seen you on our beach before…
If you don’t mind our asking…how did you come to land upon our shore.”
“I was flying with my family from the Yucatan” she said.
“It was a beautiful summer day…
when a storm came out of nowhere…and then…I lost my way.”
“I got separated from my family…I don’t know if they’re alive…or dead.
I’m scared…I’m lonely…and I’m hungry.” that pink flamingo said.
So we sat with the her for a while…at the place where she’d been blown
to help ease her sadness and her fears…and so she wouldn’t feel all alone.
When it came time for us to go we reminded her how we’re all family…
every creature…every woman…every man…
that we hope she’s soon reunited with her flamingo family
and that we’ll check on her as often as we can.
As we walked away and she returned to finding good thing to eat and drink
In the washed out colors of the beach we looked back and said a little prayer
for that flamingo…painted pink.
Love is not
man’s first impulse,
but what is left
when the world fails
and nothing better
than
to imagine…
the creator
in us all,
were I fearless
I would nurture
such possibility-
to cancel armies
and philosophies
replacing science
with driving spirit
too often thought
in the abstract
though internals
an on-going
self vs self
faith outside the church
seems hopelessly flawed
as love that is calculable
predictable
cannot not float for long
that which the proposed
soul craves,
a body sustained aloft
outside and above
its literature
the best of humanity
not what it can see and touch
but what it can dream
life transcending
our mortal sleep….