Long Outliving Poems
Long Outliving Poems. Below are the most popular long Outliving by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Outliving poems by poem length and keyword.
Foremost On My Bucket List?
Yo yo ma...though your absence
doth suddenly cause me woe,
no matter parting with
many bittersweet sorrows
long since consciousness unstrung
more'n fourteen plus years ago,
the last surviving Kuritsky
grim reaper enviously eventually snatched,
outliving demise of my Uncle Paul,
your once favorite sibling and only bro
tis grief that rankles, shackles, torments...,
thus caw zing such poetic twittering I crow
yea, this sole son bare knuckles
scraping along without dough
suddenly riven with mortal anguish -
worse fate than death - or bloated ego
willpower to live life to the max
hardened ice floe
despite promising futures
regarding thee deux daughters
that doth find me to glow
my spirit analogous to santa
deprived of his cheery, hearty
guffawing, and merry ho ho ho
yours truly seems condemned
to suffer, a worse fate
than freezing during whiteout
blizzard conditions barring
access to igloo,
brutally cold as Jupiter's Io
spirit felled by juggernaut, no
joking hence I don't feel Jew
bull, ah if yours truly knew
thee torturous emotional state threw
out every fiber upon
last fading memory...of you
unfairly condemned to suffer,
yes my lack of loo
cre immaterial, whence death
stole thee to realm afterlife queue
no doubt, a welcome reprieve aye rue
versus less cruel fate,
viz prolonged illness
comeuppance impales me
body, mind and askew
being pitched, where
adventurousness gungho fear slew,
feeling buzz with aliveness
(akin to David and Goliath)
unable to shake melancholy blue
nostalgic for underworld view
where cessation will find me
inaudibly coffin with a whew!
Life comes from the living ones
But death?
Where does death come from?
Does it come from outside?
Or it comes from within?
Does it start when we are born?
Or walk with us throughout life?
When we start crawling
When we start schooling
When we fall in love
When we get married or
When we are on the edge of life
And nothing makes sense
Not even love, career or success
We utter a prayer
Searching for meaning of life
But the prayer remains unanswered
We feel lost, abandoned
We die, living invisibly
The heart gets hardened
The souls is empty and numb
We forget to laugh
To think
And love again
We forget to be human
To feel the rain
To hug a tree
To gaze at the sunrise
Or enjoy a child’s smile
We become strangers to ourselves
And to the outside world
We don’t notice we are dying
Perhaps we are already dead
Without knowing God
Without outliving death
And that is the end of it all
Those lines inked deep into your skin,
They shatter the wound in your mind,
Showing everything buried behind your blue eyes,
Looking at the truth that was blind
To the world, hidden away from folks,
Hidden when you were the one to know,
Of the anguish and hurt, horror and pain,
The “damage” that's now out on show.
Each line is black, midnight black,
Defiant black lines leading nowhere,
With shades of red splashed around,
Revealing a dark, desolated despair.
They show you’re strong, outliving the pain,
Outliving everything now out on view,
To all of the world, to everyone here,
For everyone to know the true you.
All efforts tabled on Nigeria;
Experiencing a fortunate miscarriage,
Feasting Aso rock- a pizzeria
But never admit it is the cause of this age.
Upon the solid manifesto,
That touches all sectors:
Picturing California's Barstow,
To cajole mandates of the electors.
Finally, all promises are working...
Nigerians are glad to vote SAI BABA.
How beautiful things are shirking!
Yet, we never cease referencing YORUBA's BONOBO.
Now, pebbles tear apart the wall to a lowland.
No sands dare last all days.
Though, the wall can not withstand
The test of time come the apartness of clays.
The crevices in the wall:
Is an awaiting lost of hope;
One day, the wall will surely fall.
Just like acrobats won't last all days on tightrope.
The time is no longer right;
The poor and his rights are wrong,
For there's no one to stand by him.
Those beautiful hearts; pure and young
Have been battered and their loves' lights dim.
Buhari's reign is like what?
Revelation said it well in his whatnot
And if that be the truth,
Should we believe, lazy are all youths?
Why do we fear actions and love words?
If we never mind, our hens can fly like birds
But we keep living in reliving,
The leadership orbiting the Africa GIANT's sun outliving...
The societies expectations--
A reason millions are invested in educations.
When shall we be tired?
To relieve those supposed to have retired.
Just like the withered leaves bring
Blessings unto tree to renew its strength.
The odd flowers introduce the spring
And relinquished fortitude to breath.
The detached withered leaves
That have been laid to rest,
Can never regain life's airfoil
Than enrich the top soil.
What are meant for backups,
Ended up been the beautiful ups.
One thing unsure is the extent of our grieves,
All are mere satisfying best.
Of course, sun shall rise and shines bright on the green lushes,
Blessing nature with its radiant nutritional solar energy.
As the aiding glimmer blushes,
It shall promote unbelievable synergy.
But if nights tarry for long,
Mornings shall come with the healing birdsong...
Youths, light the nights;
Cohorts, best their rest.
My heart remains asleep, until you touch it... (poet)
You are the most' enigmatic existence,'
which will never be mine.
I remain a million waves away,
trying to make beauty from your scars.
Love is a reflective remedy in a world
veiled behind hateful hallucinations.
Envious eyes are an enemy
in episodes of egression.
As you are a mistress of midnight,
and I, a dahlia rejoicing in daylight.
To the one who has composed an
enchanted poem with silken whispers,
concealed within the silent
chambers of my sentiments,
lets go to a place where we can engrave
our own molten bronze memoirs,
where death can never keep us apart.
An eternal paradise for just me and you,
where the hidden passages of unheard chapters,
no longer remain unspoken and untouched.
Kiss me like moonlight on meadows,
caressing each blade of my oasis
in shimmering, silvery sensations.
Knowing my memories will appear
at dawn, in the form of dewdrops.
When aroused embers emerge,
uncontrollable words flow on virgin fibers,
as each intimate beat of hypnotic hearts,
floats along psychedelic paths of harmony,
where perpetual petals blossom like rainbows.
Heavenly scents scintillate senses,
as glittering butterflies float like our souls,
with shadows of satin stars serenading
our spellbound, sensual, sparkling spirits,
in realms with breathless nights and
velvet sighs echoing like lulling lullabies.
Each scribe springs into life in vivid visions,
like a divine dance, easing us into a tranquil trance.
A place called forever, illustrating immortal vows,
overwhelming like a Michelangelo masterpiece,
outliving the breaths of time in pristine clarity.
If you had the option to be an immortal,
would you leap at the chance, or just let that go?
It sounds like a question that’s easy to answer,
but I’d recommend that you take it real slow.
Are you the only one who lasts forever,
outliving all of your family and friends?
Do you think you would be able to stomach the
funerals of grandchildren meeting their ends?
And what of your health? Are you just like you are now,
receiving a body that’s twenty years old?
The former, depressing, if movement is limited;
the latter is one on which I’m not quite sold.
Who did you hang with when you were just twenty,
and are these the folks with whom you’d spend your time?
Nightclubs and dancing for the rest of the ages
sounds more like hell than a slice of the divine.
I think I’ll pass and just live the remainder
of the days God has allotted for me;
then when I’ve been ushered into His presence,
I’ll sing out His praises for eternity.
—————
For the If I Were Immortal Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Written on 04/18/2022
The house wasn’t as old as my father,
However some parts were starting to creak,
He detested outliving my mother,
And wanted a still house that didn’t speak.
His small bedroom window had a loose screw,
And it made a rattling sound day and night.
It made a sound whenever the wind blew,
He would call out her name, “Joan”, in fright.
I comforted him by reading Milton,
He would open his eyes and seemed at peace,
“ I am worried about that window son”
I smiled trying to put his mind at ease.
“ It is just that rattling old window dad,
It’s a sound you’ve heard many times before,
“Your are so right”, he said, ”and I am glad”,
“You are my good son, my good son and more.”
“You are not worried about the window,”
“No”, he said “ I am ready to just fly”,
“I would like an apple before you go”
“I always loved the taste of apple pie.
As the night pranced along he passed away,
Even the wind ceased its endless dance,
Perhaps it understood in some strange way,
The death of greatness should be in silence.
Goodbye, Odie
My little old cat is dying.
His steps are awkward, eyes unfocussed
and he cries when he can’t see me.
I’m not sure I want to be in a world
that doesn’t have my tabby Familiar.
I am feeling widowed, again.
I’m resigned to be grieving, again
outliving another love who is dying.
There’s odd comfort in this ache, the strange familiar.
I gaze at him imploringly, in tears, unfocussed.
He is my greatest love in our small world.
He reaches out a snow- capped paw to tap me.
Here I go again, making it all about me,
fighting to accept death must happen, again.
It seems that these past years, this is my world,
sitting by the bedside of the dying,
as they gaze at unseen figures in the room, unfocussed,
but they hear them, and they smile, voices familiar.
I push my face in soft ginger fur, the scent familiar.
He always smelled like vanilla cookies, to me.
Green eyes stare into mine, they’re focussed.
I watch as death opaques the life from eyes, again.
I hear my husband’s voice as he was dying;
“I am tired. It’s time to leave this world.”
Death has been a constant in my world,
an entity with which I’m too familiar.
Such a selfish act on the part of the dying,
to love me absolutely, then leave me.
I feel the empty chest constriction of grief, again.
I clutch a lifeless body, I am unfocussed.
I can’t see through tears, unfocussed.
Odie leaves a gaping hole in my world.
I’ll struggle with condolences, again.
My grief is in my chest, pain so familiar.
The last time one I loved held on to me
while completing the evolution of dying.
No longer unfocussed, I rise to greet grief, again,
it’s now my world and it enfolds me,
my dark, familiar partner in the dance of dying.
My heart is bound with twin-distressed grommets
But every night I look up at the sky Waiting for a comet.
My eyes fixate and focus before they leak like faucets
And I glance up, I zealously try
To spot it, the elusive comet.
My fate seems tangled in spider webs
Where I'm the fruit fly awaiting demise
The anxiety flows, the panic ebbs
I hope I pass away before I realize....
Yes, I hope I die before I realize
Maybe the comet is never to come
It's Halley's comet I want before my eyes
And the outliving odds are zero to none....
...
My heart is bound with ever-loosening grommets
It feels ever so often, it's being taunted
But still I await, albeit halfheartedly,
I still await my comet.
Trial and Terror
Tim had tried most everything else
waiting hoping procrastinating
meditation introspection ‘extro-neglection’
defence contraptions of all sorts and the
whole self-help spirit enclave palaver and yet
he still felt like a cadaver a rotting ‘thing’ of the past
The Universe seemed far away above
a flat earth and an ancient canopy
beyond clouds of neglected wisdom
He tried a catapult built a durable frame
attached a spring cantilever for his heavy
payload and ‘bingo’ off he went flying
‘This is it how foolish I have been not to
see the stars for the comets and thunder’
The sky was the limitless limit fast on the rise
Soon he approached heaven and reveled
in a wondrous tarpaulin embracing for shelter
well that’s what he thought as misery continued
It turned out to be a trampoline suspended
upside down or downside up a matter of mat
bouncing him back to where he had come from
‘They’ had not spoken of a yo-yo in the manual
another promise unfulfilled but at least he was
moving bouncing back and forth ‘til he crashed
Maybe he concluded ‘I’m in the right place
in my time and confusion after all for now’
It was time to reshuffle the motionless cards
Tarot told him that the Hermit needs to be there
for a purpose and the Hanged Man is only a metaphor
for outliving what was and a sign for quieting change
He dug a (w)hole in the frozen ground cemented
his feeble foundation and from that a buried base
put earth onto earth and constructed a causeway