Long Outruns Poems
Long Outruns Poems. Below are the most popular long Outruns by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Outruns poems by poem length and keyword.
‘Old Spice’ and wet grass carry years
of understanding between us.
What I wear and you gather into you,
become a language neither of us know,
but comprehend in mouse-tracks of deduction.
You read grease and engine oil, as if grease and engine oil
were two parts of a book left out in the wet,
a chemical patois revealed by an inborn knowledge
of petroleum pipes, and the long-distance howls
of Alaskan wolves.
If I break wind, you run to me, body rapt and heeding,
every hair translating a smudged paragraph or two into
volumes of memory.
Rubbernecking my attention with a fixed gaze,
(No, Timmy has not fallen down an abandoned mine shaft),
you are just staring at my next question,
willing to jaw with more whiffs of intimacy.
Tales of muddy boots, the flash-fiction of urine trails,
(hers and her canine buddies, not mine),
the breezy gossip of each rabbit hole.
A jargon of us both
surfacing in her millpond eyes,
idioms cresting now on her black nose,
a cloddish lingo,
but it outruns anything that could be said.
bank not integrity on a man in penury's bed
for he'd borrow quaking qualities penury lends
if wanky wealth wakes him hither,
rustic rhymes of his attributes is better
give not what you scarcely have
nocturnal nature weeps over hampered halves
love by meagre mind, clasp caution's crest
when love outruns wielded wits, there's moaning mess
sometimes, lanky loves loans you to sassy sky
at felon fall, he's merging massive mile
matchmakers and takers are bruised baits
only a gullible giver makes munchy name
all-times, it pays being a felon fool
than a callous clown in numbed name of "dupe".
'20:05:25:16:35
Note: of varying virtues.
Memories tattoo my brain like an artist
I miss loved ones passed and the last
Time I saw each one is frozen
Like icicle tears swelling brown eyes
Last time I saw her alive she
Was full of joy eating favorite foods
Planning her life despite breast cancer
Nothing stopped her from dreaming
Not even death
Final time I saw him in Atlanta
It was summer and he was smiling
Carrying his first grandson on
His shoulders piggy back style
Definitely proud
And so many more I hold on shores
Of happiness and gratitude for
I know love outruns death
I know somehow they are better
Where they are now in heaven
The sea is a bit of a liquid brat,
always adjusting his white, foam hat.
He’s got no bones and he’s got no toes
but he follows wherever the north wind goes.
He’s a watery thief with a very long reach,
lifting every plastic bucket left on the beach.
He gulps down the sun like a vitamin pill
and never, not once, has the guy sat still.
He’s got billions of fish tucked deep in his pockets
and salt, crust stinging his old-water sockets.
He’ll roar like a lion, then hiss like a cat
but he’s mostly just loud and he’s mostly just flat.
He’ll tickle your ankles and tug at your shorts,
then mumble a rhyme through his bubbly snorts.
So give him a wave (if you’ll pardon the pun),
before he gets bored and outruns the sun.
A mother's hand trembles
as she brushes a tear from her eyes;
while watching her awkward child
standing all alone, forgotten.
As others, in their budding self-awareness,
catch glimpses as they run by, playing
at their games and life.
They were too young, perhaps,
to appreciate that difference will
often foretell brilliance, that genius
sometimes hides behind
shyness, and strength within
softly stammered words.
Instead, we often feel we must march
to the same annoying drum beat,
speak the same exhausted phrases,
and think only empty thoughts
to feel connected. While left alone,
the one who's different
finds contentment in tending
a garden of his dreams.
Perhaps he should have come to this
life a little later, when humanity
might have learned acceptance
of those unlike themselves, and
tolerance for minds greater than
their own.
But, for now, there'll be derision
as insecurity outruns compassion
in the human race. Yet, as sometimes
happens, the awkward one, rejected as
a playmate, is now extolled by many
critics for his masterpieces.
And we gaze in wonder at the loveliness
of the unique.
A percentage of me has to hell been consigned
by the ever raging zionists' war machine.
To each livid soldier, a mandate is assigned
to uproot terror where multitudes are confined.
Torrents of explosives have swept my landscapes clean.
Churches, mosques, schools have all to mighty vengeance bowed.
Stricken mothers wail uncontrollably aloud.
Itinerancy pervades my horror stricken crowd,
whilst my kids toy with explosives, carnage and ruin.
Survivors will take shelter from snipers shooting
death balls and lead from peevish and portable guns.
Horror unprecedented the people outruns.
I have metamorphosed to nothing but a morgue.
Lice and bugs have infested hoodies lined with borg.
Disease and maimed limbs have no remedies in sight.
Let not the world be unmoved by my sorry plight.
Why must I this price pay for a thousand or more killed?
My morgues are beyond their capacity filled.
The deaths of innocents are nothing but unjust.
My once-populated streets have been turned into dust.
The joy of being—all-encompassing
Worldwide oneness, boundless, and all awake,
The universal whole, the cosmic breath,
Divine completeness found in every soul.
Absolute bliss that brings spiritual rest,
A perfect twain of symmetry and grace,
So precious, yet confusing to lay minds,
For what is flawed is still a part of whole.
You are the sky, the wind, the fire, the sea,
Vast shifting waves of vibrating design;
Let perfect wholeness bloom before my eyes,
Where every restless search dissolves and dies.
To simply be is to embrace this world,
Devised by Destiny’s rare quantum dance
That touches the deep silence of my core,
My essence and the bliss that comes to bless.
Material things may mimic what is whole,
But awareness outruns the reach of form;
No earthly math can chart spiritual depth,
It needs an eye that sees a part as whole.
For all things rest, though sitting poles apart—
Dynamic, static, here as well as there,
The earth and sky, the cold against the fire,
One single flash that spans eternity.
And nothing stands divided from the rest,
But lives as part of one great shifting sea.
To be a part, not whole, is no less joy—
The joy of being, on way to evolve!
Believing in a power everywhere
Is not a phrase of rigid, hollow faith,
But living physics in its purest truth:
For, Absolute permeates every space.
________________________
Reflections | 17.07.2026 | creation, god, journey, joy, perfection, Blank Verse
Dad blurts out in fright:
"I don't know what to DO!?"
Dad's abandoning God...and I'm striving,
With all of my effort, but with little doubt,
I assure dad that he's strong and he could always rely on us
With all of this dread, without a doubt,
Dad's hating the traffic...while he's driving
God knows I'm very uncertain...
And my garbage-like depression (misery)
Outruns my cheerfulness again
And our dejected repression (cruelty)
God knows for certain we are uncertain...
Our uncertainty zooms on and on...
As our garbage-like obstacles
Ship us away from happiness time and time again
But, throughout the troublesome obstacles,
God works with us dawn to dawn…
And God knows what he’s doing, father!
God knows we’ll win this fight with His might!
a sugar maple leaf slips free
counting toward One proof
the Seven Mysteries
God, I count prime gaps
I watch prime numbers growing
only primes orbit
a rule sends one step
loops return periods double
recursion counts One
an iteration
within fluid smoothness frays
water turns inward
can you see the curve
study elliptic rank shifts
findings test the rank
questions spiral out
unknown patterns circle back
pi bends into sight
a proof can be checked
still search cannot prove it now
checking outruns search
every loop turns east
the count folds back into form
through form, God's Haiku
the sugar-maple leaf settles on frost
children of the corn start to awaken
bootlicking idolatry
He’s a peculiar star
he comes from TV
ambition is his sphere
and his every line is a trick
all know him a notorious liar
whose business is schadenfreude
but many curry his sweet favour
for he has the cowards furry
and an actors need to be flatter'd
He has no quality worthy of entertainment
but we must see him every hour
for he is an hourly promise-breaker
for rashness, superfluous folly and thievery
the world has noted, he has no historical equal
In moral retreat, he outruns any jockey
the treasures of his idolatrous worshipers
he straightway began to strip away, by tariff
too late their despair they will proclaim
but the misery will be well earned
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Fool by bôa
TROUBLE (feat. Nikki Williams) by Parov Stelar
Who Let the Scat out of the Bag by Tape Five
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Webster: Schadenfreude = enjoyment at the troubles of others.
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