Long Particulars Poems
Long Particulars Poems. Below are the most popular long Particulars by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Particulars poems by poem length and keyword.
And one day
it will be my delight I
shall find another
One my fondest
they're like overshadowing
the particulars
she shall be a particular
spiritually
guided sanctioned by God
One of his brightest
His a Holy daughter
Whom I shall in veil into my delight
I will be excited to be delighted
Blessed and versed
Spiritually called and voiced
inspired by her liberties
Her praise her souls beauty
Why would be invested in this life
I'm confessing I'll wait ...for my future delight my new Holy Wife
3/6/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
I once dated a weatherman
At first he had a sunny outlook…
He had our future all mapped out
But he suffered periods of deep depression so our relationship got rained off
I once dated an optician
He said he could see our future was together
But soon I stopped wearing rose tinted glasses ...
He was always smashed and making a spectacle of himself
I once dated a librarian
He claimed he was an open book
But I couldn’t cope with the periods of intense silence
So the writing was on the wall and I threw the book at him
I once dated a farmer
He ploughed straight into our relationship
But I discovered he was a muck spreader
And when he started playing the field I ditched him
I once dated a baker
He was very upper crust and well bred
But he couldn’t get his dough to rise
So I toasted his future and said goodbye
I once dated a hairdresser
He was very trim and didn’t have a hair out of place
But he was always making cutting comments
So I cut the relationship short
I once dated a doctor
He had a wonderful bedside manner and he made my temperature rise
But he became very cold and started injecting poison
I lost my ‘patient’s’ and got sick of him so I gave him the cold shoulder
I once dated a barman
He wore very attractive glasses
But he was always on the pull
So I gave him sort measures and 'called time' on our relationship
I once dated a retired policeman
He was an arresting sight
But when he took down his particulars
His truncheon was all floppy – so I bailed out
N/A in Just make me laugh Contest judged on 08/30/16
Submitted to take the dagger from my heart please contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings
27th August 2016
Moves To Zero
(Randometer Functionality)
Randometers measure sequential ordered elements
Coded, incomplete, repeating
Drawn to the core of reason compartmentalized
Run from pens with solid ink
Rounded shapes sink into paper
Compositionality on curved particulars considered
Don't let facts get in the way
Dots parade, line up in space
Run from pens with solid ink
Rounded shapes sink into paper
Redundant, coded, incomplete, repeating
Levers move, calculate the soul, holes within
Turn separable logic switches on with warmth
Circular conclusions measurements
Form comfort zones in gravity
Create fractions down to zero
Dream gears find permanence on new platforms
Equate levels 1 through 5 slide rule wise
Perform with accuracy
Complete their circuits
Move to measure electronic hours
Dictate which direction time moves on
Constituent components rise in the dark
Concepts must be formulaic
Come without warning in the morning
Zero intent in mind
I WATCH FROWNS ON a DIMLITE EVENING
--------------------------------------------------------
by: Zola Ya Muntu
--------------------------------------------------------
With an attention to the particulars
I watched frowns in a dim light
feeling a quirky burst of humiliation
her eye's deepened my concern
between the whispers
a bursting pulse of want awakened me
refusing to understand the term
foraging for the harvested fruit
I bent slouched awaiting my turn
she spoke to me as I were a cool
the outdoorsy words which my kisses earned
I leaned close to her as her natural lover
the whole of our time studying passion
seemed alien and strange
with a lack for certain particulars
I looked deep into her eyes
her smile changed everything
a smile I knew wasn't a disguise
I joked that my investment in the ring
was genuine
I knealt to ask for her hand
from today on honor me
with your love for me
might from now on
I could be your man
a quiver in her voice she answered
I'll marry you she spoke only to me
I kissed her it seemed like forever
our journey together started this day
she's my woman and I am her man
---------------------------------
From
DeGuise De Diva
by Zola Ya Munta
--------------------------------
half seen in the shadows
a film of images
monlit velvet. blue deep
a pale stone in the dark
a glitter of water:
the days end
voices far afield
light of sunrise
the stillness
a rainbow awakens
more pleasure
down to sunset:
after the brocade of night
& the ornate
shield
a sable ribbon in a chronicled
painting of Spring
in fiesta
yelow turquoise vermillion
rising
crossing
then gathered
clinging staggered
a continuing thread
together again
in marked sculpture
fragments moderated
around
an arbour of stone
beauty just beginning
a process
taking form
a mongraph dwelling
as it were
in the air
moving towards certainty
an obscure need
flowering
as a neccessity elsewhere
out of the night langour
out of the darkness no form
nothingness no movement:
time drifts
between pleasure & peace
splendour&habit
dwelling in a natural manner
always
precious
memory
full of detail a catalogue
a kindled
measure of sensitive
conversations
a compromise of the constant
a disposal of reason
a deposit of the repetitive
a voyage to the distant past
still
liquid customs written&
understood
matter still
in place
through it all
the priviledged remain here
spinning
empty pledges
in a procession
offering their measured
magnificence
to implement particulars:
meeting together
without real participation
This article is about the underground lyricist and outlaw musician. For other uses, see Zoltan Goliath, Brent Scorn, Lydia Fox, C. Günter Marrow, Elzbieta Bienga (disambiguation).
Otis (Trench Mouth) Trench was born with pneumonia in a black-rain steel town in Third World, Pennsylvania. He was not expected to survive and received Last Rites. His unction was so extreme, however, Death could not grab hold and he slipped away. He grew up wild, learned his letters from a ragman’s son and took off for the high country and the deep blue sea. Upon his return, he landed a job tending bar in a low life shot-and-beer joint called the Old Salem Tavern, but referred to by locals as The Country Whore Inn. He began composing lyrics as a way of minding the tide and easing the drift. It continues to be an on-going process. In a recent interview with the fashion editor of A Dim, Dark Mirror, Mr. Trench was quoted as saying:
At this specific stage of my existence, and in consideration of the circumstances in which I find myself, it surprises me to discover that rumors of my downfall have been insinuated within the chronology of my tenure, since, upon completion of an extensive and thorough inventory of my physical and spiritual estate, as best can be determined by the faculties I still retain within my possession and deemed by myself to be valid and reliable given an honest assessment of the facts of the matter; I testify for the official record, and in a fashion suitable to be notarized, authorized and cauterized, that regarding the state of my particulars, I am of the firm, unwavering opinion, despite whatever dissenting voices may be heard chiming discordantly in some distant pasture of manure-sodden earth seeking to either disturb my slumber or provoke my wrath, and regardless of whatever graying whiskers I may in fact possess, I aver assuredly that in contradiction to all appearances and any other details not withstanding – my ass ain’t draggin’ yet. In consideration of my prognosis, would you hike up your skirt a little higher, honey?
11/10/10
How can people think of children
as a commodity that they can buy or sell.
These are the people that should rot in hell.
There are women who get pregnant to make a living
They feel they have nothing in their lives worth giving.
Then here come the marketers-that with
Others their information they’ll share.
They find out from buyers what they want
In a child, and if they want it quick
Or can they wait a while.
If they want any child they can
Supply on on the spot.
Any particulars will take a little longer
And the price becomes harder and the
Search becomes stronger.
These marketeers have an underground
World Wide Web- supply and demand
Stays in their head.
These children are just figures on a tally sheet
The money they make, just can’t be beat.
Some children may find a good home
And possibly a good life- but the majority
Of them become sacrificed.
Put into slavery and prostitution at a very young age
Some are even locked up like animals in a cage.
No love, no schooling and very little to eat
A found dirty candy bar, is a fantastic treat.
Now starts another vicious cycle of this unending chain
Older kids preying upon younger children- just to survive.
This is the truth my friend- this is no lie.
Will any of these children be saved?
I don’t know ! But we’ll take it day by day
There has been such a backlash against immigrants
that I decided I would put out a thought.
Do we remember the immigrants
Who for our country fought?
Starting with our revolution
when this country was born in 1776.
There were immigrants who fought by our side
Von Steuben, Kosciuszko, and Pulaski were among the mix.
What have they done since then you ask,
to keep our country great ?
There are those who battled oppression with us
even up to the present date.
I do not know of particulars in 1812
or even in WW I.
But if immigrants didn't fight for us
They joined the 'Melting Pot' that eventually made us one.
WW II is another chapter
of immigrant oppression we let go awry.
How long could we have fought that war
Had the Nisei not gone to Italy?
I have had great kindness in my life
by two different immigrant cultures shown.
One was Puerto Rican; the other Chinese
who accepted me as one of their own.
It was more than kindness.
It was a true caring and love in their way.
One gave me the confidence to move ahead in life
The other became my family.
Without the strength of these diverse immigrants in my life
I don't know where I might have gone.
I would certainly not be here writing
but somewhere else...lost and alone.
So when I hear people loudly rail
about an "Immigrant Crisis of State",
Remember, We all came from roots elsewhere
This is what makes our country Great!
For three hours, I wait.
Is patient the word?
A friendly face, too soon?
Still, when your old
you have no time
for particulars, need to tell
your story to who will listen;
and walk miles and miles
of aisles in the dollar store
where your friend
never goes; and you tell
her about the rose;
and eventually
Mary and Martha meet,
having never crossed paths
before, and
probably nevermore this side
of heaven; and
the painstaking path
has been blocked.
For three hours I wait
to retreat, as
my husband texts me -
I mean I’m not that far away,
yet, time seems to travel.
Now, I’m quite familiar
with the products sold.
I bought a plastic box
(for a wig I used for my sister’s party);
a yellow, smiley face neck pillow,
nail wraps and nonpareils.
The jaunt of longsuffering,
surely was worth my time;
I survived. This was merely
the end of a very long day.
I’ll not bore you
with the unusual beginning.
Back home, I stuffed my face
and watched a show with my
husband. It was after seven.
I will see all of this reel as a real blessing
and be glad I didn’t stand anyone up.
Life means I can talk to my friends and others,
When the untravelled sea fills with brothers,
Pleasure rushes the uninhabited areas we just don't sail,
And when we semiotically emit our meaning, we will prevail;
Freedom rings with resonance resounding and pervasive,
No need for more traditional others to be abrasive,
No bears or wolves, no chides, jibes, and no probes obtrusive,
Your identity is your construct, your speech is conclusive.
And my books! Alas my books. They proffer so such contentment,
A breadth of knowledge with no suggestions delinquent,
Nor are there any accusers to accost,
My mind and spirit which upon some can be lost,
Possibilities endless, bringing depth of character,
They glint and glide, swimming in grammar;
Multiple amounts of information councel my hesitation,
Brimming particulars restrain inhibition.
But oh my computer: How elegant is she!
Believing in my easy registrations as well as my errors to be;
Such possibilities, moulded so neatly into my space,
Without the communal glare of uniformity’s trace;
Personalised desktop, memory and input method,
It accepts me unquestioned with no staff or flogging rod;
I program to set the user interface alight,
With the functionality and procedures of the user’s plight.
However, I can also give myself my own system,
Personal software from my own inclination;
Knowing some designers do not have in hand,
The shortcuts that only I seem to understand;
A software engineer’s god complex should not surface,
The digital space is a privilege to influence, place;
I love determining the screen and its sounds,
Where freedom of knowledge and data abound.
But the gift of poetry delights and ignites,
Hurtful regressions lull in its sight;
Its credibility only ever stoops to concede,
That only your introversion may expression impede;
Language caressed, dignity nursed,
You never need to be at all reimbursed;
Its haters are silent for fear of rebuke,
As truth, imagination and love are its hook.