Long Passive Poems
Long Passive Poems. Below are the most popular long Passive by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Passive poems by poem length and keyword.
As the wind flagellates heavily,
I catch the scent of cigarette smoke,
a familiar plunge—
greased lightning before my nostrils,
whirling memories of laughter,
of twilight conversations,
in the heart of old Kazungula.
With a beer in hand,
the world softens,
a passive embrace
wrapped in the night’s gentle arms—
the aroma of hand-rolled cigarettes,
a neighborhood chorus,
whispers of stories,
smoke curling like dreams.
The sun softly petering out,
its golden fingers retreating,
the black sky latches on,
a cloak for the stars,
while I linger on the veranda,
fondling a bottle of antiquated Scottish wine—
complimentary, yes,
but aged like the tales it cradles.
You see, wine improves with age,
yet I find myself improving with each sip,
the world around me blurring,
softening the edges of reality.
And then, as if summoned,
the dewdrops fall,
a disbanded symphony,
hailing from the gods of this land,
I rush to the window,
open it wide,
and let my head spill out into the night.
Oh, it’s glorious!
This moment—
where the wind carries whispers,
the smoke swirls like memories,
and I am caught in the embrace
of a night that wraps around me,
every heartbeat a celebration
of existence,
of solitude shared
with the universe,
and the intoxicating sweetness of life.
Form:
a sestina
To every zephyr comes a bold quest
and every squall can whisper regret.
Those who will take the deeper breath
are those who gain a discerning spirit.
The eye of a storm loves the calm
while the vortex lives for the clash.
When two people sense a coming clash
because they’re on a divergent quest.
One may keep peace, remaining calm
while the other shows no regret
for baring an ornery spirit -
hell-bent, ranting with “baited” breath.
The pacifist, holding his breath,
prefers to downscale any clash
disowning the negative spirit.
The personality of quest
depends on one’s view of regret.
Cold is how the gutsy perceive calm.
Some get uptight when life is too calm;
conflict leaves another gasping for breath.
Satisfaction versus regret -
can both be balanced without clash?
Is there a more productive quest
for passive and proactive spirits?
With open mind, the hostile spirit
can work at finding a sense of calm.
When threatened with a thorny request,
count to ten and take a deep breath.
At the invitation to clash,
do not attend; send your regrets.
If you are one who shrinks from regret
confronting an in-your-face spirit,
do not forgo the challenging clash.
Count to ten; dismantle your normal calm
and debate ‘til you’re out-of-breath.
Learn the thrill of making the conquest.
Sometimes in regret, I answer with calm,
then try a raw spirit with weighted breath.
Peace reigns both in clash and a quieter quest.
June 7, 2014
contest: What brings you peace
hostess: Chantelle Cooke
A CONVERSATION
I rushed to attend the call “Hi! Who is there?”
“How are you going on My Dear!”
“In which respect do you expect
my response? Let me hear.
Regarding my health, you caress?
Or my mental restlessness!
Or about any
domestic monotony?
Or apprehending disturbances
in my circumstances?
Or disinterested totally!
Call is mere a courtesy.”
“Why do you enjoy just
to hurt me. I am introvert.
You know, I can’t help
to express myself.
But you are aware
of my passion, Dear.”
“No. You are passive.
Emotion may be massive,
but hidden in core of heart
Dear, you are so inert!”
“Since last week
I could not speak.
I am eager to listen
about your weekly bulletin.”
“Cover story of my news letter
shows till you are not intimate
to me, you know that better.”
09/ 01/16
Second Place
'STRAND SELECT B' Contest by Brian Strand
Bright red is a nice colour to me,
Reminds me of life and vitality;
It is an active, liberating cree,
Which says you can pen your own destiny.
Colour is never lax or passive,
But springs with semiotic meanings,
Evokes feelings energetic or abrasive,
And bright red indeed has very forthright holdings.
Bright red confers happiness and laughter,
And for it there’s always a hereafter;
It reminds me of Coca-Cola and Santa Claus,
Manchester United and road sign laws.
It brings to mind Herbal Essences and Red Bull,
Birds Eye products which have a pull,
The X Factor’s symbol and England’s flag,
Tide detergent and the Walkers crisp bag.
I had a bright red polo shirt,
When I was a hopeful teenage squirt,
Which I proudly wore, so glad,
That could save me sometimes from being sad.
Bright red often makes a statement:
Which is very rightful establishment;
Because to be bold in life is to know,
And to direct can simply be to say hello.
And of course red is the colour of blood,
Pumped by the heart in a rhythm,
Which grips us with love in a flood,
Repudiating hurt and brash schism.
“Inspired by a Native American Legend using a story of
‘hunger unfed’ as a metaphor for inner conflict.” ~~~ The Poet.~~~
"The Grandfather spoke in a gentle voice, calm and clear,
As he described to her, the two beasts without fear.
The first beast you have inside you my darling child,
This animal is sullen and untamed, a persona that is wild.
It's a bold animal, who exist alone and ignores other’s feelings.
It goes about, suiting itself and choosing its own dealings.
It is strong and defiant and never does what it’s told to do.
It fights with the other beast that also lurks inside you.
The second animal is calm and pure, and does as it should.
It will obey you and choose to do what is right and good.
Its desire is to protect you and look after you all day long.
This animal has a righteous nature, although it is strong.
It will be loyal as it’s a passive beast with a side that’s meek.
These two fight each other, as to live within you they both seek.
Both hunger, as they are unfed, the winner is important indeed."
"Which one will win Grandfather?" "Child it will be the one you feed."
It's Obvious!
I drew a blank on why god exists,
Because his existence is unprovable,
And because he does not occasion,
The wise, the modest or poor visibly.
It’s not as if he’s a non-variable,
Non-affective or passive in any way,
Because just the mention of him,
Makes my emotions rise and well.
It gets my back up to point to him,
For validation when you’ve got none,
Since selection was your choice,
When you accepted the god meme.
There’s no foreign knowledge beam,
That drives other cultures to your inside,
There’s only a reframing of your own life,
When your set you raise to the ground.
In prayer you take your relationships,
To god, but it’s your brain that holds,
The repeated truth of patience, surprises,
In life’s cycles that shoe your values.
In the ebb and flow known and near,
Your character evinces kins’ declarations,
Shows that interaction attributed to god,
When it inspires your touch of care.
I’m sorry if you think me indifferent,
Or apathetic, unsure or uncertain,
About if god exists, ‘cos he does not,
As I know that two plus two is four.
(African populations are being killed off by war,
famine, disease, and neglect...when will we try to help them?)
Time,
stretching out, encompasses curtains,
on distant savannas, of shimmering heat.
And animals vanish:
ibex and antelope; elephant; grouse.
Here once, now going or gone.
Time vanishes now.
Moldering greenery, mute,
moves mainly in wind --
pliant life, submitting to breezes,
passive in sun. Rooted in spots
not chosen or won.
Plants may not vanish;
they prosper.
We do not prosper.
We vanish, as animal;
some go hardly noticed.
A dirge, as animals vanish:
we vanish unnoticed.
Some would say,
although not LaoTse,
and maybe not the Lakotae,
certainly not Animae,
or my Aunty Mae
on Mary Jae,
Egos just wanna fight or flee
or something strangely Other
than with or against
ego-viral identity.
But Taoists
healthy-Yang with wealthy-Yin display,
In-between fight and flee
lies our more ambiguously WinWin transubstantiating Way,
already there,
for those who Left with Right see
what we could be
with actually quite a bit more integrity.
Synergy between opposing Elite/NonElite emotions
need not necessarily end in quick-sand
UnHoly Spirited chaos
of alien ambiguous Other,
mere positive or negative or not-not double-boundup intentions
hiding on Other side
of ego fragmentation--
Integrity remains Earth's original eco-interdependent
RightMind intuition
of and for creative dipolar apposition
between active fight and passive flee
non-abusive
non-neglectful
non ego-narcissistic
non anthro-hubris
WinWin RealTalk communication,
too non-violently curious to fight,
too non-aggressively courageous to flee.
Sometimes,
between fight and flee
and you
and me,
I prefer to listen to divinely majestic mountains
and whisper through Earth's HolySpirited valleys
promising to return
to our originally democratic
blue-green surfing sea.
Cliches drive me totally crazy.
They make my thinking more than hazy.
Two words in particular, you are already familiar with.
When a dullard uses,"they say", I want to scream, forthwith!
.
Look you now at the way, some respond in emails!
One, or two words, elementary childish verbiage,with a paucity of details.
The overly adored internet, the master killer of communication.
Not only between each other, but a plague fallen on all nations.
The other that drives be balmy is, "Oh, well. There's nothing we can do."
What are we, passive cows who can only say, moo?
Remember that when a planned, tyrannical government takes over!
You'll regret not having a gigantic German Shepherd, named Rover.
December 30, 2019
December 28, 2019
Does my butterfly wing flap
matter to matter?
Does my life extend
beyond my fleeting, feeble steps
in the dirt?
Even the genes I pass on to my progeny,
though uniquely mine,
are unchanged by my own existence, per sec,
here on Planet Earth.
It is only my children, born to exist by me,
the recombinant fusion of parents genes,
that changes fates' legacy here,
with a flippity flap
beyond what would be:
If I never existed,
If I never graced this earth,
If I was never remembered
by loved ones and foes,
If my grave never had a headstone,
or I was cremated.
When I die, my existence will be rendered
to smoke and dust,
and forgot me blots.
My existence is merely a
unique perception within me
for the time, only when I am alive.
What others see, feel, think, hear
appreciate and revere,
cannot be known by me
or by any of the other existences,
For spiritual existence is a
collection the lonely lost souls
staring within, at the walls.
Reaching out,
fleetingly bleating,
holding hands with the others,
but untouched,
un-uttered,
unheard
not mattered,
to what exists,
in endless space and
impassive time,
passing to passive tense.