Long Paul Poems
Long Paul Poems. Below are the most popular long Paul by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paul poems by poem length and keyword.
If what I say I see is an image my brain forms
From stimulation by certain waves, then
When I say I see something “over there”, I do not see it
There, I see it here in my brain in three dimensions.
“There”, everywhere, is dark. Enlightenment plays only
On screens in brains where there are eyes to see.
But is what I say I see really the way something looks?
Yes, so far as I remind myself the image is but an artifact
Created within the limits of my eyes to capture and my brain interpret.
If so, how would the same something “look” in ultra violet or far-red waves,
(Is it all illusion?)
If we had such eyes to see?
Is it the same with other senses?
With hearing my dog thinks it is
Since I seem to miss so much. Ears deaf
To all but those of the waves we call audible,
Leaving so much music unheard.
I think how Mozart would have frolicked
Through notes extending to canine ranges,
If we had such ears to hear.
Surely all waves carry some possibility
For perception, some new way to find our way
But most are either denied or undetected.
I am impoverished by waves I cannot ride.
Copyright Paul Thomson 2021
In the home of my neighbor quite near
lives a little girl, a bundle of bubbling glee.
On the Christmas Eve of last year
mother brought her a starry Christmas tree.
Tragedy from the blue struck the happy family,
she lost her mother on a somber day of summer.
She doesn’t know what has happened really,
from her sad face disappeared all the shimmer.
She keeps on asking her helpless father:
where has her mother gone, leaving her.
The only answer he could search and gather:
she has gone to the sky, shines as a star.
For her this Christmas will be dark, I know.
So, Santa when you come with gifts this year,
return on her face the flicker of the lost glow,
give her a bright Christmas tree with a crowning star.
December 8, 2019
Contest : What You Want For Christmas
Sponsor : Gregory Paul
December 15, 2019
Contest : The Darker Side Of Christmas
Sponsor : Richard Lamoureux
"Whatever you vividly imagine, ardently desire, sincerely believe, and enthusiastically act upon... must inevitably come to pass!"
~Paul J. Meyer
Go tell it to the free roaming birds,
soaring high over the highest peaks,
That I too can fly without the wings
or even a whiff of wind
across God’s beautiful blue sky
or sweep down playfully
upon the verdant valleys
and the rolling meadows,
I can perch on the flower-laden bough
or skim over the forest-clad ranges,
I can dive deep into the depth of the sea
and traverse the yonder shores—
All I have to do
to realize my wildest whims
is just to close my eyes and
I M A G I N E!
~02/28/23
~Contest: Writing Challenge "I" words
~Sponsor: Constance La France.
At six o’clock in the morning
Upon the sixth of June
Came Michael-Paul O’Higgins
Into this bustling world.
At school he was but middling,
He never cut much ice
In English, Maths, Geography,
In Scripture, Sport or Art.
In early adolescence
On the back seat of a bus
He found a tract on how we must
Seek out Salvation’s path.
Soon at the local gospel hall
He preached with fire and zeal.
“Put all your trust in Jesus,
In no prelate, prince or priest.”
He learned a thousand texts by heart,
Knew the number of the Beast,
And having read the Bible through,
Turned back to Genesis.
His school performance soon shot up,
He banished ease and sloth.
No dirty jokes would pass his lips,
Like they might from other folks.
N this world, too, is virtue blessed.
His hard work soon bore fruit.
He gained a place at Oxford.
His ambition was the Church.
But lofty halls of learning
May stifle simple faith,
And Michael-Paul had fits of doubt
That caused his lapse from grace.
He switched to Economics
And flirted with Karl Marx.
To a secular millennium
He strove to find the path.
Soon active carrying banners,
Their colour deep-dyed red,
He got caught up in fisticuffs
And was bundled off to clink.
They noted his particulars,
Affiliations, too.
The magistrate just said “tut tut”
And he was free to go.
However minor was this brush,
He aimed to live it down.
He learned to mind his P’s and Q’s
And be just plain bourgeois.
Forgetting youth’s illusions,
For a salary safe and sure
Than ran into six figures
He sold Babylon his soul.
Up higher, ever higher,
He climbed each echelon
Until the plum job of his dreams
Was juggling on his nose.
But in some data memory bank
Was that record from his past,
The which, recalled in a routine check,
Gummed up his future plans.
He lost his job, his house, his wife,
He lost his heart and soul,
And now he’s palely loitering
In the long queue for the dole.
O wise man, give an answer,
O say what devil’s art
Has turned his world reformer,
This promising performer,
Into a mere statistic
On an economic chart?
According to an ancient tradition
One can distinguish between two senses of Scripture
The literal and spiritual
The latter being subdivided into
Allegorical
Moral and
Anagogical senses
The profound concordance of the four senses
Guarantees all its richness to the living reading of Scripture in the Church
The literal sense is the meaning conveyed by the words of Scripture
And discovered byexegesis
Following the rules of sound interpretation
All other senses of Sacred Scripture are based on the literal
The spiritual sense
Thanks to the unity of Eternal God’s plan
Not only the text of Scripture
But also the realities and
Events
About which it speaks can be signs
The allegorical sense
We can acquire a more profound understanding of events
By recognizing the significance in Father Christ
Thus the crossing of the Red sea
Is a sign or type of Father Christ’s victory
And also of Christian baptism
The moral sense
Events reported in Scripture ought to lead us justly
As St. Paul says
They were written for our instruction
The anagogical sense
We can view realities and
Events in terms of their eternal significance
Leading us toward our true homeland
Thus the Church on earth is a sign of the heavenly Jerusalem
A medieval couplet summarizes the significance of the four senses
The letter speaks of deeds; Allegory to faith
The moral how to act; Anagogy our destiny
It is the task of exegetes to work
According to these rules
Toward a better understanding and
Explanation of the meaning of Sacred Scripture
In order that their research may help the Church to form firmer judgment
1232015
While they danced, Frances
visualized her high school days.
She could hear
the 50s music
superimposed on the beats
she was hearing with her ears.
These days, they tell you where the rhythm is,
you don't have to feel it. As they danced,
bumping with the rhythm, they did not touch.
They exercised their own imaginations.
Everything is
programmed these days. They tell you
how to play and organize the moves.
They tell you how to learn and
what to learn and
threaten you with poverty
if you don't follow.
While they danced, time
bunched up at the end point.
The present moved much
slower than the past streamed in.
Her mind terminated the flow of the past
and there was a blockage that filled
the empty cells of memory.
As she moved, gesticulating
seemingly meaninglessly but not meaninglessly,
she carried a wealth in the heaviness of her.
We have to write about
reality, if we are going to write, not theory.
Theory is rarified
even if it's the most important thing.
We spend our few yearning,
hungry years here, with each other,
with our human furniture.
We don't have time
for explanation.
Paul couldn't resist.
He eventually reached out for the woman's hand
and pulled her close.
A Boy,
his Mother named Fred
Is better known to his Friend's
By the caustic nickname
Snipers Dream
Because of the size of his head
Slimline was 2XL all around was constantly eating
Whereas
Fatt's was shaped like a cigarette
and hardly ate at all
Tall Paul was 4 Foot something
Shorty was 6 Foot 6
Poor Boy wanted for nothing
While
Richie Rich had holes in his undies
Chatterbox hardly spoke
Comedy Dave never got a joke's punchline
Pasty had his own sunbed at home
Ladies Man can't talk to girl's
Brain's was born without any
Dumbass gets A*+ in every subject
Big Dick wears shorts in the showers
Roses has bad B.O is scared of soap
Smiley has yellow teeth
Aussy comes from South Africa
Jewish is Muslim
Homeboy is foreign
Each of us love our nickname
We all get along
Not 1 of us take offense
Because true Friendships are built
on a mutual similar sence of humour
Laughing is the best medicine
Erasure Poem
So many fake Indians these days
Elizabeth Warren is one
And according to my DNA results
I am too
But my grand-parents spoke Cherokee my mom claims
And they disappeared into the hills
She claims
Is the DNA test wrong?
Was I adopted ?
Or is it possible
That I am a real deal
A real Cherokee
Or am I fake Cherokee???
A Cherokee weighed in on this on Quora
First, I would never call them “fake Natives”.
They are 99% white,
mostly Blue-collar, and New Age Hippie,
Anglo-Americans
who are simply
lost without their own specific identity
that they can proudly Claim,
so therefore,
they search for a certain Popular,
Romanticized segment of Indigenous People
that will “fit”
into their Family’s historical Lore.
Second, it just happens to ALWAYS be …
the Cherokee …
sometimes,
either Blackfoot or Lakota.
AND, “My GGM was a Cherokee Princess”,
as an add-on VALUE.
This is primarily
because of the vast area
formerly inhabited by the Cherokee.
However, the tribes’ interaction
with European immigrants since colonial times,
led to a great deal of intermarriage
with non-indigenous populations.
In many cases people have limited knowledge
of the other Native American nations,
that inhabited the areas in which they live.
However, a lot of this is wishful thinking,
and these people have African American
or other non-European ancestry.
It is fashionable to claim indigenous ancestry ,
in an attempt to legitimize t
Their sense of belonging on our lands.
The reason is simple,
they don’t know the names of the other tribes.
There has never been a song called
“Indian Reservation” about Apache People
or any other tribe but, the Cherokee.
“Indian Reservation”
by Paul Revere and the Raiders.
So if those people aren’t Cherokee
by blood at least it’s in spirit.
And so I conclude
I may be part Cherokee
Part of the lost tribe
Of the Cherokee
But who really knows
My mother took many things
With her to the grave
Lots of family secrets
Things I will never know
But in my heart
I know
That I am part Cherokee
And so I will proudly
Claim I am part Cherokee
In spirt
If not in blood
In Chicago, Mayor RICHARD J ruled the roost DALEY for 21 years,
Til he breathed his last, giving way to the 'next sir:'
A pol named MICHAEL, who was dull and B'LAND-ICk!
When a snowstorm paved the way for a female successor.
'Hurricane JANE'S' reign BYRNEd hot and cold alternatively,
Til along came a black-vs.-white race that EPTON made BERN (I)Even hotter;
In neighborhoods from Sauganash to Lawndale to Beverly,
HAROLD's whiteWASHING of his opposiT'ON caused the Machine to totter.
But then he died, and neithORR DAVID nor another pol SAW YER discomfort
At EU(r) Mayor GENE's toppling of storied Chicago traditions,
Til came the inevitable, a RICHAR(d) DALEY, JUNIOR landslide election:
Which 22 years later left the "City that Works' in near-bankrupt condition..
..Setting the stage foR RAHM, E-MAN-U'EL love to hate,
The man whom some call "Tiny Dancer."
Who's next after him it's a bit early to tell,
But I say it's PAUL VALLAS, unless he gets cancer.
Chicago's Mayors:
1955-1976 - Richard J. Daley
1976-1979 - Michael Bilandic
1979-1983 - Jane Byre
1983-1987 - Harold Washington**
1987 (8 days) - David Orr (Interim Mayor)
1987-1989 - Eugene Sawyer
1989-2011 - Richard M. Daley, Junior
2011-Now - Rahm Emmanuel
2019 - ? - Paul Vallas ?
**Harold Washington defeated Republican mayoral candidate, Bernie Epton, in a bitterly contested, divisive campaign, one which focused largely on race. Epton's campaign slogan, for example, was: "Vote for Bernie, before it's too late." The racism was pretty blatant.
The man in the elevator, who I shall name as Paul
Was standing there rigid with his back to the wall.
As the lift started moving, I heard his loud gulp
When the lift started shuddering as it slowly moved up.
The groaning and creaking seemed to make Paul's eyelashes curl
He suddenly screamed and started to swish, swoon and swirl.
The lift quickly dropped-stopped, and restarted again
It felt like we were two yo-yos inside a tumble dryer machine.
His bald head sprouted hair, his face a green tinge, his lips ruby red
Paul's man boobs were now perk, I felt jealous and a tad bit upset.
The lift soon settled and that's when I again looked at Paul
He was more like a Pauline and not the same Paul by that wall.