Long Pedestal Poems
Long Pedestal Poems. Below are the most popular long Pedestal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pedestal poems by poem length and keyword.
The food for thoughts we did not dream to crave,
Laid aright time bomb to our honorable grave
Only by behavior's own design we may have eye
To see the sunrise of how to apply
Per chance in hell of checks crying to bely
The purposes that did not know how to parcel out
Beeps of sighing havoc in pot warming up hereabout
Not only by luck but also in pains of judgement
Will one date caution to make proper adjustment
Unless the kite flying solo dirge isn't of detriment
The daily bread as our exclusive wish,
Blindly set up down the table and dish
That the intuition is only on how to survive
But not on how to get out there and thrive
That with time, being healthy is not to strive
The fear death runs tight, guided by the rules
Will not add up a day, not a second to hearts' jewels
Years aren’t by the days we seize to decide
Of abundance health insurance to securing glide
Measuring to the cup's holder's upside
Fam’ly and fr'ends failed to withstand time,
By which we turn beast growing in crime
Ignoring the might of backbone of sloth
To accepting craziness in personal growth
Holding up to one's mantra and oath
Benefits fought for but didn’t reap,
Bind package at hands not used deep
Grants pursue energy for chasing the dear,
Wishes won't get to our doorsteps as souvenir
Unless fate becomes available volunteer
Human wild mind of pedestal kind
With afterlife and grace equally aligned
Can weigh up the worth of ignorance
The primal goal of every being's endurance
Than taking care of reference to indifference
Knowledge is not only a virtue above all
To distinguishing between rise and fall
To the Circuit of Energy permeating the garden, sustaining the canopy permeate
Washing through with waterfalls, cascading rivers, and upwelling springs the fermement
Was magically darkened when Eve took her classes at Satan’s grove
Where one tree (or gate or pedestal) stood, and the devil appeared like hand in glove
To capture her attention, draw her away from her programmed obligations
Little did she know that the devils deal would lead to abnegation
Of her rightful role as a helpmate, swquaw and poets wife
To rule as co-creators, in innocence, with her husband – Adam – and without strife
Although the invitation to new knowledge might have raised her curiosity peaked
‘Perhaps’, she thought, ‘only to have this new experience’ would raise her from meek
Humility. And give her new insight into helping her man: new insight new skills
How was she to know that the tree of good and evil would not fulfill
Any decent role in sustaining the garden, or giving of strength
Had she known that she would be banned from paradise, and removed a full length
From the easeof leisure, the peac of pleasure, which passes all understanding
What a tragedy then, when she engaged the devil without comprehending
The consequence of taking that fatal action, to partake
In the fruit and lust of the wicked tree: when after she began to fake
The full collapse of her station to assist the 1st Man, her original matrimony
She had, perhaps unwittingly disrupted her union with man, and sundered its harmony
With the role of Adam as a spokesman and poet was now broken
The life from before, when he merelyspoke and observed had become a token
Memory. Speech itself a vestige of what life had been when it was perfect
For Eve had introduced vast new knowledge through her dalliance when the devil depicted
A fuller knowledge of all the trees of the garden once fecund
Now all that once gave life in full, a mere second
To Eves infinite question; to probe the everlasting and to question
From what source, and what deep came the gall of God’s order not to mention
The mercurial things that she had seen in Eden, the sweet lull and whisper
And perhaps her fall, the devils gambit settled the mist-in-her
Sometimes it can be very painful,
Or just plain embarrassing to admit.
When an icon fails to reach the pedestal,
And their fraud is hard to acquit.
The effort involved in this fabrication,
Took decades to sharpen and hone.
Where the 'PR' folks worked their magic,
Creating a genius instead of Al Capone.
This 'con' reached upon new levels,
With a portrait that extended coast to coast.
While a legendary status from industry
Followed, Hell, politics would be simple as toast!
And while this chapter remains unfinished,
A nervous nation awaits the painstaking review.
As the truth becomes convincing to judgement,
And the illusions disappear without a clue.
Courage
Courage is what you have
when you have only two choices left.
One of them to accept fate,
and the other to cheat it,
beat it,
unseat it...
meet it halfway,
and then knock it back across the line.
That is to say,
whatever "it" is.
Size does not matter,
when the intent is right and good.
David was never afraid,
as the Lord was with him.
He knew he could defeat the giant,
it was only a matter of how hard,
the evil would fall,
from way up high on its pedestal,
down to the hard ground,
where it belonged
to begin with.
Have courage,
and pray.
You will then be,
never fighting
alone.
The world is filled with cheaters;
It almost seems the norm.
We hear of more examples found
In every shape and form:
A Scrabble competition where
A young man used his wiles
To sneak into the playing bag
Some extra blank-faced tiles.
Lance Armstrong, of the Tour de France,
Once honored and revered,
Now stripped of all his medals
With his reputation smeared.
Cabrera of the Giants, too,
Was doping and got caught.
It seems that sports, like politics,
With cheaters has been fraught.
We’re taught to do the honest thing
When we are in our youth;
But as we age, so many learn
That they can bend the truth.
When knocked down from a pedestal,
The former proud elite
May finally learn the price they’ll pay
For choosing ways to cheat.
Pressure to impress, perceived ineptitude, kills
Incapable of King imitation, blame plagued eyes
Publicly pressed to deliver sought after replica
Infiltrated by inescapable history Ben despised
Failed expectation driven prime of life suicide
Hailed Presley descendant, drifted pale ghost
Image Siamesed by status of rock relic
Near half century after legend's last show
Name advantage presented pedestal
Keough's fears disallowed him to use it
Comparisons ping ponged constantly
Admirers did so in Grandad's perusal
Poverty is struggle, earning the right to survive
Power's hunger pressure cooked untimely suicide
Gilded Crosses?
By Mark D. Stucky
Shiny icons gleaming on altars?
And hanging from necks on gilded chains?
No. Not back then…
Not golden, not metal, not shiny, not slick,
not smooth, not symmetrical,
not sanded, not straight.
Unvarnished, uneven, irregular, rough-hewn,
knotty, cracked, scrap wood
with hazardous splinters.
No sparkling jewels inlaying gold.
Just rusty nails
impaling flesh and bone.
No ornate mounting, no pristine pedestal.
Just dropped into a hole
and wedged with rocks.
No symbol, no sacredness, no beauty,
no justice, no hope, no gain,
no victory, no glory.
Just naked, scandalous, criminal, brutal,
with loss, sorrow, pain,
and inevitable death.
That is what a Roman cross was
and meant back then…
a death sentence,
an icon of horror.
Until…transformed
one dark morning,
when Light shoved stone aside
and sentenced Death to die.
(First published in Small Town Anthology V: Entries from the Fifth Annual Tournament of Writers, Schoolcraft Community Library, 2019, pp. 147-148. See also my related poems "Resurrection iBodies," "Darkest Night, Morning Lights," and "The God Behind the Curtain.")
(Image by congerdesign on Pixabay.com.)
I am, for the most part, most scared to speak.
Not because I don't necessarily have anything to say,
My mouth, alongside the virility of my brain, just seem to like putting me in reticence
But even in the fortunate instance that my mind doesn't wander into insanity at the thought,
I would still seal my mouth with golden chains
I would let the raining consequences rust it more shut
Spoken so, one would think such strong speech flew just out of a god
But for very antonymous reasons, I decide to favor most and keep the unfathomable out of doom's way
Those reasons come back to one simple yet deadly proclamation
TRUTH
We'd think a civilization that's fought so hard to be globally accepted, respected
One that holds itself on such a high pedestal, you'd be condemned to an endless fall if one jumped
One that claims autonomy over every single living and non-living creatures alike
Would be open to TRUTH
To date, the ones who've foolishly let their intelligence get the best of them
The ones who, amidst idiotic and ignorant surroundings they had to endure,
Decided to venture into the world of TRUTH
Were shoot off the pedestal so quick one would've mistaken it for a god
And then they fell and fell and fell and fell so deeply some lived through their last breath, falling
And at last, all the unlucky ones got through to TRUTH.
It was another world, maybe infinitely larger, ethereally brutal, and hauntingly peaceful
Instead of oceans, this world materialized into one main thing: REALIZATION
Realizations like the fact that my brain is just protective
Realizations that my identity has reeked through mud so many times
Realization that it wasn't just mistaking it for god but that this god is the mistake
Because the truth is that this god never sacrifices
He wrecks havoc till everything offers oblation
Truths like these that would put some on chokehold
But I won't waste good air, getting to a point where the only thing I incite is murderous rage.
Realization that for most, it looks just like that—a void to be fallen into, a place to quickly pull away from a single
glance down
That slow and spectacular gait of a bride
Brimming as she is with nuptial pride
With grace and beauty each regal stride
as invitees whisper, 'here comes the bride'.
She for her big day so perfectly embellished
Her love-match said to be divinely predestined.
On their big day even the plain-faced, homely ones
turn into comely beauties
A magical day as it is, of rituals and formalities.
All the fuss and pomp, she almost feels like a queen
Her glamour thus showcased, with praise dön't be mean.
Attired in any hue, rose-red or even snow-white
She glows with an aura of pure holy sacred light.
Many overawed by the debut of her bridal charm
Yet, watch out O' newly weds for any evil eye's harm.
For the pinnacle of her womanly splendour and beauty
is now upon coveted passion's pedestal and apogee
She on stage now with only love's trophy and token
Just graduating from spinsterhood, to disappear the maiden!
As the center of attention, she turns into an actress
Her emotions under zoom lens, a bit easier to guess
For close-ups she knows she has to impress.
Some coy, some bashful, some hiding joy in the heart of hearts
With cameras clicking, drums beating, her new life starts
Beneath the azure sky, I yearn for a divine wine of love,
To taste it and ascend, intoxicated by the infinity of moments too brief,
A sweet-bitter inebriation, spinning through veins like a thread of pure water,
And to feel the vibration of life, in every fragment, ceaselessly.
I wish to burn with longing for her, a slow burn, this love – a malady,
Without cure, without solace, to be in my blood, in my breath, in days and nights,
Even if moments twist in rebellion, the desire to love would strengthen,
And I would construct an eternal brilliance, on the most hidden pedestal of my soul.
From thousands of shards of emotions, from seconds, minutes, and hours, I will make her whole,
Her face the fine line that bonds each sentiment in my internal mosaic,
Without her, the universe is void to me, an empty space, the antechamber of stillness,
You are the divine litany, holier than any altar, on which I heal my bended knees.
Standing on the edge of time, in summer rains, bare-shouldered, face to face with darkness,
Lightning dances in my eyes, heralding the difficulties hiding within the chaste longing,
My love becomes a glittering burden, heavy, yet so desired,
Not for the fiercest storm, nor sweetest caress, would I exchange it.
You, the most precious sculpture in my heart of clay,
Are light in every verse I have spoken or will speak,
A living memory, an echo of eternity, engraved in the stones of my life,
Your face is the song that accompanies me, the silence that speaks to me most truthfully.
Does love reprimand me as a reproach,
For losing myself in this desert called existence?
You are the essence of each place, an unspoiled corner of paradise by despair,
What I long to know and desire, the promised land of the soul that hopes.