Long Perceiver Poems

Long Perceiver Poems. Below are the most popular long Perceiver by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Perceiver poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Whispering Wings

Whispering wings ~ feathers afloat,

   Molting and marvelous, magnanimous

      Wonders, alighting in familiar places.

      ~

Each feather remembers the warmth,

   The pear-shaped cradle ere birth.

      The quietude-nest, the guardian enfolds.

            ~

Even in rapid flight, into ebony night,

   Wings, like a butterfly’s, though they sing,

      trumpet no sound, unless one’s in tune

                  ~

With God, unless the Spirit is just right,

   Unless the Father is prepared to save

      Or take away or just delight - just because…

                        ~

Molting and marvelous, plucked from memories,

   The magnanimous calls to the perceiver —

      The flight, the whisper, the hesperus-hour,

                              ~

Tingle of senses, the angelic featherbed

   Releases an echo of space and time

      To loved ones left behind…a single dove.

                                    ~

Even the blind, deaf and dumb recover

   their senses, grab hold of the felicitous flight

     …somehow, one’s guardian angel delivers this gift.

                                          ~

Godspeed, feather-light, wings that glow

   whiter than snow. The Holy Spirit prepared

      to disentangle truth from fiction in one’s frightful season.

                                              ~

Guardian-wing’d, miracle snow-drift, lights up
   
   those dust-filled dendrites, attempts to clear

      the cobwebs — spread of peace and light.

                                                 ~

Next to her, smiling wide, exact replica

   of an angel - Mom. Next to her frame —

      a feather-gift treasured by my father.


1/12/2022


Dear Music

Dear Music

Dear Music- would you marry drum?
for it will be beautiful when played under the setting sun
How would you love to be tomorrow’S heading
will you invite Guitar to your wedding?
From million miles your melodies be heard
As soothing as the morning hymn of a mocking bird
Since happiness can only befriend you
For you’re surely beautiful and true.

Music- queen of the ballroom
You Indeed are dominator of the mind In vexed volume
Could you stop the violence- happening a thousand mile
Sole Perceiver of peace - thence thou shalt smile
For you are one of the timbers of earth
As every soul knows you since birth
Only you can manipulate the choice-less
And can also speak for the voiceless.

Music- should you need a king,
Who will endear you with a diamond ring
You can think of Michael Jackson and Bob Marley,
From your talented basement to your lobby,
And even to you, Lucky Dube, and John Lennon were dear,
among the spot earners on the isle of the phenomena 
As they, the aforementioned had no limit of valence
Yet they lived and died under our pitiful surveillance.
 
Dear Music- I wish you could walk for the disabled
For they indeed are hopeless- and subtracted from the fabled
You mesmerized, thence emphasized the beautiful life
But don’t the laborer deserve a break from the hunger and strife
I admire your stance to point out the lies- that demised many dreams
However I’m disgusted by the ignorance of the poor’s screams
Music- you define immortality- yet omit the underlying reality
I wish a few will see beyond generalization one day- and preserve equality-
Form: Ballad

Premium Member This Is Who I Am

I am...

a lamb of the Good Shepherd; seeking to love and follow him more faithfully

the husband of my college sweetheart; with her, I hold a winning lottery ticket

a family man; seeking to make my clan a place to thrive, a safe haven for all

a hard worker; seeking to pour heart, soul, strength and mind into each task

an empathetic friend; seeking to acknowledge pain and help you find your way

a waistwatcher; seeking that enigmatic perfect ratio of flavor to calorie count

an aficionado of nature's beauty; seeking moon rises, waterfalls, and sunsets

a trail maven; seeking to conquer unattained summits and enjoy unseen vistas

a pedal pusher; seeking to luxuriate in the great outdoors by cycling through it

a careful arranger of words; seeking to write poetry qualifying as transcendent

a student of the arts; seeking to divine their secrets and know myself better

a creator of music; seeking to be a blessing, mindful of those far more talented

a lover of humor; seeking to laugh at myself, and 'dish' with a wink and smile

a player of games; seeking camaraderie over a win, fellowship over high score

a solver of puzzles; seeking to use math and science to comprehend my world

a connoisseur of the fine wine of baseball; seeking that elusive championship

a perceiver; seeking to heal with a compassionate ear and encouraging word
.....
I am blessed and grateful to be alive and loved by such wonderful people
I am a zoo of many animals; come by some time and find one you like!
© John Watt  Create an image from this poem.
Form: List

Premium Member Reflections

Reflections

Reflecting upon – is a dangerous game to play.
For it leads to flawed judgments – unreasonable expectations.
Expectations are seldom realized or met by others,
difficult to live up to by others, or by one’s self. 
These images, projected, especially if those reflections
 are built upon fantasies – illusions, delusions -
delusions that distort or blind the perceiver to ,
 true reality before one who thinks she sees .

Personal history is just that - personal – and no measuring stick,
by which to see all, judge all, comprehend all and make it the
total essence of the here and now, nor is it the mirror
into which you project and say “ it reflects ” 
bringing it, forward into the future.
Judge not, but by that which is in the moment – the here and now.
Yesterday is history, passed, not a story upon which to create today.
Today is all we have, yesterday is gone – tomorrow is promised to no one


B. J. “A” 2

The letter to Monica, 1 pages

January 14th 2007

    My Dear Monica :

    AS I reflect upon the many diatribes you have pierced my ears, my soul , my heart, my spirit with during these passed seven months – July 13th 2006 – that we have shared time and became intimates ( stories of intimate, personal knowledge ), I have to wonder ?, just what do I really mean to you .

                                                                         Love
                                                                               Bill .
sad

The Cure For Existence Is Futile

I've got to find something
Some kind of cure
For everything that hurts
I've got to cure
Loneliness
Heartache
Repitition
Stares
Insults
Emotions
I've got to be quick about it
Smart and quick
I've got to be myself
I've got to be less human
Less alive
I've got to be
Even when I don't want to be
I've got to breathe
I've got to give in
I've got to blend in
I've got to be discreet
I've got to be
here
there
then
now
numb
awake
I have to know when to stop
I have to never give up
Sometimes I have to pretend
Conceil who I truly am
But no longer does this matter
I've been quick
I've been smart
I've been to the top
But now I'm here at the bottom
Here to stay for a while
Here
On business
On holiday
Forever
Only in my mind
Just to waste time
On Display
Waiting for my escape
I once tried to force it
Tried to break free
But it wasn't my time
That's why I'm chained
Why I'm beaten dry of cries
And these clothes
I make who they are
They don't make me anything
When they thought it was over
I fought back some more
I think they need me
It is said that I'm wanted dead
But still, I am here
Searching for this made-up cure
Unable to shed even a single tear
I refuse to fear
I live only to perceiver
I'll never quit
My existence is the one cage I'll never escape


Premium Member The Foggy Days

The foggy snow hats the mount peaks,
The chilly wind frosts all snaky creeks.
The shelter covered by creamy layer;
Face of a pane of the wistful thinker.

The clear icicles cling from the gutter,
Like the tearing of a sadden perceiver;
The thousand drops flood within: 
Reviving my mother's teaching.

Once a spoiled teen in mother's arms;
Had poetical talent with full charms.
Then flew to adore distant flowers, 
Received pitiful consequences later.   

The obstacles shadowed the daily life,
Just a few of them have been rectified. 
The foggy days repeat over and over?
Only self-confident man can endeavor. 

Even powerful mind soaked in tears,
Let the body move on without fear,
Hopefully the snow fog will cease;
The strong heart could stay at peace! 

Tomorrow the weather could be fine,
Keep moving on the tough, nasty line, 
Even the fuzzy way lessens the vision,
Try hard to find the right destination. 

Go on to reach out the ideal flowers
That bloom in the beautiful weather; 
Leave the foggy days, obstacles of life, 
To pass over the foggy day and smile!
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Shadow of Ignorance

Shadow of Ignorance
                    by Odin Roark

How pervasive
This innocence
Turned weapon
Casting as it does
But silhouettes of its reality

The shadow of man
So often seen
So clandestine its verity
Moving over landscapes
Brightly lit with fear

Politics
Religion
Relationships
Business

On it goes
This outline of purpose
Hiding stealthily behind
Its backlit reality

Blind remains the perceiver
Trusting that which can’t be seen
Except by penumbra’s
Epiphanous delusion 

Rare integrity
Steps from behind the eclipse
Revealing their true certitude
Risking that many perceivers
Will see such action specious

Leeriness of convictions
Dictates reason as shield
Aware mendacious agendas 
Prevail as the given today

Thus argue the conscious

To excuse ourselves with ignorance
Is derelict of duty
Hastening the speed of covert influence
Rapidly paving persuasive highways
Where opportunity shows little honesty
Continuing to deceive our sense of safety
With misleading caution signs
Many speed through just before
Plunging over the cliff
© Odin Roark  Create an image from this poem.

Just Like Father

01 March 2011


Just Like Father


For every single day, you’ve watched me
Remember how’d I express my thoughts
My feelings you would express as yours
Daily routine, together we stumbled to practice

In your humming, I fondly put words and we sing
In your asking, I become a learner and perceiver
In being inquisitive, I should rationalize
To prove certain things, you would not understand by now

We go on the same haircut as always the crew cut
We paired off dresses in every outdoor moment
Have the same craving for foods and things to do
Like a spider web, hanging out, interweaving close ties

“Just like Father,” words come out from your lips
I am proud to hear this coming from you
“Just like Father,” means you want to be like me
You are my son and only true admirer
I wish I could give you the best of me

You are my little hero 
Wakes me up, when I fell into an uneasy sleep
You are my little angel
Guard me through the walk in the darkest pathway
You’re my son and only true resemblance

Premium Member Special Child's Animal Alphabet

Hear my special child’s alphabet features
Eagerly, he mumbles with sheer delight
a-ape; b-bear; c-cat… dear God’s creatures!

D-dove; e-eagle; f-falcon… birds of great flight
g-goat; h-horse; i-impala…all in Noah’s ark
j-jaguar; k-koala; l-lion… oh, what a sight!

m-monkey; n-newt; o-opossum; hey, they don’t bark
p-parrot, q-quail, r-robin; busy in their nests
s-snake; t-turtle; u-unicorn…hiding in the park!

v-viper; w-wallaby: do they hate pests?
x-x-ray fish; y-yellow fin tuna: swimming gaily
z-zebra and zebrafish together in animal fests…

Alphabet "perceiver" he’s become expertly
Reading, sounding, blending letters blissfully!

April 12, 2019
Edited on May 22, 2020
Honorable Mention, "BRIAN'S CHOICE Q,any form,any theme" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 5/23/2020.

Honorable Mention, "YOUR CHOICE h" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 5/17/2025.

The Seer, Not the Perceiver

The strides wide with determination,
Through ups and downs of the day’s admiration,
A life of bliss and diss with undefined procrastination,
Gone wide and wild with the days’ words of deception,
Of emancipation from defined virtues of misconception.

There is you that walks and seems to like not,
The strides and steps aside, in determination,
The full-on health with skins tendered in motion,
Indescribable beauty that sees not the perfection,

There is you with the origins of declining lot,
Smiling with pride in the thickest of days’ guilt
The unlucky in all; in the redemption of the world,
Undeniably determined but sees not the imperfections.

Happiness is in the undocumented form of emotions,
Purest in the forms bred and nurtured in creations,
The you that perceives to see the good in all,
Is not the you that sees the good in all,

By Hudhaifah Siyad Mohamed
3rd Sept 2019
Form: ABC

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