Long Perform Poems
Long Perform Poems. Below are the most popular long Perform by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Perform poems by poem length and keyword.
Since the begining of days when my heart became an advocate of concrete paths, I have
come to understand the joys that are unprecipitated fears and the fears that are purpose.
For so long I have adapted to the muddy waters that breed beautiful roses with thorns of
such pure poison. Taking into my lungs the fresh air, this same air that is only fresh with the
will of foul principle, yet some how law. Speaking the language that has no sound and
somehow it is always too loud for its own good. Induction in the chase for things that keep
my temperature down in the summer while making the atmosphere a little warmer. Like
something chilly for my wrist ,neck, ears and hands. In the most artic of winters things that
keep me warm like having a personal zoo, mink, chinchilla, fox, rabbit, beaver, and ostich
and yet winters are still so cold. Realizing that somehow winters burn the soul, as summers
tend to freeze the heart. Love is the sound of nature and its remeberance of present. Eagles
scream through the air, colts break the pavement with 38 and 45 calibers of pressure. The
floating of land crafts with special made wheels, stars, spokes, claws, blades, all in chrome
reflecting the spite of happiness in this life. Delicate feminims that perform the sweetest of
actions with the audacity to control the wheather of man. Sunny days, cloudy months, and
years of storm. Pleasure is found everywhere and yet it is never found, so pain is the
blessing of that same pleasure seeked. With each passing day I appear cleaner, except for
my work related smudges(from the parkway to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the
community). All the things I want I have and still I have nothing. Today has been here a
thousand times and only once,tomorrow will pass as yesterday returns. This is where the
truest kisses come from angels, yet the only blessings are from the breath of the demon.
This is home, the city of hustle in the divided states of atrocity. So much passionate turmoil,
so much un-affordable affection that is afforded by price and un-conditional purpose. As the
tears of an infant blend with the crying of the clouds this waters brings hope of a changed
existence. One that is the best life, not heaven or hell, not paradise, but life as it could be,
life in a drop...a single drop... Of Rain Water! Live, Suffer, Celebrate!
Form:
In the void of my transitional mind,
the aimless scatter-shots of snapshot in kind
finding itheir way.through pokes in the brine.
Saran wrap bindings of biased memories, invent orys,
and tupper-ware leftovers tidings of dreams, kept palatable for the aroaming beasts.
I find the manipulations stirring like mercurial-gravy,
sardonical Last Suppers of my humanity at
the toppings station, insulting.
Where's the variety, where's the if there
is a will there's a way?
Where's the frikkin beef?
I heard that commercial say- (I agree,
where's our defense against the dark arts Teacher
or our non f'd with bandwith to have our say?
;My Atriuk-Consultants,
disappearing, through a buffet line
of suitors for my gun hand-as treason's malignant mercenary gland.
Stranger in a strange clan.
Now every thought is like a remembrance, a
severance to pay for it all.The tying to-me
in Gordian crossroads mocked silverly
by multi directional unabaiting winds
blowing adversarily.
Each pointing "this way you fail !"
"Every which way a noose !"
"This way you fall !"
Of on the loose this way dungeon echoes
a calling as dark corridor Shades
with no true form to call.
The past haunts, the future calls,
lost in the chaos urn, as time falls-
in diminished return,
for the base is nearly full to lay
as a squandored mound of time.
Like shooting stars across the sky,
my dreams flicker, then fade and die?
Searching for purpose, to see what sticks.
I fire all of my rounds at once
In this endless maze of day and night I pace
these walls, like those Demonic Shades,
who chant "hey Jude" and perform "Jude Law"
in Shakespearean play, "There's something about Mary...
whomever target to sway. Come wicked this way s.
But in the darkness, I find a kin-spark
guide in my self defense,
of cheerlead everence in reference to
hope belonging to everyone the same.
A torch in the deepening dark
to saber heroicly for my good name.
Iwill rise from the sullen ashes,
strong and brilliantly bright, aiimless no more,
faith in my sights.
Pull !
Let the scatter shot fall where it may,
I'll carve my path, come what may.
For in the chaos, I see the arts of strength,
the part I play,
I find beauty's confidence and vision
in the facets of my jaded heart,
that maybe I can help the World in some small but
contrite way.
Once upon a time...
Once upon a time, in France, a storyteller fella
Wrote of a girl named Cinderella,
Meant as a fairy tale romance.
Her daddy died when she was young, and she was forced to share his riches
With three monumental b****es,
A most unhappy circumstance.
For years her stepmom and stepsibs made her perform a menial's duty,
And as she blossomed into beauty,
They grew more hateful, mean, and cruel.
Each night they dined on fine cuisine and wore lace dresses with silk sashes,
While she wore rags begrimed with ashes,
And got just crusts of bread and gruel.
Then one day a herald from the king demanded entry
To the homes of landed gentry,
They were invited one and all.
It was the prince's eighteenth birthday, and the king and queen were harried
Because their son was not yet married.
Ergo, the reason for the ball.
The stepsisters primped and preened and wild excitement they exuded,
When Cindy asked to be included, they gaped at her as if appalled.
Stepmother sneered, "Look here, I'll show you!"
With self-righteous indignation,
"Your name's not on the invitation.
Just we elite are so installed."
So Cinderella went downstairs to seek some solace in the kitchen,
But 'stead of sittin' there and b****in', she started dancing with a broom.
She whirled and twirled around the floor,
Or else she'd stand there, gently swaying,
As if an orchestra was playing
Pretending they were bride and groom.
And then a flash, a crash of thunder, and to Cindy's stunned amazement,
There gliding through the kitchen casement,
A pudgy lady dressed in blue.
She said, "Hello, my dear, no fear, I'm here to grant your secret wishes,
I'll wave my wand and clear the dishes,
And make a princess out of you!"
She waved and tapped and flicked and zapped,
And what she seemed to make the air do
Was give her make-up, nails, and hair-do,
And then to make the look complete,
Out of those rags so soiled and worn and far too torn to drown a cat in,
A gown of gossamer and satin, and crystal slippers on her feet.
Without this timely intervention, Cindy's tale might have been tragic.
Could she have managed without magic,
And her dilemma be resolved?
But everybody knows what happened with a gourd and six white mice,
And how a smudgy scullery maid was made to clean up really nice,
When a fairy got involved.
To be continued...
THE CRYING WILD CREATURES.
Nzongi Mwero.
Oh, we recall the bygone times,
The days of the golden past,
That chirping with our merry mates,
Flying around the parks,
Gone the joys of the nests,
That freedom restrained,
Coming at our will in parks,
But hindered and chained in the parks.
Oh, we feel painted at our hearts when we recall,
The scene in the parks unsmiling,
No glistering dew drops from the trees,
All big trees were cut down,
We can’t forget that lovely shape of the parks,
That endearing our faces.
Oh, life was real nice in the vernal shade,
Oh, we miss the sweet voices of our brothers in the parks,
Would that we had the strength to break the predators,
What a bad luck have we?
Can we pine for another park?
Brothers let us think of the weapons and tactics,
That we could escape from poachers and predators.
My friend Antelope- You can use your speed in retreating,
You Tortoise- Use your shield or bomb shelter,
My friend Chameleon- You can use the camouflage,
You Porcupine- Please use your swords or bayonets,
My friend Snake- Use your poisoned knife,
You Stunk- Please Use your tear gas or poison gas,
My friend Octopus- Use your smoke screen,
You Electric Eel- Please Use your electric shock,
Then my friend Gecko- You can Use your diversionary tactics,
And finally me Elephant I will Use my tusks.
Everyone has a duty to perform his defensive way,
To deal with poachers and predators,
But still human beings have more brains,
They know how to trap us,
We plead those with good hearted to protect us.
Parks are our shelters,
Rivers are our shelters,
Oceans and lakes are our shelters,
Trees are our shelters,
The land is our shelters.
Oh, we beg you do not harm us,
You live on land- You live on land,
You drink water from the rivers –We live and drink that water,
You get medicine from trees- We live and eat those trees,
You collect foreign money from the parks- We live in the parks,
You use oceans and lakes to travel –We live in those waters.
Oh, we are all world creatures,
Why are you killing us for meat?
Why are you destroying the parks?
Why are you contaminating the waters?
Why are you cutting down trees?
Why are you burning the land we live?
Why are you hunting us for more money?
And already you are getting foreign money due to us,
Please stop hunting us or destroying our shelters.
Have you ever been in a musical show?
I have done some, so this is how I know.
They first hooked me when I was in high school,
but stage fright made me feel the fool.
So, I began on the backstage crew,
Oh the things we had to do.
Painting sets and handling props,
sometimes I wished I was a farmer harvesting crops.
Dressing all in black the day of the show
moving sets in the dark so no one would know.
We did some things that only a crew can do
I'll try to list a few here for you.
For example, during the "King and I",
There is a tearful scene with a Buddha to cry.
Since our Buddha was a person who spoke to Tuptim,
We did all in our power to get a laugh out of him.
Two of us moved his pedestal onstage,
his scene was to be all the rage.
We had to hide below his pedestal for his soliloquy,
So we tried to crack him up for all to see.
I worked behind the scenes again, for "My Fair Lady",
Some of the things we did there were also shady.
Professor Higgins takes a big drink in one scene
so we decided to pull one of our pranks on him.
The bottle he poured from was usually filled with ginger ale,
when we switched it to the real stuff he turned pale.
He could barely speak the next few lines
and was off key in his song the next time.
The classic we pulled was in "The Unsinkable Molly Brown",
our prank was the talk of the town.
If you don't know the story let me enlighten you
because then you may get a laugh or two.
Molly is aboard the Titanic's first trip
and the scene has to deal with the sinking of the ship.
We had a lifeboat with people on stage with waves across the floor,
she gets their attention by firing several shots in the air.
During the final dress rehearsal before show night
we knew this scene would be just right.
The Titanic sinking in the background, the waves, the lifeboat,
Molly pulls her pistol, raises it to the sky, and began to shoot.
The auditorium goes silent as the people raise their eyes to her to engage,
When a rubber duck came flying from the wings and landed on stage.
You never saw a director as mad as that
if she had a gun she would have blown off your hat.
"Who did that? Who did that?" was all she could say,
as the stage crew just laughed as we went on our way.
I finally got the nerve to perform in some shows later on,
But for now...this is just an introduction.
Interpretivity is a measure of a person’s rate of understanding. A person’s rate of
interpretation shows the individual’s ability to unlock, identify, simplify, solve,
measure accurately, try to understand, restore, think, re-think, unveil, transcribe,
translate and hence it has a role to play in an individual’s creativity. Since the rate of
understanding is directly proportional to creativity, an individual’s level of
interpretivity is a measure of an individual's understanding i.e. ability to read,
receive, interpret(internalize-explore-externalize). Intuitivity and inquisitivity play
important roles with this parameter. It is the link that bridges receptivity and
reproductivity.
Narrativity ability to read and give back – reproduce without necessarily understanding
what is read. A very high level of receptivity, low interpretivity and expressivity
exhibit narrativity.
Reproductivity – ability to give back exactly what has been given, read, thought e.t.c.
without any sort of addition, creativity, subtraction, alteration e.t.c. It is totally
different from re-creativity. A high level of understanding is needed for reproductivity.
Re-creativity – this is the ability to re-modify, re-adjust, re-define, re-alter,
re-model, re-shape e.t.c. an already existing-created-discovered altered creativity. For
re-creativity to be achieved, some absolute understanding about the substance in question
i.e. to be re-created must have been undergone. It is an alteration to creativity. It is
correctional adjustment to creativity.
Correctivity is the process of re-mending-mending, re-molding-molding, re-fixing-fixing of
an altered creativity-substance. It requires absolute-ultimate not only mastery but total
understanding of the altered creativity in order to perform this process.
Understanding is having an absolute knowledge and wisdom about something. It is the
interpretation i.e. (pure-total reception, highly active intuitivity-individual
perception-inquisitivity and maximal expressivity) that eventually must lead to
creativity. When understanding is at its peak creativity is inevitable whether by
derivations from the original-truth or copies of the-from the original-truth. If
understanding is directly proportional to the vividness of imagination then the rate of
creativity will-must vary from one person to another.
Form:
The Boatman’s Song 2/ Many
Urvashi’s heart was aching to hear and to see the elegance
Of the boatman, while he sing those melodies on earth
A great longing started sprouting in her bosom
To visit the earth and to listen those heart touching songs
Which like a powerful magnet were pulling her towards earth
Where flows the Ganges and lives her unseen love
To control her ever increasing desire of hearing those songs
And to see that unique boatman, who lives on earth
Urveshi tried to engage her more and more
In the courtly dances and engagements for Indra
But the more she wanted to escape, more she became enchanted
By the echoes of boatman’s songs
Which were tearing her heart and
Making her mind almost intoxicated,
By the melodies of those heavenly songs
The pleasures and comforts of heaven began to pinch her
Like the piercing thorns
Even the dance and music, which were her pride and passion
Became dull and charm less in the wake of those songs
For which she was hailed
As the best among all the Apsaras in the entire universe
Heaven seems to bring no joy and rejoicing for her any more
Her dancing steps, which were the symbols of perfection and beauty
Even started betraying her
As her own heart was no longer in her possession any more
And she found that her mind and heart
Were swept away by that unseen boatman
Sailing his boat somewhere on earth
Apsara Urveshi after finishing her dance that day
Told the God of heaven, Indra
That she perhaps can no longer perform any dance
Owing to agonies of her heart and restlessness of her mind
And her legs were not in tune with her mind to perform
A flawless dance and song by which she had captured the
Hearts of all Gods and Goddess, what to say of humans on earth
She thought and thought and found that she can only normalize
If she can hear the songs of the boatman
Singing in full throated ease on earth
The echo’s of which were hovering in her mind like clouds
And twisting her heart to see that singer sublime
Ravindra
Kanpur India 5th January 2010
* Apsara = A Nymph dancer of heaven in the court of Indra as per Hindu Mythology
* Indra = The Lord of Heaven as per Hindu mythology
* Urveshi = One of the beloved Apsaras of Indra
* Saraswati = Goddess of knowledge, music & arts
* Jungle = Forest
~ for Mom ~
it seems …
like yesterday
and it seems like forever …
I can see them clearly
I can feel the soft wrinkles of skin
her little hands -
clutching the round disc
skin as thin as tissue paper
veins winding their purple-ish way
across bone and tendon
not always so delicate …
I think of all the miracles those small
appendages worked -
all the wonders taken part and witnessed
many times for the benefit of my
own rather undeserving hide …
almost obsequious in their regard
(when it came to me, anyway)
unspoken, that bond
since before time,
at least in my awareness of it
and that alliance has been my salvation
more times than I can
put number to …
that amazing woman -
small in stature, yet anything BUT in
energy and spirit -
saw the activity of her sweet hands shrink with
her height and strength
until she could no longer perform all
but the simplest of tasks …
oh, her mind stayed as clear as a glacial rill,
sharp and witty and creative
and the spark in her eyes
always shined bright
but moons and miles took their toll
and I became her legs and
arms and ears …
it was a job that blessed me
beyond imagination
and one I see now that she
trained me for …
so …
while her small hands came to lack the
vigor for most daily tasks
she could still press the call button on
the little disk that hung around her
neck like a pendant …
it was ME on the other end, you see
as our unspoken bond had become a very
vital electronic one …
I didn’t give that button much thought, really
until one night I was putting her to bed
and she grabbed my arm with one hand,
grasped her call disc with the other,
looked deep into my gaze
and said to me …
“I always keep this close to my heart,
because I know that whenever I press it,
my angel … will come”
now …
those little hands are but memory
(tho I held them ‘til the warmth was gone
then lay them upon her) …
but I keep that buzzer near me
for it means so much more than I can express
and sometimes I press it,
(as silly as that may seem)
sometimes I press it … and pray -
I pray even harder than I prayed when
I was faithful …
but nothing happens
there is no sound
and no one ever comes
for SHE was the angel …
and I …
was the needy one.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, March 18, 2024
( photograph taken by Gregory R Barden )
In quiet, space breaks down into insight.
Opposing the edge amidst deceit and blight.
Imperceptible resonation is reflected back.
On a hunch, or at the stroke of night track.
A lethal tree is still close in the woodlands.
The spirit was trailing on the kist of the tree.
At first, kids looked to chip with their hands.
Seep into the night in a ruddy shrunken spree.
I wake up early to the Greek myth of Zeus.
A vessel drifting on the Dal Lake in Udaipur.
The sound of a woman sobbing in sadness.
Over calm green oceans, echoes in Jupiter.
She was performing in a velvety baritone.
Pain in the midst of the tranquility of dawn.
Endeavoring to perform the icy top in June.
Mountains that frame the Kilimanjaro awn.
Ghastly calamities smash and deeply devastate.
I rightly fear that wide-open harm didn't recover.
You can expect the best, yet I will never hesitate.
My dear life depends on your choice; kindly usher.
I regularly defied to bid someone to criticize.
The one-sided truth was dazzling blindness.
My space was thwarted in the related size.
I felt as if somebody led a ruin process.
Sacredness to which humankind might relate,
With the moon sitting on edge of the world.
Mountains meet to uncover the ornate.
Smiling and radiating, from high observed.
There are times when I can feel the crests fly.
I'm being held down as my blood is drained.
Brain scars result from ruined sight and sway.
When I perish, a chasm arises in my mind.
A lean, edge-on which rests one's optimism.
Please be cautious of steps you split wide open.
In fate, a walk on shells will be optimum.
Shift much fatal shooting and be woken.
I minded my name being said in a whisper.
I was adducible of a hand tapping my forearm.
When I swung around to direct a look closer,
I found myself alone and aching for smarm.
How might a heart that dorsum and delicate,
Have the sway to bear a vast part desolate.
But we're apt despite our humble eyesight.
To discover the earth and the vast infinite.
The monstrosity of the encompassing world.
Encompassed by both the sight and the sound.
Emotions energize the heart within the darkness.
Eyes that can consistently scan such elegance.
1st Place Contest Winner.
Written: June 01, 2022
This Or That, Vol 12 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Within the glass backed walls of the squash courts, ....
Eager junior players are busy getting into their strides..
In small groups of 4 to 6, they are seeking to earn their stripes..
Religiously undergoing punishing regimes while in training...
Perfecting skills and flair to better perform beyond all these training...
Within the glass backed walls of the squash courts..
Players are wielding each a racket as an integral part of their hands..
Moving fluidly into anticipated spaces with well measured paces..
Unhurriedly and ever so confidently they execute hitting maneuvers...
One can't help but recall the phrase poetry in motion in their actions...
Within these glass backed walls of the squash courts..
Perspiration drenched players are seriously undergoing racket drills...
Moving swiftly and surely through well drilled routines without frills....
Whacking hard and fast the moving blur of a rubberised squash ball...
Confidently and effortlessly retrieving impossible shots off the wall...
Within the glass backed walls of these squash courts...
The dedicated coach is closely assisting and monitoring his players..
Eagled eyed and confident, he's getting the best out of the players..
Pushing and cajoling, occasional groans and cries of frustration and of laughter...
Help relieve the monotony in this serious business of training players to be better...
Within these glass backed walls of the squash courts..
Young players are diligently sweating blood and tears to excel further....
Endlessly going through technical drills so that their skills be better..
These endless cycles of training and stroke making drills are necessary....
For these young players are chasing living dreams of squash fame and glory...
Within the glass backed walls of the squash courts...
Kiddie dreams of glory and fame are planted in fresh young minds in earnest...
Sporting dreams are cultivated and gradually nutured into driving ambitions...
A number of such dreamers will falter never to taste the ultimate highs of glory...
But one in a while, a shining diamond of a player steps into court, to start a new story..
Within the the glass backed walls of the squash court....
A generation of champions are being groomed to hold court...
Outside the world awaits patiently, who's the next champion to step forth?