Long Plug in Poems
Long Plug in Poems. Below are the most popular long Plug in by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Plug in poems by poem length and keyword.
From birth to death, each of us walks alone,
in as a narrative we wish to feel,
thus as we embrace, release and atone,
we rely on God’s love and light to heal.
In a subject-object relationship,
we believe ourself to be feeble form
and engaged in games of one-upmanship,
earth life for most part, is a turbid storm.
We know not who we are and yet live on,
in pursuit of ephemeral desires
and so it continues, both praise and scorn,
until the day our exhausted heart tires.
Shifting horizons now hold no appeal,
somewhat diminished is our zest and zeal.
Somewhat diminished is our zest and zeal,
discovering our efforts were in vain,
upon which in altar of God we kneel,
praying love and light glows in heart again.
Recognising that we script not our fate,
shifting into silence, we become still,
making our heart once more, childlike and chaste,
that by grace divine, voids within may fill.
Having thus relinquished our thought flow crutch,
we surrender, melding head with our heart,
ingraining direct wisdom by soul’s touch,
mindfully choosing to add love to cart.
Emptiness then, is the way to begin;
cave of heart’s open, so we go therein.
Cave of heart’s open, so we go therein,
remaining aware with nary a care,
whereupon we feel magnetism plug-in,
cajoling our polarities to pair.
As a receptor, there’s nothing we do,
for to be truthful, there is no road map
and each nuance felt is pristine and new,
drawing us to God by closing the gap.
We shout from the rooftops but no one hears,
unable to comprehend the bliss flame,
held in benign currents, God Himself steers,
revealing deep wisdom that has no name.
In a realm dual, in bondage to mind,
we know not the truth, because we are blind.
We know not the truth, because we are blind
but now having seen, with our inner eye,
we cognise God is wise, loving and kind,
known if we agree to let ego die.
We cling to identity, which is not,
in as it is merely a thought construct
but on shifting to heart, as we all ought,
our false self dies, we see it self-destruct.
It is clear that although monks wish to share,
the wisdom sublime, they have so imbibed,
those who refuse to see, just cannot pair,
enslave by ego, which has always lied.
Harvest of grace is reaped, as of seeds sown;
from birth to death, each of us walks alone.
Yes, indeed,
I'm not quite up to speed,
These days, anyway...
Let me tell you, if I may...
The 20 odd meds I must take,
Each and every day...
Hope you got the space in your hard drive,
To see what it takes, to keep me alive...
First, the conditions...Ventricular Fibrillation (Life threatening heart condition,
which brought me tons of seizures...and emergency heart surgery within an
hour...they implanted in my heart a computerized "Defibrillator" miniture version
of those big electric pads you see on TV medical scenes, where they
go: "Charge! Now!!" and the electric shock makes the body jump. I was told it
was that, or be dead in a month. And when the battery dies, it starts beeping
inside my chest...no doubt I'll be in a movie theatre at the movie's climax, and be
tossed by the usher (do they still have those?)....Second is COPD, today's term
for emphyzema...a degenerative lung disease...where suddenly you cannot
breath, you literally drown in a sea of air....This is a peachy one, has me in the
hospital 10 times a year, plus far more suseptible to goodies like pneumonia...
which I have gotten several times, and from which I just recently recovered.
The prognosis is poor, it is incurable, progressive (contantly getting worse),
terminal...I will eventually suffocate...and I'm always with a variety of inhalers and
nebulizers...a plug in version I got from a ex-co-worker's wife, with the same
disease, but much better specialists than me, although she died from it 2 years
ago, oddly, on my birthday (2-28) hmmmmm.....I already have a plot for me and
my Rosie...lovely place....I've survived bladder cancer twice...another benefit from
my long ago days of smoking -quit in 1994- when this first showed up- I'd go to
urinate, and pure blood would flow...naturally it soon clogged, and I swelled up
with blood....came real, real close to dead several times...and I'm not a
recreational drug user...so the pain was aweful, and the later Dr. check-ups a
fearful affair...a fiber optic camera inserted up the *****....any male's worse
nightmare...with good reason, the pain is unreal...It's my third favorite past time to
being beheaded, being castrated (near the same thing), and being burned at the
stake. Continued...
from all identical to nothing identical
many exceptions to no exceptions
eventually deduced from the above
all deductions being eventual
that to have a spirit there must be suffering
now for the latest in strong arm technology
The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics estimates
that 13,013 food industry workers lost limbs
or other body parts in 2002 or was that 1001 ha ha
could make the butcher into a holy man
a 19th century ideology will do that to you
what this nation needs for butt certain
is a political high colonic with legs akimbo
he was from a long line of puzzle junkies
the trailer trash intelligentsia
bleeders dwarfs and lap dance assassins
in from the cold but still shivering
his autonomous mind shallow in a good way
no you’re right that is not possible
his recliner chair was his best friend
growing old and senile and blind
sitting for hours in the back yard
thistle weeds growing up around his car seat
the sun finally warmed his wondering body
and chrome towing ball head
run off the road from self examination
wailing an alert outward in all directions
setting fire to news vans pissing on reporters
for keeping us blind and stupid
the only thing not hypothetical is right now
where they murder their own truth seekers
because the truth belongs to no one
yah they killed a lot of angels to get here
sure as the jitney starts and stops
but since the struggle is no longer for survival
that should tell you something
existence is apparently making a point
it's a tin can with a wire handle
God has mocked you a thousand times
well ding dong mock him back
and attain your victory through semiotics
you know the imperial rhetorical
more missing teeth every time
seeing two objects because you got two eyes
will work the hourglass to a standstill
his bruised face was a horrifying presence
basically I did it to make myself laugh
utilizing the latest Child of Defiance plug in
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Bowing to the East,
a sacred obligation,
comforting
and curious forehead down
to kiss this humble ground
of ego's straight supremacy
Including fat white men
buttocks up
and yintegrity open to receive
To imagine Allah's horniest Tao
amid straightest men
together worshiping Earth's political ground
of cultural becoming
Imaging an invisible economic hand
to massage
message
market
sell and buy and rent,
pimp out and plug in
inspire and respire and expire
speak and listen healthy/pathology signs
and root sensory communication systems
dissociated from ****/oral pleasures
and distended
recessive YangProjectile envy
never prayed
For PatriTheist's great dualdark
win/win transeminal figuration
swelling,
then withdrawing paradise,
like breath
and surf
and in/ex-codependent biformation
Climaxing humane/divine's Allahmin Integrity
without straight male overprivileged impatience
and left brain dominant expression,
extending poly-symphonic power and pleasure
beauty light
multiculturing fertility
reflectively withheld from aggressive foreheads
Gone
To receive sacred manly grace
beyond mere mortal
health-wealthing sensory freedom
for capital-raising
praising
saving authentic co-empathic face
Of Divine cooperation
ecopolitically
polytheistically praying
for bountiful
beautiful protruding co-predation
Whole Open SexSystemic fetal
on man's reclining
enveloped in worshiping knees
made for yintegral male/femate
feral
fertile imagination
Five times per homo-sapient day,
whether he needs it
or wants Allah not
non-dualistic pole through hole
through depolarizing whole
neuro-systemic NonZero binomial
nonviolent SafeZones
For root-systemic health
tipping pointed prime chakra
root communication
in SacRed Hearted resilience
Polyculturing wealth
of metaphoric language choice
through humble worshiping grace face
effaced
Front and back proud male bodies
out and in erased
dominantly disgraced
Misplaced sacred temple
resurrection.
A rare Arab and Asian identity which is distinct in topography;
blessed with an excellent human resource in health services;
its heart, destroyed and rebuilt seven different times;
having a name unchanged and sustained to reach historic zeniths;
surviving a number of years more than the number of Brazilian Airports
while its tongue resonates in three different dance moves.
This land historically occupied by over 19 intruders
holds the world book capital and appears in the league
of the most popular shopping destinations globally.
In the global skyscraper of night clubs, sky Bar stays at the top.
The creation of the first boat and the establishment of the first sail
makes the Phoenicians topple Christopher Columbus to reach America.
Down town Beirut raises its flag high above all others
in the building of its law school.
Rooted from its gardens is the creators of Tom and Jerry
and holds the shield of pride as the first constitution driven Arab Nation.
A plug in the large socket of the Arab peninsula
is this land with the highest percentage of Christians in its league;
having a city named after the combined scrolls of the Christ-like religion
and sidon signifying the first miracle center of the Messiah;
with the popular belief of the divine plantations of the cedars.
It is sealed by the several mentions of both land and tree in the holy scriptures.
Even though it is a fortieth of the entire religious empire
its garage gives out a large chunk of the peninsula’s publications.
Unique in its spring, when skiing and swimming are both possible;
possessing fifteen flowing waters, each coming from its own mountainous source;
with four times more compatriots outside its landmark
than within its territorial fence.
Its past time events of the wild fire of civil wars
all ignited by the sparks of inter-religious differences
reflect a large society harbouring eighteen different faith
to form a nation with hidden political and economic influences.
I wrote this on the Salt Lake Express, enjoy.
Salt Lake Expression
I just got my phone and im travelling home
I havent been rappin since the age of de la soul
But i happen to imagine the things i dont know
Its all about where you are, however you go
My jedi mind is tricked out,
opposite of KISS- i lick it down,
i am about to be around,
instantly syncing experience into the sound, so listen now...
Whatever I sample,
its all too hot to handle,
i dissipate stress within damsels,
what's jack and a candlestick without a candle?
I describe inside my mind simply when i ramble
The rise and fall is epic like that of the Berlin wall,
hungry cows just in for the green, im herding you all,
transmitting transitions went from winter to fall,
this tale you're listening to is legitimate, it isn't tall.
Im like Rafiki just seeking to speak with the king,
i ford rivers to Mordor to find the Lord of the Ring,
this isn't a hobbit talking but when i walk i sing,
playing the harp with heart strings,
hark the lion king
versus shot in the dark, bark, then endangering,
i dine with fine eats at a Chinese restaurant called Ming's,
before the crack im born to rap, let the liberty bell ring.
Crazier than Nicolas cage,
i face the machine with rage,
i speak on street corners, concrete is my stage,
I'm going to flee to Indonesia seeking to speak with a sage
Gourmet food for thought is about to blast off,
get on this hip hop or listen to Slim and kick rocks in flip flops,
this is not a shot in the dark or a walk in the park,
im a man ready on his mark to rock steady like Bob
and drop heavy as wonder bred never forget that's who brought...
...This to you, get in-tuned
it's not on your radio so plug in your ipod,
im not a rhyme god, but I've got my lines off
like Joseph is how my coat is, mad colors,
i think the big government is actually a bad brother,
im blessed since I have my mother,
and we all are cause we have each other.
I’m a witch of the modern times,
Nay my caldron is not round but square,
It has four sides square, and it’s called a microwave.
No bubble, bubble toil or trouble, with this new
Modern age tool, I just add these mystical
Prepackaged ingredients, then sit there on my
Broom stick and drool.
Forget the bat wings, and the eye of nout,
I prefer the minute bag of hot popcorn instead,
Wouldant you.
I’m the wiz of a wiz with this squared box of
Miracles, from the mid-night munchies, to the
Commercial button pause freeze zone, on the
Talley blue screen.
There is no more a sacred sound ever heard
On this earth, then that dinging bell going off,
Then ever buddy scrambling to check out, what
Homemade goodies mom has cooked up?
Now the crook top is dandy, and the stove
Maybe handy for more flavor, or special
Occasions of the holiday persuasion,
But I prefer the minute satisfaction,
And gratification of this microwave
Magician.
My personal idea of home style cooking,
Is pierce the bags plastic top, and stir,
Then serve, boy that broke this fevers
Sweat, are you ready to eat my young ones.
Now in my spell books of cooking perfection,
There’s just no place to plug in this modern
Tools connection.
So these massive volumes are just dust
Collectors, but I have a dust buster for
This readies problem, I just have to pop
Dinner in the magic box first, before I can
Solve them.
So what will it be tonight my friend,
Pizza or Pasta surprise, with an Abracadabra’s
Ding, and a POP, I can feed a whole troop of soldiers,
Or a hungry family of five.
Just call me a modern wizard with technical
Support, the best invention of all times
My microwave caldron, with its four
Squared sides, excuse me please,
The bell just went off!!!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO MY DAUGHTERS AMANDA AND ASHLEY
And also to the inpatient animals of the world, thanks mom!
Beauty of December
Cause weather is calm and cool
When good friends remember,
About vinyl from the spool.
Joys of Santas’s goodies
When we were small back then,
Mother and her cookies
Six men wiser than a pen.
No sweets sold in market
Mother made them all,
Beating deadline target
Before the eve would fall.
Tailors were visited by many:
Crowds to get their wears,
There was mummy and granny,
With children under their care.
There was a rush of decoration
That filled the streets with gay,
Choirs practised their rendition
Before that Christmas day.
Midnight saw costumes parade
With lace and trimmings rare
Gentlemen suited and booted
Walking in style with their pair.
Salons too did brisk business
Making ladies to look their best,
Not to show their riches
Only to join the fashion fest.
Now a days clothes are ready
Bought and to wear
Colours are in plenty
In online stores everywhere.
Christmas tree is ready to use
No tedious work to do,
No decorations needed
Saving an hour or two.
No streamers are required
All done by lights and beams,
Just plug in your connection
To a wonderland of dreams.
The excitement of decorating
Is not there anymore,
With children lending a hand
Putting up a mistle toe.
Cribs too are ready made
With lights and Carols too,
No mess of straw and sand
For a Nativity to construe.
Visiting friends and relatives
Is a forgotten practice of past,
Cause everyone is a distance
Greetings are easily podcast.
Zoom are now meetings
When greetings are exchanged,
No sharing of goodies required,
Connection still maintained.
Ted has gone to Canada, Chris in the UK
Mike went off to Australia
Jen is the US, far away
So, you see we are all scattered to
WhatsApp on Christmas day.
Christmas has grown unfamiliar
To us of the past
Its now time for the generation
To make up a Christmas caste.
I.
Conversation comes in polite manners
And natural tones.
We talk;
You of your early mornings
While I of scattering
Thoughts that border on nonsense
Debating with myself on a mind divided.
I babble, distraught;
Should I or should I not
Complement such aspect reserved
For poets' words and artists' eyes?
What with autumn and its golden flares
Burning your crown like a halo then and there.
Thus in laughter-filled sentences
This dilemma is masked in unintelligible disguise;
Little by little instead the moment
Is impressed on my mind,
Wishing it would never end.
On and on,
To never end this talk
—I wish.
II.
Inexplicable
How the sweetest voice can be
A knife thrust in my chest
So beautiful
Yet it is murder, this subsequent longing.
What Dushenne has given a name to,
Yours has dissolved the defiance from all
My peers and I;
A smile that begins from the tones
Of earth in your eyes
As you speak of funny anecdotes,
Sharing shortcomings with wild abandon
As if there I was standing
Your confidant, your closest friend.
Albeit in hindsight lies the irony:
Whilst I talk with affection
Of comradeship you spoke.
III.
Talking in circles, round and round;
Lost in the boredom of redundancy,
You depart.
Having dispensed of farewell's pleasantries,
On opposite direction you walk;
As free as the wind that takes you away,
Bound only by being blessed
To be amongst all of Heaven's creation
The fairest.
While I, on opposite direction, walk;
Punished
With tacit solicitude and its rubbish fantasies.
Turn on the radio, plug in the phones;
Searching the radio for liberation,
I find only more poison
Among the melancholic remedies it offers.
Fevered I am with the sickness
Of wishing
For what can never be.
IV.
On opposite directions we walk;
You depart
Naught of burden of memory nor nostalgia,
While I,
On your first parting step,
Died;
V.
You have taken with you my heart.
We sit in our idle houses
plugged-in to the world wide web
of digital madness and make-believe.
We text tweet posts from on far and shadow fight in elections streams but hide our eyes in the burning light of day. We crawl in the muck of media social septic sycophantic discharge.
The immaculate ejaculation of simple minds
lost in hate inspired by a buffoon's fury for the masses of a race at war with no one and everything.
We are the spoor of an absent absolute adolescent god.
The degeneration of a nation.
Walk on the left side of what is right.
Daggers to the left brainwashed, irrational.
We are the lost souls, shades of our former selves.
The whitewashed out wasted youth of a once-great nation that never was, and is only in the wet dreams of gun-loving, militant, mutant myopic ‘mericans.
We are the last bastion of some mad American empire that once never was and will be ever again from sea to shining towers of righteous jaded glass that reach to heavens zenith only to come down as men with destination if deaths deeds conspire to bring down.
An airliner of 767 designation demolition by design a government conspiracy that conspired to kill and to procreate war for profit and malicious malfeasance fester in flight of a mind at war with truth and a god at home of the brave land of the gun.
We are the product of our dysfunctional family that plugged us into the cathode ray tube, the wet nurse of the damaged damned and demented delusional diluted and dangerous.
We sit in our idle houses
plug-in to the world wide web
of digital madness and make-believe.
Of some mad American empire of crumbling crimson and cobalt blue fluids of stars sliver bright raining like falling embers or wormwood, blood, and sky and white light influx we are the offspring of some mad American empire…