Long Powerlessness Poems
Long Powerlessness Poems. Below are the most popular long Powerlessness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Powerlessness poems by poem length and keyword.
Nameless depths
I have sunk somewhere in abysses that don't know their true names,
I have forgotten how to float on waves that drown me in pure air.
Breath still passes through me
even when I refuse it with desperation,
like a blind light in a tunnel that sees too much and too little.
Come,
tear me from these luminous waters of deep and transparent darkness,
You are the only one
who remains with me
even when you leave forever in this moment.
I am not greedy,
just undone in whole pieces,
stronger each day in my crushing powerlessness.
If not for an eternity,
then at least for a few seconds that last an eternity...
come and drag me from these low and deep heights,
teach me how to sink again into floating on the surface,
show me what these breaths that kill me alive mean,
just once,
before I appear forever in nothingness.
Resurrection in disappearance
In me grows a death so alive it gives me birth daily,
I am a shadow so luminous I blind the surrounding darkness.
Your absent hands
touch me more real
than the presence that abandons me when it comes to save me.
Pull me
up toward the bottom of this ocean of dry and wet air,
You are the only one
who abandons me
always remaining beside me in departure.
I am not generous,
just whole in my broken pieces,
weaker each day through the power that conquers me.
If not for a moment,
then for this entire short and endless life...
come and save me from this surface that drowns me in depth,
teach me how to crash toward height,
reveal to me what these silent screams are silent about,
once more,
after I have disappeared into my existence.
Is it simply laziness? The curious ask.
It's more, yet; moral of mind masquerading mask;
Caring one's self less; experts assuredly say,
Moving from moral values, sloth has its shrewd way...!
Does this mean deprivation of one's precious sleep?
Does it mean one's sleeping for promises to keep?
Sloth has its conditions; it's precariousness;
It has its life-sense and multifariousness...!
Is it just mere hormonal dis-integrity?
Or malnutrition and stress-out of poverty?
Is it lack of motive fermenting from within?
Burning-off of potentials and graces grown thin?
Sheepishness of slothfulness took in me form once,
Life mine had taken directions toward great dunce;
Cast in me great sleep; for health and wealth I suffered,
When body not plowed, heart not sown, none gifts offered...!
Life needs great zeal and greatest of enthusiasm,
Slothfulness develops within greatest of spasm;
Faith and trust and hope quit from the path of your life,
Sluggishness and impatience increase your life-strife...!
Cool! Take things easy! Prohibit powerlessness!
You are your very master! Leave all hopelessness!
Courageously focus and perfect your duties,
You will, indeed, find life filled with fullest beauties...!
06 July 2022
Sin of Sloth Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
Loss caused by powerlessness and helplessness as its heart,
Gloom and sorrow and sadness as its despondent spare part;
Anger and fear as lifeblood; despair and guilt as its veins;
With somber moods, melancholy is a bundle of pains...!
I undergo the resonance of my inner unease,
My pain pains me; my anger angers me; my joys soon cease;
With no physical accident, I undergo trauma,
Temples are seen all around me, without the true Brahma...!
With lethargic, listless, lacking luster as its liver,
No fervor in things around; yet, acts as a lawgiver;
Where's my hunger gone? Why very often this sleeplessness?
Deep within, like restless seabed currents, whirls hopelessness...!
Illusion as the brain and delusions as its large screen,
Tensions and turmoil, as though cruel beasts, are always seen;
Dejection, depreciation, glumness, and gloominess,
Self-condemnation, like tides, fluctuate my fuzziness...!
As cine screens alter, feelings go senile hysteric,
Pseudo zeal, zest, and enthusiasm soon turn barbaric;
Like poles of the north and the south or the head and the tail,
Why are feelings of violence and suicide crucial...?
Isn't, yet, this anatomy affirmative as well?
Doesn't it pulsate me to ponder over my death knell?
I grow, as a wounded, aware of all facts and fancies,
This is the anatomy that par excels the deep seas...!!!
12 May 2023
Anatomy of Melancholy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
Is it owing to my age? Or power and position?
Am I, in my furnace of self-forsakenness, burning?
Have others abandoned me? Why's there no recognition?
In isolation, as flesh in a frying pan, I'm churning
Where is my imagination now, as a poet, gone?
Why are these thoughts on the absurdity of existence?
Why for the spilt milk of powerlessness praxen I mourn?
Why should weaknesses over my firmness have persistence?
Like a caterpillar pupating for its survival,
Or a person in a river swimming against the whirl
Each element around me seems to have turned my rival
Out of my fond Pandora Box, every evil unfurl
I know I am in between the devil and the deep sea
Honey dripping from far, yet, has become precious to me.
DISAPPOINTMENTS AND MISSED OPPORTUNITIES WEIGH ME DOWN LIKE AN ANCHOR, KEEPING ME STUCK IN THE SAME PLACE, WHICH FEELS LIKE AN ETERNITY.
THE FEELINGS OF GUILT AND SHAME I CAN'T SHAKE OFF, POWERLESSNESS OF THINGS THAT I CAN'T CHANGE.
AS MY BODY WITHERS AWAY, SO DOES MY MIND.
MY BEST MEMORIES SLIP AWAY, WHILE THE WORST ONES REMAIN EMBEDDED IN MY THOUGHTS.
THE ACHES AND PAINS RADIATE THROUGH MY BODY, AND THE EMOTIONAL TRAUMA AND SCARES ONLY EXACERBATE THE ONE THING THAT I KNOW TO BE TRUE: PAIN, LONELINESS, AND ABANDONMENT.
FINDING MYSELF ALONE WITH NO ONE AROUND, WITH MY LIFE IN CHAOS AND DISARRAY, SEEMS TO BE THE STATUS QUO.
Amidst illusions of eternity, do they fear death or the loss of vanity,
walking through existence, raising fragile monoliths of silent legacy,
believing their names will echo through the ages, as if permanence were a gift,
not a delusion woven from desires, a dream lost under a bitter sky.
But history erodes with precision, turning emperors into mere footnotes,
changing scholars into misattributed quotes, shadows lost in the night,
if even the architects of civilizations succumb to silent oblivion,
why would they assume exemption, when time steals everything and erases all?
Do they fear death, or the realization that they were never essential,
that they are but echoes in the shadow of eternity, whispers lost in a forgotten tale,
facing the truth that we are all fleeting, like leaves in the foreign wind,
that the need to matter becomes a whisper of powerlessness, a dream at the dawn of destiny.
One discovers the essence of St Therese of the little flower by thinking
of all she represented. In book of proverbs, she inspires us:
"You that are simple, turn in here!"
The yearning for a simple life can be heard in many who desire a simple life of solitude and quiet. Many look for relief from a violent city and world steeped in advertising full of compulsion to grasp and consume. In the midst of everyday struggles & personal ambition, there is a quest for meaning. A longing to see beyond oneself. To view the world with compassion through the eyes of the heart. Beneath the belief that we can have it all as self-made human beings, is the recognition that in the end we are weak & powerless. Wise spiritual guides like Thérèse tell us to embrace our powerlessness & surrender it to what the Buddhists call "the Ground of our being, in Thérèse's Christian language, "the loving hands of God." This path is simple but not easy. Wise guides tell us that this journey is often, a lifelong effort.
She was a little flower plucked from the springtime of her life,
facing the mystical cross with courage as she embraced her fears & strife.
Why brother, but why?
Why do you cause me
So much heartache, rigor and pain?
Why the Xenophobia and hate?
Why brother?
When I approach you,
With contrition, you retreat like a stranded snail
When I smile at you
You sneer at me
When I laugh With You
You sneer, jeer at me
Why brother?
When I look in your eyes
I capture; see hate, anger,
Disdain, dread and Xenophobia
When your lips move
I hear you hiss, curse and swear
When I pat you on your shoulder
I see you shrug
Why brother, but why?
When we hug
I feel your arrhythmia, repulse
When you sing
I hear your agony
When you dance, I see your nakedness, helplessness and powerlessness
Why brother, but why?
The world is in a great turmoil
All around disquiet and confusion reign
Russia and Ukraine engage in war of attrition
Massacre of genocidal proportions
Has torn Gaza strip to a mountain of ruins
As Israel continues to exact her pound of flesh
For Hamas daredevilry of 7th October 2023
Meting out in the process to Hezbolah and Lebanon
Repercussions for exporting and harboring terrorism
While at the same time paying Iran back in her own coins
In this season of teeth for tat
In the midst of all these the Syrian civil war has been reignited
And Yemen has come under Israeli fire
As the Houthis join the fray in solidarity with Palestinians
In Sudan Generals battle for the soul of the nation
With the world caring less for her plight
While the disunited United Nations
Remains powerless
And the world powers continue to play
the ostrich
With claims and counter claims
And macabre discordant tones
While the Middle East burns
And a possibility of world war three
Staring the nations in the face
The world needs to pause and rethink
The world powers should wield the big stick
And bring their cronies to the table of dialogue
The planet needs to be saved from the caricature men have turned it to
The United Nations should be liberated
From the shackles of powerlessness
To bark as well as bite
In implementation of its mandate
Racism,
and sexism
and violent capitalism
are as American
and as bad for you
and your kids
as pre-millennial rotten and burned-out apple pie-sellers
And ProMatriotic learning
and living
and health loving
post-millennial WinWin co-operators
against LoseLose
racism
and sexism
and violent capitalism
as AntiAmerican
as burning-out
and hanging-out
and banging-out
and harming the health in any way,
of matriotic cooperative apple-pie makers.
So said,
rather more than less,
one of the ancient river campers
speaking curbside
before the double-glass front doors
of his Cumberland Farms Cathedral.
In a sad and quiet voice.
Not a position he gloated about
as if he stood morally apart.
Rather,
he speaks of dis-integrity
of our shared powerless positions
as autonomous systems,
struggling through each impoverishing day
of lost good faith youth
for, now, mere survival
when we could become sooo very much lighter
to rediscover
remaining integrity of our identity systems
for cooperative organic thrival.
Outside,
my neighborhood prophet
for world peace
was long and lean
with sun-dried and bronzed wrinkled skin
over muscled sinew,
a long-grey bearded
and skeletal nature mystic,
with clear and open stereophonic memorizing eyes.
Inside,
remembering his times with swimming wet green frogs
and sleek flying flashing ravens,
eagles of EarthPatriotic balance,
both honorable predators
and prey to aging apple pies
regretted and suffered
by long grey-bearded prophetic times
surviving threats and violence of nationalistic racism
and monotheistic sexism
and MightMakesRight capitalism,
WinLose subnormal optimization
of WinWin BothAnd opportunities,
Left integrated in and outside Right-felt memories
of maternal love
far too unmatriotically far behind
for EarthTribe's cooperative thrival
of these our fit-in
cooperative powerlessness.
So, I asked our neighborhood prophet
if he had mentioned these problems to the Mayor.
"I guess your news for today,
I am the Mayor."