Long Probably Poems
Long Probably Poems. Below are the most popular long Probably by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Probably poems by poem length and keyword.
What if this is hell
What if we are the dead
It makes sense
The murders, the rapes, the sorrow
I do believe it is a possibility,
So I am doing my best to
help others up and out
Inspiring them to follow their hearts.
Maybe the artists and the poets
are at the top level, almost ready for the giant leap
To the good place.
Maybe the murderers and the rapists
have a long way to go
I do think I am right about this.
I am sold on it, because I have been invincible.
I have expected to die three times.
Yet, here I am. Alive? I doubt it.
Maybe our souls are crying because they
are aware that we are dead
Maybe this is hell.
It makes sense to me,
And it seems fair.
Tread lightly, my friend.
We are probably not supposed to know,
So go ahead and pretend ignorance.
I am only sharing this insight with poets and artists.
The sky of pink and orange tangerines
made me feel happy to be me today.
It was joyously warm, and the cardinals
were creating happy birdsongs.
A perfect day, I thought, which rarely happens.
I sat down, gave a long sigh,
And was dreaming in seconds.
What I dreamt I do not know fully.
But there was a safe feeling about it,
and I knew God was in place,
Watching, making sure the greedy hungry raccoons
knew I was part of the universal all-is-well plan
As they played at my feet and probably
slapped each other over the last Ritz cracker,
None woke me,
Letting me enjoyed the twilight sky again,
in my joyous dream state.
The deer,
who are my power animals,
crept up to the red plastic bird feeders,
But were careful to not make too much noise
as they smacked them against the trunk of the walnut trees,
so they could eat the yellow seed
off the ground.
It was a day to be delighted, and a night to sleep outside.
I woke with a start, a few hours later,
knowing the animals had watched over,
Making sure nothing bad happened to me.
I am Snow White here, Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella.
My Prince is inside, watching thirteen TVs.
Understanding my need to sleep outside on our
old comfy couch, facing the setting sun,
which makes a perfect day.
The first non-funeral I ever heard about was for a relative I had never wanted to claim.
She was an evil-soul, mean-spirited, a cruel paragon of human non-virtue.
When I was a child I would have rather visited the dentist,
and I probably have the worst, sorest teeth in the universe
so that is spelling it out.
She had specifically asked for no funeral, and this was decades before non-funerals were popular.
I knew why.
She had alienated the neighbors, and the relatives,
and I mean ALL the relatives, and some of us are particularly
impossible to alienate.
In lieu of a funeral, there was a reception for her.
It was attended by four people.
Her two children, one whom she had treated horribly,
a drinking buddy, who was inebriated, and possibly on something else,
and my sister who does not count as she is a ghoul about funerals,
excited to add this to her amazing I-go-to-every-funeral-in-this-town
count which at that time was in the six thousand range.
I was in town that day, sitting in a chair, pointedly not going to this non-funeral.
She was a girly faerie with twirly ways,
afraid of people, hiding in mushroom pods
or diving into hollow trees when she hears them
She has no idea when the fear originated
When she was a faerie-ette probably,
maybe really early, at two or six minutes old.
She remembers a luxurious day when the sun
was shining so brightly, and the cardinals were
bringing her messages. Suddenly there was a
silence that brought her curls out of the water,
so her faerie ears could better hear.
There was not a ripple on the lake except the
one she had just made. The deer were fleeing.
She saw their white tails flash as they leapt into
the verdant safety of the brush.
What is happening she asked? But the grasshoppers,
dragonflies, and mermaids were transparent. It was the first
time she realized that she could invisible herself. She instantly transmuted to an invisible air bubble, and began floating above the lake to try and see.
There were two large brown eyes looking at her.
"Mommy! It's a faerie!" a shrill voice said.
She was horrified. Her heart beat so fast, she was afraid she was having a heart attack. Another air bubble attached itself to her
air bubble, and sailed her into a meadow. When they popped her cousin got out. "That is man," she said. "They are killers."
That might have been it.
This world has been invaded by aliens
Though there's really no need to show fear
They've been living for years now among us
You'd be surprised at how very near
They're everywhere in our daily activities
In fact you wont believe what they've seen
By now they know us as well as we know ourselves
Try not to let "that" give you the creeps
I can't think of a place where their not sitting
Watching our most intimate moves
They've probably seen movements by our President
Which wouldn't make for good nightly news
They've found out they can't breath in our climate
After all these years they've left their suits on
That poses a bit of a problem
Cause that's exactly where they went wrong
It's all in the design of their equipment
On their planet they just couldn't tell
That their spacesuits look a lot like our toilets
Which hasn't gone over so well...
What is your soul dream?
The one that you would rather rip out of your heart than tell to the relatives?
The secret one hidden so deep in your soul, that you would shatter if anyone
discovered it?
The one you could not bear to have laughed at. The one you have safely hidden from the world for years?
The dream that will probably fulfill all of your hopes and dreams if you are gutsy enough, arrogant enough, and empowered enough to go get it?
Find the person you can share the dream with.
The only person you have ever met who would not laugh at this dream.
This person will encourage you support you, and love you no matter what
Whatever else you do in this lifetime, does not matter.
This person is a keeper, and so is your dream.
Written in February 2018
Submitted to Brian Strand for his Midsummer Contest
I wonder, are there devices for the exchange of hellos in heaven or wherever after it is that we may go?
Do you think there is a service where people wait patiently, to send messages in all forms for deliverance down this way, below?
Well, I believe my sister is there, standing in a line, probably impatiently waiting for her turn, to be able to send me a sign.
I kind of imagine that everyday she gets up and sings all along her way.
I picture her anxiously hurrying to the afterlifes post office, just to request these little birdies to fly, under my days' sun rays.
I hope this thought is true as it makes me feel like I'm closer to you.
The delivery service you use, has allowed me time to review any of the messages I thought to previsouly send you.
I guess the celestial mail speed worked in my favor, because now I get to see the signs you deliver without further uncertainty, that you would ever be able to.
So please keep the messages coming.
I will acccept the post, no matter the form it's delivered.
Knowing you, it will be through wings, songs and people.
I know this for a fact because more recently you have forced my heart to remember life is here, I am stable, be still and dont react..
Just another one of your new ways to make sure I know your soul left, but spirit comes down to say hey.
Having trouble keeping an active brain
Is it poetry that's kept me alive
Poetry's a major activity that's filled my void
Ten long years since I retired
Owe my well being to this wonderful site
Anxiously checking my inbox
To see who's sent me these glowing responses
Check it before putting on my socks
Addicted, I'd have to say that's true
But life would be quite boring without it
You people boost my ego every day
Might survive but I really kinda doubt it
So on my tombstone they'll probably inscribe
He died in an extremely poetic way
His last words rhymed as they closed the casket
“That's all I have to say today”
Back in late pre-millennial times
of lava lamps
and Rolling Stones,
many searched for peak experiences,
in response to valley depressences
repressed
suppressed,
rather than panoramic,
even revolutionary,
resonant and resilient impressions.
Peak experiences were,
and still are,
I am told by those who've had them,
personal,
individualistic,
or possibly dyadic climaxes,
but probably not orgiastic,
which is more of a swarming bee thing
co-spastic
if I accurately follow their pollination story
through its peaks and valleys.
Abraham Maslow talked
and wrote
about climbing a hierarchy of sensory needs,
from survival attachment
up to thrival
growing toward a more interdependently accessible peak
and descending for a more independent survival battle
to return to more cooperative peak health experiences
of left brain articulating thought
and right brain consciousness
of up and down
valley repression
and mountainous impression
feelings.
Now in post-millennial times,
pathology has become a climatic
traumatic
despairing experience of climate anxiety,
prompting new internal/external searches
for ways to optimize globally resilient peak experience.
For this,
we need the miraculous mysterious mysticism
of cooperative win/win integrity
in-between and among all ecological living relationships
sailing up and down river systems
and across mountain forests
and through all creatures and creations,
lovers and healthy loved,
rhetorical lived events
and historical reflective advents
Tipping between yesterday and tomorrow
resonantly lived
ego peak safely and yet freely eco-valleyed
spiritual health
within flowing messianic times
of natural wealth.
We are the high altitude sentinels.
Our small groves freckle the high plains.
We keep to ourselves, mostly
upon the snow burdened peaks
where our ashen trunks blend
and our barren branches cling
to icy white glitter.
As the breath of winter ebbs
we watch the crystal spring run-off
growing ever greener with envy
of how it races down the hill; babbling.
We whisper this to one another
in the crisp mountain air, solemn
as we keep watch.
From our station on the precipice
we behold fully the majestic sun
revering at dusk how it paints the sky.
In the failing warmth of autumn,
we offer in turn, our own reflection of
magnificent golden sunset skies
in our shimmering yellow foliage.
We keep company with pines,
firs, spruces, and other prickly sorts.
Conifers aren’t social, which suits us
as we keep mostly to ourselves.
Sentinels must remain vigilant, after all,
watchful for approaching danger.
We quake from paranoia, probably.
Our bark is pale, above all, for fear.
We’ve seen your kind before.
Your kind we watch most carefully.
If you look close, you will see
from our thousand dark eyes
we always look closely back at you.
Are you dangerous?
08/21/15
Submission for contest: Trees Personified
Hosted by: Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
*I loved the aspens when my family would go camping in the high Uinta mountain range in Utah. They are beautiful and they can grow at such high elevation (above 10,000 ft) it's really amazing.