Long Processed Poems
Long Processed Poems. Below are the most popular long Processed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Processed poems by poem length and keyword.
Let’s deface it—my reality isn’t the same—
Your world is an illusion—similarities set invisible base-lined boundaries.
We share this similarity
Just not the exact same
Ironic Zinc relates this (many things) to childlike innocence…
Why…?
Perhaps this is a direct result of how he has developed—emotionally—?
I should ask him—I have connections!
Nah...
That’s no fun. I know him well—
Allow me how…
As a child he recalls having a special, ignorant connection with people; in general.
At some point in his life, this feeling (or presence) left Mr. Zink—
Maturity processed realty that previous ignorance believed in; with conviction.
Ironic Zinc then absorbed wisdom through every pour of his collected consciousness.
He inhaled its truthful whisper in the wind…
Feeling as if he had been betrayed by practically the entire world—sniffing lies after lie…
Trust reflected through his misplaced eyes that had become wide-cut—Dilation.
Demented to the brink of insanity; Ironic Zinc bathed his anguish with substance
Testing the waters and questioning the vibe
Ironically, he then became them—
Those he now understands, only as misunderstood—empathetically.
Ironic Zinc has drifted apart from stead-fact claims and harsh negative judgments.
Growth is obvious, materialized through his poetic journey—revelations
I am Ironic Zinc…
My ultimate intentions are apparently pure
Equal or lesser than you
Positive judgment—morals—this is how we base beliefs
Negative judgment—called judgmental—flawed logic revealed
I am Ironic Zinc
He has issues—
Issues with current; present day society
Your world is an illusion—similarities set invisible base-lined boundaries.
We share this similarity
Just not the exact same
Let’s deface it—my reality isn’t the same...
Ir0nIc zINc 9-27-15
The Meaning of Life
All I was and all I could have been,
Has been washed away by salty tears.
Memories I could not forget,
Are all I have left inside my head.
Thoughts are no longer processed here,
My brain has gone on strike.
All we want is to find a cure for this hurt,
But there is no salvation in this life.
Or the next, so what shall we do?
Give up trying just like you?
Maybe the light will shine for us one day,
Maybe the light will show us the way.
For you and I to be saved
And for this hurt to be erased.
There is the light I told you about,
The one to take away all your doubts
And answer those questions you asked.
How did I know this day would come to pass?
History told me this day was come,
My destiny was written in a former life,
Inside a gun, on the day I was born.
The meaning of life is to fulfil our destiny,
I now know the answer to what our destiny is.
Simply put; it’s not too good,
For our destiny can only be fulfilled with the aid of a bullet.
The meaning of life, the other big question,
Is birth, life, death and Heaven.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
As I look down and see the ground
On which my feet don’t stand
The light I see is all around
Things haven’t gone as planned
It’s really kweer, I’m standing here
And somehow, you are not
You did your worst, let me go first
Off of that beauty spot
So, was I dead between the ears
Too dumb to see your lies
Or to spot your cunning plan
In which it’s me that dies
Everywhere I look are sheep
On tiny pasture clouds
They’re interspersed with people
Who have wings and wispy shrouds
We didn’t shake on our done deal
We sealed it with a kiss
I would leap, then so would you
To our eternal bliss
The best laid plans of nice young men
Lie face down in the mud
For I chose this eternal light
And you chose my best bud
You schemed to take my life insurance
’pon our rocky shores
Ironic that your latest squeeze
Will soon be taking yours
I watched you in your fancy car
The car that once was mine
But then you took it for a drive
When he had spiked your wine
So when you get here you’ll be processed
Then sent to the basement
I hope it’s not too warm for you
For it’s an all time placement.
I don't want to be a processed human
warm thumpads on click screen
cant put my hands in my pcokets
pockets filled with sand
cup of dirt by my table
Orange fire tree, a beauty, shivers in gray
I am not aware of me
when nature bears to see its swaying leaves
there's glory in the metal squeak of a guitar string
feel dead wood, relief, plastic wrapped child roses
Smell the green on harvested before bloom
The blood crust on my ear
monstrous scratching between straw hair of a dead scalp makes me want to rip skin out
Ocean water take me there but i hear electric of cars every step
bushes square
trees baby leaves
bloomed too late to turn green
Watch a movie set in italy you feel the vibrations of the screen
make your face red; silent scream
pop ups, plastic warmth
cling to the radiator through polyester, spine compressed and half your bed taken by an amass of wires and clunk: heavy mess to project reality
My veins pump blood spray when cut
I'm a real human transmitting consciousness through things i never knew
drained my energy in this scry mirror: to be human is selfish, AI helps with all but takes root to steal yourself and sell it back to you
I used to fantasise about gangsters,
A bad guy who would change for me.
The movie industry told me, the music videos and news stories.
Men acting like children or women dancing like trash, those were my options.
A young Dancer, trying to experience culture that was growing and never stopping.
A young girl from a comfortable culture, new and made of many.
Running from her own but false ideals of authenticity and creativity, constantly played to me.
Processed my grief as a young one, listening to music that was meant to keep me poor.
Promised the artists abundance and left them soulless and sore.
I was in IIn LA in 2015, on skid row, overwhelmed with what to feel.
Standing with William, 17, an ex singer in the church I was giving with... Who had just finished a drug deal.
He told me he could sing, I dared him in my naivity.
He belted Amazing Grace at the top of his lungs, his sound vibrated through the city.
Walked along Hollywood boulevard the next week, stayed in Beverley Hills.
Did no one ing see this from my tour group?
No dots connecting? How are you sleeping still?
Clung onto appropriation as a way to honour what I always knew,
Though grew to disown and rebuke the influences that stuck with me while I grew.
False masculinity, femininity, the furthest from the healthy woman I wanted to be.
Expected to speak on and shake my appendages,
Overload my expenses and for fun, poison my mind.
Young white girls throwing gun hands and popping for thousands, creeps watching, satisfied.
Not advocating for anything, just other appropriators at the desk.
Ticking boxes, discussing talent, deciding who's less.
Sequins and pigtails, thigh slapping and Tik Toks...
I can no longer identify with mainstream competition dance tetris, which is facaded as Hip Hop.
CONTEMPLATION
a sacred space
brooding
black
sombre
a place
of
quiet
silence
alone
thoughts
to
resonate
a place
of
the momentous
surface
with
atmospheric
prompting
a memorial to
yeserdays
reverberating
inside
a recital
of inspiration
initially
imagined
then considered
&
embodied
with essentials
refreshingly
refined
then
carefully-detailed
thru a lens
of the then
unusual
processed
&on display
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
love …
was the air
that you breathed …
there was no course navigated
no interaction made
no thought processed or
act completed
no example set as people or parents
that didn’t have that concern as
its primary edict …
and while life has blessed me far
beyond what a fool like
me could ever hope to deserve,
there is not and never will be
a grace granted me that exceeds the
very simple, very precious gift
of having been your son …
time does NOT make the loss of
you any easier or kind
but I have found strength in the
promise of carrying on,
at least in my best efforts and
hopeful intentions,
your inestimable legacy …
of love.
~ for Mom & Dad - I miss you like lovers miss moonlite ~
( photograph of my mom and dad taken from family archives )
Copyright © 2024 Gregory Richard Barden
Americans are Americans, period.
No matter color, sex and for heavens, sake!
Not ....Their "party affiliation,"
On which some are insanely fixated.
We were born au natural.
We were not born as a member of political party.
That's a choice you make way later.
But some think they must be of the same political
lineage as their pater.( father)
I bring all this up as today is Memorial Day.
Millions died to keep America free.
Guess what?
All colors, ages, political parties under the
earth now lay,
Who gave their lives for you in foreign lands!
We are supposed to honor the dead today.
So today, only one channel with backbone
Carried the ceremonies to honor them.
The other two, busy trying like insane bees,
To destroy the current Presidency!
These same two channels that lauded criminal
Michael Avenatti for the next President.
(Had him on over 200 times!)
But neither showed few if any of the ceremonies
at Arlington Cemetery?
Get a clue! That tells you something!
Are they really that dense? Do they think the dead
in wars did not include Democrats?
They will have criminals on and America haters,
disgusting race- baiters, and all manner of
impeachment go-getters.
But can't honor fallen heroes? Not a chance!
The true heroes, go ignored by two major networks.
Meanwhile, the dead sleep under grass and flags.
I am glad they cannot see, how un-American, we
Americans have become.
Destroying the Constitution, killing babies and worse.
Forbidding-saluting our flag and hiding statues of
American heroes.
And banning cauliflower~as its is too "colonial?"
Today, we stuff ourselves with processed foods
Growing bodies like balloons.
Walking barefoot on lovely poisoned grass,
All too perfect!
Poisoned food in our faces, while we sneer in
hatred at this great nation.
It's so terribly tragic.
The political blindness, the sheer ignorance here.
Causes me to pray to stop this endless vexation.
Before we become a Communist nation.
5/27/2019
5:45pm PST
Mind concentration and meditation
Brings you to a higher state of elevation
Taking you out of the state of sedation
Away from the contaminated world's education
Pure but not processed thoughts
Pure but not tainted hearts
Bells ringing
Sounds of Freedom
No more wicked worldly believing
Eyes see great things
You're achieving
Souls singing
Freely roaming..... Knowing
And spiritually growing
Heart free mental flowing
Concentration Elevation
Important information connecting energies
Vibrations
Renewing the minds
Exterminating Lower Intelligence
Beautifully minded conversations
Knowledge and wisdom are quite important,
They are like the sun that shines so radiant;
The brilliance is like a gold that glitters,
Unceasingly worked by toiling teachers.
Gain understanding to see in the dark,
Having it is not a walk in the park;
Possessing prudence will truly take time,
One will spend money or a lot of dime.
Acquisition of values, skills, and wit
Is processed in the classroom bit by bit;
Educational methods are training,
Research, discussion, and storytelling.
An outstanding owl sees what others can't;
To this bird the night is clear and brilliant;
Turning black into bright is so awesome,
The essence of true knowledge and wisdom.