Long Propriety Poems
Long Propriety Poems. Below are the most popular long Propriety by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Propriety poems by poem length and keyword.
Seems like we've all become
A nation of ruddy pill poppers
A pill for this, a pill for that
Even sex, now that's the topper
How did it finally come to this?
The doctors are making a killing
Prescribing a pill for a hang nail
And patients are only willing
Always trusted, the family doctor
Upstanding pillar of society
That was then, this is now
Seems like a lack of propriety
The code of ethics that used to be
Are forthwith being ignored
In favour of that almighty dollar
An outgrowth we can ill afford
Old rules have been abandoned
It's all about the bottom line
Say bye bye to professional ethics
From another place and time
© Jack Ellison 2013
The small chamber, filled with gentle light,
hesitates to enter and welcome the Tuscan morning,
as if it's a long-awaited visitation.
Lucy stands being puzzled between her trained composer,
and watches the hills far ahead,
seems to find her comfort in another field,
open towards her strict inward life.
The world invites her to explore,
and pushing her to go beyond her imagination,
where her thoughts were always
bound to behave in specific ways.
The river view forces her to think about her propriety,
which is nothing but a shallow outburst
That is going to be cut out soon.
Mr. Emerson, along with the sunlight, comes to free Lucy
from her understanding of nature,
where nature is just what she chooses to acknowledge.
Everything around her is pushing her
towards the destiny she deserves.
Propriety becomes uncomfortable,
and new insights and impulses begin to replace her old beliefs.
Her suppressed desires are starting to fight back
and emerge slowly but obviously.
Charlotte cannot impose anything on her anymore.
From a rigid cage, it is not easy to be freed,
Yet she tries to move forward with
What is awaiting on the other side?
She thinks, "I question the world, therefore I am its prisoner."
She understands that trusting the fiction is therefore her sanity.
Yet she looks beyond the frames of the window,
and she discovers the view on the other side.
She becomes overwhelmed but embraces
the lantern she discovers in a quiet war.
Running fancy free into a field,
Chasing butterflies my path revealed,
My arms outstretched into the sky,
I am so happy--not caring why.
Cooled by a fragrant soft Spring breeze,
I trip and fall down to my knees,
Then wistfully gaze into the sky,
To watch the clouds drift slowly by.
Slowly my youthful mind escapes,
Into their billowy pillowy shapes,
As my youthful imagination rages,
Onto life’s unwritten pages.
I reminisce about these scenes so well,
But to them I’ve had to say farewell,
To blend with the accepted propriety
Of my adult world’s fast society.
Though I mostly do what people expect,
I sometimes upon my youth reflect,
And dream nostalgically of my life then,
Knowing I can never be that person again.
Woods launder no human friendship while freely growing.
Nature excels; man rebels - indeed, indeed, I cannot tell:
One sees a dell darken, then harkens the inward morning;
One seeks inspiration to bargain jargon all cities sell.
First spring then summer done, I am the autumnal sun,
Bright so no trees choke over man’s smoke-rendered shroud.
My life has been the poem such raw nature strummed,
Then strung with spun-flavors from a low-anchored cloud.
To a Marsh Hawk in spring, my poems would easier sing
Than within the circuit of this plodding life of society.
I was made erect and lone within a forest-toned scene
That soothed me with a song of nature scored in propriety.
POEM TITLES USED / HENRY DAVID THOREAU
1. Friendship
2. Indeed, Indeed, I Cannot Tell
3. The Inward Morning
4. Inspiration
5. I Am the Autumnal Sun
6. Smoke
7. My Life Has Been the Poem
8. Low-Anchored Cloud
9. To a Marsh Hawk in Spring
10. Within The Circuit of this Plodding Life
11. I Was Made Erect and Lone
12. Song of Nature
Lured by the money, she chases a dream,
leaving her home for a life more extreme.
Mistresses of upper society;
high-priced call girls, project propriety.
Enticed by the glamorous life, she yearns:
lust fuels the flames as innocence burns.
Sullying her soul, for dollars and fame;
pimping herself is all part of the game.
Her heart has witnessed so much pain unfold,
love's no longer unique: it's something sold.
Her words of sincerity sound hollow:
like the phony smiles, men pay to follow.
Tomorrows cannot be fully explored,
feelings are meaningless: when love is whored.
Bamboozling her family and her friends,
ignoring reality: she pretends.
Yet, anguish slowly envelopes her soul,
as her lifestyle levies a heavy toll.
And truth only exacerbates her plight:
piercing awareness, like slivers of light.
When my breathless body returns to the earth from which it came,
Let it be known that I tried,
In the face of damnation,
With the manacles of propriety digging deep into my flesh,
And the corpulent greed of the contumacious seeping from every open door,
Let them say that I tried,
Inside this strident existence that we call our own,
Where the fastidious prey on the guileless,
I just wanted to be a luminous beacon of intransigent truth,
A munificent solace for those In need,
I just wanted one zealous moment to make a difference,
And as the remnants of me powder and dust into the soil in which I lie,
Let at least one person say that my life was worthwhile,
That my existence was heuristic,
Because if I am to become just another sorry loss,
An echoed memory only deserving of a sorrowful after thought,
Then what was it all worth,
And more so,
Why then would anyone else bother.
Because if we cannot make a difference,
Then I would rather not be remembered at all.
I always think of us as young
you still blooming and me too fresh
Like the time when your little body was huge
with our boy
we really rocked the cradle back then
or that time
in some cheap hotel in a scuzzy British resort
was it Skegness
When we
both a little drunk
shook a bedstead loose from its frame
Our bodies made a wild kind of poetry back then
not gentle
We fell into whirlpools of frenzy
unholy delights flickering red in our eyes
Do you recall old girl
Such passions rekindle themselves
through time and distance
they dance on everlasting
though with much calmer flames
and a more steady propriety
Propriety
belongs to a
society
as dignity
sings my song strong
individuality
Both benign
characteristics
earned right through
win/win wellness statistics
comparing
individualistic
flawed integrity
of Othering patristics.
Improperly colonizing
militarized monoculturing
choosing bitter
unbetter capitalizing
A worn down path
of ZeroSum assumptionizing
improper wealth baptizing baths
of undignified conclusions
unholy rising
Directed by a demonic god
weak and/or promiscuous
slatternly sinful goddesses
Eating Earth's own children
when Her Consort's favorite book
calls for religious recipe looks
of meaty mighty
sacrificial ingredients, cooked
For at least comparatively improper
social climate change
and oppositionally degenerative
personal political
lack of win/win gain
Integral knowledge
of which comes first,
propriety of worshipping Earth's
sacred ecosystemic birth
or healthing dignity
of individual bursts
into enlightening constellations
and empowering corporations
and health wealthing cooperations
for polyculturing climax peace,
resonant rebirth.
Earth health and safety
already pre-supposes sensory
dignified Mother propriety
v patriarchally improper memory
of a nationalistic society
rather bicamerally unbalancing
would-be patriots
of universally viral health integrity
Of and for healing
win/lose ZeroSum fractured stealing
from win/win Futures holistic
not not ZeroZone revealing
appropriately integrative
double negative
holy holistic co-relatives
of individuals socially sensitive
to EarthJust dignity reweaving
propriety redeeming
resonance restoring
Compassion's mind-invested work
and heart-infested
operatic passion play
singing through each reworked day
and nights of silent
holy
misty stay.
Nothing but horses on a merry go round,
painted faces, costumes and lies based on facts.
We’re all wearing masks
that disguise us from ourselves more than others,
making it so hard for anyone to really know at all
what they want or need until they lose it.
There is no typical or expected or proper or appropriate;
only expectations of propriety
and viability of options
and hiding tears behind smiles
and running up hills and down aisles.
It’s padded chairs and seat belts
and artificial light
and plans never completed-
Love never returned,
and electric blankets and solitary music
and pictures of angels
and books about lovers.
Every so often
Just as a snake sheds its skin,
I yearn to discard
this garb of social propriety,
To strip away all
the concerns of the world
and roam free in the wilderness.
Then to sit all alone
underneath a tree like Buddha,
devoid of all thoughts
devoid of all feelings,
And be one with nature --
To feel what birds feel,
To think what trees think
To grow roots in the soil
and sway with the winds,
To glisten with the morning dew
on every blade of grass
in a lush meadow,
To shower with the rains
on a parched field
and playfully wash the shores
with the waves of the sea!