Long Psychological Poems
Long Psychological Poems. Below are the most popular long Psychological by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Psychological poems by poem length and keyword.
A hoarse whisper, at 2.49 a.m.
"It's over-it's over- it's-"
There, he is,
in his dark bedroom,
eyes wide open, but seeing nothing.
Fists clenched with sheets, and nails sunk to the skin.
He mutters it, to the locked bedroom door,
as if it's someone who's listening
to his confession, sorrow.
2.50 it is.
A tear, dull and frozen,
falls from his left eye,
just to land on his shaking upper lip.
"It's over- it's over- it's-"
his hair, wet with sweat,
voice rasp with dread,
with a broken throat and a heart,
he mutters the same,
again and again,
in same pain,
same tone,
to the same silent wall.
His over bitten lip,
now glistening in red.
Iron and salt,
mixed in pain.
He feels it.
He cries, finally....
There, 2.55, sleep is crawling,
not a fitful one, shaking, he falls asleep.
3.00 a.m. it is.
DANG!-the alarm..
He wakes up, again.
Just to begin another day of hiding the suffering,
and suffering from hiding.
I know this sounds like theater
of the absurd,
but I wonder if healthy role play
might be left-brain's work ethic
inviting right-brain's first and last impassioned word.
We might pretend our LeftWing
loves to play
irresponsibly back and forth repositioning
while RightWing
is crazy busy with win/lose economics
and disempowering politics
of arduous fragmentation,
Where God would paradise play
with roles of humane-divine
mutual infatuation,
cooperative ego-deferment
unto obsequious giggles
of "Oh no, you first.
I gracefully and divinely insist."
AntiGod does hard vocational work
to teach pagan pilgrim players
and idle, irresponsible nature worshipers
to get back to harvesting souls
to be drained of daylight hours
manufacturing need and greed
to build our deadly war machines
and our ever higher and mightier towers
of anthro-hubris Babel.
Babel sounds like a healthier place to play
with natural sounds
and spiritual languages
for hide and seek with God
as scriptured, sure,
but also unscripted role play
between too autonomous to be realistic Egos
and too interdependent to be ungooey-theistic EcoLogicians.
I hear lose/lose ecopolitics
of hard work polarization
sounds dramatically absurd
while I continue to listen more imaginatively
to ego-eco
inside-outside
co-passioning play
Muse of RightWing stern capitalistic vocations
underplaying Win/Win co-arising
LeftWing wealthy health re-creations.
If healthiness
grows godliness,
and godliness
grows healthiness,
why not regenerousness
co-redeems Earth's shared Eden Nest?
Healthy belongings fill Yang hunger.
Sacred belonging flows through Yin nutrition.
Industrial,
like military,
revolutions
for monoculturing power and wealth
are too much Yang short-term bottom-line.
Sustainable evolutions
for matriarchal gifting polycultural flow
is what we post-millennially higher value
as just right Yin over Yang long-term
co-empowerment
co-operations
in-formations bilateral,
deductive-industrial LeftYang
reweaving inductively sustainable flow RightYin,
as particles are to waves,
as organic cells are to digest/eliminate nutritional systems,
as thymine form is to cytosine functions,
as positive fractals are to double-bound notnot zero.
As Yang industrial periods
are to Yin flow-sustaining sentences
proclaiming regeneration wins
as decomposition loses loss.
Love manufactures
where fear's angers
pass double-bound away,
if healthiness
grows godliness.
I'm not normal.
This isn't a surprise,
but I'm really not *normal*.
I love crime shows,
I love reading dark romance,
I think about what if my life was a dark romance novel?
I know it's crazy.
I also know it'll never happen.
But that would be so...fun.
Having an S/O chase you through the woods,
stalk you every minute of every day,
be so possessive that they kill for you.
It's crazy to think about.
But I feel like it's become a want, now.
I know it'll never happen,
not in this lifetime.
But I can't help but think about it,
fantasize about it all the time.
I've become so obsessed with love,
that I've started thinking in two different ways of love.
The sweet, loving, wholesome side,
and then the unhinged, deranged, dark side.
I know I'm a psycho,
I know I've become a masochist.
But how insane can one get,
before it becomes too much?
Before society deems it unhealthy?
How far...am I able to go?
Broken pieces
By Michelle Morris
11/08/2022
We all have these broken pieces
Pieces of our souls
We leave them scattered
Everywhere we haven't healed
The losses and the lessons
The traumas and the darkness
We have to work on healing
To become whole again
But to truly heal takes time
Self reflection and patience too
Making the greatest effort
To love yourself and others fully
For unless we love ourselves
We can never give love to others
And divided we'll remain
Around the world of distant brothers
We have all these broken pieces
But we can heal and grow
With love and understanding
We can make the world whole
© Michelle Morris, 2022
One voice was a woman’s
One was a man’s
One was deep dark of genderless land
They picked me apart
Like psychological vultures
Tearing at my heart
Using my bones as foundation for sculpture
The things they’d scuff and say
Were critical and painted my brain black
Coating my thought was afraid
Could never claw my way back
Back to the land of vanity and sanity
For surely these voices are not in humanity
They seem like a panel of consciousness
Like a trilogy of reigning gods so hopeless
If I ate they glared at me
From a deep dark sea
With eyes that seem to have teeth
Red ripping at my peace
The voices were real in my head
Shrill and devoid of hope so dead
That only thing I could beg
Was let me sleep in peace instead
Then there was healing medication
That sent them one by one on vacation
It was as if the Lord Jesus Christ
Stepped in a dark room turns on light
The voices like gray phantoms flee
Did I have hope for this feeling
For I was so sad and literally mad you know
But deep down there in my somber soul
God mined me creating silver and gold
No longer a mute shell of ill repute
Despite being smite afflicted and spooked
I became a new creature a candle
A light the voices couldn’t handle
But first God had to break me
I felt lost like God did hate me
But was love now that I know
That refined and mined my soul.
It lay gleaming in the window
It was the day after payday
You newer know when you are in too deep
I went inside
Looking at a diving watch, a quite good-looking one
You newer know when you are in too deep
A pretty shop assistant
Her smell
You newer know when you are in too deep
She didn’t smell bad
She didn’t use perfume
You newer know when you are in too deep
But her smell hit my nose
It must have been the day before ovulation
You newer know when you are in too deep
She was too young
The setting was all wrong
You newer know when you are in too deep
Holding that watch in my hand
Looking at her
I knew I was in too deep
My basic instinct, from the stone-ages, was put to bed
I decided to try another shop too
I knew I might find a better price
Been wearing my watch for 25 years
I will never reach the max diving depth of my watch
But I know I can get in too deep
There is only love
when we leave the other
behind – our world of others:
Commitments deemed by
self so paramount,
we become perpetually
addicted to treadmills;
inducted wrong-tracks
adhering as a second
skin –
The rain can
fall but the plain will never
give back, if the permeable
depths irretrievably
No benefit by making
of one's self a non
irrigable desert –
having wandered too far and
stored up too little –
the well used sayings
about burning bridges
and being a spendthrift,
they apply to the heart and
soul as well--
Love often...but wisely....
Pursuit for elusive prey
teases yours truly
into treacherous catacombs
dangerous mentally
challenging pitfalls,
sets small hairs of back
on camp creeks edge
of night, where dark shadows
evoke outer limits
of twilight zone
prompting me constantly questioning
purposefulness, qua hair raising pursuit
embarking these modern roman times
all for naught,
nonetheless I chide self
failing to heed
emotional, mental, psychological...fallout
in sum re: springing Jack in the box reflex
to sally forth and earn kudos,
asper potential Prince Valiant.
Thus situated with blank computer screen
capacious external Lenovo for myopia
(and incessant squiggly floaters to boat),
this literary glutton for punishment
feverishly fixates to plumb depths
measuring mor'n 10,000
leagues under the see
ming lee impossible mission
to ensnare nearly extinct
fluttering, lyfting, shutterflying...
smarts to outwit unsuspecting
beak henning quest
tendering, tasting uber victory
quivering crossbow
targeting yawping
zoological discovery - channeling
primed with taut fletched arrow
on high alert for stool pigeon
cautiously optimistic kickstarting
another futile attempt dagnabbit
experiencing prestige,
oh...and by the way...,
no animal harmed
regarding made for video poem
gamely capturing quarry scotched,
nor gruesome scene
synonymous quasi abattoir
representative bird den sum
bloodless coup deeming
endeavor par excellence.
Fingers madly scramble
to poach skittering idea
fry day most ideal
omelette ya know,
aye feel yolked to defeatism,
one after another faux
promising brainstorm egging
quickly flitting inaccessible
potential flash in frying pan
just as fast dashing
into bajillion pieces
shell shocked scrivener
scribbling lame as duck
goose laying golden egg...
dropping immediately out of sight,
maybe best resigning forlorn
inchoate never albumen,
albeit quite linguistic stretch for
(all be human success story)
prospects beyond reach
ova this wretch
New York Times
bestseller author jinxed
forever dooming yours truly
grinding poverty my ill fate.
I continue reading Iain McGilchrist's
"The Master [Mistress] and his [her] Emissary,"
a retelling of many RightWing dominant
and LeftWing repressed and suppressed events
anti-ecofeminist
and pro-orthodox patriarchal white privileged histories
of nationalistic fatherlands
written across the individual ego-hearts
and eco-habitats
of every EarthMother trans-regenerator
born into spatially incremental awareness
through temporally exponential change--
like a river
greeting an ocean
and an ocean
receiving a river.
Where Julian Jaynes
tells a psychological story of bicameral breakdown
into RightWing bipolar schizophrenic madness,
Introducing healing possibilities
in WinLeft/WinRight
WinWest/WinEastern dipolar integrity,
McGilchrist sees bicameral balance buildup
of LeftBrain ego competence
to passionately re-heal RightBrain integrity
remembering each ego-individuating story,
restorative listening and speaking continuous identity's history
uniquely, yet interdependently,
told through bicameral
bilateral
binomial polypathic
polyphonic musing music
polynomially ZeroSoul Zone
resiliently dancing
universal ego
and unitarian eco-habitat resonance,
Integrity's double-boundary
Yes! Yes!
ecstatic communion potential.