Long Public square Poems
Long Public square Poems. Below are the most popular long Public square by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Public square poems by poem length and keyword.
Divide and conquer debates
favor win/lose competitions
as sometimes vicious over-investment
in defeating healthy democracy
to conquer public-square power space
not particularly sublime
While compassionate discussions
favor win/win cooperation
as virtuous co-investments
in green communion
circling passionate sharing time
Becoming complexly nuanced
beyond any tolerable hot red point
of static Business As Usual stuck
redundantly building stale uniformity lists
from LeftBrain hearing preference
for strong straight white self-defense
protagonist voices
Drowning out Other
while dragging out streams
of degenerating antagonist
non-communication
Unhealthy anthro-supremacist
viciously polarizing
and repolarizing
hidden dark resentments,
perennial fears of not enough
Dissociating and ruminating dark rabbit holes
for hiding capital competing heads
while our ecocidal ideations destroy
fragile health care systems,
insuring natural defense
organic industries
food and potable water production
and historical preservation
and water-front real estate values
Further dividing
and polarizing deepest dialogue
and highest
and best debates
favoring winner survives all competitions
and vicious viral over-investment
in defeating healthy democratic trust
to conquer public-square power space
by fostering active distrust of Other,
not particularly sublime
While more regenerative discussions
favor win/win ecofeminist cooperation
as virtuous co-investment
in green communion
circling compassion's communion
through eternally sacred
EarthTribe inclusive time.
What he wrote in a room
got darker,
he could hardly see the static snow
he was printing his mind upon.
He knew
that there would have to be a change, a mind-shift.
His place in his world was becoming precarious.
"Next summer" he thought, "I will take my desk
and laptop out into the public square." He smiled
at the thought of a 'public square'
his mind had gone public years ago
and perfect squares were hard to find.
Yet he knew also he was hiding himself still,
his scribblings were like kites
spinning in a windstorm.
"'I will go and sit outside Walmart,
hand out scraps of paper to the patrons
as they come and go.
When and if they ask me to explain myself
I will be forced into a truth
not seen in dark rooms.
Sometimes one has to be a public curiosity,
a square in a round hole
in order to find out the right question to ask yourself."
Speech
Free speech,
is the power of one person,
to say, anything they like,
to have an opinion,
and to have it heard,
even if it is bad,
even if it is good,
it is the same.
Every person has a voice,
some speak to much,
some can not speak at all.
The difference,
the price of freedom...
fairly distributed among
the rich, the weak,
the poor,
the downtrodden.
The censored media,
cropping off the parts...
they do not care to address,
in favor of the ploys
they created
to make us believe,
what is not real
anywhere.
Critical thinking...
has been leashed,
and tied to a fire hydrant
in the public square.
He, or it...
is beaten daily,
to make sure
there is no life left
at all,
to fight.
Believe,
be still,
be silent...
Do as you are told.
You will not grow old,
as there are too many
of you.
There is not enough room for us,
those that know where the
food is kept,
underground in caves,
in the north,
in the south,
in the east,
and in the west.
Go hungry,
and starve.
It does not matter,
who...
you
are.
When Jacob fled from Laban’s house,
He went with everything he had.
With Laban off and shearing sheep,
He set his face towards Gilead.
It was while Laban was away
That Rachel did a thing most odd:
While packing for escape that day,
she pilfered Laban’s household gods.
When Laban found out they had left,
He mounted chase in swift pursuit,
O’ertook them, leveled charge of theft,
Demanded swift return of loot.
But Jacob raised protest, denied,
Invited him to search the tent.
Whoever stole would surely die.
(Not knowing Rachel’s ill intent)
So Laban searches, he finds naught
The idol hid between her legs.
“I cannot rise,” remains uncaught.
“The way of women,” how she begs.
At this, I thought, a question begs,
For Rachel felt a sense of shame,
An idol hid between her legs,
But do we likewise feel the same?
The idol ‘twixt the legs now, sex,
We glorify and lift on high.
We, full immune to shame’s effects,
No longer blush, see naught awry.
We flaunt it in the public square
For all to see, on full display
These things just better left unshared,
That shouldn’t see the light of day.
What lesson do we draw from this?
Perhaps it’s simply to remind
That, holding on, we are remiss;
Our idols, best, when left behind.
(from Genesis 31)
Religion in the public square is becoming an endangered species. - Mathew Staver
the lavender moon, in silhouettes of blue
paint my thoughts in melodies,
hues of grace and gentle peace, silent flow
tulips, roses, lilies blowing in the wind,
who breaths her hope across the meadow,
laughing, dancing, singing wistful
in trembling verses, stirring the delicious
vision of gifted words, healing
hopes that break away from the past
shatter the shadows with an overcast sky,
burdened by melancholic gray,
broken by the memories who prey
on the spirit, the soul, the wisdom of a knowing…
dressed in aster’s kiss, flames of gold
hesitating, burning away the doubts,
flavoring the heart with a feeling,
flowing beyond the still, cool crispness
autumn’s elation, praising, amazing
chanting to the moon, the stars
blessing the thoughts of those who hear her,
whispering, rustling through September,
passing by the rust colored truths,
embracing the silence and erasing the fear,
who comes to those hearts
listening to the rarest crackling of a tear,
edged in grief, distant calamity…
testing the waters, challenging the thoughts
who hear her mysteries,
unconscious bias, darkening the wings
who soar over the dreams,
fighting back the urge
to forget the joy that sees
through the catastrophic brink
insanity, the folly
beneath the doubts, the fears
tears blended with salty songs,
quietly pleading, praying, praising
because He is never wrong
His love leaves the moment calm,
soothes away the distant panic,
replacing her phobia
with assurance… He is silent,
while blessings fall over the spirit,
in secret promises, forever
written on the heart who sees Him,
in the secret places, always
saving souls from the darkness
of eternity without hope,
eternity without love…
unconscious bias tells me, forever
I’ll sing the song of thanksgiving
because, with this love He reveals
I know what it is to be fulfilled,
I know what it is to be assured,
I know what it is to be loved,
with love that is my soul’s joy,
love that is the moment I knew
the light of the world,
the light that is pure,
the light that glows so I know
the wonder of reflecting the love
that grows and grows…
so I know – He is living, deep in my soul!
One's poetic ability, yea willingness, to speak
Truth.
To stand, soul-naked, as it were...
Whilst your poet enemies stone you or avoid
you in the online public square.
To swim with the sharks, though thou
might be their delicious repast.
To be be happily avoided because you
don't follow the crowd.
You won't bow and scrape and sell your
soul nor your country out, no how!
In this battlefield of ideas, the small of
mind will shame you.
Brandish your sword of courage,in full
view!
A stalwart poem with three hundred reads and
comments, but two?
Shows that popularity trumps truth here,
So much so, I want to permanently vanish!
Or have 38,000 poets here to the famed,
"isle of Denial" be heretofore, banished!
~~~~~~
July 13, 2020
10:30 pm PST
The high observatory grew so still,
The click of cooled machinery on the hill
Sounded like iron teeth against the stone.
The master of the lenses sat alone,
His fingers frozen on the tracking wheel,
Refusing what the numbers would reveal.
For sixty years their ledger had been grim:
A catalog of stars growing dim,
A map of dead inheritances caught
In the cold webs of wars their fathers fought.
The junior optic clerks began to weep,
Not for Vaeloria’s transition deep,
But for the heavy weights they carried home—
The gray restrictions of their own glass dome.
They looked out at their city down below,
Where soot-stained towers cast a rusted glow,
Where rations dwindled and the sirens wailed,
And every dream of green expansion failed.
"It is a trick of optics," someone said,
A senior scribe who shook his heavy head.
"A planet cannot heal its own design;
No root can straighten out a border line."
But as the silver pulse renewed its beat,
The skepticism withered in the heat
Of that far, luminous and quiet proof:
That grace could blossom through a broken roof.
By morning, the logbooks were cast away.
The watchers left their towers for the day,
Descending from the cold, peak-sheltered air
To tell the crowded streets and public square
That out beyond their world of lock and key,
A sister earth had set its citizens free.
Hi there, the lady in chartreuse green
I'm on display, a performance to be seen
Glaring eyes and a sculpted body
A handsome charm my features embody
If blood flows in me, I'm the man of your dream
Second only to the sculptor who created me.
My name is David, a favored Biblical hero
Created by the young, artistic Michelangelo
A masterpiece of ancient Renaissance
Standing naked in the aura of splendid ambiance
Exhibiting strength, art, and romance
Bearing each advance and timid glance.
Ladies and gentlemen please keep moving
In the public square there is another me
Though I am the authentic, the original
The copy, a replica, looks almost identical.
The lady in green let me tell you something
You look beautiful, quite smashing indeed!
I'll hold a private showing just before closing
The guards can't see us when I flip the switch
We'll have just enough time to steal a kiss.
August 4, 2017
Artwork--sponsored by Lewis Raynes
Serpentine artisan in Eden
Crafting a second creation
A molten piece of idol
By the dexterity
Of word of mouth.
Tongue lures ear
And then à tongue kiss
To the ear, both soulmates
Titillate the neurons of the body
Stir the impulse of all senses
All segued to Judas kiss.
Telepathist tool
Transmuting visions from pluto
To reality on earth.
Forked-tongue town crier
With cymbal and gong
Improvising a dissonance
Of glossolalic tales
To the age of gullible gullivers!
Ear, O hear!
In that gaping cavity
There lies lie lair
The sword of Damocles
Gliding and Churning honey gobs
From its cavity to founts of lies
In every public square.
Like the big lie of Hitler and Goebbels
To the holocaust.
Let not all thy senses,
Emotion, reason, and conscience
Trust her tongue!
They don’t call this summer month “July” anymore.
There is a new name for it. They call it “Thermidor”.
How many changes are we going to see?
People are shouting “Death to King Louis”!
Paris inhabitants don’t show the least bit of regret.
They also want to see the killing of Marie Antoinette.
She was told the peasants did not have enough bread.
What a terrible thoughtless thing she said!
This is going to cost Marie her head.
Outraged citizens want the queen dead.
Responsibility was something she would not take
when she said to her court “Let them eat cake”
The guillotine is assembled in the public square.
To witness the event, there are people everywhere.