Long Puissance Poems
Long Puissance Poems. Below are the most popular long Puissance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Puissance poems by poem length and keyword.
Quand le jour se levera, la lumiere eclaira
la bonte divine nous reviendra et l'amour s'eclatera dans nous
voila les chemins menant de partout
les passagers et les amis de la mort sont la
les gardiens de la volonte les guident.
Quand la terreur reignera, le jour deviendra tout noir
la paix prendra la fuite, la vie nous quittera
l'amour disparaitra sous nos yeux
moi voila que le corps de mon corps me quitte.
Je deteste ma vie, voila que je l'ai toujours fait
mon ame est en route de demenagement
j'ai toujours voulu connaitre mon existence
mais le temps m'a toujours empeche de le connaitre
pauvre moi, j'ai la foi et la volonte mais la force me manque.
J'ai la chaleur dans moi et la honte dans mon coeur
mon ame et mon corps me brillent
j'ai la sensation d'une petite etre, sur cette enorme terre
ma vie est en danger, je l'ai voulu et voila que je l'ai perdu
je l'ai manque et je suis dans le desespoir.
Mon coeur me lache, la vie me blesse, me deteste et m'humiliee
la terreur me guide, mes pieds sont devenus des bois et la terre du feu
ca me chauffe sans arret
je suis dans le noir, le tenebre qui m'entoure ne me donne pas pause
il me guide chaque jour et m'oblige a tout donne
je laisse tout et je pese sur coeur.
La meilleur facon de mes meilleurs moments, me faite et me creee la honte
parmis ceux qui etaient les mien
ca me chauffe, ca me fait mal
la honte me reclame
j'ai la jeunesse sous mes yeux mais je touche la vieillesse
je jaunie comme les bananes de mes enceintres
je reflechi mais ma memoire est deja si fatigue
mon coeur est fache contre moi, il me quitte sans pitie
je reste avec un trou enorme dans ma poitrine.
Le gout de mes levres est deja amer
j'ai la poesie au bout de ma langue et la justice sous mes levres
la colere des dieux me reclame, le pouvoir des mien est indesirable
je ne suis plus moi meme, lorsque je n'entend plus ce petit voix dans moi
qui m'indique le chemin et me montre le beau cote des choses.
La terreur des dieux est tout pres
ca fait honte de mandier celui que t'as neglige et blesse dura ton existence
mon coeur est en larme, c'est quoi d'abord vivre?
la puissance de la nuit nous tombe dessus, oui, toi et moi
nous allons pleures, cries et mourir de peur
le jour du jugement est la!
Form:
Africa's land, shadows of colonialism still linger
Leaders rise, with hearts aflame, resisting the fetters
Of Western dominance, a legacy of dolor
Their courage, a luminary, in the dark of night's refrain
Kwame Nkrumah's vision, a guiding radiance
Pan-Africanism's fervor, burning bright
Unity and self-determination, his battle cry
Ghana's freedom, his legacy, forever exalted
Julius Nyerere's Ujamaa, a path less trod
Self-reliance's puissance, Tanzania's nod
Non-Aligned Movement, his noble quest
Distance from West, and do what's salubrious
Patrice Lumumba's heart, untold stories bear
Congo's freedom, his legacy, beyond compare
Assassinated young, his spirit remains
A symbol of resistance, against foreign chains
Thomas Sankara's fire, a revolutionary's conflagration
Burkina Faso's self-sufficiency, his people's encomium
Anti-imperialist, with a people's cry
Empowering Burkinabés, until his final valediction
Gamal Abdel Nasser's stand, Suez's mighty tumult
Nationalized the canal, with an iron hand, forever more
Arab nationalism, his passionate plea
Reducing Western influence, his legacy
Other leaders, with stories untold
Nelson Mandela's fight, apartheid's fold
Samora Machel's valor, Mozambique's beacon
Haile Selassie's legacy, Ethiopia's guiding luminescence
Ellen Johnson Sirleaf's path, a trailblazer's stride
Liberia's economic growth, her careful guide
Navigating West, with a nation's pride
A female leader, with a story to abide
These African leaders, with hearts of aurum
Resisted West, with stories to be told
Their legacies live, in history's page
An evidence fortitude, in a continent's stage
Where have we gone awry? Who do we offend?
What are they searching for, in Africa's land, again and again?
Now, they pursue Traore, Burkina Faso's president true
May they not succeed, in their Machiavellian pursuit, anew
Pure filth in the sick terrain of disease
amoeba,bacteria gnawing on carrion putrid
smelling awful the fetid wafts captured noses
puissance in resistance aided by gear little
toll was heavy like a hammer of God.
Sins overgrew like wild moss the citylines
many had looted gravely many others of toe to hairs
yet others had ditched several in rat holes of despair
raped with fierceness so brute that victim felt killed for years
purloined so skillfully, that heist remained unknown to official years
killed and tilled the intestines of many
they were lying in river bed fanny
earning dough was a zero sum game
they erased yours and put their name
living on the margin like a zombie dead
did you have the courage left that you always had.
Cycle had moved a round and done turnabout
earth shook and took all it could get
nature was shaking the societal glass
where scum had gathered thick at bottom
as it threatened to have the pure also pretty rotten
quaking in anger and seeth the plates moved and moved
the evil empires were down and razed, seeking insurance claims
they had to build again the regimes ,ugly and bad
good guys got a deal out of destruction and death
as they went about collecting the carcasses of all
You heard them mumble in bated breath toll:
Pure filth in the sick terrain of disease
amoeba,bacteria gnawing on carrion putrid
smelling awful the fetid wafts captured noses
puissance in resistance aided by gear little
toll was heavy like a hammer of God.
TV channel shutter bags clicked mad......the quake tragedy ..nobody bothered to check the
social and criminal background of those dead....vis a vis their real activities-which were
largely unknown ,anyways!
PART THE FIRST
black coffee beans
bountiful in Bismarck.
rich provisions for the soul
and succulent dinners for the heart
I met a waitress once
she gave twenty-three reasons to prove to me that God exists.
each one delicately worded with vigor and puissance
it was bittersweet like the coffee she would serve me before work.
Precise like the trill of a piano
Ideas that capture the mind
longing to be heard by a starving ear.
Washed up whales who were transfixed by the promise of a better life
they wanted the land when they did not realize the beauty of the sea.
Overrun by greed and the longing for a break in their chains.
As they give their last breaths, it is then they realize the error of their ways
regret floods their blubbery minds as the giant of the water gives up
How now, mister man in the moon?
On this day we do mourn.
Not for the dead, or the gone, or our dearly departed.
But we do mourn for ourselves.
Yes, we mourn because there’s nothing left.
Our mind has been stripped down to its core intentions
Basic, selfish, feeble, and alone.
This is the day that we sob and pray for ourselves.
A battle raging with the fires of a thousand suns
Internally.
White blood cells as silver as the snow
and as cold and unforgiving as a blizzard
fight the misunderstood and unrepresented bacteria
a merciless battle, fitting for a fight to the death… and beyond.
the outcome predetermined by a higher existence
it would be best if you weren’t involved anyway
you are, ultimately, unnecessary to this process
you are, ultimately, unnecessary.
Her hair, blonde, is twisted in the wind.
The whipping strands are the colors
of the shinning cropland
by which she is standing. She is alone
by this golden feed that is bounteous; wholesome as breast milk, as youth.
Her young face is turned away,
though her face is radiant like the Sun,
her tresses the flames..
(Perhaps her locks are more like the hue
of the gold sought by the pioneers of the 1800's Gold Rush. Then again, no..)
Her face has freckles that are sorrel-dusky
sun-spots as the star roasts the "spires"
of the semolina(wheat).
The schoolgirl is poised,
the saffron spelt(wheat) is erect
under the royalty of the thermic Summer
empyrean(sky)-wherein a solitary cloud
is a blossom, full of grace,
yet a cloud is never delicate like the flower-
and the girl's tale is morbid..
as is the cancer caused by the sunshine.
The future Harvest is burned as the Sun
kills the land..the young lady
reaps an unquenchable lust 'til the cessation
of zoetic puissance.
Yet the flowerly nebula
becomes a cloudburst..
the sunlight shimmers;
her cilium(hair)
metamorphoses into gilt lavaliere(jewelry)-
a gleaming tiara.
And the ignited pedicle(stalks)
bend as the rain-drops sparkle. And yet
a maiden crown of light-
her fair-haired halo-travails a genesis,
within which the roots of the Earth
glaciate,
within which her strameneous mane
becomes like straw, easily snapped;
and is now shivery split ends.
'
Qu'est-ce que nous sommes, sinon des larmes tombant dans les villes,
Tu es moi, et je suis toi, et ensemble nous pleurons,
Écrivant de la poésie au milieu de la nuit,
Fuyant la politique, les nouvelles et les mensonges.
"Nous sommes la tête perdue à l'intérieur de nos crânes,"
Cris de désespoir, nos cœurs se sentent fragiles.
Une simple équation, pour pousser et glisser de côté,
Pouce sur les hommes-œufs, comme un morse par la marée,
Dans les jardins psychédéliques de fleurs mangeuses de chair,
Nous mangeons des fous souriants, alors que les porcs grognent en costumes bleus de pouvoir.
Edgar Allan Poe sait que je suis le poète,
Je me suis assis sur un rocher en attendant que le groupe mort arrive,
"Nous sommes les hommes-œufs", nous crions en défiance,
Tandis que Lucy court avec Alice dans le profond terrier de la conformité.
"J'ai dit prêtre comme culotte baissée,"
Et les politiciens font des règles entre les cuisses tendres des adolescents,
Comme s'ils étaient des ours pédophiles comme des porcs expert-text-pert,
Volant dans la nuit, leur obscurité déguisée.
Un futur simulé au sommet de la tour Eiffel,
Et leur leader assailli par la puissance des gens en colère.
Comme nous détestons ceux qui nous détestent et cherchent à nous diviser,
Mais tout va bien, nous traverserons ensemble cela.
Car nous avons déjà vu cela, il y a des siècles,
Et nous nous élevons toujours pour affronter un autre jour inconnu.
Written: August 14, 2025, for Contest Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
*******
I writhed in the womb of a necrotic hush,
a stygian silence where barghests lurk—
My slack-jawed soul, sodden with oblivion lull,
clanged against the obelisk of despair.
The wound, a molten mouth of aurora,
sizzled with sacred suction—
a fipple of fire, ineffable and fecund,
where pestilence pirouetted with puissance.
I danced—yes, I danced—
in the desiccation of my demise,
a gavotte of soulfulness,
My blood is a rubicund aria of rapture.
Alabaster bones bore the torque of truth,
Each fracture is a triptych of ephemera and flame.
I was a poltergeist of my former self,
grappling through the noosphere multivocal maze.
The stench of bygone hexes clung to lava rock,
But I, stalwart and sinewed with mettle.
careened past the clamor of puerile pabulum,
past the gossamer glamor of grief.
I was broken—yes—
but bold enough to resuscitate,
to regale the necromancy of my rebirth,
to supplant sorrow with the sacred sizzle of self.
Now I stand, an empyrean echo,
a veridical vestige of velvet versatility—
my heart, a burnished niche of noble hope,
My spirit resembles a smooth, celestial sunset.
Let the world scrutinize my scars,
They are not grotesque—they are garrulous.
They speak in tongues of alchemy and amaranthine ache,
a quixotic quiddity, a quintessence of comeback.
I identify as the king who only kneel to God
With the puissance to smile with destruction all around
Frustration mental abusiveness
Still comfortably above ground
Humbled by the sounds of instruments
From friends who’ve been in this industry
With no recognition
Drunken me wanna know
how I survived without any guidance as the apprentice
Fire in my eyes I supplied a condensed shipment
Reminded all the time about the paradigm shifting
Detach myself from energies I no longer need
I find myself growing rapidly
This is my happy moment
I’m satisfied as a tree
Enhancing my smile doesn’t neglect my love for you
Chances of rekindled flames
I’m the blame for not being comfortable
The attempt to fill my shoes
Envious of my success
I can’t fit in the room
Elephants never made a good pet
Respect I’ve earned tarnished my approval of trust
Garnished my salad with croutons as we discuss something other than petty crumbs
Distasteful situations I debate on your demise while eating lunch
Granted a toll was payed for the admission at a crowded round table
Extorted most of my closest pawns in order to remain stable
I still keep the same force as Able
Caine in your nose
I suppose you awake son
I rather bake one
Then debate drunk
Love overpower my pace for lust
Even when I’m hungry
I’ll never supply my flesh needs against thee
Someone new resides inside of me…
Someone confident, bold with humility replacing envy…
Someone who gives gratitude first, forever quenched from greed’s thirst…
Someone who has embraced their inner goddess…
Someone capable to mirror this amidst the outer realm bringing forth a mate of the soul…
To anoint the goddess with Jasmine oil is to anoint the soul of love...
To anoint the goddess with honey suckle is to forever receive her love...
Someone new resides within me…
Someone exuding power; sprinkles of compassion braided in ropes of empathic relations…
Someone aware and focused upon the piece of the creator within…
Someone understanding; Creator is the omnipresent thought before being received by mind.
Someone cognizant; Creator is infinite intelligence, the life force that pulses through us.
Someone knowing what we do within ourselves affects the entire universe…
Someone fully assimilating we are the hands of creation nestled in gloves of manifestation…
To anoint the goddess with Jasmine oil, is to anoint the soul of love...
To anoint the goddess with honey suckle is to forever receive her love...
Someone new resides within me…
Someone with strength to love thy self….
Someone with wisdom; giving forth this original energy…
Someone at peace; mystical, magical,philosophical …
La Paix et le Désert – Translation of Kevin Gilbert’s « Peace and the Desert » by T. Wignesan
Pendant que la braise du campement de feu scintille
J’entendis l’appel
du courlis annonçant la naissance
ou la mort de quelques uns
le vent du désert calmait durant la nuit
et dans une voix
tremblante poussa un soupire à l’entrée interdite des pas
quand on entend le battement des tambours lointain
le petit matin arrive en ne faisant pas trop de bruit
la nuit des premiers âges est en fuite
laissant l’impression frémissante des bruits
du carnage et la puissance des carnivores
immobile, malgré l’espoir d’un roitelet gazouillant
un lézarde qui survive bougeant sur un roché
un émeu, deux cherchant de l’eau dans une source d’eau
les aigles fixent leur regarde en toute intensité
heureux du fait de ce que la nuit pourrait les apporter
les tourbillons s’élèvent inaperçus en remuant
les arènes en convulsions
par les pas d’une danse macabre
s’abandonnant à l’ivresse des derviches
aiguilles qui piquent mes joues mon front
puis lance des cris de rage sur cette mer maintenant morte.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016