Long Pure and simple Poems
Long Pure and simple Poems. Below are the most popular long Pure and simple by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pure and simple poems by poem length and keyword.
Two loving heart filled with desire,
these souls set ablaze by dragon's fire.
Torn apart and cast assunder,
raging storm hear the thunder.
Both halves searching for their whole,
while trying to live life and play the role.
All others are driven away by its rage
dim the lights turn the page.
Not by the hand of man but god above,
gave life to these hearts so full of love.
pure and simple tainted by none,
two souls joined together as one.
A tender touch to calm the heart,
that look of passion now torn apart.
The screaming thoughts of words not told,
endless nights so lost and cold.
Heartless and torid is the rain,
sharp and daming is the pain.
Of the loss we share
as we live our lives in such depair.
no one knows the hurt inside
without a word we do hide.
Dreaming of a time when all was right,
most of the day and thoughout the night.
Two loving heart filled with desire,
these souls set ablaze by dragon's fire.
Torn apart and cast assunder,
raging storm hear the thunder.
Both halves searching for their whole,
while trying to live life and play the role.
All others are driven away by its rage
dim the lights turn the page.....
After all these years in this desolate heat,
these two heart so lost now begin to beat.
Breathing so much life back into the night,
the flames rage so bright they blind the sight.
Two loving heart beating freely so untamed,
exotic passion expressed yet unashamed.
Calling out so loudly to the gods up above,
to grant their wishes to reunite there love.
Their souls yearning to feel the power of the fire,
joining as one seeking the flame as it grows higher.
These two heart overfilled with erotic desires,
to feel the sweet touch to see what transpires.
With each beat of there hearts in antisipation,
as to where they will be taken in this transformation.
Trusting one another and forsaking all the rest.
it goes unwritten and will be put to the test.
Two loving heart filled with desire
these souls set ablaze by dragons fire.
The word never spoken now freely flow,
even the stars in the sky brightly glow.
The waves of rage now turned to kind,
as the love these heart anew do find.
Through the years as these hearts age,
dim the lights turn the page......
Dry Facts Can Perform Juicy Acts
In the EFL community
all around the world
it’s an undeniable
and unpleasant reality that
no matter how well-motivated
you and your students are
no matter how real and acute
the need for learning
a language may be
no matter how well-equipped
the language center is
no matter how well-trained
your instructors might be
still, teaching a language
as a foreign tongue
in a foreign country
in a classroom environment
within four walls
is an artificial endeavor,
pure and simple.
Moreover, the minute the students
step out of the classroom
the little language environment
created in the room
is left behind,
lost and forgotten
until the next class.
Minds boggle at how lively,
how attractive,
how delightful and entertaining,
how effective and powerful
languages can be
at the hands of skillful comedians,
orators, actors, poets and authors
while they all become
utter bores, dry and irrelevant,
with chalk-and-talk-addicted
unimaginative, ordinary instructors
in the language classrooms.
Though language itself is dry
and teaching it mostly boring
the way you introduce it
may engage even the cynical students
if only you yourself believe
that teaching is acting.
Instructors must act
to attract and impact
never mind if students
react without tact
each act will surely get
a few shells cracked
“teaching is the art of changing the brain”
that’s a well-known
neurological fact.
Acting will deliver
student participation
a recipe for motivation
a remedy for alienation.
The target is communication
and retention, not full accuracy
nor perfection, and, please,
leave aside incessant correction,
which definitely leads to
disenchantment and rejection.
Value student participation
and production
encourage interaction
feed vocabulary in collocation
grammar, like medicine,
in the right dosage and proportion
and for God’s sake,
keep your chalk-and-talk
at a minimum fraction.
Remember, an ELT instructor is
a confidence booster
not an error-seeker
or hand-pecking rooster.
Who said ELT was
an educational roller coaster?
Nope. It’s more like a bread toaster,
which takes care of all on the roster.
Idris Esen, February, 2016, Istanbul
I am tired
I am weak
I fail at everything
I am weird
I am a freak
No one likes me
No one cares
The one word to describe me is FAILURE
I dont care about these labels
I dont care about anything
the only thing I care about is you
the only person who gets me
but even you dont understand
even you have labeled me
you might even relish the pain you inflict on me
I am fine with pain
I am fine with names
but being utterly lonely
being utterly scared
these are the things I cant stand
I want to talk
but my lips are sealed
and whenever I do say anything
I feel exposed
being shot down
with a single word
stings my soul
its hard to bind what you cant control
its hard to break that which cant be broken
the way I live now
is sleep through life
hoping praying
that someone will listen
someone will care
someone wont label me
someone will see the person
that I was meant to be
what is needed most
is a friend
someone who knows the pain
someone who feels the same need
someone who feels when I need comforting
someone who wont leave
someone who helps
even when I tell them to go away
they stay
even when I say that I hate them
even when I curse them
even when the very thought of being near me repulses them
they still stay near
they still make themselves be heard
they show me that they care
they show me that they want to help
they show me that I am being stupid
even when Im quiet they can see somethings wrong
even when I am talking about something
and not show anyone that I am hurt
they know
and they help
if only such a person existed
if only one person cared
I could live on
knowing that in a world out to get me
I still have someone on my side
all I want is a friend
pure and simple
a friend just like me
with their flaws and strengths
but I also have my flaws and strengths
people see my flaws more easy than strengths
I just want someone who can see my strengths easier than flaws
I may be tired
I may be weak
and I may fail at everything
I might be weird
I might be a freak
no one may like me
no one may care
but if you do
if you can bear to be near me
then show yourself
from the midst of the crowd
come to me with open arms
show me the light that you bear
in this cold world
Form:
Boyhood was a one-night stand,
So brief and unforgettable,
Full of dreams,
Sweet —like a rooftop party,
Wild and loud,
When the world several feet below,
Full of envy, shouted at us,
“Come down quickly!
Quick!”
Boyhood charmed me and
Did not harm me
It was a different time,
A different boy-game
All was different
Including the falsehood of the time
Fibs were crammed with the essence of joy.
Mawkish, they strengthened the walls of
Defence, by pulse or by slush —
One gave way for the other to flourish.
And I saw things the way they truly were,
Either red or white;
Nothing like reddish-white
Or whitish-red.
Just red or white.
Plain.
Pure and simple.
I didn’t mix colours except when I was painting
With brush and colours on drawing paper
White with the innocence of dawn
Watercolour streamed with tears
Genuinely shed with common bliss.
Our loudest poem was Twinkle,
Twinkle, Little Star
I’ve never ceased to wonder how they twinkled
In the dull eyes of dinosaurs!
And there was Humpty Dumpty,
Our dear friend.
Santa or Father Christmas,
Called and addressed according to your own side of
The pond, possessed the redness that charmed us
And the whiteness that froze us with ecstasy
And with the dynamism of Sunday school songs
Oh, his beard! Mammatus clouds so full and rolling!
The outlines of trees back then resembled the clusters of
Overgrown clouds laughing their senses off
Above us foolish little masquerades
A scene of a flowering act.
With our eyes we saw it all
Just like the serial films we saw —
They all made sense —from Gunsmoke to
Bonanza and Hawaii-50
We saw all with grey, tiny eyes on grainy television
Screens, elevated boxes of palatial balls
Those days smelled differently —
With the fragrance of natural love
And the beats of honourable music
And we scribbled figures of maths on
Each other’s back, symbols of agricultural tools.
Oh, the arrangements of the planets,
Beginning with Earth,
Our darling Earth,
Since charity must commence at home.
Politics was far from us
So was double entendre . . .
A one-off incident,
Boyhood is a museum —
You take nothing with you while
Exiting it.
I drive back to it only on the reference gear.
'Twas two old men from Greece, is said;
Who sold two bottles of potion.
One was logic, pure and simple-
The other was pure emotion.
What bitter rivals they were
Both persuasive in their way,
Each believed his potion best-
The battle would often sway:
"Mine is more refined,
And truth the only good;
While mine can be explained,
Emotion never could."
To which the other replied:
"Not everyone's a scholar,
Not everyone is golden.
When men do not understand,
They simply do not listen."
"Truth is not the only good,
And be my end as just-
To arouse and quell emotion,
Is an effective leader's must."
To which the other replied:
"But what of the damage done
By the hands of one unjust?
Manipulating men like beasts,
And trained by you, I trust?"
"Men must learn to reason;
To know the truth of things,
To think only rationally,
To envision the good it brings."
To which the other replied:
"Life without emotion
Is a sorry end, indeed!
A tasteless life of logic
Would surely end our breed."
"Emotion may not rule you,
If logic be your boast.
Yet, to taste the taste of life-
Emotion is your host."
The two old men from Greece, is said;
Had soonafter passed away.
Neither had conquered the other-
Both potions were here to stay.
'Twas a second generation pupil,
Of the logician I might note;
Drew swallows from both potions,
And this is what he wrote;
"Logic pure and simple
Is good for you, 'tis true.
Yet, this one has no taste;
'Tis hard to swallow, too."
"The other, pure emotion,
Is pleasing to the taste;
And I cannot explain why-
I downed it in such haste."
The pupil then concluded,
"Neither one should stand alone."
He proceeded with a mixture
Of thoughts he wanted shown.
"Three parts of the logic,
To one of emotion.
For logic is the greater good-
Emotion is the motion."
He tasted from his potion,
A taste both common and good.
As emotion related to reason,
The logic was understood.
His potion stands the test of time,
Only fools put down his bottle,
Thoughts are better balanced-
When you drink from Aristotle.
Here is a nonsense ode,
About why the chicken crossed the road,
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Why are its motives being questioned?
Maybe the chicken had the best of intentions,
Perhaps the road moved, eh,
And the chicken stayed,
Yes, the abstract road did not still remain,
But, pure and simple, here's the nub,
The chicken crossed its road to go to the pub!!!!
Yes, that was its good intention,
A day at the pub, beer inventions,
Why are the chicken's motives questioned?
Here is a nonsense ode,
About that chicken crossing the road,
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Why are its motives questioned?
Maybe the chicken had the best of intentions,
Perhaps the road moved, eh,
and the chicken stayed,
Yes, the abstract road, still, did not remain,
But, pure and simple, here's the nub,
The chicken crossed the road, to go to the pub!!!
Yes, that was its good intention,
A day at the pub, beer inventions,
Why are a chicken's motives questioned?
My secrets cry out in the silence of the night,
I have no need for a tongue to voice them,
My heart is an open temple,
My doors, wide portals.
An epic of deep gazes,
My love, without mask or facade.
My truths float in the ether,
This revealed, ravaged suffering.
I am stripped to the essence,
With my nakedness as an invisible shield.
I am what I wear in the spirits of my dreams,
I keep myself pure and simple, like a thread of light.
My fury will rage for eternity,
Deeds will carry the truth on unseen wings
In a mystical and pure language.
Stopping the lying mouth,
My rage turns the crystal-clear cry
Into a mute and infinite agony.
In the flow of consciousness, I travel through hidden realms,
Where each thought is a whisper of wind,
And every emotion a rainbow in the night.
Here, my heart is an open sanctuary,
Doors supported by columns of trials.
I see the universe through the eyes of pure truth,
My love is an undying flame, untouched by falsity.
My truths dance on the thin wire of eternity,
Reflecting in the mirror of my revealed soul.
In front of this stripped-down pain,
I am like the moon on a clear night, vulnerable and sincere,
But my nakedness becomes a stellar cloak,
An abyss of reflection and self-acceptance.
Wearing myself,
My spirit remains pure, essential.
Fury blooms like roses at sunset,
But truth transforms it, purifying it.
I cease the lying mouth,
Letting only the truth flow out of me,
My rage twists the pure cry
Into a timeless and transcendental agony.
Through this flow of consciousness,
I pass through valleys of desires and rivers of hidden hopes,
Where each pain finds a corner of the sky,
And every joy becomes an eternal star.
This sacred nudity, this shield of embraced vulnerability,
Is my path through the labyrinth of reflections and dreams,
Embracing my fury, letting it breathe in ascended prayers,
For in this dance of consciousness, we are
Not just poets of life, but also the astral witnesses
Of our own essence, wrapped in mystery.
a one against all iconoclast
eat my shorts was his hello
after being driven from the village
by the Iceberg Clan physical therapists
and their dictatorship of deduction
a mere fascination with the grotesque
boasting an indignant moral high ground
their vast distortions parading as what's next
none of which was actually observant
ordered the award of a certificate of exile
prompting futile biographical excess
told his life story in a whisper
to the audience on the bus stop bench
in the fabled Flat Lands of Disturbia
trying to be more than what he thought he was
had the soul of a humming bird
chose his objects of adoration wisely
dodging recruiter demons at all hours
kick starting a thousand slave rebellions
you instigate one you instigate them all
inching up to the black widow at web central
twitching the cables just enough
with the help of his archangel air cover
shielding his free will for eternity
just enough for the look-o-meter
to get him through the mine fields
driving a '49 Mercury like he stole it
it is theater pure and simple
a Fellini runway extravaganza
playing evil A against evil B
resist and defy were his left and right
victory payouts collectible at Ed the Bookie's
a Ponzi scheme of titanic proportion
cosmic efficiencies being what they are
where the hierarchies choke hold your neck
zigging and zagging like sparring ghosts
a house of cards inside a hall of mirrors
forcing themselves not to look
since when have the observant sages
ever managed to end our misery
made it gnashingly worse more likely
If the amputation scars are any indication
this is a bad review no stars
in case you were wondering
a lot of that's not right out there
but only because context is everything
a blind eye is a blind eye
thoughts are surfaces
Today, in the mirror of the world, we lose our steps through ideologies,
For reality does not conform to any pre-established template.
Life, like a magical river, flows beyond boundaries,
A hidden mystery in shadows, an ever-unfathomable enigma.
People, tireless seekers of meanings,
Stir the heavens and the earth for concealed lights,
But truth reveals itself only when reason fades,
Life takes shape only when we see it as a spell.
Under the starry sky, smiles and tears are silver threads,
Weaving the fabric of unseen time, sincere diadems.
In the dance of deep desires, we lose ourselves in enigmatic contours,
And only by letting ourselves be carried by the wave, does life unveil its magic.
Without seeking clear answers, we venture through secret corners,
Where only the heart can see and the soul can grasp.
Only this way, in the waltz with the unknown, do we discover what it means to be,
To be one with the clouds, the wind, and the stars that shine eternally.
In the chains of ideologies, we lose our essence, becoming pale shadows,
But beyond them, life, pure and simple, awaits us with open arms.
Like a whispered song from the depths of the cosmos, a siren's trill,
Only when we fully open ourselves can we truly love.
Life, this mystery that requires no explanation, only deep living,
In its hidden stillness, we find the true light of the soul.
Through the eyes of love, without fear, without masks of ephemeral thoughts,
We discover that meaning is a wonder that passes through the canvas of stars.
Thus, we abandon the desperate search for a finite sense,
We embrace the mystery, and find ourselves in the waves of eternity.
For life does not reveal itself in thoughts, but in profound feelings,
And when we lose ourselves in the unknown, we find ourselves in the infinite.
Pure coincidence that live sheep are exposed in a new atom test
I do not think so, as I am sure I am not exactly like most of the rest.
Pure conjecture brings me into my clever cagey charlatan ways
I am more myself than those sheep who were happily hidden in haze.
Don’t bother to insult me with facts, for my imagination is ablaze.
People parading proudly, pontificating pressure of Pilgrim’s progress pride.
From them my true nature knows to balloon up and take the wind on a ride.
Cannot catch me, for I am on my way to meadows where I can alone reside.
A lone wolf, pure and simple, bellowing my wolf like qualities to the moon.
Don’t ask me any questions. I have now befriended my psyche, a big beefy baboon.
Wait a second, hoping to hold me to your idea of purity for purity’s sake.
Do you understand that your dendrite highway is not at all my own take?
I ease past you, dancing like the dervish I am. I throw scarves in the lake.
I am eager to try some of the hobbies I have never gotten to see before.
So I dance down Diggery Lane, disguising myself as a dastardly diabolical deep dinosaur.
Wait a second, some logical being says, trying to get me to stop.
I throw back my head and give him a loud screech and a chop.
Pure in my quest to live my truth, and only mine, Mr. Cop.
Down Armory Avenue I prance, with a gait that is a jivy gyrate.
No one can dampen my spirit, I feel absolutely great.
But wait, someone an instigator says, not understanding me at all.
I rise up on my haunches and growl, making me appear real tall.
The guy looks startled when I start howling, exceedingly small.
When you are living your pure self, this is the trick.
Live each moment with abandon and gusto, be yourself slick.