Long Push back Poems
Long Push back Poems. Below are the most popular long Push back by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Push back poems by poem length and keyword.
with a gentle hand, Wynter,
brush your curls,
and don’t forget—
knot your braids tight
so the wind don’t snatch your shine.
with a gentle hand,
hold the butterfly—
be soft with the small things.
but don’t forget,
even wings push back
when the storm comes blowing.
with a gentle hand,
share your candy, your jokes, your light.
but keep one fist closed,
‘cause not everybody claps for you—
some folks just waitin’ to take.
with a gentle hand,
abuela stirred the beans slow,
then stitched hems straight,
needle sharp, steady rhythm—
and still kept tricks of the trade
to throw chancletas
or hold it down if need be.
gentle, but tough—
that’s the recipe.
Wynter,
the world gon’ test you.
they’ll call you sweet,
then try to eat you alive.
they’ll call you weak,
then be shocked
when you stand.
so hold both—
the open palm and the closed fist,
the rose petals and the thorns,
the “yes, ma” voice
and the “don’t play with me” stare.
with a gentle hand,
you gon’ flip pages and flip tables,
you gon’ hold babies and hold your ground,
you gon’ bless the block
and check the block—
same hand, same heart.
and Wynter,
never forget—
soft don’t mean breakable.
gentle don’t mean less.
with a gentle hand,
you can lift mountains,
you can fight, you can love,
you can be all of it—
loud, sweet, unshakable.
One group of activists decided to fight.
To see family lose their sense of might.
Three people involved in each battle.
For the patients each feeling like cattle.
Five days of care each week is not enough.
Sixty year olds help their moms with the stuff.
Seven days a week is the demand on staff.
Eighty year olds represent patients by half.
Nineteen is the century the fighting were born.
On the fence hoping for repairs of minds worn.
Eleven is the hour at the end of a tough day.
Twelve is a base caregiver hourly rate of pay.
Thirteen is their grandkid’s bar mitzvah year.
For the teenagers, ending up like that is a fear.
Fifteen is the age they get behind the wheel.
Six teens riding grandpa’s car, so easy to steal.
Seventeen is the number we aim to complete.
Of our daily ground pushing of hands and feet.
If you wonder why I wrote this special rhyme.
It’s the memory of lost family, taken by time.
Pushups are the weapon that this army fires.
These bodies strengthen when the mind tires.
Challenging muscles with full body tension.
Using Facebook to get supportive attention.
We grind out numbers daily, big and small.
Uplifting strugglers when they trip and fall.
Getting our hands dirty just like caregivers.
Seeing the decompensation brings on shivers.
I’m mustering the strength from palms to toes.
To push back and hit the disease in the nose.
It may take over many of us when we get old.
But for now I push back and will never fold.
A requiem for an artist
was painted on a man's mind
This artist attempted to change the world
to heal it from inside
The man took the brunt
of all of her messages of hope
She sent them ostensibly to him
to help him cope
But really what the artist wanted
was just to be heard
To not be a blank portrait
Overlooked, unheard
The artist tried to heal the world
to heal her own pain
To push back the dark
hold on to love, to resist being insane
The man reflected he understood
He showed that he heard that she cared
The man was going through personal growth
so some of the exchange scared
The man now has the knowledge
that the world is his to create
The artist knows the two met
as if an act of fate
Perhaps the world will heal
Perhaps it will continue on
Perhaps the man and the artist are more closely drawn
A man received the insightful rantings of an artist who paints the world.
And because of this, another artist exists.
Requiem for an Artist - Artimus 2/2001 (C) Susan Manley
I construct them
And lay them everywhere
As man builds a fence
To prevent intruders
To guard his property
So I also do with my heart.
It's a necessary evil
All in the name of protection
We must be ready
We must be prepared
Like a watchman at dawn
To diligently protect
That which we value most
Some do not respect our boundaries
Do they not see them
Do they have need to enter so desperately
That they ignore the warning
Private property! Trespassers will be prosecuted.
Is there any leniency
Any exceptions to who can enter in
Is anyone granted access
Or must they forcibly try to enter
There is more than one way to be raped.
So we struggle
In the blindspot
To push back those who seek to enter
Unbeknownst to us
I lay boundaries
I am not sure as to whether
It's to keep you out or let you in.
Baby you got me so obsessed
You know Im twisted up twice
Like 720 degrees
You know I aint nothing nice
But you got to admit
You love riding with me
My old friends might ask
What made you break,
what gave you the disease
If I got back to work
Theyd all shut up
And act like “My nigga Please.”
Please bring a track for me
Tapes push back tapes pause with glee
But you know the rain
It falls down cold
The know the thing, I believe
That it falls down on me.
Don’t bring your ice a fussin x 2
Don’t bring you rock so cold
So this is hustle city
Motherers back up
When they find out the true definition of a ****
Its so scary But you know what
I cant do much when they
Find out which one I love
Its a cold day outside but inside
Its as warm as july
Inside I see the drama on this guy
I love to watch it fly
With her i hate when she goes
With her I masterbated and she knows
Its alright, its alright she can do that
Its alright I thought she knew that
She said - I know - I love it when you do that. I love it when you do that to So Imma do that to you
Cause hey girl hey girl hey girl
I love that I love that
I am a creator of life and death, thoughts and fates, stars and voids. I was born with the purpose of guidance and creation, sculpted from the cosmos to carve destinies into man.
My home is that of a desolate chamber in which one hears echoes of screams and prayers, reverberating from all directions, inescapable. I feel pain for those affected by my omnipotence. I feel envy for those who ignore my pull, and lust for those who push back against my will.
Though I am not god, I know thee well.
My past is long, my future foretold and overbearing. Perpetual. Repeating. Repetitive. On and on and on and on.
My spirit is the essence of all men. I am necessary for not only evolution but existence itself on a conscious level. I shape and strengthen the ego, though I also shatter the soul.
My soul, forever ambiguous, is tethered to the man within my grasp, and as I shape and strengthen I am curious and doubtful, for my own ego is malevolent and my own essence ethereal.
Though I am not god, He and I are born from the same spool of matter, woven into the same thread of life.
Our world is under relentless attack
We all need to be careful about the impact
Of this virus on us. Be strong, healthy and positive
About defeating “Hate”. Be active. Be proactive
Wash our hands and brains and stay awake, away
From people who’re sick, sneezing and thrown away
By the toxic virus, which is attacking all of us
We’re under attack; we need to exterminate this bug
Which is invisible, and elusive. Spray under the rug
And disinfect from top to bottom. Let’s be the boss
Of HATRED-100. We’re under constant attack
Let’s fight back. Let’s push back
This pandemic. There’s no need to panic
Yes, this is not the time to have a picnic
Let’s be safe and conservative
Let’s be careful, personal and proactive
Exercise, jump for joy. No ‘high five’ please
We must defeat this deadly disease
Our world is under unrelenting attack
The enemy is deadly and elusive
We all must fight and push back
We must be strong and proactive
Be prudent against all enemies
Say thank you, you’re welcome and please
Wash our hands, love our friends
Kill the virus by sanitizing our brains
Hearts, souls, spleens and hands
And keep Hatred away from our friends
From our neighbors and from the folks
Of our surroundings. Hate is no joke, no hoax
Love is the answer, love is the panaceas
Love is hope. Love is the antidote against all galimatias.
Copyright © March 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
I thought
I believed
I was beyond the reach of light
Trapped there within your darkness
You eclipsed my wonder
My innocence
My hope
You wrapped me fully
Confiscating my will
Smothered my unrealized self
Draped me in your need
Subjugated me to your narrative
Then in the distance
A flicker
A tiny dot
Beyond your optics
Your contrived paranoia
Your insatiable need
I watched it grow
Filling my craving
Firing my synapses
Awakening my indefinable
I was not born to be in darkness
Wriggling in the shadows
Instead I pushed beyond your borders
Grabbed onto God's hand
As He effortlessly lifted
Transforming my impossible
He banished your Darkness
He rewrote your narrative
You took me from myself
Yet today I am back
I am strong
Freed from your insanity
I know
I believe
I am beyond the reach of darkness
Here I frolick in peaceful meadows of possibilities
I have claimed my wonder
My innocence
My hope
I live within a transcendent light
Mine is a world of every
Everyone is welcome
Peak out from the dark
Push back the veil
A hand stretches
Reaches
Pierces the sadness
Hold on
Let it be
Let it lift
Let it love
Let it consume the darkness
For Vicky Tsiluma's I'll be back contest.
I was inspired by Robin Davis's poem "Abuse Shocked Her Into a Shell"
There is light beyond abuse in whatever form it takes.
What is it about us and our kind
Quietly sitting there
Not calling out the bullies
The liars the cheats the fake
Taking it passively from that
Whole class of degenerates
We’re just interested in being happy
In our little world of art and whimsy
We don’t have it in us to push back
Be it thick-skinned politeness or
Delusional optimism on our part
Is it anything less than our way
Of nodding sheepishly heads in approval
Not daring to retaliate and take a stand
For fear of speaking out of turn
Is it just our way of perpetuating
The bloodline of victims
Of pushovers and doormats
For fear of getting involved
Wallflowers not wanting to stir the pot
We want to carry on in fantasyland
Where lighthearted our type treads
Believing life can and should be fair
With everyone wanting to live in harmony
In our little world everyone gets along
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
fade the tyrant to black
to snap a people's slide to hopeless
when the down trodden gasp for frenzied gulps of air
freedom's fullness lost
authoritarian arms in perversions of civic life
that bash the rush of free expression
when the hatchet faced boss combats thought
like a burning bacteria that drains color from life
Is the brute a man at all but a boot on the world?
blunt force trauma in jaws snapped shut
calculated state control celebrating callousness
to smear malice that slackens one's soul
citizens cower in concealed shelter, encased in
black-boxed fear
eclipse of the sun from the tyrant's grip
sooty nights of sirens wailing
when a protest fist rising means life severed
push back possible in the timeless fury of revolution
from rebellion whispering in moonless corners
but only when a people's survival is a silenced cry
we hear
Poem composed August 28/21