Long Radar Poems
Long Radar Poems. Below are the most popular long Radar by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Radar poems by poem length and keyword.
Too many think that they are God
Too many think that they know God
Too many think that they see God
Too many talk like they know God
Too many sins
Too many Satans
Too many prosecutors
Too many executors
Too many judges
Too many smudges
Too many think that they are right
Too many, for the wrong reasons, fight
Like there is no tomorrow
What a shame! What a sorrow!
Too many think that they know more than they know
Thank God, they can barely see the peacock and the crow
In front of their nose. The dagger behind the head is not
Under the radar. The moon sees everything. The sun is hot
For countless unexplained reasons
Both have an innocuous impact on the seasons
Too many false geniuses
To many mad scientists
Too many strange analysts
With worthless doctoral degrees
Human being is a thinking piece of meat
With unusual behaviors that meet
No coherent criterion, and at times violate
Rules, laws, theorems and the advices of the prelate.
Too many think that they are God
And few are willing to obey the commandments
Too many think that they know God
And few honestly believe in the testaments
Too many think that they know God
And they die and disappear like the smoker's puff
Too many behave like they know God
Think about the whole thing: honestly, this is playing bluff.
Copyright © April 2012, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Lord of the flies henchman of the destroyer justice will be like a thief in the night
a mark is clearly visible signs the pact under destructive acts
Swift the reason befalls un troops are landing on your soil hidden low key
under the radar marshal law will be declared on those opposing
To arrest high profile war criminals hiding rats amongst elite bodies dark eyes
as evidence has stacked up against them no turning backwards time
Now even using chemical weapons killing many of their own troops caught
in crossfires with hired guns among women and children victims ensnared
Tortured in camps its all coming to pass sentence voices of the dead echo
mark my words with a cross good always triumphs in the end over evil
Together and out there your judgement is falling from high position
titles lost shackled by steel forged from fires of your own makings hell
I'm on this journey. Sometimes I feel unworthy and at other times I feel that it doesn't deserve me. The ego is alive and well it seems.
I'm at cruising speed with no radar and nothing but clouds before me. I'm losing desires in the battle of need and dreaming is becoming obsolete.
I am at the peak of awakened pain. The view is breathtaking but there is no way down. I'm throwing stones into the unknown listening for the bottom and hearing nothing but silence.
I could fly or fall,both journeys are equal in awe,the difference is the perspective.
What's next, the inevitable unknowing of course. I plan to ride in on its wave atop a dark horse. Eyes of flame and breath of ash,burning down the path that leads to the past.
All before me will be in the cult of now, awake and aloof, living each moment then letting it be consumed.
A windy path is best, tricky corners fix slick egos with shadow play and survival sounds. Cores get exposed and flesh gets rended. All that is left is the visceral and the brutally beautiful.
Like a girl with sparkling eyes and earth underneath her fingernails, the moment bares down and grounds. We are held by her grit and magic for a moment and return to the muscle memory of ancient man in her grip, Mother to us all.
No one should be so charmed as to not get wet. Not sweat or bleed or pant with thirst, life shouldn't be an easy bet with house money where the only ones who win are legacies and dummies. You laugh because it's sounds funny but the struggle is real.
There's a chance though,a secret out through a magical route. It requires the strength of self and the absence of doubt. Many have walked it for a time and touched the sublime but stay too long and it will reveal you to the world. You can't hide from life in the wilds. Kerouac learned this, as did London. Life is meant to be lived and shared but not always in tandem.
We are a collection of individual experiences strengthened by the knowledge we pour into the tribe.
B-52: a city on its own.
You mess with us, we’ve got technology.
I loved it when we flew into the zone:
as Ernie said, “We’ll kill ’em till they’re free.”
My job? To watch the black cascade of death
and myriad explosions in the woods:
Louisiana lilt – “You hold your breath,”
that’s Ernie’s voice – “delivering the goods!”
The pretty serpentine of falling bombs
that seemed to slither through the virgin air
distracted me from pilot intercoms,
and radar monitors’ unblinking glare.
We didn’t think – I only speak for me –
you’d have to ask my buddies on the crew,
if any made it out – of those VC,
or what our “dirty chemicals” might do
to people down below. We went along
with what they told us, Audie Murphy-like.
Neil Armstrong was, to us, just one word – “strong”.
And dinks and gooks could go and take a hike.
That lunar surface. Nothing down there moved.
“I guess they won’t be planting no more rice,”
- that’s Ernie. Our sophistication proved,
we sang the Sound of Music (Edelweiss).
By accident, I saw a TV Show
last week, some fancy name, “Unceasing Toil”,
about those peasants. Watching HBO
is not my thing. It said we wrecked their soil
and killed their trees. Who, me? I don’t know squat.
The gorgeous nebula when napalm bursts
is fun from up on high. I’ll tell you what.
Phosphorus bombs beat all your Damien Hirsts.
The captain’s eyes glow ruby red
Atop the steamer’s deck –
A rusted tin can set adrift
By rough Atlantic crests
A crimson emblem sanctions
This whaler’s floating tomb –
A battered vessel bearing
Insignias of doom
Red ember sparks illuminate
The old man’s hickory pipe,
As he begins to scour the sea
For subtle signs of life
The radar soon shines fiery red,
And deckhands race to find
Their harpoons pointed straight ahead
At monsters in mid-dive
'There she blows!' the captain blares,
His face now beating red;
The hunt is on for him again,
And victory’s ahead
But as the scarlet sun moves west,
Black storm clouds open wide,
And though the weary crew protests,
He keeps the men in line
One well aimed shot is all he needs
To stain the ocean red,
But angry winds and beating rain
Show no signs of an end
The crimson hull begins to quake
As waves come crashing down,
And though the crew is mad with fright,
The captain only frowns
Then finally a sound rings sharp
Amid the roaring surf –
The red harpoon has found its mark:
A whale of massive girth
'We got her now!' the captain chimes,
His new prize bleeding red,
But with his words a rogue wave climbs
Ten feet above their heads
As they stare up with fear and awe,
They realize their fate –
Atop the blood-red steamer bow,
They know that it's too late
And though the crew and captain pray
For rescue from the squall,
The phantom wave of burgundy
Descends to drown them all.
We were worlds apart, yet when words were selected
Something special happened, and we became elected
We chatted about our families, us in generalisation
Our works, our likes, our wants, to familiarisation
Next thing we knew, I, flight booked, nigh on 8000 miles
Upon landing at 'Ninoy' to be met with hundreds of smiles
McBlimey, I said to myself, is Eloisa amidst those faces
Even my eyes focusing in, struggling their radar traces
On the exiting from arrivals, I heard a sweet voice say
"James" as I turned around, my focus in smiling stay
Taxi pickup, hotel bound, with chitter chatter, we're sound
Week to week passing we're sweet, on Philippine ground
Intramuros, Batangas, Santa Rosa, and onto Lake Taal
Me loving Volcano's, we Tagaytay, looking down in thrall
Having seeing the aforementioned, to Manila we'd head back
So, so hard to leave this lush, and so hope there's no wrack
I'm now standing in the middle of the road, waving goodbye
She never turned, turnaround, we two, too emotional in cry
X
Anna is a charming Mom,
I met her at my gym.
A madam of sorts, quiet and calm,
Level headed, articulate, fit & trim.
Between sets we talk, of life’s little sagas,
Comparing civic cares and concerns.
Verbal jousts before noon, while avoiding drama,
Like racecar drivers, who bump in a turn.
We kayak, and camp, with kids and the spouse,
And refer to such things as time off.
On her radar and mine, busy lives we espouse,
Repaper the kitchen, life gulped from a trough.
Our friendship’s base tenet, is clear as a bell,
BFF’s with great wow, lots of passion, and flair.
Talk of family—a Top Spot on which we oft dwell,
No stats, just sheer love, great hopes and much prayer.
May 10th,, 2018
Came from Baltimore by Pigtown
Where they like to lay the law down.
He rebelled against the ground rule.
Had to grow up in reform school.
Got acquainted with a curveball
Dealing pepper by the church hall;
Broke some windows, but he left the scouts impressed.
He was an OG All Star, and a first draft Hall of Famer.
He had manners like a gomer, but he played with no disclaimer.
Pitched in Beantown, till they tossed him.
They’d regret they ever lost him.
Joined the Yankees as a slugger.
Jumped on southpaws like a mugger,
Shooting rockets past the flagpole.
Fattest wallet on the payroll.
Made a called shot, and the papers did the rest.
He went from zero to sixty lodged in Murderers’ Row,
With women, booze, and money all just part of the show.
He led the A.L. in hitting.
Chased after ta-il, no quitting.
Played ring around the bases
In a dozen pennant races.
He scored doubles at the wet bar.
Belted homers before radar,
And suffered his publicity’s intrigues.
He was an urban legend; no one ever saw him on TV.
And in the house that he built, there’s a tribute to his number three.
It was series after series.
All the bookies have their theories,
Parsing records and statistics,
Charting sinker ball ballistics,
But in the end, most everyone agrees:
He never had to play the N*gro Leagues.
To be tortured in darkness, listening to the screams trying to invent the destruction of all those who are formless, trying to emerge in the vastness of indecency, moving slow as the Sonic rays of a radar moves the ocean frequently, the persecution of darkness in the creatures who survived with the same color.... and out of the Darkness to be executed in the light, which they confined themselves into exile this innumerable chain of Unfortunate Events seem to be bound by more then just hatred but maliciousness, how can the darkness abandon itself for the light, it's foolishness.... then how could anyone ever sleep at night, as I look at the Sun tears as if I was crying, but in all reality from the light I was dying.
The seasons revolve in sublime spell,
joyous essence I feel within me dwell.
Summer’s departing footsteps I hear,
as blazing sun mellows down at noon.
In autumn meadow dew pearls appear,
the leaves rustle, they’ll be gold soon.
The seasons revolve in sublime spell,
joyous essence I feel within me dwell.
Dawn’s prism emits the autumn color,
as crimson cloud kayaks across azure sky.
In sunburst landscape nature is never duller,
as in zephyr the fallen bronzy leaves fly.
The seasons revolve in sublime spell,
joyous essence I feel within me dwell
Catching seasons’ signal on my radar screen,
I can detect winter’s approaching shadow.
To soak the last warm air of the fall I’m keen,
in frigid times I won’t be glacial and fallow.
The seasons revolve in sublime spell,
joyous essence I feel within me dwell.
Chilled miasma melts making cyan sky clear,
spring descends through the sparkling air.
Wispy clouds in sapphire expanse appear,
suffused with sunshine the buds bloom in flair.
The seasons revolve in sublime spell,
joyous essence I feel within me dwell.
_______________
July 7, 2022
Contest : The Time Between The Seasons
Sponsored by : Kim Rodrigues