Long Random thoughts Poems
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Since childhood,
as alexithymia struck my soul.
I kept all my hopes a secret,
hidden in a bucket of unshared dreams.
I kept my soul sweet like marshmallows,
but life has finally caught up with me,
Like a fast car overtaking recklessly,
leaving me behind in the slow lane -
and I'm running out of fuel.
I'm a vehicle of flashbacks from flashlights,
fatigued from embracing the old,
preparing for freshly brewed emotions.
Yet they deprive me at every dawn,
as new beginnings are always challenging.
Suffocating in this silent selcouth slumber,
life tries to call my bluff, when it knows,
I am the master of my masquerade.
My soul pleads with fate to usher me with belief,
but I can see death at my doorstep,
creating intrusive insecurities like termites,
eating away at branches of my sanity,
feeding upon my ordained Orphic glory.
Emotions are an interior mechanism,
so many remain fooled by my exterior,
but I'm tired of searching for salvation.
You who claim to love me,
gift me a scented candle made with your hands,
so its sentimental scent can bring me peace.
Take me to a place without a name,
without a label,
without judgment -
without suffering.
Unchain me from jeapordising January jitters.
Free me from meandering in misty meadows,
which have misplaced me in foggy morning sunshine -
bring me clarity.
These are not random thoughts, random poems,
because my ink is tired from trying to find new metaphors,
to supplement an abundance of alliterations,
portraying humble happy horizons.
Love can be a false emotion,
when we yearn for reciprocal ravishing redamancy,
but when was love ever equal or even fair?
I have no resolutions, just to breathe with ease.
Sometimes love's presence made me feel aesthetic,
but sometimes a badly drawn self portrait.
You can stay or leave, but do come back,
hold on, but not too tight that it chains my wings.
When I ascend, please, miss me,
so my spirit flies back to you.
Can you not see the irony?
We accumulate many reasons to die,
but search for only one reason to live.
Ask yourself which oxymoron are you?
Dying to live or living to die?
*Alexithymia
A person's inability to recognise or describe ones own emotions
* Redamancy
a love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you; the act of loving in return
I would like to talk about the coronavirus which has caused so many of us to agonize
I will stay away from politics except to say…it has made some people act unwise.
Instead I would like to stay closer to home…after all home is where I’ve had to be
and talk instead how this coronavirus has been effecting me.
This pandemic has seized many things we used to take for granted and put them out of reach…
On the plus side we have spent more time in our kayaks and on walks along the beach.
I haven’t enjoyed wearing a mask…living in this kind of artificial bubble.
but if one person is saved because I wear it…it’s totally worth the trouble.
I’ve hated social distancing…I miss hugging…for goodness sake
I even attended a Zoom birthday party where I could only see the cake!
The wear and tear on our car is better…since we only travel to the store.
and my hands as well as my jeans and shorts have been washed more than ever before.
This pandemic has stopped us from going to the movies…
something we used to do religiously…
Apparently now we’ll watch anything…even the Tiger King…that’s showing on TV.
We are exercising, doing more puzzles and reading…mysteries, novels…almanacs
anything to keep us healthy and our minds sharp as a tack.
Because this pandemic has effected our memory…
for instance…any show we watched when this pandemic began…you know…way back when.
we’ve already forgotten what happens in them and so we get to watch them again and again!
Deborah says it’s not the pandemic…we’re just getting old…but her theory I must poo-poo
I’d rather look at all my faults…and blame them on the flu.
Forget where I put my glasses…walk into a room and can’t remember why…
have difficulty getting out of a chair…feeling a little less spry…
These have nothing to do with old age..I believe it’s academic
when it comes to problems such as these…I blame them on the pandemic.
And I’ve noticed Deborah doesn’t laugh at my jokes as much as she used to…
It’ can’t be that I’m not as funny…and I hate to start another unfounded rumor
but apparently this pandemic can effect a person’s sense of humor!
In conclusion as we are experiencing something in our lifetime
we’ve never experienced before…
I know this coronavirus will win its share of battles…
but we’re determined to win the war.
Memories of the past may fade away. Sometimes, forgetting is a blessing and what has happened, and is happening, is all a part of God's perfect plan of redemption. In life, guilt and shame can be a blessing that leads us to the Cross, and in brokenness and repentance, the Lord heals.
How do I view myself in the here and now? I may be as a spectator or a participant; watching, learning, wrestling–in and out of the arena of life as the days go by. How do I see God in the midst of life? He is always active and sovereign over all. God uses people and their circumstances in life to gain glory for Himself. Regardless of wandering in confusion, and not understanding God's way, He is always working.
I need to remember that faith is active and victory is known in battle and this life is a battle ground. God's power and deliverance succeeds in the midst of the chaos of life despite of what I think.
How do I view the sin nature of the believer? We still sin against God and sin against others. We are not perfected yet, but I know I am not what I used to be and continue to run the race. There are always opportunities to show God’s grace and mercy to others as He shows us.
There are always crossroads where there are choices when we might choose folly or wisdom. There are opportunities to redeem the wrong and make it right.
In the believer there is continuous work of progressive sanctification. We need to cling to the Lord and seek Him always that we do not constantly slip down the slope of doing what is right in our own eyes.
What alters my emotions? Once upon a time it was alcohol and drugs when I could be, “comfortably numb.” Now I need to carefully ponder my perception of life–is it clear or cloudy–influenced by others' opinions, or the Lord's; the One who enlightens me that I might see life as He sees it.
The more I come to understand Him, the less I am controlled by my natural emotions.
To my Father in heaven I pray,
Teach me Your way, O LORD; I will walk in Your truth; Unite my heart to fear Your name. I will give thanks to You, O Lord my God, with all my heart, And will glorify Your name forever. Psa 86:11,12
**“Comfortably Numb” comes from Pink Floyd song title and lyrics.
Celebrity deaths can be bizarre
someone so close yet so far
the realisation hits you hard
yet they have no clue who you are
Meat Loaf sang to my youthful years
Sarah Harding sang with my peers
when the Queen died there were tears
and was Diana’s what it appears
Watching those planes hit those towers
the world as one witnessed those cowards
that massacre in the morning hours
then militaries became empowered
Next was London then Paris too
England crying unis avec vous
testing times bring out those true
voted Brexit but love E.U
Man United won the treble
Man City now at that level
the blue moon shines on the Red Devil
history books record those special
2003 England’s World Cup
‘66 yes please shut up
scandalous FIFA so corrupt
3 Lions always self destruct
We made football we made law
this island nation oh so small
conquerors of more than all
fighting giants not so tall
The history that we best remember
“On the beaches never surrender”
NATO nations all one member
all for one with one agenda
As we explore beyond the moon
machines on Mars out to Neptune
the News at 6 bringing gloom
AI Ukraine and monsoon
Covid Ebola and the climate
protesters who have never climaxed
trains crashes that left the tracks
deaths resort from knife attacks
YouTubers that speak to many
all done just to make some money
causing offence so nothing’s funny
can’t let meat reach your tummy
Notice now how kids have causes
blocking roads because they’re foolish
speaking without knowledge shortness
things we learned that no one taught us
Growing up I owned a tortoise
someone nicked it from its fortress
for its value seeking fortunes
never knowing what’s a porpoise
Random thoughts of simple sorts
sleeping nude no boxer shorts
the warmth of her who I will court
keep mingers the last resort
ugly ones say no thank you
get drunk and I guess you’ll do
wake up somewhere strange confused
run away cus she’s a moose
Handsome hand written and random
stopping once I’m paid a ransom
I’m not sure of that Charles Manson
singing songs written by Hanson
Roseanne Barr is becoming quite a center piece in our society.
Barr is really of German Jewish origin. Members of minority
appear to be their worst enemies. This is supported by
Nature of Prejudice by Gordon Alport. This book was the
basis for my Sociology of Race Relations class.
Why either fight or join it when you can just let it drown
in its own sorrow. No one knows better what their problems
are then they themselves. Accepting them always becomes
the biggest problem. So what will you do? Write a book of
course and take a few moments of silence or just throw
in the towel and admit that they are hopeless.
If I become part of their problem I become part of them.
I want to maintain my own identity and be me.
I only want to convince someone of what is best for me.
What will make things easier for myself without having
others walk over me?
Maybe a macro approach is far better than a micro
approach. A completed, building, bridge or house is
what I want to see. The finished product far surpasses
the combination of all the parts. All of the parts must be
assembled, combined together and constructed. Actions
are required to complete other actions. Skip a step and
you leave a hole. Leave a hole and the entire project
may completely collapse. That also applies to artificial
holes in our head.
So lets go on with the Trump show. What I like best
about it is when he is a no show. Anyone is harsh on
someone who has brain cancer, is a Gold Star Family,
situated in a wheel chair or handicapped by ignoring
them or making fun of them.
An existential threat is always there. If you have to
tare down others to build others up, you are in big time
trouble. If you always criticize, condemn and complain,
why would we want you in a leadership position?
Trump's signature is becoming bigger and bigger
in case you haven't noticed lately. He even has to
show his signature off. The other Presidents just
signed the document and closed the document
cover. It was over and done. Not with Trump. The
attention game has just begun. Where will it all end?
Impeachment I hope and being withdrawn from
Presidency. Jim Horn
Form:
Why should the mimic apologize?
Where are the cupboards?
Where are the wages?
Where is the tailor? I had
no use for algebra, I knew it-
in as much incognito on a prefabricated track,
in order that....
free thinking then supposing,
til warning for dreamless help provided,
a typewritten treat from this meditative cell on
a bi-directional night, just as incensing this layer, once
shouting, against kaleidoscoped winds...
Will the dubious cartoon walk on top of the comparison?
or will the prevailing keystroke provoke a smashing debt?
Their marriage possessed an alcoholic copyright.
just as the about face twists the rear....
A wizard paces..... surveying the blackboard
just when a scholar stands,
and rocks across a page, so that unless
Some author squeezes, a western dialect,
lest now his leisure violates,
a once welcomed, road of gold on the critical side, in as much until
and even faster still, a projecting spontaneous cricket,
now in a graveyard embarrassed by his wasteful song,
messy thoughts, broken prized belief,
sweeping away the cheat,
disregarding the window from the top,
so that a porter yawns,
outside the offending captor, who wears a wolf pendant,
underneath the inside havoc, if only
the technology collapses before
the funerals, thick attack, talk on top,
of frozen outlines, and a leather sofa cracked,
from opinions changing, as correspondence leaked,
so behind smoke, a fire of desire lurking near the conflicting repertoire,
next to the guilty bystander, raining like a thief, now interferes, who
stirs the sticks... across the crossroads,
Can the music spin the guilty onto a bandwagon until the other staggering strangers advancing,
to the next fizzy, dizzy, bog...
while guides await in order to assault corrupted fantasies,
beside crystal strips, where rusty knights in armor, sitting on a park bench
trying every half measure,
disturbing breezes,
in the haze of memories. Stir these random thoughts and let their impressions talk to you and one another.
Who knows how the mind really works?
Bleed for me
Why?
Why what she says?
Why do you cut, why do you bleed yourself?
Why do birds fly, how the heck should I know?
Ah but you are so beautiful, soft and sweet
You see only as you wish, no one looks closer
At the inside of me
No one sees the mirror I see
Tiss not true, I see through your eyes
Come then take a good look, stare into my emptiness
You see nothing ok?
I remain quiet, somewhat stunned at the rebuke
We both stare out the window, a broken neon sign
Singing with the wind
She whispers
If I cut myself, to pieces
I will slowly disappear and float away
Inside will be outside
The emptiness in my eyes will be everywhere
The Ferris-Wheel ride will end
I slowly gathered up some rather random thoughts
My life was sunny
Then one day it rained
Then sunny
Rain and sun, rain and sun
Then the rain came again
And again…
Dark clouds hovered
The days all became nights
Until there was daylight no more
A ghost taunted… I no longer mattered
Until I became the ghost
So you see, I have nothing left to cut
She shyly looked over at me, confused it seemed
You, you… you have money
You look handsome
I dare say you seem well off
You have it all, and want for nothing
The neon sign, the crickets, the bedside clock
A symphony of sound in a room of silence, tick tock. Tick tock.
Slowly, I discovered words, softly I dared repeat them
You said I see nothing
In this, is true, I did look into your eyes, I saw
Inside of you nothing as you say
Emptiness
I saw a poverty of wanton desire, lost to this world
In this you are also wrong
For as I stared you refused to avert my curiosity
Our eyes locked
The emptiness inside of you
You see
Is me
Time continued its journey
Tick Tock went the clock
Silence crept towards a comfort
Imperceptible, a few of their fingers interlaced
Touching
The neon sign stop flickering
And cried
Before there was a world or a word
there was unfathomable loneliness
in the gaseous expanse of pin pricked night
an infinite course of vibrations, sound
nascent, coalescing, gestating,
until planets ripening birthed with souls.
There was only the orb, the throbbing soul
and an unknown longing for word,
conduits formed synapses gestating
to wavelengths of crystalline loneliness,
the aching white noise, static, lack of sound,
and the wanderers of celestial night.
Man was born to such a daunting midnight
aqueous eyes and conical ears for soul
to shattering din’s discordant sound,
no bird song, no harmony, no words,
just an aging, aching, aloneness,
of random thoughts thus wordless gestating.
A rhythm of circular gestation
formed the day and lingering became night
and thus weakened, warmed the loneliness
with woman kind He brought her soul.
Ether resounded with sheet lightening, words
for those sounds were to souls, the God sound.
Strong, silibant streams of understood sound
released from the oval egg of gestation
songs formed as man combined the God like words
croonings of passion fill the nubile night
as joinings rolled-tidal of mated souls.
Word all powerful had freed loneliness.
Each creature gifted an end to loneliness
earth, water, fire ,wind, all given sound,
all graced beloved with shimmering souls,
hatched from the dragon’s egg, life gestates
into the bountiful passage of night.
Cherish the ever present presence of the Word.
No longer alone, a sound vibrating within
each atom relates to the soul, gestation continues
in the night's never-ending cycle of the Word's life.
*My PASSION is SONG
* Many lines have internal RHYME as well as
the end rhyme achieved by the use of the same words.
*Dedicated to inspiration achieved
through the writings of L'Nass Shango & David Smalling
Lord, I want to write a poem about my thoughts
Random thoughts
Isn’t that funny?
I think about how people still don’t know
That they don’t have to ask you for things
You already know
I think about how my mood can change with just a word from You
I think about love and whether I have been in love
Ha, that is a mystery
I think about how you have changed me
And why you still haven’t given me an answer as to whether I should go
You know what I am asking you!
I wonder what you have in store for me
I think about what else you would do for me
You seem to have done everything already
I wonder what caused one to go overboard
And go to the other side and be angry at society
I wonder if there is anything one can do to help
To prevent at least
Maybe somewhere someone has done something to them
I don’t know
I marvel at how each of us is so different in how we view our world
And how you are at the center of it
Instigate it all
Yes Lord I said instigate
You are the master of it
You cause it all and I know it
You are, Lord - the center of it
It all comes back to you
What are you up to now?
I wish you would let me in
I would help you
Haha as if you need any help
Lord you are just unbelievable
And I just don’t know what to say about you
As there is no word to say
Of how magnificent You are Lord
You do something everyday
And I never know what you do one day to the next
You keep me guessing
You change everything from day to day
No days are the same
Each day is different
Hallelujah God
I thought about my friend, Jack
How he thought about how he has slowed down
And think about that certain day
Lord I want to run until I can run no more
And just drop
Okay Lord?
Well enough of that
I think about my friends
Ahh that is a different story
I think I will think about them some other time
I’ll get something to eat now
If there is a word that describes best what
poetry is, I would say intimate.
Is poetry intimate?
Are not all works of poetry?
Or are they just collections of words laid on paper in nice
organized ways, to make them look professional,
as if they make sense?
I would hope we as poets, writers, or those who think they
make literary sense would believe the former.
As we let our minds spill over onto paper words that flow,
flow from the heart, or flow from some deep secluded
place within our soul.
We scribble on scratch paper random thoughts, things that
make no sense, just so we can remember what we were
thinking in that fleeting feeble moment, only to throw it in
some over stuffed drawer to find some months later, and
then possibly throw back in.
I would say yes, this is intimate, revealing our most
vulnerable feelings of how and where the next valuable and
honest word will show its worth.
What greater joy could one experience, than to have an
affect on a persons life through words? Words that have
emerged from the deep recesses of our mind, body and soul
as if we had laid open our life for all to see, exposed our
self to the world, as couriers of all things good or bad.
Delivering hope and joy, sadness and pain, and answers to
some. We as poets splay out onto paper all of the things
that reside in all of us, only in that organized, unorganized
way that some can understand.
Poetry belongs to all who read it and translate these words
into any one of a thousand different meanings.
Are we poets? I can not say for certainty. Or are we just
another Joe who shows their life in words written in script
in hopes someone will find them?
I Do Not Know!
http://www.charlesdennis.netne.net
© 2009 Charles Dennis