Long Rasa Poems
Long Rasa Poems. Below are the most popular long Rasa by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rasa poems by poem length and keyword.
tabula rasa
when we are born a child has no memory
one can say clean slates, after a few days they pick up
the basic like crying when hungry
from there on we fill the baby with what we know
a knowledge handed down from our parents, and the child
when it learns to read beliefs without reflection
what they are told must be the truth.
sometimes the child has a new thought, and it says what if this
is not valid, that is when the memory it didn´t have
is remembered, something that is clean and true about the life
we live an illusion made up of a generation of lies told
to keep us docile, most children dismiss this idea and go on
playing football, but a few listens to the voice of verity
and not knowing how to shut up tell everyone that life is more
than they have ever imagined.
those children are embarking on a long track that sometimes
leads to jail terms and sometimes to an early death
by those who know they are speaking the truth but try to say
the child has a criminal mind.
the road ahead of the few is long, and there is no happy ending
except for the knowledge, they have given them comfort
My pen, as though wounded, bleeds,
Who on earth, its blood-flooding sound, heeds?
Tabula rasa papers turn pregnant,
Messages of peace-brim-filling excitement;
Midst clanging of shiny swords,
Who witnesses the wounded words?
Poetry is for lunatics, they say,
Might moves mountainous sway;
Blood should paint the world maps,
Dead should adorn the scull-caps;
Shells should illumine skyscrapers,
No podium for poetry-papers;
They march forward with philosophies such,
Though fear within, deadliest weapons they clutch;
Like monsters and vampires they fight,
Many, to Hades, take their flight;
Peace-poems, often, become wraps,
Of their not-so-hot-potato chaps;
My wounded heart, together with my pen, yearns,
Insane humans to realize their hate-churns;
Having battles lost and won,
Laurels of pride, heads adorn;
Losing wife, children, friends, kith-and-kin,
Sensory organs, like neon gas, brunt within;
Those survive try to trace and read the peace writings,
Die, ultimately, in perennial musings...!
28 March 2022
To escape the tumult
And noise of the world, I unlock
And enter a secret door to
The serene haven of my mind.
I am a meditating Monk
Blissfully unperturbed; making
The most of my sojourn in this
Uncharted, tranquil Xanadu.
I repose, close my eyes
And sieve my nagging woes
Like a dreamcatcher
Trapping unpleasant dreams.
In a tabula rasa mind state;
I have no conscience of time.
I wade into and float on a stream
That creates no ripples.
Moments, a snail that crawled
To a standstill, the zephyr as silent
As trickling blood; my mind
Deep asleep while I'm wide awake.
Here, a welcome respite
Where echoes fail to respond.
When nature speaks,
It's below a whisper.
Here, I find
My peace of mind.
H e r e, I am content....
and free!
I entered life tabula rasa,
a spiritual being, a blank slate,
my life unpainted on a piece of masa
with no ego to sate.
But my ego grew before I knew
how spirit bends when shadows speak;
it found the doubts I clung to, too,
weakening me, unable to spiritually seek.
It shrouded the signals the spirit sends
the mercies placed at every hand~
the rainbow the sunshine bends,
the blue-violet dusk that glorifies the land.
And here’s the truth I long denied:
a tainted picture ego did draw,
and I’m the one who lets its shadow dwell inside
until at my self-esteem it did gnaw.
So now I walk the inner way~
crucifying the ego’s strength and claim.
For God’s guidance I doth pray,
vowing, “Ego, thy shall no longer my spirit defame!”
Although ego’s voice still tries to rise,
I greet it with a pilgrim’s grace
knowing it’s my worst enemy who wears many a disguise.
Now I’m a braver, enlightened soul finding its place.
Tillage
by Michael R. Burch
(a coronavirus poem about stasis and potential for recovery by reconnecting)
What stirs within me
is no great welling
straining to flood forth,
but an emptiness
waiting to be filled.
I am not an orchard
ready to be harvested,
but a field
rough and barren
waiting to be tilled.
Keywords/Tags: stasis, potential, hopelessness, hope, recovery, recovery from disaster, reconciliation, tillage, raw, barren, field, tabula rasa, blank slate, blank verse, isolation, seclusion, distress, distance, distancing, palimpsest, plow, plowing, sow, sowing, seed, planting, farm, farming, social behavior, society, America, planet
Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia
An irrational fear of large or long words
Well, you might say that’s for the birds
And it’s your right to have your say
A hippopotamus for most of us
Is an Artiodactyla, an even toed ungulate
While monstrum in Latin means: unnatural things
A monstrosity, a warning from the gods
While as showoffs, sesquipedalians use long words
So don’t scare them with your Titan Arum
But say to those with Ithyphallophobia
Or to the megalophallian “Nostrvia!”
And don’t be calloused towards
What happens afterwards
Or averse to what happens after “words”
In the post coital spooning
Don’t let your creative inhibition
Be the condition of wrestling with tabula rasa
And don’t let coitus interruptus
Or a caudal Janus face give you writer’s block
(I’m trying to be a gentleman
by calling it a phallus and not a rooster)
So, you won’t find here this fear of
Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
Quasi Mote - Oh Ephemeral Transit Across Proto Zones!
Strictly speculation from this mind,
who contemplates stripped down version
bajillion eons ago
cosmic bit sized dots
pinwheeled thru spatial void
repulsed and/or attracted
colluding (putin on the Ritz)
infinitesimal show stopper
devoid of prior rehearsal
since previous cosmic contraction
absent remembrance
tabula rasa, viz consciousness
if rebooted, reincarnated,
repurposed, et cetera,
asper knowing nothing
perchance if previous rendition
courtesy big bang phenomena
commissioned swirling pretty
little invisible thangs
dust mote size
universe created, vis a vis
most violent explosion
blasting subatomic tidbits
bestowing, endowing, issuing, et cetera
propensity, allowing,
enabling, and providing
spontaneous quixotic, narcotic,
and kinetic (kit) impulse
gifted, kindled plenti
tinder vittle loving care,
(albeit on quark hilly
weigh small scale),
each unique data packet of life
transiently questing organic matter
linkedin within uber
webbed wide world
thrust by motive forces distilled
since primordial ooze
painstakingly agglomerated
electron's micro gravitational tug
incrementally configured
viable combinations
propelled to fraternize, collide, amass
with other distinct minuscule entities
democratic, platonic, and symbiotic
tete a tete kickstarting avast
differentiation, golong
engendering hulu costs indeed
pensively trumpeting,
deploying, and fracking
the art of the Stormy Daniels deal
eventually across great swaths of time
inaugurating edifice of complex systems
(again unimaginatively teeny tiny
timid uber pinhead size zealots)
livingsocial hoity toity groupon outlook
accruing quicken fancy feast
to concatenate, generate, and get linkedin
with hotmail to discover
visa vis whatsapp
penning with Molly Q. Wells!
Bajillion years after proto humans experienced woe
countless figurative early Brady bunched bro doggie
dimples encountered necessity to escape cohabitation
(marital covenant alien), yet quasi marital brouhaha
ofttimes witnessed altercation begetting re: thorough
out baby with bath water phenomena, which literal
cruel fate heavily peppered past (mine) accounting
lamely explaining Pink Floyd momentary status quo
upended accompanied courtesy lapse of reason no
definitive evidence to substantiate claim, yet I know
without shadowed doubt every friggin forebear (hoe
pining to savor manumission, versus cotton pickin)
back breaking stoop labor think indentured escrow
harking back to days of our lives (mainly bonobo
nasty, short and brutus creatures millenniums ago
unsung simian kindred beings suffering figurative
ruffled horse feathers nsync with bird in hand dodo
which latter species long extinct (as Dutch good eats)
now non sequitur (sea quitter) mine homeboys/girls
comprising Harris eventual clan (of craven lionized
"scapegoats" set genealogical precedent, and grew
some real winners gentiles, who commingled and
intermarried, and united proudly to kvetch as Jew)
eventually acquiring redeeming qualities conveniently
best caricatured as features exhibited by Mister MaGoo
invariably dear reader "fake" anecdote ye will poo poo
as well how storied and fabled coronavirus (COVID-19)
medical technicians reference quaint pandemic setting
figurative global stage brethren and sistern microbes
made webbed, wide world wish for said good ole days
cuz, communique done being crafted about six hours
marine hated, armies of beastie boys slain 2120 yahoo
the darndest, latest microscopic bugaboo nearly slew
entire population, hence envision terra firma with
divine providence absolute zero people as edenic
provenance (metaphorically offering tabula rasa view.
Countdown to *****sapiens extinction
predicted millenniums in past
ordained but never occurred December 21
two thousand and twelve after common era
whereby catastrophic spark
detonating inferno incinerating blast
eradicating extant flora and fauna
activating bereft hegira
with no means to interrupt the die
since the dawn of civilization cast,
but last minute reprieve granted.
Impossible mission to escape ominous
predetermined fate of human rat race,
nor turn back hands of time
with origin of species on clock face
thus ticking closer to hour of doomsday
without faith to brace
allowing, enabling and providing Gaia
to redeem terrestrial space
vestiges of teeming billions soon erased
criminal minds without evidence traced
forcefully relinquishing simians
planetary stranglehold amazing grace
proffering tabula rasa
for another dominant species to claim the place.
Sirens promulgate emergency impending
toward inescapable cataclysm
yet no place to run or hide
lest one boards a rocket light-years away
which makes suspense thrillers
birthed by John Grisham
enviable plot to keep
total Earth's destruction at bay.
Matthew Scott Harris, a lifetime America Online
meme bur hastens to convey dire
crisis sparking to offer electric nom de plume
a papa who did help sire
deux darling daughters,
now grown into young gals
yet for ages hive stung
with hurt early, whence fatherhood did fire
meow n childhood's end fostering people
strangers even fork getting this communication,
per S0S sprinkled with auk shucks corny,
egret - letting opportunities take flight aspire
now pleasures soft as gossamer feather bedding
down play hardened angst riddled psyche, where ire
Ronny gully stubbornly thrives
amidst adversity as father time spins gyre
row scope at greased lightning speed,
intimating with dead reckoning to hire
grim reaper, who whiz patient as Job,
and exemplary at ridding mire
and muck bogs down this dada robbing
existence with joie de vivre, where funeral pyre
doth flickr-beckoning GoDaddy, cuz
Juno I haint gonna hear angelic choir
or equivalent enlightenment re:
home sweet home, this atheist doggedly tire
so haim trying keep sea legs
one step ahead of tipping point
envision self pitched into abyss -
thus finally ends discombobulated wire.
perpetual
is my love for poetry.
without it
how would life taste to me?
i bet it'd be so bitter
i'd spit it out.
I'd choke
on thousands of words
unexpressed.
what would free
my arrested words then?
pages would be
as blank as
a tabula rasa mind
as I was meant to bruise paper
with an Ink-filled pen.
heaven knows
what I'd be doing
if my ink runs too dry
to skate on a page.
who would hear
the child inside me cry
when my muse goes missing?
lord knows passions
roaring loudly
inside me
would be a silent
as falling snow.
i need poetry
perpetually
so that people see
what my eyes see,
feel what I feel deep within
and go places I go.
without poetry
would life ever taste sweet?
the jury is out
perpetual
is my love for poetry.