Long Reality Poems
Long Reality Poems. Below are the most popular long Reality by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reality poems by poem length and keyword.
The world is so hostile
I have an open my eyes to see
I Can Only Imagine
Peace in harmony
In my dreams
There's so much hatred in the land
In numerous Souls as much as the sand....
On the beaches and Islands
no one cares anymore for their fellow man
In my dreams
Ahh! But there is peace here but there is peace here
I'm in closed in heaven
Can you even imagine
One can only fathom
In my dreams
There is so much hatred in the land
I need to pray for everyone to relinquish their mind
maybe we all need to go to the beaches and Island
Walk away from this reality the breach is in poverty
I Can Only Imagine peace and harmony
04/28/14
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr
Arranged music by Jonathan Echtinaw
The bridge/ Hear that?/ Snap it pop it / Not the one of stone and steel, holding cars and trains aloft/ This bridge hums/ It vibrates/ yellin’, mo’ funk and groove please woven into the boss horns strung with a bassline thick as smoke and Clyde Stubblefield holding down the fat beat/
Acid Jazz snap pop snap de beat/ tradition on one side, diggin’ for the now, for the new/ Jazz, ancient and revered, but dust collecting on the shelf, needed a spark, a jolt, a psychedelic brother a sister like no other/ Acid Jazz, the answer/
A handshake and a high five between jazz straight ahead and a synthesizer’s jazz fusion swing/
A knowing nod to Coltrane remixed into becoming the nu Acid Jazz king/Trane is way dope now to a whole new listening audience/
skillfully crafted club bangin’ acid jazz lick and samples/ the veins of hip-hop, throbbing hard and raw as DJs scratched the beats deeply rooted in the arrangements of funk jazz numerology/
Did deep house feel its pulse, its rhythmic pull/ Broken beat, fractured and funky, did it recognize its kin, polyrhymatics and the turntables… Oh, the turntables sang a different song/ a revolution spun on vinyl, a rebellion built on rhythm, Jazz and Soul/ Rap, HipHop and acid jazz as a Voice for Rebellion and Social Change / DJ Kool Herc, a sonic architect, laying foundations in the park and party basements/ Grandmaster Flash, a surgeon of sound, slicing and dicing the beat/ Afrika Bambaataa, a global sound system, uniting tribes with groove/
yo bruh, reality check/ They weren’t just playing records, they were playing the instrument/Scratching, back spinning, beat juggling – a symphony of skill/ Mix masters, beat captains, electronic alchemists, wizards behind the wheel of Hip Hop fortune/ They birthed a new language, a dialect of dance, a history rewritten in the hiss and crackle of vinyl on a HiFi Stereo/ Acid Jazz… Modern Jazz… Trip hop, Latin Tech House/ The DJ Culture… Rap, Hip-Hop, a family born from a shared rebellion, Formidable, Definitive/ Each is a testament to the power of sound, to the bridge built on a bassline, drum sample/
a thump, a bump on a low rider jam/ to the future forged in the fire of the beat/ The voyage is not over/ I have a fear of standing still…like I’m outta of here/
He was found that morning, the peace of the day was shattered
Before the day had begun.
That call raped my virgin heart from its’ happy emotions.
Leaving behind an emotional scar.
As I walked down the church isle,
I knew in my broken heart this would be the last time I’d see him.
What a memory to have the rest of my life.
The reality of not being able to laugh and have fun set in,
Even the walls, ceilings, and floors mourned.
They were used to hearing us laugh casting echoes of laughter.
Now they were quiet like the rest of us.
The sound of clinking silverware and sniffling
was the only sound heard that holiday season.
When I visit my aunt, the living room’s quiet,
The sound of the ticking clocks break the awkward silence every time.
If it weren’t for the clocks, I’d go insane.
This is a walk I don’t want to remember but always will.
Seeing my uncle regret that bargain.
One never knows the events that’ll transpire,
in reality it wasn’t the bargain. He would’ve used whatever, it just happened to be that extension cord.
But that’s the weight of my uncle’s unhappiness,
it wasn’t my aunt getting onto him that day,
Nor the officer that gave him a ticket,
nor the fight his girlfriend picked that night. It wasn’t his brothers fault either
For not lending him some money nor mine for not spending the night and everything else. What if’s replaced
our joy.
“What if I’d stayed, would he have done that ?”
When a pebble’s cast into water, it doesn’t cast a one sided ripple casts ripples in every direction. I guess
that’s why we all blame ourselves.
When we walk into the living room it’s not his pictures that reminds us of what we lost, it’s that new piece of
sheetrock that’s brighter than the others. I guess my uncles regret never gave him the motivation to finish
the ceiling.
______________________________
Written in the perspective of a friend
William Lewis woke up one day to see
a jungle, frightening and dark,
not knowing how he had arrived there
or which way he should embark.
He heard the stirrings of strange creatures
in every cranny and nook.
There was fear, violence, and aggression
in all directions his eyes took.
In trepidation, he wondered, "where am I?",
as he got ready for a fight.
"Is this another planet, or is this Hell?"
he asked and slogged the bitter night".
Just then, he was interrupted by a voice
that informed William as it spoke,
"Your free trial has been completed.
It's time that you awoke."
Upon hearing this, he remembered
he had signed up to see,
given it was the year 2125,
"How is the new virtual reality?"
The legal team and marketers decided,
based on this beta trial,
a warning label must be attached
stating the risk of experiences, vile.
We search through the contents of your brain
and take what we can find,
WARNING: THE WORLD THAT YOU WILL LIVE IN,
IS A REFLECTION OF YOUR MIND.
Springs heat - not but a dying ember
Shades of green fill the air. and all around.
In bright blue skies, seen, shadows crawl the ground.
Spring fever no longer seems to melt
away winters chill- all that is felt.
Buds do open and they do flower.
Aged, never seems to find the hour.
Seasons have passed us by.
Little is left, but for us to try.
Wipe the moisture from our eye.
No longer sit back and cry
Ah !, if only the goddess Aphrodite,
could spread her mystic reality ?
If only she’d sprinkle her sensual, passionate powers
upon the souls of us Ancient One’s, remaining hours.
Upon occasion, arise, know no finality
as life, upon us showers inevitability.
Love, passion aplenty, by the ton.
To know – once again – all that fun.
All that passion, that youthful beauty.
Oh, to know - in depth – a little cutety.
Oh, to know once again that our seeds
– buried deep – could germinate, fill needs.
Crawl out of the ground, reach out, touch,
permeate those heavenly bodies, feel so much.
About what fertilized our flowering
as we stood tall, towering
over life that made us a whole lot richer then,
during those blossoming years - younger men.
No longer, yet, no more empty then before
even as time begins to close the door.
So my Beauties, thank you all, for the all
you gave to make this garden grow – before the fall -,
before experience, life, fate, age made the call
that brings life to that last walk down the hall.
That hall of mirrors reflecting life – glorious –
in its all as we look into it – wondrous.
B. J. “A” 2
May 15th 2004
Realidade e o Sonho
Diz o poeta pessimista,
somos um sonho divino
que não se condensou,
por completo.
Digo eu otimista
existe, em nós,
um espaço interior;
que dá o poder de sonhar
de planejar
comunicar e realizar.
Digo eu otimista
a vida é uma luta
entre a realidade
e o sonho,
a Carne e o Verbo.
Digo eu otimista
precisamos queimar
num incêndio
de esperança,
para que se crie
uma lembrança.
Digo eu otimista
tudo o que existe
e vai existir
é o sonho
da a carne e o verbo
que se transforma em realidade.
************************************************************
Reality and the Dream
Says the pessimist poet,
we are a divine dream
which did not condense,
complete.
I say optimistic
there is, in us,
an interior space;
that gives the power to dream
to plan
communicate and perform.
I say optimistic
life is a struggle
between reality
and the dream,
the Flesh and the Word.
I say optimistic
we need to burn
in a fire
of hope,
to create
a memory.
I say optimistic
everything that exists
and there will be
it's the dream
gives the flesh and the verb
which becomes reality.
************************************************************
Realidad y el Sueño
Dice el poeta pesimista,
somos un sueño divino
que no se condensó,
por completo.
Digo optimista
En este sentido,
un espacio interior;
que da el poder de soñar
de planificar
comunicar y realizar.
Digo optimista
la vida es una lucha
entre la realidad
y el sueño,
la carne y el verbo.
Digo optimista
necesitamos quemar
en un incendio
de esperanza,
para que se cree
un recuerdo.
Digo optimista
todo lo que existe
y existirá
es el sueño
de la carne y el verbo
que se transforma en realidad.
One day while passing by a tree, I heard a sigh.
It seemed the oak could speak; I felt my knees go weak,
for like a siren’s song, his whisper made me long
to stop and lay me down upon his shaded ground.
Because the day was hot, I lingered at that spot.
The oak got in my mind because I felt inclined
to slip out of my dress, and yes, I must confess
it was as if that tree had cast a spell on me!
With words of poetry, he started wooing me.
His leaves then brushed my skin. I trembled deep within.
His branches were so lush, I hoped I would not blush
to think each sturdy limb might draw me up to him.
I don’t know how or why, but under summer’s sky
I disappeared into his essence and I knew
the tree had captured me. His wood nymph I would be,
for he and I were one that day beneath the sun.
As if immortal, now I live beneath his bough;
at times I disappear within him, but no fear
lives in me any more because the forest floor
I roam now with great joy; the woodland is my home!
Beneath the firmament, lost in my oak tree’s scent,
I feel completely free, his beauty all I see.
A young maid passes by; perhaps she hears us sigh
and thinks it but the breeze now passing through the trees.
But no, it is but I, beneath the summer sky
locked in my tree’s embrace, and with my new found grace,
I look at her and see the girl I used to be,
and my reality is this sweet fantasy
Many never come home from battle.
Most come back for war, but not all
come back without being traumatized
by the reality of death and dying.
This fact reminds us of those who are
suffering from post-traumatic syndrome.
He lived the pathos and pain of war
He’s still haunted by blood-flowing
Upon the battlefield
The sounds of gunfire and shells
Bombard his tortured mind
He was just a boy when sent to war
Came back traumatized from being
Upon the battlefield
Still hearing gunfire and shells
Target his tortured mind
He will always bear the pangs of war
Can’t forget his buddies dying
Upon the battlefield
Cut down by gunfire and shells
Left him with tortured mind
He stares at the wall. sees naught but war
And its horror amidst fighting
Upon the battlefield
And facing gunfire and shells
Inside his tortured mind
His life few will ever understand
This hero with a tortured mind
I live in North East Florida
That's just a hop, skip, and a jump
From the land known as Georgia
Where "Honey Boo Boo" once held court with her mom
If'n you never knew "Honey Boo Boo"
You're in for a treat or more than one
She was a multi car train wreak
That you couldn't turn your bugged eyes away from
First let me explain the state of Georgia
So this family ya'll will understand
Not long ago they re-dirted both paved roads
Said progress was getting way out of hand
So with that said and done son
With formalities out of the way
Lets turn our attention back to our star attraction
And see what all she had to say
Her fame started out on Toddlers & Tiaras
Reality shows we all seem to love
From The Crazed Housewives to The Kardashion's
America can not get enough
And since it's on T.V. it's gotta be true
Did you ever try her drink sensation
Of Red Bull and Mountain Dew, she liked to call "Go Go Juice"
It'll put hair on your derriere for extra pad in relaxation
And who wouldn't want to see a six year old
With that kind of Hellacious Buzz
What went through my mind when I looked at it was
Ahhh, Redneck Motherly Love
So now do you redneckonize her
Where all I just said is quite true
A dolla used to make her holla!
I sure miss "Honey Boo Boo" on the Boob Tube
As I'm sure all of you do too...
HIDEAWAY
a
definitive
tendency
to impute
a
significant
reverence
to
detail
discovery
&
its rarity
to the
particular
beautiful
revelatory
& restored
the novelty
&
tantalising
significance
of
reality
of
being
alive
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand