Long Rearranging Poems
Long Rearranging Poems. Below are the most popular long Rearranging by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rearranging poems by poem length and keyword.
Mr. Sandman bring me a dream
Make it the best thing that I've ever seen
Been many places replaced by faces
Never did a trace on You.Though.
Dry race eraser board floored when
I saw your name at my door.
"What Number am I" replied I, why
Sir, you are Number Nine.
~Would you like more wine?
~You're in my mind;
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SIMpliCITY.
Anagrams...
An anagram is a type of word play, the result of rearranging the letters of a word or
phrase to produce a new word or phrase, using all the original letters exactly once...wiki.
KRYPToS... carousel ... "left to write" .... care.soul
...........SKRYPT.o KRYPT OS
...................
.........SKRYPT.o
SAN.born
Artist: James. Sanborn http://elonka.com/kryptos/sanborn.html
"Lego my Ego" ;)
~born.to.skry;b~
Form:
is this then my fate
watching the scurrying crabs
rearranging sands, counting the waves
the wary eyes of the magnificent frigates above
your eyes were to me
exotic birds of aquamarine
whose free flight
stole my thoughts
my breath
my heart
now i have a horizon
where the world disappears
the universe begins
azure is more than a color
how ironic
how often said
love is blue
herein are only remembrances
of shared happiness
a gentleman never tastes bitterness
in what was not meant to be
i had a professor once, well more than once
who explained that we needed
to reach into the depth of being
to write poetry
that sentiment was to be avoided
as some shunned member of society
a useless masked whore
this poem is my gift to you
not to impress a world i could care less about
but to validate the point
sentiment is the foundation of poetry
innate to the heart's wings in the quill
that fills the dreams within
or walks in mourning upon the beach
Fergus Falls 2000
on Youtube:
Tom Waits - "The One That Got Away"
Don't twist the words of God, my friend,
To suit your current leanings.
Don't rearrange and fashion them,
To give them certain meanings.
Don't take the Book He gave to us,
For clear, incise instruction,
And mold the words to suit yourself,
And draw your own conclusions.
You can't change the mind of God, my dear,
By rearranging phrases.
What He said remains steadfast,
Dispite the current phases.
We must abide within His laws,
They will not bend to suit us;
For God says what He means to say,
He will not just excuse us;
For if we dare to change one word,
One single line becloud,
The Book of Revelation warns,
His curse will be profound.
"FOR I TESTIFY TO EVERY MAN THAT HEARETH THE WORDS OF THE PROPHECY OF THIS BOOK. IF ANY MAN SHALL ADD UNTO THESE THINGS, GOD SHALL ADD UNTO HIM THE PLAGUES THAT ARE WRITTEN IN THIS BOOK; AND IF ANY MAN SHALL TAKE AWAY FROM THE WORDS OF THIS BOOK, GOD SHALL TAKE AWAY HIS PART OUT OF THE BOOK OF LIFE,
AND OUT OF THE HOLY CITY, AND FROM THE THINGS WHICH ARE WRITTEN IN THIS BOOK."
Revelation 22:18-19
Alone I hold space,
Embracing the openness,
I grow into wholeness,
A witness to all of this,
Existing as a whole,
The space I hold grows,
Illuminating my shadows,
The light goes everywhere I do,
It comes to share the view,
Through 2 eyes space arises,
Surprises at every turn,
Learning to focus my emotions,
Flowing through the commotion,
Within this ocean of energy,
Only alone can I see,
The truth within reality,
The gravity of the situation,
And my relation to this creation,
The space that I play in,
Are just atoms in vibration,
The brain relaying information,
A simulation in formation,
Silently growing a foundation,
Echoing through the nation,
The station is changing,
The world rearranging,
To fit a reality we are creating.
writing is daydreaming on paper or sometimes straight into a computer.
notes crossed out, smacked around, slashed, re-visited, starred, circled,
checked, underlined, slashed out again, retrieved.
after print has happened, it all begins anew. I count the syllables,
make six hundred tally marks on the page, slash out, cross out, circle,
write OKAY in big letters, draw arrows, put Xs, start rearranging.
Using 1, 2, 3, and A, B,C, as I valiantly try to figure out where
the next line is going, or whether to even keep it.
I sit down to figure it out, and decide it will be easier to begin
again, rather than edit what has already been typed. So I begin again,
slashing, dashing, drawing, starring, circling, smacking, cracking,
discarding, resurrecting.
the life of this writer.
Almost evening.
The smell of seaweed hanging
on whispers coming up from the beach.
I sit in the backyard, rearranging thoughts,
trying to fit shapes into what's missing
in that vast mosaic I have been piecing
together all my life. The last blush
of the sun fading from the sky, the day
dimming like a picture theater
before the film begins.
I think of the Alberton Odeon matinees,
back stall seats on Saturday afternoons
with wall to wall westerns galloping across
childhood to deafening cheers and stamping feet.
From Hoppalong to Roy, a generation
breathed the smoke from six shooters
blasting out in the black and white world
of cowboys and trusty steeds.
Heroes stood out for their good deeds,
the bad deserving of the bullet
that always found their evil hearts
without the spill of blood. Death was clean,
no more than a crumpled fall,
hands clutching an invisible wound.
The gore was kept off screen. Boyhood
backyards became extensions of motion
picture sets.
I come back. Shadows have swelled
into a thick dark. Awoken from their
daylong sleep, mosquitoes circle my head
like thought clouds in search of blood.
Where do thoughts come from, these uninvited guests that silently creep into my mind like shadows?
Do they sneak from corners of my soul I dare not visit, dark and unknown places?
They sit in my mind like unwanted visitors, asking questions I cannot answer, rearranging the furniture of my peace,
Leaving before I notice what's missing, leaving behind only a void and an unease that haunts me in the late hours.
How do I feel everything like a storm pressed against my skin, yet inside I'm empty like a wasteland forgotten by rain?
How do I see the world so clearly, the faces, the skies, the small and sacred things, yet I've never seen myself fully?
Neither in mirrors nor in the depths of my being, I am a stranger to myself, an unsolved and complex enigma,
I carry facts in my pockets like pebbles, but when I ask "Who am I?", silence answers first, oppressive.
I try to learn everything, every rule, every name, but I've never learned to sit quietly with my own mind,
To listen when it speaks in strange and gentle languages, to decipher the hidden messages in its mysterious whispers.
Perhaps thoughts are alive, small travelers from other worlds passing through me, waiting to be understood and deciphered,
Or perhaps I was never meant to find myself, but only to continue the search, until I become the question itself.
I am a question that not even the universe can answer, an enigma that unravels into thousands of invisible threads,
I lose myself in the labyrinth of my own mind, seeking meaning in every turn, in every fleeting and transient thought.
I am an explorer in my own consciousness, discovering uncharted territories of my complex soul,
Each thought is a star in an infinite inner sky, shining with unspoken questions and yet undiscovered answers.
In this inner journey, I am both traveler and destination and map, lost and found in every moment,
My thoughts are waves in an ocean of consciousness, rising and falling to the rhythm of the universe's breath,
And I float on this turbulent sea, trying to understand the deep currents that carry me towards unknown horizons,
In the eternal search for self, for meaning, for answers to questions I may not even know how to formulate.
Took an old memory out and cried a little
Seems time has taken its toll
Remembered drag racing on the stretch
Beer party down at Devil’s Hole
Pack of Luckies at Dutch Hill Park
Campfire in the Pines late at night
Like blood brothers, times were fun
Long ago when we were tight
Loved your sister, boyhood crush
You had my back in the street that night
Took him down when he pulled the knife
Friends forever when we were tight
Acme lot late one Saturday
Two girls, some Thunderbird wine
About two steps out of our mind
Throwing up, not feeling too fine
Adulthood arrived going separate ways
The ocean called and times were changing
Lost touch in those turbulent years
Seems the world was rearranging
I’ll stay crazy till my dying years
Now no longer part of the fight
But I still look back and smile
About long ago when we were tight
Learned you had passed while still young
Felt some pain as my mind raced back
That beat up Ford, see you Friday
Running now on a different track
Sometimes I get a little melancholy
Through blood shot eyes in the morning light
The girls, the booze and the wild times
Long ago, back when we were tight
Oh, sweet rebellion, how I admire you.
How you stand up for yourself and take no foolishness.
You stand firm on your two feet and say NO!
You let nothing and no one control who you are.
You stand alone and you stand from afar.
Your mindset worries those around you,
Yet, you stand tall without a care.
Oh, sweet rebellion….
How I wish, a part of you, I could share.
You look criticism in the eye and smile,
Not carrying what it has to say.
You don’t say one word, you just flip the bird,
And keep it moving day after day.
The thing I admire the most….
Is how you stand there quietly like a ghost.
No intentions of changing.
No chances of rearranging,
That what once was your everything.
Whether it’s wrong, or whether it’s right.
I stand firm with the intention to fight.
I fight to make you see, that I refuse to be…
A molded human being, a soul with no kind of voice.
I fight for my family and my world….
This and this alone is my choice.
So listen to my scream of defiance.
I am a one man alliance.
Cause in the end, it couldn’t be more true.
In the end…
It’s me and you, ‘til it’s me or you.
The slow clip-clop of a horse,
As the milkman starts his rounds,
Long ago, of course,
Now other ways are found.
The clinking of the milk bottles,
Placed on the steps,
Of every house in roads and streets,
A sound I won't ever forget.
The milkman delivering in the mornings,
The sound of the slow clip-clop,
It was very soothing,
A shame it had to stop.
The world was changing,
Things were being mechanised.
All was rearranging,
Before our eyes.
Speed took preference
Over the slower pace.
The poor horse had its day,
And was out of the rat race,
Go! Go! Go! until eventually you drop.
I believe in progress,
But avarice not.
I may be idealistic,
If so, I don't care.
I agree with W H Davies,
We should have time to stand and stare.