Long Recyclable Poems
Long Recyclable Poems. Below are the most popular long Recyclable by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recyclable poems by poem length and keyword.
Know, my love, I have created the truth in its entirety, complete,
For the days we will spend together, to live them slowly and sweet.
In the chaos where I find no mistakes, only a playful jest,
An earthly world in disarray, with eternal luck as our guest.
The horizon now gathers us, embracing, all around,
Model prisoners in the striped garb of black's comforting sound.
A vast circle crowns the universe, like a flaming diadem,
Of immense fires, vaguely regal, in stars that brightly condemn.
To our dreams, fragile shards trembling in the breeze,
Desolate in detail, with a pure dust of unwept memories.
Your sparkling flowers, a common glade, an eternal fall,
Their recyclable coma, perpetual, urges peace to call.
Beyond the peaceful "I am," my soul will scream aloud,
A supreme wail flowing over your fractured hair, like longing in a cloud.
In naturally curled locks, but electro-cut, a shiver unfolds,
Toward your unyielding thought, steadfast and bold.
All the shivers, like droplets, recently chilled,
Abracadabra-like ideas barely emerging, thrillingly spilled,
Hallucinatory thoughts you'll never quite comb through, my dear,
Forever and always, with nothing to grasp, an immeasurable yearning near!
Perche Sono Me IV (Fire)
It’s been a long time since I have told anyone why I was myself and why I am me. It was long ago that I dictated three prose poems on this matter. The same questions have come up; newer ones add to my plight. I am single because I will not settle for anyone who only fulfills the needs of my loins. I prefer a person that arouses my intellect and respect for her. The people I have met only meet one of those criteria, except one meeting two of the three. Still, to get all three is a challenge. Even getting two of the three is a challenge.
Why are you Single?
I am myself because of the pain I have endured by many who have claimed to want of me while they were giving a kiss of deceit. Playing with anyone's emotions is an unethical crime that haunts the perpetrator later in life. Several females who claim to know what they want are falling and feeling the pain they deserve for what they wanted was not deserved or earned. If you are stupid enough to want a bridge and house built for you without contributing to the production, then do not expect to have them when the man has built them. Of course, an unethical man will claim to have these until you are trapped and left out in the trash. Do not expect the good man to take you in, as you are not recyclable. When you give up on wanting a respectable man, you give up on being respectable to yourself. Your pain and the pain of your children were caused by you pursuing the pleasure of your false beliefs. One of them believed that she wanted a person of her faith. He could not commit to the person of free milk. He used her for five years. HARK to her for showing disrespect to herself and her daughter. Now, she is with someone who cares about how they treat her. Putting aerosol on excrement does not make a candle's scent flow in the breeze.
What type of partner do you want to marry?
Education is vital to me as I have seen many go to school only to find a mate or find a person to mate with. It is pretty disturbing that the goal is procreation and recreation. It is wiser to find someone who matches the qualities of a good girlfriend or wife if they meet the higher qualities. If you want a good friend, find someone with the qualities of a good girlfriend. If you want a good girlfriend, find someone who would make a good wife. If you want a good wife, then focus on these two aspects.
Wandering the maze of sanity
has now become a harsh challenge
to the psyche as insanity fuels
itself with echoing bigotry
soaring like starving hawks
while vultures are daily treated
to sights of warm human appetizers
laying out on blood-stained turf tables.
If only lives could be as treasured
and as recyclable as are old cold weapons
of war that continues to be allowed
to seek the devouring warmness of life.
The yellow roses in a lone star field of dreams
droop in waters of tears and dried blood;
long-horned cows and egrets go about symbiotically,
as wagon train-like funeral processions pass by:
Meanwhile, congress-persons attend NRA banquets.
Black Bird on a Wire
Black Bird
sitting on a wire
back turned towards me
Do you wish to hide the intelligence of your eyes
I see here at this old dump
picking through the unwanted wanted things
I wish I could search along with you
check out what the Jones's have no more use for
The bits of their unfixed
the not new enough
Their "I think we deserve the very best."
"This ain't good enough, let's buy more and more stuff!"
At one time
I wore their discarded garments without pride
I should have been proud
for I dug for them with my wanting hands
Hands that waded through
their decadence
the refillable
the recyclable
their unused reusable
Black Bird
I watch you and your brothers
as you feasted on our last suppers
Ripping open black bags
fighting for morsels
Unconcerned with the rotting
intoxicated by fermenting fruit
the pungent aromas
There are bones that need to be picked clean
I noticed but did not recall until now
the depth of my wanting
the hunger within
Back then
I was hoping
praying for a bicycle
Desperately wanting to ride far away from here
so that I might escape my then
my embarrassment
my "I hope no one sees me!"
"Garbage picker!"
"Where did you get that coat?"
"We threw that in the dump!"
Boy oh boy do I like clothing now.
No one will ever again make fun of what I wear!
Part of me wishes to return with you Black Bird
to see what I have left behind
So that I can reclaim
and recycle that little boy
But I can't
The dumps aren't open anymore
It is like those old bones
bleached
picked clean
Manicured
Items placed in appropriate piles
All the while
you sit on your wire
back turned to me
Intelligent eyes hidden
knowing I can't disturb you
In a while you will feed on yesterday
for this place
is not closed to you!
This piece grew out of my childhood experiences. We got our clothing from the dump and I still remember a girl saying to my sister " That's my coat, we threw that in the dump." I felt so bad for her and also for myself.
Colored Memories ARTIST BOX OF DRIED UP MARKERS
I'm a temperamental artist
In instants I'm prompted to draw
Choice of tools to use my favorite are markers
Colored markers, orange-blue-red-green yellow
Each one that I pick up not writing
I'm all caught up want to draw a picture
But each marker I pick up using
All dried up
So I fuss
The sun is shining my imagination rising
And all my markers dried or drying up
So haphazardly I placed them in a box
Not to throw them out but to mail them in
On Ah! In an return recyclable envelope
Colored markers, orange—red-yellow-green blue -turquoise
I will return these empty dried up colored markers
That I've gathered in a box to recycle
Temperamental artist guess I have to go to the art store and by some more
Purple-black-orange-red-yellow-green blue-turquoise markers
Colored Memories Poetry Contest
Sponsored by:craig cornish
9/4/18
~ the one who fears love...painful experiences must be included ~
my quote
Who twisted the strings on the guitar?
A fading sound from a noisy bar
As the wind from the bare window
barn swallows fly low, you know
His emotions blown away
recyclable, but will not stay
The parchment cracks
from bird's eye view a climax
the night charmer in camouflage
she is waiting for his following barrage
Her love was never reciprocated
being loved is complicated
I stay close to home these days,
my roaming needs seeming to
expire with age, finding more
of what I need in the Silence
of packing; of course, this
worn-out body is far too cumbersome
to even contemplate wanting – like
frayed clothing, now best for rags;
like empty cans for the recyclable:
I wonder how Earth will handle
my re-purposing?~as for my poetry,
will my works know future lips? Be
Whispered and sung, inspiring others
fancying fireside light and chat, within
the warmth of flickering, yet mysterious
shadows? Or will my words, unceremoniously
settle like bird droppings on tombstones,
surrounded by laurels of weeds, a forgotten
chapter? That settles it, I will opt for cremation!
Leaving tombstones and graves for
most politicians, TV Evangelists, and
Movie-stars, needing their world
monuments where the Devil will
easily find them for substantive
reunions....
There's nothing new for children.
The adults have done it all.
And now they've left for planet Mars
when all you do is crawl.
They raised you with their Google
and taught you of their hive.
They put you on their Facebook
and told you you were live.
They'll send for you at end of days
when you look to the skies.
That's why they left you Google Earth
and praying no one dies.
You'll call them on your iphone
when seas begin to rise.
You'll have to wait for voicemail
to leave your little cries.
You'll want to build a rocketship
to follow them to Mars.
And hope there's one recyclable
from thier abandoned cars.
Then when you've reached your newest home.
Their androids there to greet you.
They'll welcome home their little ones
and then you'll have to start new.
Black Bird
Sitting on a wire
Why is your back turned towards me?
Do you wish to hide the intelligence of your eyes,
or do you wish to create some mystery?
I have seen you
Here at this old dump
Picking through the unwanted wanted things
I wish I could search along with you
Check out what the Jones's have no more use for
The bits of unfixed
The not new enough
Their "I think we deserve the very best"
"This ain't good enough, let's buy more and more stuff!"
At one time
I wore their discarded clothes
Wore them without pride
I should have been proud
For I dug for them with wanting hands
Hands that waded through decadence
Refillable
Recyclable
Usable
Black Bird
I watched you and your brothers
As you feasted on our last suppers
Ripping open black bags
Fighting for morsels
Unconcerned with the rotting
Intoxicated by fermenting fruit
Pungent aromas
Bones that needed to be picked clean
Me noticing but not recalling until now
Back then
I was hoping
Praying for a bicycle
Desperately wanting to ride far away from here
Escape my then
My embarrassment
My, I hope no one sees me!
"Garbage picker!"
"Where did you get that coat?"
"We threw that in the dump!"
Boy oh boy do I like clothes now.
No one makes fun of what I wear!
Part of me wishes to return with you Black Bird
To see what I left behind
Reclaim
Recycle that little boy
But I can't
The dumps aren't open anymore
It is like those old bones
Bleached
Picked clean
Manicured
Items placed in appropriate piles
All the while
You sit on your wire
Back turned to me
Intelligent eyes hidden
Knowing I can't disturb you
In a while you will feed on yesterday
For this place
Is not closed to you!