Long Recycles Poems
Long Recycles Poems. Below are the most popular long Recycles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recycles poems by poem length and keyword.
I watch the clock on the wall
Fearless in the face of the fall
The knife tears into my skin
Which is pale and paper thin
The blood gushes from the vein
Blossoming red on the bed it's a stain
I watch the ebb and flow
I know I have nowhere to go
Standing on the outside I realized
I feel like I'm despised
The roof rips off and rain comes in
Blending with perhaps my worst sin
I broke the walls down and built my own
And it left me here all alone
My room floods and the walls break down
My bed is now a ship so I skip town
In the rain nobody can see my tears
But with my flesh ripped open see my fears
Look me in the eyes and say it will be alright
When my heart is racing and I feel fright
Sailing an endless ocean with no visible land
My life is slipping away like grains of sand
But the truth is all of it is here in my head
And when I wake up I am still in bed
Even awake I feel lost in the darkness of my mind
As the past recycles memories as if on rewind
So many days where I just wanted to die
But I never really understood why
But when I took my medication the lights came back
And I realized my own thoughts had me under attack
But now when I feel the smile on my face
I know that I have finally found my place
Feeling whole again has transformed me
And my heart is once again free
So I sit here and look at the clock on the wall
Fearless in the face of it all
No pigeon in my hand cage as wheat eater
It’s far away now except the white feather
Eat; eat but assorting good one for the health
She tells it as the emblem of peace to be wealth
She goes and I go too, she comes back and I too
She flaps and I sweep, she flies and I grow up low
She picks up from the clean pot and I look after all
Queen of quills she offers and I keep behind the doll
Now, it becomes fairy wings with embroidered loom
Now the grain of stagnation dries up in mite’s dome
The cage of words swarm on the memory of thriving
Slowly, timer zone show the end line of everything
In the groove of winds recycles the life and death
Simultaneously the thought is alive is grateful fate
© Mahtab Bangalee
27 January, 2022
Chattogram
Douglas Dempster the Dumpster King
Hates to be called Doug Dumpster
But he's to blame if that's his name
Denying it is a real stumper.
Mashes the trash, burns it to ash,
Recycles all that's allowed;
A self-made man with a garbage can
That ought to make him proud.
Dougy Dumps whines and grumps
"Nobody gives me respect!
If not for me the world would be
Garbage-bedecked! Cluttered and wrecked!
Sad and neglected, infested, infected
But thanks to me it all gets collected!"
Well thank you Doug-in-a-Dumper
For keeping our alleyways bright
Put on your very best jumper
And we'll take you out tonight.
At last,
we are angry with each other
coincidentally,
simultaneously,
which may be a coincidence,
but probably not;
Depending on active faith
in linear cause-effect relationships,
leftbrain dominant yang powers,
And/or
circular dipolar co-arising
co-passioned effective unpolarized relationship,
causes v effects = effective causal recycles
of rightbrain both/and recessive yintegrity.
Now,
at last,
we have set our synergetic communication stage
to test this ancient hypothesis
that two negatives
are equal to a potential positive co-passion,
as polynomials
may equal not not polynomials
Where positive
also equals leftbrain healthy
and rightbrain safe
And negative anger
equals leftbrain liberally
communication healthy
when rightbrain feels conservatively safe
Despite never considering this internal hypothesis
because of patriarchal
dualistic
win/lose capitalistic faith
in not not equivalent potential
for ego/ecosystemic win/wins
Despite respite death through life
ego/eco-recycles
repurposing timeless eternity
of unity
more flexibly equitable
than uniformity
of leftbrain thoughts
against rightbrain feelings.
Let’s give God our thanks, spring has sprung from bed.
The frozen rain melts from the dunes of snow.
The dormant seeds grow with petals of red.
The songbirds now sing as their young will grow.
The sunshine greets all as the warm wind blows.
April showers fall, miracles behold.
A fresh new painting, a gift for us shows.
The breath of spring brings life into the fold.
The earth recycles the trees fallen leaves.
Grass will now flourish, thank God for the spring.
A winter ball thrown; the spring now retrieves.
Beauty by God’s hand, for us he does bring.
Inspiration and joy hang in the air.
Take a look around, his love we all share.
3/10/2021
Breath of Spring Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Simple Step In Beauty
Passion flower towers at the crown of a radical Hippies’ heart revolution in waiting
blossoms for such longing deep sensual trust freedom justice compassion to prevail
Opens closes unlatches the moment past future spins memories for contemplating
of what to hold dear whom where and when cycles keep spinning on dialectical scale
From root to blossom up towards down from equality empowerment and social exclusion
love can be synthesized smelt scented with fragrance aroma communal power infused
When ‘Passiflora’ is lived and ‘ en-lived’ ‘en-storied’ to the meaning essence’s restitution
condensed ‘ad integrum’ oozing emotion reason strength determination dis-confused
I am a dreamer idealist so my favourite flower recycles in truth and all magic seasons
it grows and weaves amorous bouquets bunches and hunches inter-webbed branches
No strings no inequality no tyranny of hierarchy attached no spider web of treason
marque demarcate marginalize but complement resolve hypocrisy oppositional tranches
My flower reaches for nature for fusion not terror domination colonisation of minds
wishes to swift and sift gently the torments thunders blunders ring in winds of change
make love and not wars intercourses in slow rhyming rhythm in place and overall time
If we all cherished this flower we ‘d be more peaceful and turn anger to guardian’s ‘ange’
08th August
ABAB CDCE EFEF GHGH
Every story to get composed
is supposed to be
inside an irregular triangle.
To start with story of 'Life',
largest side is Family, so far my belief,
showing love and responsibilities.
Next come career and struggle.
Shortest side consists achievements and failures.
Story of 'Family' consists of three sides
showing 'Marital Commitment ', ' Raising Children ',
' Fulfilling Domestic and Social Duties.'
Largest side fixed to rear up offsprings.
Which side between the rest two will get priority,
depends on personal choice.
Useless to raise voice.
' Career - Story ' is basically focused on
' Ambition ', Work' and ' Circumstances '.
Challenges appear in every step
to be tackled by individual, when to escape
where to confront , when to hide,
balancing the lengths of three sides.
A 'Love Story holds emotions on largest side.
Passion is pasted on next side.
Satisfaction or Despondency
completes the triangle.
‘ Soul Story ‘ recycles on sides of a triangle,
three vertices being‘ Birth Point’, ‘ Death Point ‘
and Terminal Point of ‘After Life’.
Life starts from Birth Point to reach Death Point.
Traversing path of After Life
returns to Birth Point.
The lengths of the sides vary
in different journey, when to hurry
where to make pause or go slow
to be decided
on discretion of individual Soul
free to move in Cosmos
on unknown zone
subject to laws of Nature.
Always three sides to every story..
How sad some forget,
Yet bound to accept
scheduled trajectory
in triangular territory.
The universe swallowed my thoughts
In another instant of uncertainty
Truthfulness and doubt together were something
Morphed into a new creation of nothing
As if my time itself were the black hole
And I, a dwarf star in the infinite sky
Waning in the moment’s loss of control
Where another hope was left to die.
Shapeless and unseen in darkness
Lost in the infinite, recessive light
A contorted mass of possibilities gone
Like the dim light of a rainy dawn
Ambitions and plans stricken by loss
And I, a fading star in a familiar crowd
Carrying an even more familiar cross
To be convicted of the sins I’ve avowed.
Brighter stars illuminate without me
Much like the brilliance I once exuded
A new creation of barely something I’ll be
With much less to adore in low luminosity
And as the universe recycles these thoughts
Uncertainty strangely becomes known
In all my doubts, I have become a have not
With my mistakes left with me for which to atone.
I remember the city
when it had to be plugged
into black handsets for distant listening.
Conical coral peaks rose up
from sky-blue shallows once -
right here under the entombing concrete.
Nothing grew in that place except heaps and hills.
This city is a garden we have made
out of fabricated conversations;
talk does that, it creates chaos then
it’s expressed the way a concrete reality needs to be poured
into a pre-determined shape to be defined.
Now cellular-phones are growing cellular reefs,
the city recycles these small abiotic words
into mulch and various pressed materials
that form roof gardens:
places where parrots have time to chatter
while evolving into dinosaurs.
If I recycle just one pop can it won’t make a difference.
But if I recycle one pop can
And you recycle one pop can
And everyone we know recycles one pop can
Then we won’t be recycling just one pop can
We will be recycling a whole lot of pop cans
And a whole lot of pop cans will make a difference.
If I plant just one tree it won’t make a difference.
But if I plant one tree
And you plant one tree
And everyone we know plants one tree
Then we won’t be planting just one tree
We will be planting a whole lot of trees
And a whole lot of trees will make a difference.
If I smile at one person…
Wait.
If I smile at one person it will make a difference.
Why don’t you try to make a difference?