Long Regressing Poems
Long Regressing Poems. Below are the most popular long Regressing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Regressing poems by poem length and keyword.
Bigotry
Written: by Miracle Man
11-19-2019
Many people today still remain a bigot,
Tolerance isn’t something they choose to embrace.
Hatred spews, like liquid from a spigot,
A blight on mankind and the human race.
God created all with the intent to be equal,
But conditions today are becoming depressing.
Having passed their time, bigots work on a sequel,
Now it appears today that the world is regressing.
“Too many of our prejudices are like pyramids upside down.
They rest on tiny, trivial incidents, but they spread upward
and outward until they fill our minds”
William McChesney Martin
Value of kindness and compassion towards other beings, people that serve humans by fraternity teachings.
Tagore believed to have contact with the divine; one has to worship humanity to confine.
Reaching future generation and it means to be a human,
coming from the most selfless act conclusion.
Acts of humanity should not be corrupted,
in any form by fame, power or greed conducted.
Divisiveness caused through race, religion and nationality,
socio-economics causing humanity to disintegrate radically.
The poorest countries infested by international charities,
volunteering for a CV are the modern parodies.
Regressing all to the point not to care about their surrounding,
perplexities to indulge that defy humanity confounding.
Qualities that form the foundation are honesty and integrity,
courage and self awareness, no religion is bigger than humanity.
Orwell’s warning that we grow into a dystopian society,
with conformity that is a polluted big brother anxiety.
Fear in propaganda at means of oppression conducted,
status quo by **** retentive honors as state consulted.
Through in charge by handicapped people that cannot rise,
above the sense of duty have a heavy price.
Then duty becomes pleasure by true intuition,
conceived by reason of loving human condition.
The 70's brought a wake-up call, embracing some needed change.
Some women with unwanted pregnancies were self-mutilating, so insane.
It seems we are now regressing like a patient who's demented.
Why would a women's right to choose now be legally circumvented?
Too many women lost their lives in a blood bath so obscene.
Botched coat hanger abortions and
other unsafe means.
Do you hear their voices?
Can you count their screams?
We have learned nothing, or so it seems.
Too many women's lives ended tragically.
Where are their death statistics?
Are we too blind to see?
God help a nation that forgets it's own history.
Resisting The Repression
Competition between a brother and sister
Rendition of an eighties song all about how much he miss her
War of attrition between two countries facing off without a resister
Ambition of an Olympian to only on race day end up with a blister
Loneliness creeping in before twightlight starts to break and linger
Ghostliness of a past love coming back like a harbinger
Cosiness of a warmth so engrained it lasts throughout the winter
Holiness of a man ordained with the essence of God in his little finger
Warning all who sit in comfort to stretch out beyond their horizons
Forming all the combinations but still required to sleep with the lights on
Storming through the degradation of more arguments to be right on
Mourning the loss of innocence as I’m forced to find a corner with which to fight from
Objectification of a woman by a powerful CEO
Rectification of a statement that would never have passed “go”
Unification of a people who they never wanted to know
Stupefaction of a system that is only there for show
Culmination of a problem as we sit behind screens in isolation
Rumination of a mind inclined to introspective observations
Declaration of a manifesto by a twisted mass shooter caught before the devastation
Aberration of the justice system as the innocent go without advocation
Sociopolitical violence everywhere you hate to look
Hypercritical eyes inside my silence as they analyse a new controversial book
Parasitical environmental activists looking for the next media stunt to hook
Neurotypical minds that are inclined to complain and then to sook
Elimination of the pain that resides in each passing new moment
Annotation of the grammar as I consider the next component
Liberation of a race that has lived under the rule of a tyrant
Consideration of all the elements predicting the next inquirement
Lamentation of the time that’s passed while reluctantly convalescing
Fragmentation of a life that’s lost while psychologically regressing
Cancellation of a genius comedian speaking the truth just like confessing
Aberration at this cultural shift as I I’ll be resisting all this repressing
The End Elizabeth Moroz copyright
If we are not,
is this always the opposite of
when we are?
If we are negative,
is this sometimes appositionally
in creative tension with
when we are becoming more positive?
If we are a noticed absence
is this sometimes appositional
to we are not yet fully perceived?
And is this more oppositional
when we are an unnoticed absence?
Defying hostile misperceptions
we need never become known
appreciated
positively regarded
Or a newly observed absence
merely appositional lack of connecting
integrity waiting curiously aware
we are not yet seen
known
regarded
appreciated
cherished
And yet,
or not
still surviving
where and when
we once together thrived
Or still reviving
why
now and then
Earth once healthy thrived
wealth of positively co-relating
co-empathic
co-regarding not retributively just me
as also animatedly spirited
more positively
restoring restorying eco-we
multiculturally natural outside
multigenerational history
of inside trauma
and outside therapy
If I am not
merely the opposite
of who we are becoming
together
more than appositionally apart
Reconnecting egos
oppositionally
defiantly unhealthy
unwealthy
indigenously unwise
anthro-supremacist upstarts
and elder tarts
cuz I can't say old -arts
Here and now
pestering parents
and teachers,
nurses
and preachers:
If we are not feeling
physically sick,
is this merely the EarthTribal opposite
of when Others are thinking
spiritually ill?
Plotting, may not be planning
designing, may not be re-creating
maligning, feels unaligned
threatening, couldn't be encouraging
aggressing, feels spectacularly unkind
regressing, not impressive
dissociating, cause for not reassociating
divesting, feels like lack of co-investment
excommunicating, simply not communicating
colonizing, sounds like a malignant tumor rumor
punishing, seldom is rewarded with compassion
traumatizing, encourages self-stigmatizing
marginalizing, chronic traumatizing
terrorizing, critical drama events
Wandering uneased
wondering if we are anthro-healthy
inside,
is this ever the diseased opposite of
when we are feeling EarthTribe eased
outside?
We all I say things that we don't mean- sometimes lack consideration.
But once those things are recognized-
(shouldn't) we seek reconciliation?
The truth of that, it lies within-
the depth of someones love.
And value comes unveiled-
when hardships shared, come push to shove.
So if one, of the two souls-
should find itself astray.
It should be very evident-
the steadfast soul should walk away.
So why is it my habit-
to try and justify his wrongs?
One minute he's my bestfriend-
he next has stringing me along.
I want to make myself believe-
that it's influenced by substances.
Or likely it is driven-
by untreated mental illasses..
260 days so far-
and the light we share is dimming.
But I also know, myself,-
that it takes time to promote healing.
A fine line now presents it self-
which I've had to face before.
Is staying here enabling? -
or should I wait just a little more?
See I seek such answers-
in hopes I'll do more good than harm.
But I'm breaking my own boundaries-
not even seeing just how far.
So then I feel a disconnect-
a skewed view of reality.
Resulting in my mind-
regressing to insanity.
So now, I too, lash out-
and question "Am I being fair?"
Pressure coming from all sides-
in ways my brain can't bear.
I too have offered safety-
and endlessly offered my help.
But now, I see our failures-
are 'cause we fail to help ourselves.
Years slip by
and the world continues to turn
changing and progressing
or regressing.
Retrograde evolving
skipping thru history lessons
to venture forth
bold and fool hearty.
Looking backward
visionaries see'
what happened but was never
meant to be.
Prophets, sages and psychics
sense the madness
as it dances
brazen on the horizon.
Peace and war
are now merely words
to allow love and hate
to rise and fall.
Separation of rich and poor
stretch wide the gaps
of haves and have nots
to forever be unsatisfied.
History rewinds
pushes play and repeats
until one day
we are all
out of time.
Stop peeping through my window.
I am not, herein, on any snooze show.
You frighten me with pin-pierce-like aches.
In my dreams, you send snakes.
I am frightened of my irreversibility.
Isn't evil's mischievous causality?
I sleep and wake with thanatophobia.
Knell is heard in my ears, not Gloria.
The world seems strange to me.
My well-wishers say I'll be soon free.
Is freedom regressing within myself?
Do I need, anymore, jewels on my shelf?
I remain shocked, often, and numb.
Unconsciously, I calculate my existential sum.
Anguish and anger brew in me.
I see void, vacuum, and absurdity.
Where has my creed gone?
Why is there dryness in the marrow of my bone?
I bear everything, whether great or small.
Trusting in an eternal life towards which I crawl…
and me
on a 70 degree,
smiling
Saturday morning
(today)
when only the birds
hornets, bees, and
yellow-tailed butterflies
were busy
doing what they do
in the midst of their own
merry magic.
The squirrels
upset my feeder again
and I was sick and tired
of refilling birdseed outside
and vacuuming up pollen
inside.
I'm sneezing and
irritated, as usual.
I can't tell if that northern
mockingbird
is mocking me or laughing
at my circular frustration
this morning.
A bee is making me dizzy
as he/she zigzags
around the blossoms
of the azalea bush.
I drove my son to golf
with a huff, speeding down
the road in my tired 2007
Toyota Corolla.
I sat outside on the couch
at the golf course
where I didn't have to talk
to anyone or say anything
obvious or pleasant.
Then I found
a special spoonful
of magic.
I read a poem.
I read a poem
that reminded me
why I love poetry,
children's stories,
spring, love, and the power
of imagination.
I was losing hope
and regressing back
to previous thinking:
that only James Berrie,
Roald Daul, Dr. Seuss,
and J.K Rowling
could challenge
gravity, reality,
and the limits
of possibility.
Then, I read
'Rosewood's Snowflakes
and the Secret
of the Whispering Stream'
and I believed again.
No poet, at least to me
is anything without
the inspiration and
appreciation of other poets.
When we stop reading,
we stop having new ideas
and our thoughts become
claustrophobic closing
elevators of descending
thought.
I love to write, yes.
However,
is there anything better
than to read something that
makes your being sing?
Not for me, at least.
Thank you, dear poet.
I am your
appreciative reader,
Jennifer.
On deathbed's altar
On his deathbed
His altar
He prayed
He prayed
For forgiveness
As his mind regressed
To earlier times
His childhood
His mother's deathbed
He wanted to exit on a beautiful canvas
Happy thoughts
Beautiful colors
But his mind kept wandering
Regressing to his childhood and bad thoughts
His father ... his evil ways
His breathing labored
There wasn't much time
He remembered the day
His father came home drunk
He was only seven, then
The family Labrador was only a pup
And dad drove off with his three children in tow
And discarded the whimpering pup into the woods
As his three kids cried louder
Dad don't do that, please
Please dad he's only a pup
Dad please
He didn't want to hear us
He cursed us and said to grow up
A hospice nurse entered the room, then
Looked over him, and let him go in peace
As death's reach came closer
Shadowing his bed, as tears welled in his eyes
His life, his canvas filled with so many gray areas
His prayers one step he be, drowned out the regrets
Drowned out the grays
At that point that was best rendering for his canvas
He begin to sing a song
A happy song, a nursey ryhme from his childhood
Like the same one he sang on his mother's deathbed
And one his mother sang when he was a baby
Oh MacDonald's had a farm
E-I-E-I-O
And on his farm ... and
And before the song was over he passed
Unlike before, there was peace on his face
A calming expression
The next morning's dawn
... she left a ti leaf on his bed
connie pachecho
1/10/17