Long Regularity Poems
Long Regularity Poems. Below are the most popular long Regularity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Regularity poems by poem length and keyword.
Two Thousand Eighteen
By Franklin Price
12/29/2017
Two thousand eighteen's coming
There's nothing we can do.
I could swear that only last year,
It was just two thousand two.
I should not be swearing,
It will make you older still.
Quit ranting you old codger
And take your morning pill !
Now I'm talking to myself,
Telling me just what to do,
Guess I had better do it,
I am the one to listen to.
The years pass by, who's counting?
It would not do any good.
What I like most about it,
I'm feeling younger than I should.
Last year was only eighteen,
Graduating from high school.
Or maybe I was I fifty,
Time will play you for the fool.
Been ten years since retired,
Expect to live for many more
Won't even be an octo
In two thousand twenty four
You may think me silly
And my thinking not quite clear
But I know enough to wish you
A most wonderful New Year
May you have good health and happiness
Good fortune and good friends
And regularity, with self control,
So you don't have to wear Depends
Livelihood is in clothing but deprived of its sleeves
sustenance never recognizing a path
to stability and regularity
basic needs tripling into an extended family.
Yet I survived.
Some long time ago, just any cover
above the head was enough and satisfactory.
Hustling creates a rare climbing route
while givers of admiration aren’t ready to loan it.
Yet I pressed on.
Great substance has now magnified such identity
popularity then serves a mind so ‘hand-some’
red carpets, shots and flashes, escort volunteers
sycophants in suits, money-made friends and currency mongers.
The lard labour prior to this victory, no one remembers.
Life is one, but a meaningful one is immortal
any mark can be erased but a stamp stays permanent
in a heterogeneous world both graceful and diabolic
wealth just adds a number to a ringing name
but a hand of great influence
attracts the worship of future generations.
Ages there are in which the ration'l man
And th'intuitive stand side by side, the one
In fear of intuition, or scorn for abstraction;
Irrational one, the other inartistic.
They both desire to rule over their life,
Unreal or real, counting life to be.
Prudence, foresight and regularity,
The means with which one meets needs principal.
One o'erjoyed hero disregards these needs,
Counts life as beauty and an illusion.
As in the 'case in ancient Greece, th'intuitive,
Handles his weapons authoritatively,
Victoriously than his opponent, and
Establishes art's mastery over life.
All utensils we use in daily life,
Were made from art, not from our pressing needs.
Houses, our clothes, our clay jugs, all them were
Intended to express exalted joy.
Guided by abstractions and concepts, we
Succeeds in warding off our misfortunes,
Without ever gaining any happiness;
So that's the case the ration'l man's life is.
Th'intuitive man, aim freedom from his pain,
Standing a-firm amidst his culture's frame,
Reaps cheer, illumination and redemption.
Defense against misfortunes, he obtains.
I was once advised to read Nietzsche's 'On Truth And Lies In A Non-moral Sense.'I do not read Nietzsche; I sing it. I sing 'On Truth And Lies In A Non-moral Sense' this way. I am sad to observe that Nietzsche did not write it this way but in his eloquent flowing prose. Unfortunately, when I look at such prose and skim content, lines appear this way to me.
A Poem By P.S.Remesh Chandran. Editor, Sahyadri Books & Bloom Books. Trivandrum.
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Aching
aching deep within
reaching out beyond the veil
never forgotten
All Aboard
body and soul combine
for the ride of a lifetime –
no return tickets
Am I me
I think I am me
I think, therefore, I am me
I am me I think
Astral Womb
astral absorption
blends life continually -
soul's evolution
Bloodless Bond
born not of Mother
parent of necessity
destiny fulfilled
Coming up Trumps
sharing true friendship
noisily expelling gas
no inhibitions
Conception
blending of spirits
natures nectar decanted
life's vessel refilled
Deep Silence
deep silence roars out -
in straining to catch whispers
no one can hear it
Destiny
deep thunder rumbling
silence envelopes the land
destiny draws near
Empty Noise
dry branches snapping
summer glory now faded
still tries to impress
Eternal Moments
past, future, present
moments form eternity
time stays forever
Eternity Beckons
body discarded
spirit struggling upwards -
too late to grow wings
Eternity
union of birth
individualism
union of death
Free Spirit
thundering of hoofs
freedom’s stampede of delight -
spirit unbroken
Insight
foggy perception
clarity of direction
avenues open
Night Fright
cloud creeps across moon
night whispers it's mysteries
concealed in darkness
Pendulum of Life
living in boredom
soul screams for activity
turmoil requires rest
Pendulum’s Swing
regularity
exist in cloud cuckoo land
life's pendulum swings
Pendulum’s Ride
enjoy all the ups
enjoy the extremities
enjoy all the downs
Post Mortem
Going through the veil -
Once life’s journey is a tale
Did your faith prevail
Self Pity
beyond human sight
loved ones find eternal joy
why does my soul ache
Time for Time
life's pathways beckon
moments joined into ages
cloaked by time's mantle
Time’s Call
friends not forgotten
re-union approaches
time's pathway beckons
True Vision
though vision is clear
perception can be blinded –
truth is in the soul
Senyru:
Perception
perception
is reality
apparent
Poets Write
poets write
spilling blood as ink
makes one think
Ivor G Davies ©
While the morning dozes in handedly
The sun paints inciting vegetation
Bit of greenly sward, applauds, snappishly
Moving, moping, in startled asp'ration
Lying in torment, unpretentiously
Wide-eyed land, romps energetically
Iridescent sunrise, floating flightless
Forenoon savors in sparkl'ng veracity
While the world spins in absolute hushness
And rattling in sweet regularity
Gloating tenderly, in edgy touchness
Warming the earth, raindrops, tumble from sky
And cockcrow holds its head high, in closeness
Feathered creatures in day peep, unify
Untamed wild, fills local space, once afresh
A fecund and well-tended plot of ground,
the sonnet is a stage, a sacred place
where thought and things aesthetic interlace,
where all that charms the senses may be found.
Delights of sight, propinquity and sound
can crowd together in a tiny space,
a parcel primed with sapience and grace,
where nothing strays beyond the bower's bounds.
The sonnet is an orchard, tightly trimmed,
whose regularity belies its treasure.
The pleasure we derive from supple-limbed
and fragrant trees is matched in equal measure
by fruits so beautiful and weighty, they
enchant us with their erudite display.
Time And Zero Farming
-Subas Khanal
People who are taking pictures of age
Suddenly followed by fear of death
It was not just a short story of a thriller movie
In the raw wind blowing towards the settlement
There was smell of terror
There was no such thing before
People were living excitedly under the guise of hypnosis
And were making respectively
The mountain of ego that cannot be climbed
The horizon of ambition that cannot be reached by flying
All of a sudden
The speed of time stopped
But there
Just like before
In the silence, the lizards are screaming
The owl have their own regularity
The diary of scorpion palms has not changed
Mosquitoes are moving at the same speed
The snakes are still alive
Instead, in this period
Were there people?
The most poisonous
And time is taking revenge.
Slippery insects are stuck in power
To their saliva
Translator of them to remember a little bit of nectar
Telling the opposite story
The time is slipping away like a worm
Those who walked to the next horizon
Stopped in the middle
But the roads are still paved
Who wants to bring people away
The sky is open everywhere
Who wants to say to the man - go beyond the perimeter
The wind is blowing
The river is flowing
Who are teaching people the definition of speed
But
Man
Remembering their old days
With crunchy face
Is sitting in the corner of destiny
And doing - zero farming
By sticking the identity of the 'people' caste
Me - a man is reading another chapter of helplessness.
But
I still haven't given up dreaming.
We are ocean-born—
sea-salt still flows in our blood,
tides within our veins
the rhythm of waves calls us home,
to sea shanties' pulse and chants.
Once the waves have caught
you in their woven square nets
you are never free—
the waves don't ask permission
to sweep you up, knock you down.
Water yields and bends
soft yet stronger than iron,
nothing holds it back—
learn to ride the crest of change,
let its surge flow and shape you.
Each wind wells up
sculpts waves in sand, sky, sea, sounds
with smoothness caressed
to resonate sinuous
clock-like regularity.
Clouds above reflect
the sea's restless memory—
with waves in the sky
mirroring our handset waves
we use to communicate.
Signs ripple outward—
with wave gestures on the tide,
sometimes dismissive,
dragging under, lifting up,
quelling, by just saying 'Hi'.
When thoughts of peace good will toward man
ring out this special day, shall we forget what’s
going on around us?
Life today is a sea with waves rising in ominous
regularity, and break in on the shore of our individual
conscience. Are we prepared to discharge our duty?
We have a Department of War who’s business it is to
wage war; why not have a Department of Peace whose
duty it is to make peace?
The outstanding religion today seems to be Confucianism.
We need reminding from time to time that God is not baffled or bewildered by all of man’s muddles and follies.
Is Religion based on what is grasped by brain or is Religion
based on what is grasped by the heart?
Seasons come and season go
With regularity there's ebb and flow
In tropical climes it's most about how much sunlight passes by
Summers steamy with lots of rain, so called winter time is dry
For six months now we've acclimatised, each morning, temps of twenty three degrees
It's late autumn, morning temp suddenly, seventeen, don a jumper feels like were gonna freeze
So called winter, a few real cold mornings temp is down to five, we're in a fix
We groan a bit, but soon it's warm, temp's now raised to twenty six
Raised in heavy frost wind and sometimes snow
So sensitive now to cold I wont return temp's too often way too low