Long Relation Poems
Long Relation Poems. Below are the most popular long Relation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Relation poems by poem length and keyword.
Your words, which seem to be my words,
are but footprints on the fen floor of
the white page, echoes of wand'ring lyric loping.
And if, perhaps, the P's that B have blessed,
they click, they crunch, they sweetly rot underlip.
Tearing words from mind, squeezing through that jealous heartspace.
Tearing follows, wetting page after page, piling into a formless stream.
They clatter upon the mocking whiteness, an array in disarray.
A shattered and graphic mythography, mud clots on tile
after a hike. Why do not my hot words summon Leidenfrost?
I love words, no...I love meaning.
I love meaning, I don't love
the promise of words' bringing of
meaning.
It is National Poetry Month and Shakespeare.
died today.* The first time he died today was
four hundred years ago. I am set to write and read
'publicly' (which spellcheck insists and my heart
does not insist is better writ as 'public ally') some
'poetry' while dancers carve the air, in response to,
in love with, in relation to, hand/heart drawn trees
which have drawn, well-
wishers to wine 'n cheese' 'n chit 'n chat
an opening. A gallery.
But Prince died last night.
The artist formerly known as Prince Rogers Nelson,
and formerly known as a symbol,
and now formerly known as Prince. He died.
The symbol has gone and I don't know what it means.
The words are here behind my teeth, within my fingertips,
astride my heart, tickling that lump in my throat.
It is Earth Day, too. I'm supposed to say some words and make
them meaningful. And make them sing. And ring in the hearts as though
my ditherings are one tine of a tuning fork and the other is the spirits
of those dearly beloved, gathered here. Our coils unshuffled, for in our
sleep of life what dreams may come. But we stand upon, today, both
the funeral's grounds and the corpse to be. The Earth. We are meant
to celebrate her life as she withers. Strangled, starved, and trampled. And I?
I can't.
I just...
cant.
-ShhDragon
*He died today but every day we don't give birth to him with our tongue, on the stages of our heart, he remains a fetid, rotting, beautiful corpse. ’Lo four hundred years ago he died, but every day he isn't summoned, isn't animated, he remains dead. The fact of anniversary is our failing, our repeated failings, to bring forth what might be dead.
Dear people,
In relation, Historically,
Historians heroically will fake it.
kids can serve themselves said correlation.
Take what is.
Record reels of Real confessions chalk full of truthful lessons on how to feel.
How to push for real progression.
Identify risk.
A population’s silent suggestion.
To get Upset, in that, to get up In accordance to time, all of mankind barely register. a blip on the tip of conception.
A burst of awareness, to realize each set is set up separate in each relative reality of self perception. To see in itself is a credit. To Receive it, It in itself ...
One second, on the surface of decades, in a sea of centuries before existence, well kept, below, a hush to a hum unheard and left off of all of the records.
Unaccredited, Easy targets to get over-credited.
When Run red their credits,
read: “It lives. Because I said it did.”
Who gives a line of credit to those who so desperately to get it, who need it like a medic,
But I’d wage to bet it’s to spend it in the opposite way that it’s intended.
Commend all of those that contended.
And anyone at all whom attended.
Correct view. Corrective is collective let’s give ‘cause it’s best to - to the rest I guess it’s -
Just set it and forget it. Much as distant relatives;
-Figure it’s Best to just let us live…
As long as it’s ...Immediately gratative...
Our best method, many mini moves toward moving for a more major movement forward,
Observe and compare pre-approved plans for improvements, no one can afford.
Redact, reform, literary rebirth bursts into the truth that in which we will record,
and now it’s more, collect, from pre accepted hits, Recreate in-an-organized-list. Of the top samples,
A fool and A toolbar together with helpful tips.
Slip bits in hidden messages, to send to ratchet kids to send them off,
Off on A trip, on a Botanically based-spaceship. Hope they know that it’s All made up,
While we Make believe that they arrive at home and safely they do make it.
IS...crazy. (Imagination)
The craziest. The human case, it is. Inside the human case within…Is a sharper image, of every last face that formulate one’s nation.
A Hereditarial misclarification taken down the forsaken line and educated In within the others next of kin.
-hope you’re still out there, people,
if you’re lost, you can still win.
Chains, hay forks, knives, and a hollow whisper,
become more true and sinister.
Halt in the middle of the moon light,
and a waver image soon is no delight.
Voices run a muck in the head,
so not calming you wish you were dead.
Gushing blood through the eye
not an image that you would rely.
Nails stuck on your neck with such pain
so your paralyze just little life sustain.
Hoodlums terrorizing people running a muck
did not really know they are in luck.
More dangerous beings are out their
to commit such act and with sinister stare.
Laughing with haunting echo's through
is an aspect of fear can imbue.
The wind changes direction to smother
the echoing sound of laughter.
The panicking state that you are in
soon drives a knife within.
Blood rushing out of your vain
a crucial part of your life dropping like rain.
Running without a destination
you will never reach anyone of your relation.
Sliding your body on a wall
keeping your fall in a stall.
Red eyes you can see it at night
is soon devouring you with little bite.
Changing your belief with tonics of relief
and it is to late to turn a new leaf.
Ears start to deceive the animals sound
eating limbs are chewing around.
Slowly your red eyes steadily getting heavy
is starting to take your life with a levy.
Dropping down with no attitude
and your life force slowly loses altitude.
Breathing comes not so easy
smelling flesh seems so beastly.
The change comes a desire
with frightening red eyes of fire.
Comes more lethal than the hoodlums
your heart beating like drums.
Your hand becomes all fury
claws come out and your howl with furry.
Trance your in with no one to blame
a rage thats hundreds of centuries of flame.
Rising from a slumber of long lust
a animal instinct that you can trust.
Tearing things apart with no meaning
is a trait that is so deceiving.
Red eyes at night you see in a window
like a poisonous black widow.
Keeps you in attack mode of insanity
that takes all your vanity.
Ferocious emotions eating away
the soul that you had once betray.
The echoing sounds of loud thunder
breaks away the armor with sunder.
You fall once again to torturous agony
the feeling of one self is so lonely.
Shaking in the corner you are found
with blood soaked skin you drowned.
The night becomes day cruel in some way
your memories go in disarray.
The hunters with torches and sinister look
had parted way their hands shook.
Where‘s The Bull?
A few years ago at the close of the morning worship service in the lobby of our church, a young teen greeted me with the words, “How are you doing Mr. Curtis?” My reply to him at the time was, “I’m hanging in there.” This was a time when the nation’s economy was in disarray, and my personal finances were not much better. Some weeks later I saw him again in the same area of the lobby, and he greeted me with the words, “Hi Mr. Curtis, are you still hanging in there?”. I almost answered him in the same manner as before, because things had not really gotten any better. However, I caught myself and replied by saying, “No, I’m not hanging in there. I have the bull by the horns, and he’s going down”.
I believe that the 'Bull statement' triggered something inside of me that made a big difference in the future outcome for my life and circumstances. No, my belief system did not change, but a “God Moment” came to the front and overpowered me to overcome any attitude of doubt or negativity that had existed in my spirit. A fresh fire was kindled, and a ‘knowing’ within me was born that in essence said to me that I did not have to ‘hang on’ or ‘hang in’ there for dear life. The fresh fire enabled me to stop hanging on to the tail of the bull to be slung about and around wherever the bull desired.
The bulls of life are always on the loose, and bulls will do what bulls do. We must decide and take courage to do what Christians do. Our bulls of life will never go down as long as we are fighting at the tail by hanging on. It is when we take on the bull by his horns that we are enabled to bring him to the ground.
At the time of the young man’s question, we were in a season of life unlike any we had faced before. The seasons of the year can be defined and generally described, but they are never the same. We know that they are coming and going all the time, but we never know the character and the magnitude of their impact. So is the case with the seasons of our lives.
So. What is your bull’s name today? Where is he, and where are you positioned in relation to the bull’s movements? The bull’s movements are always strong and are designed to destroy us. We must not be content with simply hanging on for survival. Because God is with me, I can trust him in the stormy seasons of my life.
10022014 cj PS
gently
before me
on a desk, or a table
rests the means to enable
me to craft a new fable
to run and leap like the sable
a squirrel scampering upon a gable
to perch on high
level with the treetops
even with the dew drops
before they appear on leaves and grass
and as the moments pass
above the uncouth, the crass, with aplomb and class
to perch on high
not a computer, monitor, or screen
but a single piece of white paper, pristine, clean
and a pencil, or a pen
this is one of my favorite things, always available again
for me to clutter up with poetry, it's a religeous experience, maybe a sin
to perch on high, and then, to fly
above this work of still life, a pregnant moment, this glory
how do i get across to a mere animal like many of we
the potential, the opportunity, the act of creation
the pantheon of art, intellect, and creativity, the nearly divine relation
of a pencil, or pen, and one single piece of paper, the correlation
of inspiration, asperation, imagination, an elations flirtation
with all of creation, and even with the Creater, all the world and history
all possible, sometimes, probable, once in a while, we'll get to Be,
creatively
this mere human being, this mammal, this fallable and maelable man
may one day be as close to God, as, say, a squirrel, a sable, a dog or a cat
created as perfect as God intended, then staying that way
us? this world is sick and evil, faded, jaded, and peopled with egos based
entirely on waste, differences of taste
being better than, largely by plan, and lies, by intention and ignorance, like flies
i was perched on high, minutes ago, almost
(computers, phah!)
there is a certain amount of gratification in crumbling up a piece of paper
when faced with the fact, that what i've created is trash
getting another one
setting it down
setting a pencil or pen on it
and starting over. perfectly. gently. what is that moment?
to fly
perfection, and me, trying to be, to become, to create,
really, it seems everything i write or draw is a waste of time
it was perfect before i picked up the pen, now look what i've done!
delete?
phah! can you think of a title, a word that defines the moment described?
p.s. i am ussually surrounded by malevolent cretins, nobody on this site is a mere animal,
my apologies if you are!
gently
before me
on a desk, or a table
rests the means to enable
me to craft a new fable
to run and leap like the sable
a squirrel scampering upon a gable
to perch on high
level with the treetops
even with the dew drops
before they appear on leaves and grass
and as the moments pass
above the uncouth, the crass, with aplomb and class
to perch on high
not a computer, monitor, or screen
but a single piece of white paper, pristine, clean
and a pencil, or a pen
this is one of my favorite things, always available again
for me to clutter up with poetry, it's a religeous experience, maybe a sin
to perch on high, and then, to fly
above this work of still life, a pregnant moment, this glory
how do i get across to a mere animal like many of we
the potential, the opportunity, the act of creation
the pantheon of art, intellect, and creativity, the nearly divine relation
of a pencil, or pen, and one single piece of paper, the correlation
of inspiration, asperation, imagination, an elations flirtation
with all of creation, and even with the Creater, all the world and history
all possible, sometimes, probable, once in a while, we'll get to Be,
creatively
this mere human being, this mammal, this fallable and maelable man
may one day be as close to God, as, say, a squirrel, a sable, a dog or a cat
created as perfect as God intended, then staying that way
us? this world is sick and evil, faded, jaded, and peopled with egos based
entirely on waste, differences of taste
being better than, largely by plan, and lies, by intention and ignorance, like flies
i was perched on high, minutes ago, almost
(computers, phah!)
there is a certain amount of gratification in crumbling up a piece of paper
when faced with the fact, that what i've created is trash
getting another one
setting it down
setting a pencil or pen on it
and starting over. perfectly. gently. what is that moment?
to fly
perfection, and me, trying to be, to become, to create,
really, it seems everything i write or draw is a waste of time
it was perfect before i picked up the pen, now look what i've done!
delete?
phah! can you think of a title, a word that defines the moment described?
p.s. i am ussually surrounded by malevolent cretins, nobody on this site is a mere animal,
my apologies if you are!
Form:
“Hear, O Israel: the Lord your God is one Lord!”
This is what was spoken by the true and only majestic one.
To a people whom He had hand chosen,
And all He wanted in return was a people to love, this is how it all begun.
And how He could just speak things into place with His Word.
When you think about the days of creation,
It testifies to the astonishing power of His Word,
Which later on would take on another relation.
The Hebrew words are El, Elah, or Elohim,
This is the name that SOME knew Him by.
Another Hebrew name that comes to mind,
Elyon meaning “God the highest”, some knew until they died.
Another Hebrew name is Adonai meaning “master”,
Telling me that I am to respect, worship and pay homage to
But always knowing that there is only one true that can be called Master.
We were made to adore, reverence and exalt Him,
This is the whole purpose of man.
But to which one can adore reverence or exalt,
If I am seeing more than one on hand.
The very first commandment tells us,
“Thou shalt have no other Gods before me.”
Which lets me know that there can be more than one,
But only one can I serve TRUTHFULLY!!!
El Shaddai was another Hebrew name He had
Which signifies almightiness or “All-sufficient”
Then we have the Hebrew name El Olam “Everlasting God”
Which goes along with one of His characteristics which is “omni-present.
“JEHOVAH” is another one of His many names which means “I AM THAT I AM,”
He was known as “JEHOVAH-JIREH” to some, “JEHOVAH-NISSI” to others.
because He is our peace and He is always present,
Being not only a provider but also a banner as a Father to His brothers.
“JEHOVAH-SHALOM” to some, “JEHOVAH-SHAMMAH” also,
because He is our peace and He is present always.
Whatever the occasion called for is what they called Him,
But His “SAVING NAME” had not been revealed yet until the right days.
but I want to as ask you this with all sincerity,
For us in this “Grace Dispensation” where do we stand.
For if you notice after the “Day of Pentecost,”
All things were done in His impressive “SAVING NAME.”
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was God,
“…and the Word was made flesh” and dwelt amongst us just the same.
I leave you with a question of thought, if Jesus was not Almighty alone,
Then when was God manifested in the flesh…Received up in glory taking the name?
Form:
I've got a fist full of Buddha,
And a fist full of Rand,
A pocket full of Jesus,
And the other's filled with sand,
That's in case I need to make some glass,
As it will proceed my foot in relation to your class,
That's a diametric description of an uncommon process,
I use it to repel obnoxious thoughts and logic,
The political storm seems to be the hot topic,
But what I see is dinosaurs in power,
Who don't want to get off it,
The ball, you dropped it,
Gigs up, you lost it,
Wings done, let's sauce 'em,
Awareness has blossomed,
We done playing possum,
You're boss, we want him,
Bring him down to the bottom,
And let's make him aware of our consciousness.
Are you really missing this?
Yo this is Excentrix,
Rich's psyche been known to split in an instant,
I represent a hulk like samurai witch,
Equipped to solve problems via the switch,
Cuz the man inside there is just a little kid,
See I tell the truth even when I lie,
Puttin' juice in busted axioms like Pie in the Sky,
"Yo dude, you know that's an idiom?"
Suck it, you're an idiot,
Guards, get rid of him!
I'm a linguistic mystic,
Suffering from a transpiritual sickness,
Where I'll always be a kid,
And live through my own deliverance.
Witness as I stab my own body of Christ,
Feels so nice to bleed emotion into the night,
With Excentrix as my weapon of my own conception,
I can justify intervention into the seas of deception,
Cleverly apply art to the lesson,
Of respecting yourself and recognizing transgression,
I don't need a stinking studio session,
Just flex my pen and in the end I'm winning,
My mental digestion invents a feeling,
That feeling going to climb me to the top of nimbus,
Behind us is a portal to another dimension,
Forgot to mention I'm the medium for the transmission,
I must be the exception because I'm good at listening.
I flip furniture when pressured,
Then turn a lecture,
Into a story told next to a lectern,
No disrespect sir,
But I'm disturbed by your indiscretion,
So curb your enthusiasm,
Before I burn this whole place down with plasma,
I got the EMP flow I brought back from the Matrix,
Excentrix is MVP for knowing when to go back to the basics,
Take it from me,
The artistic process is worth taking a stab at,
Just to prove that we're all humans,
And American Celebrity is mostly a magic act.
Really? Is that all you are good for? Know your worth!
This is to bring awareness to outside relationships, cheaters, settlers, people who prefer to settle and have relations with someone who is in a relation with another. They do not respect nor care about the damages, affects, or consequences that can result from cheating or having an affair. Whether male or female, it applies to both cases.
If you are knowingly cheating with a married man, you are agreeing to contributing to being a person who administer “Roadside Assistance.” You are called upon when he is “Broke Down,” even if it’s just a minor breakdown. When he is broken, mad, sad, or had a lover’s spat with his wife, he runs to you for assistance and you accept the role as the mechanic. When he is having problems with his starter (yeah his wife), and his starter is acting up, he should make efforts to find out what the problem is and the solution to fix it. That does not mean to go out and get a new starter.
Understand this ladies, he doesn’t really want you, want you, he just needs a lil assistance to temporarily get his mind off the one he truly loves, the one he’ll never leave you for. So let’s say for instance he has a flat, yeah, he’s losing air, he’s got a slow leak, he’s running out of gas, he’s feeling down and he calls you cause he needs assistance. And what do you do when he needs assistance? You assist. You nurture, you cook, you listen, you sex, you pump him up, add fuel to his tank, fix his flat and then he drives home. Yes, home, home to his wife. Your house is not home. Did you think your house was home? Really?
Girl STOP! You are just somewhere he pulled over to the side to get a quick fix, a jump, an oil change, a tune-up…
STOP! JUST STOP! STOP, STOP, STOP!
Stop being on call providing 24 hour Roadside Assistance.
Shake that ssh... off and turn on them headlights, the ones that’s on inside your brain. Change your way of thinking and KNOW your worth!
You are not half of a woman that deserves half of a man. Don’t settle for a piece of man just to say you have a man. You are not no second string, no boo, no side piece, no shorty, no lil chick, no mistress, no fling, no bit..h, no whor$…
YOU ARE AMAZING, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL, YOU ARE A QUEEN and you should be treated as such. You are so much more worthy and deserving of better!
(A lone old male voice whispers to his loyal dog)
She came at midnight
Last night
You know
As the fireflies outside in our winter garden
Glowed
In a red dress of moving red lips that whispered of new dreams
Knocking like a reborn Anne Rice
Lestat
At my heart's window
Pleading with my soul
To cross the threshold and be let in
But I the stone warrior
Whose dear love had already departed
Turned and walked back into the darkness of my loneliness
Broken-hearted
For when true love once calls
In your lifetime
And is then suddenly recalled like a severe blow
To the amygdala
All one can do
Is wallow in limbo
For true love is like the holiest of dreams
One of The Universe's best documentaries
Memories
Forged by Brigid to endure
To be kissed
And be revisited
Filled with lovers and even enemies
And consumed in any rare moment
Like expensive Hennessey
Bright white candlelights
Providing light
In a new darkness
And a holy flame to warm any soul
On any given night
As it clings on to memories of all the people you once loved
And all the things you used to do
To ride through and hold back any new storms
Or midnight visitors like that succubus last night
It's why I put my faith in true love and Jesus Christ
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Anne Rice Lestat:
A famous vampire in a novel by Anne Rice.
Amygdala:
Your amygdala is a small part of your brain, but it has a big job. It's a major processing center for emotions. It also links your emotions to many other brain abilities, also links your emotions to many other brain abilities, especially memories, learning and your senses.
Source: Google
Brigid:
She is associated with wisdom, poetry, healing, protection, smithing and domesticated animals.
Cormac's Glossary, written in the 9th century by Christian monks, says that Brigid was "the goddess whom poets adored" and that she had two sisters:
Brigid the healer and Brigid the smith.
This suggests she may have been a triple deity.
She is also thought to have some relation to the British Celtic goddess Brigantia.
Source: Google
A succubus (pl.: succubi) is a female demon or supernatural entity in folklores who appears in dreams to seduce men.
Source: Google