Long Relegated Poems
Long Relegated Poems. Below are the most popular long Relegated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Relegated poems by poem length and keyword.
When no longer self absorbed, as in with self serving goals, including striving for enhancing spiritual enableability, the body apparatus hollowed out, relegated to the role of a material interface to navigate earth life, presence integrated therein with lower and higher aspects of mind in alignment with the glowing heart, detached cessation thus of self aware awareness in the vibrant void of emptiness throbs with magnetic bliss energy in fullness, transfixing attention in rapture of ineffable ecstatic tranquility.
spontaneous yawn
ushering a blissful dawn
each moment reborn
28-August-2020
Armed with abundance, infinity dictates
Charmed by assurance of blossoming supply
Fruitful hands encircle orchard's offering
Boughs bestow nourishment ripe flesh provides
Harrowing hunt, road collides with horizon
Narrowing options ominously herald hardship
Frantic hands grab due to doomsday prediction
Equity halted by maneuvers of manic narcisists
Swarmed in hysteria, sugarladen bounty dissolves
Adorned in disproportionate, diplomacy plunges
Acres of empty hurl dust in despondent swirls
Haze of delerium hides awareness of repugnant
Wallowing tune laments removal of drumbeat reliance
Violin's climbing petition infultrates silent confinement
Fist clenched hands maintain mantra of social distance
Banned comrade closeness hardens as poured cement
Contagion inflicts during quarantined two weeks
Sensation sells subscription to scare's scripture
Relegated ill recovery seldom quoted in statistics
Proclaimed isolation presents a lopsided picture
Miniscule channels travel disease, tattered moth
Musical tempo tangible greets society post virus
Makers of policy release kite string gradually
Infliction's ticket is onward immunity acquired
Strategy of sequential exposure fraught yet nessesary
Accurately extracted cure promptly recognised
Flourish of hands amassed tune an instrument of trust
Resuming rhythem surges communion revitalised
We’ve introduced our grandkids
To the music we adore –
That’s classical or rock & roll;
They always ask for more.
For Henry’s coming birthday,
I procured a perfect book –
An intro to the orchestra;
A CD was the hook.
Describing all the instruments,
Composers for them, too,
It indicates which track to play
So all will get their due.
I realized, though, belatedly –
You’ll know before I say it –
That Henry’s house (unlike my own)
Has no place he can play it!
We listen to the radio
(Alexa helps, as well)
And in the car, for longer drives,
Some kids’ CD’s do dwell.
But modern homes have relegated
CD’s to the past.
Like hi-fi’s, LP’s and cassettes,
Of course, they couldn’t last.
Once, we were all sojourned learners awakened
seeking a home and some safer haven
taking we wanted in our misbehaving.
Foreigners, aliens, wanderlust trail blazers with roots
settling on this land serene and mute
staked a claim with much dispute.
The natives here, the first true Americans untouched
accepted all until we betrayed their open trust
and with time and weapons the bodies fell with mighty gusts
as we pushed them down repeatedly with our land lust.
Today, so few remain of that simple race
relegated to a reserved unseen patrolled place
as hunters and settlers took their place.
Too few of us can say honestly we are unstained
as the original people barely survived and remain
deprived of liberty and freedoms in another's domain.
Today there is so much less of field and wood
never once was it questioned if we should
as we spoke need of the greater good.
Raped, the land, the rivers and the streams
stealing away the hopes and natural scenes,
where is the American dream?
Many people in this world remain rare
each wanting more than their share
some taking it without a care.
Build me a fire deep in the shaded tree woods
let me keep it burning as long as i could
with smoke rise in memory of the nation that stood.
Let it send a message of hope, dreams and prayer
a question without answer of God's despair
at how we live down here.
Shed a tear, for every fear
now deprived of natives, buffalo, rabbit, deer,
too frequent the story reappears
as history repeats itself in places far and near
ever the same story throughout the years.
Dancer
by Michael R. Burch
You will never change;
you range,
investing passion in the night,
waltzing through
a blinding blue,
immaculate and fabled light.
Do not despair
or wonder where
the others of your race have fled.
They left you here
to gin and beer
and won't return till you are bled
of fantasy
and piety,
of brewing passion like champagne,
of storming through
without a clue,
but finding answers fall like rain.
They left.
You laughed,
but now you sigh
for ages,
stages
slipping by.
You pause;
applause
is all you hear.
You dance,
askance,
as drunkards cheer.
NOTE: This poem imagines a dancer who appears onstage dressed to the nines, doing an elegant waltz. She then proceeds to perform a “bump and grind” striptease. The “stages slipping by” are the better stages for her talents and the stages of life. She is past her prime, deserted by her friends and relegated to burlesque. Keywords/Tags: dance, dancer, wine, women, song, sexy, burlesque, striptease, waltz, waltzing, applause, drink, drunkards, neon light, strobe, flash, flashing, crystal ball, chandelier, lap dancer, exotic dancer, stripper, peeler, strip, striptease artist, Moulin Rogue, passion, champagne, gin, beer, social
Dumbfoundedness still prevails three weeks later...
when held spellbound courtesy grifter
Flim-flam man left lasting emotional whiplash
his derelict perfected artifice
to hijack every last cent
smarted me with indelible smash;
living daylight delivered I kidney you not
envious affliction affecting
last named member and founder of the Byrds
with crosby, stills, young and nash
entire corporeal being turned to hash
condemned state yours truly relegated,
cuz cremation unaffordable, though pulverized
and transformed into powdery ash;
Impossible mission to conceptualize
transmutation into cremains, the brain
lodged within me noggin
ill equipped to envision mine gray matter
even after asking mister Google to explain
that cremation takes place
in a specially designed furnace,
referred to as a cremation chamber or retort,
and exposed to extreme temperatures –
up to 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit–
leaving behind only ashes.
Following the procedure,
a cooling period required
before the remains can be handled.
Yours truly can best attest,
when succumbing as victim to virtual heist
I most likely flip flopped
into one percent atavistic Neanderthal state;
a surprising revelation
23andme genotyping results
yielded said presence of proto human
after analyzing DNA
courtesy saliva sample from eldest sister.
No other logical satisfactory explanation doth chime
lapsed consciousness, hence reasonable rhyme
whereat one twenty first century mortal man
virtually travelled in time
cast into nasty, shortish brute
obliging deft inducement
outsourcing valuable dough.
Though aforementioned far-fetched notion
smacks of high skepticism,
yet no more ridiculous than
hominids over bajillion years springing forth
from flotsam and jetsam in the ocean
I may as well broach another theory of creation
(just came to my mind),
that divine omnipotent wizard
sprinkled magic potion
across primordial sea
after watching an advertisement promotion
claiming said product
contained the seeds of life and white lily.
Convinced that snake oil salesman
wrought deleterious influence
triggering a debacle that rocked
the financial market,
(albeit constituting one singular naked ape),
an attorney general based in Philadelphia
believes I presented a convincing case,
which hopefully witnesses
recouping all or most of my funds.
I have
Been
Relegated
Condemned
To follow
The straight
And narrow
Path
Of Poetic
Minimalism
I shall not
Stray
From behaving
In this way
Its the straight
And narrow
All the way
From now on
For me
Straight Arrow
No more
Than a few
Words I can
Say
Its the new
Style
Of Poetry
DONT stray
I shall abide
Keep things
Straight
Narrow
Like
The Indians
Arrow
I shoot this
Poem
Over your way
Do not laugh
Nor should you
Play
From now on
Its the straight
And narrow
All the way
If you wish
Spaces
That’s ok too
As Long as
You know
Straight and
Narrow
Is still for
You
That’s the rule
So don’t be blue
If you cant beat them join them!!!!!!!!!!!!
Notes: The
formatting issues of
short lines and
double spaces seems
to be fixed, however
if anyone needs help
to fix their posts
feel free to email
me, be happy to
assist.
I stand corrected, there still seems to be issues. However, it seems if you post
in the Chrome browser is ok. I have tried in in Firefox and sometimes it works,
and sometimes not.
There was a time when freedom
was found outside the dictionary,
in the hearts and minds of men;
we wrote our songs, sang and
danced, proud masters of well-tuned
instruments and pen – how I long
for those days for men to be free
again: regain their balls, before
freedom falls, to the feminine within –
good to be soft and cuddly...but not when
wars to be fought; good to have a gentle
side, but testosterone men should
never deride, for the enemies will
have their hide, make slaves
of decaffeinated warriors – not one
rebellious allowed to survive; their
women and children relegated to
obedient consorts, surplus, roasted
alive....
Truth was on our side,
Lay with us in sprightliness;
The natural relegated itself,
To machinery and forcefulness.
Guns and ammunition raged,
Tanks threw balls galore,
Necessity was with the engineers,
And not abundant nature’s store.
But nature consolidated and was with us,
For though winds blew and we did hide,
We did not ever too deeply question them,
Because they never questioned our pride.
There can be no redder flower,
Than the poppy, steady and strong,
Alluding to life-cycle continuation,
By germination certain and long.
Hope lies with our thoughts,
Our desire for peace and love,
And in the poppy we can hope,
That animosity we come above.
1. A heart in need of a permanent home
but not this vagabond in a split shift
who always flunks honesty.
Promises in tonnage but so eolian
forward motion in a reverse gear
yet I am so blind to dislodge the clues
of his true self.
Chorus
Smiles so wrongful
touches of blackmail
words in capital letters
coming out only in quotes
sweet passions of adulthood
relegated to a juvenile aim
proof or none, his intention’s sugar bad.
2. His care of my sepal is still obscure
an acquaintance but already playing lovey-dovey
his eyes on my inners, they appease
his impatience is clear
the rate at which I click is ponderous
putting him in the nick of his fantasies.
Chorus
Smiles so wrongful
touches of blackmail
words in capital letters
coming out only in quotes
sweet passions of adulthood
relegated to a juvenile aim
proof or none, his intention’s sugar bad.
3. Yet another deity of romance
with cups of passion filled with bella donna
he gets his meals in between legs
and sees me as the next bloater
an albatross is the last thing I need
cos I can’t go back to the same spade
to fetch out dark sands.
Chorus
Smiles so wrongful
touches of blackmail
words in capital letters
coming out only in quotes
sweet passions of adulthood
relegated to a juvenile aim
proof or none, his intention’s sugar bad.