Long Reliably Poems
Long Reliably Poems. Below are the most popular long Reliably by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reliably poems by poem length and keyword.
In the land of the old gray mare
Six meters behind the lion’s sweet lair,
There was a gnarly raccoon who did up hair.
He took little money to be absolutely fair.
His hair styles did have a certain flair.
Disappointment in his work was really rare.
A haughty ant went in without a care.
The fashionable raccoon pointed out “your head is bare”.
The aunt huffed off mad, really on a tear.
I feel this story I can reliably share.
You see I was in there, sitting on a tiny stair.
The anger was wafting for hours in the air.
Please do not give me that condescending look, teddy bear.
You after all, are not even wearing underwear.
I urge you to tell this tale better, if you dare.
Nature loves diversity
just as air abhors a vacuum.
Stability lives in staged apposition with diversity
as Yang predicts Yin,
as time moving stably forward
predicts time imagined more diversely
as the history of regeneratively slow-evolving Earth.
Stability, without conjoining diversity,
is a highly subjective attribution
when blanketed across a lifespan,
when covering a generation of interdependent lifespans,
even when defining a genetically stable species
across many re-stabilizing generations.
What is stable within a life
is what is reliably conserved,
like a heart beat,
and breathing,
digesting and eliminating,
consumer and producer functions,
economic and political forms of conserving balance,
cooperative survival of the best interdependence
more than competitive Win/Lose frictions,
or all thoughts and feelings of stability
disappear.
Conserving stability over a lifetime
is a highly subjective attribution,
perhaps too broad and sweeping,
too global and universal
too totalitarian
too elitist biased
to be more microscopically accurate
across any one lifespan.
For example,
the growth rate of an infant
could not be stably conserved
throughout an eight-decade human life span,
nor could the constant two-year old questions, Why?
conserve stability
in a four-decade middle-age climate
of chronic crisis
about half-empty ecopolitical ego-stability.
Adolescent adventures in gender-related competitions
over multigenerational cooperations
could not stably conserve
a marriage
or a nation
or a planet
across a regenerative trans-speciating lifespan
of co-domesticating creolization,
democratization of shared wisdom,
health,
wealth.
I wonder if conserving stability
of bilateral mind,
and centering on stability with diversity body
more likely matriarchal than patriarchal,
oriented toward health and safety
across eight positive WinWin regenerations,
at eight-decades of humane life,
facing immanent individual ego-death,
could already be conservatively stabilizing
in the bicameral mindbody
of an infant child,
or even a stuck in adolescent competitions
patriarchal-dominant
nation?
At a certain age when memory activity
Reminds me of a dream I never had
Absolutely nothing happens
That hasn't happened many times
I come again, but only to forget myself
More reliably than usual
And there's another me, just like the same
Writing something, to the amazement of an old man
Who sits waiting for the train at the station
To fall asleep in the compartment.
The air can’t wait for a Friday declarationn of love
In marble hotels and fireside chairs
It's time to sneeze out some emotion
To cough it up, to blow out
All that accumulated inside over the years
That's boiled there and cooled down
And then it gurgled again one night
So comes the expected thunder, the lightning zigzags
Break the sky, releasing the overflowing downpour
And the dry silence crumbles, and the rubbish
Floats calmly from nowhere to nothing.
The slamming of doors, and a quick chat
Where it's impossible to make out a word
But that’s for the best
In the Leibnizian worldview
Nature, in her quiet wisdom, forever mirrors this reality, weaving it into the very fabric of existence. The sturdy oak tree, in a world of ever-shifting acclimate, adheres faithfully to its intrinsic nature; it does not yearn to be a weeping willow, but unfurls its gnarled branches to the sun with unyielding authenticity.
This steadfastness is its silent promise to the forest—providing shade, sustenance, and a home for countless creatures, never betraying its purpose. Just as a river, in beautiful obedience to the call of the sea, must follow its natural course without second-guessing the twists and turns, so too does the authentic self move through the world.
The river carves its path with honesty, and in that sincerity, it gives life to the valley, remaining true to its essential character. It cannot be false to the land around it because it is, above all, true to its own flowing essence.
Observe the moon, which in a celestial dance of trust, waxes and wanes through every phase—full, crescent, new—never hiding its current form or seeking to be anything other than what the moment demands. In its complete acceptance of its own cycle, it reliably governs the tides and lights the night sky for all the world to see.
Thus, the natural world stands as a living testament: When the seed blossoms into the flower it was always meant to be, its unique fragrance is a gift to every passerby. Its self-actualization is its contribution.
To be true to one's own self is not a selfish act. Still, the most profound act of generosity, for in the integrity of one's own being, a harmony is established that resonates outward, like ripples from a single, clear stone dropped into a still pond, touching everything around it with an unwavering, honest grace.
I’m gallant, sturdy, I’m reliably strong,
And I love being used every day.
I love being pulled, pushed and kicked by you,
And I love when you just turn away.
I’ll forever stand here patiently waiting for you,
I’ll wait here for you all my life.
And when you return, I love you slicing me up,
Cutting into me with your cold knife.
You leave me with those slices, those words of love,
Some also written in permanent ink.
You push your chewing gum hard onto my body,
I love that you don’t care what I think.
I’ve been here for you, loved you, most of your life,
I’ve seen you be quiet, happy, sad and a fool.
I’m proud to be ignored and used by you,
I’m your eternal wooden desk at your school.
My handsome brown-skinned husband
was once again velvet-voiced complaining
just this morning
while I was staring
glaring at my overstuffed sock drawer,
"You are so consistently ambivalent
and reliably inconsistent
I have no idea what's coming next
from your lack of ******** direction.
You 'both-and' everything
hopelessly,
yet tirelessly,
looking for the perfectly balanced win-win
in a win-lose
eat or be eaten world.
I have no idea
what you would do without me."
Although I somewhat more hopefully resemble this remark
and I can see he is not not wrong,
or right,
totally dark or totally bright,
all his "either black or white"
left-brain dominance
does sound impatiently judgmental.
So, in an impulsive moment of ginger anger,
I respond
"You are so poor
you've never had two co-incidental thoughts
to rub together."
"Is that like a mixed metaphor
or something sinister
unpulled together?
Anyway, that sounds shockingly ungenerous
from win-win you."
"Sorry if I hurt your feelings."
"What feelings?"
"I think my question is
Which feelings did I hurt?"
"My feelings about personal wealth
and left-embodied with right-mind cooperative
win-win political health
to handle your dipolar co-arising appositions."
Maybe I'll go with one old dark sock
and one white privileged.
hear the phrase all of the time,
‘It doesn’t fit the narrative,’
used in news, academia,
and in political missives,
a phrase that I find curious
since so many do seem to yell
that the narrative they’ve chosen
outweighs even the world itself.
Like Marx’s view on history,
and the old ‘progress’ fallacy,
this thought that we must have stages,
advance through them relentlessly,
but history won’t hold them up,
it doesn’t go by what they say,
there is no path man is bound to,
just crazy lurchings everyday.
Did not 2016 prove this?
The narrative was she would win,
but things didn’t turn out that way,
and folks went nuts, thought it a sin.
Screamed about it for four years,
it wasn’t supposed to happen, no!
Despite the fact, scanning the past,
that this is how things often go.
I think, perhaps, the first mistake
you see in the narrative crowd,
is simple overreduction,
to pair all human beings down.
We saw this in Collectivists,
and their misplaced faith in ‘the group,’
but others do this trick as well,
simplification hides the truth.
Humans are a chaos system,
even taken one at time,
sure, we do have our old routines,
but every so often you’ll find
we do something that makes no sense,
that no other man could predict,
that unseen burst of randomness,
is so often what makes us tick.
Expand that to the whole species,
and you see chaos written large,
chaos actors interacting,
I think that it's a stretch too far
for any human mind to grasp,
to think you could is a conceit,
too many factors change too fast
to be forseen reliably.
Add to that the physical world
is a chaos system as well,
and we’re all stuck living with it,
this makes it really hard to tell
what causes this, or changes that,
to our mind it seems randomness,
it’s plain to see that narrative
cannot encompass all of this.
Our brain simply can’t organize
or relate to something that vast,
we simplify to understand,
and there’s a great danger in that.
Some start to think the narrative
is objective reality,
and act as if denying that
is a troubling perfidy.
But when has the world ever cared
about the thoughts we apes create?
The world is not a narrative,
that is a fact we can’t escape...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Copious tears flowed gently in the dire disaster
but we're not in brutal excess.
Doom occurs precisely in a proper time
when subtlety is humorless.
Fierce passion, o heart, gaily
decorates your soul brightness.
And we are inseparably united
in our wistful sadness.
However, my conscious mind is
precisely a vacuum-sealed recess.
Who merely performs reliably
exquisite poetry for the curiousness.
Querying anxiously, he has enflamed
the dear heart of eternal nothingness.
Feasibly my vital burning has been
quenched for untold sadness.
Written: October 14, 2021
Ronald Rump reasonably roasted
Remarkable – recourse retaining rickety
rambling reverence regarding “r.”
Ronald Rump
repugnant racist republican reviled -
rickettsia re:itch ruler.
Rapaciously ravaged
revered reverential rubric.
Radical ruthless renegade
rapidly riotously ripped rigged ramparts.
Refrained retaining remnant
redolent regal, resplendent rafters.
Riches rudely ruptured rooted rectified rights.
Ruckus ricocheted revenant reign.
Ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
Rambunctious rapscallions rollicked;
rendered ruinous ramifications.
Rusty razor razing revenge rented reprisal.
Rabid rectal rictus rotten
rebranded re-calibrated redoubt.
Rambunctious revolutionaries rejoiced.
Ruffians rode roughshod
routing reigning royalty.
Reiterated revetting robust recidivist rationality.
Rode Rolls Royce relentlessly
rendering rock ribbing.
Riffraff raconteur raised reactionary response.
Revisited rancorous restrictive
redlined realigned rightward rivets.
Robocop ridiculously
rubber-stamped reorganization.
Recalcitrant reactors released rapture.
Rash Russian roulette
reconnaissance raconteurs racked rubles.
Red room reflected Republican RNA.
Rap risible rheumy ratiocinated rug-rats
revoked righteous refulgent repertory.
Rapier robed robbers ransacked
reliquary resounding retaliation.
Retaliatory redcoat regnum
reformation remembered.
Rudy robotically recoiled rapprochement
raison d'être rosily revered
rifled relics raffled.
Rookie raves ripe rackful
rubenesque reliably ranked.
Refulgent rotundity requisite
requirement re: reappointment.
Road-tested, roadworthy
redeem reapportion routed role.
Reprehensible reassignment
rapidly recognizes response.
Rife rampage removed respectability – respect.
Responsible roused restitution refuted.
Risky resultant reconnoitering
runaway railroad reverberated rivalry.
Reflexive ramrod reaction reconfirmed
redoubling ridding revitalization.
Reconfiguration realpolitik reinstated repudiation
rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.
Requisition required resilient reseeding republic.
Regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing.
Rare recount restoring recondite
renown reprobate Rapunzel.
Republican representatives
rejoice reclaiming reins.
Is it hearty to eager gaze at him with fond hope?
As the latter view with life borne, in gradual slope.
A high-flying plane to God's never-ending city.
But picking dreadful death isn't offered entirely.
Endwise, I'll once again aim to relish a joyful life.
A cheerful get-together for all who have left strife.
No also poignant anguish, torment, or intricacy.
Since I merely bear all lack, will not require any.
In eternal Heaven, God will reward and soothe me.
As we promptly proceed on a never-ending journey.
With ample time, we'll be heeded as utterly were.
To sustain in perpetuity with my brood there.
As I anxiously exit from this premonition planet,
At the point when I enter Heaven's greatness exquisite.
Nudging me will reliably provide no justifiable excuse.
In regards to this loathsome and impure recluse.
Written: November 21, 2021