Long Repetitively Poems
Long Repetitively Poems. Below are the most popular long Repetitively by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Repetitively poems by poem length and keyword.
Holiday’s Roadside Wreckage
by Odin Roark
To live as you’re not
To be who society massages you into being
To succumb to counterfeit identity
Is to skid into mere roadside wreckage.
We pass such rubble all the time
The defective and or mismatched parts of authenticity
Merging with Nature’s roadkill
Decorated by gum wrappers
Festooned by beer cans.
Sadly…
Few anticipate the accident,
The head-on collision with reality,
Where darkness and tears
Become the black ice of misfortune.
Still…
Some will slow down enough to see when they look,
Realize that reason and logic’s purpose
Is to reveal the highway shoulders and ditches’ necessity,
Irony’s off-road demise for make-believers
Careening unconscious down life’s highway.
Roadside wreckage…
Unrewarding scenery made repetitively prophetic
Until we take the time to recognize and live compatibly
With who we really are.
Empty rooms and a lonely thought,
Reviving bad memories and the sadness brought,
So much loss with only knowledge gained,
Hurt but not broken my heart simply stained,
Resisting the urge to rebuild loves guard,
Allowing vulnerability to be seen is hard,
I'd rather hurt than not feel love at all,
That euphoric feeling is worth the fall,
If only the good outweighed the bad,
Cherished moments spent secretly mad,
Countless tears I unwillingly shed,
Repetitively killing negative thoughts in my head,
Realising the truth I no longer know,
Questioning things wont help love grow,
Changing who I am tore us apart,
His amazingness owned my heart,
Without him near I barely feel whole,
I know what it feels like losing part of your soul,
For him id fall all over again every day,
I truly love him unconditionally in every way.
Power v Light
Earth v Heaven
in a LeftBrain open NonZeroZone
CoArises a hybrid North/South dipolarizing flow
structure
Intuitive dynamic flow
RightBrain felt
as actively hoped for
oncoming climax summer
Great GreenTransition ReTurn
We long to Here/Now excel
at spring thaw startups
on-line mashups
standouts
and sit-ins
polyculturally combined
initiating transitional blood red
to rich green multicultural
gold restoring rules
restorying EarthJustice action.
Resilient change,
begun with win/win dialogical talking
yet also with more win/lose straight white privileged
patriarchal balking
autonomously stalking
planning persons
may repetitively,
even ritualistically, begin
Love life systems in Earth revolving Time
and slow grown jazz
restoring green spring thawing blues, left
loves matriarchal right nurturing
nutritional wombs
Instead of pushing upstream
against co-gravitating generations
of light and power
beyond win/lose accepting
humane ego sensory seasoned identification
left brain dominant denominating
steely mortal Final Transition
Into ego/eco-systemic regeneration
for Earth's still living,
hopefully thriving,
extended family tree
root systems
Pandemic climate surviving
through white winter
of patriarchally privileged discontent
providing
protecting
punishing
provoking
hard-birthing cold ZeroSum capital
incorporated Win/Lose
tricky
sticky supremacist infestments
Unbalancing cooperative
natural/spiritual
Power/Light
Earth/Heaven
in a LeftRight bicameral Brain
Midway open
Both/And dipolarizing
creolizing
hybridizing
Ego/EarthConscious NonZero-Zone
empowering co-acclimation
enlightening green STEAM
co-empathic experience,
sacred re-connecting Memories.
A poem unlived
is a poem merely written --
sustenance our words
let the body digest with heartfelt
regurgitation – a poem unlived
is a poem merely written
as well as tasty center, a healthy chew
needs skin-like peachy, tickly sensation,
emotive mastication – best often
lost when discarding fussy peelings
also feelings
a poem unlived is a poem merely written
endless editing...crumblings tossed
our salads before the main course
heavily garnished
each poem with a dipping
thread link – we warm at
the lava lip...deep, glowing
convulsing start, long before the page is stirred,
shaken – ready for bubbly tip
a poem unlived is a poem merely written
the sea we sail both tranquil and rage
creation an unkempt voyage of possibilities,
a nameless work rocks back and forth
cradled it longs to escape wild fluctuation
and transverse,
seeking theme and form – sanguine
transfusion, repetitively jabbing for fluid release
we call upon the mariner, captain, surgeon of
ancient crafts -- muse of many incarnations,
sage, fool of countless courts – both wallflower
and dancer – homebody and restless prancer, where
we have been and yet beam
to go – uniquely fermented we uncork
for a spotlight blow, for grand revelation
introduced with a toast, a click, a sparkly
crystal glow
staging both our fond darkness and
light – an author preparing to take
literary flight
a poem unlived
is a poem merely written --
like stopped midstream
without a river flow, banks
turned away
tepidly applauding….
A stagnant sip before the
moved-by lauding….
Though poetically smitten
dearly kittened
a poem unlived
is a poem merely written...
I awake and fall repetitively within structured dreams,
Marveled light spanning across the floor bathed in silver.
I don’t nest myself in a frame that has been shut as a shell;
I watch the hours that come with the passing of late autumn,
Struck in awe that my memories are engulfed in nostalgia,
Waiting for the warmth of a life I have yet to embrace.
The quiet dark is a heavy cloak I have learned to embrace,
Lost in the sensory skin that still wanders through my dreams.
Child’s play does not merit my sense of fleeting nostalgia,
Held securely as if adorned by this imaginary thread of silver;
The faint passing of hours is lost in the chill of late autumn,
And I still grasp that my core is locked as a perpetual shell.
But I sense that this defense is a bashful, cracked shell,
Playing as it may with the shadows I attempt to embrace.
I still seek the golden splendor in the warmth of late autumn,
Returning to the gate of those immense and unattainable dreams.
My light is still hidden there—a pot of precious silver,
Haunted by the rhythm of a perpetual and unglamorous nostalgia.
I wonder why I keep reliving this immense sense of nostalgia,
Locked in a room, finding cold comfort inside a shell.
Vivid remain the shadows of light and distant silver,
Encased still by the wrappings as if tied together to embrace.
I have tossed and turned awake in this vision of dreams,
Watching the leaves scattered across the ground in late autumn.
Caught by the faint splendor of nature’s demure late autumn,
I wrap my mind in this constant sense of nostalgia.
Still bringing forth the vivid creation of my dreams,
I have fought with the constraints of this prison-like shell.
My destiny is aligned with this truth I must learn to embrace,
Shining through the heavy darkness, a precious thread of silver.
My eyes are open wide to catch the final gleam of silver—
Fleeting and brilliant fragments left behind by late autumn.
This thread leads me out of the dark as I step forward to embrace,
Leaving the haze that fades into soft nostalgia.
I will no longer hide my fragile heart away inside a shell,
Awakening at last from the cage of these structured dreams.
I wake, unbound, from dreams to find the guiding silver,
Leaving the cold shell to the chill of late autumn.
Free from the grip of nostalgia, I step forward to embrace.
Buddha meets ... that is strange,
Announce the meet ... strange the more,
Buddha meets ... not so strange,
Announce misquote ... Buddha just wrote,
Though history ... Buddha's story,
Timing bit off ... historians scoff,
What came first; egg or chicken ... what came post; begs a question,
Christmas or Buddha ... Buddha or Christmas,
It is neither ... here nor there,
Ergo ... Therefore,
Flip a coin, heads or tails ... make your choice, while coin sails,
A guess is a guess ... my best is my best,
Here goes nothing ... substance something,
Buddha crosses time ... Christmas line a Cross
Christmas Star o'er Bethlehem ... faraway came three wise men,
Buddha is pleased with Christmas sight ... Buddha's lifetime records and write,
The nativity scene ... Buddha cites how it beamed,
Joseph and Virgin Mary, and baby Jesus makes three all the same ... Buddha scrolls down parchment that indicate advent that coined Christs' name,
Idyllic pastoral scenes of shepherds and farm animals and three wise men bearing gifts from afar ... Buddha captures the highlights breaths exhale and inhale words repetitively transform plain and not Czar.
Jesus is the great high priest
who ministers before God's throne
on behalf of the elected redeemed
being the believer's chief cornerstone
The priests in the past stood daily
offering sacrifices for sin forever
but these failed to deal with sin
only the perfect high priest could deliver
Jesus made Himself the perfect sacrifice
by one offering His own are sanctified
what a picture this conveys His grace
this Jesus gave Himself as He died
This great high priest makes intercession
for those He redeemed by His blood
so those can draw near with a true heart
full of faith like a great flood
What a privilege we have been given
to have such a great high priest
Jesus our saviour is seated at God's hand
eternally on our case never to cease
(Hebrews 10:8-18
Modern English Version
8 Previously when He said, “You did not desire sacrifices and offerings. You have had no pleasure in burnt offerings and sacrifices for sin,” which are offered in accordance with the law, 9 then He said, “See, I have come to do Your will, O God.” He takes away the first that He may establish the second. 10 By this will we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.
11 But every priest stands daily ministering and repetitively offering the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins. 12 But this Man, after He had offered one sacrifice for sins forever, sat down at the right hand of God. 13 Since that time He has been waiting for His enemies to be made His footstool. 14 For by one offering He has forever perfected those who are sanctified.
15 The Holy Spirit also witnesses to us about this. For after saying,
16 “This is the covenant that I will make with them
after those days, says the Lord:
I will put My laws into their hearts,
and in their minds I will write them,”
17 then He adds,
“Their sins and lawless deeds
will I remember no more.”
18 Now where there is forgiveness of these, there is no longer an offering for sin.
21 and since we have a High Priest over the house of God, 22 let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse them from an evil conscience, and our bodies washed with pure water. 23 Let us firmly hold the profession of our faith without wavering, for He who promised is faithful.)
What do healthy systems,
naturally spirited,
ecologically enlightened
and ego-politically empowered swell
Wellness
anthro-economic networks
wonder,
often wander around
what do wealthy mindbody systems do
when the Body squarely says
"I'm doing all I can comfortably do"
And the unsatisfied Mind asks
"Why is my need for healthy integrity
neglected
deflected
ignored
unrestored?"
at least half
my less than thriving
time
in your embodied space
In musical pace
and game face
and systems empirical place
anticipating lyrical theory embrace,
This BodyMind feels a dissonant gap
between a comfortably expected
repetitively resonant accord
in music narrative compositions
as traditionally played
and replayed pitch perfect
military march uniformity
with RightBody empowered control
Over-riding a deeply serene
enlightened LeftMind unity
preference becoming contenting content
of EarthTribe's sacred stereophonic
love story, life systemic
Waiting curiously,
and thereby less impatiently
win/lose pushing individual performance,
self-prophetically solo lonely
Waiting for our next cooperative
muse amusing immersion
peak climatic experience
designed
orchestrated
choreographed
Win/Win improvisational
in sacred
therapeutic scores
and scales
of resonant empowering harmony
enlightening multi-lateral symphony
in keys of bicameral rhapsody,
health/wealth systemic
ecstasy.
What do healthy systems,
naturally spirited,
ecologically enlightened
and ego-politically empowered smell
retell outside swell
escaping inside
consumer retail hell.
"Dream Bug"
Hour glass
rainbows sparkling
crystal grainy rapids
sliding intrepidly through life’s fingers
their coloured sands speak in tones
they are obtuse and vapid
like snowflakes they fall
confetti on my hands
Writing you
between there
and here again
a feckless court jester
fearless sometimes
walking handstands
painting portraits
in pedantic rhyme
then a page stained,
you're thumb-licked and turning
metaphors gliding ghosting
a snail trail planchette
words miss spelled
they are moulting
like white feathers from cooing doves
we are back in grades of one
singled out on school parade
while the band plays on
we are all caught
like grounded gefilte fish in class
when the saints
go marching in
we’re stopped
for covert mingling
In the office a Nosferatu principal
ignores the grief
behind his two spectacles
two sets of hands are requested straight
knuckles down and held out
the bamboo cane
coaxed no passing
secrets out,
automata face
scream time put on delay
the clock to midnight
on his crypt's wall, hidden
strikes still a braille mind
doesn't once drop the ball
it smiles ruthfully
dialling up the forbidden
chemistry of tears,
a juxtoposition
from the internal well
My opal sky suspended
heaving dreams falling slow mo
through foggy clouds
are breathed in like lavender rain
antiseptic are all
our polished stories
rehearsed repetitively
then delayed and side courted
tennis left hand
lucid inarticulate
backhanded
Love all
candy hearted
is a fresh game
pulled swiftly
from a side pocket
refuting singing flutes
whistling and caressed
by a tongue flirtatiously wetting lips
a regular, pulsating change of pitch
a romantic vibrato
recalled
he calls me
a witch
Scent of a woman
once je t'adore
now her true essence leaking
their personalities mirror switched
bloodied and cut
pieces of peace
stolen by a foolish matador
she’s holding open the exit door
Dream Bug
walks across a
marked and sullied page
lines bleeding right
Melting
dissolved
to the far corner
lid sealed
in a glass jar
left-brained
Dream Bug
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)