Long Replacement Poems
Long Replacement Poems. Below are the most popular long Replacement by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Replacement poems by poem length and keyword.
My phone died this week.
I’ve ordered a new one—
I’d like to say I’ve enjoyed the silence,
just lo-fi music playing, slipping into a flow state.
But I’d be lying.
Only a handful of friends to tell.
Enough to register
the tragedy of going off-grid
like it’s 1503—
where I imagine
I’d be decent
at throwing logs on a fire,
but useless at hunting.
No survival instinct.
I get sentimental when it gets quiet.
It's surprising
that this is how I finally understand
what Black Mirror really meant.
Slick glass, dark and dead,
reflecting back:
smeared rectangle
of myself
slack-jawed, staring.
Neither of us blinking—
only one of us
alive,
allegedly.
I’d had that phone
since before the pandemic.
It held more than my cache:
its shape, my memory—
my hand
aches
for its frictionless drag,
but I had to get a replacement.
I picked the same model,
not out of loyalty,
just me hoping
it would backfill the imprint
of its ancestor.
I'm not too proud
to admit
I miss the constancy,
companionship,
the fugue-state afternoons
given over to scrolling.
I’ve been more alone than I expected.
And lonelier still,
realizing
how much of me
was never here to begin with.
It's a disorienting false north,
this gatherlessness; I'm still sitting with it.
By the way, it's untrue news
that tech is soulless—
it's been up
at least one mortal ever since
my husband powered it on for me,
a gift,
ersatz affection
in response to a lack of discretion
he'd only recently admitted.
And get this: apparently, I cry now.
Despite half a life of spent
convincing myself
I’d therapized it out—
that tears were just poorly timed
girlish things I'd evicted
due to their silencing effect.
I was wrong,
they were only hiding in the attic—
turns out all this noise was just insulation
from every soft place.
Evenings with him feel longer.
He’s older, closer
to death than me. He’d hate that I said it.
I won’t tell him. We’ve learned
to steer clear of each other’s art.
No rules about who we kill
on the page.
Best to leave it that way.
I wonder if we'll go back to old habits.
I think I already know answer.
This screenless space hasn’t been clarifying—
just absence,
with no metaphor to cushion it.
At the risk of repeating myself,
I do know this:
I miss her, Distraction—
History of the Star Spangle Banner
Maybe idea of Major George Armistead
The glory of Americans who scan her
Of Mary Pickersgill she was begat
The creation of the original flag
Be still a subject highly debated
Mary Pickersgill was not one to brag
Old Glory she made, beauty wind inflated
Armistead first requested it to be
A large garrison flag for reason
So the British have no trouble to see
Good to see our flag has flown in season
Fifteen colonies equal fifteen stars
Having eight red stripes and seven white stripes
Red and white stripes run in parallel bars
She flows in glory apart from other types
Rumor has it two glories were first made
For a small and a large Mary did charge
A document exists a bill was paid
Though small one be lost or is still at large
The varied small Star Spangled Banner
Never made it home to the Smithsonian
Would be nice to see displayed in some manner
In national museum the large is on loan!
For Contest Dazzle us with History
For Carolyn Devonshire and James Frazer
The History of the Real Star Spangled Banner
The creation of the original flag is still a debated subject.
However, the general story accepted by most historians is that Mary
Pickersgill was commissioned to make the flag by Major George Armistead
for $405.90. Following the victory at Fort McHenry, the flag was preserved
by Col. Armistead and it remained in the Armistead family. A smaller one
which was flown during the actual battle, and a larger one that was
flown as a replacement immediately after the British retreat.
This was a common wartime practice of the period.While no one
can say for sure what really happened, documents exist that show that
Mary Pickersgill was paid for two separate flags, a small one and
a larger one. If the smaller flag exists, its whereabouts are unknown.
In 1907, George Armistead’s grandson, Eben Appleton, expressed
interest in donating the flag to the state of Maryland or to the city of
Baltimore. After discussions with Maryland’s governor and the Mayor of
Baltimore, Appleton eventually placed the flag on loan to Smithsonian Institution
and it was displayed in the Hall of History at the National Museum of American
History. The loan was converted to a gift in 1912 and can still be
seen at the National Museum in Washington, D.C.
A world changes course
expelling the good grim reaper
twisted joke
entering this forbidden zone
called democracy
Careless acts of violence black and white
mothers burying their children
so much tears soak the very grounds
salt of this earth
where moral order breaks down
in societies failure
A bad replacement shapeshifting demons rule
Where no longer they care about peoples suffering
removing God's teachings from schools
so our forefathers died in vain blood of our ancestors
Taking away human rights
amnesty international laugh a minute
lawless democracies without proper vision
killing without just cause tyrants bragging ill will
Without facing the justice of all lands
Murder is murder so says the judge above all
stealing is robbing without deeds aquired
laid down by the Lord on stone himself
We all know its the devil's playground now
Darkness of your souls reek with many lies told
When fancy coated words fall out vomit
from the mouths who ware suits
As that is a trademark
of the biggest robbers there is
Stealing even by stealth or forced to ground
poisionous morals killing the seed of truth
sewn from the garden of lust dark or light
Open your eyes blind beggars of hell
disfunctional greedy merchants and war criminals
alike you all sign a pact together like wolves
we see the suffering and torment of your weapons
tipped with poison blaming everyone but yourselves
Creating hate through your neverending violence
amongst the innocent victims raped of everything
God be merciful unto your rotten souls
Damning the victims with your pride filled agendas
we all become victims if we sit without a voice listen pride
Peace is the way forward that looks above and beyond
stand down dark spirits your lust knows no bounds
drunken with greed
Light of our saviour will come
one day supreme commander
I will kneel to the creator
When this earth goes into darkness again
we need to pray for salvation
no longer do we walk
but stumble in the pathway
of his loving ways
Rock of faith we stand strong
for our childrens sake
to give them a future generation
Mercy shake hands
make Eden beautiful again
The signs are coming to pass
to celebrate the happiness and joy
Heaven above the angels will sing
People don’t think of you the way that you like
who do you think you’re conning when talking all that ite
blagging everybody you come into contact with
proud of the first opportunity to take advantage of gifts
boasting about your blagging skills as if you ain’t known as a blagger who can’t be trusted with anything always a late giver backer
when the first impression you make shifts to a shady replacement
to never reappear after that first meeting you’re different
and when debts ain’t paid you never blame yourself
you go and point incompetence at somebody else
so it’s never your fault and therefore cannot be helped
treating friends unfair
until there ain’t no one there
because you just don’t care
but in your stories you swear
that you’re selfless and prepared
to save everyone who is facing despair
after blaming the individual for their own fate
comparing the fact you made decisions that they ain’t
because you make the right choices and have superior vision
sounding authentic to those who don’t expect to hear fibbing
and when you big yourself up there’s also somebody digging
and though they helped you back up you forget that as you kick ‘em
saying you wanna help as you continue to hit ‘em
acting like it’s all their fault as you leak criticism
combined with a sad face to ensure the sympathy’s given
because you lost a mate
when they fell into this place
but last month they were fake
and it was too much to take
for now they’re nowhere to trace
as they avoid you with hate
as you remove yourself
from any involvement or blame
and act all confused
saying they must be insane
because to not like you
must mean they haven’t a brain
and then you emphasis this point
by saying they’re the slow train
who you have to help by shining
a light that explains
the simplest interactions
that they take the wrong way
in fact if you speak to your friend
they would be right as rain
as the fact they don’t like you
is their stupid mistake
The narcissist in you evident
cold twisted malevolent
suffering though you’re innocent
from someone far less intelligent
now confused by developments
believing things deemed irrelevant
a friend you’ll save cus you’re brilliant
despite the painful experience
All you need is the will. Where there is a will, there is always a way.
But, my polluted mind couldn't see the path to success ahead.
No map exists to sobriety, or a magical compass to recovery
The lifestyle I once lived, so empty and desolate.
Only able to completely rely on my own self.
For recovery, you need people. And, people are willing to help.
I surrounded myself with all of the acronyms.
AA, NA, MIA. I felt lost in the madness.
A peer in recovery helped me find a start; a Detox program.
These words so unsettling to any real drug addict.
But, this time I was done. Beyond done, Completely over it.
Their medications allowed me to surpass that three day barrier.
A mark of achievement I had so many other times missed.
By day seven, I started to feel slightly more normal.
A pre-dope normal, one that existed before the drugs took over.
But, then I opened my eyes and I saw the doors.
I knew exactly where those doors led to...
They led to the street. They led right back to the needle.
So I just stayed, and moved right into their inpatient program.
A place I swore wholeheartedly I would never go.
The twenty-eight days can be summed up in one word: Reassuring.
Each day I grew more confident, and began to feel reassured.
Just when I came to an acceptance that recovery was truly possible.
Once again, I stood weary at those same two doors.
I decided to speak out. It came from a place of fear and despair.
I was directed into a new form of safe haven.
IOP, with an emphasis on the "intensive."
For four hours a day, for four days a week, I worked at recovery.
Each day building upon my new foundation of inner strength.
When, and only when, I felt completely ready.
I left IOP, and again I immersed myself in those acronyms.
I also found a healthy replacement for my abundant time.
The gym became my therapy, relieving me both body and mind.
Working out was my new "high." Only this time it was healthy.
Through the entirety of this life changing experience.
I learned many new things about life, about myself.
Proving that where there's a will, there is definitely a way.
It took first reaching rock bottom, and the absolute lowest of lows.
to learn first hand, that you can't reach the top, without first being at the bottom.
part 1 of 2
Annick (my 28 year old sister) came down to NYC, from Boston, for a day visit. It was one of those warm, cerulean days between Christmas and New Years. Annick’s in a surgical residence, in a pandemic, but still somehow, she got away.
We’re dining on a shaded, outdoor, sundeck - I arrived first, by a moment but then the elevator opened and Annick emerged, looking like a model - familiar but I don’t know - more completely adult - more than ever like my mom. It was all I could do not to weep for happiness when we hugged.
After that long hug, Annick gave my clothes a slow, censorious looking-over. When my mom and I shopped for “school clothes” last year, in Paris, I bought some stunning designer (Anna Molinari) clothes - only to find out they were completely out of place at Yale. Now they’re sentenced to a trunk under my bed and my replacement clothes are from FatFace and Patagonia.
I’ve been dressing to disappear but I wanted her to see a “new me.” How I’ve survived in a rough, academic country - not just survived - but thrived. I also wanted her to think her sister was beautiful and hoped I didn’t seem too strange. She cupped my chin - just like my mom does - “You look wonderful,” she said.
Annick mentioned we’d have company for lunch but she was alone - then this tall, fair-haired, man was with us. He slipped his arm around Annick’s waist and they smiled, together. I’d never met one of Annick's boyfriends before so this was a little disconcerting - part of me wanted to pull her away and say, “MINE!”
Annick made the introductions, “Anais, this is Gerard - Gerard, Anais.” Gerard leaned into la bise then half hugged me, patting me bearishly on the back. I decided he was too tall and too handsome and began to examine him for flaws.
He wore a dark-charcoal-gray cashmere suit with a light-gray oxford-cloth shirt. “Are you always so dapper?” I asked? “I wanted to look substantial,” he said, with a very slight French accent. He held me at arm’s length. “You’re definitely sisters,” he said, smiling.
We settled in. At first we were a little stilted with each other, uncertain how to best introduce ourselves. Annick said that Gerard is a “Child Neurologist.” “Funny,” I said, “you look older.” and he laughed. I was warming to him.
Helen's brick house
was built by her grandpa James
with a specific design in mind:
the front black cross-windows
riminded one of Christ's sorrows;
when the off-white roll shades opened
the neighboors saw Helen wearing a rosette
on her blouse she herself had created
on a foot paddle sewing machine...
copying it off a Cosmopolitan magazine.
The porch's wood was cracked and faded
not a perfect dispay for begonias,
amaryllis, hydrangeas and roses
that Helen watered on drought days
to perserve them, never to be whitered
by a lack of rain when the grass yellowed.
A staircase led to her bedroom kind of mystique,
the queen bed was covered with macabre art linen sheets
and had a wrought-iron bedframe almost an antique;
often Helen heard whipers of folks who had lived
there, and she wondered if it was her imagination or dread:
" Dead people are harmelss, only living people harm others! "
No garden in that neighbohood was prittier than hers,
sweet Alyssum, purple Ageratum, white Alemone growing
under Japanese maples and strawberry trees so tempting
made it so harmonious and so lively that amazed others;
would it been complete without the merry warblings
of the canaries,of the mockingbirds and of the wrens?
The roof shingles needed replacement, they often fell down on piled logs,
and Helen stocked them up neately in a corner to save money later on;
her income was kind of low and expensive utility bills kept on coming in,
the pension her husband left her was spent on food, not on luxury goods.
When rain fell the front lawn and garden became fens able to transform
their loveliness, hundreds of leaves were left by the last tropical storm;
and Helen was saddened staring at the devastation of the lovely grass,
only the day before she got rid of those ugly weeds hiding the wild violets
and the crimson clove along the fence where birds built their nests...
I can imagine how helpless she felt seeing such devastation in minutes!
The faded timber door fought severe winters and they lasted night-long,
spring brought pleasant days, it stood open to greet their fragrance;
no thief invaded a house protected by good spirits and benevolence,
God was there and that made Helen feel at home where she belonged.
You may think that Alopecia is a very simple disorder.
Your hair falls out, you buy a wig, you're good.
Wrong, in every use of the word.
Going bald means struggling to find yourself beautiful.
It means wanting to look at yourself in the mirror instead of avoiding one.
It means being able to run your hand across your head without cringing.
It means going out in public with a smile as a replacement for a wig.
Having Alopecia forces you to choose between being strong or being weak.
No matter what you choose, you are forced to come out strong in the end.
How can you not be?
When the children run away from you and refuse to touch you because you might infect them.
When the ignorant girl with the long blond hair takes pictures of you, making sure you catch the disgust that fills her expression like rotten milk.
When passerby stare and point at you shamelessly.
When the first thing that people will forever notice about you is your lack of hair.
When you have to force yourself to smile; ignore the people that refuse to stop staring at you.
When your eyelashes fall out, and you have to pick yourself up because you're the only one who cares enough to do so.
When your hair falls out and your friend tells you to get over it, expecting sympathy the next day when she comes to you in tears over her bad haircut.
When people remind you that nobody wants a bald girlfriend.
When people tell you you're beautiful even though you're bald, and you wonder why you can't be beautiful and bald at the same time?
When you wear a wig out in public, and people are surprised that you can be pretty.
When the children that you love can't be forced by their parents to smile at you.
Having Alopecia forces you to choose between being strong or being weak.
The countless hurdles you must jump to feel beautiful and loved ensure that you become strong.
Alopecia cannot be classified as simple, no matter the medical process.
The physiological pain that one with Alopecia must endure is trying and often times confusing.
From the children to the elderly, all those who have Alopecia, I congratulate you.
You are all strong and underestimated human beings.
Bald is Beautiful.
*Had to rant somewhere, I'll make it better later*
Our States Our Country
By Franklin Price
1/10/2019
We have all but forgotten
What our founding fathers meant
To create a central government
Where representatives are sent
A common place for our protection
To determine laws for all
Otherwise the states autonomous
On their own to rise and fall
Three representative positions
Are elected and are sent
The House of Representatives,
The Senate and the President
House of Representatives
Representatives by population
Never less than one per state
The census every ten years
Adjusts this aggregate
The greatest populated states
Have the most to say their will
So the people who reside there
Send more reps up to the hill
Each of these representatives
Have a district of their own
So no person, who resides there,
Ever has to stand alone
The voters in each district,
For their own rep, have a say
Replacement, if a poor choice,
Only just two years away.
Senate
Senators are two per state
To provide an equal say
Six year terms are for stability
For this governmental way
One third of all the Senators
Are elected every two
So in a span of six years
They could all be done and through
Some are calling for term limits
As you see, they're now in place.
If you, the voters, are not happy
Then the egg is on your face
President (Executive)
I've covered most the government
The ones in Washington
I've left the highest for the last
Yes, the president's the one
This position is for only one
And is at the very top
Elected by the whole U.S.
It's the place the buck will stop
The Electoral College was created
For this one and only seat
So we the people have an equal say
No matter where we eat
The states with most the people
Still have the greatest say
But the popular vote, because of them,
Doesn't always have its way
The popular vote, of every state,
Goes to this college place
In numbers of the House and Senate
To settle this elected race
The one with the most college votes
Totaled from each state's first choice
Is elected to be president
That way, all states have had a voice
To do away with this procedure
Could allow four states to set the rules
The other forty-six could be,
Unrepresented, stupid fools
"Revolutions"
7
We are all for the Fall
in the seasons of His hands
where He pulls in the strings
of all His puppets
calling in cold legions
in a bitter Winter bleeding
before Spring arrives again
bathed in Light
and a new Summer stands
7
(LadyLabyrinth/2020)
Rev 21:5
Gen 1:1-31
Gen 2:2
Rev 4:5
"Keyboard Milk" / Royksopp
https://youtu.be/dF8ojPeSo3s
(1)
Revolution:
noun
an overthrow or repudiation and the thorough replacement of an established government or political system by the people governed.
Sociology. a radical and pervasive change in society and the social structure, especially one made suddenly and often accompanied by violence.Compare social evolution.
a sudden, complete or marked change in something:the present revolution in church architecture.
a procedure or course, as if in a circuit, back to a starting point.
a single turn of this kind.
Mechanics.
1. a turning round or rotating, as on an axis.
2. a moving in a circular or curving course, as about a central point.
3. a single cycle in such a course.
(2)
Revelation Logic/ The Number 7
https://revelationlogic.com/articles/the-number-seven/
(3)
The Nuremberg Chronicles
(3a) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuremberg_Chronicle
(3b) http://scihi.org/nuremberg-chronicle/
(3c) https://www.faena.com/aleph/articles/7-days-of-creation-and-their-most-beautiful-illustrations/
(4) Nuremberg
1561 Celestial Phenomenon over Nuremberg
The Battle of Nuremberg
(4a)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1561_celestial_phenomenon_over_Nuremberg
(4b)
https://science.howstuffworks.com/space/aliens-ufos/ufo-history2.htm
(5) Art & Celestial Phenomenon
(5a)
https://listverse.com/2016/04/24/10-historic-divine-paintings-that-clearly-show-ufos/
(5b)
https://hermoments.com/paintings-with-ufos/
(5c)
https://www.florenceinferno.com/madonna-of-ufo-painting-palazzo-vecchio/
(6) Art & Faith
(6a) Salvador Mundi
http://www.picknettprince.com/salvator.htm
(7) Bible/Clouds
Acts 1:9-11
Matthew 24:30
Rev 1:7