Long Representations Poems
Long Representations Poems. Below are the most popular long Representations by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Representations poems by poem length and keyword.
The world of Expectations
Expectations, do – in all likelihood – become frustrations.
They, in their painful anger, do become manipulations,
of both – both the aching heart and the fragile soul
and of the one’s you seem to want to know
and would prefer to show.
So, what one must do , is set them free, let them go
so that the seeds, one needs, in order to sow,
might have a chance – into something – grow.
Expectations, therefore laden the load, hamper creation,
making for uncertainties and difficulties in any situation.
WORDS
Words fly upon gossamer wings of invisible angles,
from sources of universal / internal, unseen energy,
to and through the fragile tips of my crystalline,
clear fingers, like specks of light, fireflies
out of the darkness of my mind, to light up,
- in shades of gray or rainbow colours, bright -
the empty spaces that wait to be filled.
Those pieces, - eight and a half by eleven – of paper,
pages I write, - for the sight of others – of shadows
that are cast upon the retinas of the minds that look,
upon, read, see, understand the essence of this old man.
Dawning of this day has come to us in untarnished,
Salvador Dalí, blues, chaperoned by a blinding glow
– that bright, life sustaining, golden orb radiating down –
giving light to this early mornings life, life in this tiny,
portion of this great blue planet – my multi coloured tomb,
my four cornered room, where loony size orbs , of violet,
indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange and red orbit, slither,
– in their cloak of rainbow colours – these coloured comets,
their tails streaking across, upon, all-around an ocean
of material objects, objects of historical value,
objects – a visual representations of , pages of my history
basking in the light of beautifully coloured flakes of rainbows,
drifting, rainbow specks, coloured splotches splashed across
the eggshell white bars of this prison I sometimes inhabit,
this tiny little universe washed in history and colours.
This beautifully coloured day was brought to me by crystals,
chipped at – pieces cut away by the hands of artisans –
by the hand of man to allow light – white and clear –
to be refracted, reflecting, releasing to sight, that which
the human eye is unable to comprehend, to see.
Rainbows filled my day – too bad they could not stay.
Then again, that would be asking to much, isn’t that the way ?
B. J. “A ” 2
October 27th 2002
The October storm
In the valley would form
The rain and hail damage would perform
And meteorologists would predict another such storm
In the old house man is holding his wife’s pale hand
Hoping she and the unborn child would live not die and be buried in a woodland
For a doctor he has send with the voice that would both plea and demand
But before he gets here past the moorland
It will take long time doctor won’t be here soon
While meteorologist predicts in a couple days a typhoon
The man looks through the window seeing red visage of harvest moon
Even if his child will live it will die of hunger if man can’t harvest the grain soon
Before typhoon arrives or valley dries
As he is thinking that his wife dies
But the child survives
And on the bed it now lies
Man gives the child bottle and goes to harvest the grain
This entire situation is enough to make him insane
A miracle he now needs to attain
As he is cutting the grain his spirit is in great pain
The air is dense and muggy and expression of moon fills man with fear
When on it lines like scuffs begin to appear
The scuffs are representations of scuffs on Madonna’s facet he would hear
And when those reach to her heart means apocalypse is near
He walks through his field undaunted
Even though he fears it might be haunted
Something primeval whispering in the wind is last thing he wanted
But the echoes of Gods worshiped before man had grain now sang their ballad
Suddenly he saw visions of strange creatures from the past
But it was the goat walking like a human that appeared last
Its dismal shadow on the man it would cast
It said if he wishes his son to live his own soul forsake he must
The man was ready to do what from the devil he would hear
But suddenly huge owl would appear
Its presence filled the goat man with fear
And soon devil would disappear
The owl would suddenly transform
And less terrifying was her form
It was a man’s wife smiling at him against the storm
They embraced knowing what miracle divine would just perform
Freedom with far Freedom with Order with less Order with far
less emphasis on less emphasis emphasis on less emphasis
Order - on Order - Freedom - on Freedom - ___________________________ ____________________________
F Far-reaching Fundamental O Opportunistic Onerous
R Rectifications; Receptivity R Responses Regulatory
E Effectuating Expressly D Diminishing Dogmas;
E Evolving Empowering E Empirical Emplacing
D Determinants Diversity; R Rights; Rules
O Ostensibly Optimizing L Lessening Limiting
M Maximizing Meritocratic E Effective Equalitarianism;
L Laissez-faire; Lifestyles; S Subgroup Subverting
E Exhorting Enhancing S Sureties; Safeguards;
S Superior Systemic F Fostering Formalizing
S Sensibilities; Subjectivism; R Regimens Restrictions;
O Obviating Operationalizing E Eroding Engendering
R Revisionism; Responsiveness E Egalitarianism; Exclusivity;
D Demanding Developing D Devaluing Demonizing
E Exceptional Eclectic O Objective Oppositional
R Resourcefulness. Representations. M Messaging. Movements.
___________________________
Above are these competing views
Of social construct ends
And choice is not to win or lose
But how they all should blend.
The truth is each is built into
The fabric of our days
Requiring that we must pursue
Sound, realistic ways.
Judicious blend is what we need
To keep us on due course -
With none promoted to exceed
And sanction our remorse.
Life behind these eyes
This old body, harboured among so many artifacts.
My Spirit wanders the spaces within my four cornered rooms.
My Soul searches for meaning beyond the bars of my steel cage. .
My heart beats against the walls of my memories hoard.
Blood pumping, awakening the essence of what is stored.
My nights becoming the life what should be my days.
Slipping my mind into neutral, sound and electromagnetic waves carry.
Living vicariously through the eyes, imaginations, the talents of others.
Writers producers, directors, camera create and bring to the screen.
That one eyed monster, the cathode tube that carries one beyond.
Awareness of space time continuum, its linear journey lost to me.
Consciousness of times passing no longer has any relevance.
Seconds into minutes, hours, days, weeks months, years, a lifetime
One elongated stream, without destination, meaning or substance.
Carried off into the sun set, carried on the wings of solar winds.
Particles of time, connected, never seen by these tired old eyes.
Reaching, with both hands into the ether, the four corners of this universe.
Habits, rituals, routines dominate, no longer cognizant of times movements.
Days have become night, many hours spent in a bed of water.
Lost in dream land, where the subconscious brings to life ones history.
Stories told, be they positive, negative, indifferent or be they illusions.
A surrealistic representations of unfinished business, of desired unfulfilled.
On occasion, a vision, a premonition, something beyond a reflection.
For the most part, a desire to, once again, to experience the essence of.
Passions, desires, a life no longer afforded a disabled, indigent senior.
Only in the images played out upon the back of ones eye lids.
Painted upon canvases, woven into tapestries, displayed on TV screens.
Phantasmagorias that elucidate a life, some regrets, a life consumed.
B. J. “A ” 2
January 24th, 2021
I thought that's what you meant?
There is so much meaning there.
I get it now.
It's clear as day,
once you understand it.
But, dear reader, once you have the answer,
never question it.
Never ask the author to explain.
Never ask others to explain what the author meant
for the source will often say:
"Believe what you will"
"What I meant is on another Planet"
"Maybe you read in there, something that was truly never there"
"Why should I enlighten your load with my burden"
"You'll read into it :
what you want,
what you need,
what derives from your drive
what keeps you alive and ticking"
Meaning is so demeaning.
I thought that's what you meant?
Number 42, is the answer to everything!
Fate is random decay to dust.
It's a certain curtain to disorder.
The harder you look the less certain is the scene.
Entropy quells and dismantles every
semblance of meaning in structure,
with a long half-life, bound in time.
Order's fate is disorder.
That's the way it's meant to be.
Meaning's fate is dismantled sense.
Enjoy the entanglement!
Meaning is so demeaning.
Dear Reader - please, please, please
crumple and tear
all these words up,
and eat them.
===============
Douglas Adams author of 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' (HG2G)
“It was a joke. It had to be a number, an ordinary, smallish number, and I chose that one. Binary representations, base thirteen, Tibetan monks are all complete nonsense. I sat at my desk, stared into the garden and thought ‘42 will do.’ I typed it out. End of story.”
But it can't be true, surely not! It came from somewhere meaningful! Why that number = 42?
===============
"Hungarian Festival"
Pro bono bands gradually allure the crowds
Their effort is unmatched while working unique instruments
To make people understand where they came from
Let us not forget our many predecessors as they sing
About the land beyond our own
Loud speakers tantalize throughout the day
A foreign and beautiful demonstration of national pride
Adorned in gowns and bonnets of floweresque appearance
Little girls dance about in the street displaying lessons they were taught
Cute little sensations build the fantasy and wisp so many away
To a place they never knew of others and their founding roots
A new experience teaches newcomers that their world is not the only one
Where a rich culture runs flamboyant, it is a rare chance to shine
Spices in the air fill ones nose with enchanting scents from every food station
Dishes of colbasse and saur kraut put together with loving care
The dilemma of so many is because their stomachs are only so big
But good spirits will come not from a cup but from the heart
As good people try tirelessly to share themselves with others
The museum evokes a thoughtfulness for the furniture and paintings
Century old representations that the Hungarians were always clever
Sculpted pottery of undecided interpretation warm you up for the air blown glass
These people are to envy for a world outside our own
They are bountiful and harmonious and plentiful
An inspiration to make our own contribution
We should all be as complete as them
Things happen. Life unravels
The earth spins, perpetuating processes
And as we recount our travels
Our hearers marvel
Stories of prophets' heads on silver platters
Representations of old things
And we should be somehow flattered
By images of our saggy bottoms and flaked skin
All the expected supreme annoyances
In bags of leftover promises
Encased in increasingly cryptic codices
We're patching up until the expert arrives
I look forward to an immense surprise
For now, we can all be Lazarus
Sitting at the gate, all cadaverous
Hold my wings while I fly
I don't want to fly too low or rise too high
We are all Lazarus, waiting to exhale
Picking up crumbs, pushing carts
Domesticating stray dogs. Swatting flies
In alleys and under bridges. What a sight
It's like writing a hard exam
Roger, confirm your position
I'm flying over the flyover, over
Ah, Roger
Things happen. Life unravels
Things fall apart
Unexpected turns, astonishing events
Surprises and disappointments
Spilled milk, blood, sweat and tears
Broken hearts and shakedowns
Past failures and future fears
Betrayals, travesties
Misplaced loyalties. Broken trust
Uncollected royalties
Missed opportunities, misplaced sympathies
Mishandled moments. Misplaced comments
Unforeseen challenges. Broken sewers
Outbreaks and breakouts
Roger confirm
You are observing this insanity
I'm flying over the fly over, over
Ah, Roger
Form:
Upset about a non-sense fight with Manny Pacquiao (Almost double his weight), I had been training for a while,
with my dorsal digital nerves and tendons of the flexor digitorum profundus without enough blood supply, delusional, paranoid as We all are,
I call my mobile phone company,
I can't pay my bill I'm injured and my electrolytes are not balanced I want to lower the bill because I am being robbed
-Request accepted sir
-Thank You I am going to change my company
-A lot of people complains about that Sir...Yes...Hum...How old are You..I can see, really! That's nice, I understand O O OK,
Music (Iggy Pop Sweet Sixteen) Sir can you please rate my performance we do understand problem solved.
-Alright , Sorryyy!
Awesome in Every Topic Costumer Service a Masterpiece
3 weeks later
An assistance mobile phone to disabled and lower income families was born
Two visits to the Hospital one to Crisis other to the Mental Ward
Some years after I am helping my disabled mother with the application to the company
And as I had been till today confused but Who Cares?!
This story is true (All the Mental explanation and formal representations are welcome and will be respected has the Interpretator property that I do respect for the empathy and sympathy, Since was not shared in any other professional or personal setting. Thank You All, And A Big Hug To My Mentor(a)!
Assume, for a moment,
That yesterday wasn’t quite as it seemed.
You found yourself in a state of reflection, where you glimpsed the light,
Only to awaken from what felt like a troubling dream.
The sky appeared less vibrant, taking on a gray hue.
The individual in the White House was absent, unseen,
Leaving the populace with little more than their hopes.
You may recall having read somewhere
A poet often comes to terms with their own emotions.
Perhaps that’s why some verses find resolution in an Amen.
I fondly remember sitting in my small chair during preschool,
Anxiously awaiting my name to be called,
Hoping to hear it pronounced correctly.
Yet, my teacher sometimes faltered—Waverly, Wabney.
Imagine, for a moment, if I had stood up
And confidently declared it, without hesitation.
I often felt a heavy heart when my best friend’s name was called,
And she wasn’t there; I tended to presume the worst.
I often found myself in an emotional state, attuned to the feelings of others.
From a young age, I expressed myself in vivid colors.
I held tightly to my crayon box and silly putty,
Creating representations of my emotions.
As adults, we sometimes hold onto grudges and bitterness,
And I recognize that I am not immune to this; one wonders when it will truly end.
Broken mirrors litter my path
And out of the cracks seeps my blood
Soaking in puddles of my tears
And twisted tendrils slither out
Reaching towards a tormented sky
Where I lay on the puffiest cloud
My face is gaunt and a sickly white
I lost my identity
Finding only distorted representations
In what others thought of me
For years I grew like a balloon
Without even realizing
And now the tendrils grab me
Bringing me back down to Earth
And the struggle is so real
Most days I feel empty inside
And I've got nobody in which to confide
So I cry myself to sleep
Hoping if I lose the weight
I'll accept myself
But it's never been that simple
Because of my lazy eye
So I shatter mirrors
Splitting my knuckles open
I'm dead inside
Wondering if I ever felt alive
And now I've lost my comfort foods
So there's no distraction from the agony
I'm lost inside my thoughts
Possibly a prisoner
All I wanted was to feel beautiful
But these shattered mirrors paint a different picture
If only one could see into my soul
Maybe they'd find something beautiful
Maybe a man worthy of love and adulation
So I fight hunger and depression
Just to find a fraction of that inner beauty
So I can plaster it over my outer ugly
It's all I have to live for
Even if I'll never be perfect
I'm losing the fat