Long Repression Poems
Long Repression Poems. Below are the most popular long Repression by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Repression poems by poem length and keyword.
I’m not sure I believe in religion
Not as explained in the Bibles I’ve read
I don’t think heaven or hell
Is a place we go when we’re dead
I don’t like thinking of life as a test
Being judged be some omnipotent God
Although I believe in the difference between right and wrong
And you might find that rather odd
For survival of our species
It’s important that morality rules
And to explain the unexplainable
Gods were created to appease the fools
To make mankind survive and behave
He needed to follow a righteous path
So heavenly reward for doing the right thing
Was invented in a story that would last
I am impressed by man’s ingenuity
And acknowledge that religions help individuals cope
I would not try to influence you not to believe
If that is what gives you hope
But much evil has also come from these beliefs
Discrimination, hatred and repression
Doesn’t matter which religion you practice
History has taught us this sad lesson
I feel that I am merely mortal
And lack the capacity to understand
Whatever the reality of God is
It can’t be known by a mortal man
This is the struggle with which I wrestle
Lacking the faith to believe what I was taught
But if we stuck to the basic dogma of most religions
I think the similarities would all be caught
Do good and love thy neighbor
Treat others like you want to be treated yourself
Then who cares which God you believe in
Or what bible sits on your shelf
I have listened to,your stories
Heard your talk on Human Rights
It’s warmed the cockles of my heart
On many a Bastion night.
The next time I come across,
And I know I surely will
The indiscriminate victim
Of a Taliban kill
I won’t get upset
Or have any sleepless nights
I’ll know the Tali did it in defence
Of his version of Human Rights
And when we leave this country
After years of combat and bravery
And the Afghani woman are
Returned to their Burkha’d slavery
And ISIS cross the channel
Because our security is so bad
And unleashed chaos on the streets
In pursuit of their Jihad
And they demand Sharia law
In my native England
I’ll try to stay calm
And try to understand
And I won’t get upset
And try not to hate
Those religious fanatics with views
Five hundred years out of date
For I have listened to your story
Heard you speak of Human Rights
It’s warmed the cockles of my heart
On many a Bastion night,
Written sone years ago, but the repression goes on with women being denied education and treated like chattels/
You are sweet of face, you have a certain grace
that both nuns and priest hotly desire.
The scent of sex is in you
it rides you.
The musk of a tigress permeates through
as you read a Sunday sermon.
God is back in His changing room,
He looks through a mirror
at your long legs and short skirt
turning this way and that
admiring what He sees.
The congregation sings a hymn
swaying from repression to raw lust.
Your voice rings out breaking glass minds.
I know God loves you
for He has love for both the tiger and the lamb
in equal measure,
and we are all prey to the innocence
of His nature.
Observing the realities of today's society
While contemplating the legacy we leave our children
Seeing only degradation of morality
And destruction of purpose
As we liberalize a generation
Making murder of the unseen child
Obsession of materialism
Exploitation of the human spirit
Not only acceptable
But encouraged
Dividing by status
With governmental repression of achievement and the repeated errors
Committed three centuries ago under puritanical rule
A legacy of blatant stupidity supported by
A not so supreme court of lawless
And a House of Misrepresentation
Promoting failure
Demoralizing effort and vision and
Creating entitlement minded robots
Of human flesh and programmed minds
No longer able to rebel only to accept what is, as is
A cry for the return of the patriot
A need to resurrect the glory
A reversal of the demise of faith
Restoring hope
An assault on ignorance then will become
A legacy of love
At the worst times
In the darkest possible night,
When the shadows crept
And the winds howl
The deep dark orchestrates a song.
And I would like to think
That the devil didn't fiddle
But he sat first chair.
I noticed the band of demons,
And my soul was scared.
I didn’t notice the conductor.
And I barely heard the song
Bawled up in the corner
I cried and cried.
I didn’t notice the spirit,
But I felt the gentle nudge.
My hand was firmly gripped.
As I was led to the stage.
I wasn’t handed a violin, viola, cello or bass,
There was no chair for me to sit.
Just one empty spot
And it was on center stage
Where I was handed the baton.
Instead of knowing the song
The sheet was blank;
And the light came on.
Hurt took the piano
And aggravation the violin
Broken picked up the microphone
And the song of repression began.
Its not the song I wanted to play
And its not the song I wanted to hear!
But they were my best players
And their music my worst fears.
I would have rather hear Love on the piano,
And Ease on the violin,
I wanted a happy story
Where a happily ever after could begin.
At the worst times
In the darkest possible night,
When the shadows creep
And the winds howl
The deep dark orchestrates a song.
It is up to me to hand out the music
And up to me to count out the beat
It is up to me kick the devil out of the first seat.
I wrote the beginnings of this poem this spring when my youngest daughter moved into the house with my husband's sister. It was so painful. I finished the poem this fall. 10/13/2018
I wonder if a difference
between a mature
health care bodhisattva
and a less experienced
potential peace messiah
Could be uncovered by noticing
a wisely curious genius
gathering all sacred passionate values
While sadly believing
s/he can access only the wrong
insufficient
benighted
disappointing
unwoke audience
And/or these personal cherished gifts,
enlightened powers,
have ripened at the wrong cultural time
for acceptance
in a deeply wounded
weaponed climate
of narcissistic
anthrosupremacist discontent;
A depressing
wounding
isolating experience
that EarthTribe is not ready
to receive these sacred wonders,
this profound meaning,
sacred win/win resolutions
to stubborn win/lose secular problems
Of insufficiency
mortality
disease
trauma
unease
stress
anxiety
distress
Political repression
economic suppression,
lack of positive
health wealthy global impression.
While a healthier
more resonant Bodhisattva
serenely celebrates
compassion's ecosystemic resilient wealth
already at Right and Left hand
Potential to no longer divide
EarthTribal humane audiences
from Earth's sacred journey performances
into divinely gifted co-empathic meaning
Between personal power space
and politically enlightened timeliness
Seamlessly reconnecting
in-between our humane place in salvation history
and ecosystemically redemptive
divine revolutions,
Daily spiraling spins
of Earth's empowerment
around enlightening Sun
Centered synergetic,
universally co-gravitating
unitarian ego-systems
of nonviolent spacetime,
win/win bodymind
inside/outside
deep and widely shared
communications
Of One egocentered integral
mind-full web
reflecting ongoing revolutions
within an active not not Zero
universal expanding
yet not extracting system
Divinely vast
timeless communication
sacredly unfolding
Abundantly underestimating
Healthy EgoLife needs
are already Wealthy EcoLove wants
deeply
widely felt,
integrity's potential
co-redeeming value.
I came to poetry a novice, a neophyte, a fledgling
oh sure, I had written as a child . . .
but that was just the writing of a tenderfoot
as my life became more grievous and woeful
I found myself mournful and melancholy with a
a dolorous melody replaying over and over in my head
the years of repression and suppressed pain, and denial
had left me with shyness and inhibition . . .
I needed to write my sorrowfulness but felt a barrier
confused and struggling with my thoughts and words
I would flounder, fumble, tumble and stumble
with fear- then, I took the plunge . . .
I had spent a lot of time in the beginning reading poetry
most poems were beautiful or lovely sensual rhapsodies
but many were just big words extravagant to me . . .
some just a pompous bombast of rage and ranting
lecherous and blustering and well not my style
I wanted to write poems with depth in every form possible
but, I read on and inside me a fire burned . . .
it had no flame but was just a glowing smolder simmering
I suppressed my passion until I was totally ready
the timely care and preparation served me well . . .
and with divine providence- I let my pen drip on white
it dripped and dripped until it was bleeding words, syllables, phrases
finally, I was able to set my emotions free . . .
____________________________
May 21, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/Taking The Poetry Plunge
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1145-887-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the Eight Word Free Verse Challenge
sponsor, John Hamilton
Second Place
Sometimes I need to hear
what straight white male dominant privilege
what systemic racism
what degenerative ungreen anthro-supremacism
what xenophobia and yin-repression
what homophobia sounds like hate
and smells sour and acrid and decaying
Before I can fully appreciate,
invest in,
and investigate what regenerative EarthJustice
and multicultural communion
eco-womanist green resilient health care trends,
climate optimizing wealth
inclusively democratic cooperative reweaving
looks like
And feels more like
a robust organic garden
Than extracted
exhausted
deduced-reduced
irreparably severed
fracked
fornicating
capital-hoarding oil and gas fields
Or kleptocratic
partisan
military-industrial business as usual parties
Where not wearing masks
has become a denialist symbol
of health disdain
as compared to financial profit worship,
Climate and culture of corporate wealth-fundamentalists
and anti-SacredEarth evangelicals
and unpatriotic disowners
disloyal to Earth's healthy democratic constitution.
Sometimes I need
a degenerative religiously fascist reminder
Where there is no healthy EarthCentric culture,
There could be
No resiliently regenerative
multiculturally democratic
healthy climate of nonviolent remediation.
There’s no spirituality in religion
as there’s no religion in spirituality,
One is religiously unspiritual
The other, spiritually unreligious!
The gods of man’s many religions
are not the God of spirituality,
One is the fallacy of the mind
The other
is the understanding of consciousness;
One exerts utmost influence, in spite of
its indisputable lack of authentication,
The other,
addresses our sense of rectitude
which alone can help us see the truth;
One is sought outside of oneself
The other dwells within one’s self.
The gods of man’s religions are ephemeral
bounded by the mechanics of one’s conviction,
one’s own perception, prejudices
and are based on illogical contentions,
fed on a daily diet of rites and rituals
fantastic myths and bombastic lies.
Religion is designed by man and is beset
with fear, greed, lust, guilt, and is self-serving,
Over-run by power and selfishness
akin to any system of tyranny, repression,
totalitarianism, despotism and absolute rule.
God of spirituality is universal—
Omnipotent, Omniscient and Omnipresent.
When you can see God everywhere,
In the magnificent sunrises and sunsets,
In the majestic mountains and the serene valleys,
In the soul-stirring seas, and the awe-inspiring heavens
In man’s loves and noble achievements,
Why do we need to be told what to believe?
How to live our lives?
Or what happen to us after we die?
With our intuitive thinking, call it commonsense,
We all can attain the truth and wisdom of living.
~05/20/21
~Contest: Religion or Spirituality
~Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
She sits composed, not as a woman,
but a lavish landscape of angles and cubes,
a psychic collage of splintered dissonance,
framed in fractured facade of anguish.
The body portioned into pile of unsettling planes,
the face split between skewed profiles,
the misaligned eyes displaced downward,
the limbs contorted into implausible grace.
All depict the geometry of emotion,
not a reshuffled shape of reality,
an embodiment of inconsistent identity.
The jade fingernails disrupt
the flowing fractured form
with glowing color of concealed liveliness,
or of radiant rebellion, a disguised diligence
that something within her
opposes the distorted repression.
The facial deformation isn’t a style preference,
etched on unusual emotional visage,
but an artistic assertion of authority.
Yet, with the display of her amazing vivacity
defacing doesn’t demolish Dora Maar,
but accentuates her charisma.
Inspired by Dora Maar With Green Fingernails by Pablo Picasso