Long Revisits Poems
Long Revisits Poems. Below are the most popular long Revisits by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Revisits poems by poem length and keyword.
Kiss by the Passing Breeze of Awakening
Dust of divine whimsy
Flutters softly on unconscious cheeks
With ephemeral dawning
Fleeting like the flash of silver sandals
In moonlight - here then hidden -
Stepping out of the opaque
Soul stirring from oblivious daydreams
Stepping into moments of classical
Lavender-rose moments.
The leaven of breezes in stardust essence
Flares in lambent clarity
Caches of chimera, that drain the heartbeat,
Shrivel in bursts of cheeky shooting stars.
Aroused from the depths of sleepwalking,
Grace notes float on rose scents
Harvested in potpourris for strangled screams
Scrambling through midnight fogs,
Sentience revisits in soft swirls
Awareness, roused by reveille,
Stirs caressed codas in soft preludes,
Awakes in fresh mindful raptures
Nurtured by a passing angel kiss.
Attempts to cull the human unborn have caused mass controversy
despite the widespread damage this can cause to the population
under stable growth moving forward killing the weaker of our group
Whom are unable to defend themselves
from this violent abuse system ever originating
crushing morals branded as an inferior being
Devaluing it's space of origin with these loveless acts of aggression
towards another comes these deeply engraved remarks
twisting truth turns venom and drinks from the souls of those innocent bodies
Sacrificed as something rejected unworthy of love
murdered not being up to standard classified worthless
challenges the political role as lawless agendas creep
The wide scale damage this causes on society
at large it mounts up to an industry with inbuilt uncertainty
revisits our future as the signs of chaos condemning basic rights to death
sheep sleep surreptitiously
spiders spin shredded silken seances
song birds sulk soporifically
rabid ravens rave rapturous rhapsodies
capriciously caught in clangour
I die dire deceptive dreams
tepid tears tear through torment
viscous vapours vacate venom
pus pelts my pitiful pillow
oozes omnipotent oblivion
alliterations alight anger
freeze fervent fear
reiterate raucous refusal
ruminate reverberate rancid rile
I wake the wake of weary waste
recycle random rubbish remonstrate
then morning mourns Morpheus
mocks mountains of morose meanders
day dawns dubious daunting delight
as I tease temptation to take a tally
send syllables into space and shuttle
to morphing metaphors from my mind
until excruciating echoes become echelons
of cumbersome circuits and contempt
when restless rest revisits and revolves
recoils at respite and the raven raves
20th December 2020
When I was young, my Grandpa sometimes used
expressions that seemed corny at the time.
“The Lord gave you two ears, but just one mouth”
revisits me each time my face turns red
because I used my mouth more than my ears.
Fast forward fifty years. It’s very late.
My aging bones won’t get the rest they crave
until the lines my lamp illuminates
convey precisely what I long to say.
I then will lay aside my well-worn book
and favored pen, released to seek sound sleep.
Slight hints of Grandpa often make their way
into my poems. Those, I plan to share
with grandkids, who will smile and say, “That’s good,”
but not with much conviction! They will learn—
I hope—as I did, many precious gems
lie waiting to be mined from “corny” lines
composed by aging poets in the night.
Date posted: June 25, 2020
Poetry Contest Title: The Old Scribe Placed 12th of 13
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Vogon ReVisited—
Voltage elect potential energy tween two points ver vnit vharged;
Visible referring light spectrum intergalactic, electromagnetic,
vadiation that has a wavelength tween vanometers;
Can be seen by the human eye.
Invasions, implosions humanity asks WHY?
wazz!!!vitellogenesis b gruntions of diverse dumberly dew vibertarian;
Volume the amount of space objects subvance occupies encloses velocity;
Rates of change position vogaon’s willing to salvage respect to time;
Vapor a substance in gaseous,
phases at substance’s critical temperature;
Volatility vaporize given temperate vogonized;
Look at em, better recognized…
Vacuum space that is absent of matter,
wazz!!!vitellogenesis b gruntions of diverse dumberly dew vibertarian;
Verify ...
Vortex Valence to electrons,
the electrons atom’s outermost shell;
Vectorized quantity viscositized fluid’s resistance to flow;
Vacuole a membrane waste, in vogon molecules;
Vesicle organelle fluid Volartarian vocal valetudinarian, Value!!!
Vocha!! Vasodilatations as they gooberly glues clues choice boast;
Volartarian vocal humanitarian lizards;
valetudinaries vogonians manure smelly be gross locket;
See them evil vandalizations those gobblesr warts grumbles the host rocket;
See the visiting valiens vogonians reaching earth;
Imagine with me what's a vogon worth;
As once again they revisits earth…
Vocha!! wazz!!!vitellogenesis b gruntions of diverse dumberly dew vibertarian;
RUN SAVE YOURSLEVES THOSE Vogon’s are here on earth…
7/24/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Written for project North Omaha Writer’s Group assignment 2019©
Truth burns at the center of all occurrance,
it is a heat that motivates appettites to enlarge,
truth is a multiplier of quests,
satisfaction always arrives at the porch of a new path,
truth does not reveal endings, only beginings that behave
like currents pushing towards a shore,
truth demands stamina from the finder as well from the seeker,
it dashes in delight from the tired,
indolence receives no invitation from truth because laziness is a debtor,
a fish with no gills,
credit walks not from the bank steps of truth,
one must exchange, transact with it, as wanting is to worth,
Truth holds strength in one hand and suffering in the other,
He gives quarter and meal to surviving artificers who are organizing
their talents for future enterprise,
to the brigand and beggar He puts on a pewter plate
bland beans representing distance,
disillusionment preceeds the knowledge of utility because
new truth means fallacy is an ancestor,
an anthropologist is truth, observing your traits,
orbiting the ability of your judgement,
some of Truth's revelations are more expensive than others,
sometimes He will take your Past and grin like a haughty antique dealer,
truth will invest in your Future as a gambler revisits old glory
speaking fresh fortunes in cold ears,
He is an opportunist incessantly offering information for spirit,
without the ignorant truth becomes a vagabond in a vineyard of sweet rust,
the secret of truth is that it is ours
if we wish to be honest with ourselves,
truth is the inheritence of the strong who know how to make it,
oppossed to those waiting for it -
J.A.B.
Our current situation,
in the evolution of our species,
is one in which the ego has forgotten its true role in the psyche
and has usurped the role of central regulator. Carl Jung
Sometimes the best gift you can give yourself
is to forgive yourself
for not thinking and feeling and acting
like your healthiest self
on your best day.
Set yourself down in an empty therapy chair,
but keep your interdependent biosystem dancing,
choose your words to yourself kindly
with active curiosity
as your body reminds
rewinds
revisits
remembers
your listening empty-chaired mind
I'm exhausted by your confusion
about what you would actually need
to be healthy
and what you think you should want
to feel better about your lack of integrity
lack of compassion
lack of self-and-other-respect
lack of curiosity
and maybe something like
lack of reverence for life,
too much severance
from considering the probabilities
of a feeling-wealthy death.
I want to be free of your insatiable craving
to be appreciated
even by those you don't appreciate,
to be recognized
even by those you don't know,
and adored
despite your incapacity to feel adoration.
Why do you wander off
and leave me neglected
malnourished
dehydrated
bereft
uncared for
unappreciated
uncelebrated
unadored
neglected,
verbally abused?
So, please share with me,
what do you feel you personally need
as informed by your own past experience
on your best trauma-free day
doing your physical
and mental
and political
and economic
and social
and environmental
healthy
loving kindness best?
The curtain hangs half-open, welcoming daybreak.
Outside—a rooster screams the day open, reciting yesternight’s moans.
A lizard on my window nods, as if he knows our sins.
He’s seen lovers before—
& he knows fire does not forgive the log it loves.
The sheets lie still, like elders sipping a story
too sacred for the young.
Your scent kneels in the unholy authority of my room,
like a prayer mat after dawn.
It refuses to leave, for it knows—
last night, like others, had no long-term goal.
My mind revisits episodes of last night,
like two birds wrestling in a cloud.
Our wings were tied by the string of want.
One fell; the other followed on top,
because even falling can be fellowship.
My ex once said silence grows teeth
when you keep feeding it memory.
So my teeth reach into Jericho,
before you whispered,
“don’t wake the river inside me—
it still dreams of rain.”
But I was already drifting,
too far for salvation,
as I stared at Jericho like an open wound
that refuses to bleed.
You moaned for morning glory,
and the security dog barked—a note of disbelief.
Somewhere, the sun began to burn the world.
But in here, my lust turned into bread—
you, the yeast.
Each second hammered in like a clout nail
into the dark and quiet.
This river will never forget
this mouth that drank from it.
In the middle of my own weather,
I paused—watching raindrops that never touched the ground.
I’m done, and tired.
Even wisdom grows weary of being right.
My pillow has folded itself
into the shape of your head,
writing the psalms of this event.
The day yawns wide,
as if to say softly: you are a fool of warmth.
I press my lips to the cup you used.
It is cold now.
The taste of coffee and presence
sits at the bottom like truth—
truth that I am a fool of warmth.
Of course, art is always somewhat
subjective, breaking established rules: the artist
intuitively adding imaginary inches to a canvas;
a work in progress, riding waves, finding depth
both on and off the easel, creatively flowing – a
vision on the loose –
(paused, but never finished...a true birth
having voice and life beyond the parent's release,
like a child going out into the world alone...
a must, for the painter to keep fluid a moistening eye:
that mysterious exorcism by his instruments...a true descriptor
ultimately not bound by the Catechism of Lines nor a Page's
World-edges;
no mural out of the soul, seeking spectacular release
is ever entirely confined to interior walls nor the sides of buildings~
that is why certain poems are read over and over, as if catching up
with an old friend~filled-in on what is new, an evolutionary rapport...
or one revisits The Museum of Modern Art – finding aged modern
in the old modern, the past meeting perhaps a cloudy moment and
today a day of awakening transparency – each vintage, an individualized
spirit-manifest,
a motivating shade of scentful-color~of brightness and overcast,
with searchable, unseen dimensions, the spaces science
has yet to fill,
the private domains of both
experimenting student and seasoned mystic...
the limits of what we
know, transformed by the revelation of what we dream,
the artist, and not the scientist, life's true conjurer of miracles,
only bound, when at all, by his own restricted conceptions of
time transforming space.
My time of promise,
before mistrust of parents
settled into growing fear
and grief into angry disappointment
Began with a visit
from a GreatHorned Owl
dying on our barbed wire fence
Announcing she would go before
but return for my time
to follow heaven's departed promise.
But, my father responds,
Only straight humans sing in white evangelical Heaven,
And this planted my seed of doubt
A cosmic point
in bitter anticipation
of further adult atrocities to follow
in imaged flight
From this brief encounter
with natural and spiritual wings
I gradually developed internal witness:
If not ecologically necessary,
then not yet theologically sufficient.
Now,
still breathing,
singing and dancing,
beyond all reasonable health risks
of my own environmental history
in a new barbed millennium,
on the cusp of 2020 EarthJustice
left and right winged co-revision,
Heaven's great-returned owl
revisits in near nightly dreams
Inviting me, and us,
to set aside anger,
to grab hold of more compassion
ego/eco-therapeutic communion
communication
Inclusion in Heaven's climatic winning
ecologically wise theologies,
long incubating Rapture--
safe flight home.