Long Seed Poems
Long Seed Poems. Below are the most popular long Seed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seed poems by poem length and keyword.
Is it real or are you faking
it? ;
Can you testify truly
without a hit?
That it is as strong as it
seems? ;
Even in the absence of
every being;
You are poised to create a
scene;
That goes against all sins;
I could call you the mustard
seed;
But, is it worth it? ;
It is one thing to be known
for something;
And another to be firm in
acting;
The story begins with the
action;
The test;
The great test that you
can’t detest;
Your arms are tied;
Sitted in that waiting room;
And like a criminal that is
tried;
You shiver like its all going
to end in doom;
No! She must live…;
That’s what goes through
your mind;
And even a quick magic
right
now, you won’t dare to
mind;
I thought you had it in you;
I thought it was for real;
Even after all the binding;
And through all the casting;
Your mind is still in a doubt
situation;
And you run helter skelter
in search of a faster
solution;
From Church to Church;
From Temple to Temple;
And alas! From shrine to
shrine;
How then can the light
shine?
As it has finally been lost
for a
cheap fine;
The word says it’s the
evidence of
things not seen;
The assurance of things
hoped for;
A supernatural gift given to
you;
And yet your distance from
it grew;
Like both sides of a forever
widening canyon;
You once testified;
That he was crucified;
Not for nothing sake;
But for our whole spiritual
make;
A good reason for our
belief in him;
And our total submission;
Have you forgotten or are
you blinded? ;
Blinded by impatience and
greed;
And now;
The big question;
Where lays your faith?
Is he not the same as he
was in the past?
The healer, the provider, the
protector;
The I am that I am;
Where lays your faith?
An encouraging answer
would
spark up a good fate;
After all the roaming for
quick solution;
You still come back to your
place
of true solution;
Inevitable!
That’s the word;
He raised Lazarus from the
dead;
He said a word and the evil
spirits
fled;
Does that ring a bell?
I guess it does now;
And it’s clear that you once
lost
the faith;
And luckily it’s not too late;
Use the kneeler;
Make that prayer;
Have the belief;
Feel the relief;
And Alleluia
The problem is all gone;
The story of faith;
Preaching to your state;
Good or bad;
Hope it is real;
Hope it’s not fake;
Your faith;
Vivid flashbacks from bloodshed battles
his soul still ravaged by devious dictators,
cries from fallen comrades still echo in his mind,
but he continues to walk upon a path of pandemonium.
Reluctantly he ventures forward with
vengeance portrayed through embers
engulfed within his frenzied eyes -
reflecting his mother's irreversible tears.
He is no mercenary nor a moneymaker,
just a repentant drifter, preparing for bedlam.
His purpose in sight, he closes his eyes,
but struggles to erase his thoughts,
as the sins of his ancestry inflict his mind.
Angels attempt to light his path with harmonic chords,
but demons cause havoc strumming broken strings.
Entering the kingdom of dry fountains,
where God has no influence,
he is afraid to inhale its corrupt pollutant air.
Charcoal clouds rumble,
before horizons shed unwelcome tears.
Before him platinum priests preach,
as court jesters dance with sly grins,
hiding metaphorical daggers behind their backs.
To his right overfull hospitals have no beds,
as penniless patients plead to be cured.
To his left the self proclaimed vain king
sits on his cardboard throne,
throwing dollars into a blazing fire place.
To his side his tyrannical hypocritical queen
hides behind her simulated smile,
oblivious to her narcissistic prince's incest desires
towards her clueless imbecilic princess.
It's an endless loop of greed cultivating corrupt seed,
which continues to breed nefarious creed.
Miserable masses attempt to break free,
but their liberation is dissected by cretinous henchmen.
In the marketplace of Machiavellian thieves,
merchant pawns auction fragmented dreams.
Sold to the biggest idiot!
His eyes full of disbelief, now rage with anarchy!
Intoxicated knights raise their half empty glasses,
as he calmly walks into this man made sand castle.
Gifts the cunning conniving cook some cyanide,
which he empties into his delectable broth.
Both watch as the elevated ones savour it like dogs,
perishing dramatically to their deserved downfall.
Beyond his childhood playground,
now with rusty swings and slides,
he places a crimson rose upon his mother's grave,
kissing her untouched headstone.
Expressionless he walks into the distance,
as storms wash away weak foundations.
Silent One
25 July 2018
I reached into the depth...
But could not withdraw Excalibur from the stone.
Yet I knew I was the one.
Why else my 'Grail Vision' in the sun?
The depths call me to reach further still.
And Mary's eyes bled.
Realizing for whom the tear's shed.
I know not what to do.
Vainity reaching to withdraw from the glue.
I stare blindly in the distance a 'bust' of my former self.
Passing the secret of excalibur being drawn by someone else.
And passing by the oracle of Ephesus, Medusa's eyes
She drew the sword stone in deep catching my contemplations of the mirror.
I could loose myself in her forever.
Secret Sweets. Stained Sheets. and shaking cold she wraps me in the golden fleece.
Covered in snakes, I melt into the secret skin.
Learning the name, I see my fathers before me distrought.
And see now the blindness of the Kingdom Oedipus wrought.
Sophoclese Tragedies and I am forever Oedipus.
Betrayed blessin' between whorish thighs and my camarades' lies.
Where is Helena these days?
Gone so long, I've forgotten her ways.
That's the trick-she sucks in your depth.
I am Horus, my seeds sewn in the west.
Innana's dead. I broke my maiden-named womb.
Long ago I allocated multiversic kingdoms for Osiris' perversion tombs.
And in the mysteries of deep misery.
I have witnessed my seed coming of age.
To lay thoughts like these out on a page.
Christ, Annubis, and I planned this on a street in Greece, A.D., B.C. I can't remember which.
I bare down frost-bitten from the North.
And my Christ of peace bore symbols from the East.
Our dog-eared down-home friend brought simpler lessons from an outdated South.
And we witnessed our births spread out over time.
Three wise men we were singing dark-hearted songs of a blackened Madonna we couldn't find.
So we relinquished ourselves to Daddy Darkest who knew best.
Redistributed seeds, we pushed ourselves to a static line beyond myth; where men like us no longer needed to exist.
Sweet Virgin, Return
I am old and worn thin.
Now, is your time to begin; A collection of stories your heart has borne, but you lay unblemished.
My daughter lay our bones to rest.
Cook them in your stew.
Reigns handover long overdue, but that's not the style you do.
Don't worry about ole Paw. Jimmy Crack corn.
May you be Princess Disarming Charming laced with meaning...
And I awake sleeping...
Beauty, I next to you.
The Truth is the Gift of Gods Word
for it's understanding the habitation has stirred
softly upon spirit we listen to it's call
comprehension to it's voice like a seed is small
Can you understand the wise man's riddle
apprehend interpretation the narratives trail
from beginning to end surround the middle
without understanding it's Truth you may fail
Upon the Truth are your heavens fixed
the hearing upon earth with lies are mixed
to many have reached a state of complacency
the cares of this life has choked ability
You lead upon paths unknown
a flight those having wings have flown
I tell you upon the rise of each day
that you must lead and show us the way
Oh Shepherd like a lamb you guide me
for I am lost to the flock without thee
My Lord and my God you have called us out
faith in you but confidence in self do doubt
With every gesture you affirm the way
yet evermore before me do my sins lay
I look around upon those I do see
whose lives are worth much more than me
The seventh day Jehovah has blessed
where mankind will enter into his rest
abundance of joy will fill the earth
as Gods Kingdom has given birth
The fruit of her labor is worldwide
she will wipe the tears her children have cried
Gods woman has brought forth Life
she will train the children remove their strife
You are God from the womb of my mother
have preserved me from violence of brother
your handmaiden as captive I serve
given more than anyone here deserve
I listen to the music of your call
understand I grace given since fall
for to live is Christ and to die gain
and within the hand of your Love remain
Forsake me not when I reach that hour
frail woman in mankind has not power
give me courage so I don't therein cower
for I have beheld the future from your tower
Oh my gentle Lord your path holds no discord
our seas turned to glass when we do as asked
neath your wisdom do kneel as truth you reveal
all thinking given you and insight given true
Hold me close and in your arms
for hear I do the trumpets alarms
you have signified my death
for those you love I give my breath
Hold my hand on the path you take
for I am weak and easily brake
a thing that is soft and frail
for those you love like Lord impale
Now I know the path to you
by example your loved showed true
willing I am to give you my life
like anointed Son did for wife
source JOHN 3:16 Romans 12:1-2
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
4.
Now things started to become clear,
Both Alahsar and Salahmar in the same space,
One would find Victory, the other, leave this place,
light and dark in the eternal battle.
Alahsar, of God's light,
Salahmar, of dark's evil joys,
which of them would wane away?
Devil's fear, or Heaven's glory.
For Alahsar, the city of light,
mortals, their lives laying down,
numbers falling as Algahrs push forward,
is this the end of light, hearts filled with hate.
From the golden gates a mighty moving,
women, they come forth with speed,
hate filled eyes and trembling cries,
yelling out their cry of war.
Still the foe were many more,
the Algahrs always to the front,
mightily they begin their push,
the might of dark within each beast.
Too hold the foe would take great strength,
strength was fading, ebbing away,
the Algahrs now did mighty push,
death and destruction on Badicha lay.
Still mortals stood, though blood did flow,
man and woman, power decreasing,
children watch from mighty walls,
as parents and friends meet their end.
Dark Man fighting, vengeance dear,
Warrior Queen spreading fear,
the bloodiest scene before the gates,
blood for blood,by sorrow's river.
Utamol, with almost life of own,
cutting, slicing, stabbing home,
Dark Man with his awesome grace,
Sends evil from this land of light.
Warrior Queen with power and speed,
destroying all this evil seed,
cries of pain are everywhere,
so many lost, their dead eyes stare.
On the plain great dust clouds rising,
screams of mortals and beasts fill the air,
lightning flashing, thunder crashing,
onward the struggle of life goes on.
Within the heart of living terror,
weapons crashing, teeth a-gnashing,
will miracle come to Badicha?
Shall mortals halt their slow retreat?
Alahsar's own are falling back,
dead and dying are underfoot,
now mortals they must hold the foe,
forward warriors, toe to toe.
No battle ranks or strategy to follow,
Hold position and strike down the foe,
Dark Man now in heat of battle,
Arlaghs feel the hate of Utamol.
In this time before time,
sorrow's song, the last song to be sung?
Strike with rage, power and might,
Become battle Gods, the power of light.
Cry goes up, "Walk in the light,"
the arms are weary, still fight for life,
still the battle crashes on,
what end shall be, before the dawn.
To Be Concluded..........
How long will this suffrage last?
Painting the dark picture of a darkened past.
My people are supposed to be blessed,
But we are cursed in this foreign land.
My people are supposed to be royalty,
Yet we are slaves.
The seed is supposed to grow higher and higher,
But yet it withers away like a dry flower.
Just accept it, that the curse is with us,
How long will this suffrage last?
If only God’s commandments were kept,
There would be no ignorance or plague,
No death or lost identities,
No religion or slaves.
There wouldn’t be another Egypt
that would take us far away from the motherland.
How long can we survive the curse?
Will it be forever and ever?
Will our beautiful queens continue to receive pain
While baby daddies are the ones to blame?
How about the separation of our families
causing broken homes?
Is it the curse of our ancestor’s blame?
How long will we rely on this oppressive nation?
The king over us that has no regard of our struggle.
Their nation became unstoppable,
They rose higher and higher.
But my people plundered lower and lower
since the days of old, from slavery to civil rights,
And all them stories untold.
We are the tail but not the head,
We fought for our rights but we still are not equals.
How long will this curse last?
When will the shouts cry, “Free at last!”
This is the curse,
A curse where God has shamed us,
From generation to generation,
Leaving our enemies blameless,
While they steal everything we own
And make it their possession.
Our people are the creators,
Yet it is unknown.
Almost four hundred years
the plagues has risen like a swarm of locusts
Devouring the blessing because of our scattered nation.
We were like the stars in the sky shining,
Until our numbers dwindled
from the slaughter of the beast’s wrath.
If only the ancestors stayed obedient and humble,
Maybe our lives would be a blessing.
We would be living with silver and gold,
But instead we were uprooted
from the land that was promised.
My brothers and sisters wake up!
We are living in a curse.
From poverty to persecution,
Watching death catch more bodies.
Repent and renew your mind and spirit,
Follow His commandments until you reach further,
Back to the motherland that is soon to be promised.
Get out of your ways and you will be covered.
If not, you will continue living the curse.
Form:
Your laughter’s echoes are like a broken record in my hysterical brain
I misplaced my journey-like notebook, written in pen and pencil prudently and sincerely
Solace sunrays are embedded in your blue-green eyes and it’s driving me insane
Change is a challenging chore, but as someone once told me, “No one ever stops progressing, but it’s your job to improve frankly!”
Confined to this Depression wars, I feel like I’m frozen forever in his ribcage
Don’t accuse me for committing atrocious felonies – my intentions don’t lean on greed
I love God’s Wonderful deeds indeed! I loathe this fast-paced world, especially in this day of age, sponging up avarice and rage
Be careful what you watch, say, touch, hear, and taste – nourish your family seed
Visions of unforeseen, unforced miracles is a memory I hold dear honestly
I recall years spent on pondering about the tragedy in this fast-paced world and its many crimes
You scan my verses as if it’s a short story, catching your sheer curiosity
You have read me several times like a children’s book with silly Mother Goose Rhymes
I resemble shrouds of misfortune for cat’s sake...Now, am I worthy to be compared to a children’s tale? Am I the cause of the world’s calamity?
The dusk has dawned upon me…unearth the mysteries in the hollow, tacky atmosphere
Man’s plans were destined to be a fail from the beginning of time – why’s my heart thumping with pride and vanity?
Why should I rely on Man when I have God by my side? He’s the one and only that makes me have tears of hope, not frantic fear!
I’ve seen his wonders, so imperishable! I’m a witness to God’s phenomenal, faultless Work!
Why don’t you look at yourself in the mirror? Let’s face it – we’re all playing roles in this world’s tragedy!
Why are you throwing the blame on me? You resemble an irrational jerk!
I can’t bear being that individual who speaks his mind deliberately – I’m not acting immature! Straighten up your mind; stop acting so silly!
~!@#$%^&*())(*&^%$#@!~
Inspired by Jake Ponce’s poem: Ephemeral and the verse (entitled: The Key To My Heart) written by Jan Allison! Check both poems out and you’ll be amazed and it feels as if you’re placed in their shoes. It’s remarkable. Do look them up and read their works. You won’t regret it.
^Written by David William Breidenthal^
***Date this was written: Thursday, May 29, 2014***
at the beginning earth was a place uninhabitable
to any living thing, it was nothing but a furiously
burning wandering fireball in an immeasurable open space
while wandering in space,
however, hit by the meteoric showers, bumped into planetoids,
and from its own gravity the earth gradually lost its surface heat
and became a gigantic piece of rock covered with the great many wrinkles
in order to survive,
the living thing cannot afford to lose time any more in this darkness of unknown beginning or inconceivable end, it must find a place to settle and bring new life
into the world,
came and clung to the surface of the rock and struggled to hold onto it
one day, when a cry of pitiable life tore the standstill time into pieces
because it was unable to bear the time that is infinitely quiescent any longer,
it echoed in the space and returned to earth as a dim light
in that light the sighs of the living thing heaped up high
and became air, in that gleam the tears of the animated thing
came together and became waters
when water swelled to overflow it became lakes, rivers and seas
and when air became heavier it raised itself to a wind,
and when wind passed through the surface of earth
it turned into vales, hills and clouds
life began with great struggles and confirmed by quickening
in the darkness and echoing heartrending cry, though grew while calling the sea
a mother and the mountain a father, and conceived meaning of lots of phenomena:
why the rivers flow and clouds drift, dews on the grasses
change into fogs and finally dissipate,
the stars come to visit the lakes
and kiss to form ripples at night
the seed of arrogance grew in the heart of this creature
spreading rapidly among the creatures living in the surface of the earth
and when his arrogance reached to the heaven, the creatures threw stones
in the seas, set fires on mountains, while boasting with those words:
“we conquered world, the world is under our feet”
hence the earth surged by a raging water,
and the windstorm rose to shake the rocks in the mountains violently
nonetheless, the creature did not introspect
his own detestable deeds but continuously acted
in a lordly manner throwing his chest out as before,
though enjoying saying this favorite phrase:
“this age is a corrupted age! this age is a degenerate age!”
We were bloody.
Bearing the weight
of a gaping moon like
young Titans-
full of arrogant imagination.
We ran, hellbent.
House after house
playing tricks-
casting spells with
veracious foolishness.
That first pumpkin was
my stepfather. I watched
as his carved out grimace
became the nothingness
I was determined to fill with
chaos.
I screamed the lyrics to our
favorite Hatebreed song down
every street. Letting the Universe
know that no matter how insignificant
the World thought we were.
We would be heard.
All of us, brothers.
Bound by dark matter-
the silent replies to our
prayers that we'd never
admit to sending out;
Together we didn't need
Him, The Devil, or anyone else.
We were fearless, because we had
each other. And the might of bond,
not in blood shared, but spilled as one.
Parents tried to chase us.
Reign us in.
We laughed and taunted-
swinging our pillowcases
full of savory sin with a sense
of joy that only a lost boy could
even begin to understand.
Hands covered in slime, and seed
thundered together and sent out our
cacophony of delight as I tipped over
the HOA's Porta Potty.
Red and blue lights flash.
Someone has had enough.
We escape into the woods.
Sit on the edge of Willow Creek,
and light up a bowl of dirt weed.
The creek was shallow that year.
But, our hearts could fill it up;
All that life pulsing, racing through
our ephemeral- jack'-o-lantern husks.
Smoke signals went up that night.
As we exhaled our silent melancholy.
I think we all had some sort of hope
there, in that place. That our rage
would be sated. That we would be
enough to keep each other safe from
what we could already sense
was encircling us.
We never wore masks.
Not until we got older, grew apart.
And began to see we had to hide
that primal nature inside ourselves to
keep the moon from breaking our
backs. Because, we don't have
each other for that anymore.
But, I'm pulling mine off tonight.
Have a good look-
The scars. The worry lines.
The bloodshot eyes.
That same grimace I tried to destroy-
lighting up the room as if it were
carved to scare you away.
But I am no totem.
No walking masquerade to incite
any sort of terror, or joy for that matter.
I’m just another pumpkin head; candle
dwindling.
Waiting to be smashed.
-James Kelley 2018
It stands alone four square, white-washed straw-thatched,
small window panes, black frames, and out back chickens hatched,
pecking weedy ground around a single willow.
Set just a little back from single country lane,
high-hedged between the farms with tracks for bumpy tractor rides,
strong arms to try and guide wobble wheels on hardened sun-dry ruts,
to draw trailored dung across winter's dark and muddy fields.
Father's fingers, numb with frost by hand-picked sprouts,
with dawn's dim light not yet bright enough to warm his back.
And hundred weights of summer grain on neck and shoulder,
staggered through barn doors to store, to tip hessian sacks piled high,
sack upon sack.
My mother, crushed and bruised at milking stall,
squeezing squirting teats to fill the milking pale,
to complete them all before mucking out the dung and straw,
then moving on to something more which bends the back
and rubs sodden foot sore in chilled hoof-trodden boot.
This was no Eden's garden which followed war enough to harden
even softer souls.
Yet, it was a paradise for smaller feet to roam free among the fields,
not caring when to make for home and sup on sprouts that dad had picked
and mum had peeled, and soft cooked, with such hard labour,
all overlooked by youth, and by youth's youthful ignorance.
For some, certainly for dad, and for mum,
Eden's garden gave way to thistle and to thorn,
and to sweated furrowed brows serving children's carefree days,
and precious hopes for first and second son.
These rode upon the carts and crossed the dykes in leaky barrels
and threw their stones at tethered bull not caring for the weather,
whether fine, or whether dull, or whether small gloved fingers numbed with chill.
For them that Eden's garden was a Paradise still,
and though choking staining seed was sown, it was not yet grown,
and eyes not yet exposed to serpent's smaller gardens,
composed for ever younger eyes, for the tainting and enslaving of ever younger lives.
That wiley snake now lurks and lies inside dark orchards of delight,
a world explored unseen from pillowed comfort,
and sometimes in the darker night with a different sky blue light,
that Eden web now known world wide, that Eden made with fallen pride,
that Eden oft obscene, that Eden all of lies, that lies behind the pixel screen.