Long Self absorption Poems
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My long-winding EcoTherapist began:
Dialectic Behavioral Therapy sees Stimulus/Response
both forward and backward in time,
to look for thoughts and feeling tipping points
toward more harmonic confluence,
resonant and requisite proportional behaviors
and imaginings
of what may be justly and non-violently discerned
for future reference.
Meanwhile,
Compassion Therapy looks within these same S/R behavioral events,
reconnecting "SuperEgo" role as eco-logical teacher,
to evolve and mentor our mutual invite cause,
to respond with equivalently effective compassion,
react with mindfulness of each Ego's holonic
cooperative
and ubiquitously coincidental Prime Relationship
with EcoTao-centered Reason, Intent, Wisdom,
word choice,
feeling,
optimally receiving LeftBrain's Natural Logic deductive principles
of Right-At-Home compassionate ecotherapeutic empathic/inductive
co-arising/co-gravitational orthopraxis.
Between collective manically competitive hysteria
and suicidal absorption toward depressive self-intent
Lies Tao's Wisdom Midway,
bicamerally balancing between
schizophrenic bipolar reiterative-compulsive self-absorption
with "Other"
into the godhead of Universal Intelligence,
and paranoid messages from Evil
that "Ego" is at grave risk
of both short- and long-term economic
and bi-0-logical bionic extinction,
in one paranoid mythic form or another.
Between these way-too-polypathic extremes
lies polyculturing compassion
for human natural systems
both within--YangEgo,
and without--YinEco.
Fair trade cost for ecotherapeutic outcomes
is the ecojustice we redemptively invest
give-forward, fore-give
within ourselves,
each Other,
and Solar Systemic Earth's regenerate destiny,
as teacher,
mutual listener,
and Beloved EcoPresence,
iconized in sacred DNA/RNA regenerative-Tao
4D revolving RealTime rich resonant
full-octave as double-gravitational wu-wei
MidWay balanced Tipping Point
bio-geo-ecosystemetric regenerative therapy
v. degenerative pathology
health and safety permacultural language,
or at least syntaxed ecological restraints
on the dipolar dynamic function of bicameral appositional
Win-LeftEgo = NotNot Lose-RightEco.
So full of empty between the ears;
void breeze reasoning,
zero thoughts a-blowing
Banished to the barren cornfields,
multi-grain years of accumulated wisdom
bear no pleasant, golden-age yield
Black sky intellectual famine
was lost cause shuttered-in,
by a blight of self-centered locust feed
Constant dry spells of self-absorption: Attic dust
sparked a bewitchingly vague eclipse acceleration ...
a covering blindness of gross darkness
No candlelight activity ~ no emotional fertility
Ancient bones of moist contention
randomly doused by fiery forgetfulness
Addled gestures
buried
beneath facial dry ground,
blanches
the ash fallow soil
with expressionless sterility
Immense nothingness ... bountiful emptiness
A vacuous mental sheaf
bending to the hollow wind whisperings heard less and less
Cranial cracked cistern,
watercolors of compassion spilling
New cretin observations ...
conversation water table on the dwindle
Kaleidoscope personalities
that are always chameleon changing
Dawn memories fading, thoughts diffusing
Never able again to see
things quite right upstairs mirror prism bent improperly,
casting past reflections mnemonic shadowy
Where did a neural immeasurable,
liquid electric muse
evaporate to?
How did an oasis of joyous rumination
disappear,
without a serene memory dip
to refresh anew?
A once beautiful, fertile mind
is now
banished to the barren cornfields
A formerly wondrous field of dreams,
now listens to the Alzheimer wind
silently mind-blowing
There’s nothing between the autumn ears,
yet the summer fears springing above the chest,
keeps winter growing
A once beautiful mind
is forever
banished to the barren cornfields
To listen, agitatedly,
for the turbulent winds
to silently come a-blowing
Having nothing between the ears;
only the never-ebbing, night falling fears ...
and crashing waves of misty morning tears
A tsunami loss of knowing
Empty tidal thoughts above the chest,
which keeps on daily rising
Depression
There are many thoughts that envelope your inner voice
There are many scenarios that do and do not give you a choice
There are many fears that grip your heart and very soul
There are many changes that were not part of your goal
You lose the will to achieve, to fight, to carry on
You lose the strength to except things that are gone
You lose the understanding that you once held so true
You lose the confidence that once was your mainstay glue
D Day by day lost in confusion and fear
E Escalating frustration that no one hears
P Pursuance of a dream so very hard to achieve
R Reliance of a truth, that you no longer believe
E Everywhere others find their way, or so it seems
S Solutions evade you, lost in nightmares and dreams
S Solitude is your friend, your enemy, deep within your soul
I Interwoven confusion, all anger, all angst you withhold
O Only you hold the key to release all this anger and pain
N Not being able to see any achievements, the gifts you have gained
I understand your feelings of being lost, in despair
I understand sometimes you feel that no one cares
I understand your need to find love and compassion that define
I understand your depression, though I truly don’t understand mine
These are the many feelings of being lost within ones self
The negative feelings you have should be placed on a internal shelf
This is self absorption, you should never visit, that should be denied
This cannot help you, only leave you lonely, in a world only you reside
We all experience some form of depression from time to time
Try to find something to be grateful for, something so sublime
Try and give many thanks for what you have right here and now
Try to give a warm smile to another, maybe help them somehow
You are not alone within your depression, though that’s not how you feel
These feelings you have can be so overwhelming, each one of them so real
Reach out to others in your darkest times, in your deepest time of need
Don’t go it alone, the answers you seek maybe when someone intercedes
No Matter Papa Repents...
Every blasted acrimonious misdeed
aye indelibly perpetrated
affecting ye and the Punim for life
hounds me doggone soul night and day
venomous wrath torments, strangles, racks...
every bone in mine entire body
suicidal ideations haunt every
waking and sleeping hour,
perhaps previous attempts to communicate,
(albeit poetically - for no rhyme nor reason)
fell short, asper yours truly
to claim accountability, culpability, responsibility...
unwittingly subjecting thee, a prized progeny
with legacy, where
diabolical, emotional, psychological... trauma
compromised your care free growing up years
namely while residing at 1148 Greentree Lane
exacerbated by mine self absorption
countless hours misspent
whiling away precious time
mesmerized more so
with computer technology,
versus prioritizing fleeting moments
with "mother" and/or offspring
yes..he now pays heavy price
pursuing amorous liaisons
gallivanting, flirting, emailing...
impacting (obliviousness
pitifully lame retort unacceptable)
feigning much ado about nothing
snappishly barking anger
such vitriol (mine)
sabotaged once in
lifetime golden opportunity
to foster, kindle pinterest
with spouse and daughters
subsequently deepening rift
rivalling Mariana Trench
love's labour's lost forever
frittering away compounded
half heartedly seeking employment
even though - NO LIE
inexplicable debilitating anxiety
buzzfeeding panic attacks
plaguing my psyche
since...birth, incapacitating
maximizing potential abilities
playing havoc pledging troth
with counterpart exhibiting
mental health challenges
unfairly begetting deux darling lasses
thee bearing brunt of pennilessness,
at aforementioned residence
unlivable, horribly untidy,
toxic with mold, cluttered...
such offal sight, sounds of screaming,
(when Shana nonverbal), stench...
now suffer (PLEASE BELIEVE)
suicidal ideation plagues my conscience
pointed objects quite inviting
remembrance of things past,
a worse fate than death!
PLEASE FORGIVE DADA...?
The former blond model pouts and primps
Swinging her hips
Down the splashing catwalk of shoreline
Sand caving to her imagined heels
Wheeling to her awaiting Israeli mogul
Her shoulders set so far back
It’s as if she’s walking backwards
Puts herself square
Between
Him
And another thin woman
Launches a laugh and offers salted peaches
Wraps her skinny arm around
The other woman’s string bikini of waist
Holds her tight
Upright
You don’t have to go away
She seems to be signaling
And a young Salvadoran girl
Is curled up at the side of the tide
Beached to that surf-beaten sandpaper
Only a towel of brown skin beneath her
People stepping over her
Looking
Shrugging
Walking on
She is homeless of any self-absorption
No cell phone bag or jewelry
An unclaimed seashell
Another time
Her brown round body
Was plopped down wet and sticky
To mounds of dry hot sand
Hands stretched above her head
Handcuffed to the sun
And when she finally stirred and stood
She squeezed her boobs like sponges
And the grains of sand crumbled from her body
Like Cinderella’s gown
Shaken loose and fallen to her ankles.
The crashing waves
Humiliate a man with a beach ball belly
Rolls him to shore
Legs tossed over his head
And also, though much more kindly,
Scoots a little boy at his butt
Back to his worried mother
Who’s holding a towel
Yelling from shore at arm’s length
Her worst fear.
I mean her husband.
Muslim women are wrapped in black
From toe to throat
As they swim and laugh in the ocean
And that’s ok too
For I smile at one beauty
As she emerges
And pulls uncomfortably
At her taut and soaked nylon dressing
She sees me watching her
And since it was not for the usual reasons
Her lips part
As she unleashes a smile across her face
Un-shy.
Yes, we’re friends.
How would these subjects describe me
If they were also voyeur poets?
They would not
I am certain of that
Being invisible
And old
Fashioned
Pen in hand
Reading a novel.
For all of this apparent tragedy in her life, and truly it all only set the stage for my
mother’s soul growth in this experience, what I remember most about my mom is her courage, her compassion and her ever-present service through her Words of Encouragement project that she carried on for the last nearly forty years that she was on this earth. She would collect inspirational writings, sometimes writing her own, and send them to her list of people “in bereavement”. She would volunteer at some local church that would allow her to print copies for mailings. People inspired by her faith would donate envelopes and postage so she could continue mailing Words of Encouragement to people she learned about who were dealing with some kind of difficulty or loss in their life. After she died, we found she had maintained a carefully hand-written log of all the people she sent mailings to over the years. This was her form of “selfless service” and I’m certain that it was her service to others that kept her in the world when it would have been so easy for her to just give up finally.
I learned from my mother that we can pull ourselves out of our depression and self-absorption by turning our gaze outward and giving service in one way or another, how ever it is we can find a way to serve our brother. Even though it appears we have no material worth and nothing at all to give, on some level my mom understood the value and importance of giving encouragement to one another. She faced enormous loss, criticism and complete lack of support throughout her life but, time and time again, she found the courage to rise above, call to Holy Spirit for help, and carry on ... giving whatever she could give, whether it was a place to sleep on her couch for a homeless person, finding a market for handmade crafts created by women in prison, or even if all she could give was a Word of Encouragement.
Mom was born on February 11, 1928 and passed away on April 4, 2002.
Tongues stall kind words to say -
planes with wheels on a waterway-
A relentless chase of light bulbs above wondering
minds and breaking the switch everytime
it's caught. In something.
Mercy, grief, fires within
choke on smoke forsaking
hallucinations that geraniums are my favorite
blooming within the weeds of a diary
where trust breeds like bacteria and scales
on fish skin are just as beautiful and preservable
as any composition.
Where humiliation and pride collide over whom
I should assist by comparing whose bones are
grayer and graver underneath their hole of self
destruction labeled with misfits. Figuring out thoughts
more fragmented than a stained glass puzzle paralyzed
in the pencil shavings of a rough draft by drunken angels
who usually sculpt the outcome of nightmares.
So many rags my body has constructed to soak up
the outpuring of suffering that they dug up with years of
cemented, pulled back, brittle fingernails and forearms
covered in filthy apologies that don't even hug me,
but accuse me of self absorption.
And misdirection, lying naked, like a dehydrated compass,
wanting nothing more than guidance by an optional savior
whose footprints are undefined to conceal the number
of followers he refines through choice of circumstance.
Still, I pray. For them. Perception has me demented.
Angrily unmovable. Impenetrable in the range of sanity.
A brown-nosed sorcerer, picked to pieces for parts needed
for an insecurity blanket to shield a reflection of madness
or jealousy or a seamstress to help them put it back together.
Although my darkest reasons for anything are just as genuine
as the shadow of a dying leaf barely gripping for it's life
on the limb of an oak tree.
The scars upon my soul have yet to develop a conscious
communication of their own.
I apologize when I do not speak.
Sometimes I believe solitude is more forgiving.
Soul in Anguish,
Soul in torment,
Soul in delirium,
Soul in pain,
Soul in ecstasy,
Soul in anxiety,
Soul in frustration,
Soul in disdain.
Soul in passion,
Soul in laughter,
Soul in death and
Soul in life.
Soul in penitence,
Soul in reflection,
Soul in love and
Soul in strife.
Oh my soul you
Keep me dancing.
I can never
Dance alone.
I search for my
Soul’s companion.
Who will offer?
Is there one?
Here are now my
Suitors willing.
There is Envy,
Look at Hate,
Bitterness and
Self-Absorption,
Pity looking
For a date.
What of Vengeance
Narcissism,
Self-indulgence
Dressed up fine,
Pride and Guilt with
Sad Depression,
Desperation,
What a line!
I have danced with
Every suitor.
And I’ve wondered
Who is mine.
I don’t want to
Lock into a
Partnership that
Doesn’t shine.
All of these have
Looked attractive.
Yet they weaken
On the spins!
Where is one that
Lasts for ever?
I will only
Look at him.
I need one who
Will not fail me,
Leave me when the
Going’s tough,
One who’s strong and
Knows the dance steps.
Treading on my
Toes is rough!
Something deep
Within me tells me
Suitors there are
More than enough,
I must search the
Highest mountain
For the one whose
Name is Truth.
Mr.Truth will
Undergird my
Weakness, lift
My spirits high.
Warm my coldness,
Light my darkness,
Hold my trust as
He draws nigh.
.
He will lead me
Without falter
To a banquet
Richly spread.
I will follow
Every dance step
Waiting for the
Day we wed.
Then for ever
All those suitors
And their lies will
Disappear.
There will only
Be the glory
Of beloved
Jesus here.
If cleanliness
thrives next to godliness,
could wealthy White Houses,
slick and in their capital-sucking groove,
survive when paired with homelessness?
This question presupposes
perhaps a radical view
that divine powers are more homeless
than secured behind military-industrialized,
greed capitalized,
plutocratic White Houses.
Is your god's aspirations
toward Earth's homeless sustainable revolution,
where outside is benign inside
and inside out vice-versa?
Or leaning more toward supplanting human nature's industrial needs
with politically self-empowering greeds--
gates closed against the rabble?
I suppose your god
could remain both egocentric
and become more ecocentric,
just as the White House
could remain a temporary shelter
for those empowered by co-empathic wisdom
of our humane species' ultimate homelessness
without a healthy Earth.
But, in White Houses of this sort,
the gates, if needed,
open from both sides.
The perimeter fence grows lower slower
which is not higher faster self-absorption.
The lawns North and South and East and West
extend toward all our homeless cousins,
Elders not yet burned and buried from healthy memory,
and those yet to become born from matriarchal wombs
into a more sustainable revolution
of shared homelessness.
Where Earth is home
sufficient for all,
or we all continue toward climates of homelessness
in gated Only White Houses Matter
of nationalistic greed
far surpassing Earth's need
for vulnerability and integrity
of a multiculturally homeless
co-messianic
co-redemptive
recreative bodhisattva warrior;
a reweaving god
of and for omnipotently co-operative love.
The genuine of simplicity is the wishing will,
arouses the splendor in content of still.
The scattering stories are matter of a baggage,
becomes the chant proclaiming the stage in savage.
Those torn loose ends to know by the breathe,
finding pleasure in the cruelest advice beneath.
The act of harsh or sweet in shallow warm,
tormented insecurities latching to reform.
That trying again, and once again, to rise,
smoking, drinking, manipulation in disguise.
When moody blinded self-absorption is out on bail,
becoming the shadows trapped in a flapping sail.
By the antiquity to proof with intellectual sight,
every heartbeat trebled to change heavens might.
That most rare conception of all nothing,
and its consequences with its swinging sting.
The cry for righteous freedom in darkening eclipse,
the haunted space by nemesis in grips.
Bearing witness to the poor admitted heart,
in social convention is the holy phony art.
The delicate web of human trust,
emphatic rapture in airy fabrication and its dust.
The lying gambles played every day,
holding and keeping what is not have anyway.
The embodiment of all that despise,
the puppeteer and its disguise.
Pegasus flight thru the storm looses some feather,
mythology is the living breath altogether.