Long Self contained Poems
Long Self contained Poems. Below are the most popular long Self contained by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Self contained poems by poem length and keyword.
Conservatives’ banning’s apropos of nothing
At twelve when he delt with this
shouldn't have to jump through hoops
should’ve been able to explore when a teen
But because of many conservative groups
The Ire excessive was the coming of age
Juvenile mistakes made in adult years
Denied the ability to pick up social skills
Sexual assault and sexual awaking
considered pornographic
Q**r’s often live a second adolescents
This is a guide for the coming of age allies
States have taken off the shelves
Intersectional as his life
Chapters are a collection, four acts
referred to as “parts” in this guide
self-contained essay’s
The memoir progresses through Johnson’s life
Two letters appear alongside
the chapters for mother and brother
Conditioned to think what’s the truth
Indoctrinated in us
Stop crying, racialized
School bullies
The flee market incident
Institutionalized violence
Family structure marginalized
Community –college fraternity
And black joy
Tells the truth
A black and q***r boy’s experience
Gender identity
Toxic masculinity
Brotherhood
This is an ancient land lapped by two seas in the south,
flanked by lofty mountain, the highest on earth.
Many mighty rivers flow across this fertile land,
brisk monsoon rains bathe the country of my birth.
An eon old civilization thrived in west flank,
pervaded the native races of the land.
They assimilated flux of foreign incursions,
made unity in diversity so grand.
Imbued with Vedic culture and karmic way of life,
takes due pride in the invention of zero.
In the midst of medley of customs, tongues and beliefs,
modern times have surely come at a pace slow.
Time will come for the nation to take its rightful place
in the world stage, regaining its lost aura.
Superb sun of eminence will shine on the blessed land,
light the future of my country, India.
___________________
(The form used for the poem is Doha which is a
Hindi poetic form of self-contained couplet in which
each 24 syllable line is split into two unequal
parts of 13 and 11 syllables)
May 31, 2023
Contest : If Your Birthplace - Country Was A Poem
Sponsored by : Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Preponderance of dimensions perplexes with bliss string fervor
Lake mine previous
(stream of consciousness
imponderable) poetic efforts,
sans spiritus mundi, converse
sing a boot unfamiliar thread,
and ignored common
sense ne'er re: hearse
sing, asper William Butler Yeats,
aye went off deep end, perhaps
provoked at least une nurse
sis sear re: literary unlicensed violation,
and additionally one emphatic curse,
where mine poe whet
tick feet did immerse
for the methamphetamine time acid,
(I said to myself), why traverse
pointlessly imagining something worse
tread about, i.e. say...tripping
along head over heels, yet
nagging notion would not disperse
venturing blithely writing
plunging into terra incognita parallel
universe a "multiverse"
herewith also Ark
chew woolly Noah intent
for yours truly to drown while purse
sue wing abstract notion,
viz domain of science fiction,
never intermittently intersperse
sing following lines with "HELP, I need
somebody...", nor deliberately submerge
readers within a mini sea course
of confusion, but I feel confounded
gripped, lured...and will gladly reimburse,
should delving over my head diverse
if eyeing breadth, length, scope...
beyond realm of mom and pop verse
a tile theoretical physicists,
who casually identify ten dimensions
— eleven including time, nor averse
slithering thru worm holes
such more'n flight of fancy seems perverse,
whereat numberless whirled
wide webs presents obverse
to accepted paradigm reverse
sing scientific tenets describing
quarks, plus portal bellow much
room (See Alice in Wonderland) disperse
sing notions, where exodus
down the rabbit hole
into alternate self contained
separate cosmological infinitesimal channels
far more exciting than reality television!
hear me out on this
I invented the "just understand"
when the feeling of sadness
gets way out of hand
a way to unravel
truth at its core
not focus on an event
or excavate more
for sometimes I was hurt
didn't know how to respond
the 'why' is quite complex
something that went way beyond
not a heartache
or frustration
but deeply felt pain
extrapolated past this
and to that again
a deep well of fear
and self-contained hate
that I didn't want to explain
define or dictate
so here is the answer
the "just understand"
as simple as quietness
and a gently held hand
reassurance I'm known
and can rest easy now
no duty required
I can unfurrow my brow
no overthinking
or exhausting explanation
simply cradled with care on titration
I won't explain more
as it defeats my invention
but rest by me
and you'll feel the removal of tension
calming of nerves
as we exist side by side
no unnecessary words
just allowing energies to collide
it's not on prescription
unfortunately still rare
most of the ingredients elusive
but now I know they are there
I know emotional pain
isn't an eternal state
that being "just understood"
is something we can co-create
Yogi Berra said:
In theory there is no difference from practice.
In practice, there is
Applying this to communication theory:
In nonviolence theory
there is no difference from practice
of win/win compassion.
Yet, in Business as Win/Lose Usual
Patriarchal political monoculturing practice
and Capital monopolistic economic intent
there are no virtues calculated for compassionate communication,
for merciful bipartisan political views,
and co-redemptive forgiveness
for matricidal sins
of our StraightWhite Patriarchs
Ignorant about healthy polycultural,
resilient,
therapeutic,
synergetic relationships
in response to systemic trauma.
Nonviolent communication orthodoxy
enlightens every thing
but nothing merely pleasant prevails.
Compassion's transparent and vulnerable win/win practice
unveils every healthy peak relationship
becoming crown/root
mind/body
co-empowered
but no one self-contained person
knows why silent wisdom
feels more comprehensive
than voiced knowledge
as verb action choices
feel more committed
than nouned voices
of love.
In our Earth-Healing lab,
nonviolent verbal theory
and compassionate nonverbal practice
are bicamerally combined:
nothing win/lose prevails
and every resilient relationship
co-passionately feels why
not 1 AND not 0 theoretical
universal convex AND unitarian concave
bilateral communication assumptions
do not not positively comply
with Earth's Whole Open EcoSystemic
virtuously therapeutic multicultural practice
of avoiding viciously competitive
1-DominantYang v 0-RecessiveYin
colonizing practices
for lack of sufficiently inclusive
warm and boundless
peak passion/pleasure gratitude
Positive fore-given-nest
EarthTribal
renouned verb-alive-able
1/0 co-empathic ecstatic
win/win polypathic attitude.
How dare you proclaim sanctimonious innocence
Innocent you may be as the cheese house rat
Evidence in the stench of your unrighteous fat
Try to paint a picture with your vain empty words
Man looketh on your outward pretence appearance
God knoweth the hidden secrets of your vile heart
How can there be forgiveness for no repentance
I cannot look past your self-contained righteousness
Nor dare I hope you will see your selfimposed perfection
I held you up high on a I-so-esteem you pedelstal
Boy did you give me a sudden unexpected love drop
I feel the cold air of your indifference wisp past my heart
‘Tis not for the ninety and nine He goes
On a dangerous midnight search.
’Tis not for the ninety and nine who sit
In security safe in the church,
Whose paths are set in the well-fenced bounds
Of conventional Sunday suits,
While the songs of their souls sound dreadfully cold
To the biker in leathers and boots.
‘Tis not for the ninety and nine good folk
Who chapter and verse freely quote,
Nor those who appear so exactly sincere
As their Bible-text pencils take notes.
‘Tis not for the multitude stuck in the fold
That the Shepherd is mostly concerned –
But for wanderers lost in the soft ways of sin,
Jesus’ eye with compassion-light burns.
For the sinner perplexed by the pattern of life,
For the one from the hundred astray,
For the one who’s abandoned the standards of God,
Determined to go his own way,
For the one who has tasted the sweetness of sin,
And discovered how quick it decays –
’Twas for him that the Shepherd went out in the night
Of that sin-uttered “Crucify!” Day.
What love! What compassion! What limitless care
In His seeking for one who is lost!
Oh, what infinite pity must quicken His heart
To go out on that search at such cost!
And the organ plays softly,
The hymn board is fixed,
The offering taken for mortar and bricks,
And so few in the pew
For sinners will search,
For the Shepherd, like them,
They have shut in the church.
John Puckett
When a rather unconventional young biker man began coming to the morning service of a traditional chapel some years ago, I was struck with how easy it is for us in our churches to become self-contained and self-content.
Such is a soul that is divine
Great inspiration the spiritual immaterial part
Immortal soul's journey through unversed starts
Such is a soul that is divine/ I AM A SOUL I AM DIVINE
~
Regarded believed death is just
One step in a sensational holy empyrean
Such is a soul that is divine
Holiness breathe aloud/ I AM A SOUL I AM DIVINE
~
My vessel’s filled with sublime ecclesiastic reverence
Feeling emotion passion enthusiasm, celestial seraphic
Such is a soul so divine confessing's/ I AM A SOUL I AM DIVINE
~
Angelic fervor ardor vivacity
Spiritual heavenly celestial deiform capacity
Such is a soul that is divine
~
Grandeur pageantry at naught,
this universe hasn’t seen the last of me
I am truest self-contained energy…
Such is mine soul that is divine/ I AM A SOUL I AM DIVINE
For “A Soul is Divine “Poetry Contest
Free verse poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Mohan Chutani
6/26/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2023
Placed 6th place in contest
Are there ghosts on Hessle Road
Do the bell bottomed boys
Slide quietly into Rayners
For the pint, the craic, the noise.
Do their pockets still jingle
Until, having spent it all
It's again through the Bullnose
To pursue the ghostly trawl.
Do they wander through estates
Where terraces used to stand
A self contained little village
That bordered on dockland.
Do ghostly clogs clack and echo
As a gang of bobbers meets
To wander to the Fish Dock
Through the old ghostly streets.
Is there still a St Andrews
Where bobbers do their bit
Hand balling a slippery catch
Kit by kit by kit by heavy kit.
Do Big Lil and her Revolutionaries
Stand in lines by the dock
Checking on a vessel's safety
Before it slips through the lock.
Does the Lord Line Building
Once a building of pride
Again survey the scene
From St Andrews Dock side.
As I stand among the remnants
Of a weeded and silted Dock
Looking at what's left of
That once so busy old tidal lock
In my mind I hear rattling chains
As they ready the trawl
To prepare for sea once more
To chase the silvery haul.
I can go take a pint at Rayners
See history lined on the wall
Raise a glass to the Bell Bottomed
Boys who lived and died for the trawl.
3 days between trips, spending more than 300 days a year at sea, famous for their brightly coloured bell bottomed suits, and their ashore celebrations, known as 3 day millionaires, now just a memory in our City.
The Fish Dock now a shopping park, the dock filled in, and haunted by an air of decay and depression, the once proud companies offices sliding daily nearer collapse
Just a small memorial to the lost stands on the Bullnose, which they passed on the way out into the river and onwards to Icelandic fishing grounds, danger and, too many times, death.
Four thirty in the morning
I am wide awake with no desire to sleep again.
Rising this early brings forth visions of a solitary kind
and passing time in shaky, cloudy pictured rewind
of nuns, brothers, priests in their self contained design.
They wash and dress in methodic morning prayer
as the bell calls gently in the background bare
to bow and kneel in a chapel hidden there.
Dark figures moving quietly together but alone
with unheard voices, unseen faces down
drawn in by some majestic unknown,
that all embracing force seeking to be found.
The holy rituals replay
long before the sunrise of each day
as the shadowed figures begin to pray.
What if no one ever said a prayer
how would any one of us be heard?
Looking out upon this hidden world’s reality
let us pray in unison for its destiny
as dedicated supplicants upon our bended knees.
A life member and community participant
within me lies that truth of knowing life’s worth
that God freely gave us at our birth.
I still pray
though surely not as fervently as they
but within is the desire living still
to access my heart and souls free will.
I long for simpler days, praying with them but apart
that deeply desired prayer learned at an early start
by inspirations from a teacher and mother’s heart.
Dear God, here I am, I am here,
surely you were awaiting my return
helping me escape all doubt and fear
steadily on my journey home.
In the name of the Father and the Son
and the Holy Spirit
Amen.