Long Senselessness Poems

Long Senselessness Poems. Below are the most popular long Senselessness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Senselessness poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Hear Earth's Gentle Moaning

We go about our lives as if with no clue
that all around us things on earth are dying
as other “great’ activities we pursue.

Good habits should mean more than simply trying.
For many crimes, mankind should be atoning.
Humankind, BE kind, or you will be crying!

Prick up your ears, and hear Earth’s gentle moaning.
Hear it in the oceans filled with our debris.
Where she chokes from all our filth, Earth is groaning.

Hear the silent shrieks emitting from each tree.
With forests razed – oxygen is depleting.
Extinction of creatues already we see.

This senselessness we cannot keep repeating,
or a deserved tragic end we’ll be meeting.

March 12, 2021
for D.W. Rodgers' While Mother Earth Gently Moans Poetry Contest


Selfish

9/8/21


Behind the curve or way ahead of it
Impacting progression, causing friction
Due to depression and addiction
Couldn't help it
Being selfish
It's all been hellish
The cards I've dealt with
Been in the dark, hardly ever well lit
If needed I'd propel quick
People proud to be celibate
And others think they are superior and more intelligent
Quick to be prejudice
And to treat you like excrement
As if you are the nemesis
It's gotten obvious and prevalent
Among the elements
As I write near a body of water full of sediments
I send my condolences and sentiments
Been this way since the genesis
Sad that it's typical and done due to senselessness
It's detriment
No more buildings or settlements
Due to fires and war, areas becoming desolate
At times folks went on a exodus
In and out of areas full of species that are venomous

Oh, excuse me on whether or not it is relevant
It's become resonant
The very end of it
Is not clear or evident

Could be a prerequisite
The whole solar system not just Connecticut
The scales and balance becoming delicate

Evil or benevolent
Didn't always stick to the regiment
Am not a perfectionist
But have been a pessimist

Too many obsessed with reaping life's benefits
Yet it's impacting development
And life for animals such as elephants

I don't need to put it in parenthesis
Or use emphasis
As I've remained generous
Even when life got treacherous

Now that you mention it
It's fine if you take offense to this
But realize I'm so much more than sentient
Even if I'm not always feeling 100% blessed to live
Regardless if many people consider me as good as dead to them
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Twitchers Counting Birds on Death Row

Counting birds at dawn
before the sickness arrives
numbers toll victims—
a ledger of feathers, wings
a census to count the loss.

After the virus
moves unseen through stricken flocks
silencing shorelines—
we count again what survived
absence, entered row by row.

Still some birds remain
carrying something unlearned
an old resistance—
their blood remembers a way
through their freak immunity.

So we count once more
not merely bodies and graves
but the remnant wings—
that become the vital seeds
for new flocks waiting to come.

What is a virus?
unable to live alone
it enters host's cells
steals their means to replicate—
using host's machinery.

A speck without life,
inanimate chemistry,
what right to exist?
no purpose, point, or reason—
a plague within the living.

Is a virus life?
no breath, hunger, cell, or pulse,
inert when alone
yet it mutates and evolves—
where does living, truly start?

I count the living,
knowing most are on death row,
I will count remnants,
I will watch the numbers grow,
mourning such senseless dying.

I count the living,
knowing most are on death row,
I will count remnants,
I will watch the numbers grow,
rueing utter senselessness.
Form: Tanka

Premium Member Be Still My Soul

Have not we all made our acquaintance with struggles, troubles, and trials?
When we met them, we did not say, "Happy to make your acquaintance". Nay,
When we encountered them, we sought to avoid them like the plague or other
Painstaking fellows of ill repute.  On many occasions, we have found ourselves in hard places of blooded eyes, rendering void our abilities to discern heaven's good graces.  Some of these places were instituted by God, and others were created by us to our own perils and sorrows.  Hard places, troubled faces, slowed races, misleading traces, untouched bases, shoes without laces, empty unflowered vases.  Unresolved cases, too few resorts and oasies, too many loses  and
too much waste. So here and now, I do cease and desist.  I pause my cause and slow my pace. I resist and refuse to persist in this my self-directed rat race
Here and now, no matter the strain, I stop and get off this runaway train.
Here and now, I still my restless heart and halt this my senselessness.

051809;posted 091419
This poem was started in May 2009 and completed Sept 14, 2019
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Our House

With so many people in war forced to flee…forced to run away…forced along the streets of their country to roam…in the peaceful calm of the morning I stopped to give thanks for our home.

It’s where our children grew up…our grandchildren played…it’s been a fortress for our family…
I can’t imagine what it would feel like…if we suddenly had to flee.

How tragic…how sorrowful…how demeaning…how unkind…
If one day we were forced to flee…and leave everything behind.

This house has our DNA within its walls…our genes…our chromosomes…What would it feel like to abandon all the things that make this house our home?

The bed we’ve shared for years…the table where we eat dinners and where many a game’s been played…the fireplace that kept our family warm…the chair Deborah’s father made.

Our photo albums…our books…the artwork on our walls…
the door with our family’s heights recorded…from the closet in the hall.

As I looked at our house I thought how nothing would alleviate…nothing would appease…if all we could take were the clothes on our back and a lifetime of memories.

And when I thought of all the people I have loved…
who have passed through our front door…
I can’t imagine losing all of this…
to the senselessness of war.
© Jim Yerman  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme


Galaxies of Glory - Slayed

Galaxies of glory
Strikes me vigorously
Stars do shine
Like turning wine
You are mine like guitar strings
You're my serpentine swine (holding unto someone that's stubborn)
I am like a butterfly without wings
Darkness will not veil His illumination 
Galaxies of glory is our passionate destination 

Illusions of delusional delight
Is seen in your eyes that ignite
Arising agony is spiritual suffering
In the black hole of obscurity
Left unnoticed...envy glows and grows in a hurry

Wondering if you guys
Can wander off like dragon flies

Vines of vibrant, never-ending vivaciousness
Crawl...in my veins
Authentic radiance reduces me to this universe mess
Go drive in your lanes

Froward heart,
Listen please
Before you blast off 
Into your rebellious space
Speechless,
I must confess
You're conveying a message of your eustress 
Transforming hopes into distress...in large excess 

Thorough thoughtfulness 
Will delete your senselessness

Foolish fire devours my wisdom empire
Good luck, for I'm wishing upon His grace
You're my inspiration 
And my motivation 
Scoffer, mocker - who is the creator?
Isn't it His true desire?
Liar,
Listen to His truth and knowledge
Understand that I'm on edge...

Failures without a trace, 
Give up your success and embrace
Galaxies of glories...galaxies of mere glories
And stop listening to bittersweet allegories 
That is as adorable as rainbow cat purrs 
And delectable, creative dandelion furs

Today is a wonderful day
Today shines bright when you say
You love me positively...
We're seeking ecstasy...
Next to sun-beaming sea
Today is going by slowly,
But my heart ain't beating with remorse or angstiety 
Reluctantly,
I smile halfheartedly
Please don't stop the epic music
It's extremely therapeutic, it's so sick

I'm a true, genius writer
But, doubt slips into the heart of the poet...
I'm like a black widower - 
Envy, gluttony and hatred left me with regret...
I have nothing to lose
You have to choose
The light side of me
Or the dark side of me...
Because you'll finally see...
That I'm not perfect, baby
Form: Rhyme

Dedication In Silhouette

i remember when you saw me in the devil's tattered and torn
the flinch was the pinch and i felt the tinge at every inch
my innermost persperation was inspiring convulsing chills as a merciless foe
i remember when you saw me in the devil's forgotten and forlorn

i recall the melancholy raindrops expressing the truth through the feeble theatrics of my acidic lie
the shake was a flake so easily exposed by the obviously expressive ache
my external mannequin was so horribly frostbitten by the flop of the frigid show
i recall the most brutally honest eye talk within the very heart of the most avoidable senselessness gone terribly awry

if i had the antidote to dissolve and dissipate, 
i definately would not hesitate
to burn the milky white nucleus of your incomprehensible hate
that makes me melt in your memory in an altered state of wait

a black snowflake falls, and i find myelf wanting you
a white hailstone crashes, and i see myself flaunting you
an indecisive sun teases, and i forsee myself haunting you
a disappointed moon cries itself fuseless, and in the blind stillness of this remaining actuality, I....AM....SO....STILL....LONGING....YOU!!!!
© Marty King  Create an image from this poem.

In the Blind's Defense

“You love him so much, you're too blind to see
He's only playing a game
He's never loved you, he never will
And darling, don't you know he' ll never change?”  Elvis Presley - It Hurts Me 

I do not expect you to love him as I do,
Seeing from the outside as you should
With a fresh mind, clear from the lies,
Logic dominating what you see as senselessness

I am pained by every weakness you recite
Against his fragile, inelastic soul,
How painful it should be to take away his control
Over the last thing he claims as his:
I

You rest assured I will be broken in the end
True might it be, cease not to wait in worry
I break in the talons fully aware of his ire,
His need to devour this swaying flower

I can hear the cynical thoughts already,
Stretching for the race to my heart,
Comforting me in coos,
Dreading the moment I turn to fools

Your eager heart comforts me little as I replenish
This space I request is lost in your lectures
Your eyes that have once burned with anger,
Are relieved with validation of your foreshadows

Do not rest your hands on my back,
As I crumple over, my eyes trailing his departure
Do not comfort me with those “I-told-you-so” touches
I know it—I have always,
And with your logic,
You cannot even dream to comprehend
The true density of this reality

Sentinel's Watch

He wouldn’t give me the time of day
if his watch was on fire –
the one I’d started running for.

I’d go seriatim on the trail
while speculating about
traversing more
uneven terrain still
just to catch a glimpse of him.

Anyway…

Once I settled
into a pace he faded
from my line of sight.

Lacking in sight, a little lost, 
I pushed farther
than I’d gone before;
then the course took
a sharp turn.
 
The same old scene
gave way
to a novel panorama:

Things might be looking up!

The horizon smudged at first,
my vision foggy
with expectation.

How can you appreciate
the senselessness?

It took a spell to
feel your presence.

I looked again.

You were clear this time.
Delineated –
offering water in the rain:
Redundant
with comfort.

The rest
then faded from view.

The one I started running for
unworthy of a first
much less
a second
backward glance.

If his watch were on fire
then I guess time flies?

I see it now:
Still advances 
need not burn.

The Altar of Your Love

I see your face,
a keen imprint in the fog of my longing.
The world dissolved into dissonance,
hard edges sharpened by the heat of you.

I reach for you,
not with hands,
but with the kind of inferno
that licks at the walls of the soul.

Love me—just enough
to stop the senselessness—
to make real of the rush
I drown in every time you 
look my way.

Shelter me like the flame I’ve become,
smoldering, slipping—
searching for absolution
in the quiet violence of your arms.

Give me something.
Not the world.
Not the stars.
Only proof that I am more 
than a dream at the altar 
of your love.

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