Long Shrivel Poems
Long Shrivel Poems. Below are the most popular long Shrivel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shrivel poems by poem length and keyword.
I will guard not against rules, but my conscience
And never shall exult in the esteem of men
For we all are brothers and sisters and friends,
Offspring of the muck whose bosom we embrace.
I live my life like a passing wind
Gently surfing through all the matters of life
Engendered and crafted by the hands of humans;
I view all things and weight their values.
They, as of a running stream on beds of rocks
The waters never lie still or become absorbed
So that water and rock cannot conjoin
So is my life with the materials of earth.
Are mine to find acquaintance….
When the heavens mourn, plants flourish,
When heaven is at its brightest moment
The plants of the earth shrivel in misery?
Yet they complement a cultivatable life.
I shall adapt to the intrigue and go my way.
I am brimmed full of her…life, life, life…!
Her great bowel is fraught with stale noise,
And she breaks wind into the atmosphere!
I am disgusted and will wander off
Wherever I shall have the balm of silence.
Silence is the overall answer to the
Nagging conundrums of the world.
I have had enough of the din and roar, now
I seek wisdom in the quietude of nature.
In a million of roar and hullabaloo of life
I find not a lesson to take to heart
But in a single word from silence
I have acquired a million lessons!
I will live in the prudence of silence and
Quiet my name, my pride, my ambitions.
Lo, the silence of God and the silence
Of nature makes me uncomfortable
To see my vain humanity and cravings
But in that shall i seek safety and solace!
Much has been the noise about love and
Peace yet to find. I shall deny myself goods
And seek peace from the alcove of my heart!
What is more to life, to eat, to breathe,
To be honoured or to acquire goods?
I tire of this humdrum existence.
It is one mind from bad to good,
It is one spirit from Jainism to Islam,
It is one flesh from poverty to wealth,
Only the result from the aura tells.
Hear, both tears and laughter have
Complement my health.
A man in a cell is being restrained by law
And same a man on the open street is being
Restrained by custom and constitution.
A man who knew was once not in existence
And cry to have come forth from womb
Why weep again who is to be gone to oblivion?
re-write of American Pie:
A long, long time ago,
I can still remember when,
The presidency meant so much.
I was sure that when they got to vote,
They wouldn't choose that pompous goat,
And now I'm just astounded that they did.
Each speech I heard had made me shrivel,
To hear his racist, fascist drivel,
It can't be coincidental, his fans all seem quite mental!
I didn't know just what to say,
When I saw the vote had gone his way,
Nothing left but curse or pray,
The day Trump bought their pride...
So, Hi there! to American dread,
Was disorder at the border as the Mexicans fled,
The prices soared on petrol, water and bread,
It's hard to see a brighter day ahead,
Cause democracy and decency are dead…
Did you vote and if you did,
Did you think of all those homeless kids?
Or just about your own dough?
Did you vote with head or heart?
Well remember that when trouble starts,
Did you toss away your future in one throw?
Well, I guess that if you voted Trump,
It wasn't for that wiggy chump,
The cash that you have spare,
You don't think you should share!
So you voted for the man you guessed,
Could improve your fortune for the best,
And hell could come and take the rest,
The day Trump bought their pride…
I started singin' Hi there! to American dread,
Mass disorder at the border as the Mexicans fled,
The prices soared on petrol, water and bread,
It's hard to see a brighter day ahead,
When democracy and decency are dead.
Now, for four years you're stuck with this ass,
And God only knows what will come to pass,
But it was what we voted for?
When you cast your vote its a one dice roll,
So use your head and protect your soul,
you never know what fate will have in store.
So now you're stuck with Donald Trump,
While the markets tank and the dollar slumps,
It's open day for cut throats,
The immigrants all scapegoats.
And while Clinton sues the FBI,
And the poorest all begin to cry,
And the maggots taint the pumpkin pie,
The day Trump bought our pride…
I started singin' Hi there! to American dread,
Theres disorder at the border as the Mexicans fled,
The prices soared on petrol, water and bread,
It's hard to see a brighter day ahead,
Cause democracy and decency are dead.
I followed you down the rabbit hole,
Believing in all the magic life could bring.
Thinking you would unlock the chains I wore,
Setting my spirits free.
To teach me not to live in my head, but through life instead.
You knew what to say, to make me feel not afraid.
While holding the key to my heart, knowing your way through its maze.
Little did I know, this was no rabbit hole.
No hope of going to Wonderland existed and I grew cold.
I was trapped in a never ending grave, with nowhere to go.
Stealing the magical innocence away from me as I went
Too late did I realize you chained me to you.
The feeling of freedom dwindled into regret.
But it was too late.
Words you fed me started to taste sour
Starting to choke me in a full force of a drowning power
You laughed softly as you ripped the heart from my chest and whispered it was fate.
For you were mine, and I am yours.
There was no other way to be.
What more could I ask for?
F
a
l
l
i
n
g
Forever falling, deeper and deeper I went.
Whenever I cracked and shattered,
You would put me back together again.
The chains that bound me to you only grew heavier.
No longer could I remember the sunlight on my skin.
Memories became trapped in the shade of an eclipse,
Light that they once held gone, buried in feelings of transgressed sin.
All hope bled out of me through the scars in which you had left.
Slowly my heart started to shrivel and desiccate from within.
My body lay crumbled at the bottom,
Fingernails caked in dirt from helping you dig the place in which I lay.
The solitary, waterless tear slid down my porcelain face
As my eyes stared up at a starless sky.
This is where you left my poor, broken body.
Leaving me when you deemed me unfit of further use.
Knowing that I was prepared to die, with foolish thoughts that if I had to,
I would still die for you.
You abandoned my shattered pieces as they began to blow away
Sharing one last thought, oh how we laughed together at our inside joke,
Both knowing that the pieces were too small to put back together again.
So they might as well be lost to the wind.
In the town of dust and fog, the bartenders are demigods.
In the town of dust and fog, there is a drink they call the rising sun. Why they call
this drink the rising sun, I do not know. The men who have imbibed this drink, they say it
glitters like gold in the belly. But the men who have imbibed this drink, they sweat and
spit and pick the lint from their bellybuttons as their tired, tired eyes fight and fight
and fight against the darkness of the corner in the bar where they waste away their days,
hearing the same songs of the same black-vested piano-man night after night after night
after night.
Their wives will tell you that they are mad, and their wives have given up on them.
If you look carefully enough, you might see the gold-minted coins that glint from
their breast-pockets, and each day they decrease their numbers. If you look carefully
enough, you might see the pupils of the husbands of the rising sun shrink, shrivel, and
eventually be lost in the wide, wide white of their eyes.
The husbands of the rising sun come and go, and always their drink is the same, and
always and everywhere they live and live and live and live until their eyes burst in a
black rainbow of blood and iris. There is no noise. There is no death. Always, they are
still. Always, they are the same and their drink is the same.
If you are wary, by night you might see the eyeless men, who crouch by threes in the
dust of the bar's doorway, and three always will pass between themselves the single, last
gold-minted coin. In that dusty shuffle, the lipless, nocturnal interchange from soul to
soul, you may see the holder of the coin, and you may see his lip-pursed grin, like a
single tooth biting its way across a blood-burned crescent moon.
The men of the rising sun never smile. The men of the rising sun never change. They
drink by night, and by night the bartenders of the town of dust and fog are demigods, and
their single, shining eye is a pearl that pierces the darkness, and they are the servants
of all and they serve for all. And by night the men of the rising sun are masters of all
things and they do not dream. They never sleep. They say that they will never die.
Form:
sometime after the evident end
a relavent beginning can start
if we are not rigid, but able to bend
we can learn to open up our heart
many sorrows have receeded into memory
though our sadness still weighs so much
the good times may seem like fantasy
from our wounds we don't often lose touch
there comes a time in most of our cases
when the bad overwhelms the good within
then our soul cries out, andf fear hides our faces
recoiling from our selves, and the depth of our sin
this is the moment when all seems lost
and there is a terrible price to be paid
we confess, and become willing to pay the cost
if we want our monster to shrivel and fade
we must let out our anger and pain
cast to the wayside resentment
by losing much that is familiar we gain
a precious, and elusive contentment
happiness is found in largest measure
through others and mostly from giving
we need not pay to share in the treasure
happiness is free, and the richest goal of our living
through our eyes and others, we can be redeemed
if we open our minds and become willing
there is more to life than ever we dreamed
becoming empty with grace is fulfilling
there is a catch for us to forgive
we must seek mercy and understanding from those around
we have to have help if we would continue to live
we must kneel if we would place our feet on the ground
honesty is the power that gives us light
to see past our thoughts to our emotion
they can be our guides to wrong or right
while faith can set our recovery in motion
we can learn to regain our forgotten joy
if we grasp the truth and hang on
though it will often irritate and annoy
our right to deny and belittle is gone
this is a difficult and emotional task
honesty, willingness, and open minds without fears
fotr those there is help, you need only ask
thousands like you have recovered for years
----------
to the wise, never trust a Christian, and probably not anybody else. Trust God, in your
prayer closet, and, the walls may have ears,
and the people who may hear? jump to conclusions, are ignorant, concieted, and don't know
YOU
TRUST GOD, "THE Sponsor"
==============================================
What should I write on Thanksgiving Day?
I don't think I will write about Thanksgiving
But I will write about a heart not be thankful
When you look around you
And you don't see what you should be thankful for
Are you sure about that?
Are you sure that the life you have is your own?
Are you sure that everything around you is your own doing?
Are you sure you can claim whatever it is
and not be afraid that you would not do the Giver justice?
Before you go on your own dandy self
ask yourself "how did I get here?"
Did I come by accident or in a dream
Or did you come because of other people put you here?
For example, your parents
If it wasn't for them, you wouldn't be here
Your teachers and everyone that has ever imparted it to you
Your fellow human beings
If it wasn't for them, you would be in a life of confinement, solitary
You would have no one to talk to
Your mind would shrivel up with nowhere expanding
Your companion and the persons you are close to
You would have no one to confide to
and keep you accountable and grounded
Your feet would be in the air
Because that is where you will land - on your bottom
You would have nothing
Because everything is made by God
- through the people like you and me
Don't discard what God did not discard
Don't be so quick to throw everything away
Here today, gone tomorrow
The life we have is not our own
You heard them say
But do you believe it?
Do you think you can last a thousand years?
Do you think you can outrun others
with no heed of a higher power
who can make or break you?
Do you live what you sow?
Or are things all just random?
There is a higher being
And He is God
Give thanks to the Man
even though you know it not
Give thanks to the teachers
even though you learned it not
as you keep learning
Give thanks to the man downstairs
who delivered you flower
Ahh who may that be?
Give thanks to the schoolgirl
who made your day shine and bright
Give thanks to your spirit man
who keeps you out of trouble
Deliver deliver
And never stop deliver
You are here today
And that is a difference
Let's make it worthwhile
And deliver your mark
Shoot
In poetry, love and wisdom intertwine—a heartfelt love poem can carry profound wisdom, and wise reflections often touch upon matters of the heart. ????
Psalm 90:6
in the morning it springs up new, but by evening it fades and withers.
When my heart returns in seclusion,
I uttered these words to myself,
Give it time, be wise, embrace self-compassion
I must put myself first, I must, I must,
This time around, I don't want to walk away,
Taste only me, make love to only me
Reflected only in my space.
enchantment leads to my dearest delight
enter my soul before the break of dawn
A dream within a dream according to Edgar Allan Poe
For our morning blessing/
Happy or sad, our morning salutations/
There is nothing more appealing
Then seeing white undershirts and white teeth
as it captures the youth of innocent,
falling in love, with a cub, half my age,
A trickery of unfocused emotions bearing down.
I can see no flaws,
I see only what my heart allows,
Trembling lips, both top and bottom
gazing into those eyes of witchery illusions
Just this once, just feed me, just enter my soul
This frigid northern cold, the Africa heat rises:
Who will bless this union?
When it all fades like leaf
All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away.
Let me love you for now,
Let me smile, while you smile,
aloud me, to accept you,
as you enter my soul
Summary: This poem weaves love, wisdom, and introspection. It invites readers to embrace self-love, navigate illusions, and seek blessings amid life’s impermanence. ????
The inspiration behind this poem lies in the interplay of human emotions, the ephemeral nature of existence, and the search for meaning. The poet grapples with love, self-compassion, and the complexities of relationships. The references to biblical verses and contrasting elements (such as northern cold and African heat) evoke deeper contemplation. Ultimately, the poem invites readers to explore their own hearts, desires, and vulnerabilities. ????
There she was sitting beneath a decaying
Magnolia tree,
Whistling the lamentations of the discontented,
Absent mindedly flicking empty beer bottles into a arsenic pool,
Hiding her soul from the pestilant sun
And the bitter hope of yet another false dawn,
I knelt beside her beneath the poc-marked
Black boughs.
And watched the ripples dying a painful death upon the stagnant water
So skillfully posioned by man's skeletal hand
I pleaded
" this is no place for one so young who has the privilege of time dancing at their feet.
These dung hills this poisoned land of wishful thinking and demented dreams
Is only for lost causes, disappointed truth seekers and the battle weary who fought the world,
Who spend their days taking obscure roads
To pointless destinations.
You must return to paths narrow and straight,
Where bitter words shrivel and wither beneath the radiance of a fulsome moon"
She wants to speak but I say,
"Please don't tell me your ills my wisdom is
As deep as that toxic pool.
There is no cure no hidden medicine upon
This parasitic breeze"
But she weeps,
"Why can't they leave me be to my rhyming
And my poetry,
I was obedient you see believed all the lies
They told me never realised they're reducing
My life to office cubicle mediocrity
And now they want more,
Body beautiful is what they say, a perfect life with white shiny teeth,"
I sigh " the world is what the world is they
Will never be satisfied "
I take her gently by the hand and lead her back
To the mist that poets and madmen cannot
Pass
I kiss her on the cheek and hand her a tattered copy of Yeats 'The land the Heart's
desires '
I whisper "your pasture will be greener
Your sky the deepest blue and you will bathe in crystal clear springs of the mind,
Your soul is for you alone"
As she vanishes into a haze I hope she gone forever and never returns to this empty God forsaken land.
Poppy
by Michael R. Burch
“It is lonely to be born.” – Dannie Abse, “The Second Coming”
It is lonely to be born
between the intimate ears of corn . . .
the sunlit, flooded, shellshocked rows.
The scarecrow flutters, listens, knows . . .
Pale butterflies in staggering flight
ascend the gauntlet winds and light
before the scything harvester.
The winsome buds of cornflowers
prepare themselves to be airborne,
and it is lonely to be shorn,
decapitate, of eager life
so early in love’s blinding maze
of silks and tassels, goldened days
when life’s renewed, gone underground.
Sad confidante of worm and mound,
how little stands to be regained
of what is left.
A tiny cleft
now marks your birth, your reddening
among the amber waves. O, sing!
Another waits to be reborn
among bent thistle, down and thorn.
A hoofprint’s cleft, a ram’s curved horn
curled inward, turned against the heart,
a spoor like infamy. Depart.
You came too late, the signs are clear:
whose world this is, now watches, near.
There is no opiate for the heart.
Originally published by Borderless Journal
***
Virginal
by Michael R. Burch
For an hour
every wildflower
beseeches her,
"To thy breast,
Elizabeth."
But she is mine;
her lips divine
and her breasts and hair
are mine alone.
Let the wildflowers moan.
***
If Love Were Infinite
by Michael R. Burch
If love were infinite, how I would pity
our lives, which through long years’ exactitude
might seem a pleasant blur—one interlude
without prequel or sequel—wanly pretty,
the gentlest flame the heart might bring to bear
to tepid hearts too sure of love to flare.
If love were infinite, why would I linger
caressing your fine hair, lost in the thought
each auburn strand must shrivel with this finger,
and so in thrall to time be gently brought
to final realization: love, amazing,
must leave us ash for all our fiery blazing.
If flesh’s heat once led me straight to you,
love’s arrow’s burning mark must pierce me through.
Keywords/Tags: birth, light, love, love hurts, flight, flying, life, heart
It was a tiny thing
Just a little word
Made up of little letters
That you planted in my heart
You didn’t think much of it
You patted it down
And covered it with love
It wasn’t much
Just a little word
Little letters
Laced with encouragement
Dipped in love
Buried
In my heart
Watered by my tears
Warmed by the sunlight of your care
Growing
G r o w i n g
Strong and beautiful
A word tree
Bursting into bloom
Breathtakingly Beautiful Blossoms
Flowers that never shrivel
Or fall
Or get blighted by the frost of criticism
Eternally growing
In the garden of my heart
I weep tears of joy
Exuberant joy
You planted
A little word seed
Not knowing
My heart is fertile
My heart is rich
My tears plentiful
Not knowing
You’d left me
An eternal gift
Of wonder and beauty
“But," you say, “It just was a word!"
u s
j t
a
t y
i n
l
i
t
t
l
e
W O R D
Eileen Manassian Ghali