Long Shuffled Poems
Long Shuffled Poems. Below are the most popular long Shuffled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shuffled poems by poem length and keyword.
A a cultivator you hope he might just listen.?
A man who knows how valuble time is'
When other cockys, take the mission
Just to show the wofkings.' Look mate.)
They are not asking..You to just agree.!
They know as do I the, land lie planned
And its where, you never want to go ya'see? Look up (agenda 2030) and think
Of the Burma campaign.' The blood and
Sweat, of your protectors, fighting in swamp and gunshots rain.' Some made it
Back to keep a farm.' Yet others never did.! Though you; enjoyed such freedom
That card, now under the deck is being slid.' And the death card is being shuffled'
In the bush city..? Why not check out the
Game.' Break out some..Bickys and tea
Old mate.? And your? Or our? Cockys, will
Make the any confab; real plain.'
I told Lara,
told her we would meet again.
Her on the metal table,
the light bleeding over
stainless steel and clinging to
arm hair’s, draining
color from her matted fur.
In her eyes something - not light
more what light becomes
when soil is shoveled up,
a soft luminosity, rain dark.
On the way here,
she had on the backseat of the car
the loss of control, her blindness…
for a while she shuffled,
put her nose to the side window
as if smelling better days,
then she whimpered,
from the driver’s seat I heard myself say:
'there, there',
knowing we were 'there' already.
When we arrived
she was laid down between the seats,
I had to tug her out the back door,
she let me, sometimes she liked to play dead
when she didn't want to do something -
not now.
Now I am looking down
watching her blind eyes following something,
maybe tracking these strange smells,
or seeking out shapes only blindness can see.
Animals don’t think of their own death,
they don’t imagine it, for them
it’s just a place where they are.
The young woman in the white coat
asks me if I wanted to hold her?
I could tell my old dog was going,
I held my breath, staring at the ceiling
trying not to be anywhere.
I don’t believe in the past or the future,
not in any absolute sense.
My guess is that Lara did not either,
maybe we are meeting now
as I write these words -
words not spoken.
In Jesus's day they got thrills from fire,
todays world we put wheels on flyers,
they didn't use drills to find supplies
and they hadn't the skills to fly the skies.
The Bible is wise and full of wisdom,
it gives ideas of the Holy Kingdom,
and teaches ways of Gods Holy system,
these ideas are often used to write a poem.
But those religious poems lack creativity,
and being creative is key to poetry,
now don't see this as negativity,
but a chance to reassess humanity.
If you reorder the words that were written before
the all-time best seller just gets shuffled some more.
It won't impress God when you knock on his door,
because God made all so that poem is not yours.
O' the lordeth rewardeth those so loyal,
and that loyal few repeateth the sequence,
while non-believers see their soul get spoiled
and are damned to Hell for all existence.
To sin within a life of thirty odd years
receives a punishment O so harsh,
but God made all including q***rs
to punish his own creation what a farce.
The Bible is wholly a man-made creation,
used for power and Holy war devastation,
different religions control in different nations,
but none have had God or Holy interventions.
The Church wouldn't Christen me as a baby,
denied the chance for the good lord to save me.
They told my parents you MUST attend church each Sunday,
but that Church ultimatum seems somewhat unholy.
The Church says it represents an immortal,
and its duty to guide souls to a heavenly portal,
but to do it Gods way and refuse a baby is unlawful,
so how can I ever overlook this behaviour so awful.
I won't argue a God there might be,
but when I read poems praising God almighty,
he is separate to religion, at its core is a gang,
with a status and wealth from the coins you brang.
A baby they refused,
an action I cannot excuse,
and this has formed a view,
that it's a system of persons being used.
In a dream of future foreseen, a stranger I see,
Familiar, yet foreign, just staring back at me.
Lines etched by laughter, eyes bright with knowing,
Face creased, scarred and pitted with forgoing,
Harangued and haggled with lines of old age.
A tapestry of choices made, right there on stage.
Suddenly, I recognize this creature standing there.
It's a strange concoction of self-awareness in the glare,
It's my future self, rejigged and rearranged,
Of future and past potential, all there estranged.
There's a whispers of triumph in the hair,
Shades of regret, darkness under the eyes that stare.
Rosy cheeks beam the warmth of relationships much cherished.
A smile half-baked is tangled in lament, entwined, embellished.
I see a montage of moments I've not lived yet.
An amalgam of potential, of what not quite, not yet met.
Of things tried, juggled, shuffled, as corrections.
Of resolutions, lessons, and inner self-reflections.
What dreams were bloomed? What paths were trodden?
What mountains were scaled? In what sea was I sodden?
How has this future seen, and past reshaped, conned the future me?
It's mosaic of maybes, a collage of what could be,
A kaleidoscope of who I could, and might be yet.
An echo chamber for all my tomorrows yet to get.
Shaken and forsaken, I awaken to the real myself,
Saying goodbye, good riddance, to my future self.
We shuffled towards the open grave;
Our hearts were wrenched; we were not brave;
She would not speak from new-dug loam
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
With memories of Christmas past
We prayed for grace; we prayed she’d last;
But now she will not call - please come,
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
She had to go; she could not stay
And now we’ll never hear her say,
The words were hers and hers alone,
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
We think of all the happy years;
Our cheeks are wet with bitter tears;
Her Christmas cheer will not be sung;
'Welcome to my holiday home'.
We look upon the opened earth;
We think of death, we think of birth;
Now one of us must sing her poem
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
The generations fall away
But love and joy will always stay
And heaven calls her - come, now come,
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
Dark comes swift
Daylight departs;
Nightfall intervenes
~~~~~~~~~
Hair salon tour
Dye and cut;
Grooming culture
~~~~~~~~~
Images float
Ideas now hurry;
Deadlines cut short
~~~~~~~~~
Journal monologues
So much to write;
Mundane thoughts conscript
~~~~~~~~~
Old magazines
Outdated rapture;
Gossip yellowing
~~~~~~~~~
One certainty here
Change terminates;
Uncertainty loiters
~~~~~~~~~
Traffic congestion
Slow motion here;
Jam without bread!
~~~~~~~~~
Ever so often
Flipping prejudices;
Like musical chairs
~~~~~~~~~
Why is not
Just a question;
The answer is why
~~~~~~~~~
Green parrot
Cocky indifference;
Vomits cranky words
~~~~~~~~~
Haiku mosaic
Experience shuffled;
Random words tell
~~~~~~~~~
Sleepy moments
Midnight interlude;
Night veils secrets
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
16 April 2016
Singapore
I wore my longing like a coat.
Kept the sharpest words in my throat.
I leaned in close; the blues just knew,
I would let them bent notes come through.
Bare boards beckoned worn-out shoes.
Slow feet shuffled with the dues.
One heel circled, one stood still,
As the lights turned round like a windmill.
While the dye brush waited by the wall,
I heard the blank canvas start to call.
I held back each splash just enough,
To leave a white whisper, in the rough.
I let my feelings rise up halfway,
Enough to ache; then to fade away.
My heart was folded, tied up with care,
To glow with all that is left hidden there.
The blue kept curling into the white,
Like the Milky Way deep in a velvet night.
The spiral nebulae all slowly grew—
To tie-dye the sky, with an ancient hue.
The tighter the bind, the brighter the bloom.
Stars need darkness, to brighten their room.
Hold back the colour—let just enough take flight.
Raindrops can teach sunlight to shape its light.
When the last slow glow chorus ends,
Twilight mends what that daylight bends.
One lone blue spark escapes the seam,
Just far enough to light the dream.
Onlookers remarked that he was aging gracefully
His disposition so sunny, cheerful, upbeat
Making plans for the future with his sweetheart
Taking such pride in his many grandchildren
True, he moved tentatively, pausing more and more
often to rest, breathing in fits and spasms, and betimes
his sentences trailed off into the vapor of the distant past
Then too there were the conversations where you needed
to repeat and repeat yourself, again and again, before
he would finally get it --
But oh, that infectious, wide smile which broke out on his
face when he did get it! Ah, that was a smile well worth
waiting for, indeed -- a smile that brought comfort and
peace to all those around him...
...Who were all the more confounded when he turned
inward, shaking his head, mumbling to himself as
cane-aided, he shuffled and stumbled his way home
'midst the sea of disapproving faces
The people we used to laugh with,
to the songs that we cried to.
The places where we created memories
to the heart we almost gave too.
I faced everyone when i wanted my head down,
i standed every bond which is now unknown.
I sometimes miss the old moments which are now just a written memory,
but i create new ones with right people with my all my love imprinted within me.
The traumatic visions that i remember,
the negativity which had the power to control me.
The people that shuffled unknowingly
the unravelling fears that storms me.
The certain events that now had a part in my life,
it all hit me at once shattering the healing heart.
It may storm me but cannot cut me
because insight into these, bottom of my pain the love pleads.
The broken hearts that witnessed the healing scars,
end of all bad phase has now passed with the love that mended us at last.
So I say it with a smile,
“The storms shall pass, the bonds must shuffle to fill the space in our hollow hearts because what will lie ahead is the feeling of escape-
escape that I am happy i was not over it, but through it.”
Contest name: A spiritual wisdom download poetry contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
"You don't belong here!"
They said.
They doubted the authenticity
Of my identity.
Black night bade me come in,
Provided I sang a song.
Paroxysms of regret filled my song;
The monotonous song from my ektara.
It was a parody of how the sun rises;
And zoetropically sets.
To unveil the black night.
It felt as though the pants had been
Yanked right off my melancholy.
The polka dot boxers underneath
Were memories, regrets and yearnings.
They were scattered like foreign coins
On the side walk and
Not even beggars could pick them up
For they were worthless in that country,
Corresponding to nothing but themselves.
To be righteously indignant and selfish,
Black night taught me.
My packing paraphernalia converged
In the room where I kept the tune of my
Monotonous song and soundless ektara.
My host though bright and caring,
Had hidden many truths from my soul
For fear it would be broken further.
I pulled the pants of pride up
My melancholy and gathered my shekels.
I shuffled off into the next chapter of life,
An instructive detour complete.
Black night wiped off my invisible tears.
Black night was a knight in white
But unrighteous in his cause which he
Veneered behind a triad to give it colour.
Black night bade me come in,
Provided I sang a song.
Paroxysms of regret filled my song;
The monotonous song from my ektara.
As I struck its string
Black night nodded his head
As if enjoying the sound of my sorrow.
Black night deceived me!