Long Sparks Poems
Long Sparks Poems. Below are the most popular long Sparks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sparks poems by poem length and keyword.
I AM AMERICAN I WILL NEVER FEAR DOMESTIC TERRORISTS COMMITING SEVERE IDENTITY FRAUD AGAINST ME RECIEVING ANNUITY PAYMENTS ON MY BEHALF IN MICHIGAN SEVERE IDENTITY FRAUD ACTUALLY RECIEVING DISABILTY PAYMENTS O. MY BEHALF WITH PETER GARGANO HIS DETROIT HIT MEN INSURANCE FRAUD ALLSTATE AND FORD MOTOR COMPANY ON BEHALF OF MY TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY AIRBAG BOMB DETECTIVE PARTS THE GARGANO CRIMINAL GROUP GATHERED IMPOSTERS JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY JAMAICAN DEALERS CATRINA BELL MIKISSICK CONVICTED VIOLENT OFFENDERS HACKING INTO MY LIFE A SEVERE DATA BREACH BULLYING ME WITH INTIMADATION IMPOSTERS BECAUSE I WORE WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI TAKING DOWN CATRINA BELL MIKISSICK HER CORRUPT FAMILY OF JUNK SICK OFFICERS SEVERE ABUSE OF POWER WEARING BADGES COMMITING IDENTITY FRAUD AGAINST ME SADLY I HAVE SUFFERED FOR YEARS IN CONSTANT CONSTANT CONTACT WITH THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION PLEADING FOR THE IDENTITY FRAUD TO STOP CORRUPTION AT IT'S ABSOLUTE FINEST BULLYING A TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURED DISABLED AMERICAN IT IS HORRIFIC HORRIFYING MY DEATH IS BEING PLOTTED IN ORDER TO COVER UP THESE DOMESTIC TERRORISTS WITH BADGES JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY JAMAICAN DEALERS FROM TAMPA SEVERE DATA BREACH ON MY MEDICAL HEALTHCARE BANK FRAUD MAKICE INSURANCE FRAUD THIS VICIOUS DOMESTIC TERRORISTS IS INDEED A VERY DANGEROUS VIOLENT OFFENDER HABITUAL IDENTITY FRAUD IN AMERICA WHILE MY DISABLED SPOUSE AND I ENDURE HORRID THREATS EVERYTIME WE ATTEND DOCTORS APPOINTMENTS FORD TRUCKS TRY AND RUN US OFF THE ROAD BECAUSE THE DETROIT MAFIA CONTROLS THIS CRIMINAL GROUP IDENTITY FRAUD EXTREME TERROR BULLIES ATTACKING DISABLED VETERANS DISABLED FAMILIES IN ORDER TO FUND ELDERLY MOBSTERS GAMBINO BONNANO COLOMBO LUCHESE FIVE FAMILY BULLIES NO LONGER WHACKING BOSSES IN SPARKS STEAK HOUSE THE SCORE IS NOW DISABLED AMERICANS DISABLED VETERANS BEING BULLIED BY THE AMERICAN MOB CENTRAL STATION DEARBORN MICHIGAN FORD LINCOLN REALIZING THE MAFIA IS ALIVE STRONGER THAN EVER CONTROLLING ABUSE OF POWER HEALTHCARE FRAUD INSURANCE FRAUD BANK FRAUD MAIL FRAID DISABILTY FRAUD ATTACKING ME FOR BEING A CONFIDENTIAL HUMAN SOURCE FBI INFORMANT WEARING WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI BUYING WEAPONS AND DRUGS FROM JUNK SICK COPS BULLIES
Open-mindedness is to opinionated people what a wing is to an airplane.
Pathways of pain are paved with the shadows of closed-mindedness.
Individuals of all creeds, stripes, and colors are entitled to their own opinions.
Never close your ears and heart until the last willing voice has had its say.
Inspiration creates sparks that fly upward and outward, away from its origin.
Opinionated people need not be selfish nor 'The all about me type' of person.
Narcissistic personalities cannot hold the weight of their own obsessions.
Significance of one's self can be compromised by worshiping the opinions of another.
062320PSCtest, Opinions, Kai Michael Neumann
Time knows clear tact where truth moves space,
Reach with your heart to feel pure ease;
Art frames deep pact as glimpse floods trace,
Voice in fond start true poise of peace;
Etch in full sketch the trip you take,
Love shows you how to live warm zest;
Opt to find match in joy you stake,
Gain wise health now as faith funds quest;
Urge hope to spring a bright new play,
Embrace your race to forge great stuff.
Proof that soul brings upon the way,
Address due pace of rough and tough;
Choice sparks grand charm as trust reveals,
Thought forms can farm what soul voice thrills.
Leon Enriquez
05 May 2018
Hamlet Place, ACT
The sky pales
against the curtains of my window,
dull screech of traffic
from the street,
and a hoarse voice
of an untamed crow
from the sky.
and then,
among those who are familiar
to the ear,
a low whistle,
loud, clear and beautiful.
Lifting its head
after nearly a year.
Filling the cities
filling the valleys,
it traverses
the entire island,
the whole of the tropics.
The first koel,
the first of the season.
* Koel always cries at the end of March-beginning of May. In local culture we celebrate the Sinhala and Tamil New Year during April, and the Koel is thus seen as a symbol of the festival among locals. Of course, hearing the first koel always sparks excitement, especially when i was a kid. I heard one today for the first time in an year.
Written: June 23, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Robert James Liguori.
Note: The poem is about interrelated art. Visualizing the picture while reading it makes it more captivating.
***************
I stand before the canvas—
the earth stretched wider than shepherds’ strides,
longer than harvest songs,
its pigments spilling caravans,
wild horses scattering sparks,
a child chasing butterflies
to the rim where sky melts into amber.
The horizon folds into shadow,
shrinking when one heart grows narrow.
The brush has balanced it
on a mustard seed,
fragile, trembling,
straining to hold two brothers
quarreling for olive shade.
How can a heart turn narrow,
The strokes seem to ask—
born in camps vast with mothers’ prayers,
raised in tents whose ropes clasp another,
taught to break and share bread,
guided by women who lit lanterns
against the boundless black?
In the lower corner,
iron glints—
a figure sharpening blades
to silence the olive’s song.
But across the canvas,
summer lingers:
cicadas thrumming in amber dusk,
children weaving laughter through sycamores.
Painter’s hand insists:
a heart is made for vastness,
for ardor, for sharing,
for love that endures.
And beneath the final strokes,
a refrain is written:
Let no heart grow narrow.
It was born wide as the welkin,
deep as the harvest,
tender enough
to hold the whole world.
Your gentle touch,
sparks myriads of,
memories secretly lodged,
sequestered on queue,
awaiting slender threads,
of poignant smile so warm,
heartfelt dispensation without strain,
at platforms, bus stops, meeting points,
that simple please excuse benign tone,
amidst the daily lifestyle jostle,
to raise the flustered traveller,
from self-imposed scarlet blush,
when items from stuffed bag vanish,
only for my conscientious aunt to interject,
is this item yours if I may ask?
such a genuinely generous citizen,
it’s that pleasure for me now to recall,
fragments of distilled recollection,
return as simple cordial gesture,
from vaults where vital matters lay
I watched them gather round
The warmth of your flame
Like campers at campfire time
Huddling close to you
Pushing and jostling
For the best place
I saw your warmth
Dancing off their faces
Small cinders escaping into the night
I followed the sparks drifting up
On the chilly breeze
Riding high…disappearing into the stars
I was cold
I was alone
On the edge
And yet…I dared not go near you
Though your light invited me
And I wanted so much to be warmed
By you
Yet….how could I find a place
By those encircling you
Watching the mesmerizing display
Of your orange and yellow flames
There was no place
Among the gathering of....
The strong, the beautiful, the insistent
So, on the outskirts I stayed
Tears trickling down my cheeks
Cold
Alone…
I waited…I held back
Until they all left
One by one
Some bumping into me
Not even aware that I was alive
I waited until you had almost died out
No longer on display
But a warm glow of embers
Still orange and glowing with desire
And I approached
Shyly…
Longingly…
Needing to see you dance
For me….only for me
And I coaxed you
In my clumsy way
My fingers cold
My heart ablaze
Suddenly....you burst into flame
A pillar of fire
Miracle of love
For I had not added any kindling
But my little heart
And yet it seems you had waited
Knowing I would come
And my slightest touch
Made the flames spring to life
Voracious flames
Flames reaching the high heavens
Your heat overpowering
Consuming
I almost threw myself into you
Wanting to reach the center
Of the heat and warmth
Of your beauty…
I spent the night
Out under the stars
Lying naked
Yet not cold
Naked
Yet not ashamed
Naked
Yet not shy
For your glow was my covering
I let myself be touched
Time and again
By licking fingers of fire
By the burning flames of your desire
For….ME!
For Gail's Contest
Touched by Your Flame
May 27, 2013
Oh my Beloved,
Thank you for being you,
so savage a voice such a soft touch;
I know how gentle feels,
in the harshness of your arms
and the tenderness of your words;
Sparks that only become amplified
when I see the flame in your eyes
and watch it burn;
An endless ocean
that I know you would cross or destroy
for me;
Thank you;
I succumb to this poetic awakening
I was hiding for so long;
You are the rhythm in between my lines
an electric current that shocked my soul;
So pardon these rhymes and ramblings
You make it hard for me to speak;
So,I thought I would write you a letter
Throw up a cliche’ and say,
I love you my Beloved;
I am so glad you’re you.
i g n o r a n c e,
a contagious disease
turning specks of stars to stones,
burning bridges of life,
locked with names
engraved in gold and glitter,
leaving a s k y of sorrow
filled with ashes,
singing haunting lullabies
to the grieving galaxies,
as if there is no
space in the city of the clueless,
where walls are painted
with black diamond tears.
O watercolor forests,
where the moon sails above
trees of tranquility~
every raven has a nest to rest
when cold is the wintry eye,
roaming through dark alleys
where twilight sighs,
reverberates, and colors rise,
awakening hibernating rivers~
free-flowing like fine wine.
and here I weave
heartbeats with herbs of h o p e,
longing to waltz through
a sphere that sees
beyond
skin and i n k ...
You and I,
letting go of foolishness,
no longer spectators of actors,
dressed for a
carnival of chaos.
I am not your
defined nightmare,
echoing paranoia.
I am the silhouette of sunsets,
shaped in clover green,
signs of p e a c e.
I serenade for the weak,
with lyrics of love
amidst a choir of integrity.
see me as I am~
I am more than
the tale within narratives
you’ve long been taught…
illuminate your eclipsed soul
with sparks of
c o m p a s s i o n,
erasing egoistic stains
pulsating within veins of vanity,
for I breathe lilac and lavender,
drizzling from a lantern-filled horizon,
like jasmine raindrops
t w i r l i n g and s w i r l i n g
in tune to the rose rhapsody
of symphonic serenity.
Yet
silence
is the dialect
that speaks~
to sins that dwell within insensitive soils,
pushing roots to
s w e l l
in musical delirium.
. for public domain
"We begin in dreams, before we are born.
A glimmer in two pairs of roving eyes
sparks new life long before its conception.
We spring from, and are part, previous lives.
Of this truth, let there be no deception.
The whole of humanity, linked this way,
makes us one family stay that way."
(Make no mistake, I angered my mother,
who beat me until my bottom shined red,
but for maternal love, sought no other.)
"And so, from dream to dream our lives pass,
rounded by the deep, and dark sleep we call death.
That is all we know of it. Good thing, too.
For soon, my memory in a sweet dream
may incarnate again and comfort you."