Long Speculates Poems
Long Speculates Poems. Below are the most popular long Speculates by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Speculates poems by poem length and keyword.
Life is full of pain
Until he performs something to attain
Each day responds the same
Till the time, is not wakening up to improve the game
Time is flying
Neglecting the fact, remains rented, relying on lying
Aspiring internal peace
Though the truth comes up at fatal fees
Earning enemies each day
As if all are associates enjoying at bay
Unsatisfactory has he become!
Eliminating & Excreting the agonies with rum
The entire day he discusses How is She?
Satirically, sitting solely speculates on Why is he?
More than cleverness
He needs kindness
The obstacle is not society
It arises when he inaugurates him above almighty
Seeking his redemption
While ignoring integrity amidst inappropriate intervention(s)
Hard Work forever pays
Just he shouldn't forget to self-screening his days
From the sun to the moon, she entered his voyage as a boon
From the moon to the sun, he always made her fun
A strange, eerie, black feeling of despair,
I am lost, alone, no one seems to care
except the Moon who appears and prepares.
He throws me a long rope, yelling, "Catch hold!"
Noticing my doubt, "Have no fear!" he scolds -
"Believe!" I beam as unknown scheme unfolds.
Watching down below as upwards we soar,
I see Daddy and his friends - and Moon roars,
"Look, they're searching!." as my hope I restore.
Gently rocking mid air, the sky, my bed,
Moon covers me with clouds' blanket, my spread.
He lays me down on the path up ahead.
I awake as my head they elevate
"What's this long rope for?" one friend speculates.
Starting to tell them, yet I hesitate...
"I found it ... while playing down by the creek
and followed it up to where this hill peaks."
Begging, "Can I keep it?" my tale I tweak.
February 18, 2020
Edward Ibeh's contest: Pick a Title 14, Tristitch
In a literary context, the term felix culpa can describe how a series of unfortunate events will eventually lead to a happier outcome. fortunate fault.
In this era of experimentation,
unforeseen boulders form
in the road of progress.
Low interest rates
encourage the right hand to invest,
while the left speculates unnoticed.
Governments spend money before the ink dries,
purchasing assets, forcing lines on economic charts,
following virgin protocols.
Skewed markets seem normal,
kurtosis no longer matters
in this 21st century laboratory.
Social scientists join the parade
with shutdown demands
to end a pandemic.
Boulders become barriers,
traffic crawls,
and anxiety replaces speed.
Fuel runs low,
compensated by steep descent
into a mist blocking the destination.
No one knows where this new turnpike,
with untested exits and unmarked lanes goes,
but drivers follow large road signs overhead.
Worry wonders and doubts
It speculates on the hopes and habits
It ponders all the thoughts and misgivings
It deliberates on the joy and kindness
It even questions the peace and serenity
Worry seeks a heart to attack
A calm to disturb with turbulence
A happiness to disappoint with sorrow
A light to snuff out with a dark thought
Worry drains souls of their pleasure
Pierces the dreams with murky shadows
Destroys the embrace of sweet grace
And sends discouragement into the spirit
Worry is a tool of the devil
Who came to seek whom he might destroy
With his lies and his doom and his despair
Worry is his device, his utensil
The instrument he uses to bring us down
So that we can’t find the faith to reach out
Toward the One who knows all about our worries
And brings us encouragement and reassurance
The inspiration and enthusiasm to refocus
On the promises He gives with His mercy and compassion
The love that arises out of the darkest moments
Love that assures us He will restore and rebuild
Despite whatever the worries might foresee
Worry is blind to the fact that
His love can diminish every doubt
Relieve every pain, erase every cloud
With the rising of His Son, His light
The One who will always work things out
Matthew 6:26 (KJV) Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?
It’s nice to have some holiday downtime and not be all go-go-go. I’ve even gotten in some Animal Crossing play. After 40 minutes of picking up weeds, Bianca, one of my villagers, told me she’d heard I was dead.
Later, we’re in Lisa’s living room taking turns playing songs from Spotify.
Lisa just played “Woo”, by Rihanna. When the song ends, fading out, Leeza deadpan said, “That song is pure evil.”
“You guys, I forgot to mention it but that is my energy song, it makes me feel so HOT.” Lisa adds with a chuckle.
“It has an evil vibe,” I admit. “An evil vibe,” Leeza confirms.
“Don’t be judging,” Lisa reminds us.
“Your next,” Lisa said, nodding to Leeza, “What’ve you got for us,” she speculates, “some mental health rock?”
Leeza’s had this girl-punk-rock group called “Vancougar” playing on a loop in her room. At first, I wasn’t enthusiastic but now I think they slay. Her mom’s even gotten on board, dancing “the twist” to “Philadelphia” when it rolls around. Leeza has great taste in music although she leans a bit EMO (emotionally hard core) for me. She makes me feel old by introducing us to all these new bands like “Youngest and only,” “Calling all Captains” and “Beatrice Dear.”
“I’ve got one song to play,” Leeza says, “Paparazzi, by Lady Gaga.”
“I’ve been listening to that song all WEEK!” I gasp, “I love that song, it may be her best - that’s so random,” I finish saying as the song starts.
As Paparazzi ends Lisa says, “That song has major Gwen Stefani vibes.”
“It DOES,” I agree, “It could be “Cool” or “Sweet Escape.”
“Yeah, for sure,” Leeza agreed, “shoutout to No Doubt.”
Leeza says, “I have a conversation topic: What’s something we all acknowledge is cheugy but we still do anyway?”
“Being blonde,” I say, which gets stitches of laughter because it’s true and Lisa and I are.
“That’s true, that’s fair,” redheaded Leeza laughs. “Anyone blonde is dead to me,” which gets her a pillow in the face.
“Ok, I’m going to come for a lot of people,” Lisa says, “but yogurt, yogurt is cheugy.”
Leeza gasps, “You think yogurt.. It’s not cheugy!” she practically yells, “It gives MOM.”
.
.
slang..
cheugy = something off-trend, or behind in an awkward way - millennial, but not fully vintage.
gives mom = a comfort activity
What about China?
When they compel you to stay home,
imposing cloaks on nature's beauty
as a fellow friend becomes a foe
and the media unhorsed propaganda
Can we all all ask
what about china?
When old Brit's prime minister
masked tyranny by orders
confining millions to solitude
for the fear of his fickle frame
susceptible to the Wuhan's scourge
can we all ask,
what about China?
When confused men make projections
to feed the greed of the tech giants
or to maintain the cult of the pharmacy
as the media control our lives
as we surrender our freedom to fear
can we all ask
what about China?
So fast was the manipulations
so wide did it spread
so gullible were we all without reasons
to ascent to the communist schemes
who will ask my questions?
Are they clear of the scourge, and we are not?
Can we all ask
what about China?
Communism mocks you all
Perestroika and glasnost seeks revenge
so while your media makes the rouse
as ignorant men speculates,
turning humans to masked animals
obfuscating nature's beauty
can we all ask,
what about China?
Yet upon another reflexive routine dash
skipping to Waterloo, I got emboldened
with idea praising basic vital functions
aware requisite elimination of liquid
and/or solid waste any obstruction
disallowing body to expel toxins would
prove fatal, thus gratitude toward
regular unpicturized, unhindered, and
unaided intervening measures undertaken
to experience thee nonpareil pleasures
actuated without purgative, yet should
instance arise finding impossibility
to exercise sphincter muscle
(constipation worse fate than
perdition) alleviating solid state brick
like blockage spasm inducing agony
within me bum, yours truly racks impound
did severely inconvenienced physical
self accessing natural remedy to soften
stool temporarily incapacitating peaceful
ease zee ex-lax feeling accompanying
experience that approximates how pregnant
mother inundated with contractions ready to
give birth, whereat merciful joyous crying
emanates courtesy this humble human, no
matter he never tested his steely ironic
mettle say completing wilderness survival
course, but rarely speculates such grueling
boot camp self inflicted challenges
pale in comparison to loosing bowel
movement big enough to sink battleship, and
mighty exertion finally dumps payload,
the toilet bowl hastens meteorologists to
issue tsunami warnings insync with "Damn
the torpedo" this ole windbag blasted clear
across contiguous United States, where
whizzing, sounding, jet setting like
speeding bullet (self Mach re:) puzzled
onlookers mistake me for some foreign entity
lost in space analogous to detect a stylish alien
(pants bunched around ankles - most definitely
tell tale clue, asper rating him hip hopping
longfellow), yea undoubtedly a messenger
from outer limits of twilight zone sent to...
wait...his trumpeting tush gaseous, an utter
farts feigning "FAKE" comet tee.
“In situations of captivity the perpetrator becomes the most powerful person in the life of the victim, and the psychology of the victim is shaped by the actions and beliefs of the perpetrator.”
? Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence - From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror
Egotists are an enemy to an empathetic butterfly.
When your life functions like a cognitive chrysalis,
narcissistic spiders silently creep and crawl,
sucking at the sanity of your fractured cocoon,
wrapping their beastly venomous black legs,
around a trapped heart, weaving their conceited web.
This mutating sanctuary is a double edged sword.
Even when the door to your cage is open,
idle wings remain motionless - reluctant to fly.
When the pupal mind is frozen at a larval stage,
caught between the confusion of love and hate,
conscience speculates over being a victim or a villain.
Thoughts linger in constant conflict with subdued soul,
torturing the heart, so incarcerated wings remain stagnant.
Afraid of avian predators - too anxious to escape their tormentor,
you become a willing martyr, sympathising with the abuser.
The pain may be palpable, but their atrocities are forgiven,
so you remain stranded from their manipulative deceit.
Forming an emotional bond in a savage cycle.
What Is It, Part II
The mind, a cloud of neurons
Packed snug within the deep grooves of the skull
Tiny worlds reaching out to all their neighbors
Across great gulfs of the brain
Communicates ceaselessly via little bolts of lightning
Adding to a sum far exceeding the whole;
The miracle of consciousness reborn every millisecond
Within the storm.
It knows what it is,
Has named itself,
Taken note there are other like storms roaming about.
Has contacted them and joined with them
Building knowledge, history, civilizations
Searching for more, evermore like itself
To find meaning in the fearful Vastness
It knows it is suspended in.
All this it does
Managing its frail,complicated Self.
It knows the body it inhabits dies,
Beyond which, it knows not.
But it speculates.