Long Splitting Poems
Long Splitting Poems. Below are the most popular long Splitting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Splitting poems by poem length and keyword.
In another life, my dear,
I'd have kissed you tonight
beneath the strawberry moon.
I'd have made you laugh
and blush at your beauty,
and you'd have teased me with coy smiles.
But we would both know
our fates were bound together-
so why not our bodies as well?
And we'd have forgotten everything
except each other
beneath the strawberry moon.
But that's another life, my dear,
where I was stronger, wiser, and purer,
and got to you sooner.
Perhaps another man found you...
and my destiny is to be alone.
Perhaps it is so.
But there will be a heart-splitting beauty
in the melancholy of my solitude
beneath the strawberry moon.
21 June 2024
Alas, the world has changed
As the humans take control.
They, for their own likes and dislikes,
Have defined you, just as they please.
And now, you witness the creation of great walls…
Separating mankind.
By the comparison… of colour, of language, of the way of life.
The beautiful, the clean, the classy, the rich…
High class, low class, third class, middle class…
Splitting the world: once split by geographical circumstances.
But remember, your definition lies within you:
In your honesty, purity, tenderness and virtue.
They are to be measured, evaluated, and to be improved…
So to win the heart of man as a rightful citizen.
Remember; do not define yourself by those futile factors –
For with them, only the stupidity of mankind shall rise.
12/20/2018
I'm addicted to the sound of
Of silence
Like the wind blowing on cold morning
Oho yes !!!
I'm addicted
If words would define what this is it wouldbe just total ??silence ??
.
I'm addicted
I'm addicted
Like a poet addicted
To metaphors and rhymes that
Are line to lyrical chain of never ending thoughts
I'm addicted to the
Burning coal of nicotine
Till my last dying breath
I crave to put out
My fantasy to unfulfilled dreams.
Like a sinner addicted
To the pleasures of lying.
I'm addicted to the
Consoling bottle that
Can drown me in the sorrows
of my regrets
Like a singer addicted
To notes and symphony
A cheating husband
Full of secrets without regrets. Sucking
All the honey for his selfish desires.
Is all am addicted too.
You see am an addict
Ooh!!! Yes
I'm addicted
Like the politician addicted
To embezzlement and lying.
Enriching his fat pocket.
Am like a child addicted
To to her mothers breast
To every smile I fear danger.
As my lips anger the well-fed.
Like the gase attackers (tokota)
I'm
Addicted to burning and Splitting blood of innocent without rumours
I am addicted to gospel
That preach love and peace.
Equality amongst brothers.
Like a prostitute addicted
To the streets house
And potbelly fathers
I am addicted to repenting
And relenting in worship and
Prayers, even on this war ship
Of life slaying biblical verses
Is like playing.
By:owen thepoet
Vanishing souls lies in death's pastures
Fleeting joy, incurious in my surroundings
Shades of green glistening in glory
An unpredictable breath that barely measures
A destiny that lies and vanishes through the Death Valley
A heart's main glee
Shines peaceably... passing above a wave of sparkling envy
Bliss sinks in my marrow
Pensive solitude,
Splitting it into a rejoicing vibe
Joyous in its company...we could have a blissful sleepover until
tomorrow
Together we'll make a strengthening converse
Piety fitting in these periling times
Wandering over vales, evanescent life screwing my infancy
A jocund soul departs from a burden--too cherished in disobedient lies
Childish features blurring my uncertain future
Incessant in my trespasses
I draw near through deathly shadows
Moping in ceaseless torment
Roaring as a monsoon in abstract movement
Vacant in thought...wealth filling in our evanescent humility
Dodging arrows of inevitable death
Bound to track us down,
Chopping down the Weeping Willow tree
Driven mad in knotting triumph
Hoarsely placing us in a shady asylum
Numbed by flustering anxiety
Cursing down this greedy society
Whirling us back to
Evanescent pastures
I'm dependent in this unordinary place
Though it leaves me with only disgrace
Discontent by the isolated misfortune
Vacant in thought...wealth filling in our evanescent humility
Dodging arrows of inevitable death
Bound to track us down,
Fogging our interest of society,
Doom crafting our fate...soon we'll be too late
Whirling us back to
Evanescent pastures
Denying our repents out of revenge
Unsuitable to reconstruct chastening renewal
Superb for a
tranquilizing solitude
The dawn broke with a promise of freedom,
As we arose, our hearts afire with joy;
Oh hoo! The day we'd long anticipated is a mere few hours away,
From the confines of the camp, we'd soon break free to stay.
Nineteen days of patriotic fervour—
we'd recited with zeal,
The dedication anthem which our voices rang out,
and that which our hearts revealed.
The restless days, the early disturbances, and freedom's fleeting grasp,
Would soon give way to the warmth of home,
and love's embracing clasp.
The parade—
a mirror of colour, sound, and motion's sway,
Competitions that tested our mettle, in a spirit of friendly disarray.
The unity of Nigerian cultural diversity—
is a testament to our shared humanity.
In Platoon 3, we stood as one—
a bond forged in the camp.
Our officer, Mr. Rotimi;
and instructors, Officer Funmi (mummy of all);
officer Auta (confidence booster);
Blacq (winner-maker);
You made our camp experience, a memorable, life-changing pursuit.
The camp's memories—a treasure trove
forever we'll never be apart.
My great gees—who made every fleeting moment,
a hilarious, side-splitting treat in hall 4
You're all amazing, a treasure to meet.
The mother of all Corp members in Edo State, Mrs. Ben Ushie;
Major Bala—commandant with strong heart and true;
Camp Director, Mrs. Ejioye; and Mr. Ogbogohdo;
Together you made Okada camp a shining light—
A haven for growth, where hearts take flight.
The calls of ‘Aremo’ on the parade field echo in my mind,
A bittersweet reminder of the bonds we formed
And the memories we left behind.
Let's hold on to love's guiding light
as we disperse and go our separate ways
Create ecstasy always, even in melancholy
Obey the rules and journey on through the year's remaining
Nigeria is ours, Nigeria we serve.
Brilliant light and sound show
not disappointing forecasters promised
outstandingly uproarious performance
powerful winds rage
against the machine
embark to score prestigious
chart chopping hit
pliancy of heavy
boughs sorely tested
ear splitting cacophony
presaged coming fury
within safe shelter of B44,
I hunkered down
analogous to brave soldier
avoiding deadly crosshairs
imagining villainous turncoat
targeting yours truly, now
considering me enemy sniper fire
body instinctively crouches
against impending "FAKE" battle
suspected collusion trumpeting
thunderous applause issuing prelude
betokening nonpareil symphonic
unscored cacophonous rendition,
where pliant limbs
deign to welcome
impending stormy "Daniel" reign
impossible kickstarting boots
on the ground impossible mission
mere mortals cannot hush
their lame clout ineffective against
weapons of mass destruction
unleashed by Gaia
forcing immediate recall
atavistic survival skills
tapping into fifty shades
gray matter within
primitive brain stem
long atrophied primal beast,
an individual object lesson
desperately summoning
emergency measures
lest life and limb
whiplashed to pulp
by furiously roaring winds
fierce howling tempest
reminding 21st
century *****sapiens
merciless Mother Nature
intolerant toward global indignity,
perhaps foregone
watershed of extermination
points ship of fools be damned!
I was certain.
I was sure.
I knew what I knew—
until I didn’t.
A thread pulled,
a question I never meant to ask,
a whisper splitting at the seams.
The more I learn,
the less I know.
The less I know,
the more I understand.
I trace the edges of truth,
only to find them fraying.
I tighten the knot.
I loosen the knot.
I untangle it. I make it worse.
I follow the thread back to the beginning—
but the beginning isn’t there.
The fibers unravel between my fingers,
silk turning to dust,
logic thinning like stretched cloth.
I tell myself it makes sense.
I tell myself it doesn’t.
Both things are true.
Neither is.
I pull again.
The thread coils, writhes, tightens around my wrists—
or maybe those aren’t my wrists.
If I keep pulling,
will anything be left of me at all?
We forced her into menopause well ahead of her time.
Mother Nature’s prematurely changing and we’ll regret our crime.
We cut off her tresses that once bushed across her land,
polluted her oceans and soiled her golden sand.
Moody and unpredictable her volcanic eruptions flows,
fed a daily diet of plastics, pesticides and GMO’s.
We sweated out her edges and turned her temples gray,
while her hot flashes melt the glaciers that dissolve more each day.
Her skin is dry and arid as she blazes across her earth,
destroying crops and animal life, unyielding, no longer giving birth.
We ravaged her Amazon where green algae and flora once flourished,
only two days shipping while populations starve and many undernourished.
Waken with a splitting headache as earthquakes and tornados roar,
we have become her burden with our excessive cries for more.
Gas emissions have choked her and left her in a daze.
The damage is done, too late before we change our ways.
She is like a bridge as our weight has caused her back to bend
with greed, corruption and the unconscionable conscience of men.
How will humanity survive when Mother Nature has no more to give,
what will become of our children, where will they have to live?
This is a time of urgency, but we have been fore warned.
Her end is rapidly approaching, for “hell has no fury like a woman scorned”.
The Large Hadron Collider was built deep beneath the Earth
to help reveal the secrets of the Universe's birth.
I'm not quite sure what benefits this expensive research brings
but I wish that they would give answers to more important things-
Like, when you're in a rush, why all the traffic lights are red,
why every night the missus takes up four-fifths of the bed.
If love has got no spikes or blades, why does it often hurt?
And how does boiled beetroot know you're wearing a white shirt?
So, Scientists, splitting a proton just to find what it unlocks,
maybe in the black hole you'll find a pile of my odd socks?
Mister money bags no more
Ah..., how I idolize the days of yore
before June twentieth, and twenty first
two thousand twenty three
when utter senselessness wore,
a trail of woe brutally
ravaging and savaging mine psyche,
yours truly attests gullibility tore
and rent asunder
leaving cumulative finances
decimated, pulverized, and frankly zapped
rendering me poor
as a Unitarian church mouse named Kishore
dirty deed done dirt cheap extempore
courtesy yours oblivious to "red flags."
I still bitterly lament how
the computer/scammer
who called himself "Harvey Specter"
exhibited exceptional faux zeal
and blame myself,
whereby figurative cog and wheel
within sixty plus shades
housing mine gray matter
did not properly turn
ordinarily (when perspicacity,
sensitivity, and acuity optimally function)
setting off an ear splitting squeal
loud enough to rouse
a sleeping Leviathan
when upon awakening would bellow
now cue the giant
from Jack and the beanstalk
Fee-fi-fo-fum!
I smell the blood
of an Englishman:
Be he alive, or be he dead,
I'll grind his bones to make my bread.
Nevertheless significant loss
viz medium of exchange
(enriching the coffers of another -
particularly him that scoundrel
née fraudster foisting financial fiasco
frazzling father most definitely nonideal
modus operandi I envisioned,
hence the gofundme page
(ofttimes sited with
gentility, honesty, integrity...
when crafting previous poems),
yet passage of time did not heal
severe financial hemorrhage,
keeping checking and savings accounts
analogously under critical care
(think intensive care),
whereby heroic measures undertaken
wads of cold cash linkedin
to many intravenous tubes
but ideally capitol offense
aired once again toward remuneration
imposed upon ganef
who bled me dry
courtesy convincingly, glibly, liberally...
sweet talking his way,
and I swallowed hook, line and sinker
(fabrication that Citizens bank employees
scheming to siphon investments)
yielded zilch (the big goose egg),
absolute zero positive result,
i.e. even partial remittance of lost monies,
when yours truly did make an appeal.