Long Stagnancy Poems
Long Stagnancy Poems. Below are the most popular long Stagnancy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stagnancy poems by poem length and keyword.
How to Feel When Your House Burns Down
The home you are raised in is a mother tongue.
I was four when it was built, an age when innocence
turns river water and all that lives within to blood.
First birthdays and first dances fortify the mantel.
This home transports milestones, our own vessel
to move us from sidewalk chalk to the attempt to outrun
the stagnancy found only in the debilitation of the long run.
At seven, I held him in my arms and love upon my tongue.
Promises danced on my lips and ran rampant on my vessels.
College funds started in a baby bottle, tiny wishes held in a cent.
I remember grappling with his growth, attempting to mantle
the affinity we pinky promised deep into our own blood.
At twelve, my father taught me to dance in the blood
and glass on the hardwood. Still, I watch his fingers run
to sow flowers in my mother's hair, her back, mantling,
the image of infatuation, true love, in our minds. A tongue
of tenderness has our childlike innocence
giggling and shouting at the inamoratas and the vessel
of devotion in which each of us was vesselled
into this life. Each of us was born in the fervor of blood,
so sweet. My mother threaded honey, burned incense,
and chewed lemon slices whole to hold us near. She ran
baths of salts and oils, to cleanse the ever growing tongue
of infernos that caressed, more captivated, our mantel
of consciousness. For many years, we tied sheets to mantels.
With pillows and blankets, we’d build ourselves a vessel
to a land of fairies and warriors who shared the same tongue.
Pool noodles became swords. Here we spilled blood,
convincing ourselves if we were to sprint, leap, run
fast enough we too could fly amongst the rest, innocent
to the world around us. At nineteen, I watch the innocence
leave our home. Adolescent memories that kiss the mantel
turn to sharp licks in the wild fire that is running
through the bones of our sweltering home, the vessel
of affinities, dances, compassion, imagination, and the blood
that connects it all, now lapped up with tongues,
too heavy for the innocent, a cancerous burn in our vessels.
The mantle of snow is no relief to the flames that drip like blood.
And still, we do not run, we wait for the final lick of a mother's tongue.
Stagnancy is an illusion, that I've been choosing.
Barriers of the mind, are the worst kind.
Trapped in the pain, escape is hard to gain.
Drowning in sorrow, makes it hard to see tomorrow.
It feels like I've been walking with a blindfold.
With nothing to hold, my freedom sold.
Stuck in the cycle of lack, my dreams I pack.
Put them at bay, keep them away.
For that someday.
That never comes...
Because I'm stuck in the cycle of living off crumbs.
Crumbs...Crumbs of happiness.
When will I win in this?
Universe why cant I be free?
Can someone, something, anything save me?
I can't breathe!
I'm tired.
What is required?
I'm just tryna be freed.
What is this greed?
Deep down I know 'I am all I need'
Is it my 'not enough' that brings this despair?
Am I the cause of this pain I cannot bear?
Lost in fear.
Has made my mind unclear.
I don't want to shed another tear.
But I cry. I get high to get by. Always asking why? I can't see the sky.
But now I see it's just a lie.
When you focus on the darkness of course you can't see.
As much as you plea, you can never just 'be'
Whilst I've been focusing on what I haven't got.
The goodness around me has seemed to rot.
I'm starting to see the cycle.
Listen.. this is vital.
The more I focus on the pain.
The less ease I gain.
The more hateful.
The less there is to be grateful.
The more unworthy I feel.
The less the things I deserve reveal.
So what does this mean?
What have I seen?
So if this stagnancy has been a illusion.
Best believe I'm refusin'.
It's all about perspective.
Remembering the objective.
Thoughts selective.
Now this is affective .
This is my declaration.
This is my confirmation.
I choose to feel good.
The way that I should.
I choose to leave my mental prison.
But instead focus on how I have risen.
I choose to let go.
So that I can grow.
Now I know that it won't all be easy.
I snap my finger and then everything is breezy.
There may be times the old thoughts come up.
But unlike before I won't hold on, i'll let them drop.
I'm dedicated to my peace.
I'm dedicated to my release.
I'm dedicated for the constant struggle to cease.
I'm in this for the long run.
The next chapter for me has begun.
Nested like treasures priceless, eagle parents watch over the brood
On an island far away from the city, I beheld in a vision of azure blue
A rural settlement in waste laying, arid with black bile
A desolate, decaying riverine pride
Above sunken war canoes and ores only dead men mine
Tricked and deprived of life,
Numb but not from the rum they had drunk while on Earth
Now with the blood drained from their faces and their skins ashen
I saw nearly all their sinews rot away in split seconds
And their peaceful joy was pillaged
Yet unerring, inert, and grave quiet
In abundance of wealth they stayed barren
Cold, and stalled
Never had I seen such looping stagnancy,
Their fire had no warmth or vigor
Never had I seen such perfection made otiose by life's rigor
I asked the meaning of the spirit who carried me and one vocalized
Your ancestors require light they cite
The blood of brothers and virgins recite
Tears that never dry until honor is given to their sacrifice
And their bones are brought up to rest through rites
Shall there be feasting made to honor these who fought for heritage?
They knew not Christ
Gutty in the face of drowning deepness
With none to cheer them on with sweetness
If their lives become a graceful adage
Shall they also be examples to our young?
Shall their stories not be told around great bonfires?
Shall their odes not be sung at evenings?
As they dine with the gods by whom they're sired
Who shall reverse their unworthy demise?
Who shall carry them to sleep in the warmth of the land they sunk for?
They who stood to hold the bows for their hearthstone
And suffered the ravaging of foes, even reptilian fate
Possessing virtues in excess yet killed like beings worthless
Dying with seeds unplanted, and many wrested
Their houses are like deserts, their fields are barren and corrupted
Their spirits are rejected for the paths they travelled
Who shall lift their curses of hell and squander?
Who shall reach them now?
Who shall heal their broken spirits in the world after?
(Spock)
Captain, sensors indicate a power surge
Resonating through their ship's body
I'm sure I don't have to remind you
They have their own Scotty
(the questioning me)
But where has faith brought us?
As I look around I see
A species not asking any questions
About the infinite possibilities
(the faith-based me)
But that's why it's called faith
Trusting in what you cannot see
All things can be yours
If you will just........ believe....
(the questioning me)
I hear what you're saying
Catchy slogans always dazzle me
But once people think they're right
Then there's only eternal stagnancy
(Spock)
And Captain don't forget our mission
The beauty of opening new doors
To go to those forbidden places
Where no man has gone before
With the sadness of lost friendship
And as I look into my own eyes
The damage of my faith-based fears
Struggling as I say the word, "Fire"
Photons rip through the hull
Of this Enterprise of faith
And the exaggerated look of horror
Spreads across both of our face
And now I consider the wreckage
Of a species void of curiosity
Silently content to be powerless
And stare mindlessly at a TV
And I wonder if all new awareness
Must first go through this stage
As we learn that asking questions
Is not indicative to faith
Captain's Personal Log,
There is a sadness that comes from destroying the part of me that wants
so desperately to believe in something. Yet I have found this faith always
leads to a limitation of consciousness, a stagnancy of awareness that
leads to a retraction of my identity, and ultimately to the most unbearable
unhappiness. But now I wish to stop looking to what others want me to
believe, and to look to myself. No fear of the judgments I was taught as
a child. No fear of abandoning always what someone else always told
me. The thrill of the stars is calling me, and I want to go where no man........
has gone before...........
Form:
In the multitude of counsellors there is life,
Running away implies stabbing yourself with your knife.
I’m inside a cyclone, you think I should run?
You even went on to tag my stagnancy as dumbness,
I’m not a fool you know. Positioned myself in its centre
For I know that in the eye of a cyclone there’s calmness.
You feel I’m off-guard when I actually feel like I’m in a venter.
My birth canal is in the vertical, where I’m not impaired of my view
I fix mine eyes to the heavens where I know there’s my breakthrough.
In the midst of drunkards there’s sure a fog of immature diction.
Engaging means emigrating from the principle of lingual timing.
Words are powerful entities, they can unveil people’s identities.
When your mind is pixilated, the words you speak can intoxicate
Your persistent entity, your individuality. Even if it may be a while
There’s just some hostility about it and what if it compiles
In the long run, leaving your choice of words forever numb?
In a bad company is a formed aura of non-believe,
There’s a rapid leakage of faith with slim chance of retrieve.
The Bible is on point, “bad company corrupts good character”
It is said that character is the you that exists
When all are gone and you have only you in your midst.
Now think, external injections are depriving your character cells nutrients.
The torture is aimed at you, once activated there is severe suffering.
But, you'll have to bear the yoke alone when your God's desired character
Starts to haunt you!
There's fullness of joy in the presence of the Lord
And for those who really seek it, life is never really odd.
"I try to share my thoughts with Poetic touch through contests being Rational Analytic ,
Courageous and Righteous not Religious and surely not to win but to be seen on keen
eyes to have perfect precise perception."
_ Poet.
Me always a wrestler holding strong gauntlet
of courage, confidence, wearing bracelet
of dynamic vibrant vigorous
will power, with simultaneous
compassionate behaviour
in frolic fervent fervour.
Path of life is mostly uneven
smoothness less, already proven.
I never pray for my rescue in trouble
but pray for strength to be double
to fight and overcome with efficiency and effort
foregoing indolence , stagnancy and comfort.
My weapons are Honesty and Truth
I progress in life honouring ruth.
Universal Moral Values to respect ,
keeping my head always erect.
I act, react, interact taking life as challenge.
fight for justice but not for revenge.
A lone fighter throughout my life.
Yet met compassionate friend in strife.
Bathed by Love and shocked by Betrayal.
flooded by joy, also sank in dismal.
Never rushed for peace or serenity.
Ambition was prime priority.
Adventurous life I like to explore.
Yet my duties I never ignore.
Whether in society or in own family,
' We are for each other' : Primarily.
If to proceed alone in dark night,
To get light , my soul I'm to ignite.
I wish communication in Poetry -Arena
presenting my Prismatic Persona.
I'm decisive on own principle, being Egoistic.
I'm not at all Religious but Truthful, Realistic.
Proud of my competence, but no vanity.
Only Religion to accept is ' Humanity.'
Jonathan’s fall had been so rapid down the obstinate pits
Time had not allowed him any chance to read the writhing
On the wall and he could not have deciphered the ancient
-Language of demise-
He had been below in that shoot so often and languished
On downtrodden trajectories of rock bottom squalor
But the symbols would have been hieroglyphic at best
-Smudged in translation-
When all else fails ever more try falling he thought as
He drew at a straw in a stack of delinquent pikes needling
His apathy desolation discomfort and a long losing soul
-A shot in the dark-
Maybe Jonathan wondered that if he fell so often in
Any case it might matter if he jumped on his own volition
Not to end it all but to gather new resolve in difference
-Leaving indifference behind-
It has to be fast as not to change my ambivalent struggles
The pit looms now and I must seize the day before dusk
At least there would be some light for descent at the start
-Before withering promise-
Better not dabble with the rungs I might need them for latter
I’ll spread myself wide once I am ready to nail those walls
Even a sewer might do when its only one long breath away
-Until clearance’s escape-
In the underworld he came across a kind yellow slick road
On it a traveller not unlike himself and a union from heaven
As they floated dangled and drifted as they wedded their plight
-In changing perspectives-
If Janka and Jonathan had never let go had not sought out the
Depths of their withering journeys had not taken momentum
Not knowing what another day would present in new dawn
-Endless loops in perpetual motion-
Would have arrested stagnancy and stale morbid loneliness
The morale of the story speaks that un-ventured journeys down to
Where hell freezes over may be unpleasant but harvest reward
-From the luxury of oblivion-
Lifted lightly from familiarity
Sleep's gesture caresses cells
Taken to nearby bewilderment
Where stagnancy busily dwells
Liquid lambent shooting star forms fragment
Vapid vexations vanquished in fantasy's fire
Mist masked span transcends measurement
Vision's fusion surpasses language quagmire
Imprisoned waking cognition
held in category's secure structure
Dispelled impediments crash cascade
preceding sleep's redeeming tenure
Ignited sizzling spiral whimsical continuum
Themes undulate with kiss and chase thrill
Trauma's feather sinks, treasure 's stone floats
Detached components reconcile at will
Dream chariot leaps easily
Obliges unassuming passenger
uncover unique anecdote
Intriguing as a stranger
Driven chivalrously soaring splendidly, lured enticingly
Revelling in brain' s carried captivation sole function
Travelling happens spontaneously without momentum
Contented centre offers converging clock hands junction
Revelations ripple, expanding truth
Roller coaster riding outside reality
Symbol's eventual meaningful messages
rise as a halo, impartial to gravity
Reason's region, sensible staid evades taboo
Indetectibly dilating pineal stillness vibrates
Untouched pastures in sleep domain permit oblivious
From fences of accepted, dream's newborn liberates
Catapulted!
Conscious corners sent as envelope ratified
deliver obvious, wafting surreal's torment
Clumsy clambering of mind identified
hankers for hibernation's brief dormant
Twilight displayed spectacular spectrum
Sun rays pasted colors on sky-album.
Startled shuddered on sudden storm
Gust in lust on thrust brought fragrance from past
Long lost amour sending romantic aroma
Hidden memory ignited my thirst.
Whiling wind in my mind caused enigma.
Strong breeze shaking boughs, waving branches
Passionate petals fell off on silent scream.
Gale outburst tearing off flower-bunches.
Ruthless wind winding my dormant dream.
Sinking in morbid melancholy,
reminiscing my sweetheart, my honey,
whom I had left at corner of my journey.
The remembrances are rippling,
still on my beats of pulse.
hitting me on strong impulse,
driving to despondency, me crippling.
Emotive urges not to surge,
rather stagnancy to indulge.
Sudden summer storm outburst
Heart of the storm shattered my heart.
What is actually happening, hard to analyse.
All my sensations going to be paralysed,
Only feeling pricking : Without you I am to live
for the rest of my life, how can I survive ?
“Here lieth baby Rachel
Born 10th Sept 1894 Died 30th Oct 1896”
Marble stone that lays above the head,
white chippings that blanket the body,
flowerless vase that sits naked
crying out for a fragrant moment
if only to perfume its stagnancy.
I see an odorous pool being replenished,
rain drops aiding hope and life,
a renewal to the neoclassical container
that one day must have been complemented
with loving hands of grief.
I find no track to this lonely corner,
forgotten in this living place of death!
No visitor to gaze upon its epitaph
no one to care “Whom here lieth”
Beneath this broken monument.
“Velvet skin that the cruel age turns to husks,
naked bones left to mature the grass above,
weeping willow guardian of shade and light,
Who! Knows what nourishment
its searching tentacles beget.”
“Corpus soul aimlessly floating in limbo,
looking at me here this very minute?
Feeling my sensitivity as I stand here, alone,
Is there no escape for anyone?
‘Unless life is indeed the enemy’”
Warped in thought I stare at her monument,
built by caring minds and dexterous hands,
tradesmen whom with spade and chisel
penetrated sculptured within nature
just to honour a child’s brief life on earth.
I walk away along the newly beaten track,
grass and nettle bow before my impending stride,
my mind is wrenched with reverence,
I climb aboard my mechanized shovel
“I wonder why! Why should it bother me so!”
© Harry J Horsman 1992