Long Statistic Poems
Long Statistic Poems. Below are the most popular long Statistic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Statistic poems by poem length and keyword.
Haiku Translations II
Illuminated by the harvest moon
smoke is caught creeping
across the water...
Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fanning its tail flamboyantly
with every excuse of a breeze,
the peacock!
Masaoki Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Waves row through the mists
of the endless sea.
Masaoki Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
I hurl a firefly into the darkness
and sense the enormity of night.
—Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
As girls gather rice sprouts
reflections of the rain ripple
on the backs of their hats.
—Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Unaware it protects
the hilltop paddies,
the scarecrow seems useless to itself.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ebb-tide:
everything we stoop to collect
slips through our fingers ...
—Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fading memories
of summer holidays:
the closet’s last floral skirt...
—Michael R. Burch
Scandalous tides,
removing bikinis!
—Michael R. Burch
Haughty moon,
when did I ever trouble you,
insomnia’s co-conspirator!
—Michael R. Burch
Ascendance Transcendence
by Michael R. Burch
Breaching the summit
I reach
the horizon’s last rays.
Moore or Less
by Michael R. Burch
for Richard Moore
Less is more —
in a dress, I suppose,
and in intimate clothes
like crotchless hose.
But now Moore is less
due to death’s subtraction
and I must confess:
I hate such redaction!
no foothold
by michael r. burch
there is no hope;
therefore i became invulnerable to love.
now even god cannot move me:
nothing to push or shove,
no foothold.
so let me live out my remaining days in clarity,
mine being the only nativity,
my death the final crucifixion
and apocalypse,
as far as the i can see ...
The Red State Reaction
by Michael R. Burch
Where the hell are they hidin’
Sleepy Joe Biden?
And how the hell can the bleep
Do so much, in his SLEEP?
Red State Reject
by Michael R. Burch
I once was a pessimist
but now I’m more optimistic
ever since I discovered my fears
were unsupported by any statistic.
Keywords/Tags: haiku, nature, moon, water, sea, night, rain, dark, memories, tides, insomnia
[21/09/2015 9:18:41 PM] P.c: while i stand on this stage
talking to you and the rest of the race
you see the cloths you wear
the places you live
the friends you have
the parents who love you all
while we talk about the Syrian refugees
things get interesting
not positively but more pessimistic
seeing their houses being blown to ash
friends lost cause of cross fire
parents some there and some gone
with the shoes you even where now
some children go barefoot
some dont realize how bad this maybe
19.5 millin refugees says the most of this
i dont know what is worse
knowing this statistic
or knowing that half are children
we all see how privaleged we may be
but would you like to pay back to society
help the others in need
seeing to those who bleed
not always physically but emotionally
with tears of sadness
experience the lose of many
running from home
losing all types of cloths
not even seeing you house as home any more
cause the windows are blown out
the door on the floor
with bullet holes scattering the wall
u wonder what was home like before the war went on
now all you can recall is the herds of refugees
running across lands dangerous or safe
climbing the border to be clear
as i personally know
i got a friend in the country next door
he talks as he sees
them fleeing in and crowding the streets
there is 3/4 percent of the populations Syrian rather than Lebanese
the country is in chaos
while others around the world barely notice
we got to try
help them some how some way
imagine walking miles
with no shoes
a father or mother
or not even both
escaping the country you called home
because the war raging around has destroyed everything you got
you are only a child
younger than the double digits
surviving the storm and one of the worst wars on this earth
now once they get to their new "home"
do you think they are treated fairly
my god please, look around
they are blocked at the borders and tear gassed cause they are so many
they are rejected from all
the put tents up and sit tight
die from the cold in winter times
a new article said
" young boy at the age of 7 dies from the cold even though being held in his mothers arms"
this just makes me sick deep down inside
realizing refugees aren't treated right
even though they are exiled from home
we got to make a change"
The Silence of War
Behind the Curtains of a church window
Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice
Find relief from snipers gaze
Beside the cross sits the last candle
Flickering precariously, searching for sanctuary from the wind
But the wick is near the end
And so are these men
The Harvest of War is almost in
For this is November 1918.
The German guns call like the song of the Siren
Irresistible, for only the dead will hear
New orders to cross the Sambre-Oise Canal
Another postcard for Historians to write.
Machine gunners scythe the ranks
Gone the Irish regiment, clover for the beast
I take shelter behind a splintered Oak Tree
Once magnificent, A survivor of Natures glory
Now a hideous spectre to man’s intervention.
I wait here with Wilf my captain
Waiting for death to find me
The mud beckoning for blood,
The Canal red like the River Sticks
A feed for tomorrows Newspaper.
A groan from wilf, his eyes start to dim
Fear brings the Lord’s Prayer to my lips
A last haven for my soul to cling
I watch his spirit fly away,
As the words fade from my voice
Like so many others on this day of carnage
Wilf, my friend, died November 4th 1918
Yet another contribution to this dark harvest,
Another soul for god to tender.
A statistic, a casualty of war,
To be remembered generically
A wreath to share with a multitude of lost darlings,
Another photograph to fade on the mantel piece
A piece of History for a grieving widow to dust
In the ranks of the dead
Angels count our losses
What dreams did we lose?
What voices were made silent?
What books were never written?
And how many tomorrows gone,
Lost in the darkness of death?
Under this oak tree, fading from memory
A soldier Wilfred Owen was taken too
Unspoken truth in unspoken poems
Silent to mortal’s ear
Another casualty of war
A feast of wisdom for angels to keep?
For His words were far too much,
for the hogs of war to stomach.
His poetry made silent by country’s shame,
Unpatriotic, not cricket old bean said the generals
Only now, through peace can we learn
The voice of one soldier,
How I pity humanity
For silence is a killer
Democracy, and justice its victim,
And the inevitable Silence of war will kill us all.
Footnote
On this day November 4th 1918, Wilfred Owen killed in action, Sambre-Oise Canal, 7 days from Sanity
One of England’s Finest War Poets.
Black and blue boo boo bruises courtesy hurled Bobo box
No matter I sustained multiple contusions about the face and neck and minor head concussion after the missus tossed an unopened box of five apple pie stuff'd oat bites in my direction (what got whisked - as clocked by yours truly at lightspeed), nevertheless (whew), no permanent damage prevailed regarding the cherished goods.
While recuperating in the hospital bed,
I decided to craft incident report,
(yet refuse to implicate the missus)
quickly letting fingers
skitter across keyboard
couched with divine intervention,
cuz yours truly nearly got declared dead,
thus the following words quickly typed
before creative juices fled
despite skeptical readers,
who might immediately deduce
that I rightly ought to be
declared out of my talking head
thankful caring empowered
stalwart connections qua invaluable friends
gifted with emergency lifeline when pitted
with suicidal ideations, predilections,
utilizations fostering existential crisis,
hence resilience taught to thwart
self harmful and hurtful modus operandi
thru the dogma, ethos,
and faith of worthiness
and in remembrance of JED,
(whose founders lost
above mentioned son to suicide),
thus inadvertently halting epidemic,
whereby teens and young adults
offered mental health resources
by building resiliency and life skills,
promoting social connectedness,
and encouraging help-seeking
and help-giving behaviors
through nationally recognized programs,
digital channels, and partnerships,
as well as through the media
spreading the word
to cope against desire to annihilate self
(think nihilistic existentialism)
receiving immediate access
to forge an excellent outlook
reliable material broadcast
across social media platforms
exemplifying and identifying linkedin
ingenious and innovative modus operandi
such as promulgating hotline
flown like the goodyear blimp
videre licet zeppelin made of lead
clearly displaying credo
(which unfortunately never came to my aid -
just another statistic courtesy anorexia nervosa)
summed up as Ned:
A character education program that uses a cartoon character named NED to promote kindness and excellence in schools. NED is an acronym for "Never give up, Encourage others, and Do your best".
The regressive Supreme Court decision
hustled, proclaimed, and voiced
June 24th, 2022
immediately quashing pro choice option,
struck down constitutional right
(upheld for half a century -
formerly allowing, enabling and providing
the muliebrous population
access to secure and safe abortion)
and sent a chill into the air.
A woman of childbearing age
within the United States trade
risk seeking abortion if she
unwittingly finds herself pregnant
resorting to desperate measures
sans mortality written
courtesy blood and gore costly paid
for ownership of body electric
autonomy usurped to choose abortion,
especially females representing
low income statistic,
whose chaotic, frantic, hectic..., existence
quite unlike bucolic, idyllic, poetic
lifestyle exemplified, exhibited, and exuded
by Thomas Kinkade
impossible (aery) mission
to buzzfeed another mouth
hence unlucky gal
now faces criminal charges,
whereat strong arm of the law
one lass unable to evade.
Despite being an older
long haired pencil necked geek male,
(a genetic product
of the baby boomer generation)
albeit one dazed and confused man,
whose body resembles
a miniature lead zeppelin
I a baby boomer guy
always inclined toward
remaining aforementioned gender,
nevertheless can empathise
with red hot poker anger
fecund women most likely experience,
when in the heat of passion
birth control measures vehemently
even non verbally overruled,
when an aggressive partner
thwarts such rational precautions
exerting patriarchal domination
loosing abundant seminal fluid
with deliberate intent to impregnate.
Many instances abound,
(since time immemorial)
whereby linkedin couples
ardently, fervently, maddeningly
strive to beget offspring
and thus shuck off
the application regarding
accessing, kickstarting, wielding
invocation of divine spirit,
thus their sexual relations
forfeit applying prophylactics,
oftimes feeling down and out
when biological fertilization
breeds despair, grief, mourning...
yet no sooner does adoption
appear as the last best hope
the maternal hormonal gonadal
secretion agency, propensity, viscosity....
and quirky unpredictability,
where unsuspecting latent virility
to procreate ironically occurs.
I guess I'm feeling some type of way.
It’s the day after the next day.
THE VERDICT; INDICTED!
Definitely it rocked this country.
I guess I'm sensitive, emotions running deep, with all this madness;
Most nights I can’t sleep.
I have a son almost the same age;
I guess you can say I'm frightened for his well-being.
As much as a mother should be these days.
The tragedy has awakened more of a beast in me, so much so
I just want to hold him, protect him against those men sworn to protect and serve.
I don’t want him to become another statistic in this country.
I feel helpless in this moment!
I just want him safe from all hurt and harm and danger.
He told me he wanted to change his name, as if; it
Still won’t change who you are, or the color of your beautiful dark skin.
What is he afraid of? I guess the same thing I’m afraid of.
I want the best for him, point blank, period.
But, I'm afraid, one of these trigger happy men will take him from me,
Will rape my family and kill our children;
Because on that day he may have his hands up; or
His pants down or his music too loud.
So you see, I just want the best for him;
POINT BLANK PERIOD!
I don't want him to feel any pain,
Nor any harm to come to his way.
He’s growing up, and he won’t be my baby for long;
I’m so afraid of this world and the harm it may cause.
It doesn't matter how he was raised, his background;
Or what community he’s from; still
He has that beautiful dark skin, so many seem to be afraid of;
I want him safe, YOU HEAR ME?
POINT BLANK, PERIOD;
From black and white issues, domestic violent issues,
Women crying rape and defaming his character;
I want better for him, than this world trying to take from him.
I want him away from the negative influences;
As I try to teach him, to always watch his back.
To be accountable for his actions and that trust comes at a price,
And that some friends may try to stab you in the back;
And to never regret who you are or where you’re going.
To be honest and trustworthy and always be a leader,
PLEASE MR. OFFICER, PLEASE MR. OFFICER, don’t hurt my baby;
ChloeJames 2014
For Complete Poem
Visit
MY WORST NIGHTMARE BY CHLOEJAMES http://wp.me/p5mOSk-v via @wordpressdotcom
Dear Lil sister. .
Hey pretty girl how you doing these days. How's life treating ya, hope it
hasn't been to cray. I noticed you were down, well how bout u talk to me. I
just wanna uplift ya, see you become who you were born to be. I know your
life has been crazy, Lord knows it to. But all those trials and tribulations
they won't break you. I know you hate that man from your past for touching
you the wrong way, you never told no one n it bothers you to dis day. It
created a dark cloud that covered your heart, now you have trust issues
can't tell the enemies apart. Night after night you pray to God for a fresh
start. Low self esteem, but baby your a work of art. Yeah i know you was
sad growing up without a father. As the years go by life seems to get harder.
I know you wanted that affection, the love you deserve as a daughter. Moma
tried her best but some things sh couldn't have taught ya. I know you wish he
told you, how beautiful you are over n over again. How all of your power
cums from deep within. Those weren't the cards you were dealt so you seek
refuge in other men. Trying to fill that void that has always been missing.
Now your in a situation and too scared to leave cause you think to yourself
nobody will ever love me for me. Countiuosly talking to yourself, and crying
secretly. But baby girl that's a lie I say differently. Your a daughter of a king,
so that makes you a princess. Your father hates to see you cry, that's why he
wants to give you his best. You are heirs of royalty don't u ever forget it. You
ARE victorious let me hear you admit it. Please baby girl don't be another
statistic this world wants to see down, so handle your business. Never follow
the crowd honey be independent. Cause when those checks come in, they'll
have a lot of digits. Always remember to remind yourself how beautiful you
are.I don’t care if your tall, short, white, black or covered in scars. Being
beautiful starts from the heart, so love yourself first. And always know that
the best comes after the worst. Hang in there hun, I know life's a twister. But
you can always count on me. Sincerely your big sister.
Why do the birds insist on
chirping
When the dark cloud above
my head
Soaks me with all the
emotions
That have remained bottled up
for years
Until he came into the
picture..
Roses and orchids
Scented candles
Bath salts and all
He treated me good..
I remember the times when
Halo was the glow i saw above
his head
His saintly ways fast enough
To catch my tears before they
trickled down
Bending over backwards
To protect this poetic shrine
I called my heart
Writing on my walls as best as
i could
I made pages from
Memories
Spray painted my joy on brick
walled canvases
Pouring out my love from
buckets of comfortable
feelings
But the uncomfortability of a
comfortable situation started
When i saw daddy's face in his
face
Fire breathing
Huffing and puffing
Saying **** like
" I made you, so i can break
you"
Broke me he did..
Skulls bashing on windows
Cracking bones
Like a boxing ring
And i was on the other side of
Ali's fists
Blue and blacking
My flesh
Making unhappy rainbows on
my cheeks..
The uncomfortability of a
comfortable situation was..
Tearing my heart out
Like pages from an old
newspaper
I gues i was old news..
A story told too many times to
mean **** nomore
A statistic of a problem the
nation talks about once in
every year
An anniversary of perpetual
pain to the broken hearted..
Feeling unloved like a worn
out primary school uniform
I feel the emotions and
memories from back then
Twisting and turning
Reaching out of my soul
Yearning to break out nd
break me..
Break me like daddy broke
mommy
With his big bad hand
The sounds of breaking
glasses
Morphing itself into a lullaby
Pushing me to a corner in my
room where i rocked back and
forth
Waiting for the "bad dream"
To end..
Sorries are always forgotten
when a 'Bells' starts ringing
And Labels turn Black
Intoxicated or not
The match never ends..
Walking on eggshells,
Stagnant like words unspoken
I run to these pages
Inking them with the words
unsaid
The cries unheard
It dont stop the pain
But it does make the clouds
above my head
Stop the rain ...
Why do the birds insist on
chirping
When the dark cloud above
my head
Soaks me with all the
emotions
That have remained bottled up
for years
Until he came into the
picture..
Roses and orchids
Scented candles
Bath salts and all
He treated me good..
I remember the times when
Halo was the glow i saw above
his head
His saintly ways fast enough
To catch my tears before they
trickled down
Bending over backwards
To protect this poetic shrine
I called my heart
Writing on my walls as best as
i could
I made pages from
Memories
Spray painted my joy on brick
walled canvases
Pouring out my love from
buckets of comfortable
feelings
But the uncomfortability of a
comfortable situation started
When i saw daddy's face in his
face
Fire breathing
Huffing and puffing
Saying **** like
" I made you, so i can break
you"
Broke me he did..
Skulls bashing on windows
Cracking bones
Like a boxing ring
And i was on the other side of
Ali's fists
Blue and blacking
My flesh
Making unhappy rainbows on
my cheeks..
The uncomfortability of a
comfortable situation was..
Tearing my heart out
Like pages from an old
newspaper
I gues i was old news..
A story told too many times to
mean **** nomore
A statistic of a problem the
nation talks about once in
every year
An anniversary of perpetual
pain to the broken hearted..
Feeling unloved like a worn
out primary school uniform
I feel the emotions and
memories from back then
Twisting and turning
Reaching out of my soul
Yearning to break out nd
break me..
Break me like daddy broke
mommy
With his big bad hand
The sounds of breaking
glasses
Morphing itself into a lullaby
Pushing me to a corner in my
room where i rocked back and
forth
Waiting for the "bad dream"
To end..
Sorries are always forgotten
when a 'Bells' starts ringing
And Labels turn Black
Intoxicated or not
The match never ends..
Walking on eggshells,
Stagnant like words unspoken
I run to these pages
Inking them with the words
unsaid
The cries unheard
It dont stop the pain
But it does make the clouds
above my head
Stop the rain ...
I remember that Sunday night
When I got the call from my Mom
She called to let us know
My brother was wounded in Vietnam
I went to my car
Sat in my Chevy and cried
I almost lost my brother
And remembered two friends who had died
I had served my time in the Navy
But believed the war was insane
So I took off my dog tags
On my neck I put a peace chain
Too many friends had been wounded
Serving a country that didn't care
Troops mistreated when they came home
They should have never been sent there
Troops served with courage and honor
And deserved a better fate
No one should have sacrificed so much
Only to come home to anger and hate
The average age of the dying
In that jungle was nineteen
An unjust war that split our nation
In a way it had never seen
I stopped an old friend's mother
On Broad Street one Friday night
Asked if his wounds were healing
And was he doing all right
She said there's a lot of damage
From that God forsaken war
When he goes to sleep each evening
He's back in that combat zone once more
Vietnam will never end for many of those who served
Wounds that never heal and no freedom was preserved
Our young were all expendable
To the government elite
War brought soaring profits
Neither victory nor defeat
I visited a grave site
Of a friend I'd known for years
One night he took his own life
I held back my tears
For him it was all over
The nightmares from the war
He left a wife and child
But he could fight this war no more
Just another statistic, no justice we demand
Disrespected and forgotten in his native land
When do we stop and say no more
When it's for someone's bottom line that we fight a war
Ran into an old friend and listened to what he said
I go to church on Sundays but sometimes I wish I was dead
I keep seeing all that blood and I still smell napalm
If I fall asleep at night, I'm back in Vietnam
This country still fights unjust wars not trying to make amends
For the soldier covered in dirt and blood, the suffering never ends
In our nation's defense we should fight a war
For any other reasons we should say no more.
For my brother, classmates and friends who served in Vietnam.