Long Stigmas Poems
Long Stigmas Poems. Below are the most popular long Stigmas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stigmas poems by poem length and keyword.
Powerful words,
Truthful words,
Honest words,
Brave words;
This is exactly what the Doctor orders,
For a nation, who's trying to fight the horrors
Of blatant racism,
Unfairness, injustice,
Nepotism and sexism.
A man of Peace,
Without controversies,
Is not a genuine activist.
The truth is being tolled; there is no reason to apologize,
‘Cause you're exercising your God-given rights.
The sickness, the maladies,
Which America has been suffering
For over five centuries,
Need to be healed as you're reading
My honest feelings.
This is painful, this is long overdue.
My brave People are tired of fighting
The ills and the stigmas of our societies.
This is hurtful, this is way overdue.
The Truth hurts, thank God Almighty;
"Another One" is unafraid to tell the Truth,
"This One" is dissecting the false myth,
And the backward ideologies, thank God Almighty!
The prisons are populated by innumerable innocents,
The Police and their cronies randomly humiliate
Our parents, siblings and cousins.
We have every reason to be mad and irate.
A more just and fair system needs to be in place now.
The Brother is using strong medicine right now:
Powerful words,
Truthful words,
Honest words,
Brave words,
To save America,
The beautiful diva,
Who stands for: "Justice, Freedom,
Liberty and Happiness for All."
We should denounce Uncle Tom
And his monkeys. Brothers, who walk tall
Like you and our President,
Are rare and almost nonexistent.
The Truth will always set free:
The men of Justice, the men of integrity,
The men of Peace, the men of honesty;
The Brothers and Sisters who will tirelessly
Fight racism, the twin-brother of slavery.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to all my brothers and sisters.
Copyright © February 19 2009, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Love me in a world of translucent dreams,
where shadows weave their tales under a trembling moonlight,
in the silence of the night within hidden forests.
The echo fades, sad and enchanted, beyond time,
somewhere in the universe, the thin line between desire and reality.
In the mire of the late hour,
a tumult is born in the chest,
thoughts spilling over, turbid and warm,
like a river of stars flowing into the void,
where memories burn in conjured silences.
Love me deeply, to the root
of every falling star,
steal from the night sky the knives of light
and shroud my soul cast into the endless sea,
for without me, even the star is just another falling leaf.
Hold me among the delicate splinters of dew,
under the white tent of summer nights,
where only you, and only you, can read the stigmas
of wept evenings, bygone dreams,
which I have quietly written on the vast canvas.
Riding on rivers of emerald and topaz,
I sought you, absent and too present
in every spark of our limited universe,
where the song of the wind enters through the cracks of time,
and memories bloom like willows flowering in darkness.
Kiss the green in the forest buried in your eyes,
let the immense blue of your sky no longer weep
for your heart cries out for me,
and so too may our love be eternal and breathless.
And when ecstasy trembles under the retreating moonlight,
when dawn is ready for uncertain journeys,
you are the heart I never had,
the fall of my shivers, the falling leaves.
Place petals of roses upon my temples,
red like your kiss, burning my body,
and I dissolve in the sweet waters of your lips,
your arms, my boundlessness.
Sing to me without words, even in whispers and mute cries,
love me madly, in the stream of sweet memories,
for you are my dear,
and the most beautiful rose, your embrace.
In every rhythm, a tear is laid down,
and a sparkle is born in the light of evening,
love me recklessly, eternal in a dream,
embed me in your every heart.
Written: June 8th, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Constance La France
"Quote: Don't plant anything but love since life is as fleeting and breathless as a half-taken breath—. By Poet"
Under a starless, cimmerian sky—
Night spirit sings a whispering, stern sigh.
A limpid emerald shedding effulgent light,
Tethers Earth to the everlasting height.
Thunder ripped across its hollow shell—
At my waist, zeniths, your fingers fell.
Rain-thrums strike a shameless trance,
As stray fires fueled the ecstasy prance.
We breathe because becoming breaks—
A slender glass of recollection shakes.
Recurring breath, a magic trick, a thick tide,
With a bright lantern casting inside.
I am left breathless, cleaved, and pristine,
A maze of marvel, a plague, on the scene.
Your azure eyes awaken the deepest lawns—
Where emerald trails greet glowing dawns.
An exotic cosmos is the seed of an aged oak.
As winds wander and pierce with stroke
Still, amid our stillness, two souls ring—
We savor the thrill of contorting the sting.
Tempo of the heart beats forth its stygian light,
As Elysium sways, they embellish the night.
We breathe to maintain our ethereal state—
Where falling spirits can grasp their gate.
We are no mere stars; we are the core of clay,
Tacit, tangible trove that slithers away.
Orbits of stigmas screaming for a fight—
Where mellow sparkle shows the night.
Our golden hands carve hours of the day,
Where the sun and rain cavort subtly play.
I love my way through the prickly space—
We change our fate with each sip of grace.
Though breathless, we are never broke—
A lightning magical green-gold smoke.
The sky’s seraphic soprano starts to glow,
The spellbound breath is all we bestow.
In the depths of the mind's vast terrain,
Where shadows dance and thoughts abstain,
Lies a realm unseen, yet so profound,
Where mental illness's whispers resound.
Anxiety, a relentless beast,
Claws of worry, never released,
It wraps around the soul's fragile thread,
Filling each breath with unease and dread.
Depression, a heavy shroud of gray,
A weight that dims the brightest day,
It steals the light from hopeful eyes,
Leaving behind a void that defies.
Bipolar, a tempest's raging storm,
Swinging emotions, a tumultuous form,
From euphoric highs to depths so low,
A rollercoaster ride, nowhere to go.
Schizophrenia, a fragmented maze,
Where reality blurs in mystic haze,
Voices whisper, and visions distort,
A world unknown, a mind's last resort.
Obsessive-Compulsive, a tangled snare,
Thoughts entwined, a ceaseless affair,
Compulsions bind, in patterns they dwell,
A prison of rituals, a tormenting spell.
Eating disorders, a cruel charade,
Mirror's lies in the choices made,
Feasting or fasting, control fades away,
A battle with self, each passing day.
Post-Traumatic Stress, a haunting ghost,
Memories etched in shadows engrossed,
Triggers ignite, and nightmares take flight,
A wounded soul seeks respite in the night.
Attention Deficit, a scattered mind,
Focus fleeting, thoughts intertwine,
Restless energy, a constant hum,
Concentration lost, a drumbeat's thrum.
Each affliction a unique plight,
A journey fought within the night,
But in the struggle, let us see,
Strength and resilience, set minds free.
For mental illness knows no race or creed,
No boundaries where it plants its seed,
With compassion's grace, let's unite,
And shine a beacon in the darkest night.
Together we'll face the battles untold,
Breaking stigmas, hearts unfold,
With empathy, love, and healing embrace,
We'll conquer the shadows, find solace and grace.
Winter's quality can by no means merge with my love,
Elating the stigmas,freshing the trees but stay not long.
Graced with illumination,concordance with the sun,
In-turn in fury,scorching it,the sun made it mourn.
Venus and Erato,dearly a pair,
Drenched in beauty,chastising the apples,made heart fear.
Nature would not agree to bear them thither,
Hence,their beauty merely in fallacy shelter.
Thriving through ages is her fiend,
Tuned like a dirge,partly to her as friend.
Age, though enticing a-dazed with wits,
Tarry so long that ills meets her on the seat.
But my love,attractive,splendid though not consistent like ruth,
Drowning me in love,graced in diligence is Youth.
18:02:23:14:44
Last night's Wim Wenders film Wings of Desire, not starring Adam
Sandler,
great in the great tradition of Metropolis, Fellini, Children of Paradise,
Ikiru, Open City.
This is not comedy though it can be funny overhearing people thinking,
the randomness of thought, data dots, circles with dots, sadness and
silliness,
silly sadness, confusion, rarely a clear thought, not one logical
lucid progression. Deep art.
I'd like to do better than my best so far, write something with
hydroxyapatite
that won't gather dust then become dust a neuron of sweetness,
an early morning bicyclist, a lost ghost or fallen angel
any form from which death might abstain or forego appetite.
Appearing to meander from subject to subject is my practice. Looking
for solutions to the equations. Learning the changes then forgetting
them.
The expressions emanating from mortal minds are broken stamens, sticky
stigmas.
Striving for immortality,
some Spanish philosopher (who looks like Don Quixote)
says he understands and it's alright.
I will read what he wrote and probably agree
but is he immortal? Not his body, but his thoughts.
True, I say, but this also: Not his mind, but his thoughts. Unchanging and
finite. Put them in a hatbox and pass them on as heirlooms.
To overhear the secret thoughts of others. Sharing and unsharing
electrons, disrobing
and bathing. That is the purpose of poetry. Gargoyle twice. Did Wim
give each thought its own voice or use the same voice for all thoughts,
every whim.
They say that different skin colour and races
were a curse because we didn't obey God's laws,
It can't be true as if you're born in Africa ,
you'll probably be black and in Europe you'll be white.
It's geographical, governed by generations and the sun,
although parentage has a say when it's done;
we may be 'freer' than we used to be, see
the old stigmas continue, no matter what you do.
I lived in Africa, it was good for your soul,
made me have realization, made me whole;
now none of us are 'safe,' sad state of affairs,
where's the compassion, you wonder if God really cares.
'Oh freedom, for I'll no longer be a slave,
when I'm finally buried in my grave.'
Written 24, 2023, For Robert James Liguori Politics Contest
___________________________________
Politics is what triggers nations to collide.
A place where power and ambition coincide.
Oh, the acrimony of aspiring to be a politician.
To navigate the hazardous tides and mission
The first thing they master is to never say yes.
Since the thrill of politics is rife with impress.
You're required to dazzle, prevail, and flourish.
And convince the populace, inspire, and nourish.
A campaign—a search for fans, a quest to know
Promising alternatives, with a chance to show
What the population genuinely desires
That you may fulfill their wishes and inspire.
They express their imprint on the political stage.
A lively hug, a brittle society, a burning cage
Should no cotillion of stigmas, no excision of a few.
To avoid immoral speech and unsavory eschew.
Gone are the days when luring was hard.
Now, with the gift of persuasion, you can discard,
Human minds have evolved, times have changed,
But darkness and sin have also been arranged.
We operate in harmony, never to stigmatize.
We prize no demimondaine, no social pragmatize
In the history of our society, there are evil deeds.
We embrace the ideals of brotherhood and creed.
Red and blue are our only choices.
Divisions and conflicts, our society's voices,
Genocide, broken treaties, and illness
Insulting names, cultural destruction, and distress
We envy to induce people not to become illiterate.
We may spur elders and penurious, if considerate,
No sectarianism or partying; no debating whence.
Yet, in a culture where virtue is of high precedence
I can't walk in my niche, yet I'm apprehensive.
Politics and society as a whole are impressive.
Courteous decisions are diplomatic and wise.
For the commonweal betterment, we devise
In this smooth domain, where everyone is heard,
We build a society that stands undeterred.
integrated society, a beacon of hope,
Where harmony and justice in a melody cope.
(Dedicated to you, my Brothers and Sisters)
Powerful words,
Truthful words,
Honest words,
Brave words;
This is exactly what the Doctor orders,
For a Nation, who’s trying to fight the horrors
Of blatant racism,
Unfairness, injustice,
Nepotism and sexism.
A man of Peace,
Without controversies,
Is not a genuine activist.
The truth is being tolled; there is no reason to apologize,
‘Cause you’re exercising your God-given rights.
The sickness, the maladies,
Which America has been suffering
For over five centuries,
Need to be healed as you’re reading
My honest feelings.
This is painful, this is long overdue.
My brave People are tired of fighting
The ills and the stigmas of our societies.
This is hurtful, this is way overdue.
The Truth hurts, thank God Almighty;
“Another One” is unafraid to tell the Truth,
“This One” is dissecting the false myth,
And the backward ideologies, thank God Almighty!
The prisons are populated by innumerable innocents,
The Police and their cronies randomly humiliate
Our parents, siblings and cousins.
We have every reason to be mad and irate.
A more just and fair system needs to be in place now.
The Brother is using strong medicine right now:
Powerful words,
Truthful words,
Honest words,
Brave words,
To save America,
The beautiful diva,
Who stands for: “Justice, Freedom,
Liberty and Happiness for All.”
We should denounce Uncle Tom
And his monkeys. Brothers, who walk tall
Like you and our President,
Are rare and almost nonexistent.
The Truth will always set free:
The men of Justice, the men of integrity,
The men of Peace, the men of honesty;
The Brothers and Sisters who will tirelessly
Fight racism, the twin-brother of slavery.
Copyright@, Hebert Logerie ,Thursday, February 19, 2009,
All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
Should tardy relief take full years more
To grace fallen visages with angst taut,
Let kind nature her multiplied joys hone,
And gild final grins past art's fickle fault.
May saddest souls that now fret most
Gleam with heaven's grandest succor,
No more numbed by fear's fake ghost;
Free from inky mists and bleak rancor.
The gloomiest of hearts down with care
Shall glitter under jubilation's final glare,
And forget prickly sorrow's ghastly pain;
Wholly unafraid of shame's broken train.
He'll his victorious head at last carry high
After blacking ignominies and stigmas go;
None shall Art's virgin blossoms blight so,
Killing fresh dreams whose sign inch nigh.
This star-crossed champ at last shall reign,
And his chafing fan her dead cheers regain.