Long Subconscious mind Poems
Long Subconscious mind Poems. Below are the most popular long Subconscious mind by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Subconscious mind poems by poem length and keyword.
In my subconscious mind turning with time into
a fertile field in the fond landscape of flourishing youth,
long before corrosion of crumpled confidence started,
I planted the sapling of a tender tree called ambition,
nurtured by passion it grew to feel the touch of the sky.
In my aspiring mission I wasn’t confused in the core,
in life’s arena I fixed my focused vision on the bull’s eye.
In wild winds blowing across the times' rough topography,
the seeking arrow didn’t deviate from the aimed course,
I achieved the goal I set for myself, and sealed the fate.
The travails of uphill climb couldn’t contort my resolve,
for pleasant surprise awaited me on the mountain peak,
where morning sun’s golden rays tinged feathers of fame
that got attached to my flamboyant name, and I knew,
if I were famous my signature would turn into autograph.
March 4, 2021
Contest : If I Were Famous
Sponsor : Joe Sandler
The chaotic storms of mountain. Made winds and valley breezes.
Awakens the soul and wisdom's fountain
So as the words are written the pain seizes.
Eyes grey as the ice of men's heart
Words uttered seem crazy like the island shutter
Soul as deep as the tomb of the arch
Psychotic metaphor in sync with thunder.
Unlike the followed thinkers of past
Who Were intrusted to build the future
Now poets free thinkers those who could save us at last
Are discredited Because the masses are mentally neutered
Ignorance individually applied
And then through treachery
Introduced thru the subconscious mind
To teach a complaicent society into self induced trickery
her eyes on the moon
or a twirled moustache
upside-down questions
never before asked
violins play a solo
alongside quiet pain
that is spoken of only
within poetic refrain
thought bubbles bounce
collide with stars
a self never spoke of
disguised in rhyming memoirs
mazes and teeth in riddles unravelled
as the subconscious mind
becomes more well-travelled
layers of thought
covered with layers of feeling
all brought into the light
with a little free-wheeling
though dots may join up
there is no conclusion
for a poetess is always
part fantasy
part illusion
venn diagram discoveries
made without knowing
sharing of ideas
with the seeds they are sowing
exiting time when feeling off-kilter
to observe all askew -
a true angle tilter
we scribble in darkness
scribble in light
scribble for solace
and for our life
Many times we cry without tears
The fears we attach to our subconscious mind
We become blind to our destiny
Yet we discover that silence only makes it louder
Crying without tears is a common practice in the 21st century
Having tears empties the soul
Having no tears paralyses the soul and
Makes us numb in the face of many circumstances
Crying without tears will often
Allow you to go through the motions
This stream of passivity
Will cause you to be blind to your destiny
Crying without tears is a common practice in the 21st century
Having tears empties the soul
Having no tears paralyses the soul and
Makes us numb in the face of many circumstances
Let’s break free
Mark Frank
Copyright 2022
Each and every day, whilst still in bed, she was delivered tea and toasted crusty bread
at the end of that consumption, she'd light up a deadly phag
Then drop the butt to mix with tea leaves at the bottom of the cup, On removal of that cup
by an eight year old son, the sight of that mix, would often make him gag
From both of his parents he keenly had observed,
how they did the drawback, on the substance from which he was strictly banned
Inhaled the toxic smoke, deep into their lungs,
he had practised many times without a cigarette in hand
At the tender age of ten, he decided
he would steal a cigarette or four
From the supply that his father held which he would then furtively smoke,
behind the toilet door
So now he lit the match to ignite that ciggy stick
took some puffs, inhaled the toxic smoke,
unexpected outcome, his head began to spin, he was also feeling rather sick
Subconscious mind to conscious mind
it sent out a stern warning, in which it did implore
It's a dirty filthy habit
it's one you must ignore
But the smoking it continued
interspersed with bouts of coughing, every single day
Until the age of twenty six, the penny finally dropped
this intoxicating habit, you must give it clean away
In those days there were no vapes no nicotine patches
it was the art of will power upon which he must draw
Visualisation of the bottom of the teacup that used to make him gag
was the image once again, that was what he saw
Fifty years have now elapsed since he decided
that he'd finally had enough
Withdraw from the weed which for fifteen years
he had always endured a daily puff
He finally could relax, no craving for the habit
disdains the smell of ciggy smoke
At age of three score plus seventeen years more
he has now become a so much fitter bloke
Within lies a divine spark of light;
a bright campground of hope.
When nothing seems to be going right;
look within and you can learn to cope.
Complexity is humanity
and it’s quite a paradox.
Consciousness clings to reality
while the subconscious mind does not.
Sometimes, well-meaning people,
want to put you in a box.
They’ll come across as evil;
when truly, they are not.
A unique creation
is every individual soul;
realization brings elation;
you can again, be whole.
All life, it is sacred,
though we all do make mistakes.
Your inner light’s an anchor,
tossed in a subconscious lake.
Humans will use labels,
they help finite minds to cope.
Finite minds sometimes lack faith;
but, there is always hope.
For every single divine spark,
like the one that shines in you,
is a tiny piece of a greater mind;
this I know to be true.
For I was once like you, my friend;
feeling hopeless and alone.
I went inside of myself to mend,
and in there, I saw gold.
You are more than flesh and bone;
you possess a soul.
That soul has a purpose here on Earth,
to achieve it, is its goal.
“What is this goal”? You may ask;
“how am I to know”?
You see, you are a poet,
and your soul’s words, they do flow.
All that we endure in life,
builds our character.
Poets know that they must write;
to cure the pain and hurt.
When you pen, take heed my friend,
a lesson you will learn.
That when you pen, it helps to mend;
your divine spark, brighter burns.
Dwelling deep within our subconscious mind
Feral images loom to harshly remind
Imagined lofty stance delusional
Consciousness fulcrum as yet unstable
Not the type of fear then but fear itself
Likewise desires too must get off the shelf
For as long as there be aspect seeking
Thoughts self conjured will continue haunting
The tree of fears having roots in desires
Nurtured by us and by us alone sired
The conclusion stark stares us in the face
Unless we melt, we self block divine grace
The shift then is both complex and simple
Choose to flow with throb of love spherical
Attachments recede; we too vaporise
Each moment of life a divine surprise
18-November-2020
(syllabic rhyme)
Mark Twain wrote how Tom had Huck paint his fence
using reverse psychology on him.
Tom bamboozled Huck, yet in his defense,
Huckleberry Finn was known to be dim.
Tom baited Huck by acting possessive,
taking great pains to express his delight.
He made painting the fence seem impressive,
taunting that Huck could never get it right.
At first, Huck laughed; then, he begged for a chance
to whitewash the whole fence and prove Tom wrong.
Tom planned on tricking Huck well in advance:
bruising his pride, until Huck went along.
Such reverse psychology demonstrates
how the subconscious mind manipulates.
In the foreground of a dream, you stood before me, confessing your singular misstep.
Behind you, were two images. As only my subconscious mind could decipher, then conveyed to me.
Only the words lingered. They toppled down from your careless mouth, falling towards the ground beneath your unsteady gait, as you paced to and fro; much like a cornered animal.
For months I revisited that dream. Still, I found no answer to the question I asked of you.
You claimed to have committed the act only one time.
All my good senses tell me your heroes lived on death row
Mother’s are to blame for the role you played in the demise of so many.
Ink Blots was the foreground of this dream. Escaping me so obviously.
So now I must wait as they build a case.
Putting on to hold
Her dream, my dreaming mind told
The other, asleep:
Come on in, see the truth here,
It’s not as may appear.
The darkness from deep
More oft than not shows it clear,
Blow light and behold!
_______________________________
Musings |01.04.2022|
Poet’s note: Two stanzas here are in dialogue, one a Tanka and the other a Haiku. In Tanka the dreaming mind and the one asleep talk to one another. What the waking mind sees in daylight is not clear. The subconscious mind throws light on it through a dream. The Haiku here tries to resolve this apparent contradiction. Yes, sometimes we can see better when there is no light.