Long Subjective Poems
Long Subjective Poems. Below are the most popular long Subjective by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Subjective poems by poem length and keyword.
Some things you learn as you
get older.
Beauty is in the eye of
the beholder.
You can't make real friends with
fake people.
Your partner is not always your
equal.
You learn to respond not
react.
Seed out the bull you need
the facts.
You learn to listen to your
intuition.
Sometimes magic happens without
a magician.
You no longer feel the need to
be accepted.
You stop getting yourself
arrested.
You don't mind not being
included.
You no longer feel the need
to be recruited.
No worries about not
fitting-in.
Things no longer get under your
skin.
You slow down and sip your
tea.
No more barking up the wrong
tree.
Happiness is an inner
thing.
Love can bite, bleed and
sting.
Your values and morals can be
subjective.
Controlled emotions are more
effective.
Purpose and intention are
important.
Security and stability need
reinforcement.
Harness your energy, maintain
your focus.
You can tell if it's a Bonus
or Bogus.
It is not about the things you
have.
Never send someone on your
behalf.
Sometimes is going to hit
the fan.
Life is short, do the best
you can.
Turbo1904
Relative.
Subjective.
Freedom fighters?
Protective?
They are pieces manuvered
In the great game of life.
They often stoke uproars,
Violence and strife!
Rights are considered
A pathway to peace.
To enforce Discriminations
And Persecutions grips to release.
Rights belong to all.
And absolutely to none.
Sometimes they help
Society to move on.
From conception we each
Have the right to live.
When wronged, we have
The right to forgive.
But one right, a right we
All want to have and to be,
The right we desire
Is to be happy.
Such a right is down
To the way that we are.
Who are we at heart?
Why does it sometimes seem far?
Rights often fall
To each one their choice
No matter how loud or
How quiet their voice.
But in claiming our own,
Let's not deny others theirs.
With rights come responsibility.
Let's live our right to care.
Written 6th December 2021
For the "Human Rights Contest"
Sponsor: Robert James Liguori
Old adage: What goes around comes around
Recovery from Subjective Sight
Subjective eyesight sees a narrow way
No stoic smile for the inner child's face
Headlong into a righteous angst delay-
Humility on trial with biased grace.
Peering into mansions of another soul,
Reminds ego explore all new labyrinths,
Savor truth hidden in rhythmic rhymes’ role
Let words escape harsh judgements damning breath.
Grace restrains words dogged to throw verbal stones
Mercy’s lens delights in effort’s labor
Refreshes eyes enchantment for heart zones
Finds the unique original to savor.
Releases judgement of poet premonitions
Removes cataracts – compassion’s mission
5-12-21
Contest; Judge Not Lest You Be Judged
Sponsor: John Lawless
...But, of course, this gets me thinking on
the fact that consciousness must be near
if the subjective is to exist,
since looking at matter, it appears
that no life, thought, or driving impulse
exists in the void of gas and rock,
existence itself is objective,
but even that thought makes me take stock.
matter may be cold and objective,
but has no awareness of itself,
to be aware of its objectiveness
requires subjective minds to dwell,
since reality has no concepts,
since that’s a trick of the human brain,
the concept of the objective world,
is thus subjective…have I gone insane?
The objective is the prerequisite
for the subjective to rise at all?
But the thought of objective can’t exist
unless the subjective can make that call?
Do either exist? Do none exist?
Is this causality, Schrodinger ?
And if all of this must be observed
does that not further complicate it?
Is that observer merely watching
an objective world as it plays out?
Or does the observation change things,
and subjectively shift the world’s route?
If existence is contingent on
the observer seeing what we do,
does not their presence become objective?
Since we are here, so they must be to?
Which means they can’t subjectively choose
to just up and leave, since we’re still here,
or maybe it means they haven’t left yet…
Eh, screw philosophy. I need a beer.
For When The Sun Rises
When the sun sets on this we reset our values,
treasure the little things,
offerings to you,
bringing smiles,
perspective of pettiness now seemingly vile,
the rampant greed and selfishness,
there's no place for this,
let’s leave behind this style,
heed this message
help the rest,
mankind has the word kind there in it,
“n am kind” and I’m kind,
offence is subjective,
turn down the dial,
we lived spoiled,
always entitled,
too much comfort,
very little appreciation,
too much expectation,
the hardest times teach the priceless lessons,
"all in it together",
Let this be the lasting impression.
For when the sun rises again the world is new,
the world is me the world is you
Un-revelling Rivalry
Who am I to speak of historical rivalry I cannot contest
all the clever myriad truths conjectures and refutations
about the two masters the two foes with huge presence
when history acclaim appreciation is subjective personal
up front and back stage up all artistic ins downs and outs
My parachute helicopter mind wants to give first prize to
to Leonardo for free flying inventive rebellious mind and
he helped me with anatomy dissecting corpses and all I can
still smell fragrant formalin preserving miraculous tissues
when I had to learn those medical terms and cut into flesh
But then Michelangelo shares my middle name though I am
no angel but who can proclaim that I may never be biased in
associate vein in quite shallow post-post-modernist anticipation
when the great man also painted in narrative personification
Deluge Drunken Noah Creation of Adam Madonna and Child
Okay family man that I am I resort to holidays with my children
and am so sad to admit that we never so far made it to Rome
sacrilegious or not but how could I pass The Last Judgement
when seeing Sistine Chapel’s altar would alter the verdict
of Ignoramus with leisure time spent on Normandy’s beaches
Well now I recall that trip to Euro Disney when we walked
from Tour Eiffel to the Louvre where I temporarily lost my
little boy Moritz and almost my temper when the devious villain
hid from the artwork was sulking because the Mona Lisa was
so small and he was so tiny could not see amongst masses of
tourists the smile and metaphorical writing on canvas and wall
So in all earnest while giving a toss I could-would have to resort
to tossing a coin in regards to whom why how and whenever the
rivals could measure up to history my history my story and life
Even and because of my whacky literal critical stance and my
stanzas bordering on mockery heresy subtle subjectification
you must remember that I have one tongue and two cheeks
And while seemingly ridiculing an important theme of historical
prominence I still bow in awe admiration yet lodge my own angle
perspective whereas the two grand master’s problem was not
what I would behold in my eyes and my soul in full radiance but
that they chose not to consider each others contrasting beauty
as compliment complement Leonardo Angelo Michel Da Vinci
01st September 2016
"Nothing but the truth"
The truth is not located in the left, the center, the right or the extremities.
It is above politics, ideologies and dogmas.
It doesn't care about my or your opinions and perspectives.
You can believe in leprechauns all you want. You are incapable of altering the truth in the slightest.
The truth is one, objective and universal. It is found above my or your subjective beliefs.
The truth is a sacred ideal of the higher planes of existence.
Like an untainted holy grail of blinding astral light that no mental perversion or falsehood can defile.
The truth cannot be approached by faith, but through true logic with common sense or by personal experience of it.
What makes a poet, be a poet?
What makes a pilot, be a pilot?
What makes a janitor, be a janitor?
Circumstances bears some weight.
Determination will unlock doors that circumstances bars.
Natural abilities also bears weight in what they call, 'a gift'.
Same rules applies, doors will unlock that circumstances bars.
It is a 'cake-walk' if there are no barriers to their goal/s, whether be a poet or a pilot.
Are you a good poet? That is subjective and left to interpretation.
However, that sort of statement is not applicable to a pilot, until the plane crashes.
If it has been determined, not to be an act of God, nor the fault of the plane, then we will know that it was pilot error.
A poet can be raw, use simple vocabulary, and be 'street savvy'.
A poet can be educated, English major, knows A-Z of a dictionary, and a walking Thesaurus.
NOW, in this high tech world, the former is easily identifiable, because of its perpetual use of it, whereas, the latter, it is debatable without a piece of paper with a University name on it.
I believe an unwritten 'pure thought' makes a good poet.
I know that of what I have written, some have been written by others, namely my mom songs, my older brother 'Sandless Sandcastles' (he supplied the title), some from friends who are nameless to me of some circa in my lifetime, then again, if it were.
It is safe to say that most that were written and dated here on PoetrySoup, are mines.
My quotes, like most quotes, who knows who said them first, lest it was recorded on paper, and then again, what if it was said before that recording, by another, who may have been famous as well, and was stolen only because it was never recorded.
I can say that the majority, if not all, are my own quotes.
Some are newly, noted, quotes here on PoetrySoup.
Then, there is the third poet, one that is a true natural. Not of the streets, nor well learned, but a true 'gifted talent'. Their words are lights of their souls that they pull from their hearts and share with this world.
Just do not ever stop, Soupers--not for the slightest--Write On!
05/29/2019
“No! Michael! It’s hot,” my mother would say
But I would always see for myself, getting my way
A tiny finger to red-hot burner of the stove
My curiosity against reason always would rove
This same mother would rock me to sleep gently
Reciting The Tall Tales of Mother Goose intently
I grew up naively thinking all poems rhymed
Even as my exploration of composing climbed
A seeker of Solomon’s wisdom can devour books of old
For a true seeker such as I, wisdom doesn’t come from being told
I prayed for this gift without boundaries or constraint
In return. I was given opportunities to learn without restraint
Our God is loving, he endlessly gives gifts freely
When one asks, he knows and acts upon ideally
In my case he allowed me to live through all my fears
One after another, pouring out blood, sweat and tears
But alas, I’ve arrived in the present all in one piece
With prudence, humility, discernment, and belief
Upon relinquishing all regret, fear, and hate
I found my true gift in an accidental penned spate
Sharing from experience not a vivid imagination
I draw from the ink of my past worldly hurts and devastation
Some may spend days contemplating what to write
As with this poem, the words came forth without a fight
Tackling airy and subjective topics in one pen stroke
I write hoping to ease the anxiety of the average bloke.
09/19/17
Life sometimes
Has been nothing more than raging streams
cascading over the sharp edges of rocky dreams.
Surging down sculptured mountain sides so steep
where dreams splinter, reflected in troubled sleep.
Remnants of, go beyond recognition, no longer to keep
within the subconscious confines of one’s memory hoard,
yet, once filed, the virtuous, the debauched become stored
forever more, upon one’s synaptic cleft, to become scored.
It seems that much of my stuff is habitually subjective.
Seldom has it been that they are of the stuff that is objective.
My thoughts, my feelings, my words are mostly selective.
They all come from past memories that are reflective.
B. J. “A ” 2
November 27th 2018