Long Subjectivity Poems
Long Subjectivity Poems. Below are the most popular long Subjectivity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Subjectivity poems by poem length and keyword.
But Freud could not vouch
For one lying on his couch
It’s God, our mind’s He unlocks
To wrestle with this paradox
This ambivalence
For the world fixes stints
For lungs that need air
For a heart needs repair
This is what we’re left with
No life, just a death kiss
At atheistic insistence
And with ambivalent resistance
There’s prejudicial conjecture
There’s personal conjecture
But no absolute or objective truth
You don’t need to be a sleuth
With subjectivity solicited
Two intellectual sins committed
Arbitrariness and inconsistency
Condition critical insistency
Circumspectly we point this out
Without a doubt, we don’t flout
Compare two worldviews
(as atheist’s hit the snooze)
We share the Gospel with the hostel
With no subterfuge or solipsism
No false religion’s systems or schisms
The 2nd Coming will be the loudest day
The trumpet sounds, the saintly strain
Will w/Jesus comeback with no foray
The final stop for the Gospel train
It’s the little things you notice
That make other little things in life shine.
Like an overflowing outhouse somewhere else
Makes the flush toilet at home seem great
And how this little thing
Makes you appreciate the greatness of a life
You may have disparaged out of familiarity.
The bottom line is it can always be worse,
But as our day to day life just gets better,
Softer and more luxurious
It’s easy to see our life as terrible
When others see it as blessed.
So which is it? Whose subjective view?
Beauty, comfort and appreciation,
Is always in the eye of the beholder.
Go with the flow they say,
Appreciate what you’ve got,
Because it can always get worse…
(8/16/26)
Fantasy
Mysterious world, but I don't know where it comes from. From far, so far
Sometimes, they just call and greet us, this soul, the fantasy. Non time
There is no time, it is a different world. It is not our life. The fantasy lives with me
Live us, a new ruler of the soaring imagination, through the clouds of distant worlds
Very good to meet these worlds. A touching friendship from the past and the future
Why? Because the fantasy is like a melancholic, lonely life. Fantasy is our kind
Fantasy comes from an unknown existence, colourful shadows of the mind. Of World
Sometimes clear. Yes. The shadows are only the protection of the illusion world, hiding
Unknown space feeds the human mind with fantasy. Will this be a covered desire?
In my life? Oh, no. No. Never. My desire arrived from my life. Or not? Question find
Fantasy, fantasy. The will to life. Fantasy, fantasy. Crown of lost and destroyed lives
Fantasy, fantasy. The creator of new worlds and emotions gives new visions, lives
Fantasy, independence
Fantasy, gate of new life
Fantasy, free creativity
Fantasy, unlimited possibilities
Fantasy, always new hope and creation
Fantasy owns a world for individuals
Fantasy, the subjective world of life
Fantasy, created by the origin of irregularity
Fantasy, the creation of the origin of fantasy
Fantasy, friend of metaphysics
Fantasy? Fantasy of the Fantasy
Fantasy
Unknown
Invisible
Colorful
Glittering
Incredible
Dark
Grey
Misty
Mysterious
Undiscovered
Undiscoverable
Real and
Existing
Life
When I was only just school age,
My dad became very serious once,
As he was a fundamentalist Christian,
And wanted to know how I was forming my words.
When he asked how I felt about roads,
I knew exactly what he was talking about,
He was taking the phonetic sound,
And asking about my subjectivity for my shout.
But I was glad secretly to myself,
That my first name was a positivity,
That it spoke outrightly of a journey,
And that it was after the Island of Rhodes most definitely.
I knew what my dad was up to,
He was subliminally asking if I believed in god,
‘Cos he’d insisted that Rhoda in the Bible,
Was the only derivation of that name somewhat odd.
So, yet again, I evaded the question,
And used my disability to claim lack of knowledge,
But since I couldn’t fake a speech problem the whole time,
Concluded with an admission of liking Rhodes carriageways!
But seriously, Rhoda is after the island Rhodes,
And Monihan reminds me of monkeys,
‘Han’ is for hands which state activity,
In evolution’s process of family trees.
‘I’ is for me, which emphasises that I matter,
To the whole scale of things, the entire picture,
That evolution made me and I that affect it,
And that I can be met by other people or organisms of different structure.
I think my name is just fine, and it has done me well,
Given me strength when I had none,
Directed when I needed suggestion and focus,
And commended me for what I have done.
TRIPTYCH EXPERIENCES
portrayed
surrounded
now
repotoire
recited
recalls
questioning
the formulae
to
stimulate
subjectivity
delicious
luminous
dialogue
in
bizarre
graduated
contrasts
with unbridled
shades
predominantly
prevailing
afresh
in sensitive
hesitant
scenarios
passionate
unreachable
role-play
studies
of
facial
splendour
in
lavish
concept
a
formulated
process
to
conveys
a
quiet relaxed
series
carefully
fronted
emphasis
balanced
precise
awareness
with
vital
counterparts
in
closely
occasioned
devices
“Are we under them or not?” they debated,
“Do we owe them explanation?”, they demurred,
Sure of their validation of this baby, they stated,
To Herod that one day it’d be the king conferred.
They knew they were doing something wrong,
To the Christ family and Jesus life which awaited,
Making his work harder by allowing scoffing long,
Specifying him for the Romans to have him fated.
But they believed in sociology as the mechanism,
For difficulties to be worked out through,
And upheld life and society as the atheism,
Which would confront their classism rue.
So revealed to Herod the birth of the child divine,
But kept back his address and how he looked,
So Herod ordered the death of every baby fine,
In order to kill that one infant that he’d booked.
He didn’t like the intelligence of the Zoroastrians,
The magi respected by all as insightful wise men;
Jews were bypassed easily as emotional pedestrians,
But the magi comprehended rational thought, ken.
So the wise men had integrity by respecting authority,
Showed consistency in their task to specify and select;
Were the original intellectuals who had subjectivity,
To both the Israeli people and the government elect.
L, you were right
hope you're doing well
i need to speak in bear talk
because they censor
those black bears down river
that tore me apart in the past
for voicing a clarification
a rhyme and reason i never got...to this day
so you see
i hope you do
i saw your comment
i knew before reading your comment
regarding a C
that the top 3
blue ribbons
writes had nothing to do with topic
i knew it
so i would think a lot others did too
i think its an insult to ones intelligence
to read rules
and see the boundaries having ambiguity
when it shouldn't
i know the purpose of c
is to have fun
but being robbed, insulted, isn't the definition of fun
i also know that there is a lot of subjectivity, perception
in what people see as being the best ... that i don't contend
somewhat
but i think rules of c should be straight forward
otherwise whats the purpose of having rules
one would think the spirit of competition
is to follow the guidelines
not veer off ..one would think
i ve given up c too
for the very reasons i mentioned
for now i shadow contest, so in that aspect im having fun
i do wish you the best, L
i can feel your pain
and empathize thereof
connie pachecho
1/15/17
Time
Time spent. Time, spend my time. Here, there, dried reality, broken times
Yes, everything was lost, only the walk remained. In the space and time, walk alone
Walk alone
Walk alone
In the time
In the time
Remebering
The past
I just want someone to come back again. Again. This is the past. Back in the past
Recreate it from the past form again from the past time. Someone is in the past. Love
Her name is the Past. Not a woman. The past is what I want. The time of the lost age
It’s never coming back. I know it. But it’s my dream. The past. I want to live it now
Again and again. And again. Why was that time then, and why do I want it again? Why?
I can’t live without the past. Can’t. The past is pulling me back. This is the love of the past
My soul and the past are a union, they live together in the living past time, there is the dark
Dark and light in my life. The clouds are black in the sky, this is the dark life, so close, so far
Living in the dark memory is a sharp life. Now. Live in two time places, oh this is so high
Internal examination of my soul’s works. It is continuous. The question is why? That’s why
Questions from the past. Pasts from the questions. Questions from black clouds of lost life
My lost life. Others lost their lives. Everyone lost their lives. This time is like a dark hurricane
A storm. Is it the end of life? End of the world? No, it is not that, only a wave of the being
Being, being. I just see life. Is that being? Maybe a projection. Looks real. Strong view
Strong view is strong projection. But where is the existence? In the heart. Life comes…
From there. I want to kill my heart. I want to live without a heart. I want to live without
subjectivity. Yes. I want to see the reality. The real dream of life. The time of present time
Needs it kind. A kind. A lens. A lens without heart. Give me life. The objectivity of life
Time, life. Life, time. I want to live in the next. That’s the future. Imagined realism. Of life
Time
Life
Past
Kind
Next
Cruel?
No
Unknown
The life
Dead heart
The lady looking up had said that “good
was bad” and then had added, “all was well”;
Tripped up on his feet, and after her fall,
she who was glad was then made madly sad.
But the man stooping down from where he stood
replied that “bad was good” and “well was all”;
Though with his words he’d made the tall feel small,
he’d been trying to make the sad feel glad.
O’! what grand narratives, what foolish tales
we spin for our mad selves!,—such stupid stuff
we weave inside our mangled minds—as if
our current suffering wasn’t enough!—;
But I present this riddle for a laugh:
“Can the heads side of a coin catch its tails?”
There are those who genuinely labor and long for certain realities.
There are myriads of cases of dreams giving birth and thriving.
These are such that conceive of great things while fully awake.
I suspect they would be considered dreamers and visionaries.
And then there are such that dream while they are fast asleep.
These are those who do not willfully contribute to their dreams.
The dream may come in bits and pieces and often void of clarity.
Attempts are often made to interpret, determining rhyme and reason.
The former may spend a lifetime bringing to pass that which he dreams.
Perhaps the wisest move of the latter is to do no more than observe until
or unless there is a cause, divine or otherwise, to respond to their dreams.
Methinks that one should approach such dreams as one would notate
the posting on a box filled with glass or other fragilities of grave concern.
"Fragile, handle with care" should also be the advisory for our sleeping dreams.
Notwithstanding, God speaks in many ways, and dreams are absolutely one of them. Subjectivity is most fragile and should be the cautionary stance, and objectivity is more likely to stand the test of time and elasticity resulting in positive outcomes.
Houses, not built on a rock, but sand, remind me of sleeping in the fragility of dreams.
051720PSCtest, In The Fragility of Dreams, Silent One. 2P