Long Subsequent Poems
Long Subsequent Poems. Below are the most popular long Subsequent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Subsequent poems by poem length and keyword.
Genuine Fecklessness Exemplifies Despondent Creature Because...
Lackluster life lived
as each subsequent day,
a carbon copy
of the one before,
though far from
being clinically depressed, this boar
ring guilt ridden Capitalist decries
mass consumerist paradigm
satiating the whore
rub bull Lady Liberty, where more
disinclination arises, per
crossing upcoming birthdays corridor
January 13th finds
increased repugnance being part
of materialistic culture club
as hellacious tore
char, implied societal behavior
expects blind submission
subjected to glore
re: us lee spouting
hallelujah nauseating your
every five senses to accept
point blank, Nee pay adore
ration, asper goyish gaiety bon jure
blared, foisted, and
lobbed upon every
man, woman, and child of society,
which imposition, this
outlier doth deplore
as an avowed antiestablishmentarian
to thee very core,
of my being, who
experiences continuous ab hoar
rent theoretical strings
of disappointments pour
ring down (like confetti)
from on high, viz directly
linkedin as nonconformist eyesore
from cradle to... when,
me cremated ashes get scattered,
though right now... still technically
alive, at least... I think so
(despite not yet),
being gratefully dead...
nearing three score
years, yet upon
my demise wherefore
welcoming relief against
(feeling like the oddball),
shares his glumness
weighing me down, where
every step an arduous chore
his compunction being open to explore
living off the grid, or
alternatively joining thee dacor
oven intentional community,
cuz he seems severely mismatched,
where vast material consumption,
especially accentuated with
holiday season heavily pitched
to spend every
last red cent, (and beg
borrow, max out on credit, or steal)
to splurge for
expectation to endure
the helter skelter frenetic
Black Friday and Cyber Monday
fire sales kindling
a bonanza galore!
I was sitting on the corner, stoned
When out of the blue, my dead aunt phoned
How could this be, she rests in peace
Right beside my loving niece
I answered the phone, and my auntie said
"I know you think that I am dead"
"I'm alive"- my auntie moaned
Or- could it be that you're just- "Stoned"
I laughed through the receiver — “Still scolding from the night,
Still chasing my foolish shadows with your old familiar light;
You left your bones to silence, yet your sharp tongue remains,
A flame that outlives the ashes and remembers all my names.
She whispered, “You seek the dead where the cold earth has grown,
But graves keep only silence; they cannot keep what we have known;
The voice you thought was calling from some forgotten shore—
Was the tree beneath your footsteps, remembering the seed it bore.”
Collaborative Poetry Note
The Stoner Collaboration Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina
The opening two stanzas of this poem were originally written by Charles Messina as the foundation of the collaborative piece. The subsequent stanzas were composed as a continuation and reinterpretation of the original narrative, expanding the encounter into a meditation on memory, mortality, love, and the unseen connections that endure beyond physical existence.
This poem represents a creative dialogue between voices — where humour, personal experience, and visionary reflection merge into a shared exploration of what remains when the boundaries between life and death begin to dissolve.
Presidents Truman, Kennedy, Regan, Biden
Sparing a turkey from a Thanksgiving table. The presidential Turkey Pardon
Massachusetts
is a truly historic state.
Indigenous people lived there for
over ten thousand years before it was
colonized by the English in the 17th century.
The 17th century brought a mass migration
of Puritan immigrants into the area
while the subsequent centuries
brought new waves of
immigrants.
Abraham Lincoln’s
son Tad got upset when
he found out someone was going to kill
the live turkey brought for the presidential
family’s Christmas dinner. Eventually Tad’s plea was admitted,
and the turkey’s life spared. Abraham Lincoln made
Thanksgiving an official
U.S. holiday in
1863.
A decade later
Rhode Island poultry dealer
Horace Vose starts sending Thanksgiving
and Christmas turkeys to the first families. Vose was the
White House’s unofficial turkey provider for more than
40 years after that first turkey to President
Ulysses S. Grant, but by 1914, Americans
from around the country were
sending live turkeys for
the holidays.
William Bradford’s
journal was discovered and published
by Sarah Josepha Hale, a magazine editor.
Hale was so taken with the story of that first Thanksgiving,
that she lobbied five U.S. presidents to make it a federal holiday.
Abraham Lincoln declared Thanksgiving an official U.S. holiday,
an act he saw as a step toward reuniting the
fractured country after the Civil War.
He put it on the calendar for
the last Thursday
of November.
1941
December,
Franklin D. Roosevelt
changed Thanksgiving to the fourth
Thursday in November to avoid confusion
where there is a fifth Thursday in
November.
People
often incorrectly
date the official pardoning ceremony
back to 1947 with Harry Truman, a myth
that stems from the fact that the National Turkey Federation
which runs the modern presidential turkey pardon
ceremonies sent a president a turkey for the
first time that year. Truman
didn’t spare that bird’s life
he ate it.
.
At The Bodhi Tree
Magnetic Majestic Enchanting
The Tree talked to Buddha in making
Young Siddhartha turned Buddha here
Majestic Tree, this one is not the original
History of 2500 yrs this tree is the fourth
as the lore goes the original is no more
Doesn’t matter. IT Is alive, electrifying
At the very spot The Tree still stands
Buddha spent Seven weeks, .in all
One week He unblinkingly Stared
Watched At the tree Lovingly
Revered. Are these Spots
The tree atracted mighty kings
Emperor Ashoka the foremost
The feuding warring kings
Sat there meek transformed
Now comes the interesting lore;
Who cut the Tree first time? And why
LOL it out you may, It was wife of Ashoka
A mighty queen herself She was so peeved.
Ashoka would travel 100 miles to be at the tree
Not done The queen couldn’t take it any more
She ordered ..
the tree be
WHACKED …
The tree fell
That was first
blow the tree took
Subsequent invasions;
and Time.. the tree came down
Three more times As the lore goes
The present one is from a sapling
That was brought from Sri Lanka
Sapling of the original Bodhi tree
Was taken there to Sri Lanka by
The daughter of Ashoka ,
Sanghamitra;
253BC
.
Today she Decided,
To expose all sentiments without trepidation
Though broken by another’s dissatisfaction,
Inhumane and callous betrayal of her certitude
She chooses to unveil and unmask all residual pain
And focuses on His everlasting, unrelenting beatitude
Today she Decreed,
Never to allow her haunting past to hold ransom
Her subsequent future strong like a transom,
Though at constant war with doubts from her other
She vows to love him still through good and misfortune
And embraces all of him without a trace of a bother
Today she Prayed,
Supplicating to The Almighty to heal his humble heart
Discarding all perturbed doubts of the unknown depart,
So he sees her through untainted eyes of pure certitude
Breaking free from ghosts of past gone miles yonder
And taking sanctuary in the wings of God’s great omnitude
this alteh kocker nostalgically reflects
being ma late mama's boytchik
(now, she long since deceased,
whose cremated remains of day
scattered to all points on compass)
fondly referencing
both sisters as dabchick
incongruously sprinkled her Brooklyn brogue,
especially when angry, she quickly segued
from mild expletive fiddlestick
the latter playfully aired,
when kibitzing wit bubeleh
reminiscing being dirt poor,
nonetheless zee mother
every now an again homesick
regaling the whole mishpokhe
(meaning us brood of kids)
interrupting herself
with frequent non sequiturs
discombobulated anecdotes switching subjects
as if external forcefield
jimmying a joystick
interleaving disparate threads with subsequent
tangential linkedin snippets
with feigned lovesick
chatting 'bout cockamamie
"Grandpa Moishe"
and his chaim yankel posse
(to escape hen pecking nudnik
"grandma Rebecca"),
a trenchant termagent bubba,
not averse to incorporate dreck
in the same sentence with zayda
ostracized him
scoring figurative placekick,
whence upon his schlepping back home
met with "silent treatment" dampening rollick
king atmosphere choking tearfully
"mother" recounted
farblunget anger thick
lee palpable extremely discomfiting,
particularly when ("mom's")
girlhood friends bore witness aye gavalt,
where penury churned moribund thoughts
viz empty cupboards
devoid of bare necessities
a figurative apropos yardstick.
The History of the world is in my veins,
an abstract in my mind the Future,
looking into the cornicopia of concepts from memory
I see a universe staring back at me,
naked am I, a body of victories, failures & serrindipities,
a sepleture of star light & a womb of consciousness
craving continuity of conclusions,
seeking a final truth rescuing dead judgements from error,
Time, attention as an investment,
as a resource for spiritual enrichment is a vast mine of mine,
shafts that burrow into fear, stupidity, euphoria, creativity,
spelunking the sensational,
dividends in quiet diamonds,
speaking to the world in thought symbols,
noise finds no harbor in my mouth,
awareness deepens as the river perfumes the great canyon of reflection,
illusions lose their tastes & happiness hungers itself,
the slavish & sordid power structure of Man's nightmare
tells me I possess no right or ability to know myself by myself,
that meditation is for lazy, ill informed members, introspection a sour source,
productivity for commerce is penultimate goal,
souls engulfed in irrational routines, distracted from divinity,
disinterested in sacrafice for strength and subsequent liberty,
guided by gurus of reflexes,
I stare at skies, trees, chattel, focusing on artwork, music, environment,
harvesting experience, interpreting Life for me,
day dreaming like a goose on soft grass,
refusing guilt breath in my instruments,
the only legitimate " waste of time "
is denying yourself realization of Truth & Honesty,
permit them sanctuary,
give them time to help you use your immense power,
a place that never darkens -
J.A.B.
Nights you know I held you
I could never leave you
I just want to tell you
I would never fail you
At thirteen you were telling me to calm down
Selfishly I replied I’m not trying to stay on this earth
You see measures are trifling and beyond their worth
I’m going to continue doing me until the end is all I see
You call it a death wish I assume I’m living free
Anti-territorial yet no one stands next to me
For burdens in time have captured a short life expectancy
I make you laugh tear and smile
No fantasies of a greater guarantee
I know my wrongs
But I’ve been submerged in vengeful songs for so long
That I can’t find my way home
Am I bugging
I told her I loved her
Now the closest we get is digital hugging
Send, reply, good bye
A son of seven mothers
Don’t cry we had some bad times
But I realize
The blues won’t come unless you live your life
I swear before my last name I had mine
Nights you know I held you
I just want to tell you
I could never leave you
I would never fail you
When I tell you I’m still in school
You shrug and ask when will I finish
I tell you I’m a bad judge of character
You tell me my art is detrimental
Insisting that I shouldn’t forget
But it’s not a flame I’m willing to rekindle
In this life I’m subsequent to sudden storms
I guess it’s just where I’m coming from, calm
It was nothing, a few silent alarms
Seen a more subtle time
Chasing geese and hen back on the farm
Now I’m trouble and moneys my struggle
How can I respond
I feel you have tuned your shoulders
forward toward a decent summer bloom
Above my head
I’m trying to catch up to things you’ve said
I’ve become a heartless person and I apologize
You can abruptly see it worsen in my eyes
Desensitized in cursive but my feelings don’t lie
An everyday funeral left a good sigh
I’m trying to bury this artistic side goodbye
Nights you know I held you
I could never leave you
I just want to tell you
I would never fail you
The moon has set: bright, revealing its peace
As the radiance of its light gives close warmth
To bail me out of subsequent release
That keep up yelling at distant moon's girth
A lone me derelict to fresh winter
Battling breeze compels silent trees to dance
The hope of summer unto midwinter
Cum a solemn wish longing speedy trance
Fastening my mind unto weather's seatbelt
Driving nature at high speed heating freeze
Yet cheerful moon toasts cold breeze but not melt
Whenever bed bleeds warmth to dry at ease
I prefer real vibes of raw openness
Once in a full yellow moon drunkenness
Mirrors don't lie about frank and ernest portrayal...
Especially when giving cheeky badass
blemished physiognomic reflection
tricking me seeing displeasing likeness
Matthew Scott Harris, a grown lad brandishing
his treasured invisible cutlass
poised to strike, (where spiderlines
instantaneously provoked, webbed,
and frankly zapped shattering experience),
whereby yours truly
rendered unconscious to any pass
hubble gratefully dead singed hair zombie
straight away befriending image with him
aforementioned christened human biomass,
hence explains personal objection (mine)
devoid of any sass
sneaking a peek at (regarding employing
cute antiquated, quaint word) looking glass.
Feeble effort, butta lemme attempt to apprise
ye dear reader, how gasping
at me selfsame visual simulation spurs cries
and whispers with shrieks of horror
inexplicable nauseating revulsion jars myopic eyes
espying even willow the wisp gallivanting guise
think mine glassy doppelganger blithely
traipsing, tooling tiptoeing no lies
hands down acquiring masquerade ball door prize
if nothing else... try getting a fleeting rise
of humoresque judicious metaphorical
sucker puncheon the gut against self I satirize
February twenty third perhaps lame effort
to affect seeming witty and wise.
Mailer daemons rule cerebral roost,
whereby gimcrackery invectives loosed,
cuz all during growing up years bullies did boost
inferiority complex hatching adult
egg go self steam goosed
abysmal confidence building accomplishment
ye accurately deduced
charnel, (bilabial) frictional,
infernal... struggle moost
arduous (think Atlas, Sisyphus, plus
ten subsequent Greek mythological Titans) juiced
with eternal divinity upon
whose figurative shoulder humanity papoosed.