Long Takers Poems
Long Takers Poems. Below are the most popular long Takers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Takers poems by poem length and keyword.
The weather with its thunder and rain,
change of perception to takes us home again.
By the ecology of magic that remains,
or lifeless desserts that will find its names.
Through misty realms by wasters dreams,
dying trees without carbon in distress it seems.
To regain some sense of ground and gravity,
some ancient diversities is the approach in nativity.
The killing of earth by poisons and number,
politics, bankers and farmers plunder.
Mother of all secret creation to sustain,
convenient ignorance the invisible chain.
When human creation at its dire and best,
seeds containing enduring passion need to manifest.
Allowing true purpose intend to find,
away from actions that keep us blind.
Mother earth love brings true awakening,
forwarding the ultimate reasons of being.
The roots of our ancient truth is deep,
a sacred point of view that we reap.
Cut out the parasitic takers stories,
follow the generosity of spirit glories.
Living creative forces are sacred,
truth by living force well motivated.
The wealthy seek company with your ten-acre heart and one-acre mind.
Groupies swarm beneath your haloed window even on rainy nights.
Tapping tambourines and triangles to poultice out those nuggets of life.
You slowly walk away from the frame and tiredly kiss them goodnight.
You try tempering pace, but the takers ripped the sundial from you.
Swarming like locusts- toting manuscripts, a photo shoot or two.
Who knew babysitting the universe could be so damn exhausting.
Impossible to escape from the talons of a new-age paparazzi.
All that you loved and lived for has long ago withered and died.
You barricade yourself from the gaze of a billion jagged green eyes.
Another golden chessboard gifted to you from an aging king.
Yet another bribe to pry from your palm the secret of eternity.
It all became too much; you've become the world's origami freak.
Folding and unfolding to appease the whirling maelstrom of greed.
You realize (to late) that the elixir is no blessing but a cutting curse.
You've been committed to an asylum called the song of dead birds.
You're 6006 years old, playing endless chess with moonbeams and ghosts.
Dimming lights-drawing shades to drown out the mirror and the smoke.
You try explaining to Dr. Narcotic that you're not a goblin, God, nor prophet.
Just a blue-collar pawn who stumbled upon an elixir of misery and rot.
Bus stop sensations
Where's the bus?
Tardy connection
~~~~~~~~~
Old contact hearsay
Not much to say;
Silent confrontation
~~~~~~~~~
Frangipani sunrise
Pink, yellow, white --
Magical moments
~~~~~~~~~
Smoky stray wind
Grim echoes;
Stale air descends
~~~~~~~~~
Shoppes in decline
Ancient wares loiter;
No takers
~~~~~~~~~
Evening settles
Noisy commotions fade;
Mahjong excavations!
~~~~~~~~~
By this old quay
Modern face lifts greet;
New watering hole
~~~~~~~~~
New dreams stacked
On old faded sites;
Cool revolution
~~~~~~~~~
Play school toddlers
Exchange play things;
Rude awakenings
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
17 October 2014
Singapore
The takers never live
They have no idea
The only way to truly experience joyful life is to give
The givers show them
But the takers think they are suckers
Laughing at them behind their backs
and in front of their faces
Calling them names like
losers, liberals, suckers, dupes.
Not understanding
The only way to fully live
is to give to others
To give your time, your talents, your gifts.
The givers give until their bounty is gone
Understanding the way to life
is to give to others
The takers sneer and jeer
and live a half life
or even less
never understanding
that to give is to live
Drowning in pool of regrets, some steps are to be taken, draw closer there's a marathon in my heart, betrayal and scheming have ravaged my soft layers, floating here, gulping for survival, my deepest regret, and I went in with eternity and came back with not only scratched face but dripping heart, a limping soul
Something devastating unearthed my roots to busk and dry for the world to see and scrutinize my frail scavanged and tattered self, from a self inflicted compassion for takers, whom intentions were to burn down to ashes my generousity and free spirited heart
Might as well watch as the last effort of loving unconditionally engulf and just drag my coffin body to the nearest cementry, maybe the grave might echoe my last selfless days on earth as hymn to ascend my soul to the heavens
Pause! take a deep breath, such are regrets clouding and flooding my mind, lessons not defeats, and my inner voice say, pass me my walking stick, I'm taking the leap of faith to soldier on not yesterday happened not fixed to it, in this a decision is made, to pull myself and dust off from this pit of regrets and wait for the sun to set its rays again to my face, to my hope and to my purpose
#Poetic_Ink
Party Loudly
(and hats that fit badly)
The comments of strangers,
passers-by on the street,
people that matter very little,
or even not at all.
Effect the outcome of our lives,
in ways we have no idea...
yet, how to feel.
Some smile and say hello,
some say good by and done.
Others, want something from you,
that you are perhaps unwilling to give.
Maybe you should not at all
entertain the company,
of the possible,
takers,
and makers,
of chaos.
Wanting-ly grabing center stage,
when they were only asked to the party,
out of courtesy or even chance.
Not because all are not welcome,
some simply partake more of others,
than is their due,
in public,
or in private,
to others,
or alone.
Do not drink too much,
do not be(e) too silly,
and avoid the sting.
Be safe,
not sorry in the end.
Covet-tess friends,
angry assistants,
jealous co-workers,
seeking openings to advance,
by chance,
your demise.
The road home will thank you,
and so will the mothers,
of all the children,
that will make it home,
because you made...
all the right choices,
for the old year,
while welcoming in...
The New.
Amen.
a soft humming sound filled the kitchen with pure good
workers were bringing in their loot in the middle of the hood
their offspring were learning to be sharers, not takers
the pot was filling up nicely with honeycomb by ardent makers
the queen sat on her throne, listening to the humming drones
she loved this feeling of superiority, as she wrote her glory poems
why does she get to sit? one small bee complained to his dad.
Shhh! The worker bee said sternly, not wanting her to feel bad.
the queen was oblivious, writing away on her beachfront missive.
A diva of royal breeding, these workers were invisible and dismissive.
Her feelings were all about herself, which means her novel was a bust.
She never gave the workers any credit at all, this stuck-up Queen LaCust.
the causes i have lost
ever think the clouds
are hiding something
unfelt from birth
bounced around by atoms
grounded to beneath the ground
down
beaten like a beg
with no
rested pecs
Hero to nuns
ashamed suns
ending just befor
be
gin in a gin ring
unnoticedly unnotice a
bubble
dying from time
denying the seconds
out
round 2
this er keeps getting up
how
looking right threw me
with a listing lisping lips lubricate lusciously less
than naught
no's brought
the anti existent uneffisent to
cause a fuss
Spitting pity like leaded aero plain
as the knows on your face
ends of the human
race you to the bottom
Stop dare any God
stop my wor
nope no takers
ok demons djinns
here my jutting chin
Nope no one
you belittle me humanity
devolving so i dont belong
hope nature kills you
well thats your natural
state the truth
no fear for me
i dont believe the
now i put the instead of thee
what does the mean how many
dont know the meaning of simple words
watching love sold on revolving
on a crystal shelf
marked priceless
for all to bid on
and on this poem goes
but listen how the lines doth flow
almost hear the whispered wishes of a wave
forever breaking
a storms applause
or throw money
Sleepless, with defeat...
when night is black and what is left
is time turning back on promises
The sugar coated world askew
What happened to the world I knew?
My head in sand? Was it a joke?
Have I only seen the best of times,
and what is left declines , declines...
The news of grim, and smoke, and rage
has filtered down and I sink in
beyond the edge where I can't bear
another sound of death or war,
of senseless crime against the pure.
I can't command my heart to heal
or hands to cure those in despair
I peel the covers from my bed
and take an aspirin for my head
and click remote and choke on war,
or some new evil presence near.
What happened to the hope I knew?
I'm left bereft, again, again
A violent mess the world is in
I try to keep my dreams alive
and turn the clock back frequently,
when all seemed right in my small world,
when rules were rules, not this confused.
Of course, I know it wasn't real
The world is cruel, has always been,
and yes it is naive' of me
to think it not, to want a shot
at fantasy
So I must write, and be requite, spend dead of night
with thoughts of kindness, wearing blinders.
By day, I must embrace a world bereft, of life and death,
Of Isis, crisis, snipers, takers, rapers, starving children bearing rifles,
headline breakers, heartache makers
I take them all to bed with me
These cancers love the pitch of night, and grow without control
stalking me, my peace of mind
The nights for sleeping often die
sleepless, with defeat
____________________________________________________________
For Charlotte's Contest: 7/31/15
The blade penetrated the flesh
like a prong to a pitted plum
he had played with war
toyed with war
yet the gun
well the gun didn't have balls
Not for him the sterile
three shrouds removed
expunging of visera with a gun
sissy pistols
pansy takers
Stick um good
part the seas of red
wake and feed the hounds of war
plastic pop-guns shatter beneath the heel of Mars
Man UP, raise the staff
and shove the pig sticker into mother's child
Oh man, war, Old Man War
do you visit him each night as you enter
what should be the path to love?
Have a poke little man
just remember, all that was is ...
and will be born again.
Dedicated to a constant friend and inspiration Chris Aechtner
Inspired by his write "kids use toy guns'