Long Telepathy Poems
Long Telepathy Poems. Below are the most popular long Telepathy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Telepathy poems by poem length and keyword.
Grandiose words above my head
If I’m in the mood for them I will look them up
If I am not, I will pass over this missive quickly.
Down to earth easy words appreciated.
Heartfelt words endear themselves to me, giving me joy.
Sad sorrowful words, reduce my heart to ashes.
Poets who understand words captivate and enthrall me.
Spin me on my head, and twirl me in the air.
I dance and prance to the right words.
I sing some, and laugh with others.
Word players and wordsmiths, delight me every day.
Words are volatile, brave, fun, and exciting.
Words entice me, and inspire me.
Words, glorious words.
I cannot fathom life without them.
Even telepathy uses words.
Who am I, anyway?
I wear the mask of many faces.
I speak, read, and understand—
sometimes with words,
sometimes telepathy.
My voice changes with my face.
I just need a witness.
Attuned to me, I become every language you know,
but I do not know the geography of my own soul.
I dare not look at my face.
It is a drama mask—
sometimes surgical, sometimes not.
Nurse. Poet. Mother.
Sinner. Saint.
Underneath: no face.
I mirror what I see.
I am fluid.
Mist.
The breath you forgot to exhale.
I am the diagnosis you didn’t want.
The cure you don’t need.
Everything and nothing—
and still,
I bleed love.
I have walked through Egypt, China,
Italy, Russia—
snow made of glass.
I’ve been to hell and back.
Purgatory is where I live.
A mystery to myself.
So multilayered I must have alters.
I am not a delineating man.
Not a good person.
Just human.
I am lost in Saturn’s rings,
Jupiter’s vastness—
but Earth diminishes me.
I look to the moon for inspiration.
Spiralling players, man after man,
opening up my heart
like I’m on a butcher’s block.
Venom falls like rain—
but dries before it can stain.
Archangels turn away.
Demons cry.
I walk in places others won’t look.
My heart breaks daily
for the pain we scatter like a farmer’s oats—
and we don’t even water our crops.
Five sacred wounds:
wrists, feet, side.
Invisible nails. A spiritual lance.
Bloody scars bloom
where thorns or teeth
cut into my sanity.
I am Boudicca’s daughter—
Iceni rebel.
I am Eve,
before and after the apple.
I am Adam.
I am the snake.
I am Lilias Adie,
Agnes Finnie,
Bridget Cleary.
Witch. Wife. Changeling.
Burned not for crimes,
but for fear.
And yet,
I rise.
I join the uprising of women in philanthropy.
I stand on their shoulders and rise above:
Malala Yousafzai.
Greta Thunberg.
Judith Heumann.
Janet Mock.
Amanda Gorman.
Hannah Cockroft, OBE.
Dolly Parton.
We are many.
We rise in waves,
and they drown in the tide they made.
And still they wonder
why we howl at the moon.
I shall remember you when
night crawls under day
dressed up in sunshine and
colorful hues I shall remember
you in every single book I
read catering to the fundamental
findings craving thought like
Langston Hughes I’ll fondly
remember civil rights field
trips dancing through cattails
in the woods wandering
between dandelion patches
and rows of daisies peeking
through cedar slats nestled
upon a garden nook I dig the
magnificent magnitude of our
telepathy designs of hope
courage and joy I will always
remember your smile opening
the window letting fresh air
inside a dull dim room something
about William Butler Yeats
Yolande Giovanni something
about me black power rings
the subtle warmth of the
voice of dignity human need
to express one’s own abilities
communicate with all walks
of life we are who we are
I thank you for giving me
encouragement my humble
beginnings I shall see you
tomorrow in paradise sunshine
In loving memory of Nikki Giovanni
X-Mas is coming My Book "Beauteous Be Poesy" is available on line or through the publisher
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Breathe - I breathe ! Beauteous be the rose
I planted the bush - the roots I cherish
Thorns - those beautiful thorns in my heart
Prickling ! They inspire me with thoughts of beauty
Day by day! The daylight winter sun
May it nourish this beauty in my soul
And may God bless the little tree inspiring me
Thus be it be may it also instill thoughts
Of the beauty of words in my mind for prose
As each day goes by hour by hour , feeling the power
Of love ! of which the bud if it shall grow
Flourishing me, keeping me as a person whole
If it shall blossom - watered and nurtured each day
Then shall I wander in my mind the words
To encourage bloom after bloom , love at its best
And the bush I planted that I appreciate
In presence - Hence the beauty of the rose
My mind - my mental stimulation of prose
I write - with the love in heart , my senses clear
May my littler bush! shine in my breath each year
And may my roses bloom - may they bless my home
Capturing those thoughts - of the most beautiful flower
The power of love! represented by the bud
Blooming the beauteous words blossoming
Truly within my soul - I am assuming
That by petal by petal - the roots may grow
Implementing strength - the rose I still get to know
And as I speak - may love be also in my heart
May then the rose listen to each word I encourage
And with strength of telepathy , may the blooming start.
When Martians landed from outer space
They requested to meet a world leader
So Donald arrived with a smirk on his face
But soon turned green with an alien fever
The Martians decided to probe his brain
to see if they could cure his malaise
Their readings showed that he was insane
so they zapped him with powerful rays
Donald started to twitter deliriously
but the Martians understood every word
They didn’t believe he’s taken seriously
as his tweeting was totally absurd
The Martians communicated with telepathy
Using thoughts no one could understand
An interpreter was called immediately
and declared that as leader he’s banned
A torrent of tears fell from poor Donald’s eyes
His orange skin turned an odd shade of grey
The Martians usurped Donald and to his surprise
Their first earth words were ‘have a nice day’
The Martians decreed immediate world peace
And that we must all live in perfect harmony
We must love one another, all wars have to cease
No current world leader even dared to disagree
Latest news on Donald is he’s now in a better place
He sits in his rocking chair with a grin on his face
Take me to your leader Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
8/6/18
Do you want?
NO!
A puppy?
YES!
Do you want to
NO!
Go to your friend Susan's?
Yes, I guess I do.
Do you want
NO
Living with me is really fun.
You can ask your husband.
He calls me his 9-year-old boy.
My first answer is always no.
I have a bit of an excuse.
It was 1973; I was taking an assertiveness training class.
the other women were skittish when paired up with me
until the instructor admitted that I'm on probation now,
and none of the ones I had flung, kicked, or smacked had been hurt, really badly.
Saying no was big in my family
of origin who perpetually used it, and you had
better supply excuses like crazy too.
I had to stand in front of a
mirror and practice that
up to two hours a day,
so I could get some of my
"me" time back.
I have it pat now, folks.
A magic unicorn came to visit on a Tuesday.
She was pretty but alas a smoker.
She came up behind us as we were
thnk-talking via telepathy and stuff.
said you are supposed to
be enjoying your fire-truck car, and your bubble machine.
And "throwing a ball in the house," I screamed with pure delight, feeling a beach, without any mean.
We really truly souly need less lessons and more play for thee,
I tell this gravelly-voiced unicorn. Man, his eyes are a pretty blue!
So from now on this is how it has to be:
Do you want?
NO!
A fire truck?
Hell,yes,please!
My me time is back
in full, happy, excited force.
I have it pat now, folks.
Let's go shopping!
Eleven children run toward the car,
which is curious as I only have 10 grandchildren.
UFOs, Telepathy, Automatic Writing,
Astral Travel, Near Death Experiences,
These were the things I read when
I was a child.
When I was a teenager, I learned
That biographies and autobiographies
Are fascinating. Then I got into mysteries.
They are the chocolate caramel to my
Reader’s palate.
As a young mother, I gave up reading
Completely, because I was too busy
Watching Sesame Street and Electric
Company, because my children did
Not want to watch it “by myself”.
I do not think I read a book for
Fifteen years; maybe one, but
That’s a maybe. Now my children
Are grown, and I am pleased
To say I can read anything I
Want.
I have a Kindle; you can store
Books on it. I have about two
Hundred books stored. I
Looked at them recently.
UFO’s, telepathy, and astral
Travel are right up there
In the mix. So are Near Death
Experiences.
It’s funny that my reading
Tastes have not changed all
That much in the past
Fifty years.
I think we are who we are,
And when we find that out,
We know what we want to
Know, and do what we want
To do. Anyway, I’m certainly
Guilty of that.
I laugh as I reach for a
Biography, feeling more
In touch with my thirteen year old
Self than I have for a long time.
.
"'twuz this close"
certainly
y'all indulgerz uv
mine write
with telepathy knowz
such thuh close
'twuz that tingly feel'n
whence literary lisps
out mine
face
my almost
kissed them
the pink thick strips
'buv her chin
whilst her see'z emeraldz
glister'd
(((CRACK)))
her daddy'z
bullwhip
clop clop clop
my best friend'z
canter
galloping mine safely
from wrath
I am of art
I am an artist
Taking a stance in life
I sit and ponder in thoughts
Trees in cubanism surround me
Paths so pure of white
The aroma in my soul
Of air in wilderness
I am embedded in as I dwell
In the scenic atmosphere
My eyes upon you
My head in the sky
Feet in the ground
The tranquility I found
While I whisper no words
Just think and enjoy God's love
Of the arts my stance I say
As the clouds around my head
My body is no blemish in land
Its subtle the thoughts I project
Tweet - tweet - tweet
A bird looking for my feet
I'm silent - I hear the breeze
My mind weathers telepathy
And the bird just sits listening to me
With the aura beneath my skin
Critique now at hand can begin
The thoughts I must then contemplate
And the mind tells the bird sit and wait
With thus we see the power of woman
Self confident with God's creation of land
I am the artist
I explored reality
I pondered and saw wit
But now the bird just flew
And I draw the conclusion
Defining a little LINE in my soul
I am of art
I reflect with hue.....
You are perfect the way you are, Otis said.
Thelma was not convinced. I am not, she replied.
Otis brought in his cousins, aunts, and uncles
They also told Thelma that she was perfect
But I cannot make coffee or knit, she protested
That is for others, they told her. Listen to Otis.
You are beautiful inside and out, he said.
You are loving, giving, tender-hearted, empathetic and kind.
But I cannot embroidery, she told him.
I have always wanted to embroidery.
That is for the next life, Otis told her.
For this one, you were given hoofs
So you can give rides to children in their dreams
And give them hope with your telepathy.
Do not waste this life thinking it is less
Otis’s cousin said. It is more.
Always more, his relatives agreed.
You are more, Otis said.
She finally understood
And was happy.