Long Transposed Poems
Long Transposed Poems. Below are the most popular long Transposed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Transposed poems by poem length and keyword.
The truth is
nobody really cares
they say they do
but really,
they don't even remember.
They aren't reminded each day
of this gaping hole in our hearts.
Reality is transposed
and it's us four against the world.
No matter how many prayers,
how many messages,
how many hugs.
No amount of hugs can bring her back
And no amount of condolences can ease the pain.
Life sucked out the sun,
leaving nothing but shadows.
Trying to find our way through life,
with our heads cut off-
Yelling out for help and there's no one there
because that's when you'd be there
and now
we just have a black cloud hanging over us
manipulating our emotions-
Trying to survive on this wreckage
Keeping her close to the relic
Keeping all others at an arm’s length
All of this chaos like a nightmare-
Where you wake up in never-ending sweats
Where you don’t know where you are-
Because when you lose that unconditional love,
Nothing ever makes sense again
Nothing ever has to either-
So to those who say they care
Those who express their sorrow
Please understand the depths of this destruction
Understand the depths of this pain
Before you come crying.
The “Bench” sits proudly among the trees,
perched high and overlooking the beauty of the water down below.
Exquisitely black, it seems to hypnotize,
beckoning you to stop for a spell.
Once captured, an involuntary trance arises;
you’re transposed to another dimension,
where your awareness becomes unblinking,
eyes fixated on the ripples in the water.
Heightened senses come alive
as a shiver runs up and down the curve of your back.
Your mouth gapes open as pieces of precious memories escape,
softly murmuring in soothing tones to the shadow
sitting beside you,
praying feverishly for signs of life from another dimension.
The “Bench”—
strong like a father,
its soft curves of the arms envelope you like a mother’s embrace—
a priceless reminder of a life so loved.
The strength and sturdiness of the bench evoke emotions,
a feeling of utmost comfort,
the head-heart linking,
dwelling in time-stretched blissful peace.
It envelopes you, safe within a cocoon,
untouchable.
The energy rises within, and a soft moan escapes.
The yearning is so real as you reach out your hand,
lean over for a warm embrace.
There is no mystery—
the space beside you is held for an Angel.
The leaves are gently falling and rustling,
blowing in the wind like unspoken words of love
carried into the waves,
like a message in a bottle.
Always in my heart, a shining light,
an innate vibrance, an everlasting energy.
The Art
The art of music reveals the soul's effigy
The overture that eternally imparts its recital
To amplify our harmony with ageless elegy
To Give....
To give the great crescendo to all that we can endure
Through tone, and pitch - notes from our melodious score
Saturating the beholding forte of the hearts core
To Share....
To share the unison of our lives in common
The Maestro lifts our spirit beyond the raindrops that fall
To shelter and lighten the load of us all
To Embrace....
To embrace the air we breathe, the sweat we engender
The times of our joy we muse to cheer
The sunless hours of despair and fear
To Become....
To become what we feel
What we know - who we are - why us
To play the cantata, the fugue, the opus
The Pinnacle....
The pinnacle star of our absolution is music
The worthiness of our quality
The celestial harmony of knowing our reality
The Music....
The music of our substance set us free
The Rondo of our song, the Tremolo of our Rubato
The Oratorio in the narrative of life's flow
Transposing....
Transposing ourselves
To be mingled as the fish to the sea
In the concert of life's great ocean so free
October 19, 2020
Completely Your Choice (29)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Last night, while I was weary, an Angel came to me.
He was sent to be my guide — a trip he was asked to oversee.
The Angel had a calmness as he gently took my hand,
He told me not to be afraid — a journey for me he had planned.
The Angel spread his giant wings and wrapped me in embrace,
And what seemed like just the blink of an eye, we were transposed to another place.
We stood within a garden, soft grass beneath my bare feet,
A cool breeze caressed my body, easing me from gentle heat.
No words could describe the beauty — a paradise beyond compare,
A masterpiece so carefully made, for a select few to share.
In the distance, I heard a lady singing softly to children near,
They sat in circles, hand in hand, their laughter pure and clear.
Her voice — it sounded familiar, as I slowly drew more near,
The song was one from childhood, a memory I hold so dear.
I didn’t feel out of place as I joined them for a while,
I felt the joy in every note — I couldn’t help but smile.
The Angel spoke once more, this time calling me by name,
He said I had been brought here, and the reason he explained:
“At times, some souls are called here, though only for a day,
When hope feels lost, and hearts grow tired, and light seems far away.
When life on earth feels heavy, too hard for one to bear,
They’re brought here by an Angel — to remember love's still there.
For you, my child, were brought here, because you needed to see,
How precious you are to the father — A blessing from him to thee.
Theistic and A-Theistic
Truth and Beauty
Ethical and Aesthetic
process theologies
are co-relational ecological wisdom
Transposed into Ego/EcoSystemic Therapeutic CoArising Theory language
which speaks up and down
perpetually rooting for Resilient Game Theory
In this WinWin cooperatively regular game
of living Earth-restoring justice,
our goal strongly and flowingly favors resilient health
robust ego-flavors and multi-ecolors
over reiterating Win/Lose violent monocultural gaming business
as unfortunately and suboptimally far too toxic usual
due to deductively disassociating LeftBrain wealth of elitist words.
Destiny, an unseen lamp, hidden somewhere,
someone lighted for you when you had arrived.
You don’t perceive, it sheds a beam of glare,
and the ordained light travels unfaded,
illumines your pathway during the time allotted,
you get for the journey to be completed.
The free will that you design undiscerned,
the lamp makes it invisibly self-radiant,
enveloping your mind with belief unreal,
shows the road you’ve chosen to travel
to the obscure destination of shrouded fate,
even if you don’t will, it would.
On the way you pick up some flowers,
someone has made to bloom for you,
but you believe you’ve helped them blossom,
and celebrate the euphoria you create.
The rapture ends at the assigned time,
even if you don’t want, it would.
On the way you tread on trail of thorn,
but you think you would escape soon,
paving a new track of your desire,
won’t suffer on the journey for long.
The unexplained torment lingers on,
even if you don’t wish, it would.
The lamp igniter rides the invisible destiny glow,
to where you construct your free will,
permeates your deep senses unrecognised,
lying as dormant force covered by unawareness,
and by a process of self-transformation
gets transposed on the psyche as your free will.
September 21, 2020
Contest : Free Will Vs Destiny
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
Long before I lost you
to twisted embers
in your mind;
Before you dared not breach
choking silence
with a touch of eager skin…
We
breathed the fire of Romans
into each other’s random souls
across a room
with a single smile-
And found ourselves
Wrestling in red cars
out in parking lots
that gratefully never knew
our names...
We
giggled at liquid nights
rippling in the wake of conversations
that would disappoint
stern fathers;
figuring the sun
was just a star
with a lighter background...
We
transposed our arms
for a chorus of eternity those days;
Snuggling
golden wrapped flesh,
and other dreams
found only
an eyelash away...
Now,
Long after...
Your eyes extinguish empires
of Was-
But only
amidst symphonic ashes
of a time
when
We were We.
He slides open a shallow drawer,
its wood catching slightly
before giving way.
Inside, the day’s minor slips:
a receipt with a transposed digit,
a label peeled at one corner,
a measurement off by the width
of a pencil mark.
He sorts them without hurry.
Each paper earns its place
only after he reads it twice,
sometimes three times,
to be sure the flaw is real.
A pencil rests near his hand,
shortened from use,
its point dulled by careful work.
He sharpens it only when needed,
never in anticipation.
Some errors he sets aside~
not rejected, simply waiting
until their purpose clarifies.
He has learned that small mistakes
reveal themselves slowly.
Near midday he finds one
in his own notes:
a digit written too quickly,
leaning out of line.
He corrects it without comment,
then files it with the others.
When the drawer closes,
the room settles.
Nothing finished,
nothing abandoned~
just consistency and
the quiet record
of what the world overlooks.
Why oh why have we become so woke
To the point of companies going near broke,
All for the sake of garnering support
From vocal fringes, then quietly rushing to abort.
Is the effort worth the prize
Pandering to an audience that must surely realize
Division is not the path to integration
Empowering voices that just believe in denigration.
Acceptance is rarely mandated or imposed,
It's a result of customs willingly transposed
To reflect a kinder more inclusive world
And in the process eliminating the absurd.
Activism can often be the kernel for steep
Change,
But in the wrong hands is alienating and deranged,
With effects that counter all that would be good
Demeaning the very essence for which they stood.
We the silent throngs just watch and wonder,
What's brought on this wave of mindless thunder,
Strife and upheaval causing nothing but confusion,
Resulting in a world of societal delusion.
Democracy is not another word for anarchy,
Where a vocal few usurp reality for fantasy,
But one of tolerance and communal understanding
To mold a world where actions are outstanding.
Where parent is not set against their child,
Or leaving differing opinions unreconciled,
Where sexuality does not become a sword,
Or Race the blade to cut across the board.
When will politicians and the media say enough,
Accepting that their narrative is huff and gruff,
Full of potholes and dead ends
Turning people into enemies not friends?
Why not allow good sense and wisdom take the stage,
Willing denigrators to turn another page,
Supporting causes that are simply just
Thereby forging a society sure to last.
Spilled from dew drenched petals,
an overflow of laughing ferns
warring with the still forms – graceful
amazed by the atmosphere of light
softly woven through the inklings, aglow
stirring winds beneath shadows
pouring from the twilight’s joy
softly threaded into the horizon, a sky
worn gray by the gentle hope
arising beyond the meadow’s charms
leaking, a trickle of melancholic
born of grief and glory
spattered with golden blossoms, dozens
bowing and kneeling to worship
praising their Creator, the Author of light
nodding like they’ve some reason
beyond the presence of silence
still forms, guided by the heartbeat, the rhythm
a song amid the savannahs quiet breath
pouring out joy through the air
bending and falling, calling to the morning
a reflection of still beauty, on the wings of truth
blowing across the steely skies
remembering the day when this artist transposed
the music of the heart to a story of genius