Long Tribal Poems
Long Tribal Poems. Below are the most popular long Tribal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tribal poems by poem length and keyword.
All aboard the zoo train, let's ride there
Be amazed when you see the mighty bear
Cougars, big cats, crouch inside their lair
Desert tortoises creep, they move so slow
Eagles perch and stare from branches, low
Foxes peer out from within their dens
Great giraffes gawk, their necks extend
Hyenas laugh as they run and play
Iguanas lie and bask in the sun all day
Jaguar is regal, as she paces in her stall
Kangaroos nibble on leaves near a wall
Lions pace, the kings of the jungle
Meerkats hide in small holes and tunnels
Now we can view those amusing apes
Orangutans with their funny faces
Past the fountain, we see the polar bear
Quite a sight, as he swims over there
'Round the bend, we enter reptile land
Snakes that slither over rocks and sand
Tribal music sets the stage to see
Up high, as we look into the banyon trees
Vociferous squawks from bright toucans
Wild echos reverberate over the land
Xanadu dreams, on this enchanting day
You feel you've traveled miles away
Zoo magic memories were made today.
Updated on 5/18/2022
Written on 7/11/2015
From their first step
On my tribal lands
The sickness starts
From their poisoned glands
My land they take
They call it home
Our prairie soul
Where my buffalo roam
Degraded with uproot
Barren land to land
Their grass is green
While ours is sand
Strong tribes diminish
Illness rife
Cholera
White mans strife
Their eventual
Was to wipe us out
Brave nations
No longer shout
Many battles and conflicts
Arrows against guns
Their ultimate
Have us on the run
As i look back
At these history rifts
Where would we be
Without those
White Mans Gifts
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/native-americans.php
To President Joe Biden
Anecdote : It is an ode to poetry, nothing personal, nothing satirical, and the ultrasound is a personal experience of further need in contemplation of my left breast, where unwanted growths gave me a huge dilemma of metaphorical islands, benign or cancerous, does not matter.
Shawna has a sharp shape , robust figurative speech
Strange, nosy, but arrogant, stern and stubborn in beauty.
Her newly wed face had a bridal glow, sunlight mystery
She is particular in her pink dresses, pink lipsticks
and in her pink stones in carved jewels.
I remembered her through the legacy of thirteen years
Hospital floors are shiny, hinting in polished and polishing epigraphs
Reasons. Limiting definitions. Wanted and fine-tuned reasons.
The soap opera in happening time on the TV screen
mounted on the higher end, had an obnoxious hetero-mixture in latency
Las Vegas casinos or improper door fixation in pious inter-courses, timely or otherwise or whatever.
Always an earned longevity in otherwise, other way, in urging other needs.
No one permit it though
The janitors in duty, or the front desk attendants
All were busy too, belonging somewhere elsewhere.
Then I realized, I was wrongly -matched in my pairs of shoes
No one spared the other control, endless saga of two edged folding.
Although, I am a success story of a substantial assimilation of homo-sapiens tribal affair.
I have two eyes, two hands and two strong feet,
Strong, sensible and rational in a rationalizing world.
In the wider sense, too.
I did not recall Shawna , it was still a cloudy aftermath, till that pausing time.
But the end time was drawing closer and closer..
In the beforehand receipt of the ultrasound , and with the post one also.
So that doctor can convert these images into information
humane information
A rusty bastard life earning generous aristocrat reason
To keep it ongoing in Shawna's impeccable life
and in mine too, with my formal prosecutions of cacophony
of falling short in paired shoes.
Therefore the sonic time can heal and deal and reveal
The eternal research question of
The supplicating feminine weep hole.
Her fair-skinned form is more than I deserve;
because her skin is light, and mine is dark,
like Tristan and Yseult's love which King Mark
forbade, we're banned from passion's sweet preserve.
Though bred as opposites opposed, we serve
our needs: and through her milk and my coarse bark,
like Heloise and Abelard, a spark
burns (though Fulbert and Church show their reserve)!
Alas! Were I as fair, as white, as bright,
as her: were darkened complexion, and chin,
not so eclipsed by night when near her light!
Though mores, like the world, moved by lies' spin,
discourage us, the coveted birthright
to merge won't be denied by tribal men.
Which key should I put this song in?
I sing in G Ionian/major comfortably,
Likewise the relative E Aeolian/minor scale.
Plus those guitar chords are easy as sin.
I could choose a scale that’s more exotic -
D Mixolydian has the same notes and chords.
Hungarian or Roumanian minor, Spanish Gypsy.
Or another scale derived from minor harmonic.
Keep it simple – let’s start with the G Major scale.
Should I do a basic 1-4-5 with major G/C/D chords?
Or a jazzy 2-5-1 with A minor/D/G ending on the tonic?
Let’s do a bluesy 1-4-5 with a turn-around at the tail!
Just major and minor triad chords are boring.
Major, minor, and dominant sevenths can be cool;
But I’m rather partial to suspended seconds and fourths.
My sliding E diminished flat 7th will keep the fans from snoring!
What can I do to add even more pizzazz and glitz?
Slowly build the dynamic and rhythmic complexity.
Give the crowd a tribal chorus they can sing to.
Add a spanking hot hook throughout that never quits!
The skeptics say there is no God,
but reason shows their view is odd.
The weight of evidence declares,
that there must be a God somewhere.
Nothing exists without a cause,
Just look around, ponder, and pause.
Who made the things your eyes can see,
It’s clear as day that God must be.
The virtues that we all agree,
make human beings higher than bees.
At mankind’s core, these virtues sit,
and God is their epitome.
The genome found within each cell,
Its origin we cannot tell.
To science, it’s a mystery,
Except one assumes God exists.
The universal moral rules,
though never taught in tribal schools
exists in cultures everywhere,
and hint at a God-man affair.
Prophecies that foretold Christ’s birth
God as man appearing on earth,
proved to be accurately true,
which no one but God can construe.
The miracles that Jesus did,
Such as when He raised a dead kid.
Is proof indeed that God exists,
A truth that resists man’s twists.
The conditions to sustain life,
so finely tuned, in nature rife,
can’t be explained by random chance,
Let’s end the silly song and dance.
It’s time for honest-hearted men,
to acknowledge with voice and pen
the evidence against God’s foes
is too conclusive to oppose.
I saw on the TV yesterday
that you took home the bronze,
a woman who barely qualified,
whose odds were rather long.
You had the skate of your life,
with lutzes and salchows,
congratulations are in order,
this is your moment now.
And you who won the silver,
I understand your pain,
favored heavy to win it all,
but falling short again.
Edged out by a hundredth,
that must be hard to bear,
but what you have done today
is no reason to despair.
We can’t forget the gold now,
or the media’s new golden boy,
so stoked about victory
that his interviews annoy.
He thinks he is the greatest,
and he proclaims as much,
guess the gold went to his head,
the fans are thinking such.
Yet all his spoiled antics,
and the decadence of fame,
makes me think of a medal
that is much better made,
not won for a mere sport,
or racers out of the gate,
won by men who truly have
accomplished something great.
Won by men with no mini-balls
charging down Little Roundtop,
stabbing at a grey horde
through fire, smoke, and shot.
Won amidst a tribal chorus
of shrieking, shrill war cries
when two American peoples
could not bridge the divide.
Won in the muddy trenches
amidst the gas and poison,
and flying through skies above
to find the Lost Battalion.
Won by that Great Generation,
they’re not made like that no more,
men who charged Iwo’s black sand,
and Normandy’s bloody shores.
Won in the forgotten war,
by a sacrifice at Kangdong,
and in the high elephant grass
fighting tyrant Viet Cong.
Earned in mountains and cliffs
of savage Afghanistan,
won by people who exemplify
the true greatness of man.
This medal is so revered
but it needs to be said,
these heroes rarely wear them,
cause most of them are dead.
It may take some courage
to be the best on a ski,
but it takes so much more
to battle for this country.
I think this when I see them,
young bucks claiming prestige,
can’t expect much perspective
since half of them are teens,
and I do not say all of this
because their gold is not deserved,
I say it so our highest praise
goes to medals made of Honor.
Dividing work from play,
like noting night not day,
is useful in a left brain dominant way
yet not so good
in right and left to-gathering
communicating say.
In my most real
and sacred trust right mind
no profound difference I find,
not even any healthy reason to distinguish
secular and physical work
from sacred mental play,
cooperative investment
from perpetuating multicultural empowerment,
communicating humors, dark and light,
virtuous polypathic and polyphonic
reiterative exchange loops,
harmonious circles,
seasons of processing health
producing nutritious wealth,
Sacred trinities of ego
and eco
and double-binding ego/eco
searching truth statements
about compassionate regenerative EarthBound patriotism
to this planet home of humored Earth,
Host of work and play
wealth and health co-passioning experience
left-autonomous either secular or sacred
with both natural and spiritual rights more integral
re-creative process
and nondual Eastern passions,
Cognition from emotion,
being from becoming,
ego belonging Left from eco-longing Right
universal secular nutritional memories
from unitarian tribal experience
originating in EarthMothers' eco-wombed Communion
health-wealth Commons
politically empowering
economic win/win healing ecology
re-wombed,
re-connecting,
re-collecting,
In my most real and sacred true right mind
I find
no profound secular difference,
not even any sacred healthy reason
to distinguish
or extinguish
secular physical engagement
from sacred mental cooperative commitment.
Earth Host
and all her mutually codependent
co-arising Earth Tribes
of inclusive regeneration
have continued evolving
new wine in old wineskins
new eggs from old genetic nests,
running on both dipolar Tao-Cylinders,
karmic grace-optimized in Neutral
Midway P=N(NP) as Yang=YinYin,
informating,
with fractal 4-Prime Thermodynamic Balance--
Once learned,
never forgotten,
like autonomically riding
a bilaterally reforming fractal-seasoned cycling function.
Both cylinders
also internal/external landscapes
and Left/Right hemispheres,
labeled ego-mind
and eco-body
by Left brain dualistic dominance,
each with its own dipolar neurosystemic
optimization story,
win/win through win/lose memory,
lose/lose loss of painful rememory,
transgenerative crown/root systemic his/herstory,
polyculturing as "Beloved EcoPolitical SenSexual Community."
As Left contracts more climatically
monopolistically self-deductive -reductive
with critical competitive events
and win-lose strategies for ego-survival,
Right expands more cooperatively
abundant wealthy health of values
polyculturally dipolar double-binding eco-norms
for designing and re-developing Plan A cooperative
network of politically power-optimizing economics,
between tribal co-arising mutually-subsidiary Plan B humanity
and grace-filled Plan A divinity
of beauty and health
as ecopolitical wealthy
EarthTribe/Gaia balance.
Our final hour draws near
As the pillars of the earth
Are raised above the threshold
The human condition of primeval primitivity
It's tribal, and civilized devices
Our cherished, but brittle
and unstable societal constructs
Have been refined and pondered upon
By wisemen for a millennia
But they remain all the same
of gold and jewel hoarding merchant swine
Or the Lord of the land which still
Holds in his hand the peasant lives
have existed Since the days of Christ.
Fortunes and prestige was made
On backs of the slaves of man
No longer slaves of one color race or Creed
Be it the blindly led masses, or the ones
Who exist to fill a pair of Jack boots
To crush any who oppose the will of few
Imposed upon the liberty and lives of
the inumerable many
Kept in listless contention
like precious cattle cargo kept in comfort
In the moments before slaughter
No use for livestock who no longer can be soothed
By the noise of the static which has kept them subjugated
Slaves, by whatever name designated
As a product of which the era produces for them
Today still remained shackled
Even as they no longer have chains
To bind the spirit or flesh
The forgotten
Will not be extinguished
They writhe in ancestral rage
Their enemy oppressors
Shall be cleansed as pennance
In the fires of retribution
But the end will be swift
with coming winds of changes
Which will blow with the sands of time
Eroding the stone inscribed with the epitaph of humanity
"What hope could there be, for us, when the light that we possessed
Our compassion, the goodness of man,
is something learned and not inherent in our souls
And bring the torrent of uncivilized upheaval
Tearing us like weeds from their earthly respite
Grinding and rending us in our vessels
back into the soil and seas.
Relinquished to the warn embrace
of our celestial mothers womb
As she plants the cosmic seeds
Sowed in the brilliance of her aeons
And which grew the bountiful harvests
that fueled our creation
And let us to thrive
as we found our way
through a cruel,
but natural order of selection
The anomallic flux
In a fluid plasticity of
Biological machinations