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.
I've lived my life believing
that if you can't see the good
in a person;
then either look closer,
or step away:
the choice is always yours.
But in today's world,
impressionable minds
are being manipulated to see
things that aren't there:
to some, the truth
is never absolute.
In their alternative reality,
facts are flexible;
and thus, easily bent
to conform to any twisted ideology.
Democracy exposes its weakness
and hints at its strengths.
At times, meaningful change
can seem highly improbable.
However, it's not impossible!
Stop standing
behind your traditional tribal shields;
and think for yourselves:
armed with reason and compromise.
But remember,
evil, disguised as good, is still evil.
You need but lift its mask;
to recognize its face.
Poor or too rich,
different in form or race?
Remain slave to no opinion,
identity is a label for a can of beans.
Nothing living and upright
need bow
to a tribal or common hitch or halter.
When they call you this and that,
every badge they pin on you
is a disguised condescension.
To them you will always be
a victim of low expectations.
Man is your name and woman your truth.
When they come to you
with their polls, clipboards,
their pandering unctuousness,
look them in the eye,
say: ‘I am one of a kind,
a race of becoming giants,
a living spirit of God,
imperfect - yes
but I can be seen clearly,
while you
live in the shadow of a lie.’
Rock salted fields hard-by thwacking sea's
shorelines of wave-shaved boulders
a fluidity that mimics an oceans alien speech.
The fractured artifacts of tribal migrations
roll in the surf as grains of an ancient sand,
there are hints and a sense of raw faiths,
of the obscure paint of submerged visages,
facets only visible
through the eroded lens of a former doom.
On these shifting margins,
insipient nations as naked as any roaming wind
declined amidst their own young bones,
laying down to wither away in exhausted camps.
Rinsed by a ceaseless ebb and flow,
the stonewashed threads of the bygone
suggest landscaped formations
of humanity.
We have seen the rise and fall of the scattered,
their cultures a supposition of burnt offerings,
yet we should also
confess to a towering significance:
one that we estranged settlers
will eventually leave as a jigsaw of watermarks,
or as further innocent signs
of our own barbaric existence.
Look at those rocky hills,
how savage they are!
The old ones remain,
their tribal names
still imprinted upon the land.
We walk them
scrabble over them.
The human heart bounds up
pounding.
We are foundlings here
the rocks know us not
and yet we are taken into
their history.
Look at that climbing man over there!
He is like a green blade
of new grass.
The hills seem to question him,
seek his wilderness heritage.
If he has not an old soul
then they may call upon him
to run his own gauntlet,
and though he is young
he must accept that challenge,
or be made invisible
to these ancient stones.
“Empathy is emotionally connecting oneself with another in his hardship and pain, showing compassion and loving concern” ~ by Poet
Through the country paths, I lazily loitered
Watching Nature in its changing hue
Straying farther into the interiors
Sundry and sublime vistas came into view
It was almost the end of verdant spring
Summer’s sun stood behind my head
Bleat of lambs was heard from far
"Good day to you"….. Someone said.
There stood on the plain, a boy around thirteen
Obviously, he was of tribal breed
With a beaming smile, he greeted me
But on walking to him, he ran like a steed
I saw him disappear behind the trees
And enter into a hut tiny as a nest
He lived in the lap of Mother Nature
Far from the city and its sooty dust
Being coaxed, he hesitantly came out
My tone of assurance and pleasing smile
Seemed to have won his confidence
As to a friend, he shared his eventful tale
Pointing to the sheep grazing in the slope
He said, he earned a living caring the flock
He stayed in the woods all day long
Feeding and tending his master’s sheep
From dawn to dusk, through woods and meads
He leads his sheep, calling them by their name
Un vexed, with simple pleasures he is content
And with a nomad’s life, he seems to be tame
He said at home he has his invalid mother
Bringing her back to health is his mission in life
On referring to his mother, I watched his eyes glitter
Nothing other than her illness posed to him a strife
From every utterance, I could sense his filial love
Even in abundance while shadows line many faces
On his visage, hope lingered as a dancing flame
To me he seemed above many, rich in other graces
While parting, I handed him some money
Pausing unbelievingly with moist eyes
He accepted it when a breeze passed caressing us
As if over the show of empathy, nature seemed to rejoice!
Feb.13.2023
Eccentric
Journey of the Black Woman
Life and Times of African Queens
Sheer beauty, Wit and Strength
Destiny comprised
Eyes propel truth
African Queens know what they want
Turning negative approaches into opportunity
Tribal Accent
Tribal Heritage
African tribute
Essence from the skies
Standing alone
Enterprising paths through the branches of success
Mercy and Grace that follow
Determinations showing courageous and no fear
Through the airs of assurance
Action of preserver
Mission to transform
Transitional Spirit
Permission granted
Impact from detail
Sunshine casting the spotlight
Charm every step of the way
Golden treasure
Committed to tomorrow in agenda to complete
Not thinking defeat nor will retreat
Standing firm on affirmative
African Queen walks in the sunsets in what accomplishments that were done
Challenges through the objectives
Walking in what destiny calls
Falls but gets up
No time for pity having everything to gain
Helping a world to understand a African Queen’s value
Commodity assured
Pursue in succeed
African Queens developing a creed.
Gaza is a burning house,no end in sight.
Diplomacy is a water moccasin .
Israel maims their victims- a horrid plight
Bitter is a rank lime ,this war a no-win.
The Nerthus folk shout Gaza is not right.
Benji's far right politics surely a stinking sin,
Stop the maelstrom Now !Give peace as an olive branch
Benji's war talk to Congress -he is such a liar.
Biden sends troops to Isreal to fight.
AntiDems and the 'cons both conspire.
Risk is a slick road- its American might.
Palestines anger is a raging fire.
No Gaza cease fire that is in sight .
Judgement is Lady Liberty-comes for all
The guilty combatants finally will fall
Stop the maelstrom Now !Give peace as an olive branch
I spread the news using X and Substack.
I am just one man. I do the best I can.
I spread the news using Tribal too .
All of Humanity could stop this fire.
Either all live as one State with equal rights.
or as two States equal else perish together.
Stop the maelstrom Now !Give peace as an olive branch
In the dusty embrace of Jharkhand’s tribal hills,
Where once vibrant green swayed like laughter in the wind,
Now the palash trees wear a shroud of soot,
A ghostly veil draped over their fiery blooms,
Once fertile earth now a canvas of neglect,
The hills stand as silent witnesses to forgotten songs.
Not long ago, the arrival of a car sparked joy,
Children, wild with wonder, chased it like shooting stars,
Now, when planes carve through the sky towards the city,
They scamper to the hilltops, hearts fluttering with dreams,
Curiosity ignites, imaginations take flight,
As if the very air whispers secrets of the skies.
Boys return home, eyes alight with questions,
When will they soar through clouds, touch the heavens?
In classrooms, tales of space unfold like cosmic tapestries,
Their visions stretch beyond earthly bounds,
A longing for the stars, ignited by flickering screens.
The mind, a precious jewel, must remain untainted,
To dream lofty dreams, to let aspirations soar,
Whether or not the stars align in their favor,
Let visions and imaginations rise above the hills,
Like eagles on the wind, unbound and free.
In my dreams it seems,
All my chains are cast.
Gleeful streams of screams,
From flying way too fast.
This flight so right,
The power of this feeling,
So light, such might,
Into the night I'm stealing.
Such speed, this need,
Sliding though cool air,
Please feed this seed,
As I swoop without a care.
When fire expires,
And the spark has left my eyes,
Requiring this desiring,
I'll fly through urging skies.
Cruising near it, gentile spirit,
By family then surrounded.
Can you hear it? Never fear it.
Loves embrace will not be grounded.
_______________________________
And then I'll be home.
Until then I walk the tribal path.
I already understand that children
grow inside two blinks,
as quickly as the novel Mayfly
comes to the surface to die.
I'm pining for those first days again,
of edentate smiles, milestones
to fund future independence.
Pineapple-sized hearts I cradled;
lulled, exchanged dank nappies for dry;
ferried on uncrossed seas,
your armada.
Smoothed rough waters as if by divine speech
because mothers can. I was thinking that I could always be your oxygen.
I let you walk through me, under, right over.
The rocking horse
brought for my bromelain angels
winged you away -
this blasted Pegasus ...
I miss you now.
How you rode away,
ephemera of innocence!
So, what then?
Me, fumbling wild in the backspace you left.
Your flabbergasting key smash to freedom
broke our finespun home, you left
me to talk to your father, Child,
to renegotiate
the bonds;
reconstruct ancient code,
deleted excess text -
obfuscating precision and knowing -
the tribal tongue of lovers
unlearned, forgotten;
escaped alongside discarded baby bath suds,
strewn puddles of rubber duckies,
tired breasts suckled
by fresh management.