Long Unconscious Poems
Long Unconscious Poems. Below are the most popular long Unconscious by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unconscious poems by poem length and keyword.
In the depths of the soul, where shadows dance,
The unconscious weaves webs of dreams and flawless traps,
A tireless sculptor carving love into stone,
Unexpected challenges to draw greatness from within us.
It does not settle for half-measures,
Embraces storms like wildflowers on our path,
Only in the wind's embrace do our wings grow,
The power to stand firm against the breath that tests us.
We rise above limits, gaze at the sky with dream-filled eyes,
Not just the heavy clouds, but also the light filtering through them,
Calling us not to remain mere fragments,
But to embrace our wholeness, to be all we can be.
Just as the ocean does not stop at the shore,
Neither should the being halt at the first storm,
We step further into the wide, where waves are calls,
Discovering the "self" that fears not the depths, but faces them.
The unconscious does not let us rest in the comfort of incompleteness,
It pushes us toward the perfection hidden in our depths,
A diamond awaiting the polish of time and courage,
For only thus do we become whole and illuminated by our own sun.
The blood and lapis daylight sets
in ether. How the mind resets
brutality of winter chill
with February's codicil;
what gossamer a dream begets.
I hear the crickets in the dark,
their clicking takes up where the lark
has been. The flagrant marigolds
have huddled into twilight's folds,
on sanguine nightfall to embark.
The eastern zephyrs fall and rise
with rapid movement of my eyes
and echo whispers midnight makes
of blood white trails on moonlit lakes.
In silhouette I recognize
a dogwood, though can only sense
its glowing coral consequence.
The blossoms tell me they comprise
sweet spawn of sun rays in disguise
and capture all my heartbeats hence.
Now honeysuckle is entwined
on crisscrossed pathways of my mind
with jasmine in a potpourri
to conjure shamrock reverie
that leaves the pewter scape behind.
Around the lambent dogwood tree
alone upon that verdant lea
buds can prosper, bees will hum.
As though seduced by opium
I greet a vista I can't see,
at least not quite. I know it's there
and feel the dogwood everywhere,
behind me, flanking left and right,
an omnipresence in the night,
like answers to unconscious prayer.
Now high upon a clovered scarp
the tree is standing clear and sharp.
In silence I see restless blooms
play music that my ear assumes
is chiming dulcet as a harp.
Such Efflorescent star bursts splay
like windmills on a gusty day
that in ebullience do portend
a vibrance that will never end
and all my reticence allay.
In waking to a winter storm
that's February's gelid norm
I long still for my fulgid tree,
resplendence that surrounded me,
but only meet a turbid swarm.
I rise and pull back hermit drapes
to see the torrid flurries traipse,
yet through the chaos can discern
the leafless frame for which I yearn
beyond the window storming scrapes.
The dogwood stands just as before
unclad upon the icy moor
with nascent berries undeterred
as though through humble verse and word
like daylight through an unclosed door.
2/23/18
Strength Thru Adversity
Gregory R. Barden
Seeking out the sanctuaries
till jaggedness wears; blunt
only tumbles harder, to boo
nightmarish: it knocks keen
etching, grooves which rake…
Fleeing sleep, a roused huff
real, wheels in its silent war;
engages a caged subterfuge:
Eloquent is a pebbled stone!
(8/15/2020: Inspira: Sanctuary contest & ‘04 Eliminator 30 Daytona, Davis)
Stone Free Footnotes:
Should I heed the unconscious, or toss?
Throw it back to its recess of non-exist
Obscure it and blank out an angry emo
Not turned, the stone sinks in a cavern
Eventually it buries so deep and I, free…
Free…; till a flooding dream flashes grief
Released, it streams in polish, smoother
Eely slippery it slithers easily to the fore
Emerging, it shines in its dark: do I flee?
I who once was beguiled by shallow love,
Like love-god Cupid did make a wrong choice,
While youthful mind of mine loveless did starve
Of wanton sport that had a transient voice.
All furtive joy spring from unconscious guilt,
That grieve me, and no longer have their worth,
The tower of Hope in course of time I built,
Doth tumble with Contrition’s sudden birth.
Thy nonchalant face speaks of false amour,
And for thy sake ascetic I must be,
If thou cannot, who can me thus allure?
But rue I must, my heart’s ensnared to thee.
Now with the fleeting moment thou art gone,
Woe loves him best who is by Love forlorn.
7th February, 2018
Word of mouth is the best AD but sometimes it can make you feel very sad. I walked up the street to get something to eat, but a human loudspeaker in the street disrupts my heartbeat. Come to my discount store you can get bargain galore, you can get protein powder for a hundred dollars a pound and cashew nuts for a thousand dollars per tin, all in local currency, let the bargain begin.
I was curious to see what was going on, so I followed the crowd to the corner and join the line that stretched across the street. The line was moving slow and I had a good way to go before I reached the door of the store. Within an hour I reached the door and an altercation began about the space in line; two men fought fist to fist rolling on the ground; they were both bound. With bloody nose and broke shoulder, the ambulance came and wheeled both men to the emergence room; they were both unconscious; blood spilled all over the place forcing some shoppers to cover their faces
Word of mouth is the best promotion; word of mouth can cause lots of commotions. You spend a million dollars on TV and radio Ads, but nobody come to the store, and it really makes you feel bad. Word of mouth can break your business down and it can make you frown; it can spread rumor in the street, and it can turn the universe against you in seconds. People often believe what they hear and they are quick to share.
A stranger open a business in town and one person starts spreading rumors around and nobody went there because of fear and the store closed down and the stranger disappeared from the town. It’s like sowing a seed in a thorny field and the bird come along and scatter it around.
Politicians get bruised too for they know little about the community they choose; the people create a story about you and sell it with their mouth and when you hear it you start to shout. If it is good, it will build you up and if it is negative, it will tear you down. You cannot get a job for someone has a gossip and out you and everyone in the street knows about it, while some people do it for profit. The competitions are strong and the word of mouth is how the get along.
“A thousand men were buried at the cemetery”, the word-of-mouth promotions said, but when I got there, just one tomb that says, “a soldier is buried here”. Word of mouth can make you and word of mouth can break you.
One word
A gathering of letters and sounds
Keeping me from saying what I want to say
I knew the word
It came to me in a dream
Along with a hundred others
Traveling through my unconscious
Another reality
Not connected to my own
I should have written it down
Kept it next to my bed
It was perfect
Just the right tone and rhythm
Why didn’t I open my eyes?
The pen was next to the bed
I’ve used it a hundred times before
I couldn’t, wouldn’t interrupt that word
I knew it wasn’t mine to own
But, I wanted to watch it
See where it wanted to go
What it wanted to say
I never wanted it to leave
I wanted to hold it forever
But, it flew away
Into the stars with a million other words
Thousands of unfinished poems
A billion lost thoughts
Until it comes back
If it ever comes back
The poem will sit unfinished
The story will never be…
We spoke in semaphore of smirks,
A dialect of sideways quirks—
Our mouths full up with mirage and pun,
Unconscious artists come undone.
She, a flower in a field of noise,
Parsed our pose as preening boys—
Not cruel, but tuned to frequencies
That echo long through apologies.
Our verbs wore vests too tight with charm,
Syntax stitched with latent harm.
We hadn’t meant to start a war—
Yet metaphors, once launched, implore.
Intent becomes the alibi
Of those who never learned to pry
Beneath the comfort of a jest—
A laugh can undress all the rest.
She read our pause, our sideways glance,
Not as a walk, but a strange dance
In which the lead was vague, and yet
Each footstep left a silhouette.
The world is quiet here
Yet growing louder by the day
Renting paradise from vultures
Split amongst two flavors of instability
I clamored and dreamed for that golden armor
That title that would cement my name in history
To be a "hero" to someone I'd lose contact with forever
Scars fade, and eternity is short
I saw my dreams given flesh
No gaps left to fill with fantasy
Universally agreed upon perfection
Yet we all clamor for the imperfect
Through them, my dreams were given flesh
Warmth on warmth, fear on tenderness
To be able to understand but not empathize
In a way that mattered enough to keep dreaming
The consciousness may forget, but the body remembers
Every molecule tattooed on my gray matter
Screaming for familiarity in that paradise of dreams
How cruel the unconscious mind may be at times
Ego death and carry on
Memories I can hardly call mine when it feels like I died
Piloting a stranger's corpse with his own baggage
Who were you, Derek? Why do I dream your dreams?
Redwood, redwood
The perfect antidote to tradition and trauma
So why does the latter grip me so
When it makes such a poor foundation?
The flower girl piloting your body is a mass of contradiction
Clinging to your first word, your fervent dream
A redwood ship battered by your cresting waves
Die a better death and quit clinging to your remains
I wish you were me
As anyone wishes they could do it all over again
I know your pain better than you do
Even if it meant I would die, I'd grant you that knowledge
Mother Theresa burns in Hell
Knowing there's nothing noble about suffering
The modern king's cruel facsimile of Jesus' word
Would make that poor carpenter weep in sadness and rage
You needn't have feared, poor Derek
For in choosing to hug over maim
You were far closer to Him than anyone
Who blindly listened to the charlatan on the pulpit while you slept
You were blindly resilient, sweet departed
So grant me that tenacity and simplicity
If I grant you the peace you desired
Will you grant me the peace that I do?
My GreenLeft side
resists AngryYang
win/lose competing AngloPowers
for making money
commodified
secularized MonoTheistic
world conquering views
Supporting GodGiven economic rights
to colonize sinners,
more easily divided
from the AnthroHerd
when not white
not straight
not male
While my RedRight inside
recovers from ancient wounds,
frightened
angry
disappointed
sacred sad absence
of Holy Yintegral spirits
of Win/Win cooperative
EarthTribe co-investments
In
By
Through
Of
From
Sacred ecological nurturing
pan-sensory
bicameral co-passion
Liberally nurturing AnthroWealthy love
consuming Earth-healing conservation values
co-arising Spring's healthy newborn
reborn life
Like sunlight above
is to Earth dust
lust
must
bust
crust below
LeftGreen consciousness
of previous peak experiences
Rooted in regenerative
sacred
supernatural is also spiritual subliminal
inter-religious multicultural
outside undomesticated family values
Opening green/red
ultra-nonviolet positive,
unless disvalues
or misvalues
Are not not unvalues
unconscious
unknown
unloved
uncherished
ungifted
undivine
not humane,
unbecoming
To my emergent GreenLeft side
sense of healthy EarthTribe
indigenous integral balance
Resisting AngryYang
win/lose competing WhitePowers
for making money commodified
secularized MonoTheistic
world views
Excluding synergy's PanenTheistic
EarthCare opportunities
for compassionate
therapeutic communication.
When I can't sleep my creativity is at its highest peak...
I write poems for friends who are alone and need solace,
all my senses are at work, sharper than the owls by of the creek;
my restless fingers find an outlet and holding the pen,
they transfer the heart's emotions to the blank pad!
And I give them life, to define them through my grace...
Words flow from this exploding brain;
and its expressive lines are extracted,
like the juice from the sweetest grapes,
to be on everybody's table for a delightful drink!
Inspiration, ignite my stagnant imagination:
to give my verses a unique meter and rhyme...
that they may stand out and be noticed for all time;
and this literary treasure could outlast those precious diamonds
that superbly dazzle on the elegant dresses of the elite!
Sculptors have their chisel,
and if their creations seem too real,
like Michelangelo...they should hilariously scream:
to make them walk and talk!
Painters have their brush,
and with colors they paint images
of landscapes, of celestial bodies, of angelic and human faces:
unseen by the ordinary and undiscerning eyes;
patience is their secret, but rush
can cause havoc and make them lose their individualist touch!
Musicians, don't ever you get tired
of playing your instruments to entertain the insatiable public;
how exciting is to perform a new song,
written by the struggling songwriter and composer!
How thrilling and delightful are the new lyrics and music;
what about the singers, who gather up the crowds on the dance floor?
Ever admired an ancient or modern Cathedral
or an elegant, towering skyscraper,
which was truly breathtaking?
And the geniuses behind them
began to draw from their most
innovative and plausible prospective,
to convince themselves of their capability to create
many wanders from a simple idea!
Architects, your artistry is the outcome
of a sentiment, which was inactive...lying in the depth
of the unconscious mind...until it was awakened by desire!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci