Long Unmovable Poems
Long Unmovable Poems. Below are the most popular long Unmovable by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unmovable poems by poem length and keyword.
… Death … is being Trapped in Time …
where you no longer exist… or Soul-Climb
Time reverses You… then It Stops
when there is no use for a Body-Clock
and where there’s nothing left to Find
… Death … is being Trapped in Time
If You Think I am being Harsh in View
go Check a Casket… You will see it’s True
Dig to a Grave… Go open A Tomb
Only worms and maggots, Move in that Gloom
and Decaying Flesh and Bones, turn to Dust Gen. 3: 19
or only Ashes in an Urn… or Autopsy, that’s Us
… There is no Past, no Present, No Future
There is no Motion, Whatsoever
No Breathing, No Knowing What Happens or May Ecc. 9: 5
Everything is Wiped Away
for You, there is no Day to Day
where You Lay… is Where You Lay
… It’s a Jail-Cell, with Unavailable-Key
Soon… You won’t even Be
And The Only Truth, That Sets You Free
Stays in The Almighty’s and Son’s Memory Mal. 3: 16 … John 11: 24, 25
But, if You treat Them, like the Enemy
There is no Parole, or Pardon… Not Any Matt. 12: 32
… in Death… there are no Dreams
No Ghost Wandering, No Unholy Schemes
No Haints Scaring and Bringing Suffering
… These Things are from The Darkness (or Honest-Imaginings)
God’s Divine Love is First To Bless
The Beloved Dead… Rest in Peace … Unless … Matt. 12: 32
… You will never have a Moment, Never Again
You will never meet Loved One, nor A Friend
You Have No Remembrance in ‘ That ’ Time-Frame
for You are Paralyzed in Time’s Chains
… not Conscious, no Feeling, No Life Force
You… are no longer Visited, by That Source Rev. 20: 14, 15
There is no Travel, Once Its Done …
Time, got Stuck on You … When Death Begun
Pressed-Frozen, Pitch Black, No Air, No Life-Sign
Death… is being Trapped in Time
an Unmovable-Fire… and Suspended Flames
That Won’t Release, What’s Trapped in Its Blaze
And Trapped in Time… is a Place So Still…
That Nothing There Too Long… Can Remain Real
But God, Has A Promise, for You and Me
( … that’s if You Move Towards Eternity … )
And He Warned Us … Not To Lag Behind … Matt. 25: 10 – 13
‘Cause God is Taking Death … and Trapping ‘ It ‘, In Time … Rev. 20: 14
Just come along with me to the town
where long time ago I bicycled,
walked and ran about whenever
I wanted to smell the fragrance of Saigon
where I raised my hand to salute the
spirits while passing by the Lang Ong
Shrine and bathing my body among the
incense smoke drifting out over the
streets and worming my way away from
the crowds of fortune-tellers talking
endlessly about their understanding of
universe and keeping silent on their own.
just come along with me to the town
where I said hello to people in the
Ba Chieu Market where they yelled and
boasted about their bargain prices
and always be prepared to load
all their stuff on their shoulders and
heads and run away from the police
and jump over all the walls on their ways
while scattering behind with sandals,
sunglasses and hats... while throwing
into the sky their yells and screams – and you
see now, those sounds still vibrate in my heart.
just come along with me to the town
where I have left many parts of me
onto the dirt trails of Dong Ong Co
leading to my dharma uncle’s temple
and please gently step into the village,
please softly move and try not to break the
standstill air here, where you will see
my footprints still visible around the altar
where decades ago I asked the old
monk Thuong Chieu about the way of
Zen, and then he smiled – and now
I would surprise him when he first time sees
a lady walking beside me. My dear, please
walk gently here in my unchanged
village, where you will see the cows still
standing in the field with their heads staring
at the far-away sky, the birds still reaching
high into the sky, the monk still sitting there
with his endless smile, and there the answer
he gave me now still remaining in an original
state: he threw a piece of tile against the wall
and asked if I heard the sound and then said
that that was the way of Zen – you now see
that that piece of tile still remains floating in the air
just come along with me to the town
where everything stays unmoveable,
and unbreakable endlessly, where the
monk and me live like the unmovable statues.
By Phan Tan Hai
The stones slipped through the great fingertips of God
Each ligure staked its existence on the four corners of the universe
The quadrivial region began to spin and pull into a sphere
And pathways revealed their footholds
The fourth ligure bravely landed in the midst of history
So that one day the future settlement of the second
Would be moved by the last—by the past
Suffering much it stayed
Manifesting in incandescent words
Thrusting evanescence upon the weak
Selfless, it's sorrow would move the merriest
Would move the unmovable
The third lies in the profound valley of mystical guardians
Star-recruited, they are the very light above the canvas of gray
They embrace the stone—are inspired by the stone
The very reflection of their creator was evident
Upon their unremitting glimmers
Unafraid to stare the others down
Motivated and construed by the glower of death
Eyes move fixedly beyond the simple vast
The second ligure rested upon the shoulders of invisible martyrs
The hopeful power it planted on the sufferers was unbelievable
For spectators used their disbelief to cover their ever-placed envy
They never were part of the battle—they merely watched
Always seeing truth
But they never quite absorbed
Like a rock hitting the water
The inevitable fate was to fly and sink
The first of the ligures settled in the very reservoir of Satan himself
Even the very heart of the devil is marked
Though rebellion embarked
The cold stone landed upon his naked bosom
He despaired not to the pericopal truth the gods had bestowed upon him
He merely despised it
But wished not to lose it
For such a stone to fall upon that dark corner—he felt pride for the gracious wound
In truth, there are twelve ligures of stone
And four were dispersed, dropped into the universe
The last eight the great Eternal wears upon his breastplate
And only He can re-move these ligures
-July 20, 2013-
-For Shadow Himilton's Any Subject Contest-
-Thanks for the inspiration-
Tongues stall kind words to say -
planes with wheels on a waterway-
A relentless chase of light bulbs above wondering
minds and breaking the switch everytime
it's caught. In something.
Mercy, grief, fires within
choke on smoke forsaking
hallucinations that geraniums are my favorite
blooming within the weeds of a diary
where trust breeds like bacteria and scales
on fish skin are just as beautiful and preservable
as any composition.
Where humiliation and pride collide over whom
I should assist by comparing whose bones are
grayer and graver underneath their hole of self
destruction labeled with misfits. Figuring out thoughts
more fragmented than a stained glass puzzle paralyzed
in the pencil shavings of a rough draft by drunken angels
who usually sculpt the outcome of nightmares.
So many rags my body has constructed to soak up
the outpuring of suffering that they dug up with years of
cemented, pulled back, brittle fingernails and forearms
covered in filthy apologies that don't even hug me,
but accuse me of self absorption.
And misdirection, lying naked, like a dehydrated compass,
wanting nothing more than guidance by an optional savior
whose footprints are undefined to conceal the number
of followers he refines through choice of circumstance.
Still, I pray. For them. Perception has me demented.
Angrily unmovable. Impenetrable in the range of sanity.
A brown-nosed sorcerer, picked to pieces for parts needed
for an insecurity blanket to shield a reflection of madness
or jealousy or a seamstress to help them put it back together.
Although my darkest reasons for anything are just as genuine
as the shadow of a dying leaf barely gripping for it's life
on the limb of an oak tree.
The scars upon my soul have yet to develop a conscious
communication of their own.
I apologize when I do not speak.
Sometimes I believe solitude is more forgiving.
It arrived yesterday, manifested gradual and absurd,
started with the surrounding area dying first,
then the original picture of a missing itty bitty bird,
levitating and unmovable.
More people went missing as the days converge,
sure enough a new snapshot each time would appear,
as if they were being swept away from here, submerging graves to drown lachrymose bye hear and fear.
Then one eye - another - lips - a face suspended exists,
countenance devoid of any truly real emotion,
lifeless - starring far out into the distance,
almost as if staring at something specific.
What is it? -
Rumors like a pervasive pestilence spread endless,
to other cities - towns - villages,
each the same bestowed wisdom,
a mind’s eye phantasmagoria vision.
It spoke to people with a voices of a legion,
offered to meet - greet - be one of them,
in another separate/parallel dimension,
bargain that can be blessed and/forever forgiven;
All it requires - is for one to temple a hymn - of thunder;
- ending their parasitic life’s existence,
here goes nothing - bang* -
sack of potatoes crumble/bag splits.
Re-emergence a remnant running limp towards the visage,
maw opens with jagged rows to devour my life and husk.
Picturesque/statuesque of who I once was;
labeled missing floating high up above.
Elongated countenance ripped asunder,
puzzle jigsaws me on the other side back together,
bone/muscle/tendon/skin utter re-assimilation,
warps/twists the realm - violin grave motif debaucheries denizens.
Levitating heads chasing - biting of limbs,
devouring my friends/family/fellow citizens.
Spines with no flesh to hide the grotesquerie,
whip/manipulated as a weapon’s severity.
Mirror quicksilver shivers as the grin waxes,
disembodied cranium of vile horror fictions,
bite severs waist with surgical guillotine precision,
hummingbird speed; leaving my legs still standing.
I often see you falling into the depths of that silly word, made to torment and pleasure,
catching us and squeezing until there is nothing left, the snake with its prey
Love how deceiving it can be. Your deliberate steps toward that jagged edge, bare foot
and bleeding, I know that I must brace myself. So high as you imagine your whole world
centered on him whichever him it is this time. Like a drug you crave I know I should not
let you go, but yet I can’t stop myself from giving you the needle, I might as well be
piercing your cold white skin myself, marking you yet knowing that reality needs to be
set. How can I not when I have seen you crumple in fear and die within yourself over and
over? How can I not when after so many falls you keep picking yourself up again and
somehow finding a way to move on? How can I ignore your scars, your pleas for reassurance
of this new conquest? You are my sister; we have shared lives and secrets so deep within
ourselves that we thought we’d never resurface. I know your deepest fears and sorrows,
those moments of pain I was always there. And now I see another climax in the turbulence
of the life you’ve chosen. I see the signs all over again and I know that the chances are
few and more often than not love is killed in the battle. And yet I can not tell you so.
I can not cut you down when you have made it so high, each branch you climb steeper than
the rest. I wish I could spare you of the sorrows and inevitable sting when we clean the
wounds. Still I find myself standing numb as you approach that edge, shouting under my
breath as I struggle to keep you safe, yet still unmovable, this paralysis proving to be
my ultimate downfall. But when the ground comes rushing up, the body raw and broken, we
will pick up the pieces of your mind and soul, together no matter how many cliffs we summit.
Form:
The old man sighed
Sitting on a rock next to a pond
Crookedly balancing Yin and Yang between his eyelashes
Conversing with the Lady of the pond
Jade eyes and un-wrinkled time
In Her beautiful face
Held in his hands
An old fishing rod
Bamboo
Bends and flexes with the times
It holds and catches even the biggest
Devils in the water
The lotus flowers embrace the jade tide
Soft-hearted water caressing unmovable rock
Trees bent in silent reflection
The ultimate knowledge, the Lady whispered
Lies between the murmur of the leaves
The laughter of the lotus
The bend in the trees
Listen! Listen!
These will outlast everything
He thought
I shall give knowledge to my sons
And teach them
Soul
The old man contemplated
The secession of his life
There is a time to hold on and a time
To let go
This time, his time
Is over, long gone with the Maiden on the Moon
Beckoning him home
He taught the young men
To bend with the rod
To bow to the spirits
To be one with God
To be forceful, to be soft
To listen and to speak
Wise Man’s words
And Foolish Man’s dreams
He told the Old Stories
He sang the Old Songs
Traditions and ancient verses
To light their path through life’s courses
And as each of his sons threw the rod on the ground
Frustrated with the old man’s ways
Outdated methods and foolish wishes
The heavens opened and unleashed
The ultimate Father’s Rage
The rain pounded on the once peaceful pond
Dismantling the flowers and smothering the land
With a wrathful urgency
Drowning the Lady in the lake
Her beautiful jade eyes never again to reflect philosophies
Hidden in the reeds
The lotuses closed onto themselves
Never again to give such a sweet smell
The old man sighed
It’s out of his hands now, it’s out of his hands now
And this,
This will outlast
Everything.
Sometimes, we expect
the sun to rise and smile,
through hazy hellish clouds
carrying vindictive
verdicts of venomous vultures,
surmising hues of
ink to pierce through
pores of this bleeding pen,
imagining rainbows
will unravel colors,
in violent violets and
intricate indigo streaks,
refusing to walk around
streets with
hailing stones of storms.
But what if the skies
unfold mysteries of yesterday,
would tales of truth need
translated transcripts?
oblivious to the weight
of every thorn I sustain
within these words I weave.
Whilst daggers
on my spine
still remain rusted with
runes of revelations,
as I’ve felt claws sharper
than twisted tongues,
so those feculent fingers
pointing at abstracts
across fields of
fruitful flowers,
adorned with
smokey quartz
jewels of life,
is nothing but
mere artless blades,
that burn bridges
from blunt blindness.
Let the bare brokenness
of your rags be
the conqueror of your
own demise,
I’ve seen too many
ghosts turn into
steel hearted devils with
tasteless plans.
Yet these cracks
won’t grow wider
from misconstrued
conclusions,
from barely noticeable
turbulence within a
psychological warfare.
I am more than your
definition of sharpened
needles and knives,
as I’ve been nurtured
in fearless forests with
herds of faceless wolves,
this warrior spirit
is unmovable,
by a million mountains
engraved with
lifeless blood and
bones of your kind,
so take your little
quilt of cowardly questions,
wrap them around your
fragile little ego,
perhaps, sleep too
can reveal
rosier dreams
in your doomed
nights filled with terrors,
for I refuse to
drink from chalices
of emptiness
concocted from
bitter ingredients.
You may have become an unstoppable force
in the lands you have conquered who have lost their resource,
no longer fighting at this time they evacuate shores,
so all of the power now ultimately yours,
the world has no other as mighty or proven,
and should any bring the fight you shall quickly remove them,
believing your destiny an unmovable movement,
A thousand year reich that solely is a delusion
which none so far stopped and none can prevent,
are at the mercy of an invincible depth, you will be victorious the trend of this sets, you’ve only beaten a few of which some you quickly forgets,
they got away knowing you at your best, and they will be back and fight you to the death,
but you are not threatened and that is the threat,
you made them run once before if they come back they’ll be dead,
the desirable dreaming of which you are believing,
the strength you amassed while others were weakened,
and now overwater you look toward England,
a broken down island sat there badly beaten
not an opponent to cause any concern knowing that next it is England’s turn,
an Air Force and navy to take down the King,
easy to do with all those you can bring,
but the Air above England isn’t there for your lungs,
your invasion a failure before it has begun, because you thought a victory was certainly won,
but when Britain was bitten Old Britain didn’t run,
it counters undoubtedly the attacks have you stunned,
the Battle is lost and your power undone,
Britain doesn’t welcome those to it’s land, you will not get there and you will never command,
what was to happen was not part of the plan,
thought no one could beat you but Great Britain can!!
Written: October 16, 2023
This Or That, Vol 21 Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Nobody is more dangerous than he who imagines himself pure in heart; for his purity, by definition, is unassailable. James A. Baldwin
________________________________________
Shadows shroud the world and wicked looms
There is a stronghold whenever chivalry blooms.
It is solid and unmovable, a towering presence.
A secure haven if everyone is at quintessence.
Unaffected by the anathematization of outer world
In your way, nothing impure may be hurled.
It stays there, watertight and unbreakable.
Beyond the decry of the earth's taints, unshakable
No adulterant can taint its empyrean ground.
Within its walls, only purity is found.
Vividness and zeal, in every hue and shade,
Dilute not the chroma, as fine purity is wade.
No watered-down ideas, no pure erroneous
Truth alone is pristine, eternal, and harmonious.
It sustains its foundation in dignity and poise.
Unblemished by wrongdoing, free of evil noise
With laser-like focus, you defy the mundane.
Its honor is immune from any taint of disdain.
Static in an unassailable way, its saturation of caste
A stronghold of acquittal, a haven of sanctity that lasts
unassailable purity, a beacon of light,
Steering calix souls toward what is right.
In a world plagued by avarice and desire,
It nestles as a vestige, a cosmic canorous choir.
Purity is beyond simply a word or a name.
However, an unquenchable goodness flame
Within a world that tries to cheat and deceive.
The unshakeable purity is steadfast; never leave.