Long Unreasoned Poems
Long Unreasoned Poems. Below are the most popular long Unreasoned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unreasoned poems by poem length and keyword.
A stairway that leads to the white borders,
Of edges pointed where condensation forms.
Untainted transparency reflects the glaring Sun,
At the side cushions of white and brown
- a tired mind's sanctuary.
Stilted conversations fly across spilled drinks,
Become waste with a price unreasoned.
Men and women sit alike but have unlike minds,
Choke on bitter tea upon nostrils they spit.
Black souls served behind the counter,
Plastered confidentiality jealousy arises might,
For alas one hands a slice of chocolate cake
To a girl of crippling thoughts; alone, desolated
Tongue twisted around the fork her heart quickened
Tripping guilt lies on the plate she ate at previous.
Angriness burned bright fueled by unlike minds,
Reflections obvious once darkness spread fast,
Acid of sweetness churned in her stomach,
Fullness unbearable calls the unwanted desire
To leave the Glasshouse, to go home and purge.
Somehow their eyes met and he smiled
Was it wrongful for her to feel glee,
So tad yet so pure?
Form:
Ok, I'm not paid to think (like the TV shouting heads), I have no real voice (vote), and certainly no credentials—but I'm as invested in America as any high-school citizen can be—I've pledged allegiance 3,000 times (hhmmm ... do they doubt our loyalty?) and when it comes to loving America I'd have to say my classmates and I are at the center of the spell.
I'm afraid we're growing up in the age of hate ... the age of phony outrage where each position large or small is high noon and violence is afoot even when policing ordinary citizens.
We won't address the multitude of old problems in this new age ... we'll just unleash a marquetry of half truths to dispute the proven until unreasoned arguments reach their paranoid fullness. The real world is alarming enough—let's just push that away and ignore it—and while we're at it let's $lut shame the poor, the old, the sick, the unemployed, the hungry and the hand of mercy.
I realize America was never one moral atom bonded for the better—but those anvils that forged us appear neglected or forsaken. I'm afraid what's happening now, what we're seeing and hearing now, is a symphony of erosion—that by the time I have any say at all, the middle class will be gone—
America turned slum—where even the voice of despair will be termed traitor.
We'll only be able to see our greatness in museum souvenir shops where nothing is affordable and everything is made elsewhere.
Ok, I'm not paid to think (like the TV shouting heads), I have no real voice (vote), and certainly no credentials - but I'm as invested in America as any high-school citizen can be. I've pledged allegiance 3000 times (hhmm.. do they doubt our loyalty?) and when it comes to loving America, I'd have to say my classmates and I are at the center of the spell.
I'm afraid we're growing up in the age of hate.. the age of phony outrage where each position large or small is high noon and violence is underfoot even when policing ordinary citizens.
We won't address the multitude of old problems in this new age.. we'll just unleash a marquetry of half-truths to dispute the proven until unreasoned arguments reach their paranoid fullness.
The real world is alarming enough - let's just push that away and ignore it - while we're at it let's s1ut shame the poor, the old, the sick, the unemployed, the hungry and the hand of mercy.
I realize America was never one moral atom bonded for better.. but those anvils that forged us appear neglected or forsaken. I'm afraid what's happening now, what we're seeing and hearing now, is a symphony of erosion - that by the time I have any say at all, the middle class will be gone - America turned slum - where even the voice of despair will be turned traitor.
We'll only be able to see our greatness in museum souvenir shops where nothing is affordable, and everything is made elsewhere.
.
.
This was one of the short essays in my Yale application. I post it now as an election classic =]
It is no longer headline news,
If anything scientific happens
it happens for a rational reason
If anything violent doesn't happen,
does it not happen
for an irrational unreasoned
compassionate nonresponse?
It is no longer byline news,
toxic anthro-aggressive at-most-spheres,
dark forbidding climes,
cold winter
evil viral feelings,
relentlessly depressing
grey-clouded
chaotic
irrational
random thoughts
Complicate competing patriarchal
privileged supremacy
win/lose systemic media events,
stories monotheistically vengeful
OldTestament fundamentalist
Either my religious way
or you get to play
work
suffer the Prodigal Son/Daughter
loser highway
Monoculturing news
neglecting to mention white anthro-privileged
Caste cast with strictly partisan
polarizing eco-political rightwing supremacy concerns
And fascinations with capitalism happens
when compassionate democratic health
unrealistically
irrationally doesn't happen
while relentlessly furthering
white dogmatically "patriotic"
straight male dominance
Is not exactly headline news
but more the RightWing monocultural
Thing To Reactively Do
to find HolyBible scripture
to fundamentally cut
and evangelically paste
for ego-salvaging
narcissistic denial of democratic rationality
divine support
Furthering each individual ego-identity's
selfie bootstrap LeftCognitive
culturally superior to RightEmotive
win/lose religiously partisan
straight white capitalism
overwhelming win/win
systemic multicultural
democratically cooperative
co-arising compassion.
The value of contents
In modern society
By voting and likes are defined
But whether they vote on a poem
Or literature
It value does not modify
To more they are influencer
Makes them resources
For sales and the trades advertise
Opinions theories makes
That are wrongly
Contrary to what them despise
If system obliged is
To value opinions
The judgement is then to applies
On mass degradation
Of systems and values
It is entertainment
And these are the views
Literacy lost
Lost the sense and the point
Remaining intelligent fews
New models of business
Enterpreters is this
Enterpreneurs is this
The new generation of crap
Controller Step 7
What is their controller
Poetry nowadays rap
Too much entertainment
Unreasoned attainment
What rocket this does intercept
Corrupt education
There is no solution
Economy wise they survive
Arrangements in masses
Packed by them busses
No chance in envoronment thrive
Lil packets of content
The content creators
For slots they about to fulfil
Posterity posts
And so you must be posting
In system of cultire this ill
Intelligence targeting
Memories shared
The meaning and purpose of war
Topology glossary
And of mathematics
The real the object of door
Representaional
Models of graphics
Expectancy life
And its length
The synchronization
Clock rhythm is vibration
Delusions, allusions of peace
I will thus tell you
How you shall be thinking
Because I am leader of yours
System is set out
On this target signature
Combines to applying the force
And all for the market
For price fluctuation
The value of money
Resources and that
Sustainable are you
In this equilibrium
Complexity for this is bad
The genious is simple
Enough for one letter
Or number the numeris this
The key distributiuon
Of Quantum schizophrrenia
No win for this system is sys
The terminology
And false apologies
Systems of judgement imposed
Paths to develop
In such wrongly system
To action in mass you are forced
Fullfill the your purpose
Exactly solution
Responsible for this are we
I thought I'd be doing
The job and directives
At least for some kind of fee
Poetry to me is a very beautiful thing,
It’s about your identity and community,
About friends, family and kind feeling,
And it’s about how you place in society.
It reflects upon your sexual partners,
References them as your mind’s pivot,
What love’s base is, about its garners,
And what should be loves fine ingot.
It explains sociology, culture and trends,
Shows your diversity, admits your choices,
Specifies any displacement for kind amends,
Any disorientation for your readers’ voices.
I believe poetry can just be for yourself,
For your own edification and collection,
Because if by it you identify as an elf,
You won’t be defined as uncanny deviation.
Indeed, deviation does not exist in poetry,
Nor does it form the reason for its writing;
Poetry embraces honesty, love and sobriety,
With an imagination where truth is flying.
The credibility of poetry goes unquestioned,
Because if you lie by it, you’ll feel the traction,
It always takes you seriously unreasoned,
Never disqualifying a difficult emotion.
Your awkward emotions are disquisition, code,
Eagerness and enthusiasm are their reception;
Sociology by it can become your chatting mode,
And politics can become your injuring person.
Poetry as a literary art is fructuous with stance,
Offering a handshake to any from a dumb;
Sets alight concepts and feelings to enhance,
Lives that may otherwise be under the thumb.
LITERARY FORM
the suspense
sealed
unexpected
then unmasked
imitative
with exploited variations
influential concepts
innocence
templated
remains
chronicled &experimental
intermittent
yet ultimate
but
seemingly discovered
an aspect unreasoned
yet
pure
relevant &equivalent
ingenuous
daring&
yet defying
cryptic interpretation
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
[Written with much love and bonhomie in
response to Milt’s Poem ‘Hearty Poetry Soup’]
*
Not so long ago in a land called Soup
A warlock gathered a talented group
These were the wordsmiths who writ all Soup Lore
But the warlock decided that they’d write no more
For he had been born to be ‘Soup Laureate’
A role he’d hold longer the more folk he ate
Even a warlock is sometimes unreasoned
Not much consolation…when you’ve been lightly seasoned
So here in this cauldron we boil and we bubble
Somehow I sense we’re in some kind of trouble
My hope is this as I cling to the edge
I hope I’m the meat and not the two veg
But, lo, I discover that Milt’s being mother
He’s spotted my need to write something or other
His warlock-like methods at first seemed remiss
Until this old turnip sat down to write this
But still I find one thing decidedly troubling
I look like a beetroot from all of that bubbling
My poor scalded feet are developing bunions
So at my next barbecue… Milt’s in the onions!
To find solitude in a helpless mind
A silent new world from its judgment found
To ponder this curse unreasoned and blind
Anger is pressed when arguments abound
To find a crack in mirrored perfection
Where prideful instructions will intercede
With memories of the mind's reflection
Now old and failing and meant to mislead
Tethered to distress from the mind's mire
Trapped in its kettle of old boiling brew
To suffocate in its murky quagmire
As clarity of thought passes from view
To find each thought a dim lit realm of shades
To hold them close as the memory fades
5/13/18
contest Premiere II...Open Poetry contest
September
The light is angelic;
People turn to shadows, shadows to people.
The heat of Summer cools, steps aside to Fall,
The trees burst into slow flame,
Reminding me that everything must die,
But not die sans glory.
This the time when Summer's bright exuberance dies
This the time when something deep within me cries.
This the time when remembrance holds sway.
This the time when night conquers day.
This the time when the moon hangs lonely
In a powder blue sky;
This the time when the heart thinks only
Of the unknown Wherefore, the Unreasoned Why
September is the birth and death of all,
The source of all our sorrows,
The womb of our tomorrows
A wine of glory and of gall -
This the time I gather myself,
When I ask myself, as I always do -
Have I done my best?
Have my deeds been true?