Long Widely Poems
Long Widely Poems. Below are the most popular long Widely by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Widely poems by poem length and keyword.
Competing to weaken inappropriate business models for healthy government
too industriously advocating automated capital-enriching violence
despite co-arising globally stressed-out climates
is not an eco-theologist apologist's leading non-trump card.
Connecting intentionally cooperative people
and communing plants
and healthy commingling planet
more polypathically ego/ecotherapeutic
seems more effectively persuasive
toward historically therapeutic economic-political case studies
and multiculturing communion designs for communal integrity
through deep LeftMind with RightBody co-dominant bicameral listening
and beauty glistening
Acting widely in-between
1. Resilient Western competing co-investors
in healthy cooperative ownership
and management
and governing
and inclusive democratic authority
and co-responsibility for rights to speak and rites to listen or not
and non-sectarian integrity of thought
with co-passionate feeling models, and
2. Resonant Eastern extended family cooperative communion
poly-theological timeless models
intending eco-faith in multi-health communities
diversely composed of trans-regenerational co-arising residents
spiritually within as naturally without
sacredly peaceful below as non-violent above.
TippingPoints in-between LeftLiberal Love
and RightConserving Economically Balanced Life
wu-wei
RightWing merely secular capital-producing incorporations
for a strong ego-defense
and LeftWing sacred incarnations
for liberating universal health-languaged EarthPassion
Leaking out of both liberal/conserving dipolar ends
recreating robust multicultural rainbows
of co-arising message maps
for wellness lights
Between ZeroZone prime co-relational territories
of Yang-strength,
atomically reductive chemistry tables,
natural ionic icons
with Yin's ergodic highway flow,
wavy and multi-linear--
toward primal 4D redundant
communal
healing myths--
seasons with nutritional reasons
Restoring recreatively persuasive health trends
for positive ecological relationships
cooperatively away from absence
of future's holistic nutritional wealth.
Strengthening the inductive RightBrain
embodied sacred LeftBrain ecology case
for becoming ego/eco-therapeutic peers
sharing a full WinWin mindbody
multi-spectral
neural-sensory deck
of non-trumpian cards
for WinWin communion players.
Studying history
tries to be objectively subjective,
at its best
when also a comparative study of Sacred Plantings and Harvests.
Not a coincidence,
unfortunately,
that when I studied Christian Church history,
we discovered a not-so-very-catholic co-arising GreatMen picture story
of historic and theological harvest,
but not necessarily ecological
because more anthropocentric objectives of Earth's history.
Yet studying historic development of SkyWoman-resourced Turtle Island
is still largely confined to specialists
in EcoFeminist EcoPolitical Ancient History Compartments
of WhoCares Sacred Plantings and Harvests,
still RightBrain Yin-nurture oppression,
suppression,
within this objective-subjective
How to best deep learn ecopolitical history
of Earth's sciences
and cultural GreatMen and SacredGoddess religions
and all things patriarchal-matriarchal enculturing
Left with Right
Yang with Yin, and not so much Yang v poor little dualdark Yin,
counter-balancing in-between
Tipping Points of Sacred Plantings and Harvest Networks,
CoOperative Investments and EarthTribe's ReInvestments
in (0)-Sum/Soul Sacred Seven ReGenerations
of MatriarchalEarth
historically studying objective-subjective
CoOperative BiCameral Tao-Networks.
In this alternative Left with Right ecofeminist universe,
it is immediately transparent
to all five co-empathic senses
why Donald Trump
would be much more GreatMen entertaining,
rather than PathologicalMan alarming,
as a Public CrossDresser,
trying to walk in his wife's stilettos,
right behind her,
neither too left nor right,
where he belongs
if he knows what's best for him
tonight.
And,
while I totally get it about not drinking alcohol,
I really do think Medical Marijuana
should be deeply and widely prescribed
within the District of Columbia
in response to our current epidemic
of Yang v Yin Oppositional Disorder.
Maybe we could at least cooperatively agree
on a health and climate care budget for
Balancing Sacred EgoPlantings with EcoHarvests.
And maybe think about
how our melting icecap and glacier harvesting issues
may be both related and unrelated to
planting 12 foot reptiles
hunting vulnerable prey on MainStreet Texas and Florida,
which seems not so good for national health care
or defense
or security,
or even anything resembling GreatMen global rationality.
How many grave sites should be prepared for me?
Just one. For Robert Johnson, there were three,
all in the Mississippi Delta: Morgan City, Quito,
and (near) Greenwood. Which is right? Do we KNOW?
Those who have taken the time to do research
believe Little Zion Missionary Baptist Church
near Greenwood is most likely. At age 27, in 1938,
he died near that town--so young, with talent so great.
In the early 1900’s, this youngster’s genius was unfurled.
As blues singer, guitarist, and lyricist, he gifted the world
with recordings exhibiting style that has been admired
widely and emulated by popular performers who aspired
to greater fame. They achieved the kudos they desired.
Muddy Waters, Bob Dylan, and Chuck Berry are among those
influenced by his style. Every admirer who knows
the legend that ambition drove Johnson to sell his soul
to the Devil for greater talent would surely say his goal
was reached without Old Scratch playing a role.
What caused the death of the “Cross Road Blues”
and “Sweet Home Chicago” performer? There are clues
centering around his unbridled boozing and womanizing.
Did a jealous husband poison his whiskey upon realizing
a flirtation or worse, just as Johnson's star was rising?
Or did he die of syphilis? These stories floated around,
and others. Thirty years later, a death certificate was found,
stating no cause of death. Some facts, we may never know.
It IS known that this musical master's climb to fame was slow.
It's nothing new that, after death, renown may grow.
Johnson's posthumous claim to fame is no big mystery.
Beginning in the nineteen sixties, the world would see
a surge of interest in his music. To Eric Clapton, he seems
"The most important blues singer that ever lived." Teams
of researchers have tried to capture his life and dreams.
King of the Delta Blues Singers, a collection of his best,
was produced by Columbia in 1961. Writers faced a test:
dealing with conflicts and gaps in accounts while collecting
information for biographies and films. While "connecting
the dots," they learned that sources require dissecting.
Death, no respecter of talent or youth, is bold,
stalking and striking down rich or poor, young or old.
Mysteries of life and death often remain unsolved,
though diligent research may be involved.
I belong to metallic soiled Earth,
solar-fired water's atmosphere;
these oil and blood-fluent elements
would feel freer
not belonging to you,
to us.
They
we
are our belongings
but not our property,
commodity.
Our multicultural values
measure and calculate
design and develop
investing primal qualities of time
predicting secondary quantitative spatial outcomes.
Less time constrains freedom and value and love.
More freedom responds to surrounding needs and wants and relationships
with less dissonant restraint,
competitive response;
with more cooperative invitations
for mutual mentoring regenerate options,
our pacific path revealing positive intentions.
Missing freedom suffers,
as missing incarnation dissonates,
as absent polynomials disformate.
Incarnation's value grows enculturing time
measured with Earth's elements,
temporal functions,
systems design and development.
Each element
identity
system and set
contains regenerative potentiating value,
functionally forming network constellations
of prime-frequency, flow,
rhythmic relationships,
sustaining balanced harmonies,
an ecological economy
static until its season to unfold again.
Limited value decomposes from ego-systemic mortality.
Regenerate value emerges from eco-logical coincident, co-arising comprehension.
Space enacts time's liturgical rite of passage,
as time incarnates space's ambidextrous function
with fractal equivalent information.
Ambivalent eco-normic tipping points
out equi-valent ecological potential,
permacultural regenerate systemic nutrients
for sustaining polycultural maintenance.
We grow adeptly incarnating cooperative economies
as we become allergic to commodifying competition,
win-lose systemic incorporations.
Well-apprenticed permaculturalists,
Taoists,
Buddhists,
Fullerian Synergists,
enthymematic communicators
re-ligious self-with-other integrators,
economic ecological care of Other,
Earth Justice,
perhaps even Universal Intelligent therapeutic care,
evolves yeastfully prime rooted in multisystemic integrity.
We reach deeply and widely within remembering
our justice womb of poly-solidarity,
regenerate subsidiarity swimming
remerging toward light's bright flashing flight.
We belong to Earth
and feel freer longing with all of us together
in one Earth-bound network cycle.
The best writters write about what they know
So i was told or so the story goes
So what better then to write about than one's very own family and lasting memories
So let me start by saying this is neither a good or happy one to tell
And to this day still leaves a bitter taste and so many questions left unanswered
And is about or revolves around the treatment of my grandad by his only son
My Mum is one of 2 children 7 year's older than her younger brother Thomas
Who used to visit his daughter lisa
regularly who lived right next door adjacent to his childhood home
And when seeing him pulling up the smile upon my granddad face as he used to think our Thomas will be calling in to see us when he is done only to be replaced by pain and embarrassment when he cruely drove away
People used to say and it was widely thought or known in jest that i was my granddads favorite
But i knew that sadly wasn't true and
my place when he looked right through me and nothing i could do say could reconcile his broken heart
Luckily my Mum came home to live and look after her father and nursed him until the day he died when he eventually called in
The prodigal son then returned with will in hand
to take over proceedings from here on in
Better late than never i suppose ?
Oh yeah that's right
Sorry that phrase does not apply
in this case
As to why you let him die or go to his
grave without explaing ?
What exactly he could have done so wrong
to have had such a bitter vindictive son ?
Just how cruel and careless can 1 human be to another
than not to afford them 1 single moment of your precious time
No final word no venting no getting off your chest
no restitution no absolution
You used to go out with his best friend for a pint
to the pub for a drink but never invited him
And told your sister upon her arrival back to look after him
you can come and stay with us you can't stay with him his house is not liveable in
You through whom i ended up buying and owning the deeds to your family home because that you grew up in as a child
because you valued money and wanted your share and half
Who you eventually came to realize that which you prize
I now own i will never sell back to thee
Because what you did to my granddad your father was
genuinely unforgivable
He walked with a swagger,
was a delinquent lagger
and recidivist wagger
all his schoolboy days.
Joyridin on the Pare’ bus
he’d skylark and cuss
just like one of us
as was his way always.
He was undeniably cool
but did shirk at school
and play the fool
from bell to ringin bell.
Widely well liked as a peer
and but for the odd jeer
had nothin to fear
but many a tale to tell.
He oft sat ready in class
but mostly half ar-se
and exams seldom pass
much to his own bane.
Almost always in a scrape
lookin to mock or ape
or some dare or jape
and felt a swingin cane.
He climbed out on a limb
and broke into the gym
then let his friends in
loadin up the bar.
Squattin and pressin away
liftin in the weight bay
‘til fun and horseplay
went a step too far.
He did the flyin fox cling
and leg and arm fling
on the rope swing
with collidin force.
For dear life hands hangin,
blokes fallin and clangin
into each one bangin
on the Confidence Course.
He was a hurler of eggs
and ‘til someone begs
did charlie their legs
but it was all in fun.
A water bomb he’d let fly
when he’d from up high
ambush a passer-by
abscondin on the run.
He his loyal friends also
under the gym below
did hide and stow
lest they all be found.
Then one guy in the loop
would dive thru a hoop
and the rest swoop
should it fall down.
He at lunch hour stood
all innocent and good
but not as he should
policin the tuck shop.
As monitor it was his job
to calm the unruly mob
but never tell or dob
suckin on his lollipop.
He was a classroom pest
out of uniform dressed
on his own little quest
and always in strife.
But in his heart he knew
what he needed to do
and this he would rue
the rest of his life.
He was a master pranker,
some say a wanker
but he did hanker
for somethin more.
Girls thought him sweet
and did fall at his feet
goin crazy for Skeet
but his spell had no cure.
~~~~
Pic above: The old Windsor Park Hotel is
in the background. It is 1977
and we are just 16 years old.
below: With friends below the trees
of Rangitoto College.
(Continued from Part 1)
Transparent figures walk at a flirtatious pace
On world-class runways, with no expression on their face
Parading styles you can't afford in your possession
They are the ghostly models of the latest, greatest FASHION.
A millisecond blink, a click, some weird noise,
A virtual reality for all the girls and boys, and men and women,
From X-Box to the Web, from Lasik to Radiology -
At work, at school, at home,
Invade the blinks of the mind-boggling TECHNOLOGY.
Hard sharpened teeth are clutching at my feet
"You won't go far! You have deadlines to meet!
Go back to work, we hunger for your check.
Oh no, we don't really care that you broke your back."
The swollen lips repeat "You have a chance!
And all you need is years of education,
The right color of skin, and perfect credit-pay-back evidence.
We'll hire you if you're that certain kind,
Then close the firm and move so far you'll never find."
More faulty words are slipping from the tongues
"Don't worry, our brand won't hurt your lungs.
Enjoy yourself! (*at your own cost)"
You think you're cool, when sadly you are lost.
The "sharpened, swollen, slipping" are after you and me
They are the widely-opened mouth of the ECONOMY
Enormous brains stroll through historic halls
Preparing campaigns, false promises, ready for the brawls.
Deciding wars, neglecting harsh critiques
They are the brains of brainless POLITICS
A large behind sits comfy in its chair
It "covers" all, at all times, everywhere.
From Maine, to Oregon, to most southern tip of Texas
Sit one-half IRS and the other TAXES.
A sagging belly and a double chin,
A pair of dark circles and a droopy skin,
Decide to make a move and Go For It!
It's time to freshen up and tighten up a bit.
As they arrive at their first appointment
They're quickly greeted by awaiting disappointment
"You want to look younger? feel better? No, No, No!
Read through your policy, you fools, we are the HMO!"
*
On this, my friends, I'll go to sleep
I'm tired, time for counting sheep.
Just one more thing I'd like to add,
Last words just pondered in my head
The moral of the story is,
That if you want to live with ease,
Through all commotions, bring your sense of HUMOR
Just so that you, yourself, don't turn into an ugly tumor.
1999
© Copyright
My co-worker posed a theory to me
That our boss was born one hundred years later than she was supposed to be
Neither of us could exactly put our finger on why, but I had to agree
No makeup, unbrushed hair, bad teeth
As though she just awoke from a long, troubled sleep
Her mannerisms seem out of sync somehow with contemporary company;
Solitarily sorting books in the back room of the used bookstore she manages each day
to remain distant and dazed, as though unfamiliar with a world that has dramatically changed
Nobody knows how old she is, but I’d guess upper-middle-aged
She never seems relaxed or at home with where she has landed, always looking around as she walks through a room or doorway, ever vigilant
She shows up each day looking like last night was another rough one, but her speech and ways seem oddly quaint and well-bred,
strangely legalistic and more formal than needed in this squalid environment.
She simply doesn’t seem at home in this place;
She can stand two feet away from me and a co-worker as we’re sorting while joking and, while our hands are busy working, our minds are away playing,
But she is immune to the general contagion of the strange repartee and laughs exchanged, seeming to hear nothing we’re saying.
Never laughing herself nor conversing, guarding her thoughts, observations, and history from judgment, and getting lost in her own world such that the sudden awareness of the presence of another person can induce a violently startled jump the other way.
And I know what that’s like, as I’ve spent many years in that state,
so it is painful to see it in another neglected appearance
and another needlessly nervous wreck of a person who is
wishing to just go home or one day somehow escape this place
where her body has ended up by way of a misdirected fate.
But today she took my co-worker and I by surprise when, after being shown a book with a cover featuring a picture of Jesus playing golf, she smiled widely and lively, and she replied,
“That’s ridiculous! Everyone knows Jesus only played tennis!!”
It was just a small joke, but it was like seeing a rainbow in the refracted light on a dark sky
It gave me hope that, despite being meant for a time perhaps one hundred years ago, in this day where she was nonetheless sent, she may someday come home.
I remember the time when I first took a good look in you eyes, you were handing me a
bouquet of flowers from work
The first time I held you in my arms the friendly hug right after, I get this girly smirk
I remember the feeling I had when we got home that night
I can't feel what I feel cause he's interested in the other kine
I remember the first time we held each other tight, the first boy in my bed
Remembering that tequila night and how we chose each other instead
I remembered that night you felt so close to my heart, how the butterflies were crazy
The touch of your gentle lips on mine (sigh) oh baby
I remember our cute little texts every morning we'd think of each other
How our smiles would open widely complementing one another
I remember when you'd always come over after you did your chores
How we'd just go straight for the bed and take naps with the open door
I remember how we'd always run away from the crowd so we'd finally be alone
Mary would always trip out like we'd do something wrong
I remember the night you stood up and took me to Foodland cause I wanted Strawberry
pancakes
How afterwards I felt bad cause you passed out and had work the next day
I remembered the night before it was just me and you in the house
When I turned and faced you we both spooned each other on the couch
Then we both sighed cause we told each other it was a perfect fit
Our bodies locked so closely together we closed our eyes and that was it
I remember you always being a romantic with all the flowers you gave
My room bloomed of beauty ness and the smell was insane
I remember our first make out session my lips felt glued to yours
How I could go on forever because of how passionate you are
I remember my very first time and how happy I was to give it to someone I have strong
feelings for
A man who felt the same was as I, the passion, the love, the music for sure
I remember the time when you let me put mascara on your precious moment eyes
We went out to the Pali Lookout and of course the rain stopped by
I remember how much I thanked God for bringing you into my life
Praying that htis river everlastingly flows with you by my side
I remember constantly thinking if our souls were together in the past life
The depth of my feelings, you've captured my heart, you are the love of my life.
1/27/21
"Styrofoam"
It's not hormones, testosterone
Or Pheromones
I was at the crossroads
Moved towards what was familiar or unknown
Never did any good to postpone
I can really feel it in my bones
Nearby all these Madrones
Time has shown
In and out of all these biomes
The elements shaping the land and stones
Hung up the phone
Then came the dial tone
I've sinned, and I've atoned
I regressed, and I have grown
Sippin’ out of Styrofoam
In and out of different tidal zones
Had to get it on my own
It almost always was homicide if their was a broken Hyoid bone
It was always kept a secret or widely known
They're really focused on drones
And clones
Yet they also want to continually probe
And spy on the entire globe
Was close to the cosmos
As well as the locker of Davy Jones
From here to Nome
Always been a rogue
After the motherlode
Sometimes I was on paved streets, or often I was on dirt roads
Staying composed
Solving problems with or without the use of codes
Before the doors are closed
Meanwhile, people still having continual episodes
Got it done smoothly, or I just bulldozed
Those
That attempted to oppose
And stick their nose
Into my business, that's a no
Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe
Catch a tiger by the toe
Took them out with the undertow
Quickly they sunk below
Or by going blow for blow
A.K.A. Toe to toe
The same could be said for many, including so and so
The flesh and organs beginning to decompose
Food for insects, vultures and crows
It's not a hoax
Did the least or I did the most
Put it out there or was a ghost
Got it done easily or cut it close
It's gross
Far too often was comatose
Because I overdosed
Couldn't stop myself, or follow advice from my folks
I know, what a joke
Even though I've been woke
I couldn't stop my addictions, or say "Adios!"
More than just words being wrote
It'd do you some good to take note
Humans at each others throats
Quick to gloat
And to go right for the throat
Especially over your affiliation and how you vote
I either did or didn't have a rain coat
Humans quick to find a scapegoat
We either were or were not in the same boat
Stood sturdy like an oak
Behind continual clouds of smoke
And enough alcohol to make a moat
So that a boat could stay afloat