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abortion absence
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Long Science fiction Poems | Long Science fiction Poetry

Long Science fiction Poems. Below are the most popular long Science fiction by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Science fiction poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by manek kohli | Details |


Once night Gretta Foster sat in the backyard, 
building a rocket ship that ought to take her a-far, 
she had been working day and night - tirelessly, 
hammering, programming, all so dexterously. 
Then when the sun arose and sparkled in the sky, 
Gretta was still working, that too without a sigh, 
the ship was finally built, Gretta was on cloud nine, 
but going a bit farther up than that seemed rather fine. 
She sat inside the cockpit, tightened her seat belt, 
pushed a few buttons, with such admirable stealth, 
algorithms aplenty - all perfectly aligned, 
as the engine started roaring, boisterously alight. 
The rocket ascended at last, it set sail yonder, 
to the farthest frontier that this universe could conjure, 
and after it finally left the vivid atmosphere, 
Gretta was so happy, she let out a smiling tear. 
Days passed and she was put in catatonic sleep, 
immobile and still, immersed in lovely dreams, 
suddenly with a thud, the ship had landed still, 
She woke up instantly, with a newfound thrill. 
She wore the lunar suit, which she had stitched herself, 
opened up the bolted door and descended the metal steps, 
the moment she touched ground, she turned around, 
and got pleasantly surprised by what she found! 
A red-hatted impish elf, sat crossed leg, 
a large nosed fairy stood, munching on nutmeg, 
two rabbits bowed down to the rabbit goddess, 
and two more pressed her feet, in a soft caress. 
Gretta walked a step and heard the elf shout, 
"oh silly person, take that suit out!, 
we've got oxygen, plenty of em to breathe, 
that suits a waste o' time and energy!" 
Gretta obeyed, and unzipped the heavy suit, 
underneath she wore a dress - flowery and cute, 
"good going, young child, now lemme show you, 
this lovely wonderland which you dub the moon!" 
And the elf was right, they met unicorns, 
box-laden garden paths and joyous little fauns, 
walking and talking scarecrows, nursing little crows, 
small blue doll houses with chuckling gnomes. 
within a crater lived a colony of werewolves, 
but they were nice and fair - specially one named Ulf, 
he'd give her milk and tea with chocolate biscuits, 
and in order to keep her warm, red spotted mitts. 
The goddess too was nice, a wise and lovely soul, 
"be imaginative and create, but don't forget your goal", 
she'd also give her nutmeg of such abundant variety, 
her best friend was a Faun, so strong and mighty. 
and the Minotaurs build Gretta a lovely home, 
with a mushroom roof and walls build of foam, 
"stay here with us, Gretta, you'd have a great time", 
said the red-hatted elf while singing a rhyme. 
Gretta thought and thought, she came to a decision, 
she decided to stay for sure, she looked forward for her admission, 
and from thereon, life for her was perfected, 
all her dying wishes had suddenly been resurrected.

Copyright © manek kohli

Long poem by cherl dunn | Details |


Three points of ionic invisibility, drawn off the charted map
Of realism or reality, the calibrated compass spins out of 
Control, then suddenly freezing at polar northern degree!
Within the gravitational shift, a rippling vibrational influxes 
Occurs, ceasing time in a stalemates chest move, slats angles
Become uninclined, and mankind’s constant universal theory,
Is turned inside outside, and outside in!
Aftershocks echoing reverberation, vibrates against the
Broadband network rocking it senseless, the tensile strength
Of reality is shaken to its inner deepest core!
Abnormalities anomalous door has been swung shut,
And at its thresholds pivot center lies the heart of the
Devils triangle, beware hells gates left wide open!
A supernatural supersonic blast in abstract form,
Contracting and retracting at the very fabric of the
Spatial time continuum, pulling them backwards tightly,
In a slingshots earth shuddering motion!
Then suddenly releasing the bow string, this arrow of
Time suspension is shot forwards, interrupting the equal
Ends of our planetary polarized capes, the global antistructure
Is knocked off the grid!
Sonars study screen, blips into unsettled waves of vibration,
Unto the known surrenders upon the unknown realm of
Unrealism, in this split seconds finite moment of utter stilled
Silence, something eerie happens, the materialistic disappears,
Without evidences residual trace, can it be an abyssal vortex,
Or a rogue waves giant aquatic claw retracting!
In this unidimensional limbo field, no puzzle piece quite fits
The void of space left behind, humanity’s intelligence is unable
To comprehend what has happened, behold the final deadened zone,
Of the unnatural and undefined!
What coalition’s collision can cause this much powers refraction,
Where lights suspension is faster than the speeding bullet’s
Sounding, the undecidable throngs of the theoretical hypostasize
At these questions of the unknown!
But in the eyes of humanity we are left in awes amazement,
At the Bermuda Triangles sheer raw force of power,
Beneath the waves of this elliptical seas of knowledge,
Humanity is just a child of simplicities simple thoughts,
Captured within its cradle of universal growth,
In times crawling motion we’ll learn slowly to walk,
Then to stand upright, amongst the orbiting giants 
Beyond our earth bondage's reach!
But in the devil’s triangle, we are but inept whales unable to
Breech for the breathing, maybe in the futuristic future will finally
Take in the refreshing air of the divine tides of Aquatic Sea of infinite



Copyright © cherl dunn

Long poem by cherl dunn | Details |


It is the magic held within the darkness, the whispering of the night winds,
Echoing through haunted graveyards, cast are thus ancient spells, illuminated
Beneath the harvest full moon, in this eerie landscape the underworld is 
Released, and the undead are free to walk amongst the living, mingling on
This sacred holiday of mysticism, and it is so called, Halloween.
In the ethereal shadows figures move with shades dark eloquence,
As ghostly phantoms enchant the souls of the innocent, passions
Pleasures soothes the hearts of sadness, for tonight the very air itself
Is magical, offering a moments release for the spiritually condemned,
Until the last stroking bong of midnight, is heard off in the distance.
Sorcery's wicked witchy women, fly by sources unseen power of the
Supernatural, cackling with laughter's wild sounding of the jackal, do
They weave their intricate incantation's, to capture their victim's of hearts desire.
Blooming on the mountain side, the wolf bain does blossom, and hidden
Beneath its evergreen leaves, is the star gazer dressed within wolves
Furry garments, howling love sick, unto his ill fated mate, she so answers
With screams reply, and the pack adds another member, and now
These forbidden lovers run together, beside the path of humanities kindred.
Mischievous tricksters are they; poltergeists playing trick or treats pranks,
Vaporous creatures whom thoroughly enjoy frightening humanity unto 
Their inner most core.
But heed my warning dear friend; call no priest, for blessing sake for
These demons of mists, shall reek, havocs vengeance upon thee, 
Instead leave them well enough alone.
A twisted fellow is Mr. Jack-O-Lateran, appearing body less, with his head
Impaled upon fencing’s spike, what a Gringrichy grimace does he so make,
As a candles light aglow shines from within, his mounted handled top hat,
Exposing the freakish smile on his orange pumpkin face.
The vamperic ring master, on this night of horrors terror, welcomes the unwary
Traveler, to take part in this celebration extravaganza, come one and come all.
Let us so partake in these evenings’ festivities, El Carnival, 
As the children of the night, serenade mankind in the back ground,
Beyond our earthy realm.
As the mornings first rays of light, brush their finger tips across the
Horizon's canvas, the darkness is banished once again, creeping 
Beneath the under belly of the sun, as all evil creatures melt, and fading
Within the shades hollows, until next years celebration takes place once
More, on this darkest of holidays, called Halloween.


Copyright © cherl dunn

Long poem by charles hice | Details |



Main Entry: relieved Function: adjective Date: 1850: experiencing 
or showing relief especially from anxiety or pent-up emotions 
— re•liev•ed•ly  \-ˈlē-vəd-lē\ adverb Relive One entry found. 
Main Entry: re•live   
Pronunciation: \(ˌ)rē-ˈliv\ Function: verb 
Date: 1548 intransitive verb 
: to live againtransitive verb: to live over again; especially : to experience 
again in the imagination Releave must be an adjective or mabe just a noun eye 
frown as some of my flock of followers must do at some of the spellings eye 
make of words that have been spelled this way for at least six years. Main Entry: 
reweave  Reweave can be found at Reweave 
is the way ELMER GLUEALL says RELEAVE. OH FUDD. WAIT. Releave looks 
just like a real word does it not class. This is the reason we have school idint it 
so fun. Some professors get a case of nerves when something like this typo 
occurs but eye as a Lewis type teacher make inroads of nuances the words 
flowing in the desert places like oasis of stasis static ornaments near Colorado 
Boulder. There was this episode of Mork and Mindy where the EGG went flying 
and OH my it landed hard.  The memory gets better when you stop. Just give it 
some more time to regenerate the Christ is GOD. People are idiots in there 
dealings with other people. Scientific evident escaped the masses when they 
chose to witness to the escaping gases of the sublime whiskey beer farts given 
time they may recover the couches with upholsters from the hang over guns of 
the cowboy trudges. TO: the eviloushonist life is just a reactored accidental 
inflated accident. The worthless people who run the behind the scenes at the 
internet places aer too blame they aer too flaming strang. There is a 
misconcepting theorem that people do what other people think the truth is that 
people do the impossible things that no one does or even thinks of like getting 
up from a day of boredom and going on to see what finding means to see what 
living does. Please do not feel let down or depressed or put upon eye tired to 
make this fabel work without an idea of any kind without a premises without a 
forum places without much hope of even rhyme this thing is done this is quite 
enought for now please stay tuned and keep me ici and come back its 
SATURDAY the next one will be formed on SUNDAY when the author has more 

Copyright © charles hice

Long poem by Olusegun Akanbi | Details |


                     THE ALIENS

Nobody really knew of their existence
 until the year 2626
Prior to that year it was merely speculation
From an old scientist's bag of tricks
Lutus does not lie in the habitable zone of its star
Yet it is habitable 
 Hot and not very far
From Numulus
A mega super star
Sitting in the dark corners of the massive Milky Way
Nobody ever thought that we would see this day
Our predecessors had always talked about extraterrestrials
As little green men
Or horrifying monsters sitting in what looks like a lion’s den
Riding in flying saucers
But those people were double crossers
What we sighted 
Were nothing like men
And were unlikely monsters
As if God wanted to shield humanity from its doom
Aliens approaches with a boom
They were worm like chimeras
With one thousand legs
Or was it feet
Looking for meat
They emerged from their colonies 
That looks like a gigantic cocoon
Lying deep in a sea of water about the size of a lagoon
Glowing with bright light
We humans prepared for a fight
We fires on targets with our sophisticated weapons
The aliens simply multiplied in seconds
Right before their eyes 
We flew to the skies
Because there was no where to hide
And we had lost our pride
We flew away with our rocket boots
And made away with all our loots
To our spacecraft
A masterpiece of technology
But of that age it was an apology
The Lutus D 9 2700
With rock samples and specimens of skin of the worm monsters
What are they made of?
It is hard to tell
But seeing the way they rebel
It is obvious Lutus is hell
Aliens vomited a strange yellowish substance
Some damage the ship and caused resistance
We left our robot guards to contend with them 
As we watched from a distance
What are these simple beings?
That looks like earthly serpents that caused us fleeing
With an enormous strength and size
I saw it swallow up our space mobiles before it flies
They retreat to undisclosed location in the black sea
We dropped a nuclear device and made Lutus history
Intending the total annihilation of the entire worm race
But the more we killed the more these worms full the place
A midst the mushroom cloud
The next nuclear explosion sounded loud
Worms multiplied by asexual union
Army of aliens now over ten thousand billion
We have no other alternative than to abandon mission
This was a very hard decision
For me to take
But it was taken
To avoid internecine before I wake
And a nightmare that took place in Lutus’ black lake

Olusegun Akanbi


Copyright © Olusegun Akanbi

Long poem by charles hice | Details |


Somewhere in the sky in an airdome is the real liberry there is 5000 computors 
for the public eye and no waiting for seating the shuttle makes a bubble seal and 
you can sit there forever no leaving no plug ins allowed no laptops not no cell 
phones in mye sky the invitation only given to the poor among us the man that 
eye become is almost too wealthy just to qualify as poor to even go there the 
games are never worthless the pictures all of ewe no boring conversations next 
to yew the many flirtations of the masses of the freshmans newest classes they 
still rule the halls of commons making all the little rules and smiles become the 
machinations of all the foolish pride become the day the flaming balls of fire that 
fall from heaven from the bowl fall way to close to eye as the earth turns slowly 
bye too near the lieberry dome portents of the judgment day to come there was a 
statue of the JESUS near the mountain near a bay of water it was hit by 
lightening  wish that eye had saved it very good sign of the times there will be 
signs in the heavens signs in Earth and sky portents of my Jesus getting ready to 
come back he will miss the lieberry dome and let me leave this world to come to 
his feet and worship him to finally come home but there is blue sky in the end of 
time the birds still sing even so the end will come the birds still sing the grass is 
dead the life is hard but the birds still sing. The number of his name the Mark on 
head or hand is 666 the computor asking us for dress codes for passwords and 
for security ones just the other day mye friends eye logged onto BLOGGER from 
my photobucket account to try a new thing to make a picture slide show and it 
very nearly locked me out it told me to wait for five days and try the security 
question then. Shame. Confusion reigned and even eye so well endowed in acts 
of password retrieval was at a loss just how to continue
then when eye remembered at the last moment to ask for the password to be 
sent to me in email and then eye went to log in and logged in anyway 
remembering the enter then laughing then bragging then deciding it's a good day 
once again how lucky are we they could require a number just to enter building 
they could make the screen go dark without a number parted into computor they 
could carry Willy clubs and beat us off the thing down to the floor and straddle us 
and do their wicked thing to us you are not a student anyway. This is my fantasy 
computor fable number SixSixtySix charlax fabel.

Copyright © charles hice

Long poem by charles hice | Details |


 “Pheonix is experimental courses involving the release of prisoners into society”: 
Professor Hardon was now speaking to his children “he was thinking of them 
already as his child and children he was daydreaming of a future world 
populated by his prisoners released into Society to jerk the world around on HIS 
string. When you do a book report eye the TUTOR have to grade them please 
read only CharlaxFables so you will learn something better and eye can pass all 
of you with highest honors. The Bathroom has been painted and the graffiti is 
fresh and it has to be one of you. NO almost Screaming Tommy Gunn jumped up 
and SPEWED his filthy words at the teacher. We think it is the girl that works as a 
Library assistant for she is not helping the people who are not students. The 
rules would work in a NAZI society there would be no loud talking in the library 
they Matron would walk among the computors and swing her MILLYCLUB if 
someone snickered. The portable classrooms have not yet arrived and the 
prisoners keep milling about in the library chasing a hope and a dream to the 
door of a classroom hoping it will magically appear in front of them while Charlax 
 Plugs are not available only in the outlets at the mall where you can also buy 
coffee in a latte snicker at the freezing cold and hold thy nose with burgers 
smelling like a dead old cow went yearning in the afterbrushes reeds and 
rushes in the ditches working on the center stone of the idea of the century. The 
Pig is dead the Rat is born a Chinaman's surprised the chinaberry's were so 
plastic tasting never boiled them never tried them after fried in oil and butter and 
the batter would be better with some butter and some soil. A man told me bugs 
are good sources of protein how can one man go so very wrong he is not alive in 
the same sense as ewe and eye. The semblance of an android to this human 
image eye become is striking mee on both my nerves today seems like a 
memory of half baked love. The Pheonix is now rising up the ashes of the 
judgments' won. 
 The Tutor is the elephant. The classroom is the world the students are the girls 
in love. The lady has a favorite song 

ewe aer my song 

my hearts desire 

my love of fortune 

smiling down 

my sweetYheart ewe 

my early life 

my later years 

my only love 

a song 

The Teacher is a ruler and a lover of the song. 
The professor is a lover and a ruler of them all. 

Copyright © charles hice

Long poem by charles hice | Details |


Murder is an art form abused by those critters in a hurry to perform a judgement 
call and then scurry off on horses to hide from the real law. 
There is some western hearoes who still hate the Negroes and do not have 
them on the list of living beings in their repertoire of Johnny law. The rope is tied 
in the noose with thirteen winds some say a wind for every step up the gallows 
planks thirteen of them to give the thief a long time to prepare for Hell. We will 
stretch his neck we will hang him high we will send him on his journey to the sky 
they hammer on the gallows while the thief he sits in cell and cries uncertain of 
his future after that and eye suppose there should have been a preacher in all 
those western movies to come in and comfort them the brothers waiting there. In 
desert news in otherworldly tensions there is many promises given of 
conciliations taken from the left hand and given to the behind the back and then 
back to the right this is called the we will do this for you and then no of course we 
do not want to do this not at all syndrome. Also eye have noticed on this internet 
the use of ads is popping up increasing tension in the viewer designing limits on 
the use of money is the income of a prisoner soon increasing is the wealth of 
money belts investing blooming idiots are stealing more to pay for kitchen 
hardware and the laptops on the floor of the living room with HDTTV the 
SuperBowling friends were over just now Johnny Law was at the door way saying 
hey and did you let them in no you just slammed the slamming door way in the 
faces of the lawmen. 
  charlax valentine, here is a copy of the HiCard you 
sent. Since it was mailed to you, it will appear 
that you sent it to yourself. The real card was 
delivered exactly as you saw it previewed. 
The condemned man walked up the steps to the thirteenth story. 
Rope is sometimes frayed in the movies the rope breaks the thief falls to the 
grounded mound and jumps the saddle rides away into the night on horseback 
getting bullets in his gun by magic on the run then fighting back. 
The Hangging Judge in Fort Smith scared me so badly eye can never hold a gun 
in my left handed again. Besides the neck does not look good when rope is tied 
so tightly in the nooses neck. The Arizona Kid hung up his spurs the day the tree 
split into crosses from the lightning bolt surmising that his LORD was not well 
pleased with him that day the Sherriff made his play. 

Copyright © charles hice

Long poem by Chase Miller | Details |

Own Little world

    I dream of a dank world where the fallen have flown to the ends of the universe to be
among the un born abominations who spin wild and free of social contraption. 
These are the fortunate ones of the lost and the chosen. 
But back here in the storm of absolute vacancy the Dark syndicates are free to choke the
ears of any who stray to close. 
Soldiers of the silent serenade. 
Trained in the art of apathy, they orchestrate the tides to the rhythm of our drowning
To suffocate the source you must first pull back the flesh and disarm the harsh defenses
of the forgotten. 

    We can not stand on the fore front with out those who will fall before us. 
This is where we will fall...Where we will stand... 
And where the dead will find a place among the righteous. 
I saw this happen ounce before in a dream. But this...this is not that dream I had. 
No, This is the world where I live. 
A hard and cold place where we are smothered in the ashes of our own. 
Choking on splattered rain drops from Gods bloody tears. 

This is not my world! 
This is not a real world. 
    A world can not possibly exists where the faces are diversified by only the scars of war. 
If we possess the pieces to the bullet holes in Fathers heart then why can't we help him? 
Chaos feeds into me. 
And I can no longer run. 
Hiding from some thing that is all ready hidden is like running from death its self and I
will have to choose soon. 
If wishes could be made then all I wish is for you to be true. 
To fall and be forgotten or to rise and burn in shame? 

    I seek not the reasons to the answers of why I must choose but hear from me this:
"I will neither fall nor rise for any man or any of his Gods!" 
Choice's are for choosing and I am here to choosing against your taking. 
I will choose my own future as well as make my own decisions. 

This is not up for discussion. 
This not up to you. 
This is me telling you what I will do. 
This right here, right now, is me orchestrating your screams in the fires of the fallen. 

You will die and tomorrow I will follow. 
This is the setting for the son of the Farther. 
From the Beginning and into the end of time this is the story of how we will fall and you
will follow.

(I'm not sure what type of poetry this would classify under and contrary to my earlier
preconceptions of how poetry is conceived I've just now come to realize that there is no
need to rhyme your words unless of course, as I used to do, you like to write that way.)

Copyright © Chase Miller

Long poem by charles hice | Details |


Man or Dove 
GOD is Jesus. A living GOD does not have to frustrate Him self with a man at all 
but he does what a GOD wants and no one can tell HIM anyway. He could have 
done a different planet and never made the man the ADAM. He could have been 
a DOVE and ruled the WORLD of DOVES nothing moving on the surface of the 
planet except food for DOVE. 
John 20:30-31 
 Jesus did many other miraculous signs in the presence of his disciples, which 
are not recorded in this book. But these are written that you may believe that 
Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his 
The written word is given not so perfectly it seems the detractors of the Gospel 
will agree the BIBLE has been written by the men and not the DOVE. He does not 
complain of feathers colored wrong he does not jealously assume the plume of 
other birds he never drinks too much or eats too many seeds of grass he never 
wants a different colored shirt of blue upon his back he has feathers mostly gray 
and brown a DOVE is GOD in FORM of FLESH and LOVE. Today eye discovered 
a dove a thing of beauty made in love the GOD most certainly seems to me to be 
a creator capable of form. The feathers around the eye. The way the dove tried to 
see me from the side she turned her delicate head just like a lady in love. The 
feet seemed too large on her for dove but seemed like duck perhaps this dove 
was just malformed an egg in need of more attention in the nest but not the fault 
of GOD. On DOVE WORLD there is one tree where DOVE the GOD does live. She 
preens her feathers and she rules but yet she loves them. When a DOVE dies 
and falls from SKY she moves herself to see just where it lays and then SHE 
Cries a mournful sound in otherwise so pretty of a face she can raise it from the 
dead and send it into Heaven then to live and fly forever no more in need of world 
of food or anything. One day upon the Dove Earth the sky was filled with war the 
demon doves were killing all the poor. They called a halt in vain attempts at 
peace and then a most marvelous thing. The DOVE GOD she flew to high and 
spread her wings in a hurried dive she slammed into the ground at Supersonic 
speed and then she died and then she screamed eye am alive eye hold the keys 
the poor will soon come and live with me and then the SOUL of GOD the DOVE it 
flew to Heaven where it grew to be the JESUS GOD. 
He rules in love. A DOVE,MAN,GOD. 

Copyright © charles hice

Long Poems