Long Abstract thoughts Poems
Long Abstract thoughts Poems. Below are the most popular long Abstract thoughts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Abstract thoughts poems by poem length and keyword.
I'm primarily known for my poetry
inked in cerebral colors of abstract thoughts.
Yet, there is a complexity concealed within me.
My totality runs surprisingly deep.
You must meticulously disassemble and examine
all my puzzling parts to understand me.
I'm a dreamer, awake in a dream called life;
an optimist and a self-doubter, I know I'm not always right.
But I love to fledge my poetic thoughts,
feathering their wings with witty words.
My heart reveals hidden hurts buried deep
to appease my conscience and oblige reality!
Yet compassion underlies my every breath,
weighing life's wrongs on the scales of injustice.
Draining dreams tear by tear, year after year,
frustration has not yet emptied me of hope.
But, if I am to be defined by anything,
let it be by the gift fate endowed my muse;
and the Karma my poems have generated,
illuminating my pathway to now
and guiding me toward tomorrow.
Mart has almost no friends.
He is a different race than anyone at school.
His low I.Q. makes him act differently.
He is a concrete thinker.
Abstract thoughts he does not grasp.
When he gets a friend, he is super thrilled.
His exuberance overwhelms them.
He speaks in a super loud voice.
He is an incessant talker.
He needs no personal space, so he stands in your mouth.
Mart gets offended easily.
He shrieks and screams when he feels disrespected.
Easy conversation can trigger him.
He is moody and gets upset easily.
When a person tries to end a conversation, he is offended.
Of course, these are the people my mother forced me to befriend.
She thought it would help me develop empathy.
It actually made me angry and upset, like Mart.
Being his friend meant losing my other friends.
In the heart of deep time, where the threads of existence weave unseen,
the plants of dreams sprout from eternal rhizomes,
calling to life delicate leaves,
with their fleeting beauty fluttering in the summer wind.
I lose myself in the labyrinth of these thoughts,
where unseen roots whisper their silent stories,
and I feel the corners of my consciousness expand,
embracing the ephemerality of moments that only seem to live.
In the constant flow of history and the fall of civilizations,
we watch the flowers that bloom and wither,
ghosts of summers past,
while true life pulses unseen in the depths.
Under each blink of the eye lies a mirage,
as in a bazaar of abstract thoughts,
divine scarcity, sprouting ephemerality,
like an endless play of shadows and light.
I cannot escape this feeling of absolute emptiness,
as the waves of time sweep everything in their path,
but still, in my heart, a spark endures,
something that lives, that withstands beyond this eternal flow.
We are just the flower that blooms and then fades,
but the rhizome remains, unseen and unchanged,
bearing the secret of life beneath the earth of time,
always ready to be reborn in another eternal summer.
Life is but a festival of reflections,
but in its depths, the rhizome absorbs all light,
ready to live long after the show has ended,
and in the endless story of consciousness,
the silence of a time that knows no end settles.
By 12
By 12 I was
fully grown. My height was
the envy of
the short arses in
my classes. I wasn’t a
porker like
some ... I was
spared fat jokes. My level of
pituitary activity was, well,
excellent. Hormone increases were
too. Ejaculated more than
most. My secondary sex characteristics gave me
some respect. I was the first in
my class to
break their
voice. My thin mo caused awe in
the hairless. Deductive reasoning was
special. My systematic problem finding the answers to
things had triple the
different possibilities thought about, mulled, prior to
the answers being chosen. I was the king of
abstract thoughts, and that
riddled others with
confusion and
anger. It was easier for me to
manipulate abstract concepts than
concrete ones. Hours on
end I’d get lost in
idealistic contemplation of
hypotheticals until I was
clapped out
of it. I spent a lot of
time lost in
identity formation. I soaked in
everything. Long-term memory
ached. I praised daily the
elaboration added to
encoding strategies. I avoided happily interactions with
most. Opposite-peers I avoided
happily. I was
undateable.
Beautiful canvas beautiful skin
arrested smiles
burgeoning love
seeping into me
oh, come on, karma talk
like a french lover:
"La vie est une fleur dont l'amour est le miel."
| Life is a flower of which love is the honey
and it is making me feel ill and cloudy. |
Is this what we lovers get? Is this what lonely
hearts feel when we mix love with art?
Oh, come on, please.
Karma is not enough
i gave it up for camera.
Remembering how i felt most intense pleasure
piercing my heart upon a figural stone shaped
as a monster's heart.
I messed objects with abstract thoughts
and lost myself which became more real.
and everything and every sense and every thought
tried to devour me within a black throat of fear
and it tried plainly ~~ i use to daydream at night
and paint colors in the darkest thoughts of my
mind; everything oh everywhere and everythis
and everythat |and it tried to eat me |
i woke up believing i was right here now.
Where i threw colors within my head
where i drew deepest fears away
when i was there when you cut me with
your words/i tried to say...i tried to say
tried to say....
Love is everywhere.
:: 07.07.2022 ::
To glide with inspiration above quilted clouds
Where birds so often soar
Glimpse a sunset hued in gold
With many colors to adore
To grasp the muse that swing from creative vines
And sway from abstract thoughts
Upon the page release the lines
Which meander within the plots
Clasp the quill as the ink flows
And carefully craft each verse
Clutch the metaphors in rhyme or prose
As throughout the page they intersperse
Sometimes the ending can hold a surprise
And cause a gasp in its trail
The words flow subtly and with guise
Its meaning you then inhale
6-28-2021
Writing Prompt Grasp - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
To build a better human use a robot
Genetics are overrated and outdated
Androids make the perfect man
With nuts and bolts who needs a soul
Love your machines
They come with metallic hands
With instructions to construct
Transgender bathrooms built to last
Humans make great pets
When inoculated they are the best
Venereal diseases are a breeze
Hmm.... Are they really needed?
Bots speak bot languages
Abstract thoughts are optional
Don't need visas to get about
Robots work non stop for free
No clocks to punch or dirty thoughts
Void of affection and infections
They follow the instructions of God's plan
To build a better man
Just outside his window,
moonlight turns the pounding rain
¦¦ into gems that glitter on the grass
Crouching, with his face
mere inches from the lower pane,
¦¦ he fogs up the bottom of the glass
He's been acting strangely
for at least a week or two
¦¦ Now, the pieces start to fall in place
While he is fixating on what he's about to do,
¦¦ grotesque changes flicker on his face
Suddenly, he shakes with pain, the likes he's never felt,
¦¦ next, awakes beside the garden path
where, revived by spikes of rain that drive into his pelt,
¦¦he comes back alive... a psychopath
Abstract thoughts identify a full moon as the cause
¦¦ for the transformation he's come by
Driven mad by hands and feet that flatten and sprout claws,
¦¦he lets out a howl that spans the sky
In due time, he's acclimated to
his altered state,
¦¦ steady now, enough to leave the trees,
he heads to a town that he has visited of late,
¦¦where he will begin his blasphemies
Upon his arrival, he is met with blinding lights
¦¦ Townsfolk holding torches in the air!
Shouldering their muskets, several have him in their sights
¦¦ but the danger doesn't come from there
He has caught the scent of one who sits some feet apart
¦¦ Someone who has got a proper gun
BANG! A single shot, then molten silver hits his heart
¦¦ and his reformation has begun
As he writhes and howls, the townfolk move in gingerly,
¦¦ peering past thick clouds of grainy smoke
Having slain a monster, they are stunned by what they see -
¦¦ They've gunned down an ordinary bloke!
Are you a fan of fur friend liberation,
Across our great lucky nation?
If only we had intercommunication,
Between every species on Earth,
We'd understand each other's worth,
Do you believe in what we're taught,
That animals have no abstract thought?
Indeed, how do we know this?
Is it all a load of blip?
Do dogs pass over into Puppy Heaven? I ask,
Believing it's for 'good boys', their task,
Their certain and sure hope of resurrection,
Somewhere with snacks and toys in Heaven,
Loving their owners just the same,
Abstract thoughts, is that the game?
True interspecies communication,
Dreaming on, in this lucky nation!
Days are sharp as memories pass
As the idle thunder attest
to storms of unsettled wrath.
They gather together on the opaque horizons.
The engines of the highway HUMM
and
the grind with the heaviness of an iron heart
…eons-long!
Full of oily thoughts and rusted parts,
in memorium when machines ran
by our hand only in the theory of history, Grand!
The city reeks of oblivion and abstract thoughts…
Infinities' echos were sharp redrawn imagery…
Antiquated days nestled in idol thunder!
of tomorrow’s memories…ALL
In the theory of memory
Now all color is
…is the color of embers
As we rust like echos that pass
into the wasted days, abstract!
In theory of memory…
Only the bitter last!