Long Abstraction Poems
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God and Austerity
The supermarket that calls itself Forum,
has a bell tower, but now, in time of
austerity, no one flocks to buy anything
when its bells ring every hour.
Sunday, when I drove my wife to church
the car park was full of vehicles
the bells didn’t
toll in vain; when I looked through
the window people were singing hymns.
When time is good, god becomes distant
But with economic times and threats
of a new war is looming, people turn to
an abstraction in time of an unsure future.
Mind, god looks after his flock, walking
around the car park, I noticed most cars
looked new, but if you have got it and want
to keep it a prayer goes a long way.
Line of inquiry:
Betwixt two thoughts there is a gap
No illusions therein entrap
In the time stretched pause we then see
Ego craving is a mousetrap
Duality is an illusion of abstraction,
or is it the material existence of you and I,
how can opposites maintain an attraction
except in a gap between two thoughts,
mine and yours become ours in the subtraction
of a time~stretched pause that seems a forever zeptosecond*
to the mouse waiting for the trap’s malefaction
as the progression of events
continues as before with a covert sigh
when we realize ego is an impossible impaction.
*A zeptosecond is a trillionth of a billionth of a second.
Musings of The Bereft
Bravery that shocks one into affirmative action
Averies filled with exotic bird life and the next commercialised attraction
Slavery that is out of plain sight as it coverts and hides amidst distraction
Unsavoury seconds of insight that convert knowledge into abstraction
Consequential propositions from behind a political scene
Sequential premonitions that define what we all mean
Existential inhibitions that decentralise and demean
Quintessential inquisitions that refine what we dare to dream
Meandering manifestations of glory, grace, virtue and love
Mastering illuminations that tell the narrative from above
Manufacturing mechanisations as we look for peace signs from a dove
Unflattering weopanisations of war when push comes to shove
Conversational dialogue between two enemies of different tongues
Adaptational epilogues from scientists surveying the sun
Observational analogies from commentators only in it just for the fun
Revelational catalogues elevated from the philosophical run
Abstract terminology that both enlightens and confounds
Detract cosmologically as the wisdom morphs into the profound
Enact ideology as we grow each seedling from the ground
Protract high technology as we indoctrinate the sounds
Reminiscent nostalgia at the forming of a retrospective thought
Luminescent emotion filled with awe & wonder to the point of becoming distraught
Incandescent shades of melancholy ponder on what parts of the soul that can be bought
Convalescent tones of introspect that are hard won and fought
Rising interludes of consideration as we look toward the twighlight sky
Hiding magnitudes of commiseration as we take a moment to quietly cry
Shining latitudes of pure sensation as the tears well in my eyes
Miming platitudes of intonations that can only ask the question why?
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz 2025
The Foundation
When we went to school aeons ago
Christianity and life were easy for a teacher and us.
Jesus on his cross and a disappearing act
Daniel, fighting ogres and lions.
Pupils didn’t believe anything of this
but it passed the time waiting for the school day to end
jumping on our bikes and playing cowboys and Indians
those who lived in America.
But a residue of what we were told stuck
I have been thinking of religion’s origin before
the told stories, entertaining as they were.
I think we need the abstraction of an afterlife
(Not aftershave)
When the man rose above the struggle, the leisure
to think, is this all?
There must be more can’t end like this, forever
be dead; God was the rallying cry we gave
him life and spun an endless yarn.
Numbers, abstractions and in other words
I prefer to teach math instead of English
Because fractions speak louder than verbs
God made the integers, all else is the work of man**
But Saint Augustine said
That you must have faith in order to understand
Numbers are abstraction you see
A symbol may be found on a chalkboard
They are not physical (they don't grow on a tree)
You only imbibe them intellectually
They run on into infinity
But you can catch them intuitively
So use the numbers
in daily life
Or before slumbers
They are something
you can count on
Reciting digits on your digits
[Sometimes] the countdown encumbers
I remember when I was seventeen years
earth to me
was nothing more than
a highlands and lowlands
inhabited and uninhabited by men
and women
love to me then was a down to earth
gift to rest my mind
I came and saw and
conquered
nothing I would hear exist
I couldn't accept
be it a tale , a show, a trick
or a sort of abstraction to say
nothing that was stated
amidst that couldn't
find a space in my mind
however, quack or mockery
a smoke was
there was a time
when Titi was
fourteen or fifteen years old
had I merely talked to her
may be nothing would have
stopped it
may be nobody would have
discovered such a story
or fiction
may be I would have
catched fire and exploded
may be I would have
earned from her
a strange and bad thing
to beat and smother my defence
may be I would have
faded and weared
there was a time
when my feelings and love
power
was a lot higher than my
head
,had some people suggested to
me then
I may have succumbed to them
I may have reliqushed to their whims
I may have accepted their words
I may have felt like them
I may have dreamt to them
I may have turned out to wear
I may have lost my way
lost myself and become someone
beaten and smashed to crush
there was a time
when my life was
turning to a notice
and what I could muster then
still was a little if not
nothing homely
had some people invited me
to their smoke and fire
may be I would have
yielded and crowned around
that smoke and fire
may be I would have
considered and remained
again and again
loyal and obedient to it
May be I would have
taught and invited
many concerning that smoke
and fire,
oh a story anytime
I remember I jolt
how childhood should be guided
through
to be colourful tomorrow.
ART
A esthete, I am for I love, love and appreciate works of art and
B eautiful things including alluring women and good looking men.
C reativity of the artists on display, being appreciated and critiqued.
D ance, movements matching the speed and rhythm of the music.
E xpression of emotions, self-expression through body movements.
F ine art, collective term for art created to be beautiful, not functional.
G oals are set by true artists to stay motivated and grow.
H armony and contrast, one of the principles of art.
I magination could be expressed in ideas, feelings, words.
J ewelry making, designs are created by compare and contrast of metals.
K een sense of perception creates an outstanding piece of art work.
L iterature, written works of superior or artistic merit.
M usic, art of arranging sound to create form, harmony, melody, rhythm.
N atural talent is a gift, lack of it can be overcome with determination.
O bjective abstraction, a non-geometric style of abstract art.
P oetry, when spoken out loud is a performance art, like dance, music, acting.
Q uattrocento, the artistic styles of the late Middle Ages, in Italy.
R eflection of innermost emotions could produce aesthetic objects.
S kill and imagination create art that is beautiful or expresses ideas or feelings.
T heatre, collaborative form of performing art played before a live audience.
U nanalyzable creative power and unique and individual emotions in visual form.
V isual arts like painting, drawing, sculpture, photography are visual objects.
W orks of art are categorized as visual art, literary art and performing art.
X ylophone, xylorimba are percussion instruments use for dynamic compositions.
Y outh art, young people taking part in creative, cultural, expressive activity.
Z ackenstil is a zig zag or jagged style used in painting, sculpture, stained glass.
Swish thud goes the pendulum,
Giving every second significance,
With each moment as important.
Taking me into myself, for myself,
Able to access my abstraction,
Feeling my own presence positively.
The beats remind me of my heartbeat,
There, but not visible: just by intelligence;
Only these clocks emphasise the seconds.
Tradition can stink, but here it settles:
The invention suffices to help me think,
And ponder on my whereabouts.
The anchor escapement mechanism transcends,
Slowness for me to grasp various possibilities,
Ramifies that there are ways of leaving.
Of leaving the said, the ornate and the strict:
The old can often aid departure even from them,
As given, never to be claimed by anyone.
Anything is possible for me, so here's my take
But I must warn you, it's a topic that's quite risque
Can't resist her, though she's out of reach
Desire burns inside, an itch I cannot breach
Every thought consumed by this love beyond compare
Fantasies and daydreams, I simply cannot bear
Great lengths I'll go, just to be close to her
Hungering for her touch, an insatiable hunger
In my mind, she's always there
Just out of reach, but I do not despair
Kisses, caresses, all just a dream
Longing for her embrace, nothing is as it seems
My heart beats fast at the mere mention of her name
No matter what I do, this desire cannot be tamed
Overwhelmed by the intensity of my passion
Perhaps one day we'll be together, no longer a mere abstraction
Quietly I wait for that moment to come
Restless, yearning, until the day I can call her my own
Savoring every thought of her, I cannot resist
The feeling of being near her, something I cannot dismiss
Unwavering love for her, beyond what others may know
Vividly dreaming of a future where our love can finally show
With every fiber of my being, I yearn for her touch
Xtatic with desire, a feeling that is almost too much
Yearning, aching, until the day I can finally have her
Zealously pursuing a love that will last forever.
A person as one is a wonderful thing,
A person as group is dehumanizing.
A man as one has a heart, mind, and soul,
A man as group is but one more dang fool.
A woman as one can think and decide,
A woman as group, just along for the ride.
The soul and mind, they belong to the one
The group, it has neither, its course is run
By the one who is loudest, and who lays claim
To the minds of the ones, and to their names.
But the one who is loudest, remains nothing more
Than a one with limits, and flaws by the score.
The one is the real, concrete, and alive,
Group is abstraction, a crutch for our minds.
The one can be measured, touched, and weighed
The group is just ones temporarily arranged.
To claim ones are but groups is calamity,
You diminished the form of their humanity.
Some can’t see the ones, so many they march
The groups seem simpler, to know and to mark.
They say you’re nothing, the group’s what you are
That without their help, your ‘kind’ won’t get far.
Black, white, *****… they must label what they see
They forget a one is all we’ll ever be.
They forget that souls are one of a kind,
They ignore the impulse that drives in our minds,
They insult the ones who see, unafraid,
The truth of the species as it was made.
They think we are playthings, and like to pretend
But we’re all simply ones, from now to the end.