Long Animation Poems
Long Animation Poems. Below are the most popular long Animation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Animation poems by poem length and keyword.
Still life nature mortista
an immersive
conception
enveloped &
surrounded
with
imagery
of the commonplace
a
disguised symbolism
in a cloak
of
interpretations
appearances
of
time
standing
still
arrested
moments
revealed
by
stimulations
of
the mind
illuminations
of
past
yesterdays
becoming
todays
postponed
memory
&
lives
again
a
momento
mori
in hypereality
of
sentient
touchstones
in
memorials
of perception
aesthetic
sublimations
of
spontaneity
in
fascinating
expectations
a visual
genesis
of
animation
once distant
now
alive
once more
to past
existence
from
shadows
of
genesis
Cadre, thou art quincurion.
Five pointed star says sight, scion.
One in the center, mighty strong.
Four on the sides to greet the throng.
Clamber right o'er that wall, burglar.
Prize in thy eyes, shoot past the par.
Combination lock, face of safe.
O machine gunner, time to strafe.
Quinnat, move thy force in quinnet?
Pincer formation wins the bet.
However, salmon, wedge has wings.
Beware the spinneret. It stings.
Coalacanth, in the glassy lake.
Life is a rogue with thirst to slake?
Turmoil and trial? Fresh ocean blue?
Red rabbit, river, run straight through.
Quoddity, haunt the quadlibet?
Placard, plinth alabaster. Yet:
Relevance, where do you stake claim?
Pertinent, prosper. Fling, O flame.
Entelechy, thy entalpy.
Reason, heat up and sing in me!
Tangle, my thought-spark! Lightning falls!
Blistering broadsides by the balls!
Salve of diviner, vision weird.
Cel animation leered and jeered.
Alien skies and faces strange.
Jagged pulsation, range the change.
Electric shock, fire furious eyes.
Bring back the bolt that fastest flies.
Whirlpool, hum and whir. Broken bow.
Whippoorwill, swallow, undertow.
Here wood-shedding in the cave,
my mind seems to have gone into
an eerie state of suspended animation;
leaving words sitting around and chatting
as if they were in an induced drunken stupor.
When aroused, they seem to rise up
and hop onto a lexical merry-go-round;
or just sit there screaming as if in a dangling
seat of a stalled fairish wheel jammed in mid air.
Being poetically comatose is a revelation
of the vacuous nature of spiritless weaving of words
void of purpose—whorl pooling emptiness
sinking deeper into illusionary nothingness.
Pregnant poetic minds do not just exist; rather, they are
living realities of the fertilization of fertile wordings
anchored in endometrial contemplative cognitive growth.
The poem is not merely a mental ejaculation; rather
it’s the result of spiritual incubation in the mind’s womb
and when the Supreme Creator deems so, it is delivered:
The she-shed and man-cave are mere waiting rooms.
Bleak Conclusion
(Soul Travel)
Cultivating escape
Travel on a smoky train
Destination approaching
Window searching
Are you with me?
Abundant open scenery
Emotions empty
Travel collective with embraced memories
Snap shot photography
Vacation long over due
Dancing flowers animation view
Arms wrapped around freedom
Embarked poetry sink therapeutic
Wings fly upon azure air
Rhymes drown in rhythms
Minimized stained glass windows
Travel afar
Can’t fathom many miles
A new journey captured
Bleak conclusion
Soul searching
Mind pondering
Life parallel
Travel here and there
For one infinite moment
I fall in suspended animation;
Time stops, the moment timeless.
I am blinded by the lightning and thunder,
by life's inconsistencies, by man's discord.
I visualize a man who hugs the wall
as he evades a downpour
and looks into the windows
as he passes by.
But houses are darkened
as overhead bombs fall.
His faith in a supreme being
is never shaken, but depends
on a mere human, one with an evil heart.
I awake in a sweat. Was I that man?
No, it cannot be, for I knew
The man hides not his face,
but fear and death show clearly.
In vain he tries to escape his fate.
Again my eyes peer at the sky
And I cry out:
"Why, my God, why?"
Dusk turns darker and darker,
No redness in the lustreless sky;
but there is plenty on the earth
where my brothers die
because of one man's wicked heart.
soiled messy heart
One step in a soul's journey through the universe"
Inspiration feelings emotion passion darts
soiled messy heart
Filled up in animation intensity fervor
Ardor mine soul so dirty
soiled messy heart
Enthusiasm eagerness warmth fires energies
My spirit vitality vivacity
soiled messy heart
Spiritedness commitment
Fervency ardency intellectual energy or intensity
The spiritual or immaterial part of a human being
Elohim Father has now cleanse me
I am clean of mine once…
Soiled messy heart
1/19/2024
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
Today is the day you show us your worth.
You recede,
you retract,
a retarded new birth.
This taking motion.
Your body paints on the canvas of its life,
an outpouring of you without control.
An abstract,
a schoolboy erraticism,
in colours not seen by your eye.
They take you.
Your canvas awash with human error,
they break you,
they shape you,
they paint you a colour.
These tones are not yours,
a model,
a floorshow,
with no applause.
All of your motions undetected in this hour.
This world has no time for you,
but you are measured,
in black fingernails,
patches in veins,
stitched lips,
in coolth.
They gift you,
cold,
in this place of warmth,
this home.
Unrecorded timelapse shows majestic animation,
interrupted by fast comings,
and faster goings,
and
teardrop
explosions.
You are home,
your home,
our home.
oh, those years of sit down and be quiet,
of all our shortcomings,
our
hearts
darkest
riot.
Video best played on full screen, from the beginning, full volume.
“hypersleep”
the day we escaped
awake from the worst of it
we went to sleep
“just a little death
to transition smoothly
we’ll keep you grounded
close your eyes
dream of a new life with us
bring all those you love
past and present
we gift you what is
the more beautiful
better,
kinder,
tomorrows -
sleep now,
we’ll wake you again
on your arrival
when
the worst of it
is all over”,
in unison,
the strange ones
said,
"this sleep is
recommended
for your survival,
this, dear friend,
is not a dream,
you will not die,
you are not dead"
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Hypersleep 1.0
https://youtu.be/73uYuHI8U5A
Intermission
between
missions
“Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream—
For in that sleep of death
what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled
off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause,
there's the respect,
That makes calamity
of so long life”
hypersleep. (noun)
A form of suspended animation in which the body’s functions
are not merely slowed down but halted entirely.
He was a commoner ardently aspiring to become a soldier.
After a few disappointing initial failures frail Steve Rogers
got selected for the super soldier experiment in US military.
Serum injection and Vita-ray dosing made him muscular.
In fund collection campaigns during the trying times of WW II
he toured the country in countless colorful fancy costumes.
For his patriotic endeavors during the national exigency
he was profoundly proud to be designated as Captain America.
He proved his worth as a brave warrior with startling ingenuity
when all the prisoners of war he skillfully succeeded in freeing
by infiltrating alone the fortified fortress of the Hydra base
of the Nazi General Schmidt, nicknamed as crafty Red Skull.
To incapacitate him from using weapons of mass destruction
Rogers gallantly tackled Schmidt inside his ingenious aircraft
that finally crashed in the icy waters of the desolate Arctic sea.
Schmidt vanished in the dark space, Rogers remained untraced.
The Captain eventually woke up in an old style hospital bed
to a new life after seventy years from suspended animation,
a singular feat that befitted the amazing attribute of a superhero
who assimilated the extraordinary elements of the first avenger.
It was my long-cherished dream, get a chance
to be a poet garnering gamut of reputation.
So, I imagined I became Shakespeare for once,
dissolved the past, rose from suspended animation.
I remembered I wrote once, in our lives our time
experienced “the winter of our discontent”.
I hoped I would feel now the joy of spring sublime,
but found the winter perpetuate even in the present.
In all walks of life the confusing question in my time then
was the quandary of options “to be or not to be”,
but now this dilemma bothered anyone less than often,
for everybody wanted to be rich and scruple free.
I couldn’t write my Sonnet like that of the Bard of Avon,
for my utterly dismayed muse found he was gone.
____________
January 9, 2023
Contest : Shakespeare In 2023
Sponsored by : Anoucheka Gangabissoon