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.
Ah... tis nothing greater than...
malfunctioning heater on brisk winter day!
Thee particular date being
December twenty eighth,
two thousand nineteen, I saith
the Jack of all trades
maintenance technician
Kevin Blank said he would notify
HVAC expert in good faith,
yet to compliment clangorous din...
I called upon the ghost of Marley's wraith.
Thus despite compressor issuing
cacophonous, deafening,
ear splitting noise
clattering din louder
than convention of reindeer -
doubled as all boys
(choir) followed by cavalcade
of santa claus, he employs,
the missus of course with equipoise,
and countless elves pressed
for service mending
broken brand new toys.
Why... yes twas during
recent brutal bitter cold spell
methought, yours truly got sent,
where absolute zero temperature
more frigid than hell
of course, I felt like human popsicle
management didn't give a lick,
no matter yours truly gave rebel yell
Billy me you, I immediately
yearned (some weeks back) for April
May, June... some tell
tale sign to alleviate pell mell
bone crushing polar vortex
preserved frozen awful
botox smile impossible mission to quell,
nor avoid frostbite
to deep freeze every cell
millenniums later despite
climate changed dystopian future
thawed out body reason to kvell.
Forsooth mindlessly jabbering away
jaw frenziedly attempting to convey
how this schlemiel,
would be war re: not game to foray
toward distant forbidding terrain
fifty shades of gray,
alien unrecognizable – nay
boor hood of the late Mister Rogers,
nonetheless expressed gratitude
confessed, I unconsciously did pray
while suspended animation did stay
slowing or stopping
of biological function
physiological capabilities
unpitted and preserved - yea.
Hence upon being
and getting woke
feeling like I slept forever
and a day - no joke
most certainly well rested
constitution I did evoke
intensely scrutinizing men
chilled wren, and women folk,
who appeared out of this world
mutated into Roanoke
smooth as glass skin cloak
against ultraviolet rays
causing skin cancer
their attenuated limbs strong as oak
versatile to prod and poke,
whereby superior petsmart
doggone noggin could invoke
telepathic communication
interestingly enough issuing smoke
signals, whenever danger present
and capable to disappear
as if doing breast stroke.
MESSAGES ( PT One )
A Poem by Debbie_Philly
THE MESSAGE
The room is black,
except for the faint glare of the TV in the background,
something to make me feel safe in some small way.
Hints of noise to drown out the silence--
such deafening silence, though not from within,
there's always noise within.
It's the kind of noise that keeps one awake
until early dawn.
No-- it's not the sound of the bathroom faucet running,
that would be a more pleasant sound--
(but what to do about that running.)
I slip into unconsciousness,
an unintentional state of suspended animation ,
very welcomed-- despite my objections.
Now the play begins.
The unfolding of the conscious mind.
What hides behind is much more revealing,
the actors are stacked and the story is unfolding.
Help in the telling comes from a unique source,
buried deep in the mind?
Maybe?
I believe it to be much more spiritual in nature,
supernatural in it's feel.
Lucid are the colors, real are the people.
They come from places unknown yet familiar.
Some I know by name,
some I love-- they are missed beyond words.
They come with cryptic messages,
with stories of treachery, lies and deceit ,
mapped out in vivid imagery of objects--
with meanings that I am not sure of.
I would dismiss these things if...
it were not for the repeated fashion
of how they were told.
An object here, a relic there,
I don't understand the meaning of it all, at first.
Are these apparitions conceptualized by own mind?
NO! I know these dear ones,
they love me, still-- even though
they no longer roam with the living.
There are too many signs to digest.
I wait for morning.
Sometimes I awake with a jolt,
(always remembering what I dreamed
in the haze of the pitch black night.)
I piece the puzzle together-- bit by bit,
I must decipher through the cobwebs
of the mind with some clarity; a daunting but amusing task.
I will heed these warnings,
warnings that come to me in dreams-- and beyond.
I Plan to embrace solidarity--
leave behind the flapping of malicious lips;
cling to the gifts bestowed upon me
through the handing off of the torch,
which once shined so brightly
in my loved ones soul.
I will stay awake--
be aware of my surroundings,
yet step over the boundaries
I have set for myself.
Meditate in solace
while letting my essence flow through my pen
onto white journal pages
that waits for me...
on my desk.
By: Deborah Mills-Kelly
The rain keeps coming,
Masking tears of despair, and rivers of agony
Seem in no hurry to crest
In this orb that is my world, I stand in frozen animation
As I listen to the venom of tangled tongues and crooked lips
Then hear the critique of the man in the street
I stop to analyze and find that nothing is said, just a horde
Of ghastly lies
My heart grows heavy, and my chest tightens.
As anger builds, my lungs feel the fire of the now forsaking
Breath, the pain is real,
And I contemplate my fate
In this world of mine
The sun is sad and the moon weeps,
And the walls inch closer.
As my neck plays a melody of twisting knots, my shoulders
Feel as if stomped by the passion of a flamenco dance.
As my temples lament the torment of this harrowing crescendo.
From a place called malice and rage, hate and contempt
Send bouquets,
But in the glory of this floral splendor, lies deceit,
The bewitching fragrance of the day.
And serpents of a human Ilk, their minds filled with disdain and
Spite, come to feed upon my life,
As their minions nibble,
I question my sanity
In this world of mine
Is the theatre of suffering,
Where shadows of rage cloak, a dominion of corruption,
And evil keeps a watchful eye,
And vultures with hearts bitter and cold, stalk,
As if waiting for a carrion to be born, that a feast may begin.
And in this presence of immorality,
Void is the integrity of soul.
As I listen to the wind, I hear the voice of purpose,
And in the verses of the night, Is the message of the day
And the lessons taught,
Are real
In this world of mine
As this deluge of decadence baths a candid soul,
I strive to be freed, from the afflictions
Of being.
And amid the craving for contentment, I beg,
For deliverance,
And rest my fate at the foot of the mountain, for there
Lies truth.
In my meditation, eager I am to see behind the light
And reconnect with the presence within,
For it is there that I hear the sunshine in your voice,
And see the laughter in your eyes.
It is there that courage is present, and I am fraught with the
Effervescence of your smile,
And your face is vibrant
And passion enriches me,
And I, am reborn
In this world of mine
Earl S. Jackson
July 2014
Copyright © 2014 Earl S. Jackson, all rights reserved.
You Never Know What You’ll See on Elm Street
Take my hand – follow the plan,
Let’s go for a walk down wide Spruce Street;
Friends to play with and neighbors to greet
But now that we see all that we can
Let’s turn the corner and go to Elm Street.
Questions run all over your face
Where is Elm Street – a magical place?
A kingdom where marvelous wonders live -
Where fairytales dance and marvels sing?
I can only say: “You never know what you’ll see on Elm Street.
Your eyes now look like giant white saucers,
Glowing and shining in the moonlight darkness,
Not a word, not a bird’s song, breaks through the sunlight
Look very carefully so you won’t miss the delights…
Our hearts beat loudly with wild anticipation
Every hair on our heads stands up in great animation
Peek round the corner! Open your eyes! Tiptoe lightly!
Don’t disturb the surprise.
What’s that on the corner – I can’t believe my eyes -
One of Santa’s eight reindeer all decked out in lights;
What is he doing here at the end of July?
Do we see snowflakes in the summer sky?
There in the sidewalk - a long jagged crack!
Where will it lead us – how will we get back?
Look – red ripe tomato plants grow up through the sidewalk
All we can do is wonder and gawk.
Who is that calling us – how do they know our names?
We’ve never set foot here - we’re not even famous;
Our friend Mrs. Smith from the village bookstore
With snickerdoodles and lemonade at her front door.
There on the parking strip flags of red, white and blue.
Fifty bright stars flutter on a field of dark hue.
How did they get here from Main Street in July?
Did they walk, skip or run just for our eyes –
Sit here on the curbside – rest from your quest
What’s coming next – only a guess -
Way down the street more adventures beckon
Pause just awhile – wait just a second.
Now a scary fierce giant stomps high in the sky -
A high flying ogre – dark as the night;
Only a cloud ship gliding on frisky breezes -
Heave a great sigh the giant can’t reach us.
At the end of the street we’ve finally come.
Turning back now -look at all of the fun.
The reindeer, tomatoes, flags, clouds and the cookies
All wave good-bye and with wide-eyes you ask looking
“When can we come back to Elm Street?”
A walk down Elm Street with G-Man and AJ
July - 2008
Death of I-Kons
In my life, I have seen many movies.
I watched wonderful animation,
tell stories that touched my heart,
over the years of my life.
Now they are stabbing the elusive
cartoons with sensor-driven remarks
and woke-ism that cuts and shreds
like a trash machine,
in the kitchen...
compacting and changing
the shapes of all things
it is fed,
or chooses to consume
on its on.
(EATR Machines, Military Robots)
I have read many books,
texts on history and science.
I was blessed and attended college,
to learn about business
and the world at large.
It was enough to get by,
and make a life.
They taught ethics and morals,
and math to me.
Now on TV, they change the rules.
They do as they please,
hire for the numbers,
and fire for the color of their skin...
to win at some kind of gamble,
no one knew or agreed to take.
(Gambling was legalized on March 1, 2022
legalization of betting on and off-reservation lands.
Now Advertised directly on the TV)
The parks are full of tents.
There is nowhere to take the children,
that they will not see, the evil of the day.
There is no protecting them,
from the darkness that is consuming the land.
The only hope is the Hand of God.
Resources running out,
wasted by the powerful...
taking jets to lunch in Paris.
Food unimportant to those that have full pantries,
and ice cream in their favorite flavor,
ready to be consumed,
at leisure.
(Gourmet flavors for the head of Congress
at $14 a gallon.)
I grew up on "good wins over evil".
I grew up on do the right thing,
because it was and is the right thing to do.
Grandma told.
Grandpa told me.
And, most importantly God told me.
So why is the world upside down?
Why do bad people hurt so many,
and so few do anything about any of it?
Frosty is melted.
Rudolph was hunted down,
and given a vaccine.
Twenty-eight food sources,
factories and processing plants,
have been leveled
in just under two years.
Two by plane alone.
But who would really believe that?
The energy supplies have been cut off,
or sent to other countries,
by our sitting president.
The citizens go hungry,
and the children cry.
But that is okay,
they are meant to die.
All part of the plan.
Did you vote for this?
Did anyone?
When people comment
on the style or way
I write and the words
I use to express and convey
my thoughts and views.
I tend to stop and ponder
my road less traveled .
Acknowledging, appreciating ,
admiring the authors, teachers
scribes of many nations
and the outer regions of the universe ,
who have inspired , guided encouraging ,
me to develop and advance
my writing skills along the way.
People like Manly P. Hall
Socrates, Plato, Thales of Miletus ,
Thomas Aquinas , The Apostles ,
Sigman Freud , Carl Jung , Galileo Galilei,
Benjamin Franklin , Thomas Edison , Nikola Tesla ,
William Shakespeare , Homer , Aesop
and other well known Philosophers and
critical thinkers in the world's history.
Authors like Dr. Edgar Cayce
Dr. George Brown ,
Literary genius and artist such as James Joyce ,
Walt Whitman and of course some of my favorite
Authors George Orwell , Robert Frost , with their
extensive and vibrant vocabularies
and their ability to bring words to life.
The most impressive author
with the ability to put you in the room
And stimulate our sensations such
as aroma and taste and sound to make you feel
as if you are sitting in the cat birds seat.
An author with incredible and fascinating
writing technique , a man with a colorful and sparkling array of words , and superlative writing flair and talent
that tickles the imagination.
Capable of painting a scene with words ,
bringing it to life ,
like no other author has ever done before or since.
A story teller who can magically ,
create a vision so vivid so profound ,
one just might forget and step away
from reality for a brief moment in time.
An individual who can descriptively describe
the Animation of his imagination
like no man or woman in the history of recorded time.
Creator and contributor
of some of the finest sculptures
in the world of literary works of art.
Born into reality in the year 1809 , on the 19th day of January.
He would go on to reside
in the harts , souls and minds ,
intricately woven into universal fabric of time
October 7 Nineteen Hundred Forty Nine.
The individual who put the authenticity of Poe
Into Poetry
Ladies and Gentlemen.
Edgar Allan Poe.
Michael E.Harris
10072024
CHOREOGRAPHY of LIFE and DEATH
(Four times I have crossed swords with death up to now!)
The cheerful trumpet of
Miraculous life,
Imperatively sounded in
My mother’s life-giving womb,
Heralding with its melodic tune
Another animation:
MINE!
And as my innocent
Infantile heart, provoked by
The challenging divine call,
Started beating tenderly in
The rhythm of the never-dying cosmos
Thus making me
ALIVE!
The promising sound was
Still ringing in my delicate
Ears
Singing the marvelously hopeful song of life,
When the sound of a second trumpet, similar to the first,
Filled with its melancholic tune my tiny world,
Announcing the coming of calamitous death
Thus
Condemning me to die.
LIFE and DEATH beside me they stood,
Facing each other,
Tenderly, holding my hands
And claiming me as their child.
Life was the first to whisper into my ears,
Promises so many.
She talked to me about joy, happiness, love and
Procreation,
About thousands of other things that
She would like to offer.
Only a favor she asked in return;
To be hers and only hers forever!
-
When death heard all this, didn’t make any sound,
Only sardonically smiled at life first,
And then to me emphatically declared:
“The cup of joy you can never drink before you empty
that of sorrow, and no matter what life says to you, in the end,
you will be my very own.”
-
That’s the way my trip in this ephemeral world began,
With vigorous life, leading and tracing the promising way,
And death kept following her, just a few steps behind
Patiently, was waiting to catch up with her pace,
But,
As years, were passing fast one after the other,
Death was approaching rapidly each, and every day.
So the fight they had begun so many years ago,
Relentless war now becomes, with life still the
Winner.
Yet, the ill-fated date, unexpectedly, came to my great surprise,
When the cold hands of death I felt around my skeleton waist,
Squeezing the life out of me with all their force and main.
Eager to extinguish in me wished, the very last spark of life,
And as the shrilling wind of death was howling throughout
My body, I fell at once breathless, dead and
Still over the ground remained!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
2 February 2013
I tried so hard, but you were too fast, clicking gracefully on high heels down the
shady block, laughing at me plodding in saddlebacks: Can't you keep up?
I tried so hard, but you were too slow, stumbling to a wobbly halt as your walker
scraped the harsh lobby floor, so the elevator doors slammed shut, and we had
to endure double the long wait plus the nurse's low-keyed promptness lecture.
Once you bought for me, in the wooded park, a cheerful red balloon. You
warned: Hold it tight, don't let it go. I obeyed till we reached our back yard, which
I thought was safe, and then it slipped from my sweaty child's hand.
Up, up it went, evading the trees, hovering between rooftops, red no longer, then
disappearing from view, me crying, you consoling.
You have sparkled like a precious gem, mostly turquoise and sapphire, in happy
warm sunshine. I simply can't force myself to accept the boldly affirmative,
serenely vivid colors of you fading away to wan pastel, off-white, off-black, off-
gray, nothing.
Frantically I clutch and hug, scolding, cajoling, praying, vainly trying to hide my
despair and frustration, to filter out the rage from the devotion.
I can't whisper to reach you; you won't hear me. Nor can I shout; a raised voice
invariably means anger. I am muzzled very well. My brain shrieks silently.
You watch me intently, your fine mind intact, deep in thought, before you doze.
You wake from your apathetic nap in pain, a defiant fighter, and, God forgive me, I
briefly welcome that pain for restoring your animation.
There! I just felt warm sunshine, saw a flash of turquoise and sapphire.
Now it's over. We both want you so much to be yourself, but you're pastel again!
I wish I could turn myself into a balloon, red, rubbery and soft, fastened to a
string, pushed into your slack hand. I want to yell: Hold me tight, don't let me go!
We'd jump over the skyscrapers, then over the piedmont, skirting the green tops
of magnolias and pines,
Then soar ever higher, mingling with fluffy clouds in pure vibrant infinite blue;
No more clumsy saddlebacks for me, no more scraping walkers for you,
Just us two, mother and runaway red balloon child, euphorically drifting off
Toward freedom.
Form:
Swan Song
Stealthy killers have crept
Their secret bullet
Reaching this empty nest
Swans too unaware of attack
Arms aimed riffles
Pleasure hunted
Shock
Smile
Blast
Exhilaration
Death
Only one reflection now
No other dark gaze looks back
No other gliding ripples
All reassurance has gone
The lake of desolation
Coaxed her half hearted rage
Bleeds from a crooked corpse
Pathetic winds stir dead feathers and reeds
To animation
No gentle neck arching
Wings now absent haunt the breeze
She is a pose of fear
The air to void to fly
No other yellow bill or back glinting eye
None could vie with her chosen
White beauty now unmoving
Scarlet slash wickedly marring
Maiming her heart with sudden isolation
The ballet of the dieing
Cannot see the cruel eyes prying
Exulting in the deed
Do not hear her lament
Joining in a pact a spur of black
Still mournfully beating
Madness flapping struggled with reflection
To lift his head from under
To breathe till breath would burst her lungs asunder
But lower still he seemed to fall
Days shot sound echoed constantly
Unmoving nights which found her
Till dawn would bring its shadows
Illusions born by sorrows
Sends haunted dreams
In madness before her
Cast the moon in images of death defied before her
A phantom wrapped in eyes of night
And side by side they glide
Mourning on the silver tide
Three nights and no more can the moon contain
In her heart the spur of black
Lay barren ready for a violent ice caress
For paths to cross just once
She vowed in her willingness
To become in her will an ice sculpture of
Vengeance
So harboured deep in proud beauty
A malice in hatreds empathy
Prayed for fate and chance to shake hands
And there on the shore
The assassin stands
Gliding wistfully she
Using all her grace and beauty
To bind her quarry
In her natural mystery
Slipped over the stillness
Approaching with coyness
Mesmerizing light in water gleams
Her fatal white and an arrow beak
Fixed the man by her darkest dreams
Opening wings
Sheds intent glare beguiling
Her neck an arrow javelin
Unleashed her fury broke true and deadly
With lethal intention
And
For her mate
She launched her self upon him
The space around me gets larger everyday and the wind that sits beyond the mountain is blowing residue of hope in the air and the birds sitting on top of the tree trembles in fear.
The thistles underneath the bush waits patiently for its prey with elongated stems that stretches across the river bed, the creeping bushes surrounds the edges awaiting for midnight hour to open the door as darkness creeps upon the buoyant shore.
The space around me is infinite and when I stand in it my whole body is glued to gravity in the cockpit, with several buttons staring at me; the space become wider and the interior gets darker.
The pilot has fallen into a sudden coma and the aircraft start to wander off course but the passenger broke in and bought it back on track. I can feel the temperature rising above me and the meteorite falling from the planet above but the movement of the sun stands aloof in midair.
The earth is dining with the hidden dynasty and poking fun at the old Chinese windmill that sits on top of the hill, it has been there for many years, watching the clouds dancing with the moon, and the ships doing deep water dive.
They have a strong army that is void of reality, baked into a computer game. This is the fighting strategy for the two million military that occupy twenty percent of the global space. Computer animation streaming down your back but the bow and the arrow will cause great sorrow. I will take them down until I get the very last crown.
The space around me is enlarge, it like a submarine floating through the village at nights chasing the sharks on the other side as the water flows calmly beneath the dark.
The flickering light from the tunnel lights up the place as it circle the tunnels and chase the young lions on the run, it sets up a destination pack and seal the mouth of the tunnel after they float to the top.
There are many things around me and the small space in which I sit is surrounded with mischief but the particle of hope breaks out of the ground and engulf the entire town. In five minutes Troy was burnt to the ground spilling ashes and dust all around.
The space around me is swamped !