Long Animations Poems
Long Animations Poems. Below are the most popular long Animations by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Animations poems by poem length and keyword.
No Luck For The Masses
Reversed into a corner where there is no way out
Rehearsed by a performer who likes to scream and shout
Inverses like a reformer who doesn’t know what he’s talking about
A curse that comes from former earnings not to go without
Multinational corporations that occupy the economic terrain
Unilateral conflagrations that teach you best of all to abstain
Collateral in the conversations that leave you grimacing in pain
Bilateral renunciations that leave the desert drenched in rain
Devastations that demand solutions in order to comply to convention
Remonstrations of absolution that deny the condescension
Aberrations of convolution that are a bone of mass contention
Admirations of the communions of the divine Ressurection
Profoundly seeking absolution from a person bound by grief
Resounding personal solutions that require the blessing of a chief
Confounding immolations that imply the working of a thief
Impounding the convolutions that you want to remain brief
Stupefaction of the masses staring at their screens
Abstraction comes in flashes of animations, adverts and memes
Extraction of the molasses as they’re diluting your dreams
Retraction of the colossus that invokes a high pitched scream
No luck for the poor the broken the tired the vulnerable or maimed
A truck of sure defiance that protesting will remain
The stuck realm of more reliance is a place of unhealthy terrain
While the crux that bore all of this violence leaves you back out in that desert rain.
Copyright The End Elizabeth Moroz
Floating in the air, clinging to a beam of light
Dust particles drift in and out of the soft rays
Bound to create a gentle place of worshipful
Promises within the caress of their wandering
Praise that seems to carry with it a silent prayer
Hovering in the gleaming sparks of a sunny day
The glittering brush of particles create an aura of
Mystery, sensitive to the creator’s hand of grace
Amid the image captured by time, colored in hues
Of amber waves, animations of the still, small voice
God whispers faith, hope and love amid the sparkling
Glimmers of hovering specks that wander aimlessly
Along the smiling sunshine shafts of elegant, weightless
Wispy glow that comes from the heavens and fills us
With a mysterious joy from knowing His warm embrace
Pareidolia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
August 7, 2020
I never did see a more beautiful expression,
as if all four seasons had exploded,
Imploded, eroded all the somber.
A wonder so delicate...an art she exposed,
utterly unopposed is the dancer's heart.
Animations of vibrations move through her,
a Van Gogh of flow;
like aged, cellared Bordeaux.
Wreathes of wind, sun and soul weave
down around her roots through her being,
freeing sensations into the air
as if with Gaia, a divine love affair.
Eyes drawn and beating heart unconcealed
She wields her radical, energetic shield...
The power to heal, to breathe, to love
above the brilliant sun, the stars, the moon.
Oh, what an orchestrated art in tune!
Spirit calls out to her from Earth,
the birth of sound and soul unearthed.
Oh, what an art I've observed...
The true art of a dancer's heart.
The splendor of books enthralled me early in life,
being attracted by the weird animations imprinted in them.
The nascent imagination of the five-year old
morphed within me as an exploring book worm.
I grew up with other timely interests in the transit,
many passing passions came and went,
but looking for mystery the childhood book worm grew
as a constant companion creeping secretively in my head.
The lure of books attracted me to the bookstores
like an obsessed honey bee to the posy of flowers.
I enjoyed the flavor of the mystifying nectar,
concealed in the suspense scripted by Doyle or Christie.
In my journey through the corridors of unveiling mystery,
created by Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot,
I took up their roles till I reached the precinct of the last pages
where the ace sleuths solved the enigmatic puzzles.
Although my old myopic eyes degenerated very much,
the strain over the years made the failing vision blurred,
the senile book worm still crawls to find the mystery clues,
letting me feel the power of fiction.
How powerful are the actions of our heart?
Our tongue forms the words that tear others apart.
Deeper into the darkness of hate,
head down, behind locked gate.
Feet shuffle not lifting up,
hands dirty with empty cup.
Truth shines on the sorrows of past,
how long will the coldness last?
I look away…
3D animations look so real,
pull me in; tell me what’s the deal?
Let me guide another’s life,
I got the answers, cut like a knife.
Eyes hazed over hiding the truth,
great big smile at the kissing booth!
The darkness shines brightest at this time of day,
I thought I had the answers; hear what I say?
I look away…
I retreat to the solitude of my own little world,
hiding and sulking in a life unfurled.
Deep beneath the layers like blankets in winter,
hiding the hand with finger and splinter.
Don’t reach out if your not going to stay,
don’t even look just turn and walk away.
I wont raise my face or even show my eyes,
I’m tired of smiling into the face of lies…
I look away…
One does not stamp out radicalism
any more than one outspends capitalism
or fights successfully against militarism
or overpowers totalitarianism.
We might fade out radicalism,
co-invest capital in cooperative objectives for health,
discern together removing threats of mutually assured violence
and democratize polycultural empowerment
by inviting therapy through all natural-spiritual nondual valuables,
dynamics and animations
within Earth's ecosystemic
universally open spacetime network.
How does it help to invite healing
by calling profound mental unbalance
cowardice?
Why choose the epithet "coward"
to describe terrorizing violent behavior
intent
thoughts against those who intend no active harm
to radicalized perpetrators?
Perhaps this is cowardly behavior
but this is not the first
or most significant
word coming to my mind.
This speaks of fear and anger
and chronically invested misanthropic hatreds,
fueled by competing over-heated environments,
internal and external.
To speak cowardice
to paranoia and ego-distorted sickness
only adds fuel to flames
we would more therapeutically abate
by inviting cultures of deep learning integrity
profoundly sacred ecology
multiculturally and polypathically seen and known
and felt,
inviting mutual embrace of fears
and angers
and lingering learned distrusts.
Chronic stamping on each other,
over each other,
causes further radicalism.
Chronic over-investing in WinLose strategies
caused ravages of capitalism,
dimming richer denser potential
within cooperative ownership and investment
of both capital and equity,
deductive minds and inductive hearts.
Chronic climates of advanced industrial militarism
cause further defaults toward competing
by violent fighting and threat.
Chronic ecopolitical overpowering
of those who feel angry and scared,
left out and behind,
fearful and terrified by violence,
their own and others'
stamping and stomping,
invites further totalitarian plutocracies,
rather than profoundly radical
healthy cooperatives
of growing nutritional democracy
of and for and by and through fair integrity,
cooperative trusting liberty
outshining rights of static freedom.
The deep fault of the human race
is that there are no individuals any more.
~ Søren Kierkegaard
Pixels in the machine it seems
Articulating world schemes, twirled
Reality for those addicted to a screen,
Too timid into be seen in between ~
Inventions of mad men with intentions of perverting
Common sense, it’s so passé
Loving everything but Roget’s suggestions~
Even poems must have an ending!
Menageries of words saying nothing, galleries of pixel
Animations replacing animates en masse
Nothing leftover for the poor,
who don’t exist except
in old picture books.
Personification of the Elements – 9-1-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Elementals
Frigid currents gather stirring
Mists to rain hail in fists of fire and ice
From fractured magma stone eruptions
Crust and fire collide
In melted tornados
In hollows where minerals hitchhike
Into purple ruby hazes
Igneous bursts into fevered conundrums
Where four elementals convene
In cryptic crystals, intoxicated by emerald,
Fused laughing enigmas,
Shedding molten aqua teardrops,
Where fire and fury reside
Imprisoned in liquid stone,
Sparkling matrix thunders,
Compressed grit in animations
Of clear-cut brilliance
The Elementals speak
In captured eternal flames,
Water, stone and breath.
Rejuvenating Proof
Counteroffensive cataclysms clamouring for defeat
Apprehensive magnetism that makes you feel complete
Comprehensive pragmatism that can sometimes drain and deplete
Recompensive vandalism that leaves you shocked in disbelief
Magnitudes of profound truths that create wisdom for the wise
Terpitudes that are uncouth and crawl around in unethical disguise
Servitudes that hold no proof but are doomed to eventual demise
Platitudes that contain the youth and distort the facts in front of their eyes
Laying on my back I look up toward the blistering sun
Praying for you to take it back as I feel inclined to run
Saying we’re living in times of lack would be understating the sum
Weighing up what has been in fact a loss of delight, joy and fun
Weaponisation of justice that could have gone for more
Legalisation of an armistice as the world prepares for war
Devitalisation of the harvest while we cannot feed the poor
Dehumanisation of the inquest as we ask what all of this is for?
Calcification of an idolisation that was devoid of substance and truth
Calibrations of animations that are manipulating the youth
Altercations of communications that are needed to prove the proof
Imitations of aggravations that require a detective and a sleuth
Rejuvenating the landscape from the environmental degradation
Captivating the escape route as they apply for abdication
Hallucinating the magnetic tape that restricts the aggravation
Ruminating on the holy saint that depicts the consecration
Copyright Elizabeth Moroz
Hot as hell, emotions fire the flames,
Nervous about meeting doctors, nurses,
Curtain separates them from congregation,
The veil is not torn in two, but steamy adulation,
Courts their friendship sessions to distance,
Bible fanatic from mum, with a secular pretence:
Stationed to obey that mile that you go,
Faithful to womb child who does overthrow,
That divine validation of mundane everyday life,
Which never does blot his copybook, he’s your invisible wife,
Just because nothing bad happens, then he’s loving,
To be a feature of your relationships and thinking,
So good to give you a furtherer of your animations,
So fine to set converts and following by time within your devotions:
Baby born, and the first thing they said was Jesus!
But I did adjust like a jet, right arm spasm, religion to suss,
Because i had not related perfectly to my mum at all in her beauty,
By getting into a tizzy, a fix about her vaginal cavity:
The umbilical chord did suffocate around my neck,
Three times, and three times to many, ‘cos i hit the deck,
Put in an incubator, a machine my life to sustain,
Where i didn’t depend on maternal caresses to obtain,
That blooming continuation that does greatly assure you of your future,
You expectations, your understandings and boundaries to nurture;
The machine of oxygen and warmth did suffice,
To love this new born child as cold as ice,
To spiritual things and to worlds unknown,
By humankind who only know hell when it’s thrown;
And as I did lurk in my hospital bedroom, or ward,
Like a businessman who is playing the sure investment card:
I wished so much that black book to just disappear,
As it only wrought despair, anxiety and tumultuous fear;
My parents friends, stone cold as delinquent thieves,
Prayed though those days as they sang “Bringing In The Sheaves,”
Whilst appendices of nurses added that they’d do,
Convincing my parents, including doctor-trained dad, that I’d pull through,
They just read the bible to me, over and over,
Through glass ventilator, that separator which did cover,
Happy as chuck, pleased as punch and relaxed enough, in that clever machine,
I clearly didn’t see what they did mean,
Because I was dressed in the NHS, nothing less,
Never this sin to render or confess.