Long Astronomy Poems
Long Astronomy Poems. Below are the most popular long Astronomy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Astronomy poems by poem length and keyword.
Reflecting on Stonehenge
Ancient mysteries
Neolithic man left behind
Their enlightened thought suggests
heaven and earth are twin powers
harnessed through astronomy
Standing stones silent witness.
Sunrise, sunset, and solstice
Natural chronometer
heaven's perpetual pulse
Celebrations long since dead
Echoes muted
Excavations ongoing
hypothesis abounding.
Abiding mystery
What drove this undertaking?
How was knowledge obtained?
Science of astronomy
was remote truth for ancients
Removed from Sailsbury Plain
other henges' ~ Question why?
Reflect
Poetry Contest
Sponsored
by
Joe Maverick
04/10/2021
The ephemeral consciousness of being, and the longing that seeps through this universe. The greater trajectory of leaving and being left stands small before those who watch it unfold. The nights where tears ricochet, and the tiny yet eternal lights that make someone name a crater after their wife, stand still in the face of all this sehnsucht.
The incandescent rage that binds one soul to another in an event of absolute cataclysm absorbs all that the universe sends their way. Abundant, yet empty. In astronomy, it is defined as a paradox that does not let a giant sink. For the world, it is a miracle; for the heart, a hope. The rage carries on—undefeated.
Conceited, one wanders this world, creating distances that supersede time and time that supersedes life. Multiple versions collide at one common point, seeing eye to eye, reacting infinitely similarly. Yet it is so quiet in the black expanse of this realm.
In the grand scheme of things, the world has stopped creating moments; everything has gone dry, the motion is dying a slow death. And yet, we are alive—feeling, burning, naming craters after our lovers, writing poetry, singing songs, living, breathing, crying, dying.
In the final undoing of all that burns, even absence acquires a mass nothing escapes. Longing becomes the final surrender.
Sixth graders have had the unit on careers. I have introduced hundreds of them today.
We have had guest speakers up the yin-yang, and down the other side of the room
I am confident they know about accountants, musicians, retail, yoga, from career day.
They know about space camp, astronauts, astronomy, bakers, chefs, and things that zoom.
We have been introduced to pharmacists, doctors, lawyers, and a hospital chief.
I spent hours getting people to the event, and I mean over fifty speakers this week.
So it is with great disbelief that I tell you what happened afterwards that gave me grief
When the sixty-graders shared what career they had decided on, giving me a peek….
U-tuber, influencer u-tuber, influencer, influencer, u-tuber, u-tuber, influencer, doctor maybe.
Doctor maybe! I was excited for a second, maybe this child had broken the pattern of idiocy.
U-tuber, u-tuber, u-tuber, influencer, influencer, how much more discouraging could this be?
U-tuber influencer means they do not have any post-secondary education, you see.
They are both the same uneducated career, and truly no career, which they think is stube.
The children of today do not want to work hard for their money, ‘cause…..
They expect to be able to buy a house for their parents by talking on u-tube
Am I kidding? Seriously, I truly and utterly wish I was.
The clock gnaws marrow from the bone,
Its hands are wolves in a quiet room.
I pace the halls of books like a penitent,
Collecting alphabets, equations, broken hymns—
Each one a splinter of fire to brand my palms.
Learning is a lantern, I tell myself,
But it burns both the pupil and the page.
Still, I drink the poison of knowledge,
Measure each drop with trembling fingers,
Because power without mercy is a blade in the dark.
Let the evil ones be caught in their own traps,
Sealed in jars, their whispers locked
Like moths in a museum drawer.
The good should hammer the lid shut—
And yet the shadows leak, they stain the air.
I scavenge disciplines the way crows hoard silver:
Philosophy, astronomy, anatomy,
A perpetual ladder built skyward, rung by rung.
The body sours, but the mind must not sleep,
Not while questions are hissing in the grass.
Don’t hate the players, hate the game—
But I see the board stained with red squares,
Pawns split open, queens reduced to ash.
Still, I move my piece forward.
Still, I mouth the rules until they cut my tongue.
Why are our lives so short?
Because the brain is a storm,
And storms cannot be persuaded to last.
Explains geometry
Physics of consciousness
Our Lord openness
We have always been the same
In order to see ourselves change
Bound by God prayers
We found each of these answers
Left behind probability
Jesus Christ delivered thee
Our Lord style
Shown truth behind his smile
Questions we seek
Our Lord spoke through thee
Listen with your silent ear
In order to hear
Astronomy transversed
Our Lord create our Universe
Have you come to a conclusion
We are not the illusion
An enigma
Proof of the Alpha and Omega
Spiritually released
We live within peace
Truth meant to be found
Not to be kept underground
Selfish men who pretend
What our Father Heavenly sent
God chose to heal thee
This not a parody
What is there to decide
Do you believe more than your naked eye
Look within your heart story
We are not the enemy
All combine
The essence of time
Jesus Christ our King is brave
Many more our Lord shall save
Astronomy and Astrology marry so well,
I cannot separate them, feeling an ethereal love for both
They tantalize my imagination, keeping me fresh
I stare at the stars and think of the constellations
named for Roman and Greek gods and goddesses
There is a mystery about them.
They are ever present, paving our dendrite highways
with ideas and ideals that fit well into the cosmos.
Their night time work is never ending, as they breathe
life into our dreams of purity and bliss.
Astronomy and Astrology, both pave the way
for angels to visit us in both our waking moments
as we stare into the depths of the stars,
and in our sleeping moments as they parade around
giving us ideas for tomorrow.
Where does a word originate? Latin or Greek?
What kind of meaning doth the new word seek?
Who decided it would be wise to have too, two, and to?
Or was this confusion in the language of the once learned few?
Did they realize the words they created would be twisted up?
Did they realize we would have rhymes like cup, sup, and pup?
Did Homer teach his students geometry, astronomy and biology?
Did he make up the words for astrology and microbiology?
Are the words we have now even the exact words they had then?
When they were translated, could there have been slips of the pen?
I wonder about the etymology of the words that we use.
Are they all truly words or just a whimsical fabrication of my fuse?
The dictionary is full of words that rhyme – gem, hem, stem.
Most of them say originated in Latin or Greek, almost all of them.
I have to ask you do you care if they are Latin or Greek?
Do you even notice this when words you do seek?
Dear budding poet,
Modern poetry is an evolutionary process. A poet never really stops growing and learning. Even the most seasoned of poets can discover and master new forms. I wish you a happy journey to poetic creativity. My advice is to read poetry voraciously and listen to poetry recitals.
Read poems by famous poets. Join a group such as www.Poetrysoup.com and study definitions of poetry forms. You'll soon familiarize yourself with many brilliant Poetrysoup poets, poetry terminology, rhyme schemes, meters, etc. You'll also see examples of all the poetry forms.
Poetry is a malleable art form. It can be formless, like water. Like wet clay, you can mold or shape a poem however you desire. The sky is the limit in terms of your subject matter. I strongly suggest going out in nature for a wealth of inspiration. Try writing a poem outdoors.
Poetic inspiration is likely to materialize as you're much more alert and aware of your surroundings. Enter Poetrysoup poetry contests, which will further fuel your inspiration to write more. Positive, encouraging feedback from supportive poets also keeps your creative juices flowing.
Always carry a pen and notebook with you and jot down the moments or things that captivate you. Ideas. Epiphanies. Funny moments. Happy moments. Sad moments. It's an abundance of riches in terms of themes to broach. You can pen a poem about anything. Use your power of observation and let your imagination take flight.
To use lines from my poem, "What Poetry Means To Me," "Poetry is my catharsis, passion, escape. The golden spoon which I use to stir souls. Poetry means sharing my gift of creativity to inspire, purge, reveal, to weave a tapestry of deeply felt emotions."
My favorite themes are nature, emotions, animals, and astronomy. My favorite reference sources are as follows: Poetrysoup, Merriam-Webster's Dictionary, Rhymezome, HowManySyllables, and WordHippo.
(Prose)
Notice how the stars
are pulling away from us,
and their light is less luminous?
I remember seeing them closer
than the flickering lightning bugs;
now even they fly to another universe...
An ever-changing universe
is an admonition of events
coming to an awful conclusion,
and as it extends further into infinity,
our fears grow too real to dispel mystery;
nights without stars
is a sea without sails,
pity the lonely moon staring in confusion...
The eclipse of the effulgent moon,in mid-winter,
covered the solar surface with obscurity,
even momentarily,we felt its density
and leaned on the edge of despair;
when light returned, hope was restored
in an ever-changing universe so vast and cold...
Only astronomy sees the changes
to enforce this belief on us,
and elucidates them with exact details;
and if we are deprived of perception:
we must tap our intuition
and flee with an ever-changing universe,
before every star disappears from our skies...
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
I don’t have to see nor have to blink but, I like to think of your eyes as the stars in the sky. So bright it penetrates my eyes. It’s proven that it takes longer for light to travel to earth before we are able to see it. The stars are dead and lifeless but the brightness runs through it and we see their worth. I look up and gaze at them wondering how big and how bright they really are. If I can compare seeing them face to face.... I can describe your eyes to the naked face. Big beautiful and so detailed. It’s like I’m caught up in what everyone else wishes were their fairytale. How great God is to create your eyes, the galaxy to look up at and remember our best times. I remember the first time I fell in love and even my eyes pearled, and I thought to myself “How blessed I am to have him in my world.” So mesmerizing I get sunk in. I even got a daughter whose eyes are your twin. Even though they are different colors, so is the world, the sky and its many colors. Yes stars are an abundance of gas. And I also know NOBODY can see through you like I do, as if I’m looking through a transparent glass. Even if you’re away, I can always look up in the sky and say.... different shapes, sizes and many forms, You’re eyes in my galaxy are the only ones I adore.