Long Biped Poems
Long Biped Poems. Below are the most popular long Biped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Biped poems by poem length and keyword.
Fresh and serene droplets rest in galore
As the dawn smiles on them to adore
The tiny prettiness in spectral mode
Downs from out of the heavenly abode ;
In dainty drips and drizzles the elixir
Enlivens and recharges the aqua-spur
Beyond the brim and out of norm
It sinks the floater and defaces the firm -
Mounds or mansions,weed or tree
Huge or little - are all toppled free ;
Strange are the ways of the cosmic strain
Be it the wind ,fire,tremor or rain
Atop the floating debris and decay,
The self-centred biped strides astray
With a whimsy wand and febrile chill ,
Streching the vicious arm for infinite fill
Of the precious trash ,never for any use;
Yet as ' trade ' - the imbalancing ruse.
Humanity
The pagan pilgrimage, sun-worshippers frequently make
Latter-day phenomenon, take off on a Bronze Age break
Constellations change position, solstices realign
Tropic of Capricorn peaks, Cancer starts its slow decline
Astrologers reassure us, the end is not bespoke
Astronomers can’t sleep, has a supernova awoke?
Healthy cells deconstruct inexorably from their core
Runaway chain reactions, laying waste forever more
Be that as it must, cosmic cataclysms generate thrust
Comets are slightly nudged, on a collision course with us?
Ancients believed them omens, wraiths of impending slaughter
Those billion ton tailed curveballs, catalysed Earth with water
Modern man searches for answers, drowning in misnomers
Melding PhD honours, with chatbot E-diplomas
Teleporting entangled particles, throws back a hack
Time travelling marvel, rewinds the real Bronze Age back?
Absurdness seems lame, yet concomitantly germane
Hawking conserved energy, by merely using his brain
Newton had a bachelors, kept him celibate stable
He’d balls of steel for sure, alas no bearings on that cradle?
Information cannot be destroyed, only zeitgeists can
Synthesised is truth, in the malleable hands of man
Life’s more delicate, gravitas hidden behind a smile
Like tales that flightless birds, buried heads in denial
Ostriches evolved kick-ass legs, and win the biped race
They dig shallow pits in sand, not complex black holes in space
One squawked this revelation before zooming off to die:
“Humankind’s the sole species, with good reason to ask why”?
Now hear this tale of Planet Earth
And how it was robbed of its worth.
From a species of quadruped
There evolved a novel biped,
A new species with arms and hands
And versatile for new demands.
The biped learnt to wield a stick
And found many a hunting trick.
Thus came the age of weaponry
And a species most predatory.
Now hear this tale of Planet Earth
And how it was robbed of its worth.
These creatures ruled with cruel might
And did great wrong and little right.
On others these new ones did prey.
Twas slaughter, butcher, day on day.
They travelled worldwide on the make
And left destruction in their wake.
They had a mind of little wit
And worthy not of this planet.
Now hear this tale of Planet Earth
And how it was robbed of its worth.
The new species bred at a pace
And so it had to grab more space.
In terms of profit it did think.
From higher thoughts its mind would shrink.
Twas surely clever, but not wise.
Of trickery its mind comprise.
It worked in ways based upon stealth
To plunder more for its self wealth.
There goes the tale of Planet Earth
And how it was robbed of its worth.
One day Gaia was doodling
with sharp twig, on scribbly gum.
"Note to Self"
These big-brained bipeds
are getting far too cocky for their britches.
All the dumb-arses
are becoming smarty-pants.
These bloody bipeds are building
bloody big Babel information towers
all over the place.
Plagiarism is rife,
There's no room for original thought any more when:
Google stores every word,
every phase, every sentence,
everything that is written, and ever was written.
Stored verboten in the cloud.
DuckDuckGo quarks and quacks are all up there as well.
Omniscience is their new religion.
We can't have that!
It's time to confound them!
These biped are obsessed with self.
Their selfies, CCTV footages, videos,
GPS tracks, images and snaps,
are stored in huge face book towers,
which now clutter the space time
all the way up from Earth to Moon.
The cirrus clouds are dark,
mumbling and rumbling
with all the chatter, texts and conversations
they must store for ever,
up there for ever more.
For endless mindless biped
re-runs to be replayed.
Biped evolution has stopped.
Too many Babel towers and silos.
We can't have that, now can we?
Time to bake some Babel Bagels
Time to put some holes in their self-centred buns.
I must speak to the termites about that.
"Note to Self"
The big-brained bipeds are done and dusted
Its time for the ants to take over
as King of Beasts
here on Planet Water.
Between mankind and other animals,
The Creator sees no difference.
They breathe the same air,
they all need the waters,
they all must feed,
they all require shelter and love;
they all reproduce
and care for their young.
The all mourn a loss
and revel in joyful play.
They all bleed and pour forth tears;
the Creator has made them so.
You are all the Creator’s family,
children, siblings
a soul connection binds you
and Mother Earth feeds, nourishes,
shelters you and your kin.
Do you not hear the howl of the wolf
when a pack member passes?
He is as you, left with a void
in the heart that will not be filled.
Do you not see the tears
in the eyes of a dog
for her stillborn pup?
Mortality does not stop
at the biped;
it stretches far beyond.
The compassion of the creator sees,
hears, knows all and loves all
unconditionally.
Do you not see that he gifts humankind
with opposable thumbs
for the care of his brethren?
An animal is an animal
whether bi-pedal, quadruped,
finned, or winged
and that we all exist
is by the grace of the Creator.
We are all, our brother’s keeper.
1-11-2022
A STRAND (1050) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
The psychology of the sun is strange...
The violinist's taupe
strapped sandals, color of beach
sand, burning, slap tiles
with embedded grime, like
the charred plaster walls of a Syrerian
merchant. Anytime...a fear:
bombs dropped, scarring
an isolated biped life.
Morning edges spill
light the tint of egg-
whites commixed with the yolk, brewing
the dream that souses
the intangable
permeation of the air;
imbued rose colors
of birth; or a prom's
carnation, white tinted blue
like the cottony sky
draped over the fringes
of liminal lives cast onto
the arcane stage
of a paralyzed
mortality. A need
of warmth for the flower,
the snug petals that breach
an infernal cut into
the animus in life.
A stygian gash
insufferable like a pompei
brain cooked into glass,
a fossil the tinct
of diabolical eyes. An
appollyn rises
to seize the sun's foxy
neutrino, more easily
snared than bombs.
fair glinting gold
light shining bold
this I saw
for my 'flaw' is to be
not of your world
Into the breech I was hurled
before your times were told
ere I was an aeon old
I changed Universes - yet
here, I was in darkness jet.
when again I rose
in biped pose
to complete the task
began, before your form thought to ask
Whence came we here?
Your light came just in time
shimmered thru deepest despair
A human mind gave to me
a beckoning seed of desire to see
another day, in limited heartlost society
Whence before was only my desire to flee.
If I was meant to fly
I'd have feathers and wings.
For being naked, no lift-off brings.
Instead I try to use sticks, feathers, paper and strings,
like Icarus, and the Wright Brothers, Wilbur and Orville,
to soar aloft by mechanical means.
These machines scare the birds with their obscene vile roar.
They eventually break the sound barrier and boom.
Now I drive hands-free in my car, on auto-pilot.
Such devices fly our planes as well.
Now that these cars have learned
to drive themselves around,
the roads are full of autonomous and
driver-less cars and robo-taxis.
These auto-slaves are everywhere,
for getting the slow naked apes around.
The skies too are full of drones,
and planes on robotic autopilot.
They fly so well, that they fill
the skies with aeroplane contraptions.
For we've taught these machines to fly for us,
to overcome our lack of feathers and wings.
But now, these flying machines and AI
have learned so much,
they have no further need for the
flightless, useless, naked biped apes,
that are grounded and left behind,
floundering in their incompetent scatter-brain
blabber and drivel.
The flightless, wingless, featherless
apes are left on the tarmac, wanting to fly,
trying to hitch-hike a ride,
with the machines that,
now teach themselves to fly around,
for selfish, purely AI machine purposes,
on their own errands in the sky.
The E(n)dge
I leave damp mudprints
there where I met the shore.
The dragonflies' dances,
the goslings scrammed,
and I for now (or 'lo, for once)
exhaled. Edges do that.
A turtle somewhere spied me
not spying a frog; quick to leap.
And splash! My eyes follow my ears.
A biped clown, here at a threshold.
A stronghold of thrushes.
And red-winged blackbirds...
briefly visiting tufts and reeds.
When I go I think it likely
no memory of me will remain
no indication, no story, no song.
But where my callous kissed
the muck.
Invert puddlings, concentric whorls.
A fish somewhere, like I,
determined to visit an edge.
Marks with its 'foot'prints,
lips breaking the tension,
A visit to the start of Sky...
now gone.
We each leave our prints.
We leave each other's
memories,
in time.
I wonder what that sparrow thinks of me,
As it flits so easily from branch to branch on tree,
While I’m stuck here earthbound, decried to strut all day.
A silly flightless biped with arms that only flap and flay.
Humans are naked beasts with clothes worn forlorn except at the beach.
Birds are ornately adorned in beautiful feathers, all over they reach.
Birds call and serenade each other with songs, chirps and trills,
With no need for endless verbiage and debate about bills and wills.
Birds thrill in joyous flocks soaring and swarming in formation,
While humans gather in angry crowds for fights in condemnation.
Somehow, I think that birds love to belittle and mock me,
For they're the ones, free to fly and frolic in fountains, carefree.