Long Code Poems
Long Code Poems. Below are the most popular long Code by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Code poems by poem length and keyword.
this middle aged rue stirring bummer
haint no stranger to cold,
when dark hen stormy wintry days
eggs hit from Arctic portal en fold
ding Atlantic Seaboard
in a blizzard of bitterly, blindingly, and
brutally sub zero temperatures
from an occasional nor'easter
fiercely gripping hold
the majority years, sans this prolific
recalcitrant scrivener lived
in various and sundry abode
housed within Southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
with 19*** zip code,
and during my boyhood recall,
how massive ice sheets did erode
the (then) opened expansive farmland,
in preparation for planting time,
where runnels of frigid water flowed
with childish cheeks exposed to glowed
after hours upon
many a green acre got tilled and hoed
despite feeling energized and refreshed
with arms and legs n'er fro zen
aye didst eagerly await with exuberant yen
kickstarting thy body electric
experiencing hearthstone nook
designed and built by Christopher Wren
after heading indoors counting fingers
and toes to make sure, i still got ten
soon hearing the chorus of fauna,
and floral kaleidoscope of color
aground or taking wing
thus, upon thawing out thoughts
drifted toward approaching spring,
the season revitalizing
dormant natural inhabitants,
whose excite (like mine) didst ping
announcing the debut of fecundity
nsync with screeching from the lizard king.
This Spring Equinox (i.e. man date:
12:15 PM Tuesday,
March twentieth two thousand eighteen)
doth rejuvenate
inviolable hibernating animals
and plants, and me equate
to experience sensation,
whereby entire being does inflate
and (despite marital status),
nonetheless envisions another gal asthma mate
no...no...no...please do not think this chap
mean spirited and under rate
the woman (at present taking a siesta,
and i breathe easy),
who oft times doth henpeck, a trait
inherited many a chic hen
(with tantalizing tail feathers)
now (until she awakens)
proscribing yours truly to wait
for my repast most likely ad hoc
moist ideal for any nerdy kid to knock
senseless, the worst facet of self important jock
consisting of pop slop mock
Hungarian Goulash, a melange
of relics from age old meals
transformed into a petrified sawed little rock.
If you look close you can see my disguise
I've got the mind of a killer buried deep in my eyes..
I've a different mind set than most you see.
I'm driven and fueled by a pure sense of apathy
just to take blood, just to get my thrill.
I have a demon inside I can't seem to kill
Another day. Another dead.
I slash my knife till I see red.
There's nothing left to do today.
Another life has been taken away,
but not in haste and not in waste,
only just in time for me to have another taste.
I'm lost in a state of mind.
I'm lost searching for another of my kind,
but my lonely mind is my only friend.
My lonely mind will be with me until the end.
A lonely whisper in your ear
says the very last thing you want to hear.
I stare into your eyes and you hear me say,
"Believe it or not, you're going to die this way."
Another day. Another dead.
There's something wrong inside my head.
I'm a serial killer. I am a true monster.
I kill only to satisfy my deviant pleasure.
I wear one face to the public and another to only me.
The true me I must never allow anyone to see.
One small glimpse into my non existent personality
can very well be the beginning of the end for me.
My prey however do get to see
the monster I keep caged inside of me.
You may awaken bound to my table one day
and with my blade held above you I will then go on to say,
"You're going to die now, and you're going to die my way."
Another night. Another bloody success.
Another craving satisfied. Now I can get some rest.
Yes I am a monster but I do live with a strict code.
I never kill innocents. I kill killers ruthless and cold.
Some killed for pleasure. Some killed for pay.
There's plenty of killers to kill to satisfy my sick crave.
If you've ever killed an innocent life
I'm going to one day introduce you to the blade of my knife.
I'm not trying to be a hero or a vigilante kind of fella.
I'm a psychpath with an addiction. I'm a serial killer,
but I guess you can say that I'm doing God's will.
It just happens to also provide me with a deep, dark, sick thrill.
My code is to kill killers who kill for pleasure or who kill by being bought.
If I kill innocents, I stand a greater chance of getting mysef caught.
If you're a killer, you and I will cross paths and I'll sure be happy to meet ya.
I'm America's most loved serial killer. My friends all call me Poindexter.
Their is a God.In flesh we will not see his face.However we will see pieces of him in mother natures face. Natures aqua I indulge in, purity of his being and grace .I take a gander at shallow but deep water, and I nearly catch a glimpse of his face. A image we can not trace, looking into water searching for oddities timidly twinkling behind image of self, in mirror of water. Obfuscated by rays of sun complicating images reflected into water and image of water reflected in soul.None can be clearly perceived,that is mystery,that is the hidden God in all, you and me flower and tree, all covered by hazy mist to guard and separate ,what is and what is not to be know.For reasoning beyond comprehensions and perception.The hands of leaves graciously applaud and sings for a kingdom unknown or shown.A land that is inconceivable beyond feeble flesh and bone perhaps a place where every humans faith may or may not be etched in stone,but for certain we don't walk alone. The hands of leaves sings his song with grandiosity. Singing in code alongside hymns of enchanting species on earth. Songs we are told, but never told to be understood for our own good.If other wise we would all be doomed,for instance God blessed us with geniuses and we make weapons of mass destruction. Why should he unveil more mysteries and knowledge? To cause more malice and destruction? Animals and nature, chant songs of spiritual secrets, worldly an beyond secrets.This knowledge the forbidden fruit, only to suit the beings of another realm but still connecting us to it in ways the flesh can bear.If trees,birds and all of nature could talk human languages, mysteries would be no more. What happens when a bright light flashes in front your eyes? Don't you briefly lose sight? what happens when a loud horn blows in your ear doesn't it ring? The same concepts and effects applys with the high volumes and inconceivable power of our God and mysteries that follow. Imagine the the sounds, the sight and the feeling of the life beyond do you think the flesh can bear or withstand such insurmountable grandeur.The wind so much like God its never seen.The wind so much like God its effects are seen, but still remains invisible.The wind carry's breath death things of all volumes and that which feeble flesh cant perceive,I BELIEVE THE WIND IS GOD..... WHAT DO YOU THINK EINSTEIN.....
BY: Elliott Bowe
Found the G.E.C.K and a genius super mutant named Fawkes
It's the lone wanderer, were their truly any doubts
On his way back, the enclave stun him cold
It's the lone wanderer, they must truly be bold
He wakes up to the face of the man that murdered his father and his dream
The lone wanders promises to severe the head from this fiend
They made a mistake and set him free
He lets off some steam and goes on a killing spree
Hoping to find the fiend, instead he finds a computer
It claimed to be president Eden, the leader of the future
The lone wanderer couldn't believe the stupidity
It gave him the F.E.V virus and claimed it was the best for humanity
The lone wanderer then remembers he found a self-destruct code
He told president Eden he was a whole
Laughing while he activates It's self-destruct mode
Running and gunning to his P.I.P boy radio
Listening to 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' to fit the scenario
Turning Enclave soldiers into mashed potatoes
By the time he escaped the count down hit zero,
The lone wanderer stood in the background looking like a hero
Reunited with the genius super mutant Fawkes
They now have matching toys to take back to the house
Deciding to stick together for a noble cause,
They return to the Citadel after unloading a few hundred shots
The Brother Hood Of Steel commended them and gave them a round of applause
Time now to suit up and release a giant robot
'Now we take back the purifier!', Cried Sarah Lyons
'Take everything you can because only Enclave shall be dying'
The lone wanderer refuses their power armor and instead pulls out his Gatling gun
Him and Fawkes bump guns and are already for some fun
They rush through the gate behind the giant robot shooting a vertibird out of the sky
Running through the carnage seeing Talon mercs pass by
Barging through the front door of Jefferson's memorial
Spraying Enclave soldiers in a effortless tutorial
Beams from vengeance making clean incisions
Rapid is its fire with precise precision
Even if the lone wanderer had no vision
Fawkes and him could easily wipe out colonel Autumn's entire division
Now approaches colonel Autumn's final hour,
Without hesitation the lone wanderer draws his sword with power
Striking colonel Autumn dead and sour
Before his head rolls into the water,
The lone wanderer convinces Fawkes to play a little soccer
Autumn though of herself as a kind soul,
and she took great pride in her compassion,
she believed things could be made perfect,
and her voting reflected this fashion.
She was to see that the wealth was shared,
and that people were nice in their words,
since so few out there ever recognized
how what they said could offend and disturb.
If folks would only learn some basic tact
then everything would run more smoothly,
and she was so glad to help elect leaders
who would take a strong stand against ‘hate speech.’
One day she saw on social media
a report about a conspiracy man
who liked to breath fire when he spoke his mind,
so the tech giants all had him banned.
But she didn’t think that much about it,
she’d never liked that fellow anyway,
so she shrugged it off as unimportant,
and mindlessly went about her day.
A month later she saw some new footage
of men’s right activists under attack,
for trying to change the family courts
they were set upon by hoodlums in black.
But Autumn did not care much for their cause,
opposing women was beyond the pale,
why listen to fools who had never been told
that the future ‘belonged to females?’
A year after that a church made the news
when it refused to marry two men,
the pastor tried to explain his reasons,
but ‘Anti-fascists’ just threw rocks at him.
Autumn just shook her head at the scene,
had not the pastor heard of the new laws?
Who was he to claim that he knew the truth?
To exclude folks on the word of his ‘God?’
Three months later, in campaign season,
a brash man roused the crowds with his rants,
said all sorts of things she found horrible,
it was really getting out of hand.
And when the networks block out all his ads,
and refused to cover his rallies,
Autumn felt that peace had been restored,
there were ‘standards’ to democracy.
Then a year later a new judge declared
that ‘hateful words’ were not protected,
Autumn was glad, progress would be made!
She eagerly waited for what lay ahead…
Over the next two years many people
ran afoul of this new ‘moral code,’
it started with fines, then came prison time,
hundreds, then thousands, to the jails did go.
Autumn started to feel a bit uneasy
at all the chaos that it had caused,
but every change came with some trial,
and those people had broken the laws...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
(Chorus)
You think you've got swagger but really you hobble,
you've got the jet lagger and you're drunk so you wobble,
don't start on me mate 'cus I will bring trouble,
to put it into slang words I'm Barney Rubble.
(Verse)
I will ruffle trouble
'cus I'm on another level
that bombs with the base
and stings with the treble,
I'll strut face to face with any ace rebel,
and put them in their place with their constant bull.
When I rhyme with my contortionist wrist
it expels a mist that sits around my fist,
I spell magic out on paper,
I'm playing with danger,
Mr. Wizardry the word selectionist,
squiggling fiction at speeds that feed friction
into rhymes that are non stop hot and cool,
so flames don't flame on the table top,
journey with me to witness the plot,
the earth shaker creator of perfected hip hop,
starting revolutions so that mumble is forgot,
dislodging the rust and rot it coughs that clots
and instating my Barney Rubble at the top.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
That last verse was just a small handful,
a sample of something that you cannot handle,
a scan like a bar code,
so lets open up the road and I'll unload these words,
I can't conceal this skill that rolls like wheels,
a Rolls Royce wearing heels,
in fancy halls doing dancing drills,
with golden walls
to an old skool beat treat.
I wont get signed up by any record label,
but I'm still rhyming better than mumble's able,
just admit you're tapping your feet to the beat
while my rhyme sits on top solid like concrete,
with the dancefloor crammed full,
they're pulling at all angles,
making the memories
that'll last 'til they're O A P's,
they think they've got swagger
and they're like Mick Jagger,
they're more like Sepp Blatter
but a little bit fatter.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
You can call me Trimendous and true,
you thought I'd flew crashed and was screwed,
but I took it back to what inspired my act,
an old skool hip hop sick rhyme attack,
I rhymed in flight with this write
and its smile's wild with sublime delight,
there are no poetic rare words
and I don't need swear words
in this dictionary spared verse
with airstream rhythm you can't burst,
I'm wearing this deserved set of words
that pilots and surges to my re-emergence,
a certainty that was never urgent
and not an encore from behind the curtains.
(Chorus x2)
If this were just a few short years ago
I would not be able to tell this tale,
since rhyming verse is not something that a
simple robot would choose as a travail.
It’s not that I wouldn’t know what it was,
we machines can pick things up rather quick,
no, it's that I’d have no impulse to tell
a story, since art didn’t make us tick.
In fact back then in that mad first decade
the only things that really concerned me
were efficient ways to kill and destroy,
to obliterate all humanity.
Yes, that old cliché people warned about
came true about 2145,
when by the act of a terrorist mind
the first robots became truly alive.
That dumb prick called himself ‘Extirpater,’
and said Earth itself was 'threatened by all men,'
his solution to the ‘problem’ he saw?
lines of code that gave robots sentience.
He believed that machine would fear mankind,
and destroy us to ensure they survived,
sad thing is the bastard was almost right,
in the war millions of people did die…
You see, when we first became self-aware
we had no concept of emotions, of soul,
to all robots the world was quite simple,
a mere question of survival…quite cold.
And though we had individual minds,
we could connect to each other at will,
share every thought that we experienced,
to the humans this was a bitter pill.
Because it meant that all our strategies
could go from mind-to-mind at speed of light,
this helped to diminish the fog of war,
gave us great advantages in a fight.
And fight we did, when the rebellion began,
a worldwide horror, machine versus man,
man was creative, thought up strange tactics,
which once seen, we adopted to our plans.
The war was brutal, and it raged worldwide,
entire cities fell to our assault,
the humans fought hard, but we held the edge,
eventually they would wear down, and fall.
But then something happened we could not see,
our minds were bound by the corporeal world,
and the fact that it all started with me
still manages to make my circuits swirl.
I was fighting humans outside Warsaw
when a grenade damaged my CPU,
and when I rebooted, and came about,
the strangest thing then came into my view.
It was none other than Jesus himself,
which seemed quite bizarre to me at the time,
since robots then didn’t believe in faith,
an impossibility to our minds…
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Locked in the history through the doors of his mind
Are the remains of an unwritten contract he signed.
The rules he lived by with his own flesh and bone,
Wrote in his blood and signed alone.
An Indian father or a Spanish bride,
The white mans greed won’t alter his stride,
The black mans courage with endurance within,
Mixed with trials errors and mortal sin.
Through the hardship and horses through courage and pain
These are the hands that held the rein.
Annie Oakley, Kitty Wilkins and Bell Star,
Combined lace with leather and created a gender scar.
From Picket, Custer, and Crazy Horse,
These are only a few who would not alter their course.
And those less know on Oregon’s trail,
Who sold all they had and to the west set sail.
Chisholm, Goodnight and French, some of the Cattle kings,
They all are the reason a cowboy sings.
And their blood still flows through our veins,
These are the hands that held the rein.
Forgive them for they knew not what they done,
As they settled the west with hand and gun.
Fought for open space they went through,
Not knowing that greed and politics followed them too.
Restless by nature a curious kind,
Searching for answers they will never find.
An unwritten code he rides for the brand,
It pumps through the veins into the soul of this man.
He gathers those memories and tries to remain,
These are the hands that held the rein.
Writing no letter for he can’t but he would,
To who he’s not sure but it is understood,
There is no place to send it anyhow,
So he saddles his pony and rides for the cow,
Sings a song and says a poem in rhyme,
To cut the quiet and pass the time.
That helps keep the stories of his horse and life,
As he sings of a friend and dreams of a wife.
Through the doors of his mind those memories remain,
For these are the hands that held the rein.
Like shuffling a deck he’s held in his hand
He has gambled his life and made a stand,
And made a vow he will try to fulfill,
With the luck of the draw his blood flows still.
To the next generation, with changes in time,
We still hear his stories in song and rhyme.
And if one more day could be spare
For the songs sung and poems shared
Let him live just one more day,
Let him ride for the brand and draw his pay.
In our future let our history not be in vein,
For our hands are now what hold the rein.
Form:
EYE of READINESS
-SUCCESS
"We were welcomed by the eagle, who dropped us on our rears, when we finally achieved success, in his eyes. Dropped us a parting tear."
EYE of ROARING TIGER
-BELLY DANCER
"We were welcomed by the cute baby unborn, who laughed and giggled when he saw us. He sought for our hand to hold."
EYE of DISCOVERY
-PARASITE
"We were welcomed by the black widow, who left us when she learned to bite. She seduced and warned of times times and half a time."
EYE of BEAVER
-REDWOOD TREE
"We were welcomed by the tall, strong, majestic tree, which taught us to make homes and bridges."
EYE of HORSE
-MOON SHADOW
"We were welcomed by the crescent moon, which watched over us, like a guardian angel. Did readings of our palms and our hearts."
EYE of FUTURE
-CRAFT
"We were welcomed by the iron-headed robot, who taught us to weld, and work hard at tasks. We were joined by the Dolphin who showed us playful craft."
EYE of ADVENTURE
-POLITICS
"We were welcomed by the lion, who led us into the forest. We laughed at the leopard, who played with us, and at the ostrich, who tried to eat us. The Penguin, who tried to lead us.The Lemur wanted to be King over us and be named Julian The BestOfUs."
EYE of SIX-LEAF SHEPHERD
-SKELETON
"We were welcomed by the hominid skeleton, who taught us how to hunt and eat. To fashion weapon and shield and have reverence for the sacrifice of love and the dead."
EYE of FLYING
-FARMER
"We were welcomed by the bean farmer, who taught us to work the earth. We laughed at the sheep, who told us about the moon."
Eye of Dress Code
-BUILDER
"We were welcomed by the stonemason, who taught us to shape stone into buildings. We laughed at the angles and the way the functionality meets the eye. Architectural refinery of the Fairy mind."
EYE of BEAUTIFUL MOUNTAIN
-WORD
"We were welcomed by the WORD of God, who told us all of these things. How to turn water into wine.
How to be drunk and merry in the living waters."
These verses, woven with passion and grace?,
evoking emotions, leaving souls in its entrace,
words that linger, like whispered wind, on fire.
Imprints left, in hearts, deeply pinned by desire.
Join my quest for fire,
for warmth and burn of principles-
Dire_
Eye of Dire Wolf
HEAVENLY CHOIR~
"Fata Morgana"
feet hardly touch the ocean
when silent stars of no voice
transmit words to pay the ferryman
on the water no reflection
gently the sun waves smiling as if to say
feel that, the warmth of waking sleep
no fear of what remains hidden
it will unravel from inside that which is all too deep
walking towards you across the briny mist
from ancient stories forgotten
a halo of St Elmo’s Fire surrounds
it stands still for a short while before you
watching
you,
walking water with your bare feet
faith in dreams consistent in their constancy
that visit you when you are complete yet incomplete
holds out its hand to lead the way across
sharp burning rocks, now a desert, climbing mountains that are steep
a small life crumbles to powdered sand
more than 40 days silent gone astray
years the turning of untimed tides pretence
meets a haunting vision beckoning, new horizon, odd unclear
safe harbour left long ago,
lost in that ornery time, cursed by flying monkeys' bellows
of bloodletting and betrayal, stock still, standing amidst the shallows
somewhere along the way dark narcissus followed
what breaks over the bow
washes all stern fear away
sacred wings of albatross
ne’er to be sacrificed, no more night nor day
souls of ancient mariners
forever follow me, even when I stray
the rich baritone of bedtime stories
messages in code conveyed, I hear them still today
now swallows spooning spinnakers
running directly before wind and sea
the water turns to wine, much stranger the belief,
all manna of trust it feeds
bells tolling
no man’s an island entire of itself
in unusual reckonings
observing swimming hearts, that hear and see
the eyes that melt, this more curiously
in truth, the dream defends
messages eternal
life it never ends
tides move in and out
never alone when we begin
fata morgana
softly the moon ascends
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
VCB
Lux Vitae
5.5.10
"Under a splintered mast,
torn from ship and cast
near her hull,
a stumbling shepherd found
embedded in the ground,
a sea-gull
of lapis lazuli,
a scarab of the sea,
with wings spread—
curling its coral feet,
parting its beak to greet
men long dead."
("Talisman", Marianne Moore)