Long Conclusive Poems
Long Conclusive Poems. Below are the most popular long Conclusive by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conclusive poems by poem length and keyword.
I once saw an old man with hair
the color of snow and in his hand,
He held two circulates of gold.
I asked the man what the rings
were for.
One, He said, is for the Young
and the other for the Old.
With questioning eyes, I looked
upon and as He explained,
I heard logic's song.
An in conclusive reasoning, He said
and then a comforting smile,
He gave, as He continued to say.
(The Young) " The heavy bodies
descend by gravity and again the
gravity is quality; Whereby a heavy
descends is an impertinent circle and
teaches nothing.
Meaning: The Journey Onward.
(The Old) " A circle which touches
the curve and close to the point more
nearly coincides with the curve than
hence is called; Circe of curvation.
Meaning: Coming Into Full Circle.
An unofficial association of people, I said
but the smart set goes there.
It's simple my Dear, He said;
A plane curve generated by one point
moving at a constant distance from a
fixed point, (The Young & The Old).
As He calculated the circumference of the
circle, again He spoke.
Every part of which is equally distant from
a point within it, is called: The Center, The Soul.
He spoke in logic in which I had never heard spoken.
A conclusion of a form of argument between two
or more unproved statements that in the end, prove
each other as one.
Alpha, Omega, The beginning and the ending,
a circulate of gold. The Young and The Old.
art is not the signature at the bottom of a painting
but rather the road to find an answer in the quest of risk worth taking
a master piece is not created from the light the paint reveals
nor from the content that grasps its eyes appeal
a master piece is created as a master chooses which piece of a moment to show.
hands reaching into a stream of emotion in decision of what sight to bestow.
when the feeling is felt that piece to show, the master so chooses
the kiln of desire is fired by the will as thought and emotion infuses
an artist is not discovered from signing a signature at the end of a page.
for the way to interpret feelings is something no machine can gage.
immorality can not be found at the bottom of a picture
it is attained rather by making the footsteps in life ones signature
an artist is not an artist simply by the works one produces
but rather from inspiring creation while rendering another project conclusive
art is not derived from the genes to which one is born
yet eludes the rightful meaning of its dictionary form
although art can twist the meaning of words in a rhyme
words can never truly explain art by design
so it is left to the heart for art to have its meaning
for a deceased artist is the only kind without feeling
Her laughter was not a quest to be reacted to, but a theme to be braided into the menagerie of his life, a sunlight he pursued and a river he helmed, guiding him through all vibrancy to the quiet shore of his love for her.
.
He was a designer of the heart, her laughter the compass pointing north, the clandestine tongue that piloted his soul’s journey.
Each tinkle was an enigma gossiped on the wind, a fiction written in the stars, and his life’s great work was to trace its constellations, to discover every angle and shade, to encounter the response that was not a single word, but the entire poem of their conveyed presence.
It was harmonic in a language only his heart understood, a puzzle of pure pleasure whose pieces he gathered with every passing year.
He was not aspiring for a conclusive solution, but for the infinite possibilities within each new echo, the promise of a forever built on the foundation of a sound that made his world complete.
Her laughter was the sunrise of his days, the constellations of his nights, and the quiet peace that held him through it all.
Oops! Jill! Lookout, Jack!
5 cars of the vehicular kind merged then vanished
Drove instantly inside one another to disappear
Solid lead rained down on them as well
Melted, evaporated, the evidence presented clear
Another clue, according to the view
Proved to be conclusive to that end
Detectives drew a line with good intentions well defined
Using chalk thought to be made of calcium carbonate
Found on some rock site undisclosed, remote
A soft, white, porous, sedimentary item found in nature
Formed from strange marine life at an undersea location
Eons ago at night as if it mattered to any one
This is pure speculation, a supposition of course
A hypothesis thought to be weak at best
Yet accepted in legal circles as concrete
Science crossed their hearts and hoped to die
If their findings were a lie
Around that which they oddly called a crime
Teachers line up calculators on the vacant scene
Loaded with batteries, black boards and cameras
Chalk comes in handy for drawing cartoon cars
Students! Love your teachers for that reason
As you love being graded on a curve
Data confirmed there were 5 cars in motion
On the lot and at that location
Students in attendance testified cross-eyed
Well informed according to their word
Vehicular occurrences are rare but happen
It is reasonable to assume the sound of chalk was heard
Screeching marks along the bounderies of a curb
Within the boarders of conclusions reached where lines are drawn
On the ground remained an empty place
An echo, nothing more
Vacancy kept in its place
Over zealous detectives state the facts as found
Cars don't travel just to disappear
Covered in lead melted down to vanish
Parameters of sight are well within speed limits
In broad daylight it is easy to see clear logic
Unless the FBI become involved
Roll in like fog
Problem discovered, problem solved
It's taken me sixty years
Of evolution
To realise the simplicity
Of Earthen electricity
My naked feet, like freshly cleaned
Battery terminals
Strolling in hilarity
To observe correct polarity
Electrons flowing in and out
As I freely shuffle about
In hippyfied insanity
With toes embracing nudity
The science is effusive
So wonderfully conclusive
My body craves perfection
In each pedantry inflection
So to join the sockless roamers
The grass lovers and beach combers
I will earth myself completely
With each step I place, so neatly
Is it magic or just factual?
Like a nature deal, contractual
Or perhaps we were never meant
To be disconnected, discontent
And maybe it's progression
To dismiss the shoe of intercession
Returning to natural citizenship
Of barefoot - grass relationship
Reject the concrete,
Resist the vulcanised persistence
Embrace the beauty
Of a soul-full existence
The heart of our star, a ceaseless furnace, begins to wane,
Its hydrogen spent, its helium core the final grain.
The ancient balance, a dance of fire and gravity’s pull,
Now falters, as the life-giving light rises less than full.
The core contracts, a desperate, conclusive, fiery breath.
The outer layers bloat and swell, embracing cosmic death.
A Red Giant structure, a monstrous, ruby, burning sphere,
Swallowing Mercury, then Venus, as the end draws near.
Our own pale dot: the earth, is scorched, its oceans turned to steam,
A silent cinder in an extended forgotten dream.
In this last act of defiance, the solar winds will roar,
Shredding the star’s own self, a shell of gas and dust no more.
A beautiful, sad dispersal, the stellar guts unfurled,
A vibrant, glowing nebula, a shroud around our world.
Central to the spectacle, a tiny, dynamic light,
The Sun’s remnant, a White Dwarf, begins its eternal night.
No longer fusing elements, just cooling, growing dim,
A silent headstone to the star that once filled every brim.
And in that stardust, scattering, advancing far and wide,
The iron in our blood, the elements where life could hide,
As it yields to the universe, a legacy of grace,
It is a part of the endless cycle, both time and space.
The star is gone, its children are the proof it shone so bright,
Our atoms bound to wander in the everlasting night.
Ever wonder why you are here?
Your non existence generates fear.
How'd you get this body, this life,
While millions suffer in strife?
Meaning is so illusive,
Answers aren't very conclusive.
Some notions might be comforting,
From a faith lessening suffering.
Buddhists believe you see,
That you'll always be able to be.
Honoring insight, reason, not myth
A suitable mindset to live with.
Your beliefs will be torn,
But don't be forlorn.
Rebirth is the term gurus use,
That religious Westerners confuse.
Simply like rocks, trees and seas,
Fooled by mythic gods you like to please.
Fourteen billion light years across,
When will this universe exhaust?
One hundred billion have lived here before.
Sizeable number, too big to ignore.
Your uniqueness is a matter for mirth,
Helping others is what challenges our earth.
If artificial intelligence can be conscious,
The future of humankind is dauntless.
Combining humans and matter expands thinking,
Our world will no longer be shrinking.
We are all only one,
Under this wondrous sun.
Just a speck of carbon I guess,
Nothing more, nothing less.
If your goal is to find nature's order,
Seeking meaning surely is broader.
When you discover the inner you,
You'll know exactly what to do.
Flawless Precession
______ _____________Llave__________Contre-Prise________________ _________
"Without any blemishes or imperfections; perfect.
"there smooth flawless precision"
Traits and performance an original style
time honored maneuvers and holds
each specific performance both in tandem
and collaborated teaming, in exchange in to exchange
they perform with specific Conclusive story telling
with rhythm and rhythm. Never quitting, unsubmitting
and going and moving forward
using Eager--Tech wrestling. Techicail and Precise precision.
Emotional Drama and Conveying a story using skill to speak
there glory. Evaluating strengths and weakness. Formal application
acceptance and matched "paired off to square off."
Not devaluing an opponent in there submission,
praising there performance and eagerness to perform.
Hardwork,stregic moves and never quitting."
____________________________________
Objectives and Goales
Effective formulas
specific
measurable
Achievable
Relevant
Time Honoring
____________________________________
Written by:
Con Duite and
Hon Teuse
Of Divided Posuring
of Ganador Ganador Inc.
A Pro Chored Collabative Co.
(technical difficulty, setup, or risk)
Mysteries into mysterious
The thought just makes one curious
History having accounts within its own log
The wonders through the creation of the seas
1871 was a year when cargo ships would sail through unchartered waters of LAST CHANCE ALLEY would often disappear
The crews were never found
Some say the Devil would be aboard their ships
But there is no record of witnesses who can contest to that
All you hear and feel are the sea breezes
Many ships dare not to go through Last Chance Alley fearing that their ship would be loss and never be seen again
Captains and crews heard stories about Last Chance Alley, but feel the name should be changed to PROHIBITED ALLEY
Mysterious doesn’t make it obvious
Once mystery still a mystery
History has stated the Devil being disgusted as a monster aboard all the previous downed ships
One would think the many storms feeling like a monster itself
Imaginations gone wild
Some see Fishy ship tale being folktale
Perhaps it surrounds too much ale
Yet many ships have disappeared without any findings or known abouts
What’s the reason, and why no investigations out?
Unknowns still uncertain
A torn curtain with splits could be a beware
Was it the sea or storms themselves being lies of the Devil Sea?
We can only guess the many assumptions being nothing conclusive
Only suggestive
The Devil’s revenge
Myth or theory?
We will never know
We don’t know what is happening below
Maneuver your mind and continue to wonder
Devil Sea with an evil approach
Madness and controlling
Fulfilling in offsetting
Life means I can talk to my friends and others,
When the untravelled sea fills with brothers,
Pleasure rushes the uninhabited areas we just don't sail,
And when we semiotically emit our meaning, we will prevail;
Freedom rings with resonance resounding and pervasive,
No need for more traditional others to be abrasive,
No bears or wolves, no chides, jibes, and no probes obtrusive,
Your identity is your construct, your speech is conclusive.
And my books! Alas my books. They proffer so such contentment,
A breadth of knowledge with no suggestions delinquent,
Nor are there any accusers to accost,
My mind and spirit which upon some can be lost,
Possibilities endless, bringing depth of character,
They glint and glide, swimming in grammar;
Multiple amounts of information councel my hesitation,
Brimming particulars restrain inhibition.
But oh my computer: How elegant is she!
Believing in my easy registrations as well as my errors to be;
Such possibilities, moulded so neatly into my space,
Without the communal glare of uniformity’s trace;
Personalised desktop, memory and input method,
It accepts me unquestioned with no staff or flogging rod;
I program to set the user interface alight,
With the functionality and procedures of the user’s plight.
However, I can also give myself my own system,
Personal software from my own inclination;
Knowing some designers do not have in hand,
The shortcuts that only I seem to understand;
A software engineer’s god complex should not surface,
The digital space is a privilege to influence, place;
I love determining the screen and its sounds,
Where freedom of knowledge and data abound.
But the gift of poetry delights and ignites,
Hurtful regressions lull in its sight;
Its credibility only ever stoops to concede,
That only your introversion may expression impede;
Language caressed, dignity nursed,
You never need to be at all reimbursed;
Its haters are silent for fear of rebuke,
As truth, imagination and love are its hook.