Long Configuration Poems
Long Configuration Poems. Below are the most popular long Configuration by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Configuration poems by poem length and keyword.
When I gaze far off into the night sky
The chaos is not pleasing to the eye.
Seems there was never an overall plan
When the beginning of time began.
I don’t mean to sound so high and mighty
But the stuff up there’s not very tidy.
Yes, there are luminous constellations
But it needs cosmic configuration.
When figuring out just how to plan it
I started on the jumbled up planets.
It’s not a stretch to say they need sorting
And here are a few things I’m purporting.
First I thought they should be alphabetized
Or at least ordered according to size.
They could be arrayed by number of moons
But I think that’s getting too picayune.
Sure, there is a listing of other things
Like arranging them by their colored rings.
Or by what lie’s hidden beneath the dust
That entirely coats their outer crust.
I settled and placed them by dimension
As said plan will cause the least contention.
Starting with the sun, since that big old orb,
Can’t help but lead; being so self absorbed.
Petite planet Pluto, this time is first
Mercury’s next, then trodden Mars comes third.
After that Venus, followed by our Earth
Which were in that order, now they’re by girth.
Let’s jump up to Neptune, then Uranus
Which happens to rhyme with Ignoramus.
Yes fancy Saturn, you go next in line
Jupiter’s last, since so easy to find.
Let’s continue this celestial tale
By systematizing the scene, broad scale.
We’ll journey further than Venus and Mars
To coordinate the world of stars.
We can array each pulsar by brightness
Which doesn’t interest me the slightest.
Or chart them based on their distances from us
Though why on Earth quibble with all that fuss?
Instead we’ll do what the globe mappers did
And arrange every star on a grid,
We’ll plot a rough draft on large graph paper
Like olden times, by light of a taper.
Now, you can choose a square and stick by it.
Worry free of the old cosmic riot.
Where each and every star is viewed best
Whether gazing to north, south, east or west.
The sky is looking much better by now
And all the skeptics will have to avow.
That once you know how to rework matter
Like here on earth, it’s the size that matters.
Let me be clear with no fear
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Your eyes never opened after that last long kiss
You pulled the dark curtain of sleep about you
Your body fitted against mine in perfect configuration
And your hand upon my arm about you
We always fitted well in all things
What was it that you said?
“Do you know why God put those spaces between your fingers?”
And when I shrugged, you fitted your fingers between mine.
Watching you alone with yourself within your slumber
I came to realize that love can only be appreciated
When we imagine what we would be without it
And in that moment of my pondering
I discovered many things.
Your touch was more profound than a million hands in applause
And touching toes to be sure you were there
Was a communication far superior to internet
I determined then that a kiss was indeed a luxury
And a moonlight whisper has more power
Than all the chants of protest across the world
Walking hand-in-hand had far more meaning
Than any three car garage
And your head resting upon my shoulder
Lightened all the weights of a troublesome life
And without you life itself would fade into obscurity
The complexities of life never altered the simplicity of us
We drove 200 kilometers just to eat at The Fat Duck at Bray
We camped overnight in the ruins of the old Cathar castle
In the hills beyond Limoux where we found the cave
And when your father welcomed us into his home
But commanded that I sleep in a separate room
You told him, “He is my life now, you must understand”
And we slept at the Albergo al Viale and drank wine at breakfast
And all the wonders of my life were there
Lost in that nocturnal womb where I could not go
And when moonlight filtered through the limbs of trees
And decided to dance upon your face
I also learned that God could promise me nothing more
For my salvation was beside me and the gates of heaven
Opened with your eyes of morning
And my soul would come home again for another day
How over powering are the sun beams making up the illumines configuration of the blinds
that try so hard to withstand them. I experience the presence of their warm inviting bliss
every moment the mountains release their vibrant prisoner. But why is it that we so try to
push back the sun with draw string and axel? Are we guilty with dark in fear that the sun
would over shout our sins and judge us till our faces burn with rosy red its anger of our
nakedness?
How God he tries every morning, every benevolent wake of morning to illuminate us with
the warmth of his impeccable light. And oh how sad how dreary we pull back the blinds
grossly jubilant with the dark that stretches like blankets to fit our broken homes. Oh
must He be judged the way we fear that He would judge us? How deviated, misguided are we.
So let me ask, what were to happen if we were to burst open the blinds - rip them tear
them tangle them into a mangled mess?
What if we opened the rusted pane, kept bold for the presence of God?
How warm would our homes be, how inviting would our lives be for God, how anxious we would
be for morning's wake.
So how, I find my self asking, can I begin to rip away the shield that kept me hidden for
so long?
How can one remove the nails that kept into the wall?
How can one trust to be caught if they're too scared to fall? Its no secret, no puzzled test.
Put your doubt to rest. No need for flesh hands to worry about the pain. God will help you
rip the blinds from the window pane. That's his promise in the blood that the nails
themselves pierced to wood. And where are those nails now? Lost within the sands of this
earth, along with the blinds and the darkness and the sin we stained our hearts in.
Love is all in. So lets do the same for God.
Form:
Four dimensions, yet three in one,
Location, space and time,
X Y location, space around, and in time,
We don’t consider an X as without a Y really.
So quantum mechanics stand to floor,
The claim of the atom’s indivisibility,
Because there’s always the atom’s nucleus to consider,
For qualifying it to be the smallest thing we know on earth.
What’s time’s beginning is made of?
Can be minuscule,
That subtle ignition of structure,
Which formed life’s foundations,
Set joy and inclination,
That lit truth’s mandate to do the right.
I was in hell when I was young,
But time was a friend,
Let me speak even when I couldn’t form;
Credibility is on time’s side by time’s identity,
As time’s the only form that can claim credibility,
Without having acted or done, functioned,
Only having been, only having presumed
Because credibility is the essence of that configuration:
That’s why you need to be a friend of time,
Because time’s credible without you,
And time will give you life,
Time will not demand respect.
I have not changed my view of time,
With ages, triumphs and tragedies,
But time has changed its face to me:
More friendly, more gracious,
More amorous.
But I needed people on my side more,
More trust surrounding my disability,
Sociology was not once nice to me,
When time was on my doorstep.
However, I could say it was my fault,
More determination would’ve sufficed,
More belief in two of us, not individuality,
And more trust in asking emotionally,
About anything, the physical.
Time is truly physical, when it’s analysed,
Because physicists inquire into it resolutely,
And so I will always have that friend,
Which I made as a child of recondite contortion.
A completely non religious write, I think!
The universe is nothing yet everything, inward then outwardly led
has tried every configuration possible, peanuts to stellar nursery beds
Mixing this and that together, now it's growing inside our heads
Bringing conscious thoughts to light, through our blood it spreads
Perhaps a self centred entity, trying to comprehend from where it came
Using every calculation ever made, from Confucius to murderous Cain
Loves human ingenuity, though indiscriminate to the healthy and lame
Lets everything run its course, including nazism and crack cocaine
So what's the ultimate purpose, I mean time's always on its side,
Expand forever, test every combination that human life provides
Hanging around going nowhere, indifferent to watching us die
Refusing to interact for a second, as we contagiously laugh and cry
Well it's not good enough I'm afraid, to experiment at any price
Allowing us to breed like rabbits, or are we your laboratory mice
Chaos here, randomness there, fancy our chances, roll the dice
Some gorge on filet mignon, others cannot afford a bowl of rice
So the million dollar question I'm asking, everyone wants to know
Are you listening universe, or is some god actually running the show
Putting 2 and 2 together, is not beyond where my mind can go
Answer's simple, but you constantly move the goalposts as I grow
(Universe replies)
Oh ye of little faith, (jesting) intelligent beings are in times of trial
You've been looking for meaning, before my pharaohs ruled the Nile
The truth is, there's none today, but that will all change in a little while
Hang on in there, we're almost home, it's going to end in some style
By
David Kavanagh
They always made me happy,
The camels of the wise men,
The slowness of their footsteps,
Their self-sufficient ben.
Camels meant there was time,
For the three wise men to think,
To ponder upon their task,
To review their role as a link.
They were required to assess,
The child to be called god’s son,
To see if he could be a doctor,
To the poor, and to be the action.
Mary and Joseph were important,
To their question of universal worth,
So they prepared themselves well,
With questions surrounding his birth.
They understood that environment,
Is a factor in child development,
So endeavoured to contextualise,
The place of the baby’s commencement.
They predicted they’d be rejected,
By townsmen all along the way,
Spat at, maybe jousted with,
By loitering agitators arbitrarily.
Especially at the door of the inn,
There’d be jesters and jostlers alike,
People shouting “Don’t go there!
Avoid them, and get on another bike!”
And equally importantly, with respect,
They thought of their theology,
That their own actions may be vital,
To improving others’ sociology.
They considered their belief,
In an immanently coming messiah,
And renewed their vow to choose,
A protege who would take us higher.
So by the time they reached the inn,
They were very much prepared,
They could talk to each other freely,
About the saviour that’d been blared.
And the camels facilitated all this,
Preparation and consideration,
And gave the magi their pondering,
Upon seeing the configuration.
They enabled this baby to thrive,
Gave his family his manifestation,
And felt spent entirely at their visit,
Worn out by careful deliberation.
Last Of The First Elements
(H) Hydrogen is sweet and gentle by design
A nucleus with an electric and positive charge
Found everywhere in nature at large
It lives an ordinary life in time and space
On the periodic table, it simply waits
As #1 in line to start, begins the chart, for other elements
Very stable, not too many threats come from hydrogen
(Uuo) Ununoctium on the other hand, is one of the latest
Of the most recent discoveries as #118 on the table
The last element is #103 "Lawrencium
(we'll save that for another day.)
(It's on a lower chart)
These elements are as unstable as a fable
Precarious things, to say the least, on the chemistry table
Only existing for some milliseconds at a time
Since Ununoctium was created, not pure or found in nature
Perhaps it’s time to start
A new life for itself as #1 on a new elemental chart
Of invented elements
Born in a nuclear reactor from calcium ions and radioactive californium
A most unstable baby from birth
It lives to the ripe old age of 0.89 milliseconds
But what a wonderful life it leads
Don’t ask it on a date
Or say anything about its atomic weight
Too much drama there…. There it is!....There it isn’t…. Unpredictable
It looks a little like this when naked on the shell
1s2
2s2 2p6
3s2 3p6 3d10
4s2 4p6 4d10 4f14
5s2 5p6 5d10 5f14
6s2 6p6 6d10
7s2 7p6
It is simply divinely designed with a lovely configuration
Not exactly a split atom, or personality with a disposition
Being here or there
To be precise, it is something rather nice… when in existence
Created on 12/03/14 for -Periodic Table of Elements – Poetry Contest
I picked up some words,
From an over heaped pile,
Words which impressed me most.
Put them carefully onto a blank paper,
Like a practiced player placing,
Rooks and pawns on a chequered grid.
Seeing page after page getting filled
With a deluge of words, I felt thrilled,
Viewed it casually from a distance,
Like an artist looking at a painting.
I saw words become colors,
My prodigality with words impressed me.
I gloated over my ability as a writer.
Lo! A work of literature in crude form,
Stood ready, willing to be chipped and shaped.
All left was to give it a form,
A stroke here and there,
Some finishing touches!
“It’s all so damn easy,
I shall keep the thing aside,
Ample time lies ahead.
I can now relax, take a break”.
I said to myself, complacent.,
Days slipped by and months rolled away.
One day I took out the scroll,
Wiping the dust and cobwebs away.
Read through it slowly,
My former illusion just faded away.
Its stale familiarity repelled me.
Words stuck out here and there,
Making no coherent sense.
All I found was a jumbled, jotted mass.
To me, ere they looked like lovely dames,
Colorfully dressed up for a mega show.
My eyes were dazzled by their costume,
But now when I wait for them to fall in line,
Gyrating in rhythmic steps
They stand still as a disorderly mass,
Refusing to budge an inch,
Unwilling to sway to a rhyme.
Lost in a barren desert of words,
With each grain of thought
Looking so similar, lacking uniqueness,
I set aside my empty new canvas,
Which I had kept ready for re-entering.
Until the artist in me comes up
With a new configuration of colors
Let it rest in the drawer of my shelf.
consciousness untouched for quite some time
direct caress along the eardrum
rattle rumble howl
somewhere deep in the purple shade
twisting unformed down beneath the scanning lights
searching pinning
sensors gleaming, undulating
it creeps beyond, seeking
winding further, serpent of sound
carrying a basket of frozen grapes and discarded photographs
faded, bent corners
coming apart at the edges
electric cry reverberating
pierces the heart of silence
falling into discord before
everything resolves into
march of ten thousand declinations
inclined to debate
decline to state
what found the star beneath the broken gate?
sometimes the darkness rises above
twisting into a spiral configuration with the dawn
sickness grieves over the corner of conscious corruption
with a silver spear in its eye
bleeding tears of indignation
into the soil
from which sprout dandelions dripping pus
starlight crystallizes against the eye
against ever knowing, you shield your face
raising your arm to block out the light
but it falls against your wall nonetheless
battering, grasping, finally sliding away
you hear the last pitiful plop
as truth denied falls to the ground
and you wonder
whether you want McDonalds or pizza for dinner.
Sometimes, watching the moon rise
a sensation shivers through and threatens to overwhelm
a needful expectation borne of unknown roots
laughing moon dogs dance for their dinner
shivering the black air with their satiation
sympathetic hunger pulses somewhere in the center
and the listener cannot help but think of
venison, blood, and moonlight.