Long Contraptions Poems
Long Contraptions Poems. Below are the most popular long Contraptions by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Contraptions poems by poem length and keyword.
The cold wind of the Antarctic
Cut any warmth from the sun
We have come to measure the world warming
That has been melting the ice away
A satellite had mapped the whole of the continent
And had found something strange in the Trans-Antarctic Mountains
So an expedition was put together from the Mawson Station
I volunteered to be part of the expedition crew
We had flown to the mountains by a Hercules transport plane
And loaded our snow tractors high with provisions
So we set off in our two snow tractors
As the morning sky was lit by a low lying sun
As we neared the Trans-antarctic Mountain
We could see the snow was melting away from everything
Curiously there were stone structures revealing themselves
These were odd shaped buildings not modern in nature
So we drew lots to see who would go
To explore the stone structures we found
And I drew one of the winners
So I prepared wondering what was in store
We drove to one of the stone buildings
And approached what looked like an entrance
We walked through into what looked like a laboratory perfectly preserved
There were alien looking contraptions everywhere
We decided not to touch anything until we could have it studied
I noted that there appeared to be some things missing
We videotaped all we could see in the room
And left it all as we as had found it
On the way out I noticed some footprints in the snow
These footprints led to snow tractor tracks
We quickly radioed base and a drone to seek out the other snow tractor was sent up
We quickly returned to our base
The drone found the snow tractor after following the tracks
As the camera focused in on the the cabin
We saw that the crew was Chinese and they were armed
And they were heading for an Xi'an Y-20 aeroplane parked in the snow
They stopped at the plane and they stepped out
Then taking a heavy box out of the tractor
The box was quickly loaded on the plane and the tractor as well
In no time the plane took off and flew away
We reported this incident to Canberra
It was about six months after what was the Antarctic Incident
When reports started to come out of Wuhan in China
Of a new disease that started to spread and kill
I wondered what they had found in the Trans-antarctic Mountain Range.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Exercising belief about unknowns.
Makes sense to take your best guess.
Using history, numbers, extrapolation.
Getting the trajectory right for re-entry.
Few dissenters left for climate change, evolution.
Nuclear power brings a process to earth
that occurs only in space. Dangerous
but necessary? Not a risk-averse weasel.
One among many mammals is the weasel,
not known for its consideration of unknowns
but, for its extreme caloric needs, considered dangerous.
My wife says in England violent gusts
forced a locomotive off its tracks. One interpretation
might reasonably be that the mother, earth,
has stopped mothering man. We're entering
a period of unknowns and must evolve.
What might this involve
and what adjustments are possibly feasible?
Walking rather than riding to the subway entrance,
using less electricity until more is known,
preserving agricultural soils and forest land,
buying fewer plastic contraptions.
My brother's washing his pajamas less often.
None of this may make the slightest difference
in how the earth and the sun and universe revolve.
But we are human and addicted to action,
the probable less attractive than the possible.
Also, there's no percentage in respecting death
unless it's imminent. Better to remain centered,
focused on food, child-bearing, war and the poem.
All driveways plowed, all lawns mowed.
Just in time before the first snow, I raked our leaves.
Two eight hour days. What percent of all time is that?
Draw a ray with point A the first pile of leaves
extending to the extrapolating end of universe.
.01 of Aaron. Zero of Zach.
Hawks playing, hunting, mating, canaries in the mine.
Having been too many places to count.
Sex bars, infant formulas, fire crews, last rites, permanent jobs, traffic
tickets, judges' chambers, out houses, wedding banquets, boiling
teapots, frantic centuries, facial tissues, presumed innocent, clear
intentions, stainless steel.
Spiderweb glove. Deerfly earring. Daddylonglegs seeingeyedog.
Memorized songs. Privatized loans.
You cannot know what you're doing until you've done it.
Erudite sweep the floor. Articulate make the bed.
Infrared town hall. Crab nebula. Your last crap.
Eye of the tropical January sun. Slouching toward temperate zone.
notification of fire evacuation
slated to occur
April 12th, 2018 (between the hours
of 9:00 am and 12 pm) did spur
me to validate Google asper,
that direct object heave ving,
pro noun sub bull, verb bose,
ingenious American historical figure
attired in tailored clothes
careful sans his just keen
liberal mien pro
claiming necessity to doze
when body politik
didst need restorative source
analogous to drained battery expose
zing lack of electricity
mechanisms need did tubby supplied
(in one direction) flows
accorded stealing thunder and lightening
from Zeus where prominence glows
vis a vis via leaving
his tell tale fingerprints
upon flame inextinguishable hose
imprimatur of renown Founding Father,
a one man gifted born
improved quality of life
during Colonial American stage
buttressing forlorn
during his deux score and four years
fledgling United States heed add horn
bequeathing blueprints
(functional contraptions,
posthumous patents procured
after populace did mourn
gadgets kickstarting leveraging more novel
Ongepatshket prescience,
quietly revolutionary,
strikingly timesaving),
utilitarian value shorn
tattered stitched timeless totemic tenets torn
unimagined visionary watershed worn,
where underworld webbed wide world burned
with thermal coupling that churned
ferocious infernos
describing how Hades learned
tubby managed
to maximize efficiency
zealousness zeroed Zyder Zee
in said Netherlands
and hellish hot house turned
into a near utopia (More
or less nsync) with Doubting Thomas's,
where many mortals yearned
to escape corrupt fat cats, sans
those condemned to mortality
found minimally a mew
zing, and doggedly trudged 10,000 leagues
under the sea, entombing
jewels for vernacular speaking Josephine shew
wing scars from fire
that threatened Philadelphians thorough
lee hence, forcing many civilians
to dive vining Davy Jones's locker pre view
in 1736 after swallowing embalming fluid
ha I did "FAKE" you
tubal heave poetic pablum from human zoo!
One Night In A Haunted Manor-
Mohonk Mountain House is a rapturous place
where we love to visit and walk the long trails;
partake in its charming Victorian grace.
A mystical ambiance- there still prevails.
A manor-like hotel for overnight guests,
we managed to sleep there a Saturday night.
The hallways were long, and at once did suggest
past visions we'd seen which left us with much fright.
Contraptions, wall-mounted, held hoses wound up
with nozzles at end placed to put out a fire.
So much like a movie, we'd seen where setup
did look much the same and so dreadfully dire.
That night, we awoke with some noises we heard
that sounded as though they were right in our room.
A voice giggling loudly- now this was absurd,
as women-like shadows quick-heightened our gloom.
We managed to sleep, but woke up- from a dream?
Fire hoses were chasing us down the long hall!
The nozzles were faces with teeth...made us scream!
They smothered and bit us in that horrid brawl.
Next morning we saw, on the desk, a brochure,
a story which made our hair stand up on end,
that Stephen King frequented Mohonk- proved sure,
ghosts helped shape 'The Shining'- that horror he penned!
January 13, 2019
~7th Place~
Premiere Contest, "One Night In A Haunted Manor",
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Judged: 01/23/2019
Form: Anipestic Tetrameter -/--/--/--/
Note:
In addition to presidents and the like, one of the Mohonk’s claims to fame is that it has been a regular haunt of none other than famed horror novelist, Stephen King. Because of this, the Mohonk is thought to be one of the possible inspirations for King’s classic work, "The Shining", a story that just happens to be about a haunted hotel. While the haunted Stanley Hotel in Colorado is usually credited as “The Shining Hotel” — and has done everything it possibly can to capitalize on this legend — fans have conflicting opinions. And while the Stanley Hotel may or may not have been the start of the “official” story, it’s hard to imagine that so many frequent trips to the Mohonk wouldn’t have made some sort of lasting impression on King’s mind as he wrote his famous novel.
Reference: https://frightfind.com/mohonk-mountain-house/
(the story is down a bit on left)
Teacher tried to teach his class that Christmas isn’t boring
Half the kids weren’t listening and one or two were snoring
He picked out little Lucy, she seemed the one most liable
He made her prove she’d listened to his lesson from the bible
Her little eyes were glistening, she’d only been half listening
But she had not been sleeping... and so she started speaking...
Two thousand years or so ago, to my recollection
Some bird called Mary suffered an inaccurate perception
She dreamt that God had had his way and now she eats for two
Her fella whined, no kid of mine is there inside of you
He said we can’t stay around here, we’ll have to travel far
We’ll bugger off to Beth Le hem ’cause she’s a little star
Well if they had a car, I guess it had no gas
For Joseph walked but Mary simply sat there on her a.s.s.
Anyway, they got there and the man who heaps the ink
Said this hotel has got no rooms, so Joe kicked up a stink
The ink heaper said settle down , I’ll do the best I’m able
I think you’ll find the manager, back there in the stable
Mary had contraptions, so her child came out a boy
She put him on the manager, which gave him peace and joy
Someone shouted ‘Who’s the daddy?’ (Quite an indiscretion)
Joseph frowned and looked around, Well, isn’t that the question?
Mary called in Jesus... three white men came instead
One had come with Frankenstein and two were off their head
’cause no-one knows what myrrh is and kids can’t play with gold
I guess I’d better fill you in before you get too old
You see the king of Harrods was killing little boys
I think his parents should perhaps have bought him far more toys
But Harrods is alive and well, that’s fishy and suspicious
’Cause when you live two thousand years, that’s the mackerel of Christmas
And when Jesus was older, folk had no food to chew
He fed them with some bread and fish, and that’s a mackerel too
So Lucy said to teacher, in a voice quite firm and scary
And that, Sir, is the story of the season to be Mary
I waited too long
to mow my lawn
biopsy my lung
yet lived long enough, anon,
however long is long.
Whatever. It's not wrong
to count along
while busy living. Sing
and stay strong
absorb the sun's photons
and store them in your bones.
Those bones
outlast slights and spurns
are white as lightning and strong
as sticks and stones.
Inside is one's
spirit, soul, the nameless one
the one that's never known.
It has no cell phone
can't communicate or even moan.
Therefore. Why complain?
Have some fun.
Soon
I'll be undone
underground
my garden burned down.
So what. John Donne
died and so did Milton.
Emerson too, and Whitman.
Get over it. Vote. Love. When
the train comes in the station
whistle with it, wish on
stars with passion
or careful hesitation.
Anything's fine, within reason.
Season by season
things get done.
Algebra and calculus, Malcolm X, George Washington.
No taxation
without representation.
A gun
in every den.
People will be governed
one way or another, by a king
or trusted friend. Corporation.
Men
are more disposed to suffer, while Evils are sufferable, than
to right themselves by abolishing the Evils to which they are resigned.
I'm too young
to die! I cry. My generation
cannot outrun the sun
but I want to see what happens
next, a tsunami or tornado, rain
and wind beyond our comprehension
hit in the head by speeding debris, irony
of ironies! plastic contraptions,
rotting computers and yogurt cups, pain
in the baby! Moment's
notice. None,
I notice, live long
enough to see the end. Amen. A million
years hence
human sense
has so modified and mutated under
other moons
we share one mind
and everything's remembered by everyone.
Look it up. There is no death, just perfect rest. A perfect tan
is possible, and work is fun.
I'm going there when I pass on
because souls will travel at warp speeds, using nuclear fission.
About suffering, religion
was right (and wrong) all along.
My Response To Rumi
A composite man was this Rumi Mystic who penned ‘Spiritual Couplets’ thousands
of magical lines of Persian poetry deep he lives on in simple (?) bites of
three lines condensed confluent cracking proverbial nutshells soft in their core
He’s buried in the Konya of Anatolian wisdom a place I am seeking to visit
on my insider travels and have been compelled from into imagination and spirit of
mind where the tree of life throws seeds on the shadows of tumbling body and soul
~~ Rumi lives on once we destroy what destroys us tear down the partitions ~~
‘Healing by allowing to fall ill’ ‘searching for defenses within’ barriers fortresses
imposing enclosures self built contraptions that prevent love kindness compassion
Dysfunction and illness derive from inside thus we can either attempt to strive
against mere symptoms and torturous outcrops bandage the hurt on the
surface or take a good look at the messages crises fall together for a while reflect
with serene mirrors of honesty reject the temptation futile attempts of aligning
broken shards into yet another fragmentation sinking once more into darkness
Rummaging rumination and running head on into the same walls again and again
never achieved to manage my mangled madness into meaning and peace
but acceptance and searching inside with the purpose of healing following three
~~ simple lines brought Rumi to life and myself back into light and true love~~
27th November 2016
"If you desire healing,
let yourself fall ill
let yourself fall ill."
- Jalaluddin Rumi
When you sort decades of electric cables from that box hidden away
It reminds of disentangling neurons haphazardly fired at random
It’s a beautiful day and you’re in it among sea saw and hammer
Hundreds of screws in the tool box and all you want is a single unbent nail
Somewhere hidden under plucky wall plugs and skewed rusty hinges
If life gives you lemons a power drill defeats convention
Nuts bananas and bolts mislaid in the fridge with washers and powder
Reveal the essence of an organized mind squished in the blender
Bedlam chaos fragmentation or glorious harmony
Synapses jumping like fleas on the mindful grey patched neuronal carpet
Heavily worn by August the Clown because a well led life is a circus
Knowledge pushed into action potentially in a meaningful way
Buttons in the haberdashery basket cased in creativity’s mad insanity
Knotted threads from life-long preservation of patchwork and passion
Enmeshed a few screws yet again and a bubble gum wrapper
And that hammer once more testing reflexes deflected patella and callus
A pendulum for more esoteric days and a Tarot card next to the cross
Saved for a rainy day of prayer and the coronation of dreams
After decade long quest a screw is still a screw whether loosened or nailed
The sander of unfinished living grinds on to an egg timer’s analogue fashion
And who an earth would prefer finding a rivet to crafting a poem
One possible morale of the story is that hardware plies softly myriads of magic
That in the wider scheme of things there are enough contraptions in the case
And once they start giggling and straying Pandora is happy
17th April 2019
Trial and Terror
Tim had tried most everything else
waiting hoping procrastinating
meditation introspection ‘extro-neglection’
defence contraptions of all sorts and the
whole self-help spirit enclave palaver and yet
he still felt like a cadaver a rotting ‘thing’ of the past
The Universe seemed far away above
a flat earth and an ancient canopy
beyond clouds of neglected wisdom
He tried a catapult built a durable frame
attached a spring cantilever for his heavy
payload and ‘bingo’ off he went flying
‘This is it how foolish I have been not to
see the stars for the comets and thunder’
The sky was the limitless limit fast on the rise
Soon he approached heaven and reveled
in a wondrous tarpaulin embracing for shelter
well that’s what he thought as misery continued
It turned out to be a trampoline suspended
upside down or downside up a matter of mat
bouncing him back to where he had come from
‘They’ had not spoken of a yo-yo in the manual
another promise unfulfilled but at least he was
moving bouncing back and forth ‘til he crashed
Maybe he concluded ‘I’m in the right place
in my time and confusion after all for now’
It was time to reshuffle the motionless cards
Tarot told him that the Hermit needs to be there
for a purpose and the Hanged Man is only a metaphor
for outliving what was and a sign for quieting change
He dug a (w)hole in the frozen ground cemented
his feeble foundation and from that a buried base
put earth onto earth and constructed a causeway
A world was created where every individual believed that being represented
was essential as religions require symbols
to be interpreted by the ordained,
meaning of things provided for us like fertilizer on furrowed fields,
law & tax codes, medical knowledge, emotional expressions governed by consensus,
a democracy of dellusions,
dissent is dangerous and humility heroic,
where surrender preserves and patriotism perverts,
clowns kings and criminals having wings,
Medeval Christianity mastered markmanship of community authority seizing
the sugar of inventive intuition,
terrorizing the truth of personal experience,
thrones were tailored temptations, temples entrapments of greater mystery,
cathedrals collossal contraptions for centralizing consciousness, books burned,
jewels for fools & the fooled manackled to the alter of passivity,
masses being timid tools concentrating their energies on empire expansion,
exiled from ego,
crusades to crush criticism, a monopoly of memory
and torture the text of theocracy,
Cathars killed for lessons become occult,
unlawful cognizance of God within,
authority addicts abandoning their oaths to protect people,
subjects countrymen become,
being pledges & collateral for debts incurred for imperial improvidence,
babies of the masses transformed into bankers' bounty via certificates,
maturing securities on malignant markets of merchantile magic,
digital slave trade,
self governance gainsaid as being a primitive pathology,
a symptom of paranoia or maybe xenophobia,
personally voting on taxation, education and wars apostacy,
J.A.B.