Long Convection Poems
Long Convection Poems. Below are the most popular long Convection by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Convection poems by poem length and keyword.
The first time I met Mei Is Woe, I felt so badly, I begged our co-workers to give up a sick day in the sick day fund, not realizing they had done that so many times, it would not be an easy collection.
Our selfish co-workers flatly and adamantly refused to contribute to Mei Is Woe’s flower fund, even after I told them about her bursitis, lupus, and long time suffering boyfriend’s non re-election.
I wasn’t going to share this, I admitted, pulling out the big guns, because poor Mei asked me not to, but she’s out sick today, to straighten out her unfortunate drug-addicted relatives, who are anything but perfection.
Yes, completely honest Mei is Woe had nothing but trouble, and no matter how hard I begged, or how much she suffered, our co-workers seemed non-caring, and totally un-eager to help with my well-intended collections
Finally, In-the Know, another fairly new co-worker heard the “truth” as we like to say and said, Bill, you might as well give up, no one is going to contribute, and I tell you this with total love and affection.
I already knew it though, because I had spent the morning going room to room, and spoken to everybody, about my grave concerns for sweet, darling, forth-coming Mei’s well-being, and what we could do with good intentions.
Mei is Woe texted me at midnight last night that her long-suffering mother who had recently had a heart attack, was precariously close to death, and she needed cold hard cash, for her oven which was on the blink, convection.
Several insensitive colleagues howled with laughter upon hearing this news, sharing that Mei Is Woe’s mother had passed in ’84, ’91, and ’08 before they started writing down for what went the money collection.
Mei is Woe was eliminated from my phones after she abandoned me for a psychiatrist, who would not write a doctor’s excuse, but whisked her away from the world, possibly understanding Mei is Woe’s chronic affliction.
mother star beams as she beholds her errant brood
six diverse, rocky planets
the innermost, a dense, two-faced, frosty furnace
the outermost, pulverised
much interfered with by a jovial neighbour
a dust, angry red one
ragged, rift-valley scar, an enormous pimple
the atmosphere diminished
the bright but secretive one, clouds of deception
concealed runaway heating
........
the other two, calamitous and extraordinary
individual but fatally curious
they spiral close together
so wild and wayward, eager and elliptical
a deadly orbiting kiss
the smaller sibling is stunned, shattered and shaken
mass and momentum reduced
memory wiped, coalesced, captured and condemned
demoted, demented moon
gravity bound, bombarded, heavily cratered
transfixed, compelled to witness
........
magical mayhem convulsing the tidal companion
condensing from surface to core, dynamic orb
almost melting, transforming
a rhythmic magnetic field protecting, shielding
convection and subduction
radioactive warmth, magma, mantel and crust
moving land, oceans and ice
coriolis-driven storms and chemical soup
then strange organic matter
evolution, what's this? pin-prick lights, tickling feet
the moon has a grinning smile
........
from a mini-module, some wide-eyed children have come to play
canny creatures, evolved, programmed, launched to survive
trial and error beings
hopeful genes to be nurtured, cuddled, teased and taught
transcendent and emergent
complex beyond their parts, the planet's pinnacle
challenging older orders
the chains of certainty, imbecilic greatness
time-surfing on nature's wave
promoting intelligence, compassion and love
bathed in envious moonlight
........
for mother star knows that her wide-eyed children may leave one day
Suffocation experienced analogous
to absent echocardiogram
or electroencephalogram blip
(Derek Chauvin - he of
George Floyd infamy) iron maiden grip
linkedin with psyche subjected
to laceration courtesy cruel horse whip
mine inexcusable
(albeit clueless faux pas)
family members living social in Bend, Oregon
and Oakland, California did yip
private information across cyberspace did zip.
Apology (ex post facto)
extended regarding about
mine guilt ridden conscience
programming mental state
think sufferable infinite
jesting Möbius strip
casting dark shadow of doubt
looping along outer limits
of twilight zone
futilely shucking off
emotional tailspin (kamikaze) fallout
impossible mission
unable to muzzle or thwart lout
who poetically blurts out
simian old routine programmed
erroneously heavily incorrectly
peppers entire Hollerith
or IBM punched cards
yielding botched defenseless redoubt,
when Yankee doodles dandy
teapot short and stout
convection currents trigger
whistle Dixie when liquid piping hot
a microcosm concerning plate tectonics
across webbed wide world
yielding necessary oomph
to migrating trout.
Absent awareness
flourished amidst ignorance
sixty plus shades of gray matter
hotly doth smolder and burn
unbeknownst rancor did furiously churn
when yours truly divulged
he made aborted attempt
to couch his genuine
paternal care and concern
lack of discrimination
and judgment I did not
(honest to dog) recognize nor discern.
Understandable blameworthy
grievance against me,
not granted app parent permission
thus culpability I obediently yield
words that sparked hurt
now utilized to wield
heft to communicate authentic love
(cryptically coded)
and hermetically sealed
hopefully in due time
mine discretion well healed.
The perplexity of my complexion
Is a God given blessin’
But many have been stressin’
Life’s annoying lessons
That’s in need of correction
But in no need of perfection
Due to the detection
Of affection
In my isolated section,
The convection
Of my teachings
Is telling others that cheating
Requires excessive beatings
And no need for greetings
But communications and meetings
For a love that’s leaking
Not knowing others are peaking
At a heart that’s bleeding,
Weight gain from eating
Heartache from seeking
Guidance from three kings
But joy is what He brings
Know that He brings Holy things,
Many interpretations
Of our situations
That you and I are both facing
Results in two hearts racing
No longer pacing
To live in this nation
Living for education
But difficult due to complication
Like a lack of concentration
Which causes frustration
Resulting in lyrical conversations
Ranging from my altercations to my temper’s escalation
Not in a slower but in a faster nation
But know that the Lord is my shepherd
And I’m in His pasture nation.
In fluctuation results in congregations
Which goes through separation
As a result segregation
Puerto Ricans and Haitians
All apart conversations
About which of the two will enter the 50 state nation.
All sparks from hateration
And also playerhation
But nobody knows
For whom we all should be waiting
Because we’ll feel that sensation
Of the heavenly initiations
With heavenly operations
Living with heavenly occupations
Heavenly organization
Made by His Heavenly creations
While the devil is getting impatient
And pissed off like urination
This poem has no formation
But I’m still lyrically lacing
Because this is the making
Of something So Poetic!!!!!
Form:
The day’s hot-the wind like a convection oven
Blows hot air in our faces.
My cap and gown insulates me
Baking me like a potato wrapped in aluminum foil
I desperately fan myself and look around
My eyes search for my peers and see;
The bros that survived school with me;
The others who shouldn't have;
The girls with memories already wet in their eyes;
The people I never met and will never know;
All desperately fanning themselves
In silence and in waiting.
We all are waiting for the same thing-
What's next to come.
For some it will be their names
For another a trip to boot camp
For many including myself- college
A couple can't wait to forget the tortures of high school
And a few will already be planning our high school reunion
because it was the best years of their life.
As I bow my head, not out of sadness,
but out of sheer defeat by the sun,
I scuff up my dress shoes in the clumpy grass of the field-
that just finished another infamous drawn out lacrosse season,
I'll be thinking about the 4 plus years, 8 seasons,
worth of drilling and conditioning I did in that very field and on the surrounding track,
With a flash of ivory across my sweating face
I'll be thinking about
All the nooks and crannies
that I sanctioned for the intimate meetings of my girlfriends
The times caught and not,
All the heartbreaks and rejections,
The friends made, the best friends kept, and the many lost.
The drama, stupidity, and immaturity,
Everything that was and used to be.
And, all this time spent waiting-preparing
for this one moment
You can't help but remember it all
And with one, final sweet goodby-
"NICHOLAS BELLO!"
We ask God’s blessings for food we eat;
those who toil to grow it deserve our prayers too.
In 1985, Farm Aid musicians took their beat,
rocking in donations for those who grew
in debt, not just crops, as mortgages came due.
Mellencamp cried out, “97 families lost 97 farms!”
Just the local tally of the Reagan years' unprecedented foreclosures
that threatened the nation’s bread baskets, sending out alarms.
Farmers’ financial disclosures
were bloodied by high-risk exposures.
We ate the fruit, but cursed the price.
Bounty still filled the market’s produce section,
even as running a farm became a roll of the dice.
A Kansas tornado would have had less convection
than growers who were denied debt protection.
Bailout money was tossed to the auto maker,
where corporate jet vacations sparked ire.
But farmer suicides climbed, blood on each acre.
A national famine might have transpired
if to save farmers, rock musicians had not conspired.
Inspired by John Mellencamp’s Farm Aid song “Rain on the Scarecrow.” An Indiana farm boy, Mellencamp recruited Neil Young and Willie Nelson to organize the first Farm Aid concert in 1985, raising awareness about the loss of family farms. The Farm Aid concerts have remained an annual event over the past 29 years, and as of 2014, the organization has raised over $45 million to help farmers. I chose this song because it demonstrates the social consciousness of rock musicians.
Song is at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=joNzRzZhR2Y
*Poem written November 8, 2014 for Kelly's "I Love Rock and Roll Contest.
It has just begun.
The maps have unraveled in topographic templates, unmarked by geographic spaces.
They’ve been replaced by frequencies emerging from what we once knew as separate places.
For a place is but a point in space, dancing in a coordinated sense of distance:
Between spots upon an image rendered by an observer’s vision.
Now a thought is but a place betwixt the plane of earthly space; of which the spy has had an eye, on the needles threading their lace.
Thoughts are simple physical pulses, exuding pressure upon the no-longer void, of what was once an empty space, now filled with vibrant places.
A net of interconnected pulses precludes the human nature, now stripped of comfort of untouched convection adorned by Internet.
Yes, our thoughts were once unvisited places in the void of space, but now, yet another genocidal Columbus has mapped them and claimed them so.
Watch the eye that seeks treason of such a claim,
For it seeks not to see but to ready arrows with aim.
To interlace the traces of neurons, electrifying the once-ionized air,
Now not by lightning but by heavy metals hovering above your hair.
For the brain and computer are being interlaced with maps made those who make,
An interface of gestalt hives thriving against each other’s shrinking sake.
The next time you seen an ad on Facebook for something you just thought,
Remember that thoughts are now mapped by men with computers’ unknown plot.
Wink. Wink.
Remember to think.
Beverley is a professional at the Paralympics,
Because she’s been to five of them including Rio,
And in London she made the podium’s antics,
Since she won discus third with a lush glow.
Born the 17th of October 1974 with Cerebral Palsy,
She made the 2000 Sydney Summer Paralympics,
‘Cos back then she was a sprinter of great agility,
Coming 4th in the 100m and 8th in the 200m bricks.
She ran in the T38 class of running and sprinting,
But after these games she also competed in track,
The F37/38 shot put took her, it was challenging,
At the 2005 Worlds she won shot, 100m, 200m tack.
In 2006 at the CP Worlds in Conneticut USA, again
Three golds for the shot put, 100m and 200 metres,
And at the IPC Worlds, Assen, also in 2006’s pen,
Beverly set a shot put WR of a huge 10.57 metres.
At the Commonwealth Games in 2006 in hilly Wales,
She won the only event that she entered, sprinting,
When she took bronze for the 100 metres, T37 pales,
To see her climb the podium, Wales remembering.
Then she dropped running and just focused on track,
To build up her shoulder muscles for a fluent arm action,
So in 2011 at the IPC Worlds in Christchurch, jack,
She threw a discus 30.62 metres for silver convection.
In London she came third with a score of 30.99 metres,
To win a bronze, and in Rio de Janeiro she placed fifth,
“You have to switch…off [the crowd with all your litres],
[and] think [of] what you’ve been doing in training, [sith].”
Once in time ,a cargo plane was flying
above in the azure blue.
You see the plane was carrying seeds for planting,
or every size ,sort and hue.
When at once,the winds grew rough,
and the sky turned an angry gray.
The little plane was tossed and turned,
like a top at sea this day.
When out of the plane did fall,
not a box or barrel or crate,
but one single pea.
it fell to earth way down below,
faster and faster it sped,
acquiring tremendous velocity.
The pea struck the center of the pond,
with a loud kerplunk.,
sending ripples in every direction.
Small at first ,
then growing in size,
the result of a liquid convection.
Eddies from the plunge ,
disturbed a cattail,
growing at the shore.
The plant whipped back and forth ,
striking a bumblebee.
In a buzzing moment of panic,
it made a beeline for the hive,
and uncertain safety.
The bee in its fright ,
did strike a deer ,in the rear
just there for a drink,
.Of all the indignity,
the deer expressed with a snort,
as it jumped with fire from behind,
its brain didn't think.
The deer ran as if chased ,
by a tormentor,
of which it wished to be free.
It was right then and there,
the road it did cross,
in such a rush ,the car it failed to see.
Screech of the tire ,
swerve of the car,
terrified voice within,
stopped mere inches from hitting a tree.
The smallest thing said in hurt,can cause
great harm.
To the delight of the sky,
in its little place to abide.
Along side the great expanse,
is a great divide.
As a face to peer expression,
not less.
In a cheerily sheer convection
of infectious activity, not bereft of the virulence
that will be under test, testimony adherence.
The moon beaming, proud, portaled in.
stagelight_esteeming
The starchild moonlighting-shrouds
upon its step, trolling the cleft mounds
it doth curtails
treasured shipwrecked fools
mirrored beacon, fashioned to our imagination.
False Profit us puppeted by
it's zephyr demon prophetess' improvisation.
We the lost, butt found trailblazing Hallowed.
grounds.
Of the fountains of the deep held aloft
by the wind in the sea of tranquility.
With one eye open, looking around for trouble,
but sometimes for deeper meaning.
As far as the eye of the storm can see.
What the eyes can't see.
That which only the spiritus cumulus optimus.
primus minus the us in pre-ordination means?