Long Counts Poems
Long Counts Poems. Below are the most popular long Counts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Counts poems by poem length and keyword.
Humanoids …
Machine people, we have them at our disposal.
I envy these soul less creatures for they as Angels
do not feel any kind of pain.
Our robot, Ed Burkye is a French guy,
the machine person, although
I do not feel comfortable
with strange person in my home,
rolling in my direction ready to serve.
Now, I will have to endure them in the spaceship.
Ethical as always, hopefully unable to kill.
With them, we will build democracy,
where people are no longer subject
to the will of governments.
Every life counts, all galaxies struggle for life
to witness its beauty, smartness and force.
Nature must is existence.
Conscious machines, great abstracted –
in unconscious state they travel.
These machine people can travel
through millions of years to distant galaxies,
cloning themselves on the way,
some for pleasure, some for business.
They are naturalists, artists or sick with politics.
“No criteria for bacteria,”
and even in multitudes they must strive
to be better, to be greater without lust,
but with power and perfection beyond trust.
They are interrupted
by the communiqué from Celestial Command.
The voice is heard as from the loud speaker.
Gentlemen do not forget,
our purpose is to colonize
with the broader one to expand
the torch of life to other Galaxies.
Conquest of the universe for all humanity,
which of course we represent.
Here three of them: Boson, Raptus and Polonius
are about to board the rocket for liftoff to Mars.
Boson to Raptus and Polonius as they walk to the rocket:
Soon, inexplicable Mars, empty as barren Earthly Moon
and the space above us, cold and lonely,
obscure place will be our home for long.
They entered the rocket.
After the door had closed,-
they took their positions.
Boson started the rocket engine,
allowing liquid hydrogen to enter it.
Fuel was ignited and clouds of smoke
forcefully burst outside.
Inside of the rocket was shaking with huge vibrations,
cosmonauts were sitting as on a volcano.
The rocket with tremendous force had been lifted
and flew into space accelerating,
entering orbital spaceflight,
until it reached escape velocity
at about eleven kilometers per second.
There is no distinction between top and bottom
and weightlessness presented challenges
to their organisms:
cardio-vascular, inner ears’ pains,
weakness of psyche and severe illusions…
They had measured on close counts,
Before they began his dismount,
All flowers and scents were left behind,
It was only mud that came to mind,
He was a log of wood that had no use,
They were about to consign him as refuse,
They had measured on close counts,
And now had finished his dismount,
They all glumly looked at the innards of earth,
Dug apart so as to be his home and hearth,
They lowered him with care,
Some cried and other shed tears,
Such care they had never shown,
When he was alive full blown,
They left him but he could not,
In years that followed he thought,
And all thoughts were about and their's,
But he lay still there,
Not able to do much,
While lower insects ate him as such,
Twenty yards under the surface,
The earth weighed on him like a mace,
He had volumes to carry,
Every moment without delay or tarry,
In peace he had the quiet,
Under the forceful mud of his burial site,
He was largely unattended,
Only heard anniversary footsteps,
When his thought subject came tending,
There was lot of din,
As one day woke abruptly in,
He could hear the rattling and banging of hammer,
His peace was disturbed and began to stammer,
It was furious and fast,
He presumed it could not be just his nest,
But also his neighbors from first to last,
It was familiar yes very much so,
All the sound and racket on the go,
It was regular and incessant,
As if it was rain rampant,
Yes, clouds up there from above,
Were pouring over his grave,
They sounded angry and irate,
And were determined to drown all gates,
He felt secure under mud,
And there suddenly was a seeping thud,
It was really bad and water had come in tones,
His grave was all definitely drowned,
Now the water had bossed over the earth,
Pressing it hard for the inner most berth,
It was invading the twenty yards,
And approaching him fast,
And he thought will the dead also meet the flood,
The seeping thud was on the first drop,
That fell on his stomach,
He churned as eating insects scurried,
Soon train followed thud after thud,
And then it was a volley of scuds,
His cavity was being filled,
And bones getting viscid and humid,
A coolness spread through rotten carrion,
And went on to turn into a bath for the skeleton,
It bathed him till it was just soaking,
Was it he who had ascended to heaven,
Or the heavens came pouring down to meet him even.
Those who have found real love- Will find happiness
Those who disbelieve in greed no- Will find happiness
Those who know what honesty is oh-Will find happiness
You got people who will always help you. Protect you , so apreciate it.
Life always heaves its own orb.
With double strength reflects a single error.
Searching for happiness you better look at every step
When you think you got it , it falls from your hand.
We are born alone
We are die alone
Tangled on desire of web and
We forget that not everything that shines is gold no no no
Maybe adults from outside but still children from inside,
Trying to find ourselves in this world
Search for meaning of life has been going on for centuries.
So many questions, but not many answers.
Wake up the emotions im your s e -e -elf Do not be idle as the tundra.
So Hurry to love pe -e -e -ople
Every second counts.
Those who have found real love- Will find happiness
Those who disbelieve in greed- Will find happiness
Those who know what honesty is-Will find happiness
You got people who will always help you. Protect you , so apreciate it.
And I keep my distance
I press play, and I chill
Closing my eyes in my room and contemplating.
I appreciate that I feel
Colouring it with happyness!
At every moment sincerely thanking my friends.
Times change, you need to live by your own responsibility.
Trust me for this happiness is needed.
Do not look at the greedy, you still got more than them.
Own people , freedom of speech and braveness of heart
Without that, there would not be us.
If not for you and spent time searching for happiness.
Not ever the person will know if they haven't aknoledged suffering,
That , not a material object is the sense of existence.
For me, happiness is health, family, music , woman.
House that always waits for me
That's how it is, life has equal amounts of advantages and disadvantages
Tells you Manolo , and Bednarek !
Those who have found real love- Will find happiness
Those who disbelieve in greed- Will find happiness
Those who know what honesty is -Will find happiness
You got people who will always help you. Protect you , so apreciate it.
Apreciate it .. Apreciate it .
Apreciate it.. Apreciate it .
Apreciate it.. Apreciate it .
Apreciate it.. Apreciate it .
(Kamil Bednarek - Looking For Happiness -Non English)
Bob, the cat, lives in the room number 13 of the sixth avenue.
He likes fish, rollercoaster, ice cream cones and Sunday papers.
He's an artist. He's a painter. When people ask him about his latest work, he answers:
"I'm painting the meaning of life. I'm coloring it black, but my inner self keeps telling me it's green."
He has gothic way of seeing materials and articles.
He wishes everyone to speak in fragments of literary lyrics, and then he would spend all his days tangling these fragments making an abstract form out of a puzzle.
He goes for a walk before breakfast; walking on two legs, wearing a leather jacket, and whistling after big ass women are his forte.
He passes Mr. Pumpkin floral shop, turns into the eighth avenue, and enters his favorite café called "Your Favorite Café".
He sits on the second chair at the second table, and orders a coffee:
"Black, dark and bitter like a cat's soul", he says to the waiter.
He sits there all morning, sipping his black coffee, dreaming about how it would be if his past, present and future selves exist together, thinking in sync, and communicating through a common medium of artistic sense, saying words in the silence notes of Van Gogh.
He dances all the way home. If anyone cares to ask, he says:
"I'm drunk in Coffea Arabica, a perfect weed to make you tantalize with Arabian dreams and gives your nerves a breakdown."
Dancing along the pavements, he counts the roses in beats.
One, two, three, four… two, two, three, four… three, two, three, four, and so on.
The number of roses is directly proportional to the number of steps he's gonna salsa in the bathroom.
He sits on the toilet bowl, and deciphers the problems with human rights.
He stands on one leg on the bathroom floor, with arms spread like hugging the air, mouth wide opens.
He squeaks like a mouse and tries to hop like a rabbit.
He falls hard, crashing the cold bathroom tiles.
He bleeds red like the color red.
He says "Perfect".
He runs into the bedroom. There stands his actual latest work, the heart of a vampire, portraying himself with a deadly cat fangs and a wicked mustache.
He splashes his blood all over the painting, and shouts "eureka".
He starts to hum Yankee Doodle through his nose.
He falls asleep, and dreams about dinner.
"Scramble eggs with tomatoes".
Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
POETIC LYRICS BY THOMAS L H ANDRESS-ZEISS
Are-hearts-like....................RAINBOWS-'n-POTS-a-GOLD?
When..............SUMMER-FELL..................my-heart-DIED!
'Cuz-if-you..........................DIDN'T-KNOW......'He'-LIED!
And-when........SUMMER-FELL..........a-reward/WAS-SOLD!
And-what-SHE...........DIDN'T-KNOW...........YOU-WERE
THAT-SILVER/LINING...................at-the-end/of-the
LONGEST-STORM...........and-through..........ENDLESS-NIGHTS
My-heart...................DIED.........................'Cuz-'He'/LIED!
If.....................VALHALLA-ever-did/exist.........IT-WASN'T
FOR/ME!
HER-SHIP/sailed..............and-mine/didn't..........did-'He'
Care..................That-Somewhere-My-Heart....... BLED?
If-Beauty..................COUNTS...............Then.....DOESN'T
MY-HEART/BLEED..................Because-I'm/BEAUTIFUL
TOO!
If-raptures.............and-blue-currents........and-swirls
Of---------HOPELESS/DREAMS....................COUNT
DON'T-I/COUNT-TOO..................my-heart-was
Stripped........and-I/Bled....................Till-I/DIED!
And-when-I...............SOAKED-'n-DIED........and-a
Cotton-Swab...............DIED-'n-THE----DARKEST
WELL-OF-THE/HOTTEST...................TUB-of-ALL
TIME............................my-tears-did-they/fall
Till..............THE/DARKNESS-FELL.......and-the/color
Of-my/bath.............BLED................and-I/Died!
TILL.....................'YOU'-LET....................HIM
CALL!
And-'You'.................LET...........HIM........CALL!
And-that-Rainbow..........FELL............TO-A/POT
OF-PURE/GOLD!
And-I-was..............SOLD-AND-FIN-NALLY/SOLD
And-now................I-know/'You'...........DIDN'T
LIE!
GOLDEN-HAIRED................AND-BEAU-TI-FUL!
A-Match-Made-in.......................HEAVEN!
A-Designer-and-a...............GENTLEMAN!
He-Advocates.........and-Swears......TO/ME
AND-JUST/ME!
He-Sings-The/Sweetest-Songs.......and-he
DANCES-TO/ALL-NINES!
He-Rhymes-'n-Sings..............A-CLOWN-OF
ALL-TIME.....................He's-cute-'n-a
CLOWN!
Is-he....................SUPER...........or-just
A-MAN?
Does-he.................Love............or-has
He-just...............................WATCHED?
LOVE-'n-ME...........................IS-SUPER!
[Continued on Next Entry to PoetrySoupCom]
Clocks in the house were all but removed
I chose utter quietude over malicious ticks and tocks.
Adhering to schedules was reliant on the angles of the sun,
and the sandy family hourglass artifact sitting by the side
of me at my station, every hour on the hour reminding, and
I myself being ready to flip. This was how not to live
as a farmer and still be a slave to the working of grains.
The sanctity of my spinning room was also my prison for
forty hours every week, and a third of my adult life.
Pressing down on the pedal below to see the top half rotate
and as my world turns I sometimes get approached.
With significant fibers, their casual orders are mine for marching,
working that spindle to the satisfaction of the customer,
as was every occasion but my last one, the best one, the only one
that I'll remember as special, delivering my soul from boredom.
My only daughter, sweet thing, no siblings to rival with
unless a naked, well tattered doll counts. She took it on adventures
to the moon while I couldn't see my child, my savior expanding horizons.
It was silly not to see her blowing about carefree as the wind that day
without concerns over food and shelter all she desired was the deepest
one of all. She was sleeping on desires with every chance to dream for her
best friend a modest cape for him to fly. Deep inside I knew her spirits
and that doll would ride the same breeze but I had to say no for the silk
was not mine. The customer was always right until the next day
when I stepped out to the corner store for the bite of a sour apple,
returning to an open door the hourglass was broken and my spindle bare.
The world had stopped spinning, time had stopped existing… so long
comfortable rut. Mortified for a brevity, just when I thought worlds
couldn't change, mine had with the crashing of an antique. The glass
littered beach on the floor was proof of that. The spindle was stripped of
its importance and all of a sudden it hit me fast, so fast I smiled.
My daughter was no devil and yet she was the culprit stealing
my heart before and a cape now but it was okay,
just this once, to have a family legacy mocked
for the prosperity of a child's imagination.
Seeing them fly in the backyard I dripped gentle
waves from tear ducts upon that glass scattered beach
secretly grateful, values in my life were restored.
when you lose sight of what really counts
its easy to focus on only whats shallow
am i too fat is my nose too big
do i walk or talk weird whats wrong with me
when we forget the depth that is here in this world
and focus on things that are just absurd
so maybe im not a supermodel and my bums a tad on the thick side
and maybe im no a genius thats getting a scholorship on my side
but does that mean im nothing that i dont count
this world is getting sickening count me OUT
im ashamed of myself for even thinking like this
and obsessing to tears over shallow petty ****
i am praying that god hears my pleas for help
because i cant conquer this all by myself
i used to not care didnt care at all
but like any other i rise and fall
i am of the opinion that your body is a shell
and youll leave it behind when you go to heaven or hell
it will rot in the ground and count for nothing
and when i meet my maker he wont care how big my bum is
some women ONLY care about their looks and they dont get it
they dont see the big picture
and i fear theyll regret it
and other women dont care even at all
about their looks because their depth is so massive and raw
but then theres me in the middle with so much depth and spirituality
why do i waste time wondering what are all the things wrong with me
im sick of crying over it ive done it for too long
im sick of getting angry when i cant crawl out of my bod
its a thought that i had reguarding a cacoon
like how catapielers go into them and out comes a butterfly zoom
if i could just crawl out my mouth my soul free for just a moment
and be allowed to have a different shell to live and own it
i wonder what its like to feel just for a second
not arrogance but a sweet compliment from someone who MEANT IT
my desperate pleas go out to you and anyone else who will listen
i hate my body im sick of my face and my voice is just ridiculous
so lets just drop it in the ocean let it sail away
cuz me im going to better places where i dont have to cry all day
where i know that my body is just a little shell a vehicle if you will
its our car or truck or limo or bus to use while we use our free will
and ive always said when you go you don't take your money your lambergini
or your watch expensive jewlery its all staying beind
and you should think about what YOUR world is while im trying desperatley to fix mine
Heart Attack Self Help
A viral message of self help is making its round through whatsapp..
Reportedly written by a cardiologist Dr Siva, a senior doctor of the heart…
It implores each reader to spare a mere 2 minutes, to please read his message…
Doing so, you will be ready when heart attack strikes and you are alone, needing aid..
It is a fact we must all be fully aware, heart attacks do give an early warning…
If you feel nauseous and you feel faint, your internal alarm bells should start ringing…
When next strikes a severe pain at the heart, make no mistake , this is it…
The pain, it spreads up to your arm and onto your jaw, you are in dire straits..
Urgent is the need for more oxygen for your agonised heart, CPR quick, please....
Some of us may have knowledge how to apply aid and CPR to a heart attack victim…
What if, now you are the suffering victim, and the pain strikes, you can’t even scream..
Doctors say, time is of essence, delay is the greatest enemy for any heart attack victim..
Even if the hospital is mere minutes away, you desperately need immediate help right away..
Do as Dr Siva says, draw deep breaths and cough deeply, do them repeatedly and very vigorously…
Each breath be deep, each cough deep and prolonged, as if to expel sputum deep inside the chest..
Doing so, more oxygen is drawn into the lungs, the coughing squeezes the heart, blood circulates..
This simple self help, of deep and vigorously coughing when in the throes of a heart attack…
All these, they help squeeze your suffering heart into regaining its normal rhythm ….
In any heart attack situation, every millisecond counts, and until you get professional help..
If you are alone, then it is all down to you to stay alive a few seconds longer till expert help..
This simple self aid may yet save your life, and to many others who read this message…
So do spread and share this knowledge, for as one ages, it’s our lives at stake….
And here is the frightening fact, when heart attack happens, you're helpless...
You will, on the average, a mere 11 seconds before succumbing to unconsciousness..
So this little self help is not in jest, neither is it a fictional nor creative token...
Let's pray it will not happen to you or I, but by being thus informed, your 1st survival step is taken..
I once wrote a POTW, getting to know you, was the theme
Simple little rhyme, about soupers commonalities it seems
Now I’m discovering disparity, divisions, different schisms
Joining the dots together, one picture emerges, extremism
A few (leading lights), have gathered sheep into their pens
Who in turn follow them blindly, to anywhere and back again
None of my business you say, and I would be first to agree
But our paths must cross sometimes, as now you can see
Such is lies, such is truth, it’s all immaterial within a poem
A story is a story, our imagination counts, on bringing home
I manipulate words, trying to imbue you within stark verse
Encouraging open-mindedness, never planning to coerce
Others have hidden agendas, encoding influences of ambition
Deluded in their own self importance, to maintain recognition
Suppressing freethinkers, using propaganda, covert pretexts
Don’t like the tone of your language, get shunned by request
Teach us a lesson, an opinionated authority, waves a big stick
Seen this crap before in institutions, got caned as a small kid
Gaslighting, solipsistic, narcissistic, torchbearers of nothing
Pushing your own egos, not poets work, shameless plugging
Some fellow poets do fall foul, getting led up the garden path
Instead of expressing independence, write to appease wrath
So this message is from a nobody, and I’m calling you to task
Why! because I have a pair of balls, not satan behind a mask.
This is no exposé, majority of soupers, see through your cover
Easy now, I won’t mention any names, best ignore this nutter
I proffer diversity and conversation, no nihilistic atheist stray
Unlike his predecessors, won’t get disheartened or walk away
Look at history what happened, when pandering to dictators
Carrying swastikas in suicidal obedience, to Hitler their savior.
I’m not trying to tempt your faith,
write about god write about man,
But when man believes he’s god,
Yeah! we’ve already lost the plan
And for that habitual poltergeist
that keeps messing up comments
Are you trying to tell me something
or just afraid of the open contents
By
David Kavanagh
No!
Nobody forgets you.
They just remember themselves more.
It’s not hate,
not truly.
It’s the noise of their lives
that drowns out the quiet of yours.
They don’t sit around
thinking of you.
Not because you don’t matter,
but because their minds
are crowded with unpaid bills,
unfinished dreams,
and mirrors that lie to them, too.
Nobody misses a poor person.
Not out loud.
Not where it counts.
Because poverty makes you invisible
like a whisper
in a world addicted to shouts.
But hear this:
You are not alone.
Not really.
Your loneliness
is the echo of expectations unmet.
It is artificial
a shadow cast
by a world that only lights up
for wealth.
You are not as dull
as you’ve been told.
That ache you carry
is proof of depth,
not emptiness.
Your “ugliness” is a feeling,
not a fact.
Look again
you’re younger than the weight on your face,
lighter than the sorrow you wear.
You are not boring.
You are simply uncelebrated.
Your words
they carry the scent of wisdom,
even if they’ve fallen
on deaf ears
too full of pride to listen.
But try this:
Make money.
Watch the roots of your family tree
wrap around strangers
suddenly calling you "brother."
Old classmates will remember your birthday.
Distant cousins will find their way back
into your inbox.
Everyone will know you.
Everyone.
Be richer than them,
and feel the thunder
of their applause.
The same face they once ignored
will become the cover
of their admiration.
You’ll hear it
the gasp:
“You’ve always been so brilliant.”
“You were always destined for greatness.”
They will say
your voice heals.
That your words
opened doors.
That your presence
is peace itself.
Such is life, brother.
Do not curse them
they are not cruel by design,
only by habit.
Even God
didn’t wire the world to spin this way.
You are not unloved.
Just unpaid.
You are not too strange
just unfamiliar with a currency they recognize.
Stack your wealth,
and watch the world spin differently.
Watch how suddenly
your sins become “lessons.”
How your flaws
become “flavour.”
And your silence
becomes power.
Because the world,
as it stands,
respects only echoes
that bounces off gold.
And still
beneath the noise,
you are already enough.
But wealth will teach them
to see it, too.