Long Deduce Poems
Long Deduce Poems. Below are the most popular long Deduce by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deduce poems by poem length and keyword.
Angels and Demons
There are things we do not understand.
Dark things beyond the realm of man.
On a dark night, whatever be the case;
There is an evil you don't want to face.
There is a light wherein all hope resides.
Yet there is a darkness where light is denied.
Pure celestial light can know no sin.
But in the darkness of the heart sin enters in.
How spirits war we do not understand.
But they battle for the souls of fallen man.
We cannot always see where demons run.
But it's easy to deduce the things they've done.
They come disguised pretending they're your friend;
And we open up the door and let them in.
Believe or not believe, but it is true;
And today it's what I testify to you.
To meet an angel would be like a dream to me.
But demons are much easier to see.
nobody here,
nobody there
I enjoy my breakfast on Jupiter
scattered
and radiant
the shimmery shoreline
rumbles in redness
in sickened harmony
nobody here,
nobody there
the reckless arsonist
has a talent
of unknown origin
what an illusory
amazing paradox
condemned for heresies
for an enormity
to the final battle
mice will march
nobody here,
nobody there
surrounded by
a surreal dominion
strangely through daytime
there is a crux
a rebus
a flux
just like crusaders
for the revelation
mice will march
the order is broken
they will deduce
and I just sit
with a bottle in hands
and watch in silence
nice mice fight
against
the creepy coral cat
still
nobody here,
nobody there
Catch and store my energy,
said Yang-Sun to Earth-Yin.
Digest and absorb nutritional communication,
said Earth
to Virgin Eve
to Fertile Adam.
Volcanize and subduct Earth's embryonic Commons
says Mother Earth
to ReGenerative Ecologists.
Challenge and then creolize resulting multicultures
say EcoPolitical Democratizers
to TrustBuilding Psychologizers.
Deduce separate competing
physical individuations
to induce integrating cooperative
metaphysical relationships
said LeftCerebral Crown
to Right ElderRoot
bipartisan NeuroSystem.
Consume stored wealth deposits
to produce capital-health learnings
through re-investment in further nurture earnings
say long-winded Cooperative Economists
to short-winded Private Wealth
seeks Public Health Professionals.
Patriarch-led revolutions
retrofit Matriarch-bled evolutions
said Yang answers
to co-revolving Yin questions.
Produce positive regenerators
not disinvested degenerators
say Syncretic Prophets
to and for and of and within BiCameral PolyPaths.
Reconnect Yang/Yin appositions
to co-arise Win/Win ego/eco-generate
dialectical Left/Right non-oppositionals
said Laotse
for cooperatively governing resilient climate health,
and not DNA v RNA struggling pathologies.
Catch and digest health
to store and re-invest wealth
said Yang-FatherSun
to EarthMother-Yin
and reverse dispassionate communication
again.
When I think about where my love of rhymes comes from…the best I can deduce
is it all stems from my childhood…and a love of Mother Goose.
It’s as if my parents weren’t reading…but singing the stories of Humpty Dumpty,
Little Miss Muffet and that old woman who lived in a shoe.
The older I’ve grown I have discovered…time after time after time
beauty, love and nature were created for the rhyme.
How a rhyme can take something as simple as a breeze…
and show how it waves to us…or how it whispers through the trees?
We might think the ocean is just a huge expanse of water…nothing more
until a rhyme shows us how she sparkles as we walk along the shore.
We might not think about how the sky rhymes…but then again… we might
as we watch birds soar through her in the day…and her stars come out at night.
And there’s no doubt from the moment we’re born…until we reach the end of our time
how our heart is always beating with the rhythm of the rhyme.
When someone we love is dying…is there anyone in this time and space
who doesn’t pray with all their heart for one more day in their embrace?
When I think back to my childhood days…I know this to be true
my world has changed a lot since Humpty Dumpy, Little Miss Muffet
and that old woman who lived in a shoe.
It is much more complicated world today than when I read Nursery Rhymes in my bed.
It’s a little more frightening than I remember…filled with more sadness, dismay and dread.
But I also know that beauty, love and nature still exist…
which is why from time to time
When I cannot find a reason for the way things are…
you’ll find me looking for the rhyme.
Just read an old joke about Dr Watson and Sherlock Holmes going camping.
They pitch their tent under the stars and go to sleep.
In the middle of the night, Holmes wakes up Watson, and says look up at the stars and tell me what you deduce,
Watson ponders the view for a minute or two, then says I see millions of stars he replies, even if only a few of them have planets, and even if only a few of those planets are like earth there must be life out there, that's what I deduce,
Holmes looks at him aghast and says Watson you fool someone stole our tent.
A man in a small town married 20 different women, all are still alive, he never divorced any of them, and he broke no laws, how did he do it, he was a vicar.
Should a man be allowed to marry his widows sister, no he would be dead.
A mother and father take their 6 year old son to a nudist beach, as the boy walks along the sand, he notices that many of the women have boobs bigger than his mum's, so he goes back to ask her why that is, she tells her son the bigger they are the the sillier the lady is, the boy pleased with the answer goes to play in the ocean, but returns to tell his mother that many of the men have larger cocks than his dad's, she smiles and says the bigger they are the dumber the man is, again satisfied with her answer the boy goes back to the ocean to play, shortly thereafter the boy returns again and promptly tells his mother, daddy is talking to the silliest lady on the beach, and the longer he talks the dumber he gets.
My veins are the schematics
My conscience the pragmatics
A nuclear weapon that’s omnifarious
Self destruct the one that’s multifarious
Many parts no two the same
Doesn’t mean I’m not painfully plain
Nothing about me is distinctive
Identical and parallel, anatomy’s instinctive
So why am I so self-destructive?
You don’t need to be quite deductive
Deduce the reason and the people pleasing
My consciousness requires easing
Rhymes makes the feelings and words coalesce
Does it really makes you digress?
Words made up of morphemes
Feelings made up of morphines
Nothing without you has meaning
It isn’t held it’s given without demeaning
My schematics look better inkless
Don’t want my veins to circulate just ingress
Acrostic Memory
Acrostics introduced in fifth grade on a rainy winter afternoon
Careful crafted choice of words written in lyric cadence hues
Rhythmic flow like music class - songs of skaters waltzes spin
Out of tumbling imagination’s chaos form corrals intention’s whims
Shaping thoughts that rumble ramble like errant spitball pests
Teacher’s encouragement gentle walks through rows of wooden desks
Imaginations set on fire with a powerful surge
Crafts of poems like spelling bees in alphabetic order emerge
My favorite teacher – Miss Daly - guided my awakening muse
Emerging in wide young eyes - life’s enigma puzzles to deduce -
Many her gifts wrapped in surprises of creative lines, the prize
Often I remember her stern but loving eyes
Reminders to remember her guiding hand for wordsmith potential
Yet I always wonder of her life’s acrostic in questions reverential
12-8-20
Contest: Nostalgia
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
I relinquish my pen before the storm
of her tears falling upon my bare arm
her gentle whispering breathed in my ear
Muse of mine, adieu to your wit and charm
With piqued reasons I have come to deduce
It's time to say fond farewell to my muse
She should seek a new poet and lay claim
for my words have grown utterly abstruse
Spare me sullen eyes, from cries in refrain
I shall not weep in sadness nor disdain
Bitterness does not become a recluse
My poet's heart weakens, I dare not feign
Time's drawn the shades in darkness of night
No candle flame shall glimmer enough light
in which I may be tempted before morn
to doubt seclusion and attempt to write
Cloistered without pen, I shall ever be
From thinking in rhyme I shall be set free
Poems half written on bits of scrap paper
I shall lock away and then toss the key
My hand has retired, this last poem now penned
No more idyll thoughts of mind will transcend
Bereft of rhymes and abandoned of verse
This poet knows her time has reached an end
Ink no longer flows through my tunneled veins
Expressed emotions in poetry wanes
And when interred, on my stone I shall read,
"Reclusive poet" over my remains
There’s a woman I pass in the mornings
Who prefers not to nod a hello,
Not unusual for a New Yorker;
That’s the way that these things often go.
She seems close to my age, but walks slower
And her clothing is baggy and loose,
Unlike most of us out there with leggings,
Which she’d likely not wear, I deduce.
Yet this morning I passed her and noticed,
As I swiveled for a double-take,
That her t-shirt was very familiar
And quite certainly not a mistake.
For it once nestled, folded quite nicely,
In a drawer with the rest of my tees,
But I’d donated it to the thrift shop
Where I bring things that no longer please.
I was glad to see somebody wear it
Who’d appraised it with different eyes,
Yet I wondered why I hadn’t kept it
As an exercise shirt in my size.
What folly is fancy free and footloose
Please don't be fooled, tis but a ruse
If you think about it you will deduce
Freedom's never free, you silly goose
Fancy free beneath a flag of truce?
Cling to liberties while still profuse
Avoid the ropes hanging from a spruce
Those knotted and dangling in a noose
Stay clear of those who tout fancy-free
and the falsehoods in what they decree
They complain and whine like a banshee
with an attitude to stubbornly disagree
You can take your Debbie Downer attitude
stuff it if you think you've been screwed
Don't enter contests. You're not pursued
to write if you don't have the apptitude.