Long Devices Poems
Long Devices Poems. Below are the most popular long Devices by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Devices poems by poem length and keyword.
These hand sized gadgets is something we use to communicate
We use these devices to relate good news that can't wait
We take pictures and create memories of our experiences
Also to record a conversation or video criminal offenses
Many addictions have been created as technology evolves
Different social medias and games to keep everyone involved
One phone seems to vary in cost from another
With apps such as FaceTime to help distant lovers
Those are the advantages but there's also disadvantages
Those that causes you to put your neighbor in bandages.
A conversation full of joy or an argument that's perplexed
You end up taking someone's life while sending a message in a text
You can't drive and focus while someone is screaming in your ear
Attempting to do so is like jumping rope after having a few beers
Know when and how a cell phone should be used
A topic that this current generation has confused
Does the lowered eye mark one, prey?
Do mild manners detain the heirs of courage,
And supplant servile, simpering cowards
Who cater to the whims of the bullish,
And ill-manner’d?
The furrowing of the brow, upon meeting
The eyes, a smouldering hate inferred?
Prithee, tell the need of an otherwise
Noble man
To seek to humble one he knows not;
But in all hubristic error,
Deem a lesser man—
Tho' the gods smite—
Could sooner be his ending
Than any beginning of cruelty
He would defer.
I beg thee, pass softly—
For oft' times
The gods walk among us,
Unknown
And clothed in beggar's
Rags.
But here we would tend
The perception of
The common man,
Of which we all are.
Were our titles stripped from us,
Gold and coin, that seat us
Well with advantage, prestige,
And resource scarce divided
Among those without,
Relieved us—
How far would we fall
Before our imagined realms
And self set crowns
Shatter and break
Upon the humble ground
That wrought us up
Through fortunes fated,
Or generations generous
With years honest toils and labors?
In sooth these ephemeral devices
Aside—
Prick'd, our blood
Bares but one shade
That of red.
All else are machinations
Of the brain,
Where the ego
Would stroke us with
Affirmations of
Such lofty natures
That we would see
One another as
High and low,
Vengeance' victim
Or as one justified
To take beyond the need,
Lest the low squander
The fruitful seed.
And utopia become too common a place,
Thus polluted with the common blood.
Nay.
The true utopia, if thou seekest,
Is humble fellowship,
Compassion, and sacrifice;
For all idylls may not be attained
All at once.
Let them be of such
Continually strived toward
And lived, and roads walked.
See not my eyes lowered—
See thy brother,
See thy sister,
See thy humble family
Through trial and fortune's favor,
Together.
She's the enemy to whom I've yet to be
Formally introduced --
Her sites set on my
Tennis bracelet or clutch...
She glowers.
There's something off about her hair
It's color strange and unreasonable.
She dons a skirt too short
And tight for one her age --
My age.
Her colors loud and far too bold
For this town.
She stares me down like I would flinch,
As though intimidating me would be an
Easy job.
Here's what we can't tell:
She's a child of the Bronx.
A survivor.
It will take much more than
Undivided attention
To cause cowering.
Don't force it.
She despises on principle
Though of which one I'm uncertain...
Probably doesn't like that
We are of the same stage in life
Relatively
And unusually surrounded on
This subway
By a majority who happen
To be of approximately
The same range, age-wise.
Not the usual youth of Beantown
Who seem to own this city
(Or think they do)
Transplants from other locales
Here for educations
Or jobs, or beer,
Or whatever opportunities come their way
To seize upon and take from us.
Why are we not on the same side?
These rides serve no
Purpose other than
Perhaps to bear witness to still lives
And words set upon portable devices --
Commutes and communions
Of little consequence
Other than the fact that
Moving through space and time
Reminds us that we're still
Alive.
Form:
I write. That is what I do day and night,
write write write but I like to do it outside the lines,
the curve and the shape and the pattern,
to go against the rules of all poetry!
I let my words fly like the birds above. Free and swirling.
All the twirling words in my head I send whirling . . .
Saying no to metaphors. And all devices that poetry is suppose to need!
I say NO NO and NO . . .
I need to be free to spin and fling my poems.
Here and there. Let them be what they want to be.
Not be chained to a form. To a Rule. To convention.
To not be restrained by meter or syllables or lineage.
Yes, to just be.
Joy is to twist, deform, reverse, go verse crazy and way too long
I will destroy what should be . . . into what I want it to be
_________________________
October 16, 2018
Poetry/Verse/Contra To The Strictness of Form
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1071-794-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Contra
sponsor, Jesse Rowe
Third Place
"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kids studying in my son's class
After school attend tuition class
Back home there is double work
Both school and tuition homework
They also attend some other special course
Its best for their future, parents reinforce
Full day they are busy
At the end they feel dizzy
Desire to come first
An unquenchable thirst
One day their brains will shatter
If within it is put so much matter
Many such kid's fare badly in exam
They cannot recall much in exam
Then extra burden is put on them
Special classes are arranged for them
I'm midst of all this childhood is lost
Physical exercise, laughter and fun is lost
Childhood is meant for enjoyment, games and play
Now it is done in electronic devices to much dismay
On computer they spend all free time of the day
I wonder what physical strength within them lay
When young we would play in rain
Alongside paper boats would be lain
In vacations we would be out in sun
Playing and enjoying we would have fun
There was no pressure to top, we were a happier lot
Now with egoistic parents kids life is fraught
From playing in mud, rain and sun parents restrain
In their apprehension young kids happiness is slain
In lap of nature children belong
How will such kids become strong?
Every child should at least for 1 hour play
In friends and play joys of childhood lay
Childhood comes once in lifetime
It should be kids most joyous time
All parents should try to ensure that
Everything else is secondary to that.
Date: 10/9/2020
Second place
Run with the idea while hot;
fun—
stretch your imaginative pun.
For a pie-in-the-sky, it is not.
PHI
POSTED ON my blog on my website, Suzette: Poet, dated 22 July 2021,
PHI POEM INSPIRED BY THE GOLDEN RATIO.
_____________________________________________________
PHI POEM – INSPIRED BY THE GOLDEN RATIO © 22 July 2021
Phi (f 1.618033988749895…) is most often pronounced fi as in ‘fly’.
The golden ratio is about 1.618, and is represented by the Greek letter phi, f. That is, (a + b) ÷ a = a ÷ b. These elements inspired the design of the Phi poem.
The spiral pattern created from the golden ratio is also called the golden spiral. The Fibonacci spiral is related to but not identical to the golden spiral. ‘The golden spiral has constant arm-radius angle and continuous curvature, while the Fibonacci spiral has cyclic varying arm-radius angle and discontinuous curvature.’*
In the 1800s, the German mathematician, Martin Ohm, called the special number 1.618 golden, likely because it has always existed in mathematics. Further back in time, it was even described as divine because of its frequency in the natural world. The golden spiral symbol has inspired countless people throughout history. It’s been associated with the fundamentals of life, spirituality, and creation. Furthermore, the Fibonacci sequence was the inspiration for a poetic form in its own right.
The © Phi poem is a 5-line syllabic poem with a rhyme scheme, invented by Suzette Richards in 2021. The 4th line should enhance the concluding word (in caps), for example, ‘PHI’, by using any number of poetic devices at your disposal. In my poem, Golden Spiral, I pun pi (p). Presented centred on the page.
Rhyme: a1 + b; a2; a3; b; x. (L1: a = an internal rhyme that cross rhymes with L2 & L3.)
Syllabic format of first 3 lines: 1 + 6; 1; 8. L4 & L5 are any number of syllables.
Dear Fate,
I hate you.
I detest you.
I despise you.
I loathe you in ridicule.
I reject you outright.
You are no good Fate. I am sure of it.
Que sera, sera.
Whatever will be, will be.
I guess you’re right Fate.
Thanx for the tip.
Thanx for the insight.
Thanx for letting us know in advance.
You are elusive Fate.
We cannot pin you down.
You elude our scrutiny.
You evade our inspection.
You fail to meet the most elementary criterion of science.
We cannot prove you wrong Fate.
Good for you.
But you are wrong Fate.
Always wrong.
There are no paths to unfold.
No destinies to fulfill.
No predetermined series of events.
Things are not supposed to be as they are
Things are not as they are supposed to be
We do not abide by your counsel.
You got that Fate?
You are Calvin’s bread and butter.
He your bastard child.
Predestined like the rest of us
Preacher of kismet and reprobation
Of freedom in bondage to sin
Why the conundrum, Fate?
Things are confusing enough as they are.
Why do you trifle with us?
Why do you veil your objectives?
Do you delight in your trickery?
Snicker at our bemusement?
Grin and chuckle at us, hapless and unaware?
You are despicable Fate.
Yahweh at his worst.
More ruinous than plagues of grasshoppers and locust.
Even death of the first born child.
You void all human experience.
All the bravery, all the grandeur, all the malice; all the trials and tribulations.
All but labors in futility.
And you knew it all along.
Didn’t you Fate?
And another thing, Fate:
You are not a mystery.
You are neither strange, nor cryptic, nor enigmatic.
You are a bore.
There is no wonder in predestination.
No puzzle to be solved
No secrets to reveal
Que sera, sera.
You offer us nothing Fate.
Free us from your grasp.
Leave us our volition, our discretion, our Will.
Let us try and succeed.
Let us try and fail.
Leave us to our own devices.
Leave us alone.
Intrigued about cremation,
I sought GOOGLE to assuage curiosity
significant questions answered
clicking the following website
https://www.funeralwise.com/plan/
cremation/cremation-process/
though summarizing article
some oven death defying act,
yet summarization satisfactorily completed,
thus herewith briefly describes
kickstarting, mystifying, pulverizing...
tantalizing, yielding, enterprising, lasting,
yelping, holding, surviving dearly departed
1. deceased identified
2. official cremation authorized
affiliated with deceased
3. lifeless body prepared
4. medical devices removed
5. jewelry recovered
6. corpse secured
into burnable cremation receptacle
7. encased entity transferred
to retort i.e. cremation chamber
8. temperature range adjusted
between 1400 degrees -
1800 degrees Fahrenheit
9. 1.5 - 2 hours elapsed
10. magnet applied
residual metal removed
11. remains ground into ashes
12. once process completed
remains secured within urn
13. family representative entrusted
with ashes.
Burnt offerings distributed
ideally according to stated
wishes of beloved,
whose remembrance sustained
as tears expended
necessary to mourn
eventually sorrow lessened,
photographs visited
after crushing grief decreased.
THE DIGITAL WORLD
Here we are living in a digital world.
Almost everything in a click of our phone
or computer or other electronic devices
and in a blink we see or hear what we want.
So we see families gathered at a table
to celebrate occasions and they are
all glued to their phones, watching or
googling, texting or playing games.
No one is even talking to each other.
It is what it is …. Or is it?
And yes, we don’t even need to move.
We can do some things without moving,
no need to get up from conveniently sitting
by calling another electronic device, Alexa.
Then they complain why they are gaining
weight, fatigued or tired or having
body aches, dizziness, plainly being
lazy, unmotivated, hardly moving.
It is what it is …. Or is it?
Gone are the days when mothers
were watching their toddlers play.
Little boys pulling the string tied
around one end of a little box or carton.
Little girls playing with rag dolls.
Now, toddlers are watching cartoons,
kids’ shows or playing games in television,
iPads, phones while mothers do housework
or work, chat, google while remotely glancing
or occasionally checking on them.
It is what it is …. Or is it?
Is it the digital world invading us?
Or is it us consuming everything digital?
12/7/20 It Is What It Is... Or Is It? Poetry Contest
John Lawless
People have learned it is okay to be themselves
They no longer have to follow their parents or any dogma
They can make up their own religion, and no one cares.
People watch television twenty-four hours a day now.
Children can be disrespectful to their parents,
And it is normal. No one says anything until they get
So out of hand they have to be jailed, usually about age eighteen
When their mamas cannot “save” them from their bad choices any more.
We have computers in our houses, and we have something called Internet
Which means dictionaries, Thesaurus and world books are out-of-date, not used.
No one knows what RSVP means any more. Teachers call in sick now on Mondays.
No one keeps a job for twenty-five years; twenty-five months is the norm.
We have been to the moon, and we have mooned each other at football games.
Women are tattooing their arms, legs, backs, and piercing their navels.
Lots of people can work out of their houses and never have to socialize with others.
Electronic devices keep us entertained, so we never have to speak to each other.
Most people do not cook anymore because we run out to a restaurant all the time.
Some families do not even keep food in cupboards; we could eliminate kitchens.
We fell into the Twilight Zone in 2020 with a virus called the Corona 19.
Schools, restaurants and bars were closed by Marshal law. More on that later.