Long Dilation Poems
Long Dilation Poems. Below are the most popular long Dilation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dilation poems by poem length and keyword.
I hear their idle chatter and wish that sound was optional.
A box checked in a menu, a simple click and forget.
The rapid dilation of my pupils brings me back.
Back to hypnotic aisles of temptation and necessity. A selection of the finest they say.
Right there see, on the cardboard, next to charts and columns of calories and strange
numbers I’d sooner forget.
But buy one get one free still gets me every time.
I stare intently at the dancing numbers until the man with the tie moves away.
Glossy pages shine brighter than the fruit racks they mirror,
Competing for importance in my wallet and my life
The magpie wins and the bananas will wait.
Half the magazines hawk five a day in rounded sans serif, bold against the background of a
chef’s haircut.
Maxims of bizarre cosmopolitan playboys and hustlers marked up at 3.99. Landscapes of
polished flesh glow beneath the loving airbrush of the paycheck. Competing for nuts at the
zoo.
A vanity fair for the hollow, shining in the fading light of a red top sunset.
Paraphrased blogs and condensed morsels of crude celebrity nudes for the I-Generation and
the remnants of New Labour and Thatcher’s Britain.
Anglers, caravans and 50 cent, half the demographic, half the price. Count me out.
I finger a few and find no real desire. The Internet offers this bilge up for free.
They’d all be nude and crapping on each other.
The great silicon toilet of humanity
Past freezers of long dead prisoners, pulped to perfection. Pigs in tubes and flat cow
concoctions.
Pancakes of vomit and fish dishes I won’t ever try. No time for it.
Frankenstein's monster behind glass slides.
Packets of sugar in various disguises. Cereal and chocolate, soft drinks and sauce dips.
Lattes and ladles, loofahs and loaves. The prattle returns through the shelving
I turn around the curries and there is the tie. Talking sport and hard drinking, women and
the weather. Looks me in the eye.
I turn before any interaction and feign interest in something, a scouring pad. Intricately
woven metal coils waste major concentration and he’s gone. Box checked, minimize and move on.
Everything shines in this weird three-quarter light, hypnotic. Confusing. Conscious of the
bottles ahead that I can’t ever touch. Seedy and appealing, puerile and appalling.
Something for everyone.
And nothing for me.
Moving through the pulse and the flow
A timetable of fixed dilation
A given
And measured
Ellipse
To the people it trips
As they ride the crest
Of the waves
Of emotions
Just prisoners of
Perpetual motion
Never ceasing
Never pretending to be
Anything more
Born into the days
Of a future long past
Spying its records
From the start to the last
We are all
Just second hand news
In a land of ne’re to be
Nonsensical devotion
The prisoners of perpetual motion
Elate
And repress
The We
The US three
The Me
Myself
and I
Come to share in a life such as these
Checking out the view
I’m just second hand news
In the land of Ne’re do we
Strolling on by and
Pressing on through
Tasked with its provisions
And it’s riddled revisions
Nonsense and fiction
Have found their new diction
Of solar progression
As they encapsulate
The US Three
Strolling on by
Pressing ahead
The RIGHT
And the TRUE
It’s textured and layered deception
Held a managed intervention
Holding within its folio
The signatures of digression
Devoid of emotion
As it’s pendulum swings to and fro
Never able to leave
Or break its grasp
Transcending all in its path
Nonsense and fiction
Wear a guise of suspicion
Take on a new face
A perplexing division
With its sweeping broad strokes
To embrace and replace the US Three
Brushing on past
Just a page before
You knocked on the door
Of the garden where flowers once grew
These steps you’ve taken
Left to the tender mercies
Of fiscal conservancy’s
Hyperbolic uncertainty
Common knowledge
Given breathe
As stolen
A thief
Of the Inspector in chief
His notes plainly written
A solider in part
Has taken my enemies heart
In a fruitless pursuit
Of passion and pain
Here
I remain
In its orbital dance
The great mechanic has cast
His players
The WE
The US Three
Cry the home
On this ellipse
As we roam
The WE
The US Three
The black crow
Watches unfaltering
With his stalwart gaze
As your counterfeit lies
Sought in other men’s eyes
With a forbodance
Which can not be denied
In the wink of an eye
Like the pearls on a string
That glow
And
That shine
As it squares with the facts
In the drivers seat of circumstance
And at length in perpetuity
YOU hold the charter to men’s hearts.
The era of catatonic self-destruction has risen yet again from boulder-blocked caves,
Whose cavernous stalactite incisors drip with the blood of thorny crowns,
Worn in punitive irony for the subversion of fertile inferiority,
Which, like rabbits, duplicates and hops about in trouncing contentment.
Yet despite the grin stretched beneath empty eyes,
Which are eclipsed by dilation of cimmerian shades poured from tipped inkwells,
Darkness ripened by age has inflated its penumbral grasp upon the solar plexus.
Hearts beat now to the false circadian rhythm of telemetry.
Screens fueled by waves polluting the air scramble for attention;
Screaming as if the spotlight has slithered away from their thespian heads.
But even so we watch as if waiting for a nothingness we know.
Petulant performances pretending to perfect the perception of reality persevere,
Despite their lack of empirical validity.
Our bodies and the space around they occupy have become irrelevant.
Experience and physical stimulation have been replaced by mirror neurons,
Firing incessantly at the sight of electromagnetic facsimiles,
Which are vomited in projected disproportion into our unwitting faces,
From nauseating mouths of those whose disease has spread to lower echelons.
And so we sit and stare upon the square on walls and in our hands,
As the prefrontal cortex and its dehydrated lobes succumb to the reptilians.
Another era of lack of mind borne from the fruitlessness of parasitic seeds,
Planted by the pretenders who swim in the wealth of our applause.
Clap away, we will, until we collapse in the arthritic solidification of redundant repetition.
Welcome to the show; a televised apocalypse of thought.
Where worlds were once created in cognition,
They're now created in the lenses of cameras.
When worlds were once refracted light coruscating from the eye,
They're now flickered in slides reflected from the television.
A beep!! Message inbox queued
Bring around his sleepy-eyes
The night prowler came alive.
Last night’s morning sayonara smack
Later left with unrequited calls.
Message through network by amorist, said,
‘Hoped if u were here beside,
I wud have rest my arms upon u
N wud slp t8 until U wake me up
4m my woolgathering’.
A morning tea and breakfast
First lecture bunked and second lecturer’s incomplete task
Noon show lunch break and evening CCD on the way.
McD snacks together
Only left with dinner, back to home.
Clock ticked dinner time
Her cell beeped, ‘ honey calling you at midn8’.
FM on, light music quenched the dimmed room
A gentle breeze left with thoughtful blossom.
A miss call alert, so called a reminder –
Afresh mood and respond back
Two rings for that awaited hands to answer
A muted ‘Hello’, and both felt back.
Retrieved day dilation and few imaginary soul kisses in between
Blurred with further topic, exchanged dally romance
Yet sounded reality.
Eyes closed and more audible muted talks
Aleatory future plans,
Queried by an unthought-of waiting call.
A new topic now, ‘ who was it?’
Unknown number so whether is that to be left aside??
Tentative soul mate yet in a dedicated tone
Questions rained and situation falsified
Might be a secret that to be hide.
Coped modishly and eyes left with few drops of water
A penitent kiss followed.
Things now became thicker,
The soft music echoed through the network
Snap up pillow and twisted moves
Extend of imagination seemed
Fetched them more closely.
Awaken dad knocked
Cell phone averted and her hammy sleepy-eyes
Fooled begetter proved not to be a dictator.
Excused candidly and led off with next day’s plan
The good night dawn and jaded eyes
An argument who would cut the line…..
Lastly a fanciful tight hug and a sayonara kiss
Left again with another, beep!!
___________X_____________
Witness if you will, the occupants of Deep Space Flight 6952,
on a mission to the farthest reaches of the galaxy.
A short time ago, the spaceship experienced turbulence,
and soon they'll experience fear, and even doubt reality.
They've just entered The Twilight Zone.
'What a rough patch of turbulence!' said Thomas. Nicole
responded, 'I believe it's the worst we've encountered yet.'
Then Nicole suddenly tasted coffee, that had not even
begun to be brewed, to her regret!
The rest of the crew noticed strange things, too,
like thud sounds before stray asteroids hit; and also their ship
speeding back the way they'd come from, like a comet!
The increasingly disoriented crew also noticed clocks
and watches flowing backwards; for these were causality days.
That wild turbulence must have been a worm hole.
Time as they'd known it was gone, like tears when the music
plays!
The crew then ate an odd and sumptuous meal as stars flashed
in reverse, like a weary clown, with few joys left to disperse.
But, the meal was partaken of, before anyone had prepared it,
promising someone work, without future reward, while wishing
others had spared it!
Then the crew began looking remarakably fit, as if all were
ten years younger; so to decrease time dilation, they sharply
reduced their speed, to make their position stronger.
All agreed they didn't want to return to a world, where day
began at sunset; for if life was lived backward, with no future,
life would be filled with regret!
They must find that wormhole, where the future had died, and
enter it again. For the nostalgic past had already been lived,
and much of it was a pain.
Flight 6952 is on a quest, to find space and time as the crew
once knew it. If they find the wormhole, they hope that they can
manage to get through it. Until they do, they will just have to
keep trying-in The Twilight Zone.
Sponsor Tom Woody
Contest Name Alice Through The Wormhole
Flowers outside the schoolroom grew bigger and brighter of their own volition. " Alice, Alice !" the teacher called. All she saw was a saucer eyed girl sitting, staring out the window. Sober as a Deacon she sat there with her mind blow-stitched to the earth. Fireworks burst in the sky as a big purple blubber bounced out "Alice, Alice" ssssssssss was the sound it made as it cupped out O with a sticky jelly mouth.
he was from outer space
unlike her own race
he was soooo, gooey gooey!!!
A slight change in atmosphere and suddenly Alice fell topsy-turvy into a dark hole. Exotic energy clung to her as she spun out of control and dropped into an inter-stellar tunnel filled with brilliant stars. Faster than the speed of light she travelled into a non existent wormhole. A sweet little paper plate with eyes, nose and mouth greeted her on the other side. He spoke the infographics of his knowledge to her, sending shock waves of pleasure to her extra-sensory perception with telepathic communication;
Lost in gravity waves
time dilation ...
She arrived safely.
Oh the flowers, the flowers were everywhere! Each specific tessitura sang to her in baritone, soprano, mezzo soprano and tenor. It was an elevation of the highest senses. Through vertical angles the sound was outsourced, so she listened with continuum " Alice, Alice " is what they sang in chorus. She tried to determine where the melody was coming from but deep down she knew that this heavenly music was an extension of her and them. Oh what a sweet tonality it was. Both subdued and energetic at the same time. As the galaxies split, the tidal forces merged together and suddenly it made no difference where she was or how she got there. All she knew was she was finally home !
The End.
Let’s deface it—my reality isn’t the same—
Your world is an illusion—similarities set invisible base-lined boundaries.
We share this similarity
Just not the exact same
Ironic Zinc relates this (many things) to childlike innocence…
Why…?
Perhaps this is a direct result of how he has developed—emotionally—?
I should ask him—I have connections!
Nah...
That’s no fun. I know him well—
Allow me how…
As a child he recalls having a special, ignorant connection with people; in general.
At some point in his life, this feeling (or presence) left Mr. Zink—
Maturity processed realty that previous ignorance believed in; with conviction.
Ironic Zinc then absorbed wisdom through every pour of his collected consciousness.
He inhaled its truthful whisper in the wind…
Feeling as if he had been betrayed by practically the entire world—sniffing lies after lie…
Trust reflected through his misplaced eyes that had become wide-cut—Dilation.
Demented to the brink of insanity; Ironic Zinc bathed his anguish with substance
Testing the waters and questioning the vibe
Ironically, he then became them—
Those he now understands, only as misunderstood—empathetically.
Ironic Zinc has drifted apart from stead-fact claims and harsh negative judgments.
Growth is obvious, materialized through his poetic journey—revelations
I am Ironic Zinc…
My ultimate intentions are apparently pure
Equal or lesser than you
Positive judgment—morals—this is how we base beliefs
Negative judgment—called judgmental—flawed logic revealed
I am Ironic Zinc
He has issues—
Issues with current; present day society
Your world is an illusion—similarities set invisible base-lined boundaries.
We share this similarity
Just not the exact same
Let’s deface it—my reality isn’t the same...
Ir0nIc zINc 9-27-15
It innocently started with that libation:
that tingling, inebrious, joyful sensation.
My foolish heart acquiesced to the temptation.
An allergy or a genetic mutation
awakened my foolish heart.
I frequently fancied more fluid flirtations,
enjoying elixirs, expressing elation,
investing immensely in intoxication,
thus, firmly establishing future foundations,
entangling my foolish heart.
I fervently favored froth-filled fermentations,
gallantly guzzling by gradual gradations,
increased intake, saw inebrious inflation,
rarely reducing or restricting by rations,
addicting my foolish heart.
My continued consumption, clearly causation:
drunk and disorderly, receiving citations,
wound up in several unpleasant locations,
spending entire nights locked up for the duration,
imprisoning my foolish heart.
You would hope at this point in this woeful narration
that lessons were learned; there'd be de-escalation.
Consumption, instead, saw inflation, dilation,
impacting my ethic, my work occupation,
depressing my foolish heart.
There were serious impacts in my relations;
it should have been time for a complete starvation.
The tiger was prowling in full on predation,
dragging me helpless to infernal damnation,
devouring my foolish heart.
What happens next is described best as salvation;
It's been sixteen years now with total cessation.
See, Christ made me a totally new creation.
He gets all the credit, my standing ovation.
He gave me a brand new heart.
----------
*I would call this a monorhyme with the additional
feature that each stanza has a short refrain tail.
for the My Foolish Heart Poetry Contest
sponsored by Milt Hankins
written on 04/03/2022
Galactic curls in spirals swirl, entwining twisted mystery,
where time unrolls in blackened holes, no longer bright and blistery,
but writ like runes on starry dunes enclosed in cosmic history
Galactic dust, from novas' gusts, congesting empty spaces
once fatefully flung beyond the tongue of burnt out astral traces,
may recompress and coalesce in distant times and places
Galactic dwarves, like ancient wharves with silent planets mooring
yet still in spin though long done in, hide flares no longer soaring -
magnetic webs of eons ebb, in thermal fusion roaring
Galactic tides warp space divides, call forth sublime creation
while bending clocks in rippled shocks, unfolding time dilation
that seems to crown the flowing gown of pulsars' pulsed gyration
Galactic stew, a seething brew, midst background noise and chatter
like Chaos reigns, the sole remains of missing antimatter,
with just a trace to form a space-time, curved or somewhat flatter
Galactic glue holds something new: dark energy and matter
that interacts and counteracts the ancient Big Bang splatter:
a cosmic soup of strings and loops, a universal batter
Galactic life's replete and rife 'neath lactic milky wafer,
though solar gales leave unseen trails of cosmic rays, the strafer;
but nonetheless, one must confess, it seems there's nowhere safer
Submitted 21 Aug. 2016
Incandescent illusions of massive transfusions
For we are all trapped in tautological time
There is no escape for when you awake
A punitive prisoner that has committed no crime
Silent components dictate progressive opponents
Any resistance is pointless regardless of pace
Metaphysical complication an intellect's dilation
Enthusiastic ecclesiastics question the race
For if time is an arrow through the nefarious narrow
A paradoxical passenger in the line of thought
We travel through seasons without any reasons
Our vanquishable views left to rapaciously rot
Time is no adversary, each breath is temporary
It has no value for destiny, no respect for fate
What use are monetary needs in a mortuary
All is lost when the heart is in a motionless state
Then time swallows whole our collective soul
Radiolucent ruins amidst residual ravenous rust
Tumultuous time carries on to a new distant dawn
For we return to the earth as decompositional dust.
July/26/2017
Collaboration...Silent One/Winged Warrior
Not for any contest...
...welcoming back an old friend from the Soup...