Long Engine Poems
Long Engine Poems. Below are the most popular long Engine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Engine poems by poem length and keyword.
Eminem Protege 2
Don't care what you think
I need Ten Shrinks an Ten Pens Full Of Ink
To Let my Inner Wisdom Tink
Colder Than Ten Penguins In A Rink
My Spirit Fitness & Physique at it's Peak
Adrenaline Obese
Extinguished to Concrete
Out the Pyramids Extinct
Into this Physical Dimension as A Sphinx
Face of a Beast of a Lynx
Idiot Beliefs placing limited reach
on my limitless fatigue
My Old Image Obsolete
I stole Potion from Ten Witches An Ten Wishes
from Ten Genies an Ancient Magicians
an Buried the lamps in the Ditches
while I summoned Ten Fighting Spirits
of Venegance as My Apprentices
I Opened my Sealed Syllabus
to Reveal my Ventriloquists
Just left Hells Kitchen with Skin Itching
with Skin Blisters open Skin Pigments
Stealing Lucifers Instruments
to Use them Against Him
To appear as Glitches
against the System
I cook Hot Meals with Mittens
an make him taste the Illness
I'm Inventing
But only an Sample for Interest
for His Taste Senses
cause Hells angels can Sensor the Sizzling
I'm Fly like Ten Twin Pigeons
with Eagles Precision
I'm a Scientist but I ain't writing Science Fiction
with Knowledge that would leave Einstein Winded
I been Fighting for Living
100 percent Percentage
an no less than a Percent difference
Still Power in my Engine
to keep the Ignition Driven
You can't Compare to these Rare Characteristics
the Judgements from your Conscious
is InTolerant to my Unresponsive
Mental Doctrines
Im use to Antagonist
Real Hebrew who's a Zionist
False Prophets who Diabolic an Jewish
Judaism Created with Iron Fist
in A Luciferian Science
of Enlightenment
Jewish Hybrids Of Pirates
Stolen Israels Environment
I ain't Racist
Just apart of a Nation
Created
Created Generations to Generations
Heritage Invaded
an Culture Undertaken
Perpetrated
by The Synagogue of Satanist
my fire been Penetrated
the fire in the eye of the Tiger formulated
stripes on the tiger Blazing
I'm Judahs Inspiration
an Judas Envy Craving
But I'm not Babylons Patriot
Bablyonion Doom Waiting
Doomsday
when the Moon Change
The Wolf Rage
Waging Spiritual Shade
against Ravenous Wolves in Sheeps Wools
is Game
Sharpened Tools
my Sword is Shaped
Cut open the Wolves
an Bathe in the Pool
of Blood til It's Drained
I'm a Prophet in the Apocalypse
The morning soars with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy, crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,
loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to bother me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow.
The morn's alive with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy, crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds loud,
and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to bother me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow!
Unaffordable, yet valiant speeding,
tailgating, and zooming Pep Boys, I cannot dodge.
Yours truly grief stricken
(sob... sob... sob)...
wheely hard to bear
this anticipatory anxiety
riddled joker impossible
mission thwarting despair
death knell tolled (told),
woebegone news, I did fear
hears stunned me into silence,
the unwelcome prognosis,
I needed to hear
no joke, but good humor
totally wrecked vehicle forces
yours truly to become...,
no not a lion tamer
but, yes a panhandling junketeer
begging, copping, dilly dallying... ha
to accept unpleasant
unexpected dire straits
gravely digging within lithosphere
bidding... fare thee well
treasured automobile faithful and near
synonymous with ideal paramour, yet now
must confront stark reality,
lack ample disposable income available
no financial resources to persevere,
and worse case scenario me
and the missus will need to don
faux Santa Claus outfit,
and roundup available reindeer
for ourselves (yea... yea... yea...,
I realize how spare
and tired, pessimistic,
forlorn success such short notice
unless if... nah no fat or slim chance...
apocalypse ushers abominable thermonuclear
war, (I doubt Trump would
pull publicity stunt
to be re elected - ha) whereby
Beatle browed, foo fighting
foreigners, survivors impressed, feted,
compensated... for service
unless they willingly volunteer.
Combination future pluperfect
birthday presents and Noel hi
Christmas gifts well nigh,
noah ark cake "FAKE" attempt,
to hoodwink, engine ear,
trunk hate, et cetera
drum, harp, trumpet... belie
including objective to shanghai,
nor fall out of good amazing graces
toward (me) garden variety generic guy
providing steadfast generous
figurative air supply to fortify,
revving me shaky talent,
ye may oft times decry
as unintelligible gobbledygook
brainstorming ideas to try
single handedly ambidextrously
poetically kindle indeed codify
to elucidate how transportation
car reared and gone awry
moderate expenses as original parts wear out,
(i.e. battery, fender, brakes,
hood latch, shock absorber, tires...
albeit almost all simultaneously), hence I sigh
aware expounding circumstance that doth defy
immediate resolution incumbent to pacify
troubleshoot immediate impasse
squarely render quintessence
problem solving the overriding
challenge, I vilify.
...inspired by 'Poem In October' by Dylan Thomas
The morning rings with skylarks singing,
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
(toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.)
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,
loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to trouble me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow.
A Rift in Time
By Elton Camp
Henry Higgins, B.A., M.A. Ph.D., graduate in physics from the Massachusetts Institution of Technology, is missing. Born August 8, 1950, he was thought of as a genius by some, but as a crackpot by others. Revolutionary theories on the possibility of time travel that he presented at scientific gatherings received a mixture of applause and ridicule. None of his articles have seen publication in peer-reviewed journals.
How his machine works is of a technical nature, thus certain to be of insignificant interest to the readers of this account. Suffice it to say that it works very well. Henry had seen his device disappear and reappear multiple times after being programmed to slide both forward and backward in time.
Finally came the day to test it in person. Surprisingly athletic for a man of his years, Henry strapped himself into place before the control panel, adjusted his eyeglasses and pulled a protective helmet over his thick, gray hair. He set the chronometer to early August of 2040 to determine if he was still living at that advanced age and what honors had been accorded him by the scientific community.
With a barely-discernable jerk, the time machine began its slide into the future, the red cancel button prominently alongside the digital display of the date. The world outside the device became a blur and Henry heard only a low hum from the engine. All seemed to be well as the years rolled by on the chronometer. At first, that is.
Henry noted with surprise the muscle atrophy and skin changes associated with extreme age. A slight looseness of his helmet caused him to discover that he was now as bald as his father had been in his late eighties. Henry’s eyeglasses no longer allowed him to read the control panel clearly. The truth hit him--he was aging along with the passing years. The inanimate time machine had shown no such effect, but it was different with a biological organism. He desperately punched the cancel button, realizing that, if his future self was not still living, his death was impending.
To his relief, the chronometer slowed and stopped. Without input from Henry, the time device began to move backward in time, slowly at first, and then at a brisk clip. By the time the read-out showed Henry’s present, his physical deterioration had been reversed and all was as before.
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…
Mornings shrill with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs, and tumbling freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
(toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.)
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,
loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons preening, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to trouble me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow!
not in the heart again
for chrissakes it's like Swiss cheese
decoffinated please I'm a yet ambulatory zombie
off his medication as usual
alternatives to logic 101 with Prof. Spike
far too much work for a dead end
saw his only ally the embalmers needle
left his innards spilled in the sand
history in its entirety mocked his comprehension
had the nation in tears and then nausea
several dueling scars graced his genitals
if our perceptions already lie
why shouldn't we
I had to laugh
it was all I could do to keep from smiling
even after a thousand years of AI research
the electronic government was helpless
my Microsoft forehead radiator
absolutely charmingly couldn't get any focus
but the Royal Society of Blind Philosophers
helped me with my little problem
a miracle of recipe repair
because our endorphin soup is a bit thin
the quicksilver cooks ate first and fell asleep
having thrown away their brains long before
in the field kitchen of the gods
after the air raid sirens of postmodernity
can there be too much truth
for an army of blood diamond merchants
now a bit more about para electrics
if only I were at liberty to discuss it
yes imprecision can carry signal
but the place is crawling with dilettantes
wearing their secret butt plugs
it's a guessing game as you can see
petitioning for a visually diagrammatic idiom
although it's a devilish seesaw but let us restart
The Oblivion Ride was the big theme park attraction
my extended family was in the sideshow
justifiably taken for a pack of fools
then the sun went down and never came up again
and we stepped into the stone circle
chanting evidence is preferable
to the moonlit tombstone
good luck with that in your airwaves
broadcast on radio Sarajevo
signal drifting drifting drifting
with minds great and small
and smaller and smaller
the Internet is the yearned for Messiah
there it's done and out and not to be unseen
you wrestle with it while I proceed
dashing among startled commuters
mesmerizing the fact finding committee
their dictatorship of x-ray leeches
tossed him out of several monasteries
apparently the production quotas were relaxed
in a kaleidoscope of normalcy
the style crazed mannerist martinets
howdy do nail in my shoe
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
He is cranking up the old rusty engine again, but all that work is in vain, sweat is running from his anxious face and grease is spilling all over the place. There he goes again with his tool bag and greasy overall lying flat on his back underneath the truck, pulling screw, by screw from the belly of the old truck.
Monday comes at a price, and he has to pay a painful sacrifice, fix it or dump it he has no choice but to squeeze Monday into his chest. The old truck is draining the life out of his pocket. It's just the other day he fixed it. He replaced the engine with a second hand one that he imported from Finland. It worked quite well for the first few days but soon it starts to die away.
He pulls down the whole thing and drain the oil out of it, the heaven doesn’t know what this man is about, thirty different parts staring in his face and the oil and water is dripping all over the place.
The Engine block, and the Cylinder Head has sucked out the pressure out of the living dead; the piston, crank shaft, camshaft, and Timing belt are not in place, and it causes the vehicle to wobble and shake. Examine the engine valves and combustion chamber carefully; there is a hole in the oil pan and a blunt on the connecting rod.
The intake manifold and Exhaust manifold has something in common and can heat up your face and plant bitterness into your grave. The spark plugs, piston ring and flywheels are out of place, and you have to tighten them, or you will end in an unpleasant place.
Look at the head gasket, cylinder liner and crank case, they are shifting around, and the distributor ring is hanging on the ground; the cylinder head cover, the rubber grommet and camshaft pulley are out of line, and you have got to replace the oil filter, water pump, and oil pan drain bolt.
The turbocharger and supercharger are defected, and you must replace the timing belt, drive pulley and the starter motor before the engine fail. You need a brand-new truck to satisfy the daughter she will never come back in that truck with you unless you do what you have to do.
The wind is blowing softly, and the trees are shaking violently, the weather is fine, but his emotion is out of line, the sun is peeping beyond the hill and nature is sending him a bunch of daffodils look carefully into the sky and you will see shades of Monday passing by.