Long Expand Poems
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I had a dream that I was a butterfly
winged iridescent; my life would flutter by
as I was dreaming a dream of a dream of
my own lepidopteron being above.
Hither and thither I flightily flitted,
or so it seemed, as illusion befitted,
with troubles, eidolons, and nebulous fears.
And thus it continued for one hundred years.
In the Nymphalidae family was I,
akin to the nebula high in the sky
with beauty Cithaerial shimmering bright
in colors that cover the spectrum of light.
Knots and shells detailed in this Hubble capture
glow in light show that can bring about rapture,
cause soulful poets to sing about gladly
(seeing a butterfly wing about madly)
or brood over sadly with soft doleful sighs
the ultimate stages before its demise.
Stargazers perceive it with scientists’ eyes
and give facts and figures astronomer-wise.
The lobes of Twin Jet PN M Two Dash Nine
expand ever outward in pinion design
from central star system, in gaseous streams
of splendorous rainbows pellucid in gleams.
The binary stars at the nebula’s heart
go round one another in luminous art,
spending a century in this rotation,
and form the wings through their stellar gyration.
But let us return to the classical theme
of the Chinese philosopher’s famous dream
(which these rhyming stanzas have sought to extol),
where I found myself playing a starring role.
Diaphanous butterfly wings had I then
in the long-lived dream that I dreamed ten by ten
decades lastingly onward in cosmic time,
as did Sleeping Beauty in legend sublime.
Yet when I awakened, no alae had I.
No longer was I slender winged butterfly,
but veritably was a human once more,
with life to engage in, encounter, explore,
or just suffer through in a sentient state.
How would I create my tellurian fate?
Still I wondered if this was ‘reality’.
Could I be a butterfly dreaming of me?
To die, perchance dream; ay, indeed that’s the rub
that makes us endure the heartache and hubbub.
For death claims all beings as part of its sum.
And in sleep of death, who knows what dreams may come?
~ Harley White
______________________________________________
Inspiration for the poem was from the article, “The wings of the butterfly ~ New Hubble image of the Twin Jet Nebula”, of August 25, 2015, on the Hubble Space Telescope Org website.
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…
Universe
Universe is now well ordered whole interacting entity. We explore and try to perceive through our senses. Was there any Master Plan? Was there any Creator?
.
Dark void was Cosmos
No Matter, no Energy
No Space set
Big Bang exploded.
Energy, Matter appeared.
Space sets, Time was on.
Matter, Energy, Space were captivated by Gravitational singularity. All were squeezed in infinitesimal small dense super extreme hot state. Cataclysmic explosion termed as Big Bang gave birth to Universe Instantly Universe started to expand rapidly everywhere round.
. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed. Big Bang just released the already –existing Energy.
.At birth Universe was not ‘Big’, but smaller than a single proton. Explosion didn’t come up as ‘Bang’.It was like a snap breaking sharply
Sea of sub atomic particles appeared
within one second of Big Bang.
Protons, electrons, neutrons, positrons,
neutrinos and photons all sang.
As high as ten Billions degree Celsius
Bell of tremendous temperature rang
Photons influenced by free electrons sprang.
From opaque state Universe suddenly turned transparent illuminated by after-glow cosmic microwave radiation. Gigantic clouds of primordial Cosmos particles coalesced by Gravitational Pull.Cluster of stars and galaxies started formation.
Within three minutes simple atomic nuclei came up. Universe continued to cool down.Thousand years passed to shape electrically neutral atom.
.Gravitational pull was supposed to control the expansion of Universe. But Universe is going on expanding. Far away are the galaxies, greater is the acceleration to recede. Something other than Matter or Energy is pushing distant galaxies apart.
This mysterious stuff is not to ignore.
It is termed ‘Dark Energy’, yet to explore.
Will the expansion of Universe stop by chance?
Or, will it ever crush on a Big Crunch ?
11/05/15
101 in a ROW Contest - 12 by Poet Destroyer A
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
I'd say,
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
There once was a much-desired piece of real estate nearby the estate of a king.
The property was coveted by the king and owned by a subject in his domain.
The king offered the above mentioned landowner a fair price, but he promptly refused to sell.
The use of eminent domain laws is said to have originated in the early 1700’s;
but this story took place hundreds of years before Christ. It refers to an evil king of a Middle Eastern country.
In a democratic republic, many properties are often secured by eminent domain.
In the above mentioned kingdom, the citizens also had rights to be honored.
The king was known to be evil, but even he deferred to the citizen’s property rights.
Though a king may be evil, he need not seek to do everything evil. So the king went home very sad, because he sincerely wanted that property. He said it was close to his estate, and owning it would allow him to expand his garden.
Nevertheless, it was not to be. That is, until the king’s wife got word of it.
The queen soon noticed the dejected and disappointing demeanor of the king.
Upon learning about her husband’s dilemma, the queen promptly resolved the king’s problem without further questions. The queen devised a lying and evil plot, and in short order, she had the man killed. She then confiscated his property and handed it over to her husband the king. The property owner had bravely exercised his right to sell or not sell to the king; but it cost him his life. Yes, the king had a reputation for being evil; but his wife the queen was far more evil than the king.
The exercise of our rights can be costly, and may even demand the ultimate price. However, the pain is greater, and the wounds are deeper, whether inflicted by the state government or by people, if rights are ignored. The evils of a State, whether it be a kingdom or republic, can only persist if the good people of the state do nothing. When good people are silent, the state is at great risks of doing evil. But when good people are vocal and prayerful, the state does good and serves them, because they exercise their rights. ‘The Good’ can only be realized as good people rise from their seats of apathy. Good people can only see and combat evils as they raise their heads from the sands of indifference.
cj 07232015 PS
The same striking man, the same lush, green land,
cushioned and delighted her heart in sleep.
Her romantic dream of senses was most grand
unless repeated fears began their slow, dark creep;
drowning and stabbing frights would often expand.
She would then wake, shaken, and try to understand.
This consistent dream had always just been.
Each night, the familiar reel repeated
with new chapters unfolding now and then.
Six sweet, white roses were never deleted
and repeatedly appeared at her dream’s end -
always pure white of a love intense blend.
She touched the new, glossy travel brochure,
ran her fingers along the pictured tree,
reminding herself that she was quite sure
it was the same tree her sleeping eyes did see.
This tree of certain enchanting allure
is what urged on her travel towards tomorrow's tour.
**********************************************
The guide led her slowly to the charming tree.
Its presence moved her into a faint-type sway.
When her trance-like eyes finally broke free
they took in surrounding nature’s breathtaking array,
and paused at her dream recalled mound of clay
where six, white roses lay in a love intense display.
Visibly shaken, the guide sat her gently down.
Sitting, too, he began sharing an ancient tale.
“Centuries agone, the prince loved a poorly
maiden from town. Family, foes and doctrine bid
this love to fail. They eloped, cloaked by soft darkness
draped all around. He wore armor and his beauty wore
her plain gown.”
“They returned after six love-days of bliss.
Only hours back 'fore his true love vanished.
No sign, no clue, the prince sought all amiss
and threatened the guilty would be banished.
The prince finally found her in the sea’s mist
with stab wounds he would not ever dismiss.”
“He buried his love and also a spell in this clearing.
He left no marker but a white rose for each day
he and his wife had shared perfect, loving, pairing.
So sure his spell would bring her near with love revered,
he vowed to watch over her grave using spell's sway
and to join her within three moons after she appeared."
The guide asked, “how much longer do you plan to stay?”
She glowed, “I must linger at least three moons after today.”
Human history is full of trouble because religion has duped the human race and creates a lot of doubles all over the place. If I could turn the clock back in time, I would not change anything, but I would get what is rightfully mine.
If I could go back in time, I would conquer the mountains and build a shopping center in the middle of the tobacco land; I would expand the livestock and plant a gigantic cane field in the back yard.
I would develop the cotton farm and plant a sunflower field on the Lawn and pump cooking oil out of the belly of the beast and drain the color out of the human race and let it cover the entire street.
The color is full of trouble, and it has cast a sticky pigment on the universe and make us believe that the human body is made up of dirt, the British created this religious narrative with Adam and Eve at the center of the stage and the Prophet Mohammed dominating the Muslim race.
The narrative is so strong that it brainwashes every human being upon the barren land; it started from the babe in the womb, and it came to life in the temple of doom.
The scientist explains it and the religion fanatics’ shout about it but have no evidence to prove it. They continue to live a living lie and cast their breads upon the water until the day they die.
The romans started it and the British perfected it and everyone was brainwashed by it and start to believe it. Thanks to the Americans and the new world that rescued the human race from it.
The British is bound in traditions, they have created much of the history books on the land; the color trouble runs through the pages and create conflict among the human races.
Some people never overcome it, they die and go to the grave with it and a new generation is born with the color trouble spread out all over their face.
The stigma is still around and it has dogged some people in the town, color on food, color on face, color on house, color mingling in the dirt, color running on the street, color disrupting my heart beat, you must mix the two troublesome colors and make they stay together and if you think that it is improper let the different conflicting colors meet and let the Devil prowl around the street.
I would never change my color if you gave me a billion dollars. Let my color run all over the street until you accept my heartbeat.
"Men die by the hundred thousand"
Just like that, with one command
As if we're discussing grains of rice, or sand
As though there's no need to expand
When in truth every one felled
Can mean more than
The cause and the effect
And the circumstance and the consequence
And the situation and the solution
Of war itself
But that's not War...
For there is no nobility
Or elegance or beauty
Of any kind
That any mind
Can fathom
Or any conscience
Can stem
But that's not War...
They die for honor.
They sacrifice for valor.
They die for country
Fall like sentry
Which makes it alright
Because apparently
Heaven knows their plight
And therefore justifies their fight
But that's not true,
And that's not War...
Because there's no decency
And there's no excellency
In this kind of death.
For even Death himself has found
That he flinches at the sound
Of the blood splattered ground
Shaking around him
But that's not War...
It's gotta be money then
That's gotta be the reason
It's gotta be the definition
Of what war's all about.
Maybe it's the dying children
Maybe that's what they call treason
Nope.
THEY FIGHT FOR PASSION! FOR LOVE! FOR PRESERVATION OF RIGHTS! FOR ANTI-
TERRORISM! FOR WORLD PEACE! FOR SOMETHING RIGHT?
Nope.
For you can't label
This grotesque industry
Because it's impossible
To apply it with morality
Because war
Isn't deep
With massive gore
It's shallow and steep
Because war in itself is the greatest example
of human extravagance put to the test and pushed
to the outer limits of vanity where it can ironically
pretend that it stands for anything more than what it is.
And like all of the greatest and most celestial human epiphanies,
it comes without justice and reason. Because once we've stooped down
to the point where we can tear each other apart... nothing really exists
Politics fades
Justice waves
At your facade
And criminals
And lunatics
And judges
And presidents
And doctors
And lawyers
And corporations
And reporters
And heaven
And hell...
They laugh at this charade.
Tricked you again. Because
That's not War.
No.
War is when a homeless man
Dies of hunger without a plan
Because justice has put a ban
On letting him simply take what he can
To live.
This is War.
Look at them, tangled in insignificant conversation
about politics or stereotypes of blacks, whites and Asians,
lack of youth education, weather ruined vacations, how inflation squeezing their arm like “yo, I got you taken,
and how fuel became a bill from the money that we are making.
They sacrifice the savings to keep a standard of living.
I hear then talking about their lovers lack of love that they are giving
I say communicate or leave because time is steady ticking
Look at them
Buying expensive rims, and high fashion clothes with sneakers, lugz, and tims. Inside I soul spy like
magnified mri’s an imaginary field force of selfishness and pride.
Careless if they fetus die, cry internal cause maternal really means giving up a lot.
They sacrifice the club shot for shot life and dreams and the scene of kings and queens all decken together…
and their business is each others infused for forever playing tether with the ball of a pendulum. Uncovered
are their memories of covers and words they’ve past uttered…it is just another case of lack of patience
Like gimme good but hold the impregnation. Bright futures still there steady waitin
Look at them
Thinking they can plan their lives, brake the rules of the beehive that ran their lives, make a little honey to
expand their lives, then forget they folk turn around forget they wives.
See she lost her heart and he aint got no eyes but in such a dark world that man is king.’
Look at her flaunting that ring then pawning that ring because all that mattered was a shiny thing. Not the
signs
Look at them tryna rewind. Relight the spark that wouldn’t stay the last 20 times
It should be a crime to try to live back there. Yo people do change but change is rare
They put it all on retail so it can be re-teared
All the hurt made them cold so they don’t care
Blinded by the glare, and the lights and such
Look at them! Don’t they know they done sold too much?
In for a short time touch instead of long term goals
People drive through they souls without no tolls
All control each other’s minds fueled hearts by coal
So hard, so swoll, so invincible is external
Look at them bout to blow so internal
Would you look at them actually living
My observations vicarious as information I’m giving
Look at me all input but no answer
All I am is input but not the answer
Form:
"Its our last night together.. "
our bodies lay together
and we stay this way
all through the night
sleeping in each others arms
waiting for the sun to wake
as it starts a new day
we knew in our hearts
this was our way
to say our last goodbye
for once and for all.
The love we once shared
Will survive
But this last night together
was want we wanted to do.
but I know as I walk out the door
this will be a goodbye
maybe we’re crazy .
maybe people wouldn’t agree
but this was the way
we both wanted it to be
You will be move miles away and,
I will miss the way you stare
I will miss the way you share.
How will i kiss you in the midnight
How will i shift you a side.
I think about the distance,
I start to find you in the dark nights.
I dream to see you for an instant.
Without you I question my existence.
When I look at the sky,
I think about the time.
How fast will it fly?
How much will I cry?
Every night ...
My arms are holding blankets
Imagining you are in the arms
My heart is set, on that day.
When your work is done,
and you're home to stay.
I'll be waiting right here,
with open arms.
To hold you close,
and keep you warm.
I'll squeeze you gentle,
but hold you tight.
And kiss you all over,
When the time is right.
I'll express my love,
so you know it's true.
There's nothing on earth,
I would not do for you.
I'm proud to be able,
to call you mine.
What a expression,
on your face,
when I pulled the ring,
out of the case.
And I took your hand,
then dropped to my knees.
And said honey please,
will you marry me ?
Growing stronger and stronger,
as each day pass.
Sadness is the feeling I get
When I think of leaving you again.
Know that you're not just another friend;
You're someone to whom
My poems I send. ?
Even though we are miles apart
You are never far from my heart
I loved you then
I love you now
It's always when and
Never how
Take me back to yesterday
All the wonderful things you had to say
I loved you then
I love you now
It's always when
And never how
I see your eyes
I feel you near
Although you're not
Really here ?
~Thats how long distance relationship survive.
Credit's ~
Ig _.uchuu._
Fb ~ Utkarsh yadav
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Be in love guys.