Long Fourth dimension Poems
Long Fourth dimension Poems. Below are the most popular long Fourth dimension by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fourth dimension poems by poem length and keyword.
all we do is talk about the weather
in our own cellar language
and I want to accept
the truism of your perceptions
mainly to untangle the plot
but I ponder through seasons of augury
the intent of seven sisters
is perilous like tangent lines
and turns us into oblivious receivers
overcome by the haunting remorse
myths are lost with quiet humility
in another rebirth of blue moon
the uncontrollable power of destruction
is slowly getting into our penetrable thoughts
and strangely I'm your artificial hero
god lowered by the stage machinery
the elemental barricade of transitional gateways
even your tormented vision of love
dancing through the fourth dimension
we're chasing the unstable happiness
fighting the wakefulness of irrational age
we're awakened in self-sacrifice universe
born under the sign of the rabbit
we're expecting the divine intervention
by precise creation of water and metal
we collapse to each other as weeks go by
Loneliness of Gray
by Odin Roark
Could It Be…
The mirror by which we see ourselves
This captive freedom of art in all of us
This necessity to communicate
Desire to become
Is but destiny’s
Loneliness of Gray
For if
As in physics
The typical complementary colors
Blue and yellow
Red and green
Passion's mainstay
When mixed
Yield gray
Then why
When one’s being
Claims gray
Must disappointment ensue
When there is such empirical truth at hand
When there is no opposite for gray
As it is its own opposite
It’s own quintessential purity
Of emotion’s blend
why
Yes
Some would say
The artist’s mind lives unique perceptions
Available to all
Yet determined by most
As out of reach
Few
Accept this fourth dimension
Others reject
Where hands and feet
Colors and viewpoint
Change about
Inviting the dual organs
Nostrils
Ears
Eyes
To express like colors
Embracing opposites
Allowing vocal cords of multiple mode
To render art’s communication
Imagination’s reverse tongue
Creativity’s spoken proclivity
To forever accept extremities of the mind
As wonderment
As living
Ever notice
How simple the artists’ walk
It appears to be on whatever surface
Imagination might volunteer
Be it floor
Path
Greensward
Or bomb-rutted road
Where surfaces creatively experienced
Reveal a virtually abstract pressure-balancing of gravity
Requiring little of tactile distinctiveness
But merely an accommodation
Today’s levitational force
Accomplishing needed transfers of altitude
Where the climbing of stairs
But a walk up from lower levels of existence
To higher realms of selection
To the Artist
Passage from one scene to another
Needn’t be a factor
Rather trust in gliding
Where shadow and blurred focus
Claim one’s mingled curiosity
Into a chosen whole
Where much of vision
Voids transient objects
Ambiguous appearances like
Furniture
Or details of vegetation
Seeking instead
A diffuse lighting of every scene
Rendering the scheme of reversed colors and texture
Bright red grass
Yellow sky
A conundrum of black and gray cloud-forms
Down to the white tree-trunks
Green brick walls
Embracing
A Lovingly
Angelical grotesquerie
Such reveals one’s essence
One’s creation
One’s smile at chance
Depending on how
The mirror might be hanging
Have you ever been
haunted (no you have not)
by a ghost from the future not even born yet
in your paper thin realm
trolled from a time post human extinction
it could only happen to you so-called
dead in your grave still tossing and turning
& scratching like a deviant
moldering and unquiet one hundred years now
and the whispers yes whispers from
the parallell (this is how we spell it now)
corridoor (see previous) keeping you
a-threshold in your very well deserved
sempiternal shelf of discomfort
Out here bebee the fourth dimension
swings in ways you cannot conceive so
don't test your pretty lil head
much of which is mush and thistle
but! you may be due compensation
for the futurama funnel imposition
a leakage episode beyond apology
under section bla bla
please submit your claim within 30 days
via the usual medium and
we shall endeavour to ensure
requiem aeternam thus ceasing
your infernal insomnia
yours the 3am committee
I arrived at gadgados
today TD our receptionist
is on leave and i have to multitask
between HR and customer care desk
We did lose the keys to the washrooms
turns out the HR forgot and they ended
accompanying her home.. as we are almost
giving up hope of ever finding them..
The boss arrived and they popped out of her bag..
TD arriving at the office these days he keeps popping
up like hes traveling on the fourth dimension
And mi i do know there is no way those keys could
have ended in Madams handbag for the previous day
i am the one who had custody of them last
But the cybertrack ringing in the air.. ability
give me ability... i bet it must be young bujas
who is up to his usual tricks once more
they say he formed the puma squad with the crown prince
and here at gadgados no one really knows what the silver
sentinels are up to... the pumas are very evasive
today the HR trying to corner me wanted to know why
the crown prince deserted duty at the military academy
i don't know i mussed... no one really does know
Maybe Bujas does.. its rumored left to start the puma squad
private silver sentinels... and they have made gadgados facility
their operating base... what they do no one wants to knows
Later in the evening we lost the front door keys only for them
to mysteriously reappear again an echo of the cyber track.. strength
strength give me strength to overcome for you are strength...
I have to mention Bujas strange companion Roy now prowls this area
and the other day i heard Lemmy roughed up people after i declined....
declined work... like TD and took a leave of absence to do music
for i week i sojourned in music traveling trans dimensional arriving...
at the land of light not very unlike Roy.. but different from Roy i traveled
in the eye of my mind and unlike Bujas i have no need for a time machine
Lewis Nyaga
a day at gadgados
I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
Judge that
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
The smiling loch gives a welcome
Along with the vigorous pine,
Time to recharge the soul
And smell the coffee on the Isle of Skye.
Misty mountains of mystery
Are a drug with a natural high,
And offer more to discover
Sipping coffee on the Isle of Skye.
The landscape changes each minute
As clouds give way to the shine,
As the sun whispers the invite
Smell the coffee on the Isle of Skye.
White washed homes contrast colour
Of illuminous mountain sides,
That greet the Cali ferries,
And bring life to the Isle of Skye.
You can almost touch the mountains
As you're touched by the Western Isles,
Three dimensions experienced, while
Sipping coffee on the Isle of Skye.
But the likeness of God in nature
Stirs the fourth dimension inside,
Marries the natural and spiritual, while
Smelling the coffee on the Isle of Skye.
Chaos theory must answer
To the Western Island design,
A place too wonderful for me
While smelling coffee on the Isle of Skye.
The Gaelic heart of Scotland
Melts into the core of mine,
As the wide-eyed little boy
Smells the coffee on the Isle of Sky.
The Curve of Time
This curve is the truest magic of space and time,
With one finite, the other infinite but not in kind.
Einstein’s vision gave us this new fourth dimension,
Inspiring mankind’s depth of a true infinite intention.
The infinite extension of this mystical curve of time,
Gives our poets much to ponder and to set in rhyme.
Piercing the veil of time travel exceeds finite space,
Whilst allowing man his place in this noblest grace.
Man’s primitive view of our Earth as being only flat,
Gave way now to an infinite future view to arrive at.
This infinite future view bespeaks a constancy of motion,
Descriptive of time, people, events, passion, and emotion.
Let us all dream of the enchantment of this curve of time;
For this shall give our poets the chance to set all in rhyme!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
July 22, 2017 (Couplet)
Holograms and hieroglyphs
The whole weighs heavily
touched caressed lightly
brushed on feather canvass
granite marble marvellous papyrus
innocence rejuvenated
partial and impartial
Chiselled in and out
of comprehension angled
layered facets facts
subjective trueness
ciphered and deciphered
Snow flakes teardrops
ink on paper hailing crystals
pastel rainbows thunderbolts
and blind pitch black darkness
tell the story weathered lives
Freedom torrent lightening
anxious reproduction
wholesome holes concatenations
metaphoric mosaic translates
picturesque ‘holos’ trying to emerge
Vertex vortex on horizons
told untold forgotten
and beyond beheld
diagonal a-synchronicity
discovered spoken written
felt and never once complete
Lyric lasers beaming densely
condensation compromised
at the cutting edge of aural light
lacking graphic clarity
eluding synthesized illusion
Once we decipher unconventional
primal prismatic re-reflections
meanings life calligraphy
inscriptions narrative conceptions
we enclose and liberate
the hologram that seems to be
Infinite eternity of scripts
encrypted systems
webs of life’s distortions
fragmentation truth reality
paint the picture of
conflicting contradictions
making sense constructions
lithographic mystery
moulded into understanding
Holograms are limited to
the scope of three dimensions
tending mind and body soul
complementing contrasts
hollow narrow depth untold
Burrowed in words rational
irrational emotions rationale
defence deflections oppressed
repression incarceration
loose out transitional
transcriptions miss the point by far
the bigger picture yet emerging
uncertain clarity sculpted
in hieroglyphic excavation
Carving holy boundless beauty
with the fourth dimension
of subjective sense perception
and the changing timeless
flowing circuit circus artwork
in the making reading writing
on the imaginary wall of life
over and above the hologram
engraved in fallacies
arrests of real unreal reality and
strikes the balance never known
of what is and only seems to be
22th May 2016-05-22
Contest entered: Holograms and Hieroglyphs
The uphill climb,
rigorously relentless
with ambling ambitions
and schematic stratagem,
blueprinted blatantly
on the blank
parchment of mind,
sketched skillfully
with chameleon color shift,
transiently transfixed.
The gripping gravity
of transcendental time
of the loaded past
pulls back incessantly
the present instants,
fastens in retrospect
the incoherent network
of faltering footsteps
at the refurbished root
of existential essence.
The intent inertia
of living force
creates proactive
causal momentum
of tumultuous time,
permeates the perception
of the fourth dimension.
The construed continuum
of elusive eternity,
strives to unveil ineffectually
the shrouded acuity
at the summit of actuation,
emotionally evasive.
The climb connotes
a futile foray
to nowhere.
Everyone, from children to grownups,
carry the world in their hands, they see the past
and the future simply by the move of their thumbs and fingers;
from their very spot they fly in the air hanging onto the mixture of
illusion and reality.
The little glass plate they are staring at is,
though, a two dimensional world, they go
beyond the fourth dimension and reach the world of infinity,
the time of conception to death, while creating a totally anew concept
of time that is a mixture of kairos and chronos.
Because you see everything at the same time
in this little glass plate, layer after layer of thickened image
starts to fall to cause the chaos, the distorted image crumbles.
When a child finds Hydra in the little flat glass plate he held,
he challenges Hydra, and after a long difficult fight, though
he cuts a head off from this great serpent, a drop of blood
numbs the child, with venom spitting out from the mouths
of the remaining heads it deadens the child. Then, after all,
the Hydra’s blood and venom overtake the child’s shrunken brain,
the child becomes a fierce monster himself.
For a grownup,
while watching Laokoon and his two children locked in the coils of
hissing snakes, agonizing. He undergoes unbearable torment himself,
as if Laokoon was tortured by the snakes, stretching his arms in the air
to grab something that may lessen the intensity of horror.
From the touch of smooth
but cold skin of the snake,
he shudders, he frightens, he feels death.
The child, comes and goes from here to yonder world in no time,
led by the move of his fingertip, he came and sat with the devil
face to face, tries to trade junk the devil offers with his soul, though
immature, he is therefore reckless, but innocent.
The grownup who haunted by anguish,
walks on the path of life and death, because
he is unable to shake off the bad-omen he carries;
is now sitting in front of a poker table and through
the little flat glass plate in his palm, gazing at the numbers
on the playing cards; he irons his ragged soul with steaming-hot-iron
for external appearance, the soul that even the devil won’t take in
pledge for filthy lucre.
It’s outrageous but,
all generations alive today, seem to be confined
in the little flat glass plate, they live as the slave of the fingertip.