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.
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.
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
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
Your innocence has blinded you from the real world makin any sense,
what's that? Say your done with it..?
Na you ain't done with this
were not even to the second quarter ya idiot,
you see life goes on without you and me,
there's still plenty of the birds and the bees,
millions of trees,
were just here to be part of history,
Scooby doo it and done it and discover some mysteries
on the scale of the universe and galaxies,
I want to be there to witness the unraveling of reality
and the tearing of causality,
need a front row seat,
can't see nothin in the nosebleeds,
i got questions to seek
cause the answers you're giving me are bleak,
got my knees shakin n feelin weak
but i keep goin cause I'm just one of them freaks,
psycho kid,
don't know when to give up cause i just never did,
you know that's messed with my head,
wish you could hear the thoughts I think layin in bed,
but I can't remember,
every time I sleep its like an eternal slumber,
I move to the fourth dimension
and can't tell my letters from numbers,
its outta wack and suddenly winter is summer
and though I'm walkin I'm a runner,
I'm a peaceful guy on the ground, while also shootin at you in a chopper gunner,
see how that works,
nope.. Cause you can't read between the quirks,
you don't know what its like to feel fine and still hurt,
to act like earnie but feel like Bert,
so thick headed
don't know the difference between and kilt and a skirt,
I think you're mind is fried and burnt,
but it could be mine,
so off the rails
can't tell the difference of space and time,
in plain sight but I'm tryin to hide,
hands bound behind my back and still tryin to fight,
I'm in the daylight but feels like its the middle of night,
tryin to cut you but what's in my hand is not a knife,
its a small little vile of blight,
once infected,
no matter how tough,
you're death will be expected
to make a few heads spin,
you're walkin on needles and pins,
the smallest amount of pain
and you're whole body will cringe,
be careful!
you don't know your and the fringe of this cliff,
one more step and you'll meet your end...
Need a push?
Small, Medium At Large Units...
Define paradigm since time
immemorial does find
me defied, electrified, and generated
fascination within my mind,
despite spacious essence invisible to blind
people, or even those blessed to find
pointed laser insight more pertinent
when a visible beam shined
into infinite void of space,
where coordinates aligned
since humans stood erect
to measure existential blocks assigned
within very brief span that consigned
an average life on terrestrial
firmament more of a grind,
when omnipotent self importance
mandates no child shall be left behind,
yet unwittingly civilization dictates
everyone must be forcibly inclined
to synchronize, mechanize, and harmonize,
their every breath entwined
analogous to a pinned insect specimen
semi restricted to maneuver within
nebulous unseen all encompass
sing fourth dimension since...
my Neanderthal ancestors
huddled around protective hearth
yet,...no idea when,
(whether before
my conception, in utero, or at birth)
my noggin got gripped
with names woolworth
their weight in precious
gems or even salt
(steeped from legacy bygone ancient
civilizations) linkedin lightly
peppered planetary girth
various passages of time,
each mortal allotted on Earth
(measured in seconds, minutes,
hours, days, weeks, months...)
one season does leave,
and another one fall lows win touring
Santa's sleigh for those who believe
conveniently evinced as sands
slipping down humongous sieve
denoting reasons for joy or to grieve
and inquisitiveness attuned
when every stations broadcasts
countdown by Jeeve
parsing segments, not only prompting
objectives I did satisfactorily achieve
(during another orbit of Gaia,
when passage of time
signifying poignant heave
ho every New Year's Eve),
but really the entire ticking
tocking clock scaffold
poses as an artificial construct,
as well the jolly green giant
with one or another
expansive FLOTUS on his/her greensleeve.
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
Sounds creep into my ear, sounds that have wandered
over these valleys, mounts and plains, once debased by ruined man,
sounds that creep from the crevices of these wrecks, they have wandered-
over time and seasons, under the sky, now painted cyan.
They tell me of mortal spoils,
how the living scorched the earth by mindless strife and broils.
They tell me of diabolic alchemy,
how golden fields burned, screaming, for what was the devil’s euphony.
These sounds have survived that marriage between man and arms,
they now course through these settlements, homes and barns.
Appraising these stories about the power of time,
telling these innocent mortals of the epochs of wartime.
They sing of its glory- time - it is unrelenting, unforgiving, almighty and true,
the time, it is often called God, Zeus, the fourth dimension –
has changed the colour of this atmosphere which now bears a unique hue,
has altered what comprised the heavens - the sky wasn’t always blue.
They sing of its work – time – has achieved so much more than what we could,
has subverted the things that we did, wouldn’t and would
do for us and that which isn’t us,
things -most unnecessary, unneeded- over which we’d fuss.
It is time, which has dug the graves of those in history,
who came, killed, conquered and ruled – time is revealing, yet itself, a mystery.
It is time, which has taught these people the might of words and the plight caused by cruelty, hatred and those who did fight.
What remains now, are memoirs, lessons, and all that could be absorbed,
from these once-unfortunate grounds that reeked of blood,
for they now have sprawling grass that covers carcases of hateful man, intermingled and nourishing the mud.
Time, it is an overlord of entropy and dissipates accumulated hate and shock,
Time, it keeps untold histories submerged under the clock.
The Map
On the table... there is a folded paper.
When carefully opened and displayed,
it shows places to go and to be...
Why would anyone want to go?
Because we are unhappy where we are.
Why are we lost?
Because no one has made clear the path to take.
It is right before us in plain speak,
yet we refuse to consider the possibilities
of miracles.
There are homeless now... in the city,
so many you can barely see the streets.
There are displaced people from all over...
embraced by force into our lives.
Rights are vague and misunderstood,
or challenged and then disregarded.
Meteors hit the earth, deep in the north.
The sound travels all over the world,
even if it can not be heard by humans,
it is known by all others living.
The animals, and the beasts they fearfully laugh.
The moon changes and the face makes faces...
but few see the need to question
the reality of our solar system.
They covet the small successes some have made,
in the name of all,
but the truth is they loved only themselves,
and now the rest will pay...
the price, more than known until the end.
War...
Death to the innocent,
while the elite are held aloof...
safe in their mighty mansions.
The judgment of the times
distorted by fake and misleading events
dressed in red.
Tick, tick, tick... tock,
the clock is running.
Every day is a gift,
and every action important,
even if disqualified by the masses.
Look to, the paper on the table.
North, South, East, and West...
God is coming.
The writing in the margins,
speaks of angels descending and ascending.
The reality of today,
a fourth-dimension of tomorrow.
Tell someone,
and embrace the very air you breathe,
thankful for your next breath.
If a one dimensional dot can see himself
Two dimensions he cannot
If a 2D line can see himself and the dot
Three dimensions he cannot
For us we can see them all for we are 3D
And time is the fourth dimension, supposedly
But what comes after that we wont know
For our minds cannot comprehend this blow
But what if the breach of thought could be
A way to get into the world of 5D
Einsteins theory of relativity
Was biast as is was written with math from 3D
I do not know how to prove him wrong
Through 100 years his theory stood strong
But so did the one that said we will never fly
We broke the sound barrier after relentless try
We all approve space is a grand scheme
And no fairy tale god created it from his genes
For we will never see the true world
Of this vast space in dimensions untold
One day his theory will break and we'll laugh
Just as we do when we take a photograph
For every notion and theory based on 3D
Is a foolish one knowing that dot cant see the line indeed
So how can we base this one that is true?
With math I guess the language of prude
But let me throw a wrench in your flaw
If I just add zero to any theory it will fall
So dont dedicate your life to arithmitic
For its like religion, and the end will be catestrophic
For all quantum phsysics and cosmic vacuum loops
We can try and understand as light bends through its hoop
For all the curved space and entropy arrow of time
Take your twin paradox theory and replace it with Gods ryhme
And take your general relativity theory from the pastence
Toss it on Einsteins grave and replace it with prudence
Long live Jesus and Einstein together they create nothing but chaos
Form:
I live in middle land between fuzzy bottom
and the high hazy skies
I peer down quantum wishing-wells, waves entangle
observed as they collapse
I scan beyond forever where dark matter lurks
in unforeseen disguise
I think I am, I blink, ... something is shifting there
reality perhaps
I count the zeroes descending beneath my eyes
to out of sight below
I sum tens of noughts piling to the very brink
of distant space and time
I ask why half-way along this fourth dimension
our knowledge seems to grow
I ponder my vantage, asymmetric centre
position so sublime
I play with grateful gods gathering me in close
where when can be no more
I move by osmosis, membrane passing on through
the other side of hope
I absorb persona essence, no hereafter
no self was here before
I am continuous love, joy and pain caressed
I am the learning-scope
I seem potent but feel a much greater power
the birth of potential
I flow with constant change, buoyed up by warm current
rising through the ocean
I feel procession from the dizzy atomic
to cosmic sequential
I record the dancing rim of life, strange song soothed
holographic lotion
I stir prime numbers, multiple integer broth
then fractions of the whole
I greet the old ones, memories morph and cuddle
sprinkling their magic hue
I mingle many species, their varied voices
shape the galactic goal
I embrace fallen youngsters, stricken babies scream
all pleading to renew
I swing with orchestral relatives, out of time
off-beating ticking clock
I watch minds simplify, beguiled by certainty
discordant chords strumming
I am blown by the erratic winds of zeitgeist
zig-zagging round the block
I pause to query, am I this zany creature
half-way to becoming?