Long Fraction Poems
Long Fraction Poems. Below are the most popular long Fraction by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fraction poems by poem length and keyword.
Turning over in a ruffled bed,
stark red numbers sear 4 a.m. into bloodshot corneas.
Nothing but darkness creeps through threadbare curtains, frozen in place.
A desolate silence becomes deafening, as birdsong no longer crescendos—
what would have been the breaking of dawn.
It's been six years now since our brightest star was thrown out of orbit,
exposing the frozen side of the sun.
No longer does our planet experience the warmth of its radiation,
nor the glow of its solar flares.
Within a fraction of a second, humanity was plunged into an everlasting night.
Temperatures plummeted; mass hysteria was at its peak.
Crops perished within hours to days,
as the new icy tundra eclipsed once-thriving farmlands.
The birth of a perpetual Ice Age was at hand.
Power grids crystallized and snapped.
Cities crumbled; small towns were blotted out,
disappearing off the map, never to be seen again.
Death's gelid hand spared but a few souls—
holed up in a scientific research bunker in the Arctic.
We are but the unlucky few who get to “live” in this glacial purgatory,
wandering aimlessly forevermore.
When this day fell 12 months ago,
I remember swearing on a new blessed oath.
I couldn’t bear the thought of another year alone, another year of solitude where I’m scared of my phone.
I dreamt of my hand being held through the cold
or the mornings by the fire, where warmth never gets old.
I could picture a calendar with a thousand scribbled plans,
I could hear the bustle of the bar and its band.
When the night would end, I’d feel the squeeze of a hand,
as we ventured on home, to our safe promised land.
Then the morning would come, with everyone around
we’d gather by the green, humming dulcet sounds
inspired by the radio, that’s on far too loud.
The paper in our hands would not be a fraction
of our comfort, of our satisfaction.
Because we knew we were there, in this moment we’d share and just like the others, we’d bless every flair.
But now I’m awake, so harsh and so heavy
the months have flown by and it’s Christmas already
I watch all the hopefuls and how they bless this season
yet part of me feels like I don’t have a reason
to feel quite so merry, when my bed sits so empty.
I can’t think of a time where I’ve been let down gently.
I know what will happen this time around,
this is what happens every year, I’ve found.
I’ll sit as one island, I’ll clasp my glass close.
I’ll swallow those memories, brought to me by the ghost
and then the next day when it’s come to an end,
I’ll swear on that oath, again and again.
My sworn enemy elect, is the constant profusion of illustrative choice,
even though it bestowed to me this shrewd strident voice,
I have unfeigned gratitude aplenty for opulent options but still,
with itemised information excessive without curb I’m ill,
one can sift through a menagerie of bewitching pros and cons,
skewed point of reflection, adopted pose, other folk dons,
diverse argument galore or hairsplitting please beware,
arch devilish trap covert, that sprung sneaky snare, surplus fact monoliths depending on an ultimate decision, shun bogus trendsetting at once with sheer derision, to be visibly cognizant as transparent courses of action, quite vast indeed and mammoth not a minute fraction,
when I commit to redeem there is an element of risk, but unwarranted deferral frowned on, one must be brisk, in the absolute recess of my mind is this constant pressure, to battle with surplus plethora, items novel and fresher,
with such package, pitch, display, slogans and colour,
choice might emerge to boost mood then banish dolour, broad scope “they” unleash, a nod to the downright plausible, the chocolate de luxe editions are they tangibly laudable, it is not for me to magnify an apparent risible matter, pettifogging, quibbling, nitpicking, pointless chatter,
I must insist on venting as a means to a clear path ahead,
yes, to coexist with at many levels trivial confusion instead,
excess products can be such a grandiose glossy term,
whose prevalence a nuisance that makes one often squirm,
but one can perhaps reframe and reconsider a resolute intention,
with the utmost alacrity in the context of apprehension,
drawing up a permanent peace treaty to empower a cessation,
with this fierce opponent choice as permanent extrication
If you want to share your realities,
With someone you like and so love,
But have no reason, none for sharing,
Then the outcome will be undefined.
You can’t divide something by zero,
The divisor should not be nill, absurd,
You can’t say your number system,
Outweighs the context of your friend.
But if you’re feeling real complex,
Such that you want to give an ear,
Or something small, a limit, a tod,
Then a vector space may hint a field.
That fraction brings another total,
To show the quotient as good,
A neat side of you will emerge,
And a more friendly personality.
You’ll even get dividends back,
From a dispute, the fraction bar,
If you were both colliding, that is,
And not just silhouetting proactively.
You can offer yourself bit by bit,
If you must, but this slow chunking,
Will only involve time for the place,
Which you could’ve got to instantly.
When you give a friend money, time,
Subtract when you could’ve enjoyed,
You need to watch your distribution,
Because the right truly ends with you.
You’ll know that interest is wanted,
When you’ve related, not just given,
Especially if your occasion, situation,
Is the greatest common divisor, topic.
But if you still feel strained, depleted,
By the kindness that you’ve shared,
And you can specify the remainder,
Then please hesitate and round up!
When you’re calculating and gauging,
In your mind the cost of helping, love,
Then the relationship, the quotient rule -
The dude’s terms will state the outcome.
For some reason the radiator is on
Some sun skimmed summer
Our ties slung in varying disrespect
Head resting against palm to feign the guise of awake
My desk scrawled with the names of ones before
some etched some gouged
A slug shaped excuse for a mammal gurgling on about that and another
As I watched glints of sunlight skip together outside
like some ethereal game of tag
For some reason the always called me mister followed by the abrasion of my second name
You are hear to learn
Like a cue my head swivelled in unison with my sigh
What can I say look at my teachers
My hands already grasping the denim straps of my makeshift bag dragging the contents and scrunching it within
Deliberately squeaking my chair to watch the vessel in his neck just a fraction more as I rose to leave the room
He still thinks he’s punishing me as I head towards the outside and what will be
How we love our Global Positioning System for getting us to a place…and back
but what are we to do…when our GPS attacks?
First of all let me come clean…I admit with my GPS…sometimes I like to play
I’ll miss a turn on purpose…just to see what she will say.
After all it is my Global Positioning System…I am the consumer
Only I didn’t know my GPS didn’t have sense of humor.
The first indication I had that of humor she was bereft
was when in the middle of a bridge one day she advised me to ‘Turn Left’
But that was a few years ago…many times since then…together we have driven
However on our latest trip to the mountains I found I have yet to be forgiven.
I programmed in our route…and things seemed to be going smooth…until…
before we knew it instead of heading north we were heading east to Jacksonville.
I imagine before this happened she probably thought I persecuted her
When….for a fraction of a second…as a joke…I may have muted her.
The next thing I knew we had crossed the state in the completely wrong direction
So I apologized, reprogrammed her and waited for her correction.
And she did correct, at least I think she did…we seemed headed the right way
but some of the roads seemed desolate…one was even made of clay….
I finally had to turn her off…but speaking as the consumer…
I now believe my GPS has a mischievous sense of humor
Because it took us 12 hours to finally arrive at our hotel
on this madcap trip she’d been choreographing
and even though she was turned off…
I swear I could heard her laughing.
If i take you out of the equation i have me
If you take me out of the equation you have you
But the problem is still the same
No matter how you draw it out
All the miscalculations
All those miscues
The equation of us is at a stand still
You and i all we equal is no communication
The math problem of our life has no long division
No multiplication no addition
Only subtraction
Always divided
Is there a common denominator
There was when we begin
But now it feels like an end
Where is the true solution
Where is our fraction of the whole we are so capable of
Soon we shall see how the numbers and letters will go
In the algebra of our acceptance to move forward.
wow what's that up over there let me grab my binoculars hmmm the nuclear powerplant. Late at night wit my night vision lens you know what i see i see 4 feet long giant red ants wit green horrific looking eyes and i say to myself them nuclear nukes been tellin lies oh um all for some electric power but when they coined that phrase they should have said nuclear fallout dead yeah that's whut i said and whose saying anything about all those volleyballs and things washing up on our beaches from japan is anybody checking tbat stuff out for nuclear fallout you say shhhh shut yo mouth it is a sad and complicated story but it must be told.a few years back my son-inlaw lamont purchased a home six miles from the local nuclear powerplant i say son why you want to do something like that he replied,dad the homes were cheaper now we all looking deeper cause his 3 kids are skinny as scarecrows and there's plenty of food on the table everyday..and now as those 3 scarecrows grows excuse the pun.. what other devastating harmful effects may appear ah lil late for you to now fear you moved so near the nuclear powerplant. man, he can go anywhere in the universe and time his arrival within the fraction of a second. he can build and destroy anything his mind can concieve and now wit all his religions that pray shout and chant..he cries out OH GOD we should have never built that nuclear powerplant.
Lost in a maze of numbers, tight,
I scratched my head—my hair took flight.
Paused a while, let time slip free,
Returned with fresh eyes—oh, the key!
A whisper of change, a shift in the tide,
A tweak in thought, the answer inside.
The Earth once breathed in steady tune,
Now, fevered winds howl at the moon.
A fraction climbs—a world remade,
Snow on dunes, storms invade.
A moment too slight, a world redefined,
A tipping scale of nature’s mind.
The markets dance on trembling ground,
A rumor falls—fortunes drown.
One misstep, a reckless word,
And empires crumble, fate deterred.
A fragile thread, a sudden spin,
A tipping point, where losses begin.
Life itself, a delicate fight,
Right or wrong, dim or bright.
A fleeting spark, a guiding hand,
May tip the scales where choices stand.
It might seem like a short while,
the time we lasted—
but to me, it framed an eternity.
We were like the shore and the sea,
whose tides tied us together.
And there was an in-between—
between the ebbs and the flows.
A fraction of a second
when the tide stood still.
A fraction of a second
when silence whispered your name.
A fraction of a second—
just the way our story was born.
And in that beautiful pause, I found love.
Between the dance of the sea and the shore,
I laid my love bare—
raw, natural.
A fraction of a second
was my eternity.
There, we were infinite.
In between the in-betweens,
I found my happiness.