Long Genius Poems
Long Genius Poems. Below are the most popular long Genius by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Genius poems by poem length and keyword.
Coral life forms in copious swarms
feast in the Cambrian chyme,
dividing their cells and forming their shells
to end on the seafloor as lime.
Tectonic churning and magma upturning
renders marble whiter than bone.
The marble is mined, but the cutters are blind
to the angel confined in the stone.
A young sculptor arose, with a bend in his nose
and a transcendent creative spark,
charged with ambition to fulfill a commission,
an angel for St. Dominic's Ark.
An artist sublime who will live for all time,
his genius is to see things not shown.
For an angel to achieve he first has to perceive
its splendor enclosed in the stone.
At dawning's first glow he surveys the tableau
of the blocks the stone cutters supplied.
In some he sees dreams of potential themes,
but only one holds an angel inside.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
The block that he chose was rejected by those
who then lied and claimed to foresee it.
With talent and skill he falls to with a will,
surrounded by rubble and relic.
His method you see, for the angel to free
is to remove all the bits not angelic.
Michelangelo’s art for all time stands apart
but there's something further to heed.
For there's a bit more to the fine metaphor
in the tale of the angel he freed.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
For in all our insides a bright angel abides
and is just waiting for something to free it:
to remove all the parts which harden our hearts,
to chip out the darkness and pride,
to smooth the rough patches, to polish the scratches
and unshackle the angel inside.
© January 26, 2013
Women Inventors/Creators Of History
In Honor of the following great women inventors and creators:
(*Vera Rubin, Cecilia Payne, Chien Shiung Wu, Nette Stevens, Ida Tacke, Esther Lederberg, Lise Meitner, Henrietta Leavitt, Joyce Bell Burnell, and Rosalind Franklin)
Lost in oblivion, tossed into the abyss
Sisters of creation missed their mark
Stripped from the pages of history
Removed, dismissed, buried in the underground, in decay, lost identities
These ten, not even remembered as a myth
Gone without a kiss of recognition
The wave of time waves good-bye to these fine women
Denied their recognition and place in time by men
Oppressed and overlooked
Vast and noble discoveries
Contributions to the human condition
Created by their genius minds
Now covered by the abyss of ignorance
Cheated, removed from the book of time
Their names should be memorized by children
But they reside in the trash bin of history
A catastrophe on a monumental scale
Advancements claimed by others
Who deserves this mistreatment?.... Not men…
Smart women in this world remain unclaimed
Lost like luggage on the brutal side of life’s airplane
Crashed with no survivors
And how disturbing to be deprived of such monumental findings
Their works turned over to incompetence in vile form
Discoveries in the sciences and nature simply blind sided
Where is their truth? Where is their justice?
Men, culture, ego and shear ignorance, persists, prevails
And who permits such atrocities as this but us
We wage war against these geniuses
In our silence is our shame
Removed from the pages from history are their names and fame
Blame humanity as we forget these ladies
Denied the truth and beauty of their contributions
Their names are not remembered
We can honor them here and now
By not hiding them on shelves
Teach the children. Educate them and ourselves
There is nothing like discovery
There is nothing quite like the truth
Bev Smith coined the phrase “Jackisms”
That's an honour in no uncertain terms
If Poetry Soup should create a new category
I'll go down in history, it's confirmed
I'll be famous alongside Shelley and Keates
Will be known the whole world over
I'll be loved by millions with untold riches
Literally I'll be rolling in clover
Enough about me, what this catrgory will add
Is a whole new dimension to this art
Jackisms will add the opportunity of the ages
For those with joy in their hearts
I am truly humbled and my thanks go to Bev
For recognizing my great genius-osity
The talent of expressing ourselves with humour
So I expect to read much frivolity
Don't write me letters, this is all meant in fun
Now see this is exactly what I mean
Create some giggles and big time guffaws
Remember I USUALLY keep 'em clean!
© Jack Ellison 2015
Travel the pathway of my life,
Read the letters written in thoughts untold,
Bold memories and precious joys,
Inspirations who reveal my heart’s silence,
Mixed with rhythms of grace, hope and peace
Feelings who tempt souls to believe…
Yes, this is the moment when I feel gentle relief,
Wonderful that can amaze, wisdoms
Falling in waves, on seas of yesterdays,
Before I knew the way toward home, the way…
Through lights who silence and calm,
Soothing away shadows with a beautiful,
Resilient, brave enough to ride on the storm,
Inspiring the songs that are ever born
From tenderness, undefeated and believing…
Journey the trails who pass over the night,
Leaving reflections of stars glistening so alive,
Filling the heavens, erasing shadowy skies,
Promising moon’s flow will ever quiet the fear,
Rousing floods of feeling, glowing
Resting on the mountains and revealing all the hope
Discovered inside prayers who rightly believe…
Oh, yes, this is the grave of doubt and defeat,
Trapped in the struggle with misery so weak,
Echoing fragments of former dreams,
Lasting promises who bring the dread relief,
Desperate darkness who claims passion’s wings,
Grieving the spirit who will ever believe…
Speak of the endless moments we laugh,
Foretelling the joy, the elation, the gladness,
Glistening like dew on the rose’s frail shadow,
Welcoming the seasons with all their genius,
Shrewdly painting the memories with gentle stirrings,
Lingering on the kindness’, the victories, the silent winds
Who upset the oaks and pines, leaving gusts of joy behind,
Remembering the crackle of leaves as they embrace the earth,
Persuading the breathless kisses of autumn’s finger,
Gripping the heart, convincing even harvest time to keep believing..,
Yes, oh yes… just believe and don’t doubt
Believe in His kindness, His compassion and the reminder
That this is a love far stronger, far surer, far more alive
Than any power on this earth! Just believe in the One
Who lived and died and is awaiting those who hear His voice
In His heavenly home, where those who believe will one day go!
Never stop believing… He is forever forgiving and He is forever giving!
His saving grace is still open to those who simply believe HIM!
I stand where the sunset hugely spills
Out upon subdued but still hotly
Glowering plains...
Now, perhaps, I should wistfully
Recall my own homelands; her
Diminished and flattened hills,
Stretched and sleeping, far from yonder
Adjacent wolfen domains.
Vast plains, which, although of
Unmatched grandeur, neither embolden
To embrace upon mine passions...
Or impart the reinforcement of
Heartening succour...which the comfort
Of those broken hills so pleasingly fulfils!
For such is the pressing need to once
More imbibe the contriteness that is
The poor substance of this natives air;
Whilst, under cacophonous arrangement
Of timeless and haranguing bars,
Casting off all gaudy encumberment -
Thee imposition of these finely stitched
Robes,
To wander through uninhibited
Fields: rudely revealed whence left
Fallow and bare!
And, humbling myself, but ne'er as
Bold as Endymion, before vigilant
Selene's disdainful glare,
I would'st endeavour, rightly or not to
Thusly suppose,
To re-invent a lofty purpose beneath
The hurtling rails of screaming stars;
Here, in happy destitution, to wrap
Abouts in tattered remnants of
Ragged moonlight...thrown aside
When callously abandoned there.
Inspired by the "Pure" genius that was William Butler Yeats!
"Aurora Spills"
Aurora spills like a waterfall
light from the eyes
saltwater tears
crocodilian
scaled in the weight of worth
a drop in the ocean of fate
breaks the seaweed fields of stories
they wave her in
rippling time away
fingertips dance mesmerising
the stinging strangers
wrapped around her legs
treading water in deep
infested notions
the coolness of
irreverent nonchalance
romantic or not
pulls her under covers
like warm blankets
heavy comfort
calls the broken
floating towards
the shabby matrix
new gates of life open
mirrors crack like eggs
the vision reflects
both light and dark
demon and saint
their remnants
embers, still
in the coldness
of prickly gloaming
like glow worm glen
fireflies red and glowing
sparks ignite
a rapturous bushfire
from cinders
billy tea leaves overturned
empty cups read
the yolk of a heart
never lies
fried casually
by the over easy
in shallow pans
of poetry
under microscopes
of blithe mordant critique
minute shards of gold
are slowly sifted
from the flotsam dross
some wisdom found
in the muddy fertile mind
shooting up
from 6ft underground
like small green plants
growing under rocks
with centipedes and
the petulant poison of spiders
in pink reflection
insurgence blooms
war never waits
silently the Pandoras smile
understanding all and nothing
of a small life distended,
swelling love
for that which was stolen
where bursting broken blue weeds
undo frozen jewels
diamonds sharp for the cutting
shiny words spells of insanity
delicious moments
melting time swallowed
spoken without voice
listening to ghosts
scratching through walls
where life floods
from glass boxes
coffins of buried treasure
banished
kaleidoscope colours
overgrowing
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“The Lady in the Lake”/ Elysian Fields
https://youtu.be/IjX8xfZ7sg0
“Out of whose womb came the ice
And the hoary frost of heaven
Who hath gendered it
The waters are hid as with a stone
And the face of the deep is frozen”
LYRICS/ “The Lady in the Lake”, Elysian Fields
https://genius.com/Elysian-fields-lady-in-the-lake-lyrics
The heat is overwhelming here,
So we’ve been trapped inside,
Except for walking to the car,
Where cool air does preside.
With time to kill, my husband found
Old movies on TV,
Some Groucho films without his sibs,
Not known to him or me.
We still found him hilarious,
A genius at his craft.
I’d be suspicious of a soul
Who watched and never laughed.
The film that followed had the other
Brothers, which just means
More chances to crack up
In many other crazy scenes.
Though people go to Florida
To loll around a beach,
I’m glad, when weather’s Venus-like,
These films are in our reach.
Music makes our spirit rejoice in sonorous numbers for sure,
a true proposition, lucid and irresistible to endure.
Another dress in destinies wardrobe confined,
inordinate mysteries of creation what cannot be denied.
Vapors of memories through so many cultures perceived,
plunging into state of fervent pleasure by the beat conceived.
Transparent flow and move to the instant open of musical eternity,
active texture of melodies with certainty.
It opens the substance of the sound of fabulous antiquity,
accepting the resonance of supreme formidable gravity.
Recreating worlds in worlds in fragile states,
communicating with the invisible by joy declared.
Timeless moments at the threshold of beatitude,
sensuous mental recaptured art in debt of gratitude.
Dancing circles of light proceeding from heart of the self release,
when the light turns from silver to gold as sense of deepening peace.
The peace that surpasses all understanding with the pulse of energy,
where in the center all opposites reconcile and genius is the key.
Dad could roll a cigarette
with just two fingers
and the tip of his tongue.
I saw him do this once
in a wind storm.
Magically
he would shave just close enough
to keep his grizzled face
blue by the light of a yellow moon.
He could dive easy into an engine
to capture a rattling rat,
then twist its tail with only a wrench
- a drop of oil
to make it purr.
He could blarney a partial truth
with a waggish smile,
yarn it all out to fuddle
many a cocksure scholar.
He was an expert drinker,
astounding all-comers
and never tippling over
a canny knife edge.
He controlled his bootstraps
with a devilish dominion.
When he walked in my shoes
I felt I could do magic also.
He would tell me
that I had to be a genius
to be my kind of dumb.
That was old-fangled conjuring,
a natural hocus-pocus,
I practice a little of that
myself
in his roguish memory.
Ebony and Phonics
Talkin’ Jive, slippin’ inta the ethnic eccentricities
of survival, hip-hop, rap, the blues, Ebonics.
Ebonics, the melding of Ebony and Phonics
into a language that could be spoken
within hearing of the overseer. Genius
spoken here, clandestine communication
lines strung in plain view. News flashes,
who ran, who escaped, who was sent and
where, who was sold. Assumed “ignorance”
displaying pure brilliance before an unconscious
audience.
Ebonics, a language shaped by hardships and
prejudice, now reduced to phrases and a
chant-like mockery of its necessity and
protection.
Ebonics, a language that preserved a spirit,
nurtured a fierce independence, fed the
flames of rage and the hopes of love.
Ebonics, a tribute to a tenacious desire to
be free, not from the chains, but from
the bondage of the chains. Free to
communicate their deepest thoughts,
their hidden loves, their seething hates.
Ebonics, lost key to railroads underground,
doors no longer found, generations in
search of freedom’s sound.
John G. Lawless
8/16/2014
for Verlena S. Walker
Ebonics – Let’s do Some Slang contest