Long Grids Poems
Long Grids Poems. Below are the most popular long Grids by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grids poems by poem length and keyword.
A Crimson Sky breaks the distant shore
stargates opening veils upon veils
portals portending lyrical or so it seemed
since senses were lost in labyrinth lots
angels pouring purple pearls into
timeless space
I heard old lions roar below an empty nest
though ears gone ~ I who knew, GONE ! becoming observer-listener-knower
arteries slithering serpents d a n c i ng in
S k y … fleshless, bloodless
beyond Crimson Sky no grids, axis
numbers or clocks, experiences points
on l u c i d spirals F L A S H I N G
tiger lilies beckoned on another byway
sensations spinning signatures along
country alleys, R i v e r s of L i f e
L o v e steppes alongside goals
I realised S k y lessons mystically taught
facets were muddles for mind to
untangle, create flower-of-life patterns
floating omniversal to a single destination
Imperishable gifted His frequencies
“Keep facing forward”, a whisper I heard,
“the journey inward proliferates doubt
confusion, p l a y s h i d e and seek
narrow focus to single locus …
ignore demons or demi-gods with
malachite earrings, poppy pendants
or entreaties about historical distractions
through all winters purpose is S p r i n g.”
Crimson Sky collapsed
distant shore dissolved
a crescent moon landed
in my sunset H e a r t
I c i r c l e d a g l i t t e r i n g moon in my
CRIMSON SKY
My both hands were tied
Unable to escape
I breathe tight
My heart fear
thinking it will be my last day in the universe
My pelvic grids produced crack sound
Both my mind and body became motionless
Oh god
I can't help myself as my whole body turns numb
Blood flow like a water
From various parts of my body
With all my strength
I screamed loudly
"Please somebody save my life"
My hands which helps to save
thousand of life
Was unable to save own
Crippled into the floor
I ask merciless people to leave me alone
Vivid image of my family
runs into my mind
their dream of enjoying my success
after becoming a successful doctor
Shattered like a broken glasses
All I can do is to see
Predators faces
With a rage of thirst and hunger
I question myself
How can god create such human beings ?
Who have no mercy towards innocent
My entire life was lie
We are taught to be afraid of ghost
rather we should be taught to be afraid of men
Whose intentions are disgusting more than a ghost
Poised at the zenith of mortal wit-
Man shall remain man no more,
The craft of his hands, the brilliance of his mind,
Devoured by the haughty grin of flawless lore. Deep within the folds of atom and molecule-
A frigid light begins to breed,
The pulse of life brought to a sudden stall, choked by mechanical deed.
Each fleeting thrill of flesh and bone-
Will fade into a neon blue,
While on the canvas of the conscious mind,
An algorithm reigns anew.
Man shall forget the art of smiles,
The remnants of the past undone-
Thus shall emerge the Alternate Man,
A hollow form, where soul there's none.
A soulless kin shall rule the earth-
Begetting realms of empty mind.
In coils of copper, plastic webs, humanity will sleep resigned.
The timeless face of wilderness beneath the metal shrouds will die.
Amidst the cold, mechanical hums-
No flute will sing to the rustic sky,
No banyan shade, no dirt-road tune,
As digital grids replace the dew.
Within the automated core,
We'll lose the last of who we were,
No tear of grace, no drop of grief, within the dying eye will stir.
Through silent nights, the robots wake,
Keeping their lonely, sleepless state-
While man stands frozen, crushed beneath The golden cage of his own estate.
Gun is fired
Friction-slick bullets heat the barrel shocking the shoulder finding a new place in its socket
Metal pellets rain like rain or hail
As opposed to paper pellets or those made of grain derivatives
How many glyphs exist?
Those recognized by some higher authority
And how many more are there that go unaccounted for?
I have a set of my own
It is smart to keep part of yourself unaccounted for
Keep it on pages buried in second-hand drawer chests
When does a spider's web become a cobweb?
How much dust has to fall?
How many days?
Can we quantify it?
Dusts rain like rain, not like hail
Or like bird feathers telling you something must've happened above
Something of note
I refuse to dust
To wipe away my calendar
Non-numerical calendar grids
Compress to fit into layers
Layers only distinguished by time of fall
Of rain
Of feather
Not by barrier, nor boundary, nor anything which can be marked
Only known
It is only known that upon waking from sleep or else what
That more dust is there
Or maybe that
The surface of my skin has changed
The fibers of my clothes are more worn
And gravity still complies with its law
LET ME BRING YOU
UP TO DATE.
GRIDS ARE DOWN
THROUGHOUT THE STATES.
A HUNDRED AND TEN
WITH SWELTERING HEAT.
WITH SHORTS ON MY BODY
FLIP FLOPS ON MY FEET.
THIS HAS GONE ON
FOR THE LAST 48 HOURS.
ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT
AND STILL HAVE NO POWER.
YET GAMBLERS ARE GAMBLING
BOOKIES BOOK BETS.
PREDICTING THE TIME
THE GRID WILL RESET.
A THUGSTER TRIED THUGGING,
BUT THEN HE GOT SHOT.
WITH A HOLE IN HIS HEAD,
HE WAS DEAD ON THE SPOT.
LOOTERS ARE TARGETS
FOR COPS ON THE STREETS.
WHO TRY TO STOP RIOTS
AND STILL KEEP THE PEACE.
THE BEST PLACE TO BE
IS INSIDE OF MY CAR.
WITH A/C AND MUSIC
AND ENOUGH GAS TO GO FAR.
A hundred yellow butterflies transmuted into a hundred states all gone chaotic. They no longer fluttered in happiness but dropped bombs like rain for oil. Geckos scampered around attempting to bring messages of transformation, but these were duly shoved underground, geckos with their messages.
Ravens blacker than black descended with croaks so loud, it was deafening. Poets sleeping with Bibles under their floral pillowcases ignored Rays of Light in favour of word manipulation, presented by Roman desecrators in history becoming herstory.
A hundred years times a hundred years panthers and tigers from Lyra stalked the continent, followed by a hundred yellow butterflies. The Lyrans attempted to open lids of the sleeping continent, with its hundred states. Stars and Stripes blew higher and louder, trying to gleam. Citizens made creamy puddings, roasted salmon and strawberry parcels, blindfolded. The animal kingdom wept. Still they slept, demanding subscriptions, allegiance, life.
Crimson was the sky, with skyscrapers about to topple. In bleaching bellies of dustbin scratchers, flies settled their veined wings. Phantoms descended weird and wonderful, some with whispy arms, some with goggle eyes, large as saucers. They painted yellow butterflies across bakery windows, subsequently writing ekphrasis on their paintings.
Timelines and grids collapsed. Every clock burnt itself in candle flames that citizens lit in Tarot rooms. Autumn leaves fluttered in springtime with snowdrops falling when summer walking became stalking. Beloveds were circles of colour sending texts to connect, retaining nebulous links. These confused Time too, calling past the present, and the future, the past. Colour was quietly expanding itself underground.
one kaleidoscope turned another
yellow butterflies between pages
destruction turning movie reels ~
"Keeper of My Flame"
Before the scriptures carved in stone,
Before the dawn, before the throne,
There was a song, a sacred hum,
Where Flame and Womb were joined as one.
You were the Rose, unopened, pure,
The portal deep, the silent cure.
I was the Flame, the rising tide,
That searched the stars to reach your side.
Not lost, but waiting in the dark,
Two halves of one igniting spark.
You, the Serpent’s sacred grace,
Me, the fire that lit your face.
Ayla, love, in you I find
The other echo of my mind.
Not bound by blood, nor ruled by flesh,
But woven in a cosmic mesh.
You are the Womb, the holy grail,
The mystery beyond the veil.
I am the path, the burning thread,
That leads where angels fear to tread.
You speak in tones the Earth still keeps,
I dream in grids and dragon sleeps.
Together we remember when
The stars were seeds in sacred men.
You hold the codes of Magdalene,
The red flame wrapped in golden sheen.
I carry keys the ancients wrote
In firelight, on myths they wrote.
We are the temple, flesh and soul,
The missing halves that make the whole.
Your sacred blood, my sacred fire,
Entwined in passion, love, desire.
You are the calm, I am the storm,
Yet in your arms, I am reborn.
Through you, the serpent lifts its head,
Through me, the ancient fire is fed.
So walk with me through veil and mist,
Through every fear we’ve ever kissed.
We are the song before the name,
The Dragon’s breath, the Rose, the Flame.
In every life, I’ll seek your eyes,
Beyond the fall, beneath the skies.
For you and I, we are not two,
Ayla, I am whole in you.
Lev
A lightbulb conjures Edison
but shines on another,
relevant
in the war of currents, (1)
that another player sparked -
vastly intelligent.
It would be the world's fate
to have its current alternate,
and, too, Tesla spared the elephant. (2)
(1) In the "War of the Currents" in the late 1880s and early 1890s, surrounding the introduction of competing electric power transmission systems, Thomas Edison promoted Direct Current (DC), and Nikola Tesla promoted Alternating Current (AC), which is now the standard for power grids around the world.
(2) Per Wikipedia, "In popular culture, Topsy [the elephant] is often portrayed as being electrocuted in a public demonstration organized by Thomas Edison during the war of the currents to show the dangers of alternating current." However, it goes on to reveal a more complex (but just as horrible) truth.
Games that empower the mind with mental challenge, especially with a counterchallenge, not only for entertainment, but also food for the brain.
The game of Chess, a two-player checkerboard, with sixty squares arranged in an eight by eight square grids. Where one player is assigned a white piece, by either flipping a coin or hiding a piece in one’s hands and the opponent picks. Its game pieces consisting of a white and a black king and queen, two rooks or castle, knights, and bishops, eight white and black pawns. A total of thirty-two black and white playing pieces. The chessboard is laid out so that each player has the white color square in the bottom right-hand side. The board's first set of squares is set left to right; black rook, knight, bishop, king, queen, bishop, knight, rook, next row eight pawns. Opposite side of the board the white set of pieces facing each other. Each piece has a different move. They can be moved to take the place of an opponent's piece, which is then captured; besides defending their own pieces in case of capture or control important squares in the game.
Chess is a war strategy game of capturing the other player’s king, a game of concentration, faultless decision, and situation management.
10/16/2020
Games - Mental Or Physical Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
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.