Long Hawking Poems
Long Hawking Poems. Below are the most popular long Hawking by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hawking poems by poem length and keyword.
(to Mittens)
Schrödinger’s Cat is where it’s at,
nor live, nor dead, nor purring.
With half a chance she’ll live to prance
the worst may be occurring.
There must be something I can do
that Nature says is not taboo
to rescue this poor Russian Blue.
But if I’d look I’d lock her fate.
Dare I disturb her quantum state
when spooky action at-a-distance
could conclude poor cat’s existence?
Somehow unseen I need to see
behind that curious curtain,
where “God plays dice” with cats and mice,
where Heisenberg was uncertain.
Where large meets small, and cause effect,
where fact finds science fiction …
It boggles my small intellect,
each way I think of to protect
her has some contradiction.
Where simple seeming Maxwell’s Demon,
if programmed to assist …
To no avail, he’s doomed to fail,
he clearly can’t exist.
Where mighty minds have failed before,
what chance have I to best Niels Bohr?
Poor Einstein nearly fried his noggin
when he tried at Copenhagen.
Then, at the Solvay Congress, rambling,
suffered his cerebrum’s scrambling.
Each clever loophole that he “found”
failed, for Bohr shot each one down.
Where the world’s four known forces and all its best minds,
couldn’t save kitty lest they Unified.
So, he tried and he tried, and he tried and he tried,
still, we weren’t Unified on the day Einstein died.
Then followed footsteps, Steven Hawking.
Though he didn’t do much walking,
wowed us with his brilliant squawking:
“Black holes have “hair?!”
Could information
in pairs of virtual creation,
entangled but with separation
by a great wall of gravitation
as “hairs” of “Hawking Radiation,”
repair in Grand Unification
to spare this long-hair’s ruination?
Might yet unwritten cosmic laws
apply behind those blurry walls
to spare her furry feline paws?
I can’t remember if I cried
when I read that Steven Hawking died.
Such sadness touched me deep inside,
still, we were not Unified.
So, confidence I can’t exude.
The only thing I can conclude:
Alas, I lack ability
to tinker probability.
But I will give you even odds that all our odds are even.
This odd result results because we’ve mixed our rhymes with reason.
So be it odd to play at God … by God there’s a solution!
I have free will and will by God will out her execution.
So, by stroke of this pen I do decree:
This story ends here. Happily!
What image does the word magic conjure up,
a prestidigitator or mystic spell?
Some say sorcery always needs a backup;
for wizards are tricksters with something to sell,
pretending to master the secrets of Hell.
Though illusionists' tricks deceive the eye,
hidden mirrors can't make real disappear.
They claim to levitate and seemingly fly;
honing their art for another grand premiere,
hawking their autographs as a souvenir.
Enchanters can enchant susceptible souls,
into believing their magic is real.
By exploiting reality's hidden holes,
they can manipulate how you think and feel;
turning ordinary into surreal.
Seemingly achieving the impossible;
magic and miracles share similar traits.
Both stretch the boundaries of what's possible,
contrary to what reality mandates;
and both have sparked philosophical debates./center>
I'm eating a hot dog for breakfast
With mustard and ketchup
Watching lecture 18 of
'How to Listen to & Understand Opera'
Sometimes it's pain au chocolat,
But I'm in pain getting in the car at
6:41am; I drive in the darkness
Cuckoos, frightened birds,
Donkey-Jupiter, hurdy-gurdy
Tears, sorrow, cries
I hear the clouds -
See a chariot drawn by two frogs
I say out loud, "That's a mad silhouette of a person."
Such a description may well give the
Impression that the Earth is out of sorts
And every morning, this is the
Birth of comedy
I check the football news
There was a punch-up at the end of yesterday's game.
"Look how happy the crowd is to see a man being strangled."
The pig is in the poke.
Humanity
The pagan pilgrimage, sun-worshippers frequently make
Latter-day phenomenon, take off on a Bronze Age break
Constellations change position, solstices realign
Tropic of Capricorn peaks, Cancer starts its slow decline
Astrologers reassure us, the end is not bespoke
Astronomers can’t sleep, has a supernova awoke?
Healthy cells deconstruct inexorably from their core
Runaway chain reactions, laying waste forever more
Be that as it must, cosmic cataclysms generate thrust
Comets are slightly nudged, on a collision course with us?
Ancients believed them omens, wraiths of impending slaughter
Those billion ton tailed curveballs, catalysed Earth with water
Modern man searches for answers, drowning in misnomers
Melding PhD honours, with chatbot E-diplomas
Teleporting entangled particles, throws back a hack
Time travelling marvel, rewinds the real Bronze Age back?
Absurdness seems lame, yet concomitantly germane
Hawking conserved energy, by merely using his brain
Newton had a bachelors, kept him celibate stable
He’d balls of steel for sure, alas no bearings on that cradle?
Information cannot be destroyed, only zeitgeists can
Synthesised is truth, in the malleable hands of man
Life’s more delicate, gravitas hidden behind a smile
Like tales that flightless birds, buried heads in denial
Ostriches evolved kick-ass legs, and win the biped race
They dig shallow pits in sand, not complex black holes in space
One squawked this revelation before zooming off to die:
“Humankind’s the sole species, with good reason to ask why”?
Here’s the word I heard
From Farmer Fred, who said;
“I went to the Downtown Festival!
There were food trucks, a live band,
Local brewed beers, vendors lined Main Street
Hawking their wares. Nancy and I grabbed
An Octoberfest and walked into the park.
Found a seat on the base of a statue
To some honored man with a rifle.”
Now Fred’s eyes began to glisten
And I had to concentrate to listen.
“Four little girls were perched on the
Barrel of an old iron cannon. First damn
Good thing I’ve ever seen about a cannon.
Six youngsters were climbing the branches
Of a Cedar tree. A brother and sister were
Parked at the base of another statue both
Licking and wearing ice cream cones.
People were dancing in the street and I,
A grown man, sipped my beer and cried.”
We got questions like which militant Black books are the best ones to read, and how many burnt bits of Black knowledge do we need, and how can knowledge of self pay these bills? Are you saying that crap can replace weed and pills?
I crash for spontaneous power naps, then I’m up in the middle of the night, or wee hours of the morning. I grab my pistol and walk
I
went to the office, with a suit for a job. Was there for a week ‘fore I learned how to rob. Got fired for hawking some new PS3s’. All good, I still came off with three flat TVs.
I’m a n****r man, inside and out, and dipped twice. Infested by bed lice who taught me how to bust guns, and shoot dice. Shall I still dance then? Will you watch me if I do? Will the “Baptist-bump” or the “loose booty” do?
I’ve read militant Black books on all types of topics, from Malcolm, to Marcus , the Moors, and Black prophets. Which militant Black books are the best ones to read? How many burnt edges of Black thought we need?
I went to church, and put-in on the basket. I still got billed when my Mom hit the casket.
I
crashed for a power nap, and then couldn’t sleep. I jumped up, and geared up, and walked in the street. I saw a tiny kitten trapped alone on a bridge. Should I tell you I stomped his skull, or should I let you tell me what I did? I ran into a crack head. She searched for a lick. I’ll sit back and let you tell me what I did. I ran into rivals who wanted me dead
in the middle of the night or wee hours of the morning.
I grabbed my pistol and walked through an alley. There was broken glass there, and it smelled like piss.
Broken glass, and smells like piss.
There sure ain’t a thing militant about that, but
is it Black?
Why am I black?
God made me so
Then why you are punishing me?
Why can't I have all the rights like others do?
Why do I have to watch myself every time I turn around?
Why can't I go out at night like others do?
Why do you watch me like a hawk at every red light?
Did I do something wrong?
Why can't you read me my rights when you pull me over?
Why do you treat me like some suspects?
I haven't done anything wrong
Why God why are all these things happening to me?
I can't go around the block without them following me
Asking me questions "where am I going?"
"Where do you live?"
What did I ever do - to deserve this?
Can you tell me that, sir?
I don't look like you
But that doesn't mean I don't feel like you
My son at home is afraid to set foot out the door
because he can be sprayed by arrays of bullets
Or hauled straight to jail for whatever reasons
When do you ever see my plight?
I am asking you
I can't go to the drive-ins
the park, or see a movie
because there are always somebody watching me
hawking me, look the other way
Am I invisible?
I have skins
I have feelings
I know hurtful words, stares can break my soul
But they can't hurt my spirit
I am a person just like you
Do you think just because I look different
it gives you the right to treat me this way?
H no
God is my judge
And He is my witness
I tell you this day
that you are going to pay
He will make you pay
Not I
You call yourself educated
But look at you
You can't even educate yourself
You know not right from wrong
Left from right
Balance or not balance
Where is the equality?
I will tell you
Until you see the light
You will be forever walking in darkness
Until you see me
You will be forever groping for a sense of peace
It will be withheld from you
Because you didn't do right
Didn't see me
See me as a nonperson
You will see
My wife came here in 1993
To America, ‘Land of the Free’
From a place of dictatorial tyranny
of greased palms and ‘yours for a fee’
The America she came to was a breath of fresh air
Wonders for her to see everywhere
From Disney World to Washington D.C.
A country just right for her and for me…
Twenty-nine years later, and it’s all gone to seed
Crime’s on the rise and folks are uptight
Seems that to lack values is now thought alright
Wokesters remind her of Communist Ukraine
Hawking worn-out ideas long flushed down the drain
They say the grass is greener on the other side
Here the grass is cannabis, and the country’s cockeyed
People always claim to have knowledge on ADHD,
but they lie,
I know this because factual knowledge is hard to come by.
Kids are not told of the greats of history,
that shaped our evolution and had ADHD.
People are embarrassed when diagnosed and think life unkind,
but they wouldn't if they knew they were like Einstein.
Some keep it hidden and cannot be open,
but they wouldn't if they knew they were like Beethoven.
For some it hurts and they think themselves ill,
but they wouldn't if they knew they were like Churchill.
Some take it to heart most depressively,
but they are just like Mozart and Elvis Pressley.
Some think it's a curse that limits them,
but they wouldn't if they knew they were like Edison.
Some get upset and ask what is the matter with me,
they wouldn't if they knew they were like Walt Disney.
People should think of ADHD in a gallant way,
because Da Vinci and Galileo had it in their day.
ADHD is a thing that could see you join legends,
like George Washington or John Lennon.
With ADHD they say you cannot concentrate,
try telling that to Branson or Bill Gates.
People think ADHD brains wont shift through the gears,
but ADHD brains have Will Smith and Britney Spears.
ADHD shouldn't fill a kid with doubt,
one day it could be a good thing that you stand out.
Don't let it haunt them,
they're like Stephen Hawking,
don't let it rob them of will,
they're like Robin Williams,
don't let them stop caring,
they're like Jim Carrey,
just let them know in their mistakes,
they're like Justin Timberlake.
To have ADHD is ok,
you're like JFK.
Having ADHD alone won't create success or mean you do well,
but if you work hard and keep going you too can be skilled.
I know how it makes you feel but you're in an elite crowd,
so forget all the stigma, be like me, and be, ADHD proud.
I wish not to see another sunrise.
I wish not to wake another day.
I don’t want to trudge to another class or
drive down another highway or
let my tone deaf voice breach my lips again.
I want to snuff out my flame.
It’s not that there’s no beauty in this world;
every morning, another bird flies for the first time.
Creation is forever constant
and laughter leaves the world ringing
day in
and day out.
I adore that.
I, Frankenstein’s monster,
of wickedness and of sin,
cast a shadow with every step I take.
Every breath I breathe pollutes the air,
crisp from the autumn days
but dead like fallen leaves once we cross paths.
I’m a blackbody that keeps on growing,
and my Hawking radiation burns all to ash and embers.
My self-implosion is a fate that’s fair and just;
the only Good choice is to collapse entirely.
You proud, Plato?