Long Hexagons Poems
Long Hexagons Poems. Below are the most popular long Hexagons by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hexagons poems by poem length and keyword.
Shape Of The Nation (an oval precaution)
News outlets draw the line at racism
Pencil gray, color blind and crayons ready
Fantasies replace triangles, circles and square deals
Pentagons, hexagons, octagons where born to serve
Here today gone tomorrow with the curve
Will never shape up to political correctness
Or move into the oval office in any way shape or form
The people saw dangling chads in Florida
Hanging like spots before their eyes
Circular, uncounted votes remembered
Dots drop like spots before their eyes
May have to be recounted once again this November
News paper lines run up and down with lies
This election season is no less political
Etched like Escher paintings
Stairs that go up and down for no reason
There are 2 parallel lines aligned side by side
Redundant on the horizon as simple black stripes
With a vertical one joined at the middle
At the center of attention to form an “H”
For Hilary rising
A female that Mr. "T" calls crooked
Emails can not be erased by media twists
Even with BleachBit
It is a simple precaution though
To roll into the oval office
*Note:
(A Link to Escher works of art)
http://www.bing.com/search?q=escher+paintings&qs=HS&pq=escher+&sc=8-7&sp=2&cvid=9E3983FDB1E54B90BAE4130918F3D096&FORM=QBLH
From two dimension hands,which closed to me,see two pieces bruised faces
Fall blowed mantra like the spots and
Lip of woman dressed black next
the black smokes
That,fly behind of that woman
Sometime, Like place one upon another the mirrors,woman's images continue back of woman
Their hands is "L"type
Sitting(seen like a tail) God
Tattoo the waves at chest
Smakes scatter behind of her hands
that woman in the circle
Arrives railing of faintly light
Dragon turn around the circle
Just one,the legs
Controled the balance mask
Flowers flower from face painted yellow,green,blue
(Example-Sunflower,Rose,etc)
Many of eyes look at like circle
"N"type hands
Around,slowly,quickly
turn opposite
Red color's man is yellow eye
that turn continue , one circle or more
Hexagons,Stars,Fruits
Radiate from the eyes
And his casted down one's eyes
Radiate from stared place
Turn the galaxy at neck
Planets are lower,higher
Lighter blue orbit wear off wear on
Brightness the light and stable
Now,with face like thundered
Continues with sound waves
Sun is bright and down
Burned faces are stable
Faces like radio waves leakage
World with that fire storm
Thwelt Di Nwe
Nature’s patterns repeat—they’re alive,
From meandering rivers and butterfly wings,
To zebra stripes and the leopard’s spots—
Patterns appear wherever you look.
Now don’t be deceived—nature has its tricks,
Some patterns shift; it’s a survival instinct.
Take the tide, drawn by the pull of the moon—
No wave reaches shore in quite the same place.
The spider’s web, so delicate and thin,
Its shape shifts when dew settles in.
A snowflake, formed in sixfold symmetry,
Yet no two snowflakes are ever the same.
Tessellating hexagons in hives and mud—
From wax and honey, the patterns take form.
That rainbow up high, with its coloured light,
Shifts and changes with the place you stand.
There are countless more patterns to find,
From grains of sand to lightning on high—
Don’t forget the spiralling sunflower seeds:
Nature’s patterns shift in plain sight.
Between fence metal hexagons
Vibrant weed vertical weaves
Leaves poke gaps obstinately
Battle with wire web pattern
Because it can get through,
will get through, determined
To prosper within challenge
To reach potential during tough
Bitten by bug of bad luck
Crammed in pebbly pockmark
Threatened by shade smother
Bedraggled weed creeps up
Bemoaning status wastes energy
Positivity welcomes growth
Rehearsal bears bigger talents
Lustrous jungle is triumphant
9th October 2020
Written for Contest : Will To Survive
Sponsor : Silent One
Gods of glowing neon and gaudy screens
smile upon charming, charming patterns of heads.
All colors of hair, lit red, then green, then blue,
guided along invisible paths, crown heads
perspiring, chanting and glancing down
on marching, mechanical arms, then worrying
as they scurry along infinite, crisscrossing paths -
at once so ordered and so unfathomably chaotic.
Drums are rolled by hurrying feet
dictating the race of mankind.
A metropolis looms, adorned by a billion shimmering jewels -
electric jewels - and an apparition sways over the
bustle, silently watching, silently floating.
Giant chutes proudly puff out plumes of nightly black
and devils forged in impure fire do rise
to the heavens above, graced by the blessings of
the industrial revolution, in turn blessing humanity with progress,
imperceptible except as phlegmatic gasps
and the whiff of crisp green paper, distinguished by
wizened faces and packed in neat bundles.
Bulbous, aged fingers do trace from within
the sanctum sanctorum of a temple aged a thousand years,
charming, charming patterns of jewels
in intricate, frozen dance, carving out hexagons of perfect symmetry
from wearily cut marble windowsills.
The work of a thousand splendid hands
preserved by the unseen, dusty hands of time
did render the mosque palatial, its beauty heavenly.
The admiring eyes sing hymns praising the architecture, alas
they are blind, for the marble, white as angelic wings, is grey now.
The scientist appears, eyes hidden by thick glassy cubicles
yet shining through, lit by the endless pursuit of knowledge
and equally burdened by numbers, figures, notes
and the maddening myopia of man.
On the screen appears, against fresh white
charming, charming patterns of red, green and blue
sinking downward, worryingly as it would seem,
his uninflected pleas let in through one ear, instantly
shunted out through the next by the populace, to whom
the music of modernity rings sweeter.
First Place, Charming Patterns Poetry Contest
Date: 16th October 2021
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The city is a beehive~
hexagons stacked,
each buzzing with activity
morning, noon, and night.
Streets: wax-thin, sticky with footsteps.
Buildings: golden, leaning into each other,
their windows humming with fluorescence.
Every corner is a chamber~
workers trailing in, workers trailing out,
carrying briefcases instead of pollen.
The queen? She’s a rumor~
a shadow in the penthouse,
counting her hexagons,
her kingdom of glass.
And the honey?
Oh, the honey is the noise~
the honk and clatter,
the murmured deals,
the laughter pooling
in elevators,
thick as syrup.
We are all bees here,
dizzy with purpose,
lost in the comb.
poem originally written for and submitted to Ultramarine Literary Review for its urbanity contest, Febrary 21, 2026.
During my elementary, high school and college educational quest,
I struggled to do my very best on every mathematical test.
I was a "B" student in English, History and Art as I recall,
But I never mastered the mysteries of mathematics at all!
Basic arithmetic such as division and multiplication left me at sea.
Even simple addition and subtraction overwhelmed me to a degree!
Trying to conquer the times-table gave me a shocking jolt!
Alas, teachers considered me a hopeless mathematical dolt!
Geometry baffled me as to which were acute and obtuse angles,
And even more perplexing were isosceles and scalene triangles!
Beyond me were the formulas for figuring the areas of hexagons,
Trapezoids, pyramids, circles, cubes and five-sided pentagons!
Teachers told me that for my future, algebra was indispensable.
Maybe so, but variables and coefficients were incomprehensible!
My limited intellect couldn't comprehend quotients and binomials,
Nor integrers, exponents, irrational numbers and trinomials!
Needless to say, I didn't attempt calculus or trigonometry!
Those disciplines were as foreign to me as parabolic geometry!
I'm eternally grateful to that selfless, ingenioius creator,
Who eased my plight by inventing the handy calculator!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Mother Nature hums a tune and sits.
While her children play, she calmly knits.
As the planets go round and round,
and the eons pass to her gentle sound,
she rocks, everlasting and immutable,
weaving patterns that are beautiful.
She knits ripples on the lakes,
the hexagons on cold snowflakes,
the spirals in sunflowers and the nautilus,
for you and I, and for all of us.
In the desert, under the big sky,
she puts cracks in clay, now dry.
With her leopard, she's so besotted,
she gives him a coat that's spotted.
Here's a game that you can play -
look around, when you're out today.
Find a pattern our mother has made
as she adorns the grand parade.