Long Incalculable Poems
Long Incalculable Poems. Below are the most popular long Incalculable by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Incalculable poems by poem length and keyword.
R andom radicals rush rip-roariously on ward
O nerously oggling on-lookers abroad
A nnealing axle-grease atop ankle-high boots
D eliberately dashing dilettante seekers
T raveling tenaciously toward tree-lined detours
R oad rage roars, racers recline, rear-wheels wheelie
I mprobable instances intoxicate incalculable intensity
Probably, they'd get there alive!?
S irens sound
E mptiness emanates extravehicular extemes
N ickle-plated, nonentities now
D eath, death, dangles
I nsanities inane inference
N ickle-plated, nonentities now
G one.
Contest:GROOVE IT ! Free Poetry Contest Details
Style: Heavy Metal
Date:10/9/13 revised
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
From near one pole to the other, from South to North,
Billions of tons of ice melt every year, climate change
It’s become one of the major problems on this planet thenceforth.
Planet Earth has suffered many disasters, henceforth
As oceans swirl and cause worldwide havoc, a total range,
From near one pole to the other, from South to North,
Bush Fires cause incalculable damage to homes, once orth,
Now in ruins, animals die, bush, trees destroyed, people rearrange,
It’s become one of the major problems on this planet thenceforth.
In Australia, Knysna South Africa, Canada, other places, its wrath,
Sweeping across countryside, suburbs forcing snakes to writhe,
From near one pole to the other, from South to North,
Frightening storms lightening, dangerous by water or a porth,
People, animals, tall structures at risk, comfort for safety in exchange
From near one pole to the other, from South to North,
People across our globe we plead with you, help us go forth
To find a solution, for we will all perish if we don’t, we must arrange
From near one pole to the other, from South to North,
It’s become one of the major problems on this planet thenceforth.
Poetry Contest : A Major World Problem
Sponsored By: L Milton Hankins
Dated : 18/04/2021
God,
Rolled Back The Curtains
of Hell
By: Tom Wright
8/21/00
In Hell,
were just voices with no faces attached,
and faces having detached vocal chords.
Spirits, that had retained their senses.
That Saw the darkness of hell,
while conjuring the aura of Heaven.
Feeling tormented flames,
and hearing screams, each exclusive,
while being bedeviled by the jocularity of a deceiver.
Touching a transparent atmosphere,
being encircled by incalculable numbers,
nonetheless, each remaining alone.
Nostrils, filled with putrid smells for eternity,
"Where their worm dieth not, *
and the fire is not quenched."
* Mark 9 : 44
HORRIFIC HIGHWAY
Driving at the speed allowed
On Highway N17, traffic ploughing,
Zig zagging, racing, and over taking
Accidents in the making,
Motor bikes screaming past,
Driving fanatically fast,
Showing off thinking it’s a blast,
A terrifying scene,
Spades, The queen
Of death on the road,
A taxi collides with a
Garbage truck,
Taxi overloaded, what
Incalculable bad luck, people just fly
As most the passengers die,
And garbage and muck,
Fall out of the truck.
Driver trapped underneath,
Fire men, paramedics
Try to pull him out from beneath,
Traffic police guiding cars, into
One lane,
For some, it will never be
The same,
As ambulances carry the
The injured away,
To perhaps see another day!
The dead covered with silver
Thermal blankets are waiting
For the mortuary van
Damn,
Don’t want to see any more,
Want to run,
But trapped in heavy
Traffic jam,
I want to scream and scram,
Suddenly the police open,
The road,
Other cars also broken,
But minor injuries
Thank God,
1st responders, I must
In awe, laud!
NON METERED TAXI’S IN SOUTH AFRICA ARE ALLOWED UP TO 15 PASSENGERS IN A MINI TAXI
AND UP TO 22 IN THE LARGER ONES – THIS WAS AN OVERLOADED MINI
TAXI – MORE OR LESS HALF THE PEOPLE SURVIVED. THIS OCCURRED JUST OUTSIDE
JOHANNESBURG
"Earthquake in a Tea Cup"
the earthquake
rocked through
a pink haze
soft and powdered
scent of lit smoke
flaming fires
hot oven baked
green apples
ripe skin sizzled
and popped
ice cool cinnamon crisp
lemon peeled martinis
black russians and they're
ripped unfriendly cousins
Long Island Iced teas and
Asian Pear Chit-Cha toddies
osmanthus oolong trading
asset smiles flying under
the Roger Ramjet radar
exploded rapturously
candied petals floating
hearts marachinoed
stevia sweetened cherries
skewered and buttered up
mercilessly on the q.t.
roses burnt apricots
she arrived shimmering
in the clouds
a seduction
ruffling feathers
in their
crème de la crème
tea cups shaking
their quiet worlds up
dominoes lined straight laced,
drugged and shot
they all thought
it was the second
coming
the world
was her stage
the fall out
was atomic
their shadows
scattered
nuclear imprints
incalculable,
the numbers
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Telephone rings
Announcing your name
Caller ID pings
This is so insane
Selfish acts of subterfuge
Leaving us both confused
Despite the tightening noose
Calling you is what I choose-
I can’t let go
“Hi, how was your day?
What’s that you say?
Have I learned by now
How to play well with others?
What? No? I don't have to bother?”
(Your words stabbing like a shiv)
“You have your own life to live
You have your own love to give-
Just not to me”
Somber thoughts of divorce
Sucking all my vital force
This will be such a blow
To the people we know
As mute as a mime
Losing track of real time
Zombifying my day
Hunting for quick getaway-
But no such luck
What shall I do thus
~Telephone rings
If we fail to repair us?
~Announcing your name
Lament inevitable loss?
~Caller ID pings
Calculate incalculable cost?
~This is so insane
I’m a solid secular success
~Selfish acts of subterfuge
I’m a massive mental mess
~Leaving us both confused
At least the former pays the bills
~Despite the tightening noose
No use in crying when milk spills-
~Calling you is what I choose
What’s done is done
~I can’t let go
I travelled back down the road
on which we spent hours together,
incalculable time twisting our fates
like the vine covered walls we’d pass.
I travelled back down the road
with signs pointed toward your home
one way, and mine the other. Straight lines
and green lights sailing us through crossings.
No sunburnt ambers yet. No midway checkpoints.
I've travelled back down that road,
only years later now. The wheat still grows
in the countryside, the laybys still house dust.
That carpark where I solved the mystery of
the flashing dashboard was empty again.
I travelled back down that road,
driving into a past I loved as the present,
never thinking it a counterfeit future.
A fork in the road was drawn on your map only.
I travel back now, down this road, to a friend
who stayed as you left, who consoled as you
hid. Who helped reroute a direction
abandoned, for a different course unplanned.
I will travel along this road to the friend
who made all those journeys worth it.
When you're alone in the dark,
look up into the night sky.
And marvel at creation's
incalculable vastness.
Heaven's celestial canvas
instills pure exaltation.
And you dare not breathe or talk
as rapture pools in your soul.
Twinkling stars confetti night
like precious sparkling jewels.
While quasars and pulsars spin
in a whirling dervish dance.
Planets hold gravity's hand,
synchronized in perfect stride.
And boundless balanced forces,
cause the galaxies to swirl.
A glimpse of divinity;
lies in cosmic harmony.
For who but God can conduct
symphonies: of light and time?
casting away all pieces and parts
of an existence full of casual talk
of board rooms full of rage
lost bodies in burning classrooms
full of philosophy and apathy
on foolish babble on time
lost and found morality
memories based on foundations
of aimless travels
looking skyward
casting thoughts incalculable
emotions of love
hate or disdain, unimaginable
full of the rage n pain
playing the blame game
who are we to say
rooms full of empty views
the apathetic feuds
glass shards, crack
crazy crystalline harts
like falling cards or raining stars
as bodies burn in lethargy
casting stones into the ocean of tranquility
small are the thoughts that ripple large
reflections hard as yesterday’s tomorrow insane
cast away photos in a scrapbook of memories
pieces n parts of arcane life, disregard
full of white rooms and silent storms
staring into the mouth of madness
casting all way the pieces
parts of an existence full of casual talk
in classrooms of apathy n despair
watching burning bodies sitting
in boardrooms full of misery
looking into a city, feeling its toxicity
counting the bloody beads of a rosary
youngest progeny Shana Aubrey Harris did need
recipient (thine offspring)
received private lessons to help her lead
a supposed "normal" life,
thus this biological papa did heed
and amenable, lovable, valuable rudiments
of classroom ABC's a challenging deed
for thee lass aye helped beget, yet
a quiet riotous soiree
along information super highway got set
within my imagination
achingly longing to compose a poem
for this righteous dignified dame whose net
whose, incalculable interpersonal worth
voiced melodically ineluctably seduced, sans mirth
and athletic physique
goaded this married father
to attempt some organization awakened image (to be,
or not to be dwelling) within remote hamlet
with rustic cabin crackling hearth
dormant libido (bereft within marriage)
toward some unknown outcome,
yet how grand to parlay pregnant girth
without intent to convey any further details
cuz message of unequivocal charm
minus additional intent for physical interaction
brought joie de vivre deliverance on this Earth.