Long Incremental Poems
Long Incremental Poems. Below are the most popular long Incremental by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Incremental poems by poem length and keyword.
The clocks upon the wall are stopped,
they haven’t worked for years.
It could be any time in Tokyo,
in London, Paris or New York.
It’s late, and deadlines, met or missed,
are past. The news is done, it’s fixed in print,
though muted televisions flicker out
the incremental day-long cycle.
The running strips across the screens
record trivia and disaster.
Aleppo’s in the news tonight,
A fabled city lies in bloody ruin.
It has been wrecked by earthquake, sacked
by cruel thugs, like Tamerlane the great:
this is not new, and here it’s hardly news,
just death in a far country.
But to Aleppo’s markets once the Silk Road came,
to reeking, fragrant, raucous sukhs and khans.
Imagine the exquisite cloth,
embroidered travellers’ tales
of fabulous ordeals from caravanserai
to citadel, to watchtower, wall and gate,
thin air of mountain passes under snow,
fantastic tales from the Middle Kingdom
whose emperor under heaven knew he was
the centre of the world. Aleppo’s traders knew
their precious wares went out as far as
Rome, Cordoba, Timbuktu and Zanzibar.
Imagine narrow lanes, braised savoury meat,
clothing, fruit and spices on display,
jostling animals and men, the public haggling
and secret treasures: silk, jade and porcelain.
Here the silent markets never stop.
A dumb Bloomberg terminal rolls out
the stocks and currencies all night,
though no-one’s watching.
Aleppo’s markets are in ruin tonight.
Starved people live in blood and rubble,
homes and hospitals destroyed.
I can’t conceive how they survive.
I must drive home now, through quiet streets.
There will be beggars wrapped in blankets
at the traffic lights. Money will change hands.
Bloomberg has no metric and no code for this.
At home there will be food and warmth.
Aleppo’s dying, and people in the street,
begging, on a night so cold, alone, so late,
I can’t conceive how they survive,
and Bloomberg has no metric and no code for this.
[Johannesburg, August 2016]
Paternal Grandfather Aaron Harris...
Lovely bones long since disintegrated
into dustbin of genealogical history,
if still alive would rank as oldest person
clocking another one incremental increase
asper in chronological number
anniversary of his birth occurring within July
year unknown, but within
latter decades nineteenth century
obviously conceived nine months prior
perhaps after raucous Thanksgiving feast,
where biological exuberance
induced natural throbs activating
indomitable rutting boisterous merriment.
Nary handy dandy scant blues clue known
about biography of aforementioned
long departed grandpa
only smidgen smudged details recalled
vague nebulous memories, these predicated
upon his every now and again visits, oft
times after he relocated to Florida
sporting tanned leathery
toughened crocodile hide
predictably, invariably, delicately donning
name brand signature
wrist watch, (albeit analog)
affixed loosely dangling
from his well weathered
lobster like bony south claw,
this singularly enigmatic
eye catching jewelry
captivating, fascinating, intriguing
glittering name brand trademark timepiece
affecting myself and siblings, especially youngest
asserting, contesting, vouchsafing...,
who would occupy coveted seat
closest to simple mechanical contraption.
After supper, he would regale
us three Harris grandchildren
(offspring begat in part courtesy
his favorite native son named Boyce
thee father to yours truly)
illustrating multifarious adept skill
folding sheets of outdated newspapers
creating cut out dolls strung together,
and/or the knack whereby
with few brisk
(i.e. Jewish version of origami),
he quickly styled boats, chairs, hats
none of which survived our rambunctious
severe tests of durability,
nor could any of us kids
reproduce with any remote success,
those deceptively
seemingly easy to craft
paper dolls linkedin with joined hands.
If you feel we evolve by chance,
here’s something that you must decide:
the type of steps that you will dance
explaining how blood cells divide.
Now only mammals do this split
which seems odd on the face of it.
For surely wings need oxygen
in the same way; where to begin?
See, mammals have erythrocytes
That have to squeeze in places tight.
Apparently, they found it scary
traveling the capillaries.
And so, it’s said, mutation error
found a way to meet this terror:
eject the red cell nucleus
and slide on through without the fuss.
Capillaries in a mammal:
needle’s eye through which a camel
passes, so the logic jumps:
just remove those great big humps!
And so is formed an apparatus
in an instant, all for gratis.
But wait! No, Darwin’s change evolves
through incremental change, resolves.
First the stem cells must divide
since capillaries are too wide.
Then, as we’ve discussed,
they must pinch off the nucleus.
To do this, cells must build a ring
That somehow pushes everything
within the cell all to one side,
constricting forces, slow applied.
A soft spot in the wall then sprouts;
the nucleus gets pushed right out.
Pinched out just like a bit of dough:
it takes ten minutes, rather slow.
From here, it seems, we pick the best:
enucleated blood cell test.
There cannot be an in-between,
emerging slowly on the scene.
It must appear in one fell swoop
for Darwin filters out the soup,
discarding any useless bits,
unfinished intermediates.
The magnitude of change required:
too great for chance; time has expired.
This leads some learned folk to say
it must have been designed this way.
The Mechanics of Time
Time is a given; a constant except when every clock you have displays a different time.
Daylight Savings Time, spring forward; an hour lost,
gone, disappeared,
vaporized into nothing but molecules of super-charged air.
Time to reset every clock by a lost hour; but what happens when each one shows a different time?
Two clocks on coffee machines, off by one minute each; two more kitchen clocks, one on the oven, the other on the microwave
both showing different times.
According to every device in my house time seems to be vanishing by incremental seconds, then minutes.
The Apple I-Pad device that syncs to some remote world-wide system, displays still another variation of time gone awry.
If time is a given, a constant, then how is it possible that these five devices can all be off by a nanosecond, a second, a minute or more?
Time seems to have warped into another dimension in my kitchen;
does this mean this is the end of the time-space continuum?
Even worse, this apparent irreversible time shift seems to envelop my whole house. In one bedroom there are two more different time zones appearing.
Another two in the family room, both unequal in their precise measurement of time; these are followed by three other different time zones in another part of the house.
By my count I am trapped in eleven different time zones with all of them not even off by the same margin of error.
If the mechanics of time are a given and can be calculated down to the millionth of a second, how is it possible that time has become broken in my house when the clocks are reset for Daylight Savings Time?
Master the art of showing up. Start small and scale up. Some of us are great at showing up for others, but not so good at putting ourselves first.
Why not think of a few things you'd like to improve and take them slowly. We don't have to be perfect or awesome right away.
Good luck and I hope you are inspired. Choose life. Choose happiness. Take care and best wishes.
The art of showing up
By Michelle Morris
28/12/2022
The art of showing up
Sounds simple as a concept
But for many people
It is challenging to master
If you spent your life
Putting the needs of others first
It becomes exceptionally difficult
To honour your own needs at all
So, try something simple
Write down a goal or two
Commit to giving it five minutes
And increasing it over time
By showing up for yourself
You show that you deserve those goals
By showing up for yourself
You show respect and honour untold
For in those incremental moments
You're building confidence and strength
Mental, physical, emotional and spiritual
It all matters in the end
You don't have to be perfect
No one is born a master at anything
Try to have fun and be open
Learn and grow and find inspiration
Try to focus on the positive
'Cos what's the worst that could happen?
If you fail, you'll have learned something
If you succeed, you'll have a new platform
For each new skill level
Helps us expand our range some more
Until we find that we have learned
Way more than we thought possible
It may seem so silly
But trust me, it will count
And over the next year
You will be amazed at the result
© Michelle Morris, 2022
Predetermination of Lovers
Proactive on the lips of such sensual passions
Scavenges through follicles design
To written archangels of expression
Such are the hungry beats and pulses that evolve
In contemplation
Of Amours encounter with her skin
Countenance and coveted demonstrative
Spills a wet lust fervent
Fever pitched by the wisp succulence
Clamorous and pounds its ranting quintessence of want
Desirous burns, inflamed in whispers
And craves never ending
To lay upon the flower pillowed head
And crush the blooms of reticence
Till breathing cries in a desperate pant
Such are the embers longings for her
That there ignition turns to a mockery of fire
And a mans soul can capture the essence of the sun
Predetermination of the telling caress
Holds the nudity of speechless inquiries of sighs
Rampant
Rampant palmistry of luxuria, grabs !
A mouth-to-mouth pleading of sustenance
On surging floods in beckoned waves, has !
As this keel of heat rides in sweat
Savoured on the incremental words of flesh
Swims the boundless oceans of love
Exhausted to the tasted need
Divulged and disintegrated to unity
Laboured to the inch, of the light, in her opening eyes
Sees distant gasp, focused releases
Breaks upon the spinal tidal arches
A salutation vulnerable to the ravages of aphrodisia
She devastates the tenderness in me
To build a more touched hyper-intensity
On the quivering ends of our fingertips
Leaves the escaping whimpering to linger on sound
Sleeping on the quiet unknown bed
Of lovers
Lines reign rectangular beyond widely
sombre dour density of inhabitants
Living rendered responsible behind wisely
secure doors definitely insure us
Neighbours harbour unfamiliar stories
Measureless textures hold untapped instruction
Sectioned protected fences forbode inquiry
Composite dismissed in driveway's reflection
Stranger to Earth's purposeful cycle
Continuum of plenty and scarcity
Cup overflows with options available
Convenience success declares to be
Money making matrix of tyranny
directs development's doctrine devours
Cataclysmic quick fix erect a thousand
nature inhibiting pattern of houses
Maze Ministers administer complacency
Tempered treacle assertions anethetise
Placated patients injected with necessity
Propel dominance of capitalism's rise
Studious city sews a hem pressed wide
Insidious greed knows a slow demise
Commodities local harvest would provide
Remote industry manoeuvre bulk supplies
Creek dipped reaching tree to residents listens
Combined myriad of incessant insects minuscule
Comical tousles, tasks of a toiling existence
Trials surmounted gain victories incremental
Environmentally in tune communities
easily trade effort borne resources
Trust, patience, guidance received
Compassion's fountain pours importance
Muscle of masses hinge bones as ligaments
Harvesting knowledge of fecundity's longevity
Endurance and learning with strength intersect
Woven contribution formulates society's liberty
Evil is incremental
One bullet after another
And after another
And after another
Until there’s a blister
On my trigger finger
Where there used to be a wet print
Of a little kiss
Transplanted to my little girl’s cheek
Before I left for work
This morning,
She’s sound asleep in bed
With the spring birds singing
Through her window.
All day
I do
The best I can
To shoot low,
To spare the gut,
To leave the heart within its chest,
I merely shred knee caps and groins
With shrapnel
From the cannon in my hand,
To buckle those distant shapes
Of brown people,
To see them writhe in the dirt
On their asses,
Legs and arms pumping into the air
Like half-squished spiders
On top of a table,
Hauled away in spoonfulls of wheelbarrows
My God
My God
Please stop
This prophecy
Of slingshots
And firebombing kites.
I know most of my bullets
Have slipped into the gaseous abyss
With their own orders
And less discipline
Into a handshake of fate
Until I reckon
With the end of time
I am doing this
Me
All day
At work
Shooting
Across a field
Over a fence erected by men
Because this is heaven, and that is hell
And they all want in,
Millions of them,
Wanting to kill me
And my little girl
Asleep in her bed.
I’ve never heard or seen
Of anything
More irrelevant
Than having a choice.
Did I say that, or did they?
We all follow our orders.
Reminiscing past helps to remember;
thinking past events helps to remember
how simple acts brought people together;
Those past acts helped them at their crisis hours.
Timely past actions helped at crisis hours.
Heard their woes, truly tried to dry their tears.
Listening intently equips to know,
Listening attentively helps to know
issues from their perspectives somehow.
Empathizing in a sensitive way,
And yet being aware of woes wise way
will solve their misery, won't fill with dismay.
They wish someone should hear untold stories
justly before uprooting their worries.
~X~X~X~
Blues Sonnet
The defining features of the Blues Sonnet are:
• A quatorzain made up of 4 triplets and a heroic couplet.
• Oddly metric, in iambic pentameter.
This is in contrast to the usual blue stanza which is
accentual, with a more folksy rhythm.
• Rhymed, rhyme scheme AAa BBb CCc DDd ee.
• It is composed of 4 Blues Stanzas, L1 statement,
L2 incremental repetition of L1, and L3 is a climactic
parallel of the first 2 lines.
• Pivot or volta should be in the last triplet and
ends in a declamatory couplet.
Reference:: https://poetscollective.org/everysonnet/blues-sonnet/
Thanks to Mr Lawrence Eberhart for the resource at Poets COLLECTIVE Site.
I continue reading Iain McGilchrist's
"The Master [Mistress] and his [her] Emissary,"
a retelling of many RightWing dominant
and LeftWing repressed and suppressed events
anti-ecofeminist
and pro-orthodox patriarchal white privileged histories
of nationalistic fatherlands
written across the individual ego-hearts
and eco-habitats
of every EarthMother trans-regenerator
born into spatially incremental awareness
through temporally exponential change--
like a river
greeting an ocean
and an ocean
receiving a river.
Where Julian Jaynes
tells a psychological story of bicameral breakdown
into RightWing bipolar schizophrenic madness,
Introducing healing possibilities
in WinLeft/WinRight
WinWest/WinEastern dipolar integrity,
McGilchrist sees bicameral balance buildup
of LeftBrain ego competence
to passionately re-heal RightBrain integrity
remembering each ego-individuating story,
restorative listening and speaking continuous identity's history
uniquely, yet interdependently,
told through bicameral
bilateral
binomial polypathic
polyphonic musing music
polynomially ZeroSoul Zone
resiliently dancing
universal ego
and unitarian eco-habitat resonance,
Integrity's double-boundary
Yes! Yes!
ecstatic communion potential.