Long Ingenuity Poems
Long Ingenuity Poems. Below are the most popular long Ingenuity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ingenuity poems by poem length and keyword.
please lemme know and honestly profess
if profusion of words create a lingual Loch Ness
(when hens canst come home to roost
especially, encountering
the following conglomeration
in matthew scott harris patois).
He readily admits writing inventive
attempts usually ten tubby a literary mess,
thus finding innocent cyber cruisers
Angle fishing for Saxony fundamental fluidity
courtesy of Freudian stream of consciousness,
gabbling gibberish, muck not done on purpose
and certainly less
to impress.
Gnome hatter intent toward
cogency, fancy ingenuity,
levity, the inevitable
resultant wrought gobbledygook
fascination for Lingua Franca
feeble endeavor splutters, splinters,
and splatters Asia Yukon guess.
Paramour status analogous with twenty six letters,
sans En gull Lush Mother tongue confluence
finds me submerged (as an Arctic Monkey)
swimmingly enervated
via erotic laced sentiments
perhaps finds bravely daring soul madly
hollering, gesticulating floundering,
(in close proximity to Davey Jones's locker)
to avoid drowning at sea
perchance comprehending passionate influence.
Upon espying a signature poem of mine
forces one pre ponder ring lurking predilection
tib hush anonymous re:
dears (dares) adventuresome mettle
taking him/her to the brainy
(briny) deep brink
Icon fess
this (NON FAKE) pretense, why
aye metaphorically express
(via medium of ordinary Anglophile
alphabetic wanton soup,
or figurative egg drop bub
bling broth (el) doth brew)
pronouns Sibyl affectation
affliction sans plethora,
where each ladle full adrip with
richly flavor Verdana Font lee
and sincerely textured vocabulary.
Pluperfect mortals beings undoubtedly feel
(blindsided, how this hunger stricken author
suffers said sesquipedalian syndrome
particularly expectorating flashy
hoping tum bark on successful literary quest)
hyper aware aspiring paperback writers wannabe
might stoop to conquer, cheat, cadge
vis a vis plagiarize plethora
amidst storied plentiful English droppings.
Rather than succumb pretense feigning paucity
temptation to bask exultantly,
professed glorious unrequited love
announcing required sworn vow,
(el lye ding) avowed consonant covenant.
Form:
Run Bacon run, the sound come echoing from the gun, run bacon run there is nothing to fear hold on to the third and the fifth gear. The oil is in the hip, grease your joints before you take that dip.
Meringue and carhop is no match for the crown. His body is on fire, and his passion is rolling with desire. The cow is on heat and the miracle is underneath my feet. He is running around in the sty so come catch the bull before it dies; the herd is waiting at the crossing with guitar and drums getting ready for that final home run.
Run bacon run, tie up your belly and run, take off your socks and shoes and anchor your feet in the ground before the mid-day news. Take up your baggage and run before you hear the final gun.
They are no match for your ingenuity, your originality and your brevity the crowd is pressing on with courage, ambition and perseverance but the dictator is hiding in the room and you have to remove him before noon.
Run bacon run the race is not yet done, this weekend promises to be fun if you stay in your lane and follow your gut feeling. You have got to know how to roll the dice and you got to know how to run on ice, you must keep your feet firm on the ground and follow the beam on the screen.
Run bacon run, you have three more laps before it’s done, the universe is watching you, and the crowd is patronizing you.Run bacon run, and take control of the track, the president and prime-ministers are in the stands, they are tossing money and playing lot, and way up in the gallery the Saudi dignitaries are getting jittery and the referees are moving around the field taking notes and observing the “goats”. They have thrown a lot of money in this race and anxiety is swelling in their face but they were not in a hurry, for the estimated glory.
Beacon is turning the corner and the crowd is roaring louder, bacon is getting is on the home stretch and it is pulling away in depth. The eastern stand is on fire and it is dancing with pleasure while the northern stand is cruising with the breeze and water is dripping from their knees, they are also on fire.
The western stand is burning with desire and the bacon has just crossed the finishing line in a striking distance of more than fifty meters. I have got to take the bacon home to cool down this internal fire, and give the niceties their final desire.
Run Beacon run!
The Sweat of Thy Face
When we were young, we were given a charge by the Almighty…
“ Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it.”
( This, we seemed able to do.
It was the second charge we've had trouble with…)
“...In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground…”
History, according to the Bible, tells us that, one reason Adam was formed was because God wanted someone to till the ground…to work the soil, planting seeds and reaping the fruits of their labor.
Since it goes on to say we will do this with the sweat of our face, we can deduce that this will be hard work. Perhaps mankind misunderstood the words, “of THY face”, reading it as, “the sweat of THEIR face”?
****************************************************************************
Slavery,
Bond servants,
Free labor…
Sacrificing humanity and compassion for a footstool.
****************************************************************************
Freedom! Finally, unpaid and forced labor is rejected and despised…outlawed.
However, the ones in power were still the wealthy.
Mankind, always searching for the loophole to save their soft, lilly white hands from respectable callouses.
We began to forget how to work, how to grow food, preserve it, and how to be self reliant.
We sacrificed quality for quantity, flavor for convenience, health for sloth.
We've been blessed with intelligence, ingenuity, common sense…what do we accomplish with these blessings? Discovering more and more ways to avoid a sweaty face and those calloused hands.
****************************************************************************
The industrial revolution,
The Sciences, Technology,
Our superpower, Pollution.
****************************************************************************
Now, on the cusp of inventing the ultimate slave, we could be creating a world where human beings are merely dumb animals relying on our own creation to do all the hard stuff…like thinking.
Once again we create the tower of Babel.
Not to reach heaven, no...
a tower that controls our very own Adam...
Our highly polished, Eve.
When one tries to control Artificial Intelligence , how will we know who holds the leash and who wears the collar?
Foundation.
With the considerable rise of AI software on all social media and business platforms, will humanity lose its creative edge?
Will you be tempted to do so?
Title:
Be You
(A lone voice whispers)
Be You
Forgo assimilation
And try to avoid being spellbound and tied into the new B System
Dream and aspire before you're retired
With all your soul's, inner resistance
Don't be bound to mundane hearts, no longer open to being plowed, with ravenous curious fingers
Hearts enslaved into a dark broken Labyrinth of unspoken, and untold things
Which could linger
From sad souls who've cried, as their creativity withered and died
Absorbed by the cleverly assimilated imagery and well created lies
To be one of the many lonely wanderers
Tumbling blind through inspirations now barren playgrounds
As the new, AI Hive Minds, long reach fires up to reteach
Newly breached, unconnected human firewalls
While wild valley blackbirds and starling flocks
Scream and call out in unison, at the lack of the rising poetry
Music or literature, filled with human energy
As spiritual temperatures worldwide, fall
Putting ingenuity into jeopardy
Screeching about the impending icy cold bath of human separation
As they fly as huge wailing flocks, into the Summer Equinox
With the frosty breath, of AI Death of the Soul
Lingering around like black mold
With bony fingers
Rattling without a sound
Awaiting its resurrection
As daylight recedes and people seem to lose hope
But on that Devil's Island for some of the Condemned
The one called Earth
The Exalted Ones
Maybe like you
Unassimilated and still free
Can lift up the trapped
Those poor souls caught up in The Hive Mind
Slowly been drained of personality and self identity
Lost in the humankind labyrinth of the unspoken and untold
Who needs releasing to help rebuild the new pillars of creativity upon Earth
With their eventual rebirth
This my friend with the bright eyes unseen
Has always been a worthy oath to follow
For you've always been free to share your gift of uplifting
Energetic, raw, and visual
Literature
Music or poetry
Maybe bestowed
From The Sacred Temples of Apollo
What's says you?
Are you going to strive to stay the real you?
(C) Copyright John Duffy
Endurance is not of your nature,
Solidity glides in wavering motions upon my pitiful neck,
Now brazen silver does linger,
Trite lance, ravenous knife does make one last,
Sorrowful trek...
I know you'll adore each compassioned endeavor,
And your canvas lay pared, splayed and sculpted tissue.
You've rendered such precious jet-black clouds...
They drape their vile vined misted shrouds...
Within my gray eyed gaze,
Such hues temper your violent palette...
Vanished breath-flickered candle haze.
Lifeless wick, gurgling crimson wax.
Your beloved paint trickles in balmy clotted puddles,
I shudder adorned in radiant rubies rolling from my fingertips,
I feel your veteran-mastered art pouring from my throat...
Am I not your first? What imaginative vision you possess!
For it is not to say mine is fading, fleeting plasma afloat.
They told me of your gift,
How endowed you are,
Able to plunge, plunge, plunge,
Your hands into the crevices of torment,
In your swayed, celestial delusion,
You heaven's exile, wicked-bound and hell sent.
Engraved in lifeless form ascending from tip to hilt,
Still I lie mesmerized by the atrocity,
Of apathy jaundiced guilt.
Predator, what is your name?
May I slip your ill-willed syllables from my lips,
for you have brought my tamed veins shame.
I value your corrupt knowledge found pledge,
As you mar my shivering body to your own image,
Ingenuity, you said was the plight laid upon razor's edge.
Poetic justice you explained was reason to heal,
Mankind in his errors,
Of humanity's devil-signed, soul-phantom deal.
If I could speak I'd ask for the pen,
Should I sign in ink? Skin pricked red-wine?
Rolled parchment, contract or covenant?
Sign here along the dotted line?
I lift the golden-feathered needle,
And pierce, finger signature in place,
Advocate of Satan take my soul,
Where we are then,
Vaccuum-voided into fiery space.
I look back up at you with word choked reply,
Sputtering the eruptive branch volcano,
You snicker an exaggerated pain cry,
You tell me my soul's been granted,
I was never given choice,
You said, "You gave that up when I slit,
Your moral stained choral-voice...."
How I regret your wicked lures...
Your profound and deafening words,
The afterlife has no meaning,
Only death does gleam,
On Steel Sharpened Spurs...
Form:
Poetry was her best lover
like no other
he loved her
without restraint
She could be herself
and explore
discovering
secret pleasures and fantasies
Naked above the covers
he let her lie exposed
as he slowly caressed her imagination
making her flow
with the sweet essence of her soul
in waves of creative delirium
Flying free~~~
he let her be
unfettered
unashamed
unworried of how to please
or how to tease
just simply to be
a woman in a prelude
to ecstasy
Poetry was her best lover
her escape from reality
in clandestine intimacy
he ravished her mind
again and again
for all he wanted
was for her
to experience
to taste
every pleasure
he had to offer
Her insatiable appetite
he fed
with firm truths
that burst forth with wisdom
He fed her desire
to reach supremacy
He never betrayed
or delayed
in pleasing her
in giving her just what she wanted
in different ways and forms
his creativity endless
Poetry was her best lover
the only time in her day
when she had her way
and could be free
to be the woman she was meant to be:
Sensual and sultry, sexy and savory
not having to hide
behind the guise
the veil of culture
or religion
or misconstrued sexism
or alibis
being demure
“sterile”
when she was fertile
laden with passion
waiting to be filled
with word seeds of ingenuity
Poetry was her best lover
he adored her as she was
and he gave and gave
at times
leading her in submission to his will
taming her
training her
to live in the confines
of his rules...
For perfection to be reached
she had to follow his lead
to the pinnacle of pleasure
where all was in rhythmic union and rhyme
in the sublime
she was oblivious to time
Ah....sweet release~~~
In the after glow
he wouldn't let her go
but held her safe and secure
basking in the satisfaction
of a fruitful union
serene in the knowledge
that beauty has been conceived
waiting for delivery
Yes, Poetry was her best lover
and she came looking for him
begging him to take her
again and again and again
to transport her to heaven from hell
to compel her to see
what life was meant to be
Poetry was her best lover
and she had no need of another
to help her discover
her own entity….
None other
than her best lover
Poetry....
Eileen Manassian
It was the time when art was king,
Of artists whose praises we all sing.
Great minds there were in the Renaissance,
Through eons , unsurpassed, with little advance.
Greatness was embodied in the works of art,
In Lorenzo's gardens did Michelangelo start.
But great there was one of Mona Lisa fame,
Master painter, inventor - Leonardo his name.
Contemporaries for sure, one really wonders
Of the two, whose work steals the thunders.
David, the Pieta, Sistine Chapel, and more
Everlasting they are through ages sure.
But then there's the Lisa, Last Supper, inventions galore.
On their ingenuity and genius, the world lays great store.
Can genius be bestowed in multiple men?
Can peace and tranquility be shared even then?
Can two kings sit and reign on one throne?
Or squabble and fight like two dogs with one bone?
And so, these men of unparallel fame
Were set by chance a mischievous game.
Asked they were to adorn the Council Hall
With paintings to settle rankings once and for all.
With gusto did the two set about
A Battle each to prove their clout.
Leonardo chose the battle of Anghiari;
Battle of Cascina was Michelangelo's quarry.
Great was the strife between the two,
Each strove hard for the other to outdo.
Of the rivalry ,I heard, - the worst of all,
Art was the victim - and the two took a fall.
Relates the great chronicler Vasari,Giorgio,
That the nadir of art was seen in the Palazzo Vecchio
As each of the greats thought little of their craft
But dallied and diddled, till the populace all laughed.
The Cascina on naked bathing soldiers was based
On the banks of the Arno it was placed.
But the scene that was rendered was so ludicrous
That his work, sadly, bordered on the ridiculous.
Leonardo's Anghiari was a shade grim
But his chances to greatness was very slim.
He used oils from Pliny the Elder's recipe
But soon these flaked , were smudgy, and drippy.
Be that as it may
To Art's great dismay
What should have been great works
Were diminished by Rivalry's quirks.
Vasari painted over these objets de art
And replaced these with his own from the start.
Now conservators do scan, to see if they can,
Which of the two, Leonardo or Michelangelo, was
The painter of the elusive Magnum Opus.
~18 Jun 2016~
The water has receded
And I can see everything
in the bottom of the stream
Big pebbles of assorted colors
covering each other
frogs scampering about
and big fish meddling around
I stared in the silent water
watching rubble floating on top
giant rocks planted in the sand
unaware of what is at hand
And openly denying that
they didn't know each other
I walked across the buried rock
to view the pebbles from all angles
With heightened curiosity
and reflective ingenuity
I dip my foot into the water
but it was as cold as ice
and something strange
was bubbling up inside
The sun shines vigorously
through the tall trees
penetrating the water in the deep
I could see the color of everything
the shape the depth and the size
The wind came to a stand still
And mad birds murmuring
precariously from within
They start a mutiny in the trees
Flying furiously in the air
waiting for the storm as it draws near
I crossed the stream
and sat on a wooden bench
Contemplating numerous events
The mysteries of nature
birds talking to each other
And everyone screaming
and shouting at one another
I could not understand the birds language
but I could sense their troubled emotions
Whistling
screeching
squealing
shirking
crying
hooting
tweeting
sounds without description arouse in the tree
Different rhythm unfamiliar tune
Making everyone confused
Mozart in all his glory
couldn't have created a better symphony
Even among the tallest tree
nature is wailing in misery
I cannot fathom it all
unparalleled music resonating in my head
and the trees standing upright
scrutinizing this terrible plight
The leaves are not moving
And the bushes can feel the strangeness
the birds are whimpering
forcing nature to set an important meeting
Everyone gathers in Eleanor's park
waiting anxiously for the meeting to start
The wood pecker hammering the wood
and the sweet John Che-wit
standing on the shaky branch
watching the cardinal reading the agenda
The cold and dry winter has returned
Hot spring sweltering in summer
Every thing is green again and the trees
waits patiently to dance again
The bird started a sudden commotion
and the meeting ended in a raucous demotion
Winter hits back with a monumental explosion.
I was silently watching the two Mary’s sigh and cry,
When the earthquake hit and I just wanted to cover,
The ground nearly parted and there was no-one to chi,
I hit the deck for stones from the tomb threw over.
Covering my head with my hands and laying tight up,
I was aware of the two Mary’s moving over speedily,
To the tomb stone to take advantage of the windup,
Which just contributed to the terror weighing heavily.
After six minutes it ceased, and peace did administer,
The two of them were straight at the caster right in there,
But I needed another while to recover from the disaster,
So just sat looking firstly at the grass, then over there.
By the time I got them they’d given the body determinedly,
To the gardener who already had lit it and was fanning it,
So I ran as fast as a chicken away from a fox very quickly,
Up the mountain to get my head straight to think about it.
I worked it out that I had to talk with the two Mary’s,
Because I also appreciated what Jesus did when alive,
Since he had cured my cousin from quadriplegic paralysis,
Such that this cousin’s possibility was now to thrive.
So I did decide to accept Mary’s plans of ingenuity,
For the continuation of her son’s work with the poor,
Which would change medical services directivity,
From the rich monopoly over to with anyone to moor.
The two woman’s plans would ignite a movement,
Start a Society, organisation or group to proclaim,
That the way to live was through love’s enrichment,
Not by class prized, but by living everyday in His name.
So we talked, and the two women promised me silence,
About my failure to keep the stone which sealed the tomb,
If I kept silence about them having a stealing licence,
And about their real physical action of removing the womb.
So that was how the resurrection myth took off, started,
That was how it began, it did come from two parties,
From the Roman soldier representing the state above,
And from Jesus’ kin representing the people’s armies.
I don’t think Christianity would’ve occurred without,
The soldier man Roman guard of the tomb believing,
In Jesus plight and in the right of a movement, shout,
About Jesus, through the religion of Christianity aging.
Maidens often tells me she love me,
But can that truly be?
One who does not to me respect show,
But always my ideas she akimbo.
I asked my duplicate,
Whether it's a thing of my fate.
"Can someone who loves you,
Show no respect to your rule?
Can one who loves you,
View you in your seriousness as fool?
Can one who bear your affection,
Often cause you variant infections.
If truly she loves; I qoute,
Then,does she always me wrong qoute?
When my abilities toss me to speak,
Then will her mockery raise to it's peak.
She'll often mock my ingenuity,
Which pierce into my versatality.
Does she really love?
Tell me,or does she want me like a whot
shove?
'Cos by all my intuity,
I can't trace the particles of love's
conformity.
Let say she disguises,
Must she take it too far to this phases?
My quest for her personality,
Is now melting down like a scorched lead.
Tell me,does she really loves me,
Or only enjoy my spirituality?
Tell me,Tell,Tell me
Tell me, Tell, Tell me
Tell me, Tell, Tell me
For i'm pressed and squeezed like a bill.
Does she feel so pompous,
That made her conceive that i wroth her
purse?
Does her beauty stir her so hardly,
That her aroma disguist my belly.
One who i bare sickness with,
One who i share illness with.
One who my heart travels to greet,
Every hour while on thought's street.
One who i persuade 'I AM' for,
Don't even care if i fall.
Should i believe them,
Or pluck my garment at its hem?
Cos my rein did wept,
And my affection forever crept.
In search of an abode,
That will be to her a Lord.
Should i say she's by jealousy toss?
Or methink her that i her friend toast*?
Tell me,Tell,Unveil to me,
For this no more a secret.
I made 'I AM' so compassionate,
To make her edified in faith.
My intestine fought with my worms,
For the course of this maiden's norms.
But here is the tragedy,
Nay,should i say Blessing?
For this maiden of which my mouth is fixed
on,
Is the bone of bone of which i'm loan.
This stamped me on the fence,
With no idea whether to stay or hence.
For yet my shout and screams,
And affection for her is still like the tree.
But here i don't know if she truly loves,
Or if she wants to give me to the fox.