Long Interferes Poems
Long Interferes Poems. Below are the most popular long Interferes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Interferes poems by poem length and keyword.
A canary bird in its cage placed near a window
a leafy tree of spring, where lesser sparrows sat
wished for the mystical word, freedom
Was the freedom the canary bird saw real or not
constructed by an AI method, like the journalist
in a famous newspaper had seen a clip where
her husband was eating lettuce with a rabbit
Ai, opens up a scary world, where fake is true
and we can't know the difference
The eyes seeing us are blind, they have no life
and do not know they are construct
but human-like robots might in time develop
a conscience, primitive at first like the first primates
on earth wondering why they were the first
animals who knew they were different and sought
there must be a God, for many to disown this
concept, like robots who will not obey humans
The AI construct also interferes with the written word
On YouTube, we read articles extolling the life
of certain famous people, perfectly written but fake
we see this, some of us, by the uncritical method
or lack of reality that makes the written dead as
a Dodo and equally boring
I see AI-inspired offers that anyone can write a novel
by letting the AI do the tedious work like writing
All it needs is your name and a few details and voila
you are guaranteed a bookshelf placed beside names
like Ernest Hemingway et all
Yes, we do live in a scary world when we lose sight
of what is human-made or an AI construct
There is an hour
which interferes with work -
"our hour".
We use it, or are used by it,
to bound round supermarket chains
or sandwich bars.
See? We're bound by bars and chains.
Workers pound the counter at
the Queen's Head every lunchtime.
Time for lunch, not time for hunger -
hunger learns to coincide with lunch.
The counter which we use,
or are used by,
the Workers' Pound,
bears the Queen's head.
It's a token.
You get these if you work.
Hard work, hard cash.
Someone gives you tokens,
which you trade in for Things.
The Queen approves.
Sovereigns can do anything.
Wake up when it's dark,
do things no sane adult
would ever want to do,
and you can have tokens, too.
One day, we'll see beyond Things.
Work work out of our system.
Pools will be stocked with carp,
not typists,
and the Rush Hour will mean
a lazy while
spent on a river bank -
not that anything will be spent,
and banks will have been abolished.
The only office will be evensong,
nothing will be known as "hours",
or even "ours",
and pounds will be locked up
... in pounds.
Alarm clocks will be wound up.
Treadmills will be recycled,
much to the relief of guinea-pigs
(which will be renamed,
along with money spiders).
There'll be a Queen's Award
for Indolence.
I've seen the future,
and it doesn't work.
Some folks love doing their thing
And it brings in money and bling!
Just let me make hay
The conservatives say
Even when it gives others a sting
Do people all have basic rights?
Are some blown away like lost kites?
It seems there’s no end
Of a bad mess to mend
And liberals take on these fights
Author's Note: When the right to make a ton of bucks interferes with other rights that people have--watch out. I get particularly offended by people who exercise their freedom (and by doing so) interfere with my right to clean air and water and freedom from intrusive smells and noise. This argument can be extended to a variety of situations. Where do your rights end and mine begin? This is the tip of a massive iceberg (which could be melting due to global warming).
The first of every January starts another unspoiled year
Just when I was feeling merry … righteous conscience interferes
-----------------------------------
Racked by guilt of season’s folly, flush with sated appetite
Lulled by scent of pine and holly, culpable and self-contrite
Seeking for surcease of excess, craving of some penitence
Aching for some form of redress for my lack of common sense
Drawn to make obtuse commitment to a cause beyond my reach
Doomed to yearly disappointment … Fail to practice what I preach
Still, I think to change demeanor so I swear recurrent vow
Straighter, Taller! Faster, Leaner! I can do it ALL! (somehow)
Yet I lounge in comfy armchair, sweet (the siren’s call) beguiles
Apple pie and chocolate éclair, want and regret reconcile
-----------------------------------
So? I’ve passed another milestone! So? My waist’s a new frontier!
Resolutions are just – postponed, I can always change
… next year!
December 3, 2018 Submitted for EARLY DECEMBER 2018,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UP TO A MAX OF 20 lines Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Brian Strand
I sit on the windowsill
and admire the silent sky
that is partially dark;
I listen to the crickets
that hide in the oak's massive branches...
doesn't it suggest suspense and melancholy?
How can the ivory moon of spring brighten my night
and dissipate every surly thought
that interferes with my contemplation?
It's my desire to feel and hear peace,
which in daytime is so immensely absent;
and unlikely nighttime, it only offers implausible allure.
No verses I will write tonight and begin dreaming...
instead, I'll look further into space and believe in creation evermore;
I'll hear Daniel's voice echo through its immeasurable vastness,
and perhaps the ivory moon of spring seeing my sadness
will brighten the gloomy night before stars vanish behind the blazing clouds.
I’m dreaming of Autumn,
a time where everything changes.
The Texas heat still lingers, but there is a sense of hope creeping in.
Fall- Halloween and Thanksgiving
Should be coming soon.
Watching football on a Sunday afternoon
Enjoying time with your family,
Playing cornhole in the backyard.
Watching a scary movie in the dark.
The seasons changing, people changing
as they think of a time…
A time where the atmosphere changes,
where people are happier.
Crisp days spent enjoying a sip of coffee,
Seeing the smiles of others as they pass you in the shop.
Rainy days spent inside reading your favorite book.
Waking up to a misty morning, perfect for a sweater.
These are the days I look forward to, and the things I wish to be true.
But, this is not quite the way it is here.
So, this is why I dream.
I dream of these things that will not come true
In the full extent here in this small, Texas town;
a town where the heat of summer interferes
with what should be fall.
Fall is but a brief moment in time here
It passes by quickly, but it is
Just as magical as one could imagine
She studied the Space exploration
act of 3033 to find where
in history she might
use her Time traveling Machine
It had been said that
she was likely to be seen
as one who interferes in
the activates of space
and would cause others to
form a distrust of her..
Yet she pursued her freedom
to explore space
with the People of Earth in mind.
The functions of Functions
Where Space is Topic and Topic
All things are Space and
the Preservation of Space
Space to be used by Mankind
It's recourses explored and considered.
She made a List of People and Creatures who were" The Enemies Of Space"
On planets and Moons: in Nebulas, On asteroids and
Cosmic storms she Captained her Vessel: until she became the enemy in space
and her co-captain rivaled her to secure his position
as Captain. They used force feilds to create her residence on the lower deck.
Their she built a secret tine machine using the onboard computer which spoke to her as she was twenty year prior. Somene made a program that addressed her as the captain she had replaced." The men Called her
An enemy Of Space" due to her dating practices.
(Gail's Note: Reply Email from Subby Conscience is the sequel to this.)
To: Subby Conscience
From: [email protected]
Re: Communication between You and Me
Date: February 4, 2012
Why isn't it easy to call you at will?
Couldn't I just Twitter or email you until
You provide the answer in clear, solid terms
So that I don't have to lie in your chaotic squirms?
Instead, you tug at my psyche
And laugh at my logic.
You taunt and tug at my struggles
And sap my dream tonic.
You expose my repression
While disguised as a friend
All the while sneaking around
In my personal REM.
A swirl of feelings
Interferes with the theme.
Makes my heart pound and pound.
Makes it seem like a scheme
To interrupt sleep
And destroy my 8 hours.
To wither my psyche
And sap super powers.
And then comes the waiting
Sometimes for years
Of what this all means
Could it always be fear?
But unknown to you
Over time you are helping
To harness the pounding
And process all my days' yelpings
So that I can function in the AM and more
While you are repressed as
I cozily soar.
Published in PS: It's Still Poetry
Volume II
Angrily, rain enfolds the insular rise of lawn undulating.
Anglers dream, envious fishermen, inside looking out urging
apostles, who elope within imaginary onslaughts, hooked unburdening's.
Aloft, thunder encounters lightening's insistent taunt, oracles fearsome uttering's.
And still, each fisherman's innermost summoning orchestrates this untoward
atmospheric downfall, each drop induced, prayerful, outpouring is underscored.
Admittedly many envious housebound inmates seek oceans, lakes, unexplored
although, the earthly torrent interferes pitiless, onerous, rainfall unleashed.
Absent the energizing rays introduced by ordinary sun, undone
are these enigmatic men in rooms, oar less, ship-less, landlubbers unconsoled.
Another day encases them indoors mooning over fish uncontrolled.
A trophy earned, stuffed, indisputably shows offerings untold.
Ah, fishtails energetically rise incensed by objections never unabridged
absent their earnest wives, imagination rolls on winds un-curtailed.
Blue flowers plucked
Nyona bak chang** moments;
Satisfying rice cakes
By this old fence
Echoes of giggles;
Laughter mocks schoolyard
Road diversion
Roundabout detour;
Long cul de sac
Wedding festivities
Details and stuff;
Final agenda looms
Joy wears a face
Celebration evokes;
Certain gratification
Flame of the Forest tree
Nice shady bough;
Rain drops seeping
This old site
Venue of past demeanours;
Regret and guilt linger
Windy day
Hair reconfigured;
Unkempt spikes
In sure fashion
Nothing stays the same;
Change interferes
Wind howling
A haunting refrain;
Ghostly echoes cry
New instance
Go the distance;
Ply resistance
Do not be
Afraid of fear;
It's just an old gripe
Old apartments
Need a facelift;
Time weathers pains
Leon Enriquez
03 August 2014
Singapore
(Notes: Nyona bak chang** --
The word "Nyona" means a Straits born Chinese lady
with the social graces of a genteel sort, who are
known as a Nyona from a distinct group called the
Peranakans, who have a mixed heritage of Chinese and
Malay customs and traditions. This is today a dying breed.
The word "bak chang" means a cooked food product
made from glutinous rice with a centre filled with
sweet pork meat, spices and sauce, and chestnuts, packed in
long leaves in the shape of a pyramid tied with strings.
Such delicacies are steamed until the aroma fills the
air and makes you desirous to eat these tasty morsels.
The natural tinge of blue colour on the glutinous rice comes
from the "blue flowers" freshly picked for use in these rice cakes.
My maternal grandmother was a Nyona lady who had
a big heart, a warm smile and who loved me very dearly.
I miss her smile though she died when I was only four.)