Long Invention Poems
Long Invention Poems. Below are the most popular long Invention by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Invention poems by poem length and keyword.
I am fascinated by space science because it is so divine. I am fascinated by space science because everything it entails is sublime. Human operates machine and machine work for human; human input the information but the machine regurgitates it.
Its AI and automation against human invention, e-commerce and job outsourcing in reverse. If you cannot pay me let me go to those who are willing to hire me, but please don’t use me and then you discard me. You lurk behind the screen saying that you have run out of money and you cannot bring me back to fulfill my dreams.
I don’t join games because I don’t know to play them, I don’t play games because am not good at winning them. I don’t play games because I don’t know the rules and sometimes it leaves you confused. I approach everything in life in a pragmatic and realistic manner.
You place the burden on the commuter saying that it is giving the order; computer is not human and someone must operate it to transfer the information to you, oh what silly deprivation. You are trying to elude reality and not living up to your responsibility, the ship will be at the surface on time and you must give me what is mine.
You have built more than a dozen space ship with words dripping from my lips; you have sent missions to the moon with words burning from my finger tips and vinegar is draining in my lungs; with swollen fingers and broken palm words flow from my heart into the computer gut before dawn, and then you slice it up and serve it for breakfast dinner and lunch and disrespect my painful sacrifice, and you call it AI.
I work day and night and because I don’t know how to fight I continue to stretch myself to fulfill a mandate for the moon. You send me into the space to explore the galaxy and look into the black hole to see where gravity is bold and the space around the corner lit up with billions of stars flickering in the night, oh what a wonderful sight.
Will machine eventually take over human lives after decades of painful sacrifice? Will machine takes over our lives and leave us without a dime? Nights upon nights the human brain toil to fill the machine sitting on the throne but sometimes the gripe is so strong it vomits out on the land and my eyeball spread the words all over the human race and squeeze matter into tiny space. It man against woman and one woman working with computer.
Here I am standing on the milky way hoping that someone would come my way, I have been here for a thousand years with millions of stars stuffed up into my guts and the solar system with is unwinding rhythm orbiting the galaxy in the center of the mass and the dark matter is running around the town in a brand-new set of gowns.
Where they come from, I don’t know, but they are about to start a brand-new show; they are wearing alien skirts and blouse made out of purified dirt.
I see them coming in droves they are parachuting through the clouds, they are acting as if they have no feeling, and they are coming at a speed that will smash up your zeal and turn the planet into ashes and dirt.
The planet is running around with the sun and the mission is not yet done you have to go back in space and tie up the loose ends that are hanging from the heavens; they are three thousand light years away and they cannot connect with the beam to release the clogged-up steam.
The galaxies is sending a message to you, you must organize another mission in the sky to find the point before the beam dies; it will plunge the earth into darkness for a thousand years and the plants would die, and nothing will pass through the sky.
The galaxy is of three main types, and you have got to separate the spirals galaxy from the irregular's galaxy and the elliptical galaxy before the universe move.
You have to arrange another trip with Russia, Japan, China, India and America with Britain and Germany at the tip. You have to examine what is going on up there because I am seeing some strange image that is causing me to fear, is it digital manipulation or is its political frustration, whatever it is, it frightens every living creature to its core, and you have to keep asking for more.
Touch me if you can see me, touch me if you feel me. I don’t have to see the movement of your hands; I only have to feel the courage in your soul and the fire from the sun engraved in the center of your hand.
It can scan through any door and take you to the upper floor, this is my latest invention, and it can take me straight up to the sky without a nickel or dime.
Touch me if you can feel me, touch me and pass the energy around, touch me with the tip of your fingers and your long-awaited dreams will come through; just touch me and the universe will open the big door for you.
If my poetry moves you to witness to stranger
Just know that I'm touched that you're "sharing my ride,"
For the fact is that giving can be fraught with danger,
But those that it calls feel much warmer inside!
I have so little knowledge to call my invention
Some came from my parents, from people I've met
But the gift of the spirit defies all convention
It's holy, profound, precious gift without debt.
Even muse I call gift, for it waters my soul's growth,
An alternate path that the spirit can take
Truth that's flavored by strangers, by loved ones, I've seen both,
Fresh air never sweeter, Grace purges mistake!
Spirit truth has no owner like jewel or gold dust,
It's one with Creation; you'll know it by feel.
Although Midas (1) got gold, all his love turned to soul rust,
The gift of the Spirit is simply to heal!
Brian Johnston
June 13, 2017
Poet's Notes:
(1) From Greek mythology - Wikipedia
"One day, as Ovid relates in Metamorphoses, Dionysus found that his old schoolmaster and foster father, the satyr Silenus, was missing. The old satyr had been drinking wine and wandered away drunk, to be found by some Phrygian peasants who carried him to their king, Midas (alternatively, Silenus passed out in Midas' rose garden). Midas recognized him and treated him hospitably, entertaining him for ten days and nights with politeness, while Silenus delighted Midas and his friends with stories and songs. On the eleventh day, he brought Silenus back to Dionysus in Lydia. Dionysus offered Midas his choice of whatever reward he wished. Midas asked that whatever he might touch should be changed into gold.
Midas rejoiced in his new power, which he hastened to put to the test. He touched an oak twig and also a stone; both turned to gold. Overjoyed, as soon as he got home, he touched every rose in the rose garden, and all became gold. He ordered the servants to set a feast on the table. Upon discovering how even the food and drink turned into gold in his hands, he regretted his wish and cursed it. Claudian states in his In Rufinem: "So Midas, king of Lydia, swelled at first with pride when he found he could transform everything he touched to gold; but when he beheld his food grow rigid, and his drink harden into golden ice then he understood that this gift was a bane and in his loathing for gold, cursed his prayer."
ODE TO COFFEE
Published Hill Rag, Eskimo Pie, Coffee with Underwood
Mistress of sacred love
Sacred lady of desire
You start my day
Setting my heart on fire
With your dark delicious brew
And throughout the day
Whenever the mean old blues come by
You chase them away
With your bitter {sweat} (sweet?) ambrosia{l brew}
Every time I inhale your {witches brew} (witch's brew)
I am filled with power, light and love
And everything is al right Jack
If only for a few fleeting minutes
I love you oh coffee goddess
In all your magical forms
In the dark coffee of the dawning day
In the sizzling coffee in the mid morning break
In the afternoon siesta break
And in the post dinner desert drink
I love you my coffee mistress
You are my refuge
From this horrid world
And you are my secret lover
Never disappoint me, ever
I've never had a bad cup
Of that I can be sure
Even the dismal coffee
Served at Denny's at 3 am
Is still sweat loving coffee
Even the farmer brother's diner coffee
Excites me and gets me going
Asking for another cup of divine delight
Coffee always is there
It is always on and piping hot
With hidden dark secrets
Swirling in its liquid essence
Coffee is my last vice
My only legal vice left
Coffee does not cheat on me
It is always faithful, always true
It does not turn on its friends
And all it asks in return
Is that you come back
Cup after cup after cup
A good cup of coffee
Is a little bit of heaven
In a cup of dark liquid hell
Coffee is like a drug
But a good drug that does what is should
And never complains
It does not get grouchy
It does not hurt you
It does not make you crazy
But allows the muse to come out
And play with it
Coffee led to the American Revolution
As patriots drank coffee
To rebel against the aristocratic English tea
Coffee started the London Stock market
And started the gossips mills running
Every great invention
Was fed by coffee's sweat brew sweet allure
All the great thinkers
All the great leaders
All were enslaved to coffee's magic
Yeah
I sing my praises
Of the great glorious coffee lady
Long may she continue
To be my sweat companion
Long may coffee continue
To rule my heart
And set my heart on fire
I love thee
Mistress coffee
And sometimes I think
You love me too
In recent years a amazing thing has happened to the number Thirteen,
Adding Friday, and the movies, Freddie Kruger has entered the Big Screen.
A silly guy with tights, entering dreams and prowls around at night.
Murdering, slashing, and it is a ridiculous sight.
Well in ancient times it wasn't always that way,
The number 13 was revered as a lucky number, a great day.
A calendar with 13 months, suns and moons were the norm here.
Thirteen months, not 12 was the calendar year.
It was considered lucky, and a blessed day,
Cleopatra was up for it all the way.
The ancients didn't hide or cringe at this day or think anything bad,
They celebrated with pomp and were not at all sad.
A lot of people have a misconception of the number thirteen.
Unlucky, like black cats is mentioned on our national scene.
People all around the world cringe when it's Friday the Thirteenth,
Some don't even leave their homes or work on this day, to me it's obscene.
Thirteen? Well I tell you it's just a number nothing else,
It happens just a few times a year, and should be ignored as unlucky for yourself.
The Lord has a way of laughing I bet at this utter nonsense,
How can a number be anything but that, it makes no sense.
Superstitious mumbo jumbo has taken over our daily lives,
As we let it scramble our moral thinking while humanity is trying to survive.
What is in this day that allows people to act so strange? To actually cringe,
As they let it confuse and disrupt our lives, a pretty strange thing.
Superstition is the devil's crafty invention, to confuse and create chaos,
to really confuse and get away from our Lord and Jesus.
When the Freddie Kruger's creeps into our conscious minds at night,
Allowing this day, the thirteenth, to become a social blight.
So pray that the Kruger's won't confuse your thoughts and let God lead the way,
Friday the thirteenth is a blessed and God given day.
The ancients had this number and they had a fun filled event,
l3 was lucky to them and laughing is how this day went.
Be thankful and count your blessings that the Lord has given us today,
Take the time to reflect and get down on your knees and pray.
That the devil will be put behind all of us Christians, and we should be thankful,
That our Creator is with us , we have no fear, and we are totally grateful.
Immortality wandering through joyful bliss
Angels ambient of warriors winged
Cherubs smiling upon clouds white
Creation dreaming thru fields green
Children laughing amidst meadows
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Forever's flowering under blue skies Dancing demons within fiery hells
Treasures found soon quickly arise Entrancing illusions waving spells
Fountains spewing of love profound Seas bloody within fires burning
Mountains peeking above ground Disease spreading while yearning
Butterflies chasing rays of sunlight Satan standing with armies proud
Sunrise warming landscapes bright Pagan hearts misleading surround
Choirs angelic heavenly are singing Walls weeping with dormant eyes
Fires building eyes of love blinking Halls howling within vivid disguise
Holding hands with divine intention Darkness roaming of calling night
Molding gods thoughts for invention Starkness of shadows in delight
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Demonic seeds spreading in hate
Creatures celebrating rising dead
Pernicious smells filling open air
Hellion holes falling within dust
Souls enslaved, entombed & condemned.
'the words of God are breathed into our hearts and are exhaled thru our love'
...listen to your heart...anything else may be a falsehood...
The constant struggle between true faith & religious dogma...amongs't heavens & hells...
This poem consists of a mixture of free verse, double rhyme and a monoku at the end...all encased within, what I call a 360 double helix reversible...can be read backward and in reverse...double helix, because of the double rhyme at the ends...what else do you do with boredom lol
Sept.13.2018
UNSHEATH YOUR SWORD Poetry
Sponsored by: John Lawless
N/A for contest
This is the best beer I've ever had.
Yes, The best beer I've ever had.
No beer is really bad, but
This is the best beer I’ve ever had.
Beer’s invention was accidental I’m told.
Something about stored grain and mold.
Before the Sphinx, beer was made and sold;
And at times, more valuable than gold.
Drank my first beer while serving Uncle Sam.
Got drunk on ‘33' in Saigon, Vietnam.
By 19, I was a soldier becoming a man;
So, I drank ‘til I didn’t give a damn.
Since then, I’ve travelled the world all around;
And tasted each brew that I’ve found.
Most are named for people, animals or towns;
And are glorious shades of gold, red or brown.
There are pilsners, lagers and ales
Swilled from bottles, cans, mugs…even pails.
If you want to get drunk, you can’t fail.
Drink too much, you may end up in jail.
Drank Stegmaier in old Scranton town.
Folks bragged it was the "best around“.
I tried their Golden, their Porter, their Brown;
And I must say, their judgement is sound.
In Ireland, the Guinness is Stout.
‘Tis a brew those Micks can’t live without.
In the pubs, they all sing and shout;
Until, eventually, they're all drunken louts.
In old Germany, there are too many to choose.
Every Berg and Stein make their own brews.
I tried each one on the Rhine river cruise.
So many to taste. How could I lose?
I enjoyed Sapporo in Tokyo, Japan;
Served by a Geisha at the wave of my hand.
The Singh Hai in Bangkok was grand,
As was the Ninkasi in ancient Tehran.
Tried a lager called Foster’s down under.
Drank too many. My head pounded like thunder.
They say Foster's once laid Dundee asunder;
But they love it… though you may wonder.
Enjoyed Red Stripe on Jamaican shores
And each one tasted like more.
A local beauty I was hoping to score;
But next morning, my head was so sore.
Henry Hudson’s serves Budweiser Light.
It’s weak, so you can drink it all night.
Yes, it takes quite a bit to get “tight”;
But it’s cheap and that makes it alright.
Yes, beer is a beverage so grand,
One of God's greatest gifts to man.
When life gets too tough to stand,
Just open a chilled bottle or can.
This is the best beer I’ve ever had.
When I arrived I was down and quite sad;
After just two or three, life isn't so bad.
This is the best beer I’ve ever had.
Yes, the best beer I've ever had.
Some folks believe it. Others do not. The legend told in the Bayou Cannot. The only witness who can swear that it's true, are the creatures who live in the bayou. The owl told the gator, the gator told the frog, about the horror filled night that changed their home in the bog. Far off on the mainland, miles from the marsh, in a large city, where living is harsh. A man's world invention sprang into life. A breath of fresh air to man's world of strife. A new deisel engine, queen of the line, would make it run for the very first time. The sunset limited it was aptly named. Gleamed in the station waiting its moment of fame. Boarded by folks going south, some headed out west, none mindful of anything, but each's own quest. New York to L.A. via the southern run. So it was, the trip had begun. Back in the bog, things were happening too. A barge made its way north with its captain and crew. The day had been hot. The night had turned cool. The fog roiled in, with its blanket of dew. The captain steered his tug, painfully slow, caution was key to safely deliver the tow. All of a sudden there was a scrape and a jolt the barge floated free, not held by a bolt. Panic seized the crew! "We've lost the tow!" "MAYDAY!" screamed the captain over the radio. Amid the chaos and moans of disdain, another great jar, "We've got it again!". Back on land not far down the track the Limited sped with a clickety-clack. Approaching the tressel no one noticed the shake. Who could blame the poor folks; the hour was late. Midway over the bayou came the tressels demise. A great shiver another great quake, tons of speeding steel, folks met their sad fate. Days went by weary and sad. Rescuers agreed none worked a wreck this bad. Twisted and bent the engine was pulled from the muck and the slime. "102" came the final count, the coroner spoke and noted the time. A weary voice shouted "Wait!" "Sir, I disagree!" Tired eyes turned, what did they see? A weary man held in his arms a child about three. Today believers say "an angel wanders." "A tiny spirit" Others agree. On foggy nights when no moon can be. A tiny light flickers so you will see. "It's a firefly!" Say the skeptics of haunt. The creatures disagree and murmur their taunt. They know the spirit of the child now lives in their swamp.
Written by my grandmother Sandra Burch
This autumn morning with the birds waking up
and the leaves changing is Election Day. I meet
Jane Trichter on the downtown train and discuss
Henry's upset. Her skin is soft especially her cheeks
and she is intelligent and sensitive. The subway riders
do not recognize their representative.
All week, at the office, I accomplish nothing substantive
but keep the aides and interns working
and cheerful. On Tuesdays there is always a wave
of constituent complaints, by telephone. One woman's
Volkswagon is towed and the police break in
to get it out of gear. Do they have that right,
can they tow even though no sign said Tow Away Zone?
It is an interesting question but I try to avoid
answering it. The woman persists and succeeds
in committing me.
The people at the office want to bomb Iran. A few Americans
held hostage and therefore many innocent women and children
pay the postage. It may be good classical logic to hold responsible
the whole society for the acts of a few, however, then
I must begin to expect the bomb and the white cloud that waits.
Apocalyptic visions are popular again
but we are more likely to thrash the earth to within an inch of its life
than scorch it to charred rock.
Corner of Church and Chambers,
German tourist's language, accent repels me
although I wasn't alive 45 years ago
and many sweet, great Germans opposed the crazy Nazis
but lately I've read Primo Levi's If Not Now, When?,
seen William Holden in "The Counterfeit Traitor",
have followed the argument started by revisionists
who say the Nazi atrocities never happened.
War brought many shopkeepers, bookkeepers close to their earth,
weather, seasons, death.
I see daily life as low-intensity warfare
as my father, the World War II vet, did.
Off to work we go. What is war?
Population control, mother of invention, diversion
from the work of making life permanent.
Today is Election Day and because it's a day off
for most municipal employees, the City Hall area
has been quiet and easy to work in. Henry and Jane
hold a press conference on teenage alcoholism.
Leslie, the other aide, who I'd like to draw
the stockings and clothes off of and feel her whole body
with mine, goes home with her mother, leaving me
standing by my desk with my briefcase at the end
of Election Day.
I am carrying this heavy burden around it feels like something is going to crash and burn, the rocket in the sky will collapse and die and the missiles will explode when you empty the heavy load.
This terrible feelings in my stomach just won’t go away, NASA must check its projects that are on the way, the sky in the heavens is getting dark and a new age is about to start.
I am carrying this heavy burden around and it really makes me want to frown, space X explodes in mid- air and some of mankind’s invention you ought to fear.
You have to examine the dipstick, pressure riser and the water cooler, the front and back engine load and the valve that open in the rocket throat.
Haste makes waste they say, you have to examine every particle in the engine line and if your bet is good as mine you will find a chip stuck inside.
I am carrying this heavy burden inside; I know that the spirit is divine, I can see things that you cannot see, and I have been to places that you have not been without leaving my confined space.
I have opened my heart to let you in and you have punctured it with your folly tricks. I have nothing but sincerity in my heart and I have never doubted you from the start.
When I make a choice, I know that it carries a heavy price, but I always hold onto it because there is nothing better that can fit.
When the ocean rise above the roof and you don’t have anything left to prove, your choice will see you through and the long-awaited dream will come through.
I am carrying this heavy burden around; it is the weight that you feel when life spin you around.
It is the feeling that you get when you run a marathon and you are almost out of breath and when you cross the finishing line you see them struggling behind and you realize that you have crossed over, but you are still running for destiny to win but you have already won.
It is not the Monday morning blue or someone wearing a strange pair of shoes. It is the wagon on the wheels and mercenaries hiding under a shield.
It is the desert clown and the presepit underground and the petrified people seal up inside waiting to come out dead or alive.
When you get those people home this weight will finally drown. I have heavy feelings inside come and sit beside me before I die.