Long Iota Poems
Long Iota Poems. Below are the most popular long Iota by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Iota poems by poem length and keyword.
The unborn are even now
part of our story.
Once a fictional baby
was held in the arms
of a tale,
a recreation recreated upon every instant
of an on-going biography -
one experienced through
Gods clear looking glass.
Soon that unborn child
thought itself to be a being,
it thought itself to be a person,
a character
separate from all other beings.
However its true nature
(being unlimited)
was hidden from it
by the very fictional unreality
it thought to be its own story.
One day or night;
a day or night set in a singular iota of time
it put, as you would a book,
its story down
then it was that all the biographies
that had ever been
became just windblown dust
before that face of a perfect looking glass.
There in a placeless place,
the Unborn Creator watches
forever unchanging
far and beyond any fanciful tales
told by a child to its parent.
The allure of mused poems,
No longer visits this nonchalant psyche.
It trickles now, once a roaring torrent
Now a lazy stream
Am like a desultory jaded heaven
Where starry jewels once decked the night,
But are now drossy shadowy blackholes,
And sparks and dreams,
Are ripped in the accretion disc.
No longer avid, but seeking meaning in the mundane.
No longer enraptured by the she said, he said,
And all that jazz, no iota of care; for trifling muses,
Their short goodbyes or critique, no not one,
Their infighting and bad blood, no longer,
No nuts to crack, nor rain to flush, no iota of care.
It was never about who is better,
Neither has it been nor will it ever be,
About any Magnum Opus.
Like doors closing and skies descending,
Each visiting muse devoid of ardor,
Oblivious to the yawning dawn,
Or the scent of sprouting posies.
Jaded, without allure or sheen
And devoid of all its lustre.
Maybe one day soon a spark will reignite
And reanimate this frenetic mused madness
But until then...
I remain adrift in this sea of trivialities,
Worrying about trifling stuff
Like ad blockers and AI opinions
And irked...
By their emasculating knowledge
Poem Of The Week(POTW) -9/15/2024 To 9/21/2024
VOIDITY
Who told the sun where to position
and the moon at night to light up the ocean?
Who told the seas to set boundaries
between land, regions and continents?
Ask yourself if anything existed before creation.
This truth isn't just a story neither is it a fiction.
Void: the philosophical concept of nothingness manifested.
Spheroid of space & emptiness isn't man-invested.
The notion of voidity is relevant to several realms of metaphysics,
in voids, theories state there are no or few galaxies.
Voidness is the man born blind, without eyes
but a mixture of clay filled the void with eyes.
Impossibility is the iota missing in the void.
Voidness through heaven's finesse turns solid,
the mystery is like a child faith is able to groom.
How's there a baby in her belly if there is no womb?
To know the answer, you have to first find out
and decipher the power domicile in our mouth.
Where is heaven hanging when there are no pillars?
Faith is the substance taken because the pill last
as long as there's continuous filling till eternity.
You always believe in voidity of the gravity,
how the aircraft is suspended in the air
and the aerofoil (wings) enjoys airspace funfair
without it feets touching earth, seems exemplary.
Electromagnetism propounds a scientific theory:
which says "Without hands to draw each other,
two magnetic poles attract & come together".
You believe in the law of magnetic force
but discredit heaven's mystery for us
and debunk the fact that Earth in the Genesis
was without form and reveals voidness.
But The Spirit hover on the face of the deep,
this was while the earth and nature fell asleep.
Who would imagine words can initiate
continuous chain of creations while nature depreciates?
None of us did until now, so we continue to create.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhyme/Metaphysical
Copyright©April 2023.
Once I was condemned to die eternally
Found guilty without iota of a doubt
Showing human nature at its sinful best…
…yet, God made me free!*
The Saviour with His wondrous love and mercy
Offered to me His magnificent pardon
Which I received, trusting Him with my pure faith…
…setting my soul free!
Unshackling with mercy my transgression-chains
Christ paid fully my iniquities’ wages
Through His glorious sacrificial, cleansing blood…
…granting my freedom!
Rescued now from hell-fire’s everlasting death
I’m heaven-bound along God’s marvelous grace
Grateful to live for Him, my loving Master…
…serving Him freely!
*Romans 8:2 For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free from the law of sin and death.
May 17, 2019
Edited on Marcy 19, 2022
9th place, "Freedom" Poetry Writing Premier Contest
Sponsored by Robert James Liguori; judged on 3/21/2022.
The only star for me
Is a split binary, that cannot agree
Tearing me apart, within this melee
From the moment, of man’s creation
Forever open, to lame interpretation
Was I assembled, in a solar system
Inanimate, and lacking any wisdom
Brought to life, to fill a Gods quota
I haven’t got the faintest clue or iota
Heavy elements, and dust coalesced
Later on, wise men attempt to process
Spoiler alert! I’ll tell you what I know
Science and religion, puts on a show
Orbiting each other, huge quandaries
Crisscrossing our human boundaries
Why can’t gravity, bash them together
If not for worse, definitely for better
In a supernova blast, releasing sense
Knocking me off, that stubborn fence
Burning away, every bit of my doubt
Or is this failed star, never to find out
By David Kavanagh
11/07/22
O Quintessence!
That which makes us, shapes us,
Through the dirty day
From dust to dust –
Did they know, when they unleashed you, what they wrought?
Stellar eternity condensed in cataclysmic instant,
Iota wreaking death, and smaller blasphemy –
Brief man stealing star-power against the night.
Did he know, when he died the little death, what he was doing?
Not you, for true, but great symbolic father in the garden;
Death brings death, seed seed, life life – the third will last
Then may we live in harmony with you, O fundament.
May we find a link that harms not you nor us.
The wild fruit we may not see again,
And End awaits he who tastes the tamed –
Somewhere in between, then, and let it, like a pomegranate,
Sweet us, bind us to it, that me dwell our time
No less, no more.
January 17th, 2020, a moost memorable outing at Collegeville Diner
A hardy acknowledgement yessiree
to the blessed sister Amelie worthy
of such beloved, devoted,
feted husband Rich truly
bestowed predicated upon
random chain of events
i.e., accidental, biological,
and genealogical happenstance prithee
applauding, apprising, and appraising key
kith and kin flavoring, enlightening,
and charming every
life ye and said spouse...
chance circumstance doth avail
your lucky charms to recipients receive detail
impossible mission to annotate here,
nonetheless with gusto courtesy
gratitude yours truly does exhale
regarding unconditional loving
creatures great and small
unbridled zeal without fail
truevalue analogous, yet exceeding
fine spun gold woolworth paltry holy grail,
nor can infinite wordsworth express hale
low, and brotherly love,
(equals at the least $20.00)
an introspective male
i.e. me, whose recent keen awareness
of vital specialness doth prevail
when a little boy quivering
scared as baby quail
his older sister genuinely
ranked high on importance scale
emotionally caring despite many travail
experienced by prodigal son
of Boyce and Harriet,
who frequently if not always did veil
steaming, roiling, quaking...
blubbering like a whale
Ahab oft times admit floundering chick
hen daring to venture metaphorical
unfamiliar muddy waters
unlike legendary Moby Dick
thrashing restless legs vainly kick
starting how to live think
lost at figurative sea
with nary an iota
abandoning ship lick
kitty split never trying
to overcome self doubt
when chased, teased and easily
trounced by bullies quick
as greased lightning
to cower on all fours
calling out for Ranger Rick
(or other unsung hero),
whose highlighted schtick
nowhere in sight, thus I got treated
analogous as some cheap trick
praying for salvation,
ye thence fended off beastie boys
(poetic liberty I take)
as veritable hooligans
threatened with wick
cud lee to thrash hide of
Matthew Scott imposing arbitrary
eminent domain despite
supposedly safe sanctified bailiwick.
Bed Time
I should have gone to bed by now, if I'm late
But when the head touches the pillow in the dark bedroom
I think of death
Not fear, but the feeling of helplessness, not an iota
What I have done in my life has made the slightest
Difference, I have not given the world a thing of value.
I remember Liv Ullmann; we were both seventeen
I danced with her, but I could feel I was in the presence of talent
And she became successful; she is someone.
She tells the newspaper in an interview that she hopes to die
In Norway, a rather disappointing utterance when you are
dead, it doesn’t matter where.
She will make the headlines have her obituary written and
There will be sorrow, but in the end, we will both be equally dead.
Panegyric praising phantasmagoric, albeit...
unseen prophets providing perspicuity...,
Who commune with yours truly
within state of mind between
sleep and wakefulness
methinks disembodied spirits
infiltrate mine consciousness
while suspended within trance.
Meditation invokes light hypnosis
gently beckoning me to surrender self
fearlessness disappears relinquishing
clutched grip upon ethereal essence
without substance, I wonder
how emotions, ideas, longings...
can weigh so oppressively
as if such elusive thought processes
(however they become manifest
spontaneously crowdsourcing then...
just as quickly re: blink of eye
irretrievably lost in space (mind)
farther than outer limits of twilight zone
realizing futility to conjure them back
synonymous when this (hymn) mortal
male i.e. contemplative,
intuitive, ruminative...
nonetheless unable to recall revelatory
insight...,and/or when steeped deeply
within sleep (ah...such dynamic,
magnificent, vivid...dreams) more so
pronounced since relying to function
almost half dozen medications
(to mitigate predisposition wrought
courtesy of anxiety,
ocd, panic attacks..),
yet upon opening
(even without disruption)
access to such excellent
personal profundity...slightly biased
denied, analogous to
steel door shutting tight
with nary an iota remembered
to self interpret what subconscious
exposure means, a motherlode
rich with material
to write poetry or prose
tis quite bothersome
this sudden disappearance
evocations vanishes without a trace
aware no intense concentration
will jog abundant cerebral activity
forever out of reach
Argh...such evocative manifestations
serve as private cable channel
obvious drawback reruns
cannot be rebroadcast
aware (of course) nobody boot me
agog with exhilaration,
fascination, galvanization...
to plumb depths into world
I will never fathom
further than 20,000
leagues under the sea.
Tell me name of just one, who bored by beauty?
Eyes have a job to do, let them go over
Smitten! No issue if your heart is clear!
Admiring eyes and beauties made for each other…..
Beauty is life’s that wow factor, always occupy
Heart and mind and pace these in one row together
Such is marvel of creation, once you dive into it
You are lost, lost in its secret scenic chamber……
Beauty is to enjoy, enjoy to the heart’s content
Diligent work of creator, you never forget
Ravish not if not coming your way
Powerless always you are, only an iota in creation
Better make yourself worthy, to win the heart
Heart of the beauty, nature’s best creation...
Smitten! No issue if your heart is clear!
Open your heart, open your mind
Spell binding is effect of beauty
If your heart is clear, enter the front door
No back door entry! After all, getting grace of beauty
Self worthiness, that what’s matter!