Long Launchpad Poems
Long Launchpad Poems. Below are the most popular long Launchpad by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Launchpad poems by poem length and keyword.
I will always wonder what sort of love we had.
I was naive and blindly infatuated.
You were seventeen years older than I, and sad.
From the beginning our shaky love was fated.
We had met and I fell, but patiently waited,
a fact for which both of our families were glad.
Even though we spoke with words insinuated,
I will always wonder what sort of love we had.
I wonder if we were a curious dyad.
Was this acerbic love become hate belated?
Only God will decide if this is good or bad.
I was naive and blindly infatuated.
Love faded rapidly after we had dated.
I wondered if I should remain calm or be mad,
I questioned guilty feelings that were created.
You were seventeen years older than I, and sad.
You were time-worn, emotionally armor-clad.
I understand now you would never be sated.
You bore the spirit of an unsettled nomad,
from the beginning our shaky love was fated.
Achingly romantic dreams I had created,
a basis for lifetime togetherness’ launchpad.
Alas, I have become confused and frustrated.
Tomorrow, in a renewed search for Galahad,
I will always wonder.
Bequeathed of the faculty of
balanced return, of equilibrium,
turning the totem burn of caloric expectancy,
cause and effect
translating universal machine dialect
satellite positioning itself in the physics of
affection, affinity, sistered brotherhood in
reality check of relative fee.
Beneath the atmosphere, here,
clings one to another like faded dusk
to a pregnant dawn.
As he leaves, she returns, again
to meet him in circular run.
In Fibonacci launchpad portals of
action and reaction chained to loop again.
Chi and grace turns,- will and space.
Like a cog that swings the pendulum scale,
weighing relational phi in the window of pi?
Certainly in the window of possibility
where the harmonic scale is like two dragons
chasing each other's tales,
hooking claws into foothold of reality,
like a fitting piece of harmonic puzzle poetry.
There is no facade here, no illusion or trickery.
Science is poetry and poetry is the science
of the mind in artistry, intertwined.
Everything with potential, dependency.
Yin and Yang,
of the divine.
Viridescent wrench
adventitious
sparks prompt
yet
cloned camouflage
for psyche’s
rue’d quandary
withered wisps
nebulous
blind sweep
to bolster
plangent paean
of
helium hinged
extraneous
life sojourn
brazen folly
as
crimson cordon
ushers blurred
mystic squall
quirky quilt
engulfing
behemoth blemish
post sequence
encrypted kismet
punctual launchpad
to
wizard woo
violin mesmerizing
allusive pluck
sun-dried spiccato
bouncing bow
on
ear adorned
murmuration
intaglio instant
pregnant alms
luxuriant
gazillion gust
oe’r
hint endowed
sky syndicate’s
phantom limb
an
opulent cascade
ubiquitous umbra
bequeathing
lush serendipity
propitious prism
shadow conjuror
of
lilac lavishness
tangibly material
as
cerebral chakra
intuits rapt
sublime sublimation
In the midst of modern day's fray—
The leaders with dispiriting sway,
—make the youth feel small and humbled,
Their potentials wilted, withered, crumbled.
Education, once a glittering star—
Now merely a launchpad.
The city's fruitless search for jobs
Entices graduates to farm-filled blocks,
Certificates, once signs of our worth,
Now bind us to soil's sun-kissed earth.
We struggle on the land with pride,
—though the dreams are swallowed, denied,
Forcing us to compete with those—
Who never drank of learning's hose.
Oh! Great Spirit,
What nation have we become inside?
Where education's light no more shines.
The bitter fruit of jobless hours,
Turns bright minds into danger's flowers,
—fraud, the fickle fortune-teller's chariot,
Lures many into ritual's dark lair,
Prostitution's shadowed bower.
In this land where hope is strained,
—where life's bleakness is ingrained,
Our nation's youth must fight to survive,
Their future's not a given, but a strive.
In this land where wealth's a shield,
—integrity's a toy to yield,
The lower class is pushed aside,
—their worth rejected, seen with pride.
Offices, once merit's seat,
Now dance to wealth's deceit,
While empty heads with cash in hand—
Lead the masses in a merry band.
Connections, the thread of power,
Weave the fabric of corruption's tower
—A Lunar Ballad from the Year 2088
The year was 2088—
I stood in Beijing beneath neon skies,
Clutching a visa to the Moon,
Where dynasties now rise beyond the clouds.
China, bold architect of the stars,
Has carved empires on the Dark Side—
No longer myth or mystery,
But fields of fusion and factories of fire.
Helium-3, mined from silver dust,
Feeds reactors like newborn suns,
Its radiant breath beamed to Earth
Through radio waves that hum like prayer.
Moon is no longer a lifeless rock—
It breathes with industry and grace.
Two hundred pioneers now call it home,
Cradled in glass domes kissed by starlight.
From its soil, green hues emerge—
Lunar gardens bloom in synthetic rain,
A soft rebellion against the cold void,
Where silence once reigned unbroken.
The Moon—
A launchpad, a lab,
An empire of dreamers and coded command.
And above us, floating stations gleam—
Space Islands, fuel stops for tomorrow’s odyssey.
China now commands the current of power,
Energy pulses in her hands—
While Earth bows gently to the moonlit tides
Of this celestial dynasty.
Death’s Bouquet
by Odin Roark
Graves give much,
Willing wafted memories ride
The raven’s wind.
Into other air
Where spirits claim dorsal view
Floating beside trumpets jazzed,
While barefoot chil’en
Walkin’ the early talk
Stomp blues drifting skyward
Clinging to cawing beaks
Echoing wisdom’s chorus .
Voices wale discordant grief
Beside caisson rolling through new dust
Atop cobbled history waiting
A preacher’s new launchpad.
Bellowing spirit made to wait
As chilling cloud churns music’s air
Into jasmine colored layering
For a child’s sketchpad of crayon
Skipping across hopscotch chalk
All
Hitchin’ up-drafts
Atop silky black feathers
Passing over death’s bouquet
The fragrant moment moving on
viridescent wrench
adventitious
sparks prompt
yet
cloned camouflage
for psyche
rue’d quandary
withered wisps
nebulous
blind sweep
to bolster
plangent paean
of
helium hinged
extraneous
life sojourn
brazen folly
as
crimson cordon
ushers blurred
mystic squall
quirky quilt
engulfing
behemoth blemish
post sequence
encrypted kismet
punctual launchpad
to
wizard woo
violin mesmerizing
allusive pluck
sun-dried spiccato
bouncing bow
on
ear adorned
murmuration
intaglio instant
pregnant alms
luxuriant
gazillion gust
oe’r
hint endowed
sky syndicate’s
phantom limb
an
opulent cascade
ubiquitous umbra
bequeathing
lush serendipity
propitious prism
shadow conjuror
of
lilac lavishness
tangibly material
as
cerebral chakra
intuits rapt
sublime sublimation
I’m walking through the rough roads,
Losing traction in my current situation.
There is no scheme or death trap,
It’s a springboard to my launchpad.
A stirring is taking place during this hour,
Disruption and shift are in motion.
It’s getting messy and uncomfortable,
I sense climate change is in effect.
Discouragement comes and goes,
But life won’t be full of woes.
Lately I’ve been stressing out,
I just hope it doesn’t take me out.
I’ve survived tough roads in the past,
So I know I’m built for this, and to last.
Another chance to grow and learn,
That’s what milestones make a major turn.
YOU? Why are YOU up in here, all on the prowl,
looking closely at me, causing me to scowl?
DUDE, can't you see anger set in my jowls?
I just arrived brand new, so I still remember
how my last life ended one cold September
when someone - YOU - forgot to yell timber!
Are you listening, seeing this face, witnessing
my expression of disdain as loathing clad?
You scad ... what, huh .. what DID new Mom call you?
NOT grandad, no - no, that cannot be true.
You and me, related .. that I cannot do.
The angels must have placed this wee doodad
on the wrong heavenly infant launchpad.
Oh, me, just great - I'm already living mad.
Cosmic Adventure
There, upon the launchpad, the countdown proceeds
as bolts explode, and the umbilical apparatus releases,
and massive amounts of energy bursts from engine ignition
to create propulsion thrust and lift-off reaction
for the vehicle’s escape from Earth’s gravitational attraction
in sequential stages, skyrocketing into the orbital trajectory
of slingshot phenomenon to the universe of cosmic adventure,
likened to explorers in olden days piercing the unknown aperture.
Through the porthole, astronauts marvel at the spectacular scenery
as they watch their country on the blue planet disappear gradually.
Emotionally restrained, the astronauts resume their mission,
methodically pushing buttons and recording observations
in a four-dimensional continuum relativity experience,
limited in scope by the laws of scientific ingenuity.