Long Lecture Poems
Long Lecture Poems. Below are the most popular long Lecture by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lecture poems by poem length and keyword.
To be a polylepis tree you gotta know
You're a polylepis tree & this knowing
Cements by being a polylepis tree,
Knowing between diagrammatic cracks
Fork'd already info knowing during descent.
Mud run through alpine meadow. Rubberized
Crunch on ruddy paths, rucksacks looped,
Deltoids, silly sound serious bulge spine
Ached before leaning away to swallow,
Sepia bark holding his musculature;
Paparazzi march out crimped edges
Of fungi, sussed then left together.
Glottal ribbing. Skeumorph thread
Discs, spades, b-side timpani under eaves.
Copper sheaves, wine burning in cups
Thickening until dark brown oozes
At a lesser velocity, blown eardrum,
Given the climaxes of greater viscosity—
Green epiphytic ferns stitch airy
Misconceptions (soil, root), the drawing in,
& expulsion, the search for a golden
Arboreal rat. A tunnel-maker
Said to be densely populated in woods
Near-gone to potato farms, cattle,
The absent lecture, then, on survival plastic
Spool of thread glued to the back
Drawn in a thin white line, followed
For ur-experiment, hundreds of feet
Climb up the lateral limb, down, dug under
Grass, tunneled, then over miniature crick,
Through nodule floor-sponge, a wetland,
A watershed for a whole valley, to grass
Again, below, finding elaborate nests but
The rat escaped, the sinewy string left.
A choreography misses it, an instinct
Closest but dull, so a blind sight in high
Sun, a canopy growing at itself not up,
Sift, shrift, the want to lay down before
Night freezes the water inside the air.
A return at night to the espeletia, giants
Sunflowers shocked by moon, switch-backs,
Doing Zs, squared, cubed to the tenth clouds
Departing, something horribly there not
Constellation no not a galaxy those are
Not things let them not be where’s the
Name laying in the grass, alpine creekline
Eschatological curvature, mutter, murmur,
A yellowing light flung, the cold how they
Open little air, the screaming sleeve, there!
Of not-this this, in it, out it, here & away,
Something recalled, what a string, rat,
What ways you move, only that body,
No containers for the humans so the sea
Could get that travel-manic blue, sworn
To make another moon of it, another go,
Unfixable, in need of fixing, air adjust,
An alkalinity expectant, a Sulphur rain,
Chattering cargo setting fire to night.
FOR GOD’S SAKE
When living "...of the world" despair unfurled.
I lost sight of heaven’s glorious pearl.
Truths shouted out from the depths of my mind.
God’s loving whispers to me stayed entwined.
Higher education became my goal.
Scientific teachings soon took its toll.
My mind strung out on various theories.
My soul, in doubt, became very weary.
But faith persevered and earned the prize.
My trust in God was more realized.
Despite what seemed to be a worldly life,
The soul of me soon felt less strife.
A professor asked my Evolution class,
How can creationism truly be? Alas.
Scriptures say God created…in seven days.
Right? Who shall rule in this duel of ways?
The Bible contradicts itself, He said.
His words from there, down doubts highway sped.
Evolutionary theory is certainly logical.
Creationism seems to be mythological.
Then came the clincher, clarity disparity.
The Bible says God created in seven days.
After the seven days, confusion starts to blaze.
First it says it’s finished; then, it starts to haze.
During that lecture, I was compelled to know.
Believing God created; what did the Bible show?
I prayed to grasp truths as man’s theories grew.
I did not choose to tell faith in God adieu.
At that moment, nothing else mattered.
I refused to let my faith be shattered.
That professor, on that day, changed my life.
My golden goal grew to be God’s true light.
Creation pondering absorbed my essence.
A lifetime flew without great wealth’s presence.
I was blessed with children; around them joy revolved.
But there was no rest until those questions were solved.
Strongly stayed upon life’s different path.
Even, when disrespect judged me with wrath.
I loved my children and bore the wait.
Seeking, the answers congealed…my fate.
My life was spent pondering this topic.
When finished, at last, truth embraced God…logic.
Then, my soul found rest from its weary state.
Thus, in the world…not of the world, I wait.
© Dane Smith-Johnsen
March 10, 2010
Poetic form: Free Verse
The results of the pondering are posted on Redbubble.com =>
http://www.redbubble.com/people/daneann/writing/3355478-genesis-decoded
For complete discussions, go to =>
http://www.redbubble.com/people/daneann/writing/3479742-bridging-the-gap-between-
science-and-religion-the-hypothesis
We've a third string coach running the team
who can't even remember his own play book
so a batch of amateurs
are running the show
from the bench
from the trenches
of their minds
Its a play book mirroring
Alice in wonderland
where everything is viewed
through a kleidoscopic -myopic
upside down opaque lens..
where predators are entitled to
a lifetime of get out of jail free passes
then given a badge of martyrdom
when they finally run out of lucky gas-
its a land with a Rio Grande autobahn
where illegals blitz through an open border
and its leaders put its own citizens on lockdown
where honest Abe has been shot in the head... again
by far-far- leftists dregs
who lecture the working man about global warming
while poking holes in the ozone in their private jets
Its a land where black people matter
but matter somewhat less if they dwell in the cities...
if they slaughter themselves over drugs and turf...
if they happen to go against the current-are conservative..
Its a Land where blacks are ferried
to a rabbit hole called planned parenthood,,
who(despite the name) ironically kills a half a million black babies a year....
black wombs are rivaling the gas chambers of Auschwitz and Treblinka
its a land with no rules except for its own citizens
who pay the bills for the lazy-for the illegal
for the ungrateful for the criminal...
and for all of their honest efforts
or for having a differing opinion
or simply being heterosexual
and being of white skin
despite their best efforts
to accommodate
to be empathetic
accepting....
sympathetic,
are constantly branded
racists-
homophobic
xenophobic...
a genuine all around
globo phobic menace..
Yes indeed...Its an upside down land
that's been stamped systemically racist
infested with white supremacists
even though a black man
was elected president
and ran the country for eight years
even though people of color have
the highest standard of living than in most
if not all countries
Why then if this country is so racist and hopelessly bigoted
do people of color flock to the border by the millions to get in.
If I were a person of color, I would avoid this so called
house of white supremacy horrors like the plague
and roll the dice on another color of velvet ...
people....welcome to Joe in Wonderland
I've got a fist full of Buddha,
And a fist full of Rand,
A pocket full of Jesus,
And the other's filled with sand,
That's in case I need to make some glass,
As it will proceed my foot in relation to your class,
That's a diametric description of an uncommon process,
I use it to repel obnoxious thoughts and logic,
The political storm seems to be the hot topic,
But what I see is dinosaurs in power,
Who don't want to get off it,
The ball, you dropped it,
Gigs up, you lost it,
Wings done, let's sauce 'em,
Awareness has blossomed,
We done playing possum,
You're boss, we want him,
Bring him down to the bottom,
And let's make him aware of our consciousness.
Are you really missing this?
Yo this is Excentrix,
Rich's psyche been known to split in an instant,
I represent a hulk like samurai witch,
Equipped to solve problems via the switch,
Cuz the man inside there is just a little kid,
See I tell the truth even when I lie,
Puttin' juice in busted axioms like Pie in the Sky,
"Yo dude, you know that's an idiom?"
Suck it, you're an idiot,
Guards, get rid of him!
I'm a linguistic mystic,
Suffering from a transpiritual sickness,
Where I'll always be a kid,
And live through my own deliverance.
Witness as I stab my own body of Christ,
Feels so nice to bleed emotion into the night,
With Excentrix as my weapon of my own conception,
I can justify intervention into the seas of deception,
Cleverly apply art to the lesson,
Of respecting yourself and recognizing transgression,
I don't need a stinking studio session,
Just flex my pen and in the end I'm winning,
My mental digestion invents a feeling,
That feeling going to climb me to the top of nimbus,
Behind us is a portal to another dimension,
Forgot to mention I'm the medium for the transmission,
I must be the exception because I'm good at listening.
I flip furniture when pressured,
Then turn a lecture,
Into a story told next to a lectern,
No disrespect sir,
But I'm disturbed by your indiscretion,
So curb your enthusiasm,
Before I burn this whole place down with plasma,
I got the EMP flow I brought back from the Matrix,
Excentrix is MVP for knowing when to go back to the basics,
Take it from me,
The artistic process is worth taking a stab at,
Just to prove that we're all humans,
And American Celebrity is mostly a magic act.
Lucy Locket lived amidst Lakeland Hills, where jay serenaded morning;
Like plum rainbows celebrate sunshine, with never any silent warning.
Lucy was merely twenty years old, like a peach rose, dusted with dew;
And she was also a dutiful teacher, unveiling what children never knew.
Lucy liked to sew and to garden, like green nature, roving everywhere,
Recalling lavish, sunset skies we used to view, in the colors of vanity fair.
Kitty Fisher was Lucy's best friend, amidst many, for she was popular;
Like finches are popular in floriated summer, creating gladness, ocular.
Fancy emerald nature wore fun, fantasy makeup, in its faceted colors;
And unfaltering family flattered fall with visits, beloved like no others.
Kitty lived in the house of very ordinary, like cherry redbirds singing;
Where silver moments comprised golden hours, jeweled time ringing.
Summer snapdragons grew quite lovely, on her sparkling street of sun;
And scarlet maples smiled colors, until the smoky season left, sudden.
Nepalese neighbors narrated tales of sweet nation, at mulberry night,
When nectarous, naval oranges hung ripely, under moon, satiny white.
Purple ranunculus blooms resembled roses, when sunrise echoed dusk;
And 'Marimo Moss Balls' played water polo, while jasmine trailed musk.
Giant water lilies ruled placid lakes, giving rise to titanic, pink blooms;
As golden sun and calm moon vie for dominion, inside separate rooms.
Lucy and Kitty went to a lecture, in a lavish, lavender evening of larks.
The lively, literary topic was much enjoyed, like the sun's dying sparks.
Afterwards, Kitty and Lucy parted, each to their own welcoming home;
Like a green bird of turquoise skies, oft makes its nostalgic way, alone.
Later, Lucy discovered her pocket was missing, its location so unknown,
Like red streaks of gold time, ever fleeing, past a blue, marble milestone.
Next day dawned golden, and Lucy's pocket, she found on her doorstep.
Golden coins were tied to its ribbon. And at Kitty's note, her heart leapt!
For it was Lucy's sparkling, glad birthday, as devoted friends remember;
And Kitty had made it one of her best, like hued leaf nights of November.
'Lucy Locket lost her pocket,
Kitty Fisher found it;
Not a penny was there in it,
Only ribbon round it.'
who is too busy fighting the devil,
all good energy eluded
if you truly understood yourself
you would not be so deluded
many fight an imagined internal
fear-
everyone allows the devil within
your nasty thoughts, never shared...
...madman exposed by the violent act...
lay dormant suppressed by false fear...
this knowing, this accepting,
a purely human observation,
blame God if you must you are
after all his miracle creation?
who pays for the lip
service to a religion
built on mans'
self destruction,
...devised by
corruption...
a religion built on
wars self sacrifice
, desperate
resurrection,
modified reincarnation,
how do you know, this religion is
not the devils' work?,
after all, there are more sinners inside
than outside of a church...
playing second fiddle to a man who
claims he is the annoited one,
this religious lip service,
could the annoited be a fraud?...no! thats right
God speaks to him, oh yeah nut jobs...
it's voices he heard...
if you were all together, free in your
mind-you would be able to see
how you are being fleeced
you wouldn't be so blind...
hey keep going to the preacher...
he's probably keeping you sane...
it's cheaper than doctor, financially
less of a strain...
but remember, just because you go to
church you're no better than me
just a little desperate, out of touch
with reality...
a lot of people these days stay away
from the pulpit, history reveals...
basically it's a weapon, it's a devil
filling your head with s#@t...
...many believers understand...this
religious clap trap in modern day
does not apply...
It is belief in ones self...this
you cannot preach or buy...
if you need someone to lecture you
on what is wrong from right...
to judge other people on any given
day or night...than you are in the
right place...
your mind is outdated
attend your weekly meetings
have your mind manipulated
hey whatever floats your boat...
whenever the day comes and you
decide to exit...
the people up here will still refer to you
as a mind deeply perplexed a thought
not easily rejected...
you have the answers,
they are in your head-but
you would rather listen to
a history, a reign of
madmen instead
Arriving from unknown somewhere
He set up clinic in the market square
Declared he could cure any disease
Using herbal drugs of plants and trees
Townsfolk being credulous
Soon to his shop began to rush
Diabetics, rheumatics, asthmatics flooded
None over his degree brooded
A few weeks later, afloat was this rumor
He cures for he rightly detects the humor
Realizing that every client is a prospective fan
He talked in technical terms even with laymen
He would expose his victims to numerous medical terms
Also trade-names, contents, firms, diseases and germs
Just to exhibit erudition and sound philosophy
Without occasion he embarked on learned topics
Often dwelt on sedatives and epilepsy
Or discoursed at length on tumor and biopsy
Then in a torrent of rodomontade would relate
Histories of cases cured with specific names and date
Discourses full of references to Ayurvedic treatises
Madhav, Charak, Susrut and other varieties
To prove his point he recited aloud original excerpts
As a result ,he soon won the epithet: "expert of experts"
"Discourteous ingrates! They even do not thank
Though I give 'em new life" exclaimed the mountebank.
Always eager to spar against allopathy
At the slightest provocation he would lecture on allopathic hazards
Or would lament on untidy hospitals and unhygienic wards
Boldly averring: "To hide anything from patients is a deadly sin"
Within no time he became a celebrity
His tricks worked and brought him publicity
After a year DHO came to see him in person
And sought his counsel for his sick son
A minister's car at his doorstep halted
Just to enhance libido and weakness treated
He gave the minister powerful mercury dust
Which triggered his vigor and inflamed his lust
Then to CM's ears reached his fragrant fame
Who called him secretly telling him not to declare name
MPs in turn heard of this rare phenomenon
And turned up to consult him one by one
Director drug control came to seek his advice
For chronic dysentery and perennial bronchitis
At length PM had to send him his compliments
For service to nation and" particular "patients
The whole world acknowledged him as master of his craft
But a person knew his truth in his own staff
His compounder knew his master was a fake
But he swallowed the secret for heaven's sake
Whatever happened with Bob Dylan and the Nobel Prize?
I remember it vaguely, for I was sailing afar
There was no response when the announcement was made
Just silence, with the door left ajar
Bob won the Prize in 2016
Or so they said up in Sweden
But where was Bob when the announcement was read?
Was he laying down on his big brass bed?
Would he ever respond to that which was said?
Or was he just blowin’ in the wind
The time clicked on, for days and weeks, but still no answer came.
How many days must a board wait long, before the prize be claimed?
His clothes were dirty, his hands were clean
He was the best thing we’d ever seen
Perhaps he was down in New Orleans
But hardly a word was framed
He had to perform, or lecture it’s called
To claim the booty that accompanied
The prize itself, a $900K bounty
Which required a song and his company
Bob was the first songwriter it seems
To receive the prestigious award
But the ceremony took place in a private affair
And they said that Bob appeared bored
He finally replied in a letter
And basically said there were better, than he
He claims he shouldn’t have ever been one
To stand with the literature giants who’d come
Before him, like Hemingway, Kipling, and Shaw
His songs weren’t the same, that’s just what he saw
He thought he was more like Shakespeare
who was often concerned
with matters like craft, crowds, and crowns
For he was a playwright and wanted to know
If the people were there from all of the towns
Not whether his words were of literary note
But where would he find a skull he could tote
For what is an artist, can it truly be known?
Perhaps not in his time for the artist alone
But the academy didn’t agree with his words
In fact they felt like this was absurd, for they saw
One who “created poetic expressions
within the great American song tradition”
And wanted to show that his compilation
Of songs were important to all generations!
And so, Bob Dylan won the prize
And I for one am glad
For his words are poetic and awesome in size
Although often they happen to criticize
The ones who are trying to politicize
The people are crying and along with their cries
“The times, they are a changin’”
Yes, “the times, they are a changin’”
--All my writings are at mraymus.medium.com
They sat and they stared straight ahead
Absorbing each word that I said
Angelic and silent, no whispered abuse
No Alpha I felt I should dread
The lunch bell was rung and their heads turned as one
But then they just sat there and waited
They only arose when my lecture was done
Were they something that science created
I said they could go and wouldn't you know
It was like they shared one single mind
They left, single file, they were quiet, they were slow
After lunch… who knew what I might find
*
After lunch, I felt queasy, why was I uneasy
Why did just one wear a grin that was cheesy
This leader stood proud with no need to confer
He blinked and each one said, “Good afternoon, Sir.”
I’d left the door open but somehow it slammed
Was I trapped in this room with these kids of the damned
Their eyes focused on me; I needed to pray
Then, as one, they muttered, “Is Sir okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, as their glare started to burn
Then one said, “We’re eager to learn.”
And, with that, they picked up their ballpoints and sat
As if to say, “That, Sir… is that.”
Their minds were receptive, they learned super fast
They answered my questions before they were asked
I soon understood; it was easy to see
That each of these kids knew a lot more than me
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“And don’t you forget it,” a nagging voice said
“Don’t you go sleeping on duty,” it said.
Turned out the voice was the voice of the head
Who, with his point made… then rapidly fled
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I woke to a very familiar scene
So many delinquents where nightmares had been
Chairs were in flight and one kid ate the chalk
The one with the knee on his neck tried to talk
Young Summer Rogers whose skirt was cut high
Tried to allure me with glimpses of thigh
And Billy was telling his gang a lewd joke
While sat on his desk and enjoying a smoke
Tracy had one lad’s tongue right down her throat
Teddy was leaping on desks like a goat
Wade was still trying to lose his virginity
By grabbing at girls within close proximity
But these are my kids who I’ve often berated
And some Victor Frankenstein had incubated
But I knew I’d nevermore let my mind roam
I smiled to myself… cos I felt right at home.
I tried so hard, but you were too fast, clicking gracefully on high heels down the
shady block, laughing at me plodding in saddlebacks: Can't you keep up?
I tried so hard, but you were too slow, stumbling to a wobbly halt as your walker
scraped the harsh lobby floor, so the elevator doors slammed shut, and we had
to endure double the long wait plus the nurse's low-keyed promptness lecture.
Once you bought for me, in the wooded park, a cheerful red balloon. You
warned: Hold it tight, don't let it go. I obeyed till we reached our back yard, which
I thought was safe, and then it slipped from my sweaty child's hand.
Up, up it went, evading the trees, hovering between rooftops, red no longer, then
disappearing from view, me crying, you consoling.
You have sparkled like a precious gem, mostly turquoise and sapphire, in happy
warm sunshine. I simply can't force myself to accept the boldly affirmative,
serenely vivid colors of you fading away to wan pastel, off-white, off-black, off-
gray, nothing.
Frantically I clutch and hug, scolding, cajoling, praying, vainly trying to hide my
despair and frustration, to filter out the rage from the devotion.
I can't whisper to reach you; you won't hear me. Nor can I shout; a raised voice
invariably means anger. I am muzzled very well. My brain shrieks silently.
You watch me intently, your fine mind intact, deep in thought, before you doze.
You wake from your apathetic nap in pain, a defiant fighter, and, God forgive me, I
briefly welcome that pain for restoring your animation.
There! I just felt warm sunshine, saw a flash of turquoise and sapphire.
Now it's over. We both want you so much to be yourself, but you're pastel again!
I wish I could turn myself into a balloon, red, rubbery and soft, fastened to a
string, pushed into your slack hand. I want to yell: Hold me tight, don't let me go!
We'd jump over the skyscrapers, then over the piedmont, skirting the green tops
of magnolias and pines,
Then soar ever higher, mingling with fluffy clouds in pure vibrant infinite blue;
No more clumsy saddlebacks for me, no more scraping walkers for you,
Just us two, mother and runaway red balloon child, euphorically drifting off
Toward freedom.
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