Long Logic Poems
Long Logic Poems. Below are the most popular long Logic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Logic poems by poem length and keyword.
viewing an object of desire
immersion in materiality
losing ourself therein
slave to the senses
lustful passions rising
our thirst keeps deepening
correspondent to indulgence
poised yet as an animated thought
heart awaiting actual fulfilment
wherefrom we gradually shift
our attention into the void
smiling at the descent
of consciousness
self serving
looking within
through foggy vision
mind offers specious logic
to placate our feel good factor
in alignment with our belief system
that we may carelessly dismiss
the root cause of ego craving
as deep dark delusion
owing to our stupor
stagnating in mind body
at Guna Tamas and Rajas
self blocking the Satva impulse
call of love divine in our heart
beckoning us in earnest
to meld head therein
in tranquil bliss
no judgment
rather recognition
of what is as is within
rising and ebbing emotions
having roots in our lower mind
which we then simply transmute
by allowing divine magnetism
to gently steer energies
into pathways of love
ever present within
our glowing heart
03-February-2021
The intellectual mind runs deep in disease receptors.
With mental illness rampant, the blitzkrieg type firing countless uptake inhibitors.
Even with this life altering handicap that suffocates the disabled brain so blind.
Intelligence is beyond that of 90% of humans, and learning is simply ahead from behind.
Genius in his own right, gifted with knowledge and filth flows with ease.
Subconscious of the masses, thousands of lives of men and cree`s.
Yet the intellectual suffers the sorrows of generations of pain.
Intuitive of much knowledge, in tune with the motions and wisdom gained.
What is immensely difficult for most humanity, for him it`s simply just attained.
Anything that comes in view of thoughts, logic and reasons are engraved,
Memories deep like the ocean's depths, some could say it's a plaque.
Yet if you understand this side of satisfaction, then you have been reincarnated from the grave.
There is a parasite made of pure gravity
lodged behind my breastbone.
The room dissolves around it;
the world turns to cold, uninteresting ash.
Nothing exists except the itch under my ribs -
the sickening, urgent demand to align the dark inside my head
with something I cannot reach.
I am pinned flat.
Sweat drips down my neck while my teeth click together,
a quiet, violent vibration in a completely motionless room.
My skin has been peeled back
and the exposed fat and muscle are boiling in open air.
My organs are being crowded out by a single, agonizing form.
It twitches. It drags its rusty edges across my lungs.
I am choking on the air I haven't breathed for hours.
This is the fever of fixation:
a quiet execution where the blade moves a millimeter at a time.
I lie here, a heap of dry, useless clay,
watching the ceiling fan slice the darkness into strips.
My mind is a meat grinder turning on empty air,
screaming for the precise,
elusive click that will let me draw a breath again.
It moves inside me, writhing, resetting my bones incorrectly.
It burns. It tears the wet lining of my stomach.
I cannot move my hand. I cannot turn my head.
I am forced to watch myself rot,
trapped inside the convulsing, invisible machinery of my own skull -
shaking, weeping without tears,
waiting for the agonizing pressure to snap into place
and finally let me go...
Violently delicious
You play with my mind
Looking for logic i can't swim against time
Am I marked to be doomed
Am I cursed or worse already dead
I can't help to think
But thats when Iam at my worst
Its just the way we play your cards
When I think I have a chance
It all breaks down
Its a sweet party just like you Let me dance the hood of my car
Let me scream and shout
Ill wait for this time and space
Iam a lucky man
But so God damn.unlucky
Is it just all mankind
What happened in the last 5 years
What happened to luck, posterity,sucess
Do I shout out.. hey you !
Stop this merry go round
It ain't merry I quit booze
I quit weed, I quit living for the future
How can you be so proud
Just take a look at this town
If you got a better name
You better use it
If someone can stop this spiral
We better do it
her arms had waisted away
her hands were cuffed
shackles incised her wrists
her eyes weren’t motionless
but all she could see was a wall
and she felt like an infernal image
of rage damned water welling up
with no release for tears
and solid incarceration
all she had done was to think
share her thoughts of reason
with valid precision and rational logic
had peacefully presented emotion
and felt she had been doing no harm
not an ounce of corruption
but the scales of injustice weighed
heavily and not in her favour
they had not blindfolded her
to never leave any doubt
that she would be able to see
the indisputable claim of the straight jacket
which covered her naked torso
her hair by now long and unkempt
nails like claws unable to reach
the foul wounds dug into her skin
infested by vermin and vile contempt
her gaze had turned inward
on a downward spiral of defeat
but she had nothing to confess
could not betray anyone
had she wanted to do so
and nevertheless she was grateful
that she knew nothing to part with
ironically she was in full control
of being completely out of control
a scrawny residue of former pride
she was way past hunger
the last scraps of fat had vanished
and yet so far she was a survivor
although confusion was taking a toll
her brain was wired into meshed pulp
until finally she was so thin
that she could move her delicate forearms
maybe her captors were not so clever after all
at first and at last she was able to turn
and glimpse one ray of hope through
a window with no hinges attached
and a new field of vision appeared
on the periphery central to her escape
she slipped the fetters
and knew that looking out for the truth
had been worth the wait
as she disappeared without trace
04th August 2021
Imagism Poetry Contest
Sponsor Emile Pinet
I am in my ground state
something cuddling nothing
tucked in with my stuff of dream
myself and my companion
my form, language, my logic
my letter, symbol, my number
my explanation, description, my stroke, my sound
my noun, verb, my grammatical ingredient
my information, data, my mathematical bit
my measurement, my calculation
my equation, graph, model, my relation
my set, shape, dimension, my duration
......
a scary process, solving myself
I am in-between
after the before and before the after
poised curving through the curling pipe
astride my transitory surf-board
waves collapsing along the quantum shore
smeared, wiped-out, flipped backwards
into the probabilistic ocean or tumbled forward
through surging foam, chaotic spray
observing, informing, accelerating, colliding
attributing, entangling, tracking, tracing
momentum settling like a relativistic beached whale
floundering in a tidal gravity well
......
a scary experience, feeling myself
welcome to our familiar world
cosmos wrapped around our quantum cellar
initial conditions inflating below
embraced by the all-encompassing protoverse
combining happenstance, fields of continuous creation
spawning emergent intelligence
the becoming gods, our transformative selves
personality, memory, purpose
feeding our bellies, mending our bodies and minds
art, technology, history, adventure, achievement
love, compassion, empathy, grieving
imagination, procreation, celebration, failure
......
a reassuring response, cuddling others
I am myself, however, I see me.
The logic others go by cannot bind me.
Who I am is what I shall decide.
It's not easy but that's how I'll be.
Now feeling fabulous
This is my life,
You can watch and stare!
This is how I'm gonna be,
Being the color of the rainbow.
I just want to live my truth.
Because my truth is fabulous.
Like glittering sparkles of gold.
I work on a spectrum and define who I am.
I am who I say I am,
Not defined by another's logic.
For I'm fabulous,
Like a glittering rainbow
or sparkles of gold.
Being who I am
Choosing to live my life.
Having pride in myself,
And that's what I decide!
Let’s deface it—my reality isn’t the same—
Your world is an illusion—similarities set invisible base-lined boundaries.
We share this similarity
Just not the exact same
Ironic Zinc relates this (many things) to childlike innocence…
Why…?
Perhaps this is a direct result of how he has developed—emotionally—?
I should ask him—I have connections!
Nah...
That’s no fun. I know him well—
Allow me how…
As a child he recalls having a special, ignorant connection with people; in general.
At some point in his life, this feeling (or presence) left Mr. Zink—
Maturity processed realty that previous ignorance believed in; with conviction.
Ironic Zinc then absorbed wisdom through every pour of his collected consciousness.
He inhaled its truthful whisper in the wind…
Feeling as if he had been betrayed by practically the entire world—sniffing lies after lie…
Trust reflected through his misplaced eyes that had become wide-cut—Dilation.
Demented to the brink of insanity; Ironic Zinc bathed his anguish with substance
Testing the waters and questioning the vibe
Ironically, he then became them—
Those he now understands, only as misunderstood—empathetically.
Ironic Zinc has drifted apart from stead-fact claims and harsh negative judgments.
Growth is obvious, materialized through his poetic journey—revelations
I am Ironic Zinc…
My ultimate intentions are apparently pure
Equal or lesser than you
Positive judgment—morals—this is how we base beliefs
Negative judgment—called judgmental—flawed logic revealed
I am Ironic Zinc
He has issues—
Issues with current; present day society
Your world is an illusion—similarities set invisible base-lined boundaries.
We share this similarity
Just not the exact same
Let’s deface it—my reality isn’t the same...
Ir0nIc zINc 9-27-15
(Otherwise titled poetic
gobbledygook trot -
oven chilly cooked confusion eliciting
faint thanks a lot
unbeknownst this tasteless,
senseless, rhymeless... lettered
Rorschach test tease I jot
interpretation, viz hitting
analogously like amorphous melted ingot
watch yourself...
d's lines iz still smok'n HOT,
now I puzzle regarding how
to extricate mess elf aye got
into try'n to strut and trumpet
hightailing to Hong Kong
entrepôt yea, that dot
on the map embroiled -
in political fracas fifteen minutes
of fame Andy Warhol didst allot
every man, woman,
and child even no bot
tee like me.)
Anyway... when zombie like,
I try to dead reckon eyes
purposefulness astride oblate spheroid
nsync with other gals and guys
either one, t'other or all
mask cue lated in disguise
impossible mission to triangulate
Euclid say logic defies
to comprehend gibberish
no matter how much you scrutinize
his highness, qua shape
shifting imperfect square stumps
any tree men douse great mind to analyze
me skewering, marinating, gunning... decries
abiding any logical positivism
queries best addressed to Lord of the Flies
since nary handy dandy blues clues,
I opted out thus...
rubbish provided to synthesize
random words helter skelter
strewn to symbolize
absent any rhyme or reason
courtesy handy matted figurative
trapezoid doth employ
no paradigm to exercise
leaving comprehension after mine demise
so go ahead chastise
cuz I already know,
never will said poetry win apprize.
English quintain
I’m leaving, going far away
and when I’m through, I will return.
But meanwhile, mind my vineyard, stay.
I’m staking out a risk to earn;
It is for you, to try and learn.
I lease to you my private land
which I have hedged. I’ve built a tow’r
so you may guard my kingdom grand.
Till I come back, you are in pow'r.
I will come back, an unknown hour.
Time lingers on, I send trustees
to test the fruit; the vintage won.
The tenants stone and wound all three;
more were dispatched , more harm was done.
They’ll show respect, I’ll send my son.
Imprudent keepers of my lease
imagined I was surely dead.
They saw a chance the land to seize.
My heir’s demise they thought ahead
would free the land to tenants’ stead.
This is a story Jesus told
a parabolic sermon heard.
The tenants’ logic had no hold;
God’s kingdom soon would be transferred
from Jew to Gentile. Thoughts are stirred.
written by Reason A. Poteet
first posted at Poetry Soup – 3 Feb 2015
Iambic tetrameter – an English quintain
for Giorgio’s contest: Structured forms-Iambic verse - Recite and analyze a fictional event
inspired by a biblical parable, Mark 12:1-12