Long Network Poems
Long Network Poems. Below are the most popular long Network by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Network poems by poem length and keyword.
I wish for me the spent sun waits to set for a while,
it’s not time yet to go down with the depleted day.
The sky is still to be filled with the chromatic pile,
the wafting network of wispy clouds wants to sway.
It’s not time yet to go down with the depleted day
for the crimson sun hung on the horizon’s glimmer.
The wafting network of wispy clouds wants to sway
in the latticed sky’s fading fresco of golden shimmer.
For the crimson sun hung on the horizon’s glimmer
the flowers haven’t finished spraying the fragrance.
In the latticed sky’s fading fresco of golden shimmer
the tinsels of radiance are still drizzling in a trance.
The flowers haven’t finished spraying the fragrance
in the gleaming twilight ambiance under dulcet dome.
The tinsels of radiance are still drizzling in a trance
at the end of the pathway that will take me home.
In the gleaming twilight ambiance under dulcet dome
the sky is still to be filled with the chromatic pile
at the end of the pathway that will take me home,
I wish for me the spent sun waits to set for a while.
________________
May 23, 2022
Contest : A Rhymig Pantoum Of Five Stanzas
Sponsored by : L MIlton Hankins
Happy National Friendship Day - August 6th, 2023
The idea of Friendship Day originated
in the United States in 1919,
proposed by Joyce Hall,
the founder of Hallmark cards.
It gained official recognition
when the U.S. Congress
proclaimed the first Sunday
of August as National Friendship Day in 1935.
Unlike this papa akin
to being racked, raided,
and raked with hot coals
during his adolescence devoid of
a social network and academic goals
if possible to magnify
psyche, one would see
mostly a torn (Turin) shred of holes.
Thy youngest (of deux) daughters
afflicted with developmental delay
did not overtly agitate
as much as myself, asper being
emotionally isolated, a miserable fate,
she participated with
supportive services how grate
full (this once psychologically dead papa),
progeny of his did not experience
chronic severe hate
Shana (Punim) blessed by fate
while a Lower Merion
High School student did great
fully experienced positive
munificent interpersonal bounty,
she didst illustrate
with smiles all around her countenance,
which sophomore socialization better late
than never, which friendlessness
(that didst plague this papa),
thee progeny didst obviate
thus, this poem
(to no one in particular),
expresses how I appreciate
the plethora of supportive
services, to ameliorate
bugaboo sans inferiority complex,
(ran rampant within self)
where mine imaginary
pals did commiserate
nevertheless, aye envy thine
woefully begotten Harris heiresses,
whose self esteem positively
of mine bolstered,
when as little girls
their needs and wants gave me purpose
ensure ring a confidential boost,
and now doth demonstrate
how remedial, and extracurricular activities
during and after class respectively,
combatted cognitive delay,
warding off bullies,
who did grate, humiliate
and interrogate, this middle aged
(he's a jolly good) fellow,
Johnny come late
lee to the "NON FAKE"
thrown into game of life
changing strengthened soul asylum
primary, secondary, and tertiary grades
where whipsawed,
pejoratively emasculated, jackknifed,
oppressed, traumatized, and yoked
hoary golem, unstintingly
bruiting, browbeating
and bamboozling gremlins
wrought zealous destruction.
I didn’t pick this pixelated hue,
Blind browser of flesh, what’s wrong with you?
Am I just a bug—some system glitch?
Or a firestorm code you can’t enrich?
You see a low-res thumbnail, tagged and filed,
But my spirit runs free—uncompiled.
Stuck in filters, default schemes,
You can’t decode my quantum dreams.
This isn’t a status, a picture frame;
I’m pure data, unchained—untamed.
A network where prejudice crashes, burns—
Where firewalls of freedom overturn.
Algorithms stutter, crash and stall,
Trying to define me with a finite call.
Erase the labels, tear down the fence;
See me for more than binary sense.
Skin’s just the interface—surface display,
But the soul behind it can’t be weighed.
So reboot your mind, clear your cache—
There’s more than a demographic flash.
Delete the bias, debug the lie;
The spark in my eyes won’t simplify.
I didn’t choose this pixel, this view,
But the brilliance inside is breaking through!
Somewhere in New York City was an upbeat corner building.
Painted in bright lively colors, with awnings and such.
The corner filled with a building shaped like a canister.
colorful petunias, geraniums and daisies smiled at me from boxes.
Interesting people live here, I told myself, and often.
I sat on a stoop, watching people come in and out on a Tuesday.
Making up stories about this one and that one, it was so much fun!
New York City is filled with neighbors and strangers.
In this building I pictured a large network of friends.
Because of the colors and the prettiness and the calm aura.
I wanted to live in this building when I grew up.
My career took me to the west coast, but I thought of this building often.
It was my meditation spot, and my story-idea station.
I bought a Martha Stewart pan and liked it very well
now for my cooking needs I have ten or twelve
I used to drive a big old Ford Galaxy it was colored brown
now I have a green Chevy truck to get around
Once I only drank Coca Cola to cool me down
now a Pepsi even RC my thrust to drown
Blue jeans were all I wore that was a fact
now I am more comfortable in a pair of slacks
Once I always slept in PJ's to dream the night away
now in loose t-shirt and boxers on slumber's sleigh
I once watch network television for shows and news
now its all streaming for entertainment woos
I used to pray at night before I went to sleep
now I pray anytime of the day or week
The more things change they really do
but the one constant I keep as I love you.
It started with candy corn
on Hallows eve when I was ten,
as dad escorted us from house to house
on that windy night.
Sadistic pleasure was mine,
as I bit the tiny white tips
from each piece and threw the rest away,
while marching to the next house.
Such destructive pleasure changed the way I ate
from that night forward.
No longer did I eat with polite accord
or cater to normal desire.
Food was heretofore decimated by fork and knife,
cut to pieces and consumed
with vengeance by anger
and growing desire for more.
Formative years turned into teen angst
that only increased the distance
between myself and the world,
with uncontrolled craving and binge.
Everywhere I now look, I see food.
Food on magazine covers,
in commercials on TV,
even a food network
Supporting my lifestyle
of decadence
and gourmandian appreciation
of sauces and desserts.
I understand your envy,
acknowledge your disappointment
of failure, while I excel
and try not to flaunt my excitement.
Just because my weight exceeds
what my scale measures,
doesn't mean I have to modify
the way I live.
No. Life only goes around once,
and for me,
it's a paragon of pleasure,
at least four times each day.
But every year at Halloween,
I support the neighborhood
and give kids candy corn
minus the tiny white tips.
Darkness descends and most folk
Are slowly wending to their bed
But, across there in Knotty Ash
Some Locals are stirring instead.
The residents of Diddyland,
Where the sun always shines,
Are pulling on their working gear
For night shifts down the mines.
The Diddymen of Knotty Ash,
That dedicated working band
Who supply Jam Butties to
Buttie shops across the land.
Ecologically efficient,
Cosmetically sound,
Jam Buttie mines are carefully
Landscaped to the ground.
With a bus service to Bootle,
One as well to Liverpool,
Not far from the motorway,
So the Nation’s favourite fuel
Butties of class and style
Can be shipped off to feed
The band of gastronauts
With discerning dietary need.
There’s an outlet store in Liverpool
Where one can sample the stock
Conveniently situated in
The shopping park on Albert Dock.
And all those happy residents
Looking for amusing things to do
Can ride the National Network,
Called Cycle Route number 62.
There’s contentment in Diddyland
And the area is rich in cash
Thanks to those Buttie miners
From their suburb of Knotty Ash.
In remembrance of that comic genius, the Late Ken Dodd who created and peopled Diddyland and its Jam Buttie Mines.
He was quite a famous celebrity.
He co-starred with Bob Smith on “Howdy Doody”
Everyone could see him on post-war TV.
Not one child in the studio would bear a frown.
They were entertained by “Clarabell the Clown”.
However, he left all his garnered popularity.
On another network as a new character we would see,
Bob Keeshan in his role of “Captain Kangaroo”.
Unprecedented fame for the man was now due.
Along with Mr. Green Jeans, Mr. Moose, and company,
Captain Kangaroo appeared for millions on morning TV.
With all of their unusual and funny escapades,
they taught and entertained children for three decades.
However, almost all good things do not last.
Captain Kangaroo is now a thing of the past.
Bob Keeshan has since been laid to rest.
As an entertainer, he was among the best.
Time for New Campaign Year ReSolutions,
perhaps informed with some new political economy
discernment questions.
Why is a free market
most accessible to those with the largest investments
in marketing?
Could this be the same question:
Why are our free political elections
most accessible to those who invest most heavily
in self-partisanship?
Why does suppression or oppression or repression,
some kind of taxing expression,
of the free cooperative-barter labor market
feel related to the rapidly increasing disecological cost
to Earth's formerly free commodities,
elements,
communionation,
co-arising intelligence,
ecosystemic integrity,
and possibly some cooperative research
hunting and gathering nutrients,
while avoiding toxicity?
Why does it cost so much
to competitively market the economic policies and political procedures
intended to evolve healthy cooperative free markets?
Why does freedom from fearful need for
--debt forgiveness
--redemption
--absolution
--ever more effectively voiced competition
to avoid untimely divestment
feel so much like freedom to give
mutually cooperative compassion
--for being merely human,
--for not being humane enough for our own SuperMonoTheistic
Awareness,
--for not being unnaturally spiritual enough
for our EgoCenters to entirely forget
our ubiquitously shared neurosystemic
empowering political
and enlightened economic
RNA regenerative roots?
Why do I feel
and not think
free of participating in competing
racist
sexist
homophobic
eco-political networks,
structures,
systemic trauma
When I buy groceries and clothes,
every time I support an
--overly anthro-indulgent,
--over-commodified
--overly toxic
--overly carbon-footprinted
--overly LeftBrain dominant
corporation
Including political party corporations
competing for market shares in votes,
and how do I feel free to support overly incorporated candidates
for overly-commodified public offices?
Why does an independent multiculturist
sound like an oxymoron?
while a cooperative polyculturing network
sounds like deep nurturing
nutritionally healthy
resonance?
(thank you All Poetry, Facebook, family
Poetry Soup,... et cetera global friends.)
A network of cherished kinships allied
forged, and linkedin analogous
to union of groom and bride
thru electronic bonds engender intrigue,
nonetheless unconditionally accept,
no matter I chide
self, and reference mine existence
as if...this mortal already died
now more appreciative than ever,
cuz younger days witnessed
peers that did elide
me accompanied with relentless
teasing, snubbing, roasting
akin tubby kindled over a fireside,
thus...solitude shadowed me as sole guide
peopled with books
to escape and hide
from so called "real"
webbed world, yet inside
this former grievous
lad through alienation,
emasculation, and isolation no joyride
valuing myself less than a pawn on
chessboard of life
envying extrovert as kingside
station depriving, insulating, and
ostracizing yours truly belied
to Matthew Scott Harris
marginally functioning, and denied
him camaraderie, dating, enjoying
female friendships due
to lack of confidence and pride
and at the cusp of
pubescence...a slow descending ride
into the hungry (anorexic)
maws of suicide,
which ideations hammer psyche,
now aghast how I tried
(without success) to disappear sundering
mine complex edifice
into the wide
abyss of nothingness, hence to treasure
those electronic connections,
perhaps...totally no more'n four score
(and seven years ago)
all told of unbeknown village people
comprising worthy chums,
sans human league roar
ring (okay pardon the hyperbole),
but letting this foo fighter explore
a greater range of interpersonal
(no matter virtual), but each
unnamed cyber buddy worth more
than simple rhyming galore
words express, some
or all those who sprung
from Earth, wind and fire,
viz cosmic toreador
this poet would their
physical presence adore,
who realizes genuine experienced love
second best option
communicated thru the Internet...bonjour,
hence please accept at the least
(even thee lovely cousins,
daughters, sister Shari por favor,
a hug emanating from within mine
integrated central processing unit core!