Long Notations Poems
Long Notations Poems. Below are the most popular long Notations by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Notations poems by poem length and keyword.
WHIMSICALITY
nonsense
verse
& limerick
in
extraordinary
visual
sketchesin
a
diary
of
requited
jottings
down
&
visiting
images
the
pictorial
aide-memoire
of
observations
&
evocative
sequenced
slices
of time
changing
drifting down
notations
revealing
singled out
spectacular
images
of
the silly the
surreptitious
private
joke
in
cartoon-like
scribblings
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Love for your body
food for your well being
and love to keep you coming back
The set of Five
the notations
the status for such obvious meanings
healthy an disrupting
it speaks clearity for such obvious reasons
in every season
Per tale; questo è il motivo
amare ed essere amati
symbol at the beginning
an Emotional and un'intimità emotiva
e fisica Physical Intimacy
a foundation upon which
where the paired two are drawn
might we stand together
were "??µ???a" organizes the notes
: in a perfection of harmony
DarkGlass Microtubes
Modern Sounds Inc.
Grooves and Moves by Us LLC
Local Media and Rhyme
"In control of her emotions"
and 'Targets Of Cupid"
sampled with permission
by:
Mussoinsey and Idolmantic of
Cast and Surtitles Inc.
"Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts keep my drooping eyelids open wide."
~ Shakespeare's Sonnet 27
Often, when my body craves nothing more than sleep
my mind wanders in gardens where thoughts take root.
I ponder why the fervor of poetic ideas flicker and seep
into my psyche as if I must follow the Pied Piper's flute.
I cannot stifle the waterfall's cascading inspirations
for the palpitations of my pulse cannot staunch the flow.
A chorus of whispered voices begs me to take notations,
not to be forgotten before dawn's pink skies begin to glow.
I've failed to silence the visitors with burgeoning verses.
Their Sonnet seeds are planted with end rhymes in a row.
There's no ignoring their demands with my abusive curses.
I wonder how I might convince them to be quiet and go.
Once, I tried counting sheep, but I heard fairytale lines
drifting over a fence in my head, and meowing of a cat.
I tried to drown them out with music but in the confines
of my sleepy mind, lyrics came flying at me like a bat!
I'm not amused when my muse tells me I'm being lazy.
On reflection, I must speculate that she's the instigator.
I tell her to go away. I can't write when my mind is hazy.
She mumbles words I cannot hear. Why do I tolerate her?
I've given this bane, this insane lack of sleep some thought
Usually, I refuse to give in to ponderings and stay in bed.
Battle lines were drawn, and though vigilantly I have fought,
if I'm to sleep, I will surrender and write what's in my head.
Storm, hurricane, tempest, tornado, levantera, gale
Like shape-shifting werewolves and vampire wells, you whirlpool.
With gold, silver, and coal sand screens, the environs you veil
Like rounded, sub-rounded, mushroom-shaped mountains, you stand cool.
By building walls of dust and debris, you hold your head high.
In circular, curved, spherical, and ring-shaped rotations
Like Shanghai or Lotte, are you trying to touch the sky?
Have your roaring, drumming, and hissing themes got notations?
Burying seeds, ceasing seedlings, cutting crop reales
Moving particulate matters and microorganisms
Sparkling flashes of lightning and igniting thunder peals
You push humans and animals into a psychic spasm.
Amidst nature's many means of self-purification
You too have your participation in life transformation
I’m a string of byte notations
From your CPU
Calculating information
In a blink of an eye, for you
I pull in at the station
On your motherboard
To catch a system bus
CAD, is what it’s called
There's three routes I can take
Control, address or data
Depending on the freight
It arrives a nano later
Two more important parts
On this PC station
Are the (GPU), graphics card
And memory modulation
The RAM is where I store
Temporary numeral data
To complete a task for sure
For you sometime later
The graphics processor unit
Is the place of acceleration
Sending pictures to your screen
In 3D Animation
There’s a special kind of storage place
Which is called, a hard drive
Keeping window’s very safe
Where your programmes hide inside
Now, I can make a programme
But that’s different thing
If you want to learn the basics
Just type a simple string
For those that don’t yet understand
I use a binary code
From the central processor
I then take it and load
So next time you turn me on
Just think and be-aware
I work a lot, like you my friend
And I’m here to store and share
© Copyright 19th August 2013
K.C.Leake
Wednesday, it was; Nineteenth, exactly if I must mention
Housewives, feeding kids and pets, were getting true tension
Eastward sky grew grey; impulsively, cattle rushed homewards
Nightingales, to sing of true love, tuned their trachea chords
Welcoming the moon and the stars on their valorous way
Habitats did bid goodbye to the scorching sunny day
Ethereal exuberance enhanced each environs
Naughty nocturnal nonpareils of April blow sirens
Wet with drizzles, weary winds wiped their whiskers on cool cloud
Howls of dogs, foxes, wolves, apes, and coyotes were heard aloud
Endless Rest promised the noxious sting of death has gone numb,
Nullifying negations, nature, notations new did hum
23 April 2023
In this world and in this life
(Are we all just another number)
A tax statistic or
a corporation's itemized figure.
There are of pluses and negatives.
The accounting of the additions and then the subtractions.
These are the balance sheets of life.
This is with "gains, and losses."
Is that the higher plan for mortal man
existence on this dusty earth?
A salary, or no salary.
A bank account, or no accounts.
Zeros and Ones, 1, 0.
Added together are they supposed to be fine gold?
A man’s worth weighed
on a numbered scale of more or less.
Were we created to be only digital number notations?
Numbers in hourglasses filled with very fine earthly sand.
Grains of sand running then emptying,
into the canvas of time.
This of a dusty dust, not solely returning to the ground.
For, we are very, much, much more: than that which is ever seen.
"Yes, yet, not solely just numbers, indeed!"
Silent scored
red-hearted consciousness,
feeling empty when noted nonverbal
and then filling up
and out
and over into voices
green positive
and down
and in
and under ultra-violet negatives
doubly anticipating and anxious times.
Silent hearts invisible
blue quaking lines
not invincible
for surviving today's healthiest sung purposes,
Yesterday's
and tomorrow's musical
deep learned meaning mystery
of living
vibrant
yet unsung
private
hidden history,
Muses of multigenerational culture,
healthy sweeping wealth
and pathological empty
muted stealth
Anxious to avoid loneliness,
a life not mattering,
sputtering,
splattering,
flattering
darkly saturnine,
not working out,
not playing around,
exercising bland premedicated
meditated consciousness
of silence
Within echoing
cacophonous languaged voices
of Earth's regenerate Muse,
sometimes too desecrated degenerate,
yet always historic co-musicating,
mediating multicultic cultures,
violet
and nonviolent
Silence
between mused notations,
anxious and anticipating
mutations
Silent scored
red-hearted consciousness,
feeling empty when noted nonverbal
and then filling up time
and out
and over into voices
green positive
and ultra-nonviolet negatives
anticipating anxious rhyme
in circles
triangulating resilient sacred space
in pre-historic reverberating
reverse vibrating
time.
I often sit and witness the beautiful existence,
sparked by a yellow haze of a dying candle's flame,
my notations dancing leisurely with the seizure of it's shadow on the wall.
I am able to see the sculpted character of each letter, side by side,
easily defined by someone else, but I am also able to see
the imagery in my mind and the meaning only I can interpret myself.
I can feel the tactile property in the velvety smoothness of the paper
as it gently sways and hints at my hand, but I can also feel
the sensitive awareness of my sentiments passionately bestowed it unplanned.
I can smell the wick and the wax as it starts to collapse, but I can taste
the delicate discrimination in my own perception of things called facts.
I have a choice on how I let external circumstances impact how I react.
I am capable of delegating my footfalls, be it one, or twenty
on a path that I will allow no one to detract.
I will devour the mentation of any man or woman that airstreams
an implementation of how I should receive my own existence!
I can and will make a difference!
For strangers and in lives of those who wish to have me in theirs.
All I have to do is start somewhere and the visions, intuitions,
the care from within will come out and flow naturally.
I will not ignore pain, or anger, or sorrow because I don't understand it.
Or, because those around me can't appreciate a proper grieving.
I know that every tomorrow I'll feel it again, in that acknowledgment
consciousness breathes.
MY consciousness tonight lightly blew to life the manifestation
of my creative sense and it took my voiceless words
in synchronous act and produced a wistful song that seduced the silence.
Music is around us
Music is in us
We were born with a rhythm
The rhythm in us gives indication of the life in us
I put my hand on my chest and I could tap dance to the joy of my heart
I could sing to the flatter of butterflies in my stomach
The sun rises with a pulse and sets with a pulse in my continent
I walk in rhythm
My footsteps are beats to this electrifying and captivating song
The contractions that my mother had during my birth were in rhythm
My thought patterns are in rhythm
My speech is rhythmically upbeat and my pronunciation flows
You could never call out my name out or rhythm
There’s a rhythm that flows in my words when I write and the curves in my letters are like the staff notations to a Mozart piece
The world will dance to the flow of my life’s progression and mouths will sing to the flow of my growth
I am a song you could never rewind
I am blessed with the art of rhythm that flows in my veins with the blood of my ancestors that were the origin of life
The world is a baobab tree and I am its roots
Watered by the tears of souls who boarded the Amistad against their will and shipped to the so called new world
I am a song and you will dance to the rhythm of my walk
You will leap to the electric beat of my heart beat and sing along to the harmony of my life’s rhythm
The tone of my skin is evidence of a song never heard
The brown in my eyes is the tone of the keys on my grand piano
I am the Roots of a baobab and the world will dance to my song