Long Overloaded Poems
Long Overloaded Poems. Below are the most popular long Overloaded by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Overloaded poems by poem length and keyword.
Midsummer vehemence stows heat for later
Solar film ominously watch hot arc
Tilt tracks trajectory, power cater
Stashes post sizzle to supply light dark
Socket slit subservient incubates
Arrow of assurance inserts cable
Voltage their pairing impressive creates
Self derived to electric capable
Autonomy admonished with a switch
Loins bearing in luxury breed evil
Informed about squalid impoverished
Ignore affluent vantage for reprieval
Overloaded homes groan under panels
Tainted rich roads tune rigid channels
16th January
Wealth rotten wattage
This was the worst ship disaster, with the greatest loss of life at sea
A German ship that was overloaded, with over 10,600 war refugees
Sank on the 30 January 1945 by a Soviet submarine in the Baltic sea
By Soviet Naval Officer, Captain Alexander Marinesko, who died 1963
Stranger than be; he was actually facing a court martial due to drink
So did this up his rankings, when as the Wilhelm Gustloff he did sink
Not so, by Oct 1945 the same year he was dishonourably discharged
After being lower from a Captain to a Lieutenant so was not life hard
No message gave that it carried refugees as it crossed the Baltic Sea
No war crime committed, carrying soldiers from the German military
The first torpedo hit the bow, as putting crew members out of action
Next hit a drained swim pool that held 373 ladies with a bad reaction
Third hit the engine rooms for Wilhelm Gustloff there is now no hope
With all of this the ship starting to portside, as began to rapidly slope
The ship carried on it four Captains, it was Friedrich Petersen's choice
To sail the ship with its navigation lights on, as the others gave voice
it was to miss a German mine sweeper convoy, coming head on in fog
This grubby weather made the rescue work of the survivors, hard flog
Though; it should be mentioned all four Captains survived the sinking
No information was found as to why, that is left, to your own thinking
Be 44 minutes after, the Wilhelm Gustloff ship was dangerously listing
Another six minutes, the ship sank bow up, her metal soul unresisting
Out of all the unlucky 10.600 passengers only 1,252 of them survived
Most lost to the very icy cold waters of the Baltic Sea, none as revived
Alas, of the 9,400 victims who died, 5,000 of them were, but, children
All those refugees wishing for a new life, they were hoping on building
After the war was over, the Soviets, returned to strip her, as in looted
Signs of hand-made damage, and detonators scarring her undisputed
Not one bit of evidence of human life on that ship was found to remain
Hiding the evidence of their blame, did though, not lessen their shame
As I try to wish away, all the sadness that I feel;
As if a night sky's falling star, could grant me something real...
If only one small wish, of what's eluded me all this life thus far;
I'd wish for just some happiness, just a little in a jar;
So I could open as I needed, unload some sadness that I feel
Much like unloading bulky freight,
From a trains overloaded boxcar...
If only I could wish away, all the sadness that I feel,
I'd finish this life with certainty
And a soul full of new found zeal...
Through hub after hub
Opportunities for connection
Or crossed purposes
Wire up.
Messages lose themselves
All the time
And never reach their
Intended destinations.
So why did the just wrong
Signifier happen to
Get through this time?
Exacted its way
Through the complexity
And hit its intended
Target with such
Blunt force
That it overloaded
The system and
Almost broke it…
But not quite
Because it’s resilient
In its redundancies.
(This girl never learns.)
Just a few degrees of
Distinction separate –
Almost togetherness.
It’s like we’re
Waiting – just waiting
– to be moved but
Refuse to budge.
Every millisecond of
Every moment of
Every day,
So much chance for success
And simultaneous failure...
Touchy, this situation.
We had two, enormous Black Walnut trees
That would shed every leaf in the fall.
The lawn would be blanketed, brilliant yellow
As the cold, north winds would call.
The task was foreboding to say the least,
The work would be hard, I conceded.
To prepare for winter and snow to come
Raking the leaves was needed.
Many years since, in a distant state
I find myself raking again
And a memory stirred my heart anew
And with joy I remembered when….
After toilsome hours of gathering leaves
My body sore and aching,
A ritual started that to this day
Brings fondness of raking’s partaking.
My son and daughter would anxiously wait
For the leaves to be heaped in a pile.
At my, “Okay!” they would dive in headfirst
And be buried alive with smiles.
Laughter ensued, and joy was the mood
As our mountain of leaves exploded.
Rake ‘em again! Pile it up so we can
Dive in over and over, with Fall overloaded.
By Tom Valles
Floating above waves wept his child
Her arms flailing to sustain life
As fierce currents engulfed and smiled
Tormenting the souls fleeing strife
Frenzied escape from plunged nonlife
On that makeshift vessel they piled
Giving up home, life for a life
Floating above waves wept his child
Seeking a land of peace, beguiled
He sought hope for daughter and wife
“Your house, safe passage,” was reviled
Her arms flailing to sustain life
Deceit cut his core like a knife
Overloaded goods, pride defiled
No shores for the sound of the Fife
As fierce currents engulfed and smiled
Her sweet voice called, so meek, so mild
Her child innocence drowned in rife
Touching fingertips, weakness riled
Tormenting the souls fleeing strife
At home, a doctor and mid-wife
Now loud voices and waves reign wild
He was rescued, no afterlife
Watching her pink scarf undefiled
Floating above waves
In memory of all those who have lost their lives on perilous sea journeys in hope of a better life.
Date: 02/04/23
Sponsor: Joseph May
Double the fun poetry contest
Howmanysyllables.com, 8 syllables per line
Rhymezone.com
Immediacy of the moment doth youthful heart beckon
With trite passions that seem to standardize each deviation
Intemperate fodder with which sprouting limbs must reckon
Growing pains producing physical appetites beyond satiation
Carefree days frought with moments of indecision
Sheltered from responsibility; a meaningless depreciation
Time monotonously calibrated; habituated minion
Brokered existence reducing life to borderline depression
A guiding light flickering in the distant future makes a slight
impression
But wired circuits overloaded with transitory cares leads to
confusion
Producing electrical impulses that stimulate internal combustion
Sparking trip wire in mind that produces periods of oscillation
Seeking conformity, a bridge from isolated station
Tring to establish self esteem through peer group ingratiation
To the passing trends, fleeting fads making a necessary oblation
Conversely, using concrete value judgements to qualify each,
pretentious action
Sleepless nights and restless days
Wishing that it was only a phase
Warm milk and sleeping pills
Lord Knows I had my fill
Lying still hoping for sleep
So tired your heavy heart weeps
Your head is full of jello
So uptight your mellow
Eyes of red face the blue
Dawns approaching what to do
The clock thunders every tick
You rise up to face the wreck
Trudging on with eyes glazed
Your vertical and your amazed
Coffee black and coffee strong
When did sleeping go so wrong
Face the day with eyes shut
Get it done in a rut
Energy drinks give you a go
Weariness keeps it slow
Curse the Sandman you he evades
Against the dark fatigue weighs
Sheep a billion have all strayed
Exhausted your soul begins to fade
How do you live habitually tired
Caffeine overloaded and wired
Even love lost it's desire
You've burned without a fire
Nothing matters but some rest
You lay awake forcing your best
Is it time to slit your wrist
Laughing out loud in jest
Would sleep come if you died
Or would awake you eternally lie
Everything boring you've tried
Eternal insomnia survives
I sit in bed and daydream
For peaceful slumber I cling
Inside my head blackness reigns
Insomnia you stole my dreams
Capricious Will
hadn't the looks of a Scrooge,
but he smeared rouge
on his classmates' faces...
then spun them around like a windmill
until they showed terrified gazes!
If Christmas meant fun to him,
who would put a stop to his whim?
" I'll take all those presents donated by my neighbor Steve
and hide them in my sack until Christmas Eve!"
He mumbled those silly words to himself
as he stuffed them in the sack with the skill of a thief.
" Look, guys! He's stealing the orphans' presents! Get him, Jack! "
A little boy with a freckled face yelled dropping his honey bun,
but capricious Will struggled to carry that overloaded sack
and dragged it 'till it busted open before he could run.
Written on 1/3/2014
Under the dark sky of 2025, where the Genetic Basin pulses
like an overloaded server beneath the shadows of a Sulimi,
my thoughts flow like a faulty algorithm through 6G networks,
whistling beneath faces lit by screens, with AirPods in ears,
running through Amazon Go, crushing biodegradable packaging,
in a digital chaos colder than the melted ice of the Arctic.
Faces of extinguished moons, scrolling TikTok under artificial neon,
with quantum phones vibrating in pockets, lost AI messages,
in the metaverses of a world forgetting to breathe under the gray sky.
Baneasa Mall, now an NFT hub, with free tokens fluttering,
like false stars, bots from online marketplaces invading,
shouting "IT'S FREE!", grabbing synthetic meat, solar energy by the box.
The autonomous bus rattles like a faulty drone, shaken,
where the Suleni virtually trample each other to be the first to board in AR,
to be the first to descend, to sit, crawling slowly through VR, but dashing,
like panthers at the "drop" of a rare NFT—a grotesque dance under the sky,
gray with climate change, under lost AI rhythms.
The Church of the "Holy Sepulchre", a 4K live stream, with digital bags,
sprinting at bayonet, ready to overturn a sanctified NFT, shouting,
"Sirrr, we're in line too!"—a knowing but blind mob,
under pixelated vaults of forgetfulness, under the heavy sky of 2025.
On graphene slabs, between cleaning robots and 3D printers,
I ask: those who built Opera, Roman baths, divine statues,
would they have crawled on nanotube floors for virtual energy?
The master whispers: "These were brought, heating with biofuel,
on trodden floors, with straw under the gray sky!" Today, assistance,
robotic parking, digital muddle, quantum discord, discipline,
under AI sanctions, like Pavlov's algorithm—a metaverse of oblivion.
Under the dim light of a holographic screen, I see the Sulimea as a shadow,
hybrid, with neural implants, unsporty digital fauns, lost.
In quantified globalization, wings broken by AI, stars melted in carbon clouds,
a drained Genetic Basin under the rhythms of an AI mimicking
Inna's voice—my melancholy is a lost code, an eternal bug, a dream,
magic under silent slabs, where Chess Pieces no longer see, and I remain, blind,
under the sky of 2025, an echo of a millennium shattered into ashes.