Long Predictability Poems
Long Predictability Poems. Below are the most popular long Predictability by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Predictability poems by poem length and keyword.
With hair ablaze
a jester unconfined.
I scoffed at the mundane
its life declined.
My wardrobe
a riot
a rhapsody bold.
Mismatched socks my standard
stories untold.
In classrooms of tedium
rules I'd defy
Grasping forbidden knowledge
'neath watchful sky.
Craving for wisdom in
esoteric wells.
Chased squirrels with saws
casting fanciful spells!
Detentions for antics
the school's icy stare
Derided in classrooms
a spirit too rare.
Math teacher's scorn
a job painting lines foretold.
I retorted, "How much does it pay?"
- detention took hold.
Mom asked me why I never brought my girls home?
I chuckled and said, "They're not the type to be shown!"
The wild ones
the rebels
the ones full of flame.
Not the kind for a dinner
not the ones with a name.
Misfits my comrades
a menagerie strange.
United in chaos
defying the change.
Years danced in a blur a pantomime bright
But a disquieting word a sense of not quite right.
A whirlwind of antics a panoply grand
Impromptu escapes with career-shifting sands.
Near-death encounters with fauna
a squirrel, perhaps?
But the thrill
oh the thrill
fueled my madcap laps!
The thrill of the unexpected
a fading strain
A gnawing suspicion
a predictable bane.
The mask I had crafted
of rebellion's grand guise.
Cracked and revealed
the truth in my eyes.
The jester unmasked with a lesson I gained.
That the extraordinary in the ordinary
can be just plain.
No longer I chase the fantastical dream...
But accept the real where
beauty can stream.
For the truest defiance lies not in the fight.
But accepting oneself in the ordinary light.
So here I stand
flaws and all
unashamed.
The laughter remains though the fantasy's tamed.
With lessons in tow I'll mend and I'll mend.
Explore the mundane and find joy till the end.
For the greatest adventure
in life's simple quest...
Is finding the magic
within one's own breast.
Virtues are more than they appear to be.
Ripples of connectivity.
Something switched on with the light?
A companion, manual, override.
Especially when storm clouds rear- appear to ruin the blue skies'-
But not like a knife,
that cuts the whole in holes,
of possibility.
Like procedural shears.
Is it Godless or Goddess ambrosia?
A poultice tea for the sick?
A placebo innoculation against lack of faith?
Selfishness in self paranoia,
Just for your sake.
A dark principality and clever mind-
Vampirism-Medicating prophylactively against
the stake, like an aneurism.
Those pesky ghosts of darkness.
In the blood.
Possess your sconces, flame, dead.
After it burns your wick at both ends.
Seek to destroy, the lightbringing.
Your senses dampened,
fuse blown
guard down.
Darkness.
On the Rampage.
Rampant.
Their Entrance.
Gained instead.
your abode,
not yet
accepting the gift of Life ?
lone
you abide,
Crashing the rifts,
Is this right?
Do YOU still not believe?
YOU are a (A still born-unborn,)
that be's -
the one that grieves?
A loss.
Of integrity?
Keeps an eye on the prize.
Under the storm of seize.
The Gate Keeper with beauty under wing.
Keep an eye for.
The Ace up the sleeve.
--------
No strings attached, divorce yourself from responsibility, integrity.
Lies.
Faithful predictability?
No connectivity. No breath or girth
No cosmic sister. No brother.
Accident of birth, No love or family or anything home team.
Insignificant things or other?
Life, just random, little, quirks?
The illusion filament.
An antibody to judgment,
Ultimately, to be or not to be
sedated
by needs?
Deflated by deeds
Unplanted seed.
A Dawn to share.
Unborn fruit to bare.
No fear.
He IS near.
Integrity is there,
a silver lining that adds true colors hue
against the black and white.
The false and the true.
Out of the blue.
Something that makes Avalon appear in the misty near.
Clearly.
A magic against the shade of Night.
A cloak and warmth to pull tight.
Peace of mind.
I say piece of soul.
That is never changing.
Someone to be connected to is
happiness, an insurance policy against a reason to be.
We exist for different purposes, perhaps 1 perhaps six
Forage food, mark trails and warnings of the enemy we echo
Sometimes, the unknown and uninvited guests, we query
Is our unison voice singular to a higher up?
Are our motions and interpretations of our universe just?
Maybe we will never know or we will find out in five
I imagine they are watching counting our progress, from the obsidian vastness, perhaps in series of five.
We assume their intelligence is higher, maybe of aeons six
Do they see us and think we are primitive just?
Or are they amazed by how far we seem to echo?
Our adaptations lead us on paths marked by contours going up
To search for meaning and ensure our surroundings we query
That one stridulation triggered a series we have to query.
Where it came from, why the palpitations of five?
Did wires that weren't supposed to touch there up?
It must have communicated something their six may not be our six.
We could try to mimic and that signal we echo
To the beyond and hope they understand us just
Up down we march to match our actions just
A rich medley, multi-terpene blend signals we are going to query
We march towards the stridulation, our sensilla seem to echo
A chain of unknowns multiplying in exponentials of six
The map we attempt to follow only goes up to five
We hope to convene the right message up
I'm sure the crows caught it, we felt the disturbance up
But that was not one of us just
Different temporal structures, I guess we close the voyage in six
Just for the moment as we recalibrate and make a new query
Signal predictability, yardstick useful for seconds five
To aid us try to understand the beyond that we echo
Our conquest to understand is only now an echo
The intensity we ought to have no longer stepped up
Hoping to cross paths again and know in five
What’s being said and signalled just
Atop a hill of questions we send out our last query
And hope the higher being catch it as we count to six
We map the numbers from six to five,
Hunting the crow's echo and cosmic query,
While up on the mound, we are just ants.
Future security
looms in obscurity
yet the great Almighty
props believers' steadfast tenacity.
Though plagued with anxiety
midst health-crisis' intensity
Christ with His love and pity
heals the sick as He forgives the guilty.
Along enigmatic verity
last days' predictability
triumphs with peace-certainty
by God's omnipotent authority.
Hope against instability
prevails over any eventuality
as we seek the LORD Who from His bounty
provides through faith’s purity.
Thus, next decades are foreseen with beauty
radiating blissful serenity
as we trust* with prayerful surety
the great Saviour of eternity.
*Psalm 118:8 It is better to trust in the LORD than to put confidence in man.
May 23, 2020
Edited on August 17, 2021
1st place, "Your Best Monorhyme" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by William Kekaula; judged on 8/20/2021.
all i see is you
how do you withstand me
my mind is like a strange land smelling flowers for the first time
all i see is you
how do you define me and accept
my mind is like a chocolate milkshake in a whirlpool of dr. pepper
all i see is you
how do you maintain your sanity when i express and confuse you
my mind is like a roller coaster run by a turtle and a sloth
all i see is you
how do you simply love me and not go instantaneously insane
my mind is like an unpredictable inanimate object in a state of animate predictability
all i see is you
how did i become fortunate enough to be blessed with such a beautifully spirited trooper such as yourself
my mind is so put at ease by the mere persistence of your Genuine Therapy
Eddy lives in the gullibility and cohesibility of a gritty city
Between assimilability civility reality and triviality
Here Eddy’s senility is merely an eligible technicality
A wink of eccentricity fragility debility futility impossibility risibility
Still under that mighty illusion of invincibility virility and viability
Invisibility’s equivalent to gentility favouring stability and incredulity
Eyes void of deceptibility infallibility predictability divisibility
Eddy is still irresistibly witty with intelligibility bordering geniality
The indelibility of his ability versus disability for agility and flexibility
Gives Eddy eligibility admissibility accessibility feasibility visibility and divisibility
Implicit credibility whimsicality spirituality frivolity and squeezability
Eddy believes there’s no margin for self-pity when you own a pretty itty bitty kitty
AP: 3rd place 2025
Submitted on March 25, 2018 to contest ALLITERATION POEM sponsored by SILENT ONE - RANKED 2ND
She smiles, and you believe.
She whispers, and you disarm.
Her affection is not affection,
but a weapon—
a stratagem dressed in silk.
Napoleon bent kingdoms to his will,
but could not bend Josephine.
Why?
Because he needed her more than she ever needed him.
The Emperor of Europe,
writing letters of desperate longing
while she gave herself to lesser men in Paris.
The conqueror of nations,
reduced to a supplicant,
a beggar at the altar of false love.
And you, men,
you repeat his error.
You kneel,
you beg for crumbs of attention
from women who do not need you,
who do not hunger for you,
but for the danger you cannot give.
A monster does not beg.
The monster does not kneel.
He is hungry, yes,
but not for her.
He hungers for conquest,
for power,
for the pursuit of destiny.
He devours the world,
not illusions spun from lies.
Understand this:
Love is the great deception,
the trick by which the species survives.
It seduces men into weakness,
into surrender.
And in this war,
the civilized man always loses.
For what does woman truly seek?
Not kindness, not predictability, not reason—
but danger,
the edge of chaos,
the taste of unpredictability.
Yet you, civilized men,
you offer her safety,
routine,
obedience—
and then lament when she betrays you.
You call it love.
I call it war.
And in war, only the ruthless endure.
Absent Motility Against Staid Inertia
impossible to describe listlessness
bedeviling this body electric aye attest
motivation to counter glumness
seizes motility temporarily
to stave off staid purposeless at best,
yet aware poetic obfuscation chest
barely delineates fierce hopelessness
assailing me,
when'r awake and/or at everest
feeding melancholy feedback loop
sparring against faintest
momentum - writhing psyche,
asper an unwelcome guest
emotional friction
bringing motionlessness,
where lunging futility
summoning ability
to muster joie de vivre
defeated willpower
no matter mental health
propped up
with pharmacological medications
prescribed by Doctor George Adams be hest,
yet tis NOT suicide, but general malaise
as if poison (or stung by a scorpion) jest
permeates thy being
sparking existential angst
hoop fully communicating figurative soffits
facilitating emotional bulwark lest
ye coon sitter
this lix spittled chap messed
up in the head, but also that empty nest
syndrome - a bird den, and nefarious pest
disallowing merrily rowing my boat
subjected to turbulence that doth wrinkle
space/time continuum quest
punctuating any attempt
to take fig yurt heave Newtonian rest
without being assailed
of drab quotidian predictability
re: envious papa
towards daughters adventurous lives
he rejoices (albeit vicariously)
respective lives where offspring lasso lassitude,
viz both their electric kool aid acid test
how fate didst in vest
waning wily woebegone zest!
At this very moment lost in life, predictability
Mind is a mess chaos reigns, steadfastness
Fighting with myself shut out, convertibility
Not through lack of confidence, faithlessness.
Honesty best policy was perfect, vulnerability
Perceived to be bureaucratic, crookedness
Looking into blind darkness is not, gullibility
Rather an inclination to, open-mindedness.
Fatalistic properties impress on, observability
Eternal bliss unlikely basis, straightforwardness
My own admission incurred veto, ineligibility
Life’s knowledge diminishes to backwardness.
Into the abyss keeps tumbling, infallibility
Round and round remorselessness
I’m tired now must keep sleeping, insatiability
In the morning truth is coming, unpreparedness.
Executioner asks any last words, foreseeability
And then comes the answer, breathlessness.
Juxtaposition Poetry Contest
Sponsored by the silent one
20/11/2020
There's not a soul who wants to confront that All we are is REAL.
Our bodies interact within the level of the molecular, Our emotional aspect within the level of chemistry while our minds interaction is electrical, Tho our awareness of spirituality is by choice, only bound by the limits of the physical properties we've learned, we impose by ability of logic, onto that that we can only describe tho while being a mere aspect of this realm, and truly we can see outside these boundaries or properties we impose since inclined to also project onto the unknown, is just for the sake of our desperate need for control and predictability, we will choose instead to postpone until death... As tho denial is what protecting our separate sense of self that would otherwise be obliterated within the truth -Like an eclipse of the entire essence of all that we know we are. So here is where we stay, all of us today.