Long Propulsion Poems
Long Propulsion Poems. Below are the most popular long Propulsion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Propulsion poems by poem length and keyword.
Future boats will prioritize sustainability, intelligence, and modularity, featuring electric/hybrid propulsion, advanced lightweight composites, and sleek, aerodynamic designs for maximum efficiency. Expect integrated, touch-screen, and AI-driven navigation, with autonomous features for docking and monitoring. Springs shall bring in asparagus, peas, radishes, spinach, artichokes, and fresh herbs like mint and basil. Fruits such as strawberries, blueberries, and apricots are also coming into season.
minced onions both yellow and green stems or chives
with minced garlic
was added to the egg batter. Lothario is the nme of the dish
shucked razor clams
deep fried in
a mixture of bacon grease, olive oil and lard.
pareseam, and cheddar cayenne and salt
a squeeze of lemon,1and a mound of lemon zest
makes a woman think twice about the evening.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The perception Watermens and Shuckers and processors as "cruddy" or corrupt often stems from the high-stakes, exploitative nature of the watermens (game) industry rather than innate immorality in the Clamapourie's themselves. The business is built on immense, often hidden, financial pressures where Clameuperuiers can be broken, broke, and controlled by corporate interests-----------Holding the Clammers Crown------------Shucker of the Year----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Clouds of the future, in the present day
Astronomical Lies of would-be Biblical, but Judeo-Masonic deception,
sleeping world enjoys its enslavement unconsciously,
as though by default
Majority rule is democracy?
But, the majority insists on immoral high ground
and is anyway
the majority manipulated
towards a certain tyranny
Terraforming our once beautiful planet
into a controlled
and abberated self criticism, elitism and love of
depopulation..
An envisioned pretense of
coincidental hell on Earth
Wake up sheeple wake up.
"Nice clear skies...Nothing to see here,
Move along, that's right move along"
Conspiracy Theory,
conspire against
pragmatic research,
hard fought-for, hard won
Government agencies
working in tandom with
and dictated to,
by age old secret societies
Owned and controlled
mass media oulets
and social platforms
enforce legitimacy,
perpetuate and smother
the propaganda and the lies
Censorship of speech eventually..
All freedom dies
Technocracy surfaces
as authoritarianism deconstructs
any and all opposition,
If you think you've heard
of this before,
sensed it even
you may be right,
you may sense or see
glimpses of truth still..
Does it matter that the weather modification projects
ramped up in earnest
from the late 1990's onwards
employing underground laboratories,
added Aluminum, Mercury,
Barium, Strontium and more
are bending, twisting and constructing
new chemical formulae,
for 'we the people'
to inhale?
Is this then,
an almost certain dystopian future
for their children too?
For and within patented
Jet propulsion, Big Oil
global system,
"Nice NORMAL skies, just a figment of the imagination - nothing to see here, move along, move along"
continued in Part 2 to follow..
If pigs could fly it wouldn’t be good
You’d have to go out with a brolly
Wear Wellington boots and waterproof suits
Life wouldn’t be happy or jolly
There’d be danger around every corner
You’d think in your car you’d be safe
But unless you’re under some cover
Either you or your car they will strafe
The Towns would be dirty and smelly
And slippery in the extreme
We’d have to employ a small army
In an effort to keep the streets clean
Now don’t you get all of a fluster
For the scientists haven’t yet found
The means of piggy propulsion
Or getting the beasts off the ground
If one day this nightmare should happen
It won’t come as any surprise
If they manage to get piggies airborne
Then the price of bacon will rise
© John W Fenn 17-01-2009
Form:
Coming around the bend to find the atmosphere so clear
Seeing that off in the distance fields of diamonds growing near
No one holds onto this string; It flies oblivious to all forms of fear
Kiting through heavens gate falling a million lightning tears
Time holds no grip on them and will never be able to in a millenia years
Clouds are unique in that way; that no one controls or steers
The human soul on fire allows propulsion deep into the nights' sky
But succumb they will not to the same oppressor as you or I;
If all yielded to which we wield within our time, we too shall fly
My poems are ghost-written.
I scarcely identify the visitants
Mingling with heedless shadows.
Poltergeists outfit my words.
Though we converse,
I hardly know them,
And seldom fathom
Their prophecies.
My poems hemorrhage
In convulsive madness
Like the speaker in tongues,
Unleashing foreboding fragments,
That I might discern some divination.
But my autonomous hands move on
Planchettes over enigmatic spirit boards
For which I act only as outlet.
My poems are ghost-written.
My stanzas are tent revivals arrayed
Down the page with ritual dance.
Faith healers shout and wail,
bending my lines
wending a trail of travail,
They conjure all specters to avail.
My poems are ghost-written.
My words breathe and writhe.
They live as cells squirming for life.
Yet, inflections within them always
Mutter from another,
A propulsion between impression and
Arousal.
Bouncing from piles of baby powder grains,
ballerina feet firm balance establishing
Addictive activity pulls challenger audacious
Amidst busy Aussie city, solo gull glide coast
Butterflies rise sucked cyclonic as lottery balls
flung zealously in cage of their time confine
Rustle, shuffle moves obscured by shifting parasols
Underfoot troughs of leaf strewn crayons crunch
All tail torso helicopter hover dragonfly drones
hyper typewriter praised as stained glass panes
Rolling straw pale star spike weeds lodge like spurs
Saddle a galloping goanna, zig zag slapstick speed
Wing span suspending wind buffet blows up lungs
- tyre dug furrows tie semi second sand shoes
Lips hardly part to pant, patted with chest sweat
Gym of God's choreography lifts in limber stealth
Jet propulsion medusa arm eight cylinders sucker
adhere to embankments, grapple with sea grapes
Befriending crevices, cracked turquoise tracks
Grippy point toe tentacles clamber over cavities
Southport beach
Isolated city beauty
Exercise 18th November
There is coming a time with days of peace, poise, and promise.
But for now, these are the days of conflict, violence, war, and strife.
I use to hear the elderly say, "When I was Young.....", but those days are gone.
To the aged whose time is moving at jet propulsion speed, these are the days not longed for. To the preteen child who wishes that the season of time would cease its snail-paced crawl, these are the days that should hitch their wagon to the stars and make haste into tomorrow. These are the days of yesterday's rainbows with never a hope of any pot of gold. Besides, it's high time to cease 'make believe' and face the music of reality. Yet these are the days we take back yesterday, recycle its genuine qualities, and connecting them with today, we build a better tomorrow for our posterity. These are not the days of "poor me, I seriously doubt that we can do that". These are the days of believers and not doubters; dreamers and not sleepers; and days not of dividers, but of uniters and teamers who say, "Yes we can!" These are the days to find hope even in the middle of poverty and terror. Were those good old days of which we often speak really good in their day? Maybe; maybe not. Let history be the judge of yesterday. These are the days that we must stand and fight for those days yet to be born.
05282018PoetrySoupContest, These are The Days, Daniel Turner
Covid 19 leaves restless kiddies with parents’ imagination at home
So why not create fantasy in the lounge for a resilient pleasure dome
Grannies’ chest of drawers comes alive as a goal with lace for a net
No offside rule here as she watches from above and hedges a bet
Please clear all those trinkets and porcelain figures from the top
Ronaldo needs safe play when beating isolation from the penalty spot
Magic carpets swirl kindly when Daddy turns on that powerful hoover
A broom for propulsion transforms into a practical boredom remover
Chandeliers are useful for swinging from when tedium starts to beckon
But they are intricate carousels and swirl pleasure round don’t you reckon
Hang on tight and beware of the hard floor made from antique floor tiles
If you land softly play hop scotch and twister to keep busy for a while
Monopoly puzzles and scrabble are more entertaining than news from TV
Planes crafted from newspaper are not only useful for that piddle or wee
The circus has come to town and first prize goes to Mom’s swivel chair
Stand two to a seat and close eyes for heightened senses if you so dare
Make you own Rubik cube from scrap and swirl the brain tease ad infinitum
Imagine you’re on a spell rollercoaster make new words like squanticotycon
Musical chairs come in handy to the sound of overt defiance over the virus
Compared to computer games ballet or dance on the piano are more desirous
With a tool kit and Mom’s motor bike craft crankshafts gears and bearing
The sky is the limit with spokes from wheels and hooter for emergency flaring
Suspension rods invite to navigate back paddle and circle from kitchen to loo
And please save paper rolls for teammates to wipe sweat from their brows too
22nd March 2020
Energy’s Suffocating Gallop
by Odin Roark
Ancient blood soaked sand
Plumes its sticky residue
Beneath rapacious hooves
Dust storms of evil stampeding beside pipelines
Goad flow to tankers
Where ubiquitous black gold addiction
Steers toward pervasive profit-docks
Behind sweat lathered greed
Winds of historic baggage
Tether their historic words and song
Blessings and curses
Exciting swirling vortexes
Windmills of molten fire
Entitlement’s rape and pillage of breath
Of pores once absorbing purity
Evil’s global bubble
Appearing as mankind'
Robed in white zealotry
The blinded hawk-minds
Embrace the Middle East predatory contaminant
Wallowing in solipsistic riches forgotten
Awake only to pick tomorrow’s gluttonous prey
The world turns on turbine propulsion
With oceans bowing to its slavery
Delivering liquid smokestack suffocation
Silent killers preparing ghosts
Of time’s new-century-plague
Ignored
As oil gorged tankers find port
Release their pandemic sleight of hand
A destruction as innocent as rabbits from a hat
Charms the ignorant
Beguiles the wannabes
Wheeled transport
Delivers the demise of children’s hearts
Left to take a number
Unaware there is no lottery
Only loser-consciousness
Adult indulgence clinging desperately
To evil’s mane and tail
As it whips gullible eyes
Into cataract submission
Alien life hovers above
Grieving the minions destined
To find black energy’s ashen dust
Sprinkling its fool’s gold
Upon a barren planet
Two drifting hearts
pining to be one,
hover on the convergent surge
of the winds of yearning.
Once fused, the primal passion
drives their propulsion,
taking them to the carnal heights
of cosmic longing,
consummated in celestial silence.
At the acme of surreal desire
of magnetic craving,
the private spaces of the two bodies
implode to disappear.
Their mingled souls
then turn into the singularity
suspended in deep outer space
where in astral ballet
they sway entwined.
The blended bodies
of sculpted silhouette,
framed against the diffused glow
of the crescent moon,
float to the edge of nebular clouds,
away from the intangible allure
of the blue planet,
that couldn’t thwart
the space odyssey of love.
January 25, 2020
Contest : Picture Prompt
Sponsor : Brenda Chiri