Long Prototype Poems
Long Prototype Poems. Below are the most popular long Prototype by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prototype poems by poem length and keyword.
Systemic Strain Part II
Proof that survival is an art outline,
And you paint it daily with any scraps
They embark you.
They monitor your struggles without seen
In the prototype of the broken appliances
Behind it.
The group blame the person
Instead of the patterns.
They call it "Personal "
Responsibility ".
When it's genuinely Systemic Sabatoge.
But you-
You trudge with a spine that recalls everytime
You bent and still didn't quit.
You speak with a voice that carries the
Parroting of every barrier lifted.
And you say it plain, loud enough for the
Block to hear:
This tautness ain't mine
This fault ain't mine
This fight was allotted to me by a system
That never cultivated how to hold its own
Bulk.
I'm not the Crack.
I'm the pressure point.
I'm the vocal cords that named the real culprit
And to carry it's shame declines.
You created a prototype version of me
Like my Developer, you wrote my eyes so I could see
You wrote my voice so I'd have a voice to speak
You developed a side of my program that was absolutely unique
You were the reason for my laughter on my saddest days
You wrote my clarity for my haziest of ways
You wrote my vision & my ability for a collective conscience
You were my rock, my inspiration, & my constant
The consistent side in an inconsistent existence
My Developer, my mentor, & teacher from a distance
The wheel in which spins 'round & 'round
You were my balance, my polarity, & my ground
You were the calming rationality in an ADHD-defected mind
You were the one and only masterpiece design
You were the one that made my program align
The mysterious hacker from my youth
Converted my Hollywood Star Cinema from a mundane mute
You're my routine in a wickedly chaotic life
You're my strength, my bravery, & my might
Even way back then you held my key on a USB
Of a locked up program I didn't know was inside of me
Your Developer's eyes saw things I couldn't see
You're the serious rationalization of the politically-correct, no bull, ethical side of me
And you're reinforcing my confidence & promoting my independence
Developing the upgraded prototype of me...
Love is a candle burning at both ends.
We’re staring at colors not yet meant to be framed.
A prototype mixture of vermilion and cerulean,
raised to the power of negative sixteen in transmittance.
Deliverance delayed, waiting in the DLC.
Within the range of projected infamy,
unnamed protocols remain unrendered, once derailed,
absorbed by parameters etched into
the Everlasting Struggle.
The unyielding, plain color of pain.
RED. RED. RED. RED.
I wish I’d never seen you from so far away.
Doppler blue. Roentgen to Gray.
But I was only ten milliseconds astray.
How did phase become so overpowering?
Amaranth-fuchsia is said to delay even faith.
Love, in its highest sincerity,
is a candle that
burns efficiently
at both ends.
There sat in opulent xanadu, the
demagogue of empirical hedonism,
his granary once fuelled regal reign of epicureanism:
gregarious, restive, much-awaited successor of imperial dominion,
neurotic, obstinate, was the cynosure of cynicism.
The eldest child of Duke and Dutchess of York, erstwhile Prince of Wales,
the proclaimed young heir, stood far from the course of sceptical euphemism;
The heir apparent had a historical encounter with Wallis Warfield Simpson by fatalism,
by wooing Wallis, the royal blood encountered, clangorous cynical criticism.
The resultant mayhem broke, the blue- blood became the bottleneck of idealism;
sagacious, was brooding strategies to be the prototype of unprecedented heroism.
The proclaimed marriage faced vehement oppositions:
encompassing : religious, political, legal and moral objections.
The outright denial to accept Wallis as the king's consort, broke the anticipated rebellion,
Edward's refusal to give her up, led to his final abdication.
When was quite apparent, he could not marry his beloved Simpson,
finally settled to rebuke the throne from etched imperialism as emancipation.
The man of the hour was then entitled "the Duke of Windsor", a transformation stunned the world and wrote an unprecedented statement in chronicle after abdication.
Edward VIII, once epitome of monarchism, became an ideal icon of asceticism.
A sybarite, turned commoner by deserting the successive chair of the british kingdom to wed his ladylove;
a tale of unprecedented impeccable loyalism.
The abdicator's epitaph on Royal Burial Ground, Frogmore,
is still bearing in indelible transcription,
the testimony of an uncustomary love saga of renunciation.
An epoch making transformation, decades have ever witnessed from iconic monarchism to transcendental loyalism:
through unprecedented renouncement
of the bequeathed throne
to array chronicle's unrivalled iconoclasm.
All Rights Reserved © SILPIKA KALITA
Honeysuckle breathes in the shallow wind,
Life's lapel, with a side of ground scouting gopher.
Great rusted machines peak the interest
of the flower children who blossom
in their fields of hope and family.
Goliath Oxen and Thunderbirds
that burdened in oils and toils of heaven and earth,
lay there like ships fused with shoreline,
brought down by an angry sea.
"The follies of Men",
thought the Owl,
as it lubricated itself and shuddered a cowl,
admiring it's prototype as it flew by
in a curtsy dip and brotherly slant.
Sister chant.
She gave a little dance and reperched her stance.
Wondered about the Ai Owl
in Jason and the Argonauts
of magic and her sister, romance.
"Well, things are back to normal,
repopulation, the dinner bell,
down to earth things."
The eyes of the Earth are beautiful,
periscoping from the comfy nooks
to survey the land,
enjoy a little morning television.
The bones are solid and suitable
for the labors of love.
"These wrinkles are the folded fabric of time,
the bark, no different,
as it loosens it's cling,
old age has it enjoying last caress
on my earthen womb,
before Mother takes it home,
to be born again.
My seas and Mountain Dens,
caverns and open spans,
ready to deliver all over again."
Nowhere on land to be me- Being the prototype of mankind is hard. Maybe I'll return to the sea. Liken to the chicken nesting in the yard, laying eggs, is her job, some eggs she lay are brown, some she lays are white. Yet, the same on the inside
Because like me she's the prototype, I did my job, created you all Red n Yellow Black and White, Same on the inside are you all...
I was created in the image of him who has made all the world, Yet, man is the only ones - Whom over color wants to fight!... News flash, you all came from one seed. if I cut you open its red blood that you'll bleed - Your liver, heart, and Kidneys all look the same, just as a Chicks a chicken, a baby will become a man.
Some earthlings are not as good, and some are not as smart... but each inside of all of them is a beating heart. Some men are small - Some humans tall, some are plump while others; Have not much meat at all.
If God had wanted carbon copies he would have made you all the same- He did not make you different to cuss, kill, and maim, he only made you different so that each could represent his fame: Each a different piece of his artwork to glorify his name.
The ultimate Painter, the fishers of men, the big creator... the maker of man, the infinite mind, the all-seeing eye. The great I Am, the creator of all men. Liken to the chicken nesting in the yard, laying eggs, I am the prototype, some she lay is brown some are white. Yet, the same on the inside.
Unless you've been rejected a conscious spirit or soul, and you hurt my children. My creations are you still, but there are consequences for your actions. What do you think I made assortments for? So, with turned up noses the only claim to your fame is "you are white"...
So, if you decide you only want girls, or you only want boys, you only want red, because you don't like yellow, remember you don't get to have a choice in what's been decided. So, stop killing out of ignorance, or because of skin... ridiculous when you know damn well ... we are all the same within.
Again, like the chicken nesting in the yard, laying eggs is her job, some eggs she lay are brown, some eggs she lay are white. Yet, all the eggs she lay are all the same on the inside. So simple, nothing to figure out, stop killing for color, that's not what life's about.
I only tell of sunny hours ...
Although dark shadows cast their gloom.
My prototype in ancient times
Stood guard outside a Pharaoh's tomb.
*
From Egypt's Valley of the Kings
To dreaming spires of Oxford town,
My heritage of solar time
From east to west has earned renown.
I only tell of pleasant times
Although dark moments leave their trace,
But I prefer to spread the light
And show the world a sunny face.
13.02.19
Sundial Wisdom Poetry Contest : sponsored by Julia Ward
*note: A sundial dating to the 13th century B.C. and considered one of the oldest Egyptian sundials, was discovered in Egypt's Valley of the Kings, the burial place of rulers from Egypt's New Kingdom period (around 1550 B.C. to 1070 B.C.).
* various sundials dot the university town of Oxford, the most famous of which can be found in Corpus Christi College.
The prototype -vs- The polished versions
Imaginary wool that doesn't match, separated
from the flock.
Just reflect what they are.
They speak in implications and secret codes,
Do they resent you for making everything
crystal clear?
The Black Sheep learned the truth has no
inside. Black Sheep is your honesty called
"Aggression" their silence is called "Peace"?
Being called "Difficult" for naming what
everyone pretends to agree to ignore.
They refuse to acknowledge the prayer, the
Black Sheep were born first but cursed last.
The uncut Gem too sharp for the polished
settings where the rest of the clan lives.
The mirror hung backwards, it showed the
truth, so they face it toward the wall.
"The Black Sheep "does not" apologize for
its wool.
6/29/22
Wars suck
Often unfair instead of more just
Through problems can't always take a shortcut
If it serves no benefit, it's not worth much
For what?
I don't need to ride any tour bus
I was down to less than four bucks
Everyday I'm torn and stuck
Eventually the door shuts
That's it, should've always trusted your gut
Another night I smoke and pour up
Getting closer toward a rush
Yet this pattern I'm getting bored of
I just wanted more love
Before I turn to mortal dust
An occasional tick bite
Rarely has it all been nice
It's life
Looking at it with insight
At midnight
Got to get s*** right
Otherwise I'm on thin ice
Does no good to sit tight
Staying in the dark instead of where it transmits light
I don't need to drone and whine
My soul alive
Got to hold the line
Original not a prototype
I had to roll the dice
Then broke the ice
In order to be bonafide
I need no disguise
Why does there always got to be shots fired?
Endless gossip or mouths shut and jaws wired
From the same shenanigans mom's tire
Close and far from fences made of wrought iron
My soul always on fire
It's been a long day, I'm dog tired
Building your own spaceship
is a very complex project in order to explore our universe;
a degree in engineering is needed...
other than patience and willingness and lots of flight tests.
Many skilled engineers must assist you to help you succeed,
a payload for study with space travellers and astronauts;
and it needs the proper speed to go beyond the athmosphere...
to manuever it in outerspace without any mechanical problems.
Building your own spaceship takes months or even years,
it depends on shape and size to travel with the speed of light:
a prototype is required to figure out the traveling distance...
there can be no flaws in its performance, it must be perfect.
Once all tests are completed, it can be launched into space;
hoping it will return to Earth timely for a safe landing,
and how happy you'll be having designed a successful spaceship...
go back in time and observe Leonardo Da Vinci inventing!
Entered in Matt Caliri's contest How to build a spaceship
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci