Long Redesign Poems
Long Redesign Poems. Below are the most popular long Redesign by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Redesign poems by poem length and keyword.
The protoplanetary phase
of nebulae sidereal
occurs in astral later days
before the stage ethereal
when cloud impressions like Monets
create new star material.
At edge of inky Coalsack cloud,
nebula Caldwell Ninety-nine,
amidst the murk of dusty shroud,
PPN stellar redesign
with brilliance beauteous endowed
near verge of Coalsack’s borderline
was seen by Hubble shining bright
as thrust through atramentous dark
in cryptic interstellar sleight
of hand by cosmic Matriarch,
who lavishes great Nature’s light
of vital sun with living spark.
Our Mother Earth her watch shall keep
o’er woodlands wild and oceans deep
the river vales and mountains steep,
o’er stately swans and eagles’ sweep.
The laughing brooks on hillsides leap,
though loons lament while willows weep.
Still humankind seems sound asleep
to deeds they sow and what they’ll reap.
Yet mindless soils of mires and mucks
can sprout a forget-me-not plot,
as in the constellation Crux
that PPN midst sooty spot
is blossoming per starry flux
from out the caliginous clot.
This vision in our Milky Way,
might it portend scenario
of what in years, some millions, may
be future for the Coalsack’s woe
of present dark, when stardust stray
will coalesce and set aglow
with brightness all the ‘nuggets coal’
in ebon Coalsack, so they flare
from gravity’s attractive role
in grand combustions here and there,
as if were touched by flame the whole
until illumined everywhere?
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * *
Explanation: This image captures a small region on the edge of the inky Coalsack Nebula, or Caldwell 99. Caldwell 99 is a dark nebula — a dense cloud of interstellar dust that completely blocks out visible wavelengths of light from objects behind it. The object at the center of the image is a (much smaller) protoplanetary nebula. The protoplanetary nebula (PPN) phase is a late stage in the life of a star in which it has ejected a shell of hydrogen gas and is quickly heating up. This stage only lasts for a few thousand years before the protoplanetary nebula’s central star reaches roughly 30,000 Kelvin. At this point, the central star is producing enough energy to make its surrounding shell of gas glow, becoming what’s known as a planetary nebula.
There has been talk of having the famous black abolitionist Harriet Tubman replace Andrew Jackson on the 20 dollar bill. And I think though it does not completely address the problems our country has still with racial inequality, it would help in the process of racial healing to redesign this nations currency.
It might be useful to reference history when considering a new face for the $20 bill.
Jackson championed white male suffrage or in other words only the right for white men to vote, excluding the right of women, black americans, and American indigenous people, from participation in the Democracy of the time. Their voices were not allowed to be heard, they could not choose their elected officials, neither could they hold public office. They were second class citizens and were hence invisible and unimportant.
Many of the presidents that have become household names for us, believed in a Democracy for people who looked like they did. It was hypocrisy without any concealment.
Harriet Tubman was a true champion of Democracy if she is to be compared with the bushy browed Jackson. On a symbolic level she represents the definition of a Democratic government more than he does.
The accusations of political correctness toward the redesigning of US currency, can in some cases serve as a defense mechanism used mostly by white Americans, when they see their race as being rivalled by another's.
I do not think every president needs to be taken off of our money, just because they were not perfect men ; but there are some who might need to be reanalyzed due to all the whitewashing that's been done to them.
There needs to be better educational material and it needs to be taught better in schools.
It has been a slow process to have these changes made to our currency, and could take until 2030 before we even see a Harriet Tubman dollar as is desired by all those who know the meaning it carries for the future.
And whether Jackson is ordered to the back of the 20 or removed from it completely, does not make much of a difference in the way I see this man. Most of his qualities are unredeemable, and should be on the tablets of our memories as acts of inhumanity, inconsiderate of the personhood of
human beings.
I noticed just yesterday
while glowering about something else
now already
once again
forgotten...
I seem to have lost my good-sensed humor
along my stumbling
isolating internal say
Toward this red STOP! sign
searching for a different way
To find a new Earth center
for healing active hope,
To sing new scales of joyful
sad sharp focus
Performed more locally
and possibly reformed less reflectively
mesmerized by fame's monopolistic grope.
This new reselective time
Less silently reserved
Less anxiously depressed
Less repressively suppressed.
Each morning's dawn warning
to worship at new altars
Renewing robust octaves of communion
encompassing organic green nutrition
To redesign all creatures here below
more positive above
good-humored love
with timeless passions
hilariously sensed together
yet tragically shoved
apart.
If I were not so sweet sixteen
prepared to restart home's immigration scene
again for my first time,
what would I rechoose to do
becoming compassion's singing rally
with rainbow hearted allies?
If I were thirty-three,
my age of messianic crossfire
for all to red angry
horrifying see,
what would I choose to resurrect again?
And why would this revoiced
rechoiced healthier community
support potentiating integrity
with more robust good humor
this well-timed passed over
and back around
on sacred wellbeing
more interfaith
as multiculturally safe
and healthy ground?
If I were twice
my god's reflective age
revived,
what would we joyously choose
to re-member
as half-life good golden sense
for revolving salvation's climate humor?
For this tragic comedy
of tumorous migration
anxiously anticipating
integrity's full ZeroScores
restoring just right species
may not be mine
next time back around
multiculturing herstory
All together one predation
praying for exterior relations
more integral summations
than humorless,
silent rumorless
quiet aging absence
of eternal sad-paced
barely surviving mercy
At least sufficient for noticing,
just yesteryear
while glowering about something else
now already strange sadly *****
once again forgotten.
I was newly hired at her place of employment. My office was not yet prepared for occupancy, so I shared an office with my superior. It happened 30 years ago and although I was a much younger man, I find it hard to believe some of the things I did. I was a man of 39, never realizing how blind I was about matters of human relations. Thanks to a dear one named Harriet , I repented and turned from the error of my ways. No, she was not the super saintly type and did not ware a
Halo, nor did she rush to say hello. But yes, she was indeed a Christian lady.
One afternoon as I was busy arranging and organizing items on the desk I shared with our boss, Harriet, his secretary, entered the office and catching me in the very act, she said to me "what are you doing?" A quick response from me provoked a stern remark from her, " You have no right to redesign his desk and office". No further comment was necessary. I should have known better. A life lesson of privacy was quickly taught by a Christian lady I once knew. It was the first of two gifts I treasured from Harriet during my six year tenure.
The second gift she gave to me was a book entitled "My utmost for his highness" which is a devotional among the best in the world and highly valued by me. she autographed the Book with a note to me in her words- " To remember me by". I tell you, I needed nothing to aid with the remembrance of Harriet, for she was a jewel, a pearl of great price, a treasure hidden in a field, a breath of fresh air, a cup of water in the desert.
Some years later, I received word that she was fighting cancer in the hospital. When I visited her, she was sleeping and slowly dying. I sat with her in the room, just she and i, recalling her gift of words to me in our boss' office and The devotional she gave to me that I so deeply treasure.
I tell you, some people enter and exit our lives rather briefly, leaving a gold mine of precious memories.
092619PS
*HS
Fiery Lotus blossoms in my mind,
as I sleep the sleep of the blessed artist,
pinwheels of spinlets of gold of finest finery,
gold from the dresses of pouting princesses,
that spin and blossom in spires of artistic desire,
that make my third eye grow wet in perspire.
Gold leaflets of pages of musical notes,
sheafs of pages of pages of poetry,
they flow and turn their pages within my thoughts,
glory of music and poetry telling immortal stories,
that turn in sheafs of golden leaves,
that flow and flutter in the winds of mysterious time,
the pages of art turning for my mind to ponder and perhaps redesign.
Fluttering fauna of faerie tale words,
they whisper worlds of fantastc fare,
as my inner eye stares at the stars now rising,
constellations of imagination,
that swell in saguine supernovae of hope,
a hope for the world of the artist to flow forevermore.
I take the fiery lotus in my trembling hands,
sifting through the essence of those golden spinlets,
as the gold of those princesses dresses cast a spiders web,
that encases my third eyes desire to see all the world has to offer,
sanctifies it and offers it to the universe,
the dream of my artistic desire.
Those gold leafets of musical notes,
those sheafs of pages of poetry,
I write them into a diary of life,
a diary that rises as a new full moon in my consciousness,
as I desgin the desgin of reality with my imaginations daring,
my third eye standing still,
as it obsesses with my creation,
fixated in staring.
That saguine supernova,
its explosion of creation shaking my soul to the core,
this explosion of creation lets me see more,
more than I could have ever hoped to before,
and I see now that the universe has more to offer me,
than I ever thought that for my soul it held in store.
Let me sleep the sleep of the artist,
let me sleep in rhytmic engrams of mystery,
as those engrams imprint emblems of creations magic upon my soul,
and I shall extol its virtues,
I shall praise those virtues,
in every other night that come to pass in my lifes time,
that sweet sandman song of arts song most sublime.
I am the link to the god all mighty
The grand master of this world
Dollar marks and social security carts
I am the warrior of this waste
The revelator of the word made to taste
The most high, the conduit to creation
The grand motivator
I shake your money maker
The rejuvenator on high
Feel the coming of my fire
The revelator extraordinaire
I am all
I think
I am the word in flesh & desire
I'm here to destroy and redistribute, redesign
Hallelujah, I'm here to tell ya!
The revelation of the revelator
Extraordinaire!
So dig down deep and scrape that coinage
Off that chewing gum and chaw
And give, give the holy dollar in sacrilege
As I rise above the great fanged maw
I'm the holiest of holy all praise the
Orange God, meet the prince, el Presidente
the Anointed One, hallowed be thy name
its kingdom come
on his toilet of golden as it is done
his holy war will be fun...
I'm the revelation the way to his pockets and praise
I'm the evaluator
The motivator
The ecstasy of one
Hollow be thy name
His kingdom is undone
His crown is crashing down
Holy is thy name the grand revelator
NO! Not a sound...!
Your online's only motivator
I am the kink to the all mighty
The grand wizard of this world a' rage
I am the war layer of this waste
The revelator of his word
I do not make haste...
The most holies of high,
The conduit to destruction
The antithesis of one
The grand exploiter
I carry the golden gun
The rejuvenator on high,
The ejaculator between succulent thighs!
Feel the coming of my fire
The revelator extraordinaire
I am all I think I am the word in flesh n fire
I'm here to destroy, redistribute, n redesign
Hallelujah, I'm here to tell ya!
Dig deep and give, give, forgive
The price to heaven, the keys to the pearly gates...OH YESSS....
Between these revelators weather clad highs
I'm the revelation
The elevator
The revival of most high
The master of nigh
Revelations n ruination…
REVELATOR
Surprise!
I starve myself.
When saying it out loud it sounds surreal,
But it’s the only way I can feel.
I am not worthy of food.
It is not worth the weight.
Fore I see myself by what I have ate.
Starving is like slowing dying.
Numb, and invisible to what others can see.
Funny how food could be the death of me.
I don’t have the body to match.
And I fear I will always see myself as fat.
You can tell just by looking at me I eat plenty.
My solution being to not eat, to be empty.
The air that fills my lungs now fills my stomach.
But my head fills with words of others,
“You’re too big.” “You should lose some weight.”
These are the words that keeps me up late.
People don’t know how much one sentence can affect me.
Why couldn’t of they just let me be.
Maybe then I would be able to be just a kid.
Maybe I wouldn’t see myself as big.
Sometimes I make myself throw up while sitting on the bathroom floor.
It makes my teeth rotten and my throat sore.
Nothing I do works though.
I am still as big as I was when I look behind at my shadow.
I see all these ‘skinny model girls’ on tv,
And oh god I wish that was me.
Why can’t I just be thinner.
And what makes it worse is the mirror,
Every-time I will lift my jumper and turn to the side,
All I see is how I’ve doubled in size.
I feel disgusted with how I see myself in the reflection.
If I could just redesign each section,
Every single aspect of myself I would inspect.
Every part of my body I would select and perfect.
What I wouldn’t do for a perfect body.
If I could trade my last shaky breath for the body I have dreamt of my whole life,
Maybe then I would love my body, only in the afterlife.
I starve myself,
Yes that’s true.
But it doesn’t have to be for you.
I know you’ve heard this 100 times,
But please eat, and no, not just sometimes.
Food is your fuel.
No body of yours should be treated this cruel.
So go eat a burger, some ice cream and a donut or two.
Food will not be the death of you.
To see ecstatic Earth
is to no longer see our home
as merely static,
framed,
quantified,
commodified
Yet,
To see all physical nature as dynamically changing,
ecstatically or more BusinessAsUsual,
is not necessarily to suddenly discover stones
are animistically organic
and ego-conscious.
To find a surrounding universe
or intimate home
ionically balancing,
ergodic repeat patterned,
fractally holonic,
octave tuned and turning,
need not require concluding all things are harmonically alive,
dynamically divine,
polypathic and polyphonic integrity,
climates of eco-ecstasy.
Time between living organic regeneration
and static fossil degeneration
may be a blink
or as slow and steady as a failing tree
falling in Earth's reforesting nutritional landscape
without hungry humane eyes
for ego show and eco-telling
sacred liturgical dances
cooperative life
written in WinWin EarthTribe songs
sung with multiculturing dialects.
Whether change is predator
or prey,
subjectively overpowering
or self-empowering objective,
infective purposeful cause
or affectively meaningful effectiveness,
theologically omnipotent
or ecologically omnipresent,
depends on rational choices for ego-acquisition
and natural organism ways and means
for healthy cooperative requisitions.
When Earth's climate healthy optimization
feels like why economic predation
of angry quakes
and risky winds,
floods of despair
and flames of terror
Then organic universe
intensely invites our prey-erful ecstatic instincts
and our messianic natural spirited belonging
to restoring peace
like happy bird song,
Celebrating resonance of bulbous wombs,
redundant spring flowers,
root systems growing cautious climate re-animism,
curious cooperative nutrition landscapes
of mutual redesign,
courageous WinWin faith
for lost preyed upon regenerations
Sacred integrity's
Climate health revolution.
UnEarthly ecstasy,
Sacred revolutions.
In a world of democracies, in a world where the great projects that have set humanity on fire are the projects of the emancipation of individuals from entrenched social division and hierarchy; in such a world individuals must never be puppets or prisoners of the societies or cultures into which they have been born.
Child slavery is a crime against humanity. Humanity itself is at stake here. A lot of work still remains, but I will see the end of child labor in my lifetime.
I think music in itself is healing. It's an explosive expression of humanity. It is something we are all touched by. No matter what culture we're from, everyone loves music.
There is no present.
We are living in the future.
Risk, risk, risk
We are all risk
Risking to go,
Risking to die,
Risking to learn.
Risking to fly.
We have made it.
We are ancient as we speak.
We are living in the future.
So some give their lives to history.
We are history.
So some give their lives to us.
Humanity has been challenged.
They have challenged humanity.
We have risen out of the ashes
That are not ashes.
We have picked ourselves up
Out of the oceans
Over and over again
We learn that we’re not safe
So we redesign.
We learn that we are wrong,
So we scrap and start a new.
We try again.
They call back to us,
"Please, try again!
Over my departed dreams,
Try, try again!"
We the undernourished,
We the underfunded,
We the constrained,
We the brave,
The daring,
The curious,
The planet,
The humans.
Life.
We are nothing if not inspired.
We will find a way
To our stars.
From whence the atoms in our souls
Were fashioned.
We are Challenger.
I am a Challenger.
A Challenger Challenges only?
To deny people their human rights is to challenge their very humanity.
By Aliza Kashmala Kiran
expectations blurred the page
of motherhood. I thought it through,
each point of view. My plans were laid
a shade of pink, a hue so new
would come upon the heels of two
who sketched my world with shades of blue
I'd framed her world for my display
a trophy of my fantasy
chiseled clear, I saw it all,
beyond the stage of snakes and snails
growing boys, trucks and toys
tossed across my pregnant form
doing mindless daily chores, I crafted dreams
rehearsed the themes, disarming tales of nursery rhymes
I'd plan her life to suit my theme
but, who was I to redesign
a perfect child, I thought I owned?
sowing selfish schemes, she'd be
cloned to be a form of me - I'd live my dream
through her, all mine, to hone, redo
a mother's fragile paper doll
I did lose sight of destiny
compared, alike, - we shared a trace
resemblance of hair and face
presumptions swept between the lines
she was not meant to be defined
this child of God withheld her dreams
of ways to make the stars align
this aquamarine was never mine
what stirred her heart - vast worlds apart
she felt the sun within her soul
and thus, I've learned
I must let go
she must be free, not who I own
I've closed a chapter to that book
one looks in awe, as she became
a person who can touch the soul
beyond my dreams, she brings to all
a million lights, they've never seen before
emerging stars are bright with gold
hers comes alive. old dreams are cold
no two alike, as it should be
each one a star with different poles
I've owned the fear of letting go
____________________________________________________
4/20/16
Contest: OWN IT!
Sponsor: Cyndi McMillan