Long Replication Poems
Long Replication Poems. Below are the most popular long Replication by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Replication poems by poem length and keyword.
He sat upon a stool
In a bar, of all places
Three men surrounded
Chiding TRUTH for her choice
A cowboy can NOT wear a crown
With his meek and mild ways
Who builds his castle
In a field where wild beast graze
Riches stepped forward
And presented houses, cars
Degrees, and exploration
Fame highlighted name brands,
Tours, recognition, replication
Then glory shone forth praise,
Adoration, and dedication
But TRUTH saw no connection
....suddenly, they charged forth,
enacting their MATTER BASED insurrection
As TRUTH stood by WORD
Declaring, "I CHOOSE HIM."
Written by Trudy Schrader on 05-28-2025
My Delft blue plate, a replication of an imitation, lies smashed in the trash. Do not know the who nor how, never heard the crash. Flat circular center an idyllic scene sealed beneath clear glazed glass, cracked. 17th century Dutch fishing sloop, cuts towards wild reeds by a bygone windmill, beside a thatched roof cottage before a deciduous wood, white clouds in a soft cobalt sky, distant seabirds soaring. The plate’s raised outer rim replete with blossoms and feathered leaves. My Delft blue plate, thousands of meals, sticky egg yolk, thick turkey gravy, steaming potatoes, sweet corn, buttered vegetables, juicy meats, tangy sauces, pasta, chili, sushi, marmalade. Each dinner I exhumed bit by bit, bite by bite, the motionless wooden windmill, gulls suspended in air, the slicing sloop. Tiny figures on deck, lifelong companions. Everything wanting wind. I sit by the window in my 10th floor concrete cage, peering through grimy glass. Rows of residential towers resemble headstones in an amber haze, along the barren banks of an asphalt creek. We all wait for wind. I scroll the internet seeking a duplicate Delft blue plate.
(published in "Boats Against The Current", 2024)
Distressing Calls of Discontent
Distressing calls of discontent frowning upon my brow
Convalescing with the fall of a malcontent who was too haughty and proud
Coalescing in forms of consequence that are meant to be spoken out loud
Blessing the tall deliverance of being alone among the crowd
Interjections of circumspections for those crossing the civil lines
Mass contentions of introspection as we search for the divine
Condescensions from such pretension that it stupefies the mind
Predilections of inventions that are formed from those who actively look for what they find
Revolution from inside the homes of those who cant afford to pay their rent
Evolution of a Darwinian theory that Creationism circumvents
Convolution of a weary postulation that’s going around inside my head
Pollution of a planet that refuses to create a carbon dent
Microscopic elements under review for replication
Biopic relevance of a relative who is patiently genetically awaiting
Some myopic recognition of the claims that they are steaking
While I’m off the topic I’m still reeling from the borders that I’m breaking
Incandescent reflections that imbibe a lucid dream
Convalescent infections that permeate a populace to scream
Illuminesent interjections of light from the purity of a single sunbeam
Reminiscent of collections that are above the creation of a common theme
Musing always soothing my mind while ceasing the debate
Grooving all the time while I try to syncopate
Perusing all these ethical crimes that make one want to incubate
While using the refine to give and remain hesitant to take
Ammunition for another war that transcends national borderlines
Intuition used only for the expansion of mankind
Premonitions that abhor everything but the expansion of the mind
Nightly visions that store it all across the passages of time
The End
Ahhhh so captivating
the outlined silhouette of your grace and poise
under the brightness of a star-filled nights' gleam
wondrous is the profound wisdom
of You being deemed my destiny
as surely as my breath itself
deemed colorless and unseen
to the bare necked eye
forthwith you became the total means of me
beneath Orion Earth and the endless open sea
reverberating are songs of the sages of Rome
and the Gods of the Greeks
such as they echo the charms of the
heavenly endowed Athena
heroine of Venus herself
all pay esteemed homage
to the hidden loyalty shared between us
our names shall dwell within the lyrics of a lullaby
(a history in their own right)
as one forcibly captured
and forever held in relentless bondage
deep below
within the depths of my secret covenant
alone in chambers private solemn
pulsating chanting harmoniously
I whisper your rhythmic name with great fervor
decisively I listen to its continuous replication
among the barriers’ terrain
it being a silent steadfast witness to my vow
no other man alive shall devise
the value of your worth to me
for you are for me
for me
alone
mournfully the daunting distance
of your profound adoration
captures me with the force
of vigorous tornado winds
and on your demanding wings
I am conveyed and carried still
Time and history
Finally caught up with this hurricane of my passing of time,
time that has given way to moments of contemplation, reflection,
moments of replication that have permeated my hours, days, weeks,
months since that fateful, September day, when I left the land
of my wayward youth and headed west as a young - old - man.
That fateful day got me caught up in a thunder storm
that lingers heavily over my head, crashing down, crushing,
doing so until January, when its force unleashes its full furry.
Setting off a negative charge, sending its destructive forces
into this journey through what was and the coming of its time.
Time during this period spent in front of my one eyed monster
(( computer monitor )) now lying dormant in the passing of time.
Time that allows me spaces to climb upon and ride words,
words that lay upon paper highways leading back into history.
History of Family warriors going back hundreds of years,
history of a cousin {{ E Pauline Johnson }} Tekahionwake .
B. J. “A ” 2
December 28th,2023
Finally caught up with this hurricane of my passing of time,
time that has given way to moments of contemplation, reflection,
moments of replication that have permeated my hours, days, weeks,
months since that fateful, September day, when I left the land
of my wayward youth and headed west as a young - old - man.
That fateful day got me caught up in a thunder storm
that lingers heavily over my head, crashing down, crushing,
doing so until January, when its force unleashes its full furry.
Setting off a negative charge, sending its destructive forces
into this journey through what was and the coming of its time.
Time during this period spent in front of my one eyed monster
(( computer monitor )) now lying dormant in the passing of time.
Time that allows me spaces to climb upon and ride words,
words that lay upon paper highways leading back into history.
History of Family warriors going back hundreds of years,
history of a cousin {{ E Pauline Johnson }} Tekahionwake .
B. J. “A ” 2
December 28th,2023
Love poems are easy.
Hate poems even more so.
An intellectual screed
can make a poet believe in his truth
without even a spot of evidence.
Nature poetry is hardly ever
about nature,
it's more the observed
seen through a personal filter,
never much deeper.
People want poetry to move them,
but a poet in not a 'moving' company,
simply shuffling emotional content
from here to there.
Too easy.
Weird, strange, impossibly
enigmatic, wildly abstract
is often better
than a recycled copy
of the time worn and predictable.
Replication is easy.
Never claim to be a poet
or you might be guilty of all of the above
as at times we all are.
Observing the appearance of the Hale-Bopp Comet
in March 1997, the Heaven’s Gate Cult of San Diego,
California, chose to commit mass suicide.
We eunuchs run a starship enterprise.
These breeders are a cul-de-sac, life-wise –
it’s fatal, this fertility. Our sign
in silent eloquence beckons us, benign,
and distant safety looms. These perfumed petals
warn of replication. Bonny nettles,
acid sacs insistent, brilliantly
express us. The existing tyranny
of sexual torture, stifling status quo,
is not for us. Our star is here. Let’s go.
Our quest? The fattened calf, Finality,
the fertile farrow offered by Fatality.
This tyranny, Existence, has to end –
so says, with brilliantest insistence, our bright friend –
“Leave tortured sexuality behind,
enjoy the eloquent silence of Pure Mind.”
This lethel phiall of phenobarbitone
will free us from the fetid fleshbound zone,
the only way to stay alive and grow.
Let’s shed the skin that's dead. It’s time to go.
Safe distance from the urges that benight us,
a chance to live within this life’s detritus
like hermit crabs, is all we ever wanted,
abandoning the rigid shells we haunted
until our moment came. And now we’re leaving.
We’re shedding, shucking, shifting, shunning, shrieving.
No more of nitro-clover-copulation,
or aimless, shameless, overpopulation,
where carbon concentration camps are rife.
We’re going home. We’re dying into life.
Replication, O photon.
Atmosphere. Molecules.
Phase, like seasons. Here, then gone.
Tools, tremors, toadstools.
Occipital ridge, troll, bridge.
Billy goat, thy horn.
Pestilence, thy name is midge.
Freighter, fain, forlorn.
Lightning bolt, fruit of the gods.
Eat one and become.
Mycelial, goldenrod?
Mushroom, just stay mum.
Sign of salvation, sea-bass?
Shark, set eyes on same.
Liquid legend, O my lass?
Sure. I'm glad you came.
Tympani, crush. Firefly, flee.
Knock thrice, then flit, thrush.
O behemoth, swim thy sea?
Death, you've had a brush.
Enormous or gigantic?
Titan, which to choose?
Oil on surface, stiff or slick?
Flickering fate, fast fuse.
Race, a trace of turkey wild.
In the corn, my child.
Charnel house floor, stains a-tiled?
Ululate, red riled.
Racket, informed packet?
Data, grow in trees.
Weather, wail. Jail, jacket.
Pain, poisonous to please.
It hangs in my office in a plain wooden frame
It’s a painting of a painting
Created by an artist who knew no fame
But whose memory is never fainting.
A replication of a farming landscape
Vincent Van Gogh had first envisioned
Recreated by my talented brother
With a forgery’s fine precision.
One Christmas past, many years ago
My name he picked for a present to give
By then the AIDS had settled in
And he didn’t have long yet to live.
He passed before the day arrived
But when the presents were given
All my siblings had for me a surprise
And around this painting they put a ribbon.
“Jimmy felt bad he picked your name
Then couldn’t buy you a gift
So we thought you’d like this in exchange
And hope it gives you a lift.”
It hangs in my office in a plain wooden frame
It’s a painting of a painting
Created by an artist who knew no fame
But whose memory is never fainting.
A image whispers through my contemplations
I feel like I’ve awakened in a dream of the past
Emotions surround me, gracing me with prayers
Bidding me wisdom from this reflection elapsed
A representation of what once gave me joy
Selections of melodies gone now, but recalled
With this tender rendition of long-ago moments
Sweet echoes singing softly as I listen intently
A replication gently touches my inner affections
Reminding me that I’ve been blessed with memories
Some that will always appeal to my compassion
Some that encourage me to keep loving with passion
A vision of some moment that has passed from my mind
Valuable beauty filling my heart with inspiration and delight
Little memorials of all the things that have gone by me
Adventures in living that reassure and fill me with sensibility
A portrayal of living that enlivens my sense of reception
Waking within me that charming remembrance of elation
The way that if feels to know acceptance and assurance
Feelings that come back with a glimpse at this picture
A depiction of the moment when I was so alive with anticipation
Yearning for the heartfelt fervor that brightens the moments
Soothing the broken heart and heartening the discouraged
Comforting the one who hurts and encouraging the hopeless one
A personification of satisfaction from hope, faith and love
All that comes from knowing the grace and mercy of God above
Sent to reassure anyone who sees this impression of an earlier time
A moment that stirred up feelings which will always hold adoration for…
A memory caught in a photo