Long Sector Poems
Long Sector Poems. Below are the most popular long Sector by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sector poems by poem length and keyword.
Nigeria my beloved home is under siege:
A death trap I see in her third mainland bridge.
The crying blood of the slain in the North-east
overwhelms vicious politicians with guilt.
Humans with hearts of beasts ravage her North-west,
outgunning her corrupt weakened armed forces.
Catacombs of mass graves quantify losses
incurred from incessant farmers-herders clash.
Darkness looms as stupendous amounts of cash
are cast in an energy sector like trash.
Her healing centres are no more than health morgues,
and her institutions breed intellectual dogs.
Her oligarchs of the six zones unify
to plunder, rape and line their pockets with filth.
With peanuts they entice poverty stricken
youths, just to have their sit-tight bids guaranteed them.
Indulgences from the gullible gratify
custodians of faith endowed with seducing lips.
My beloved Nigeria has failed to hearken
to the values of the elders before them.
With priorities misplaced, we go seeking
for stereotyped reputations in our trips
to foreign climes for filthy lucre to acquire.
Good Lord! When will values my mother-land require?
There are pearly white flowers
that delicately sway
mimicking tiny dancing butterflies
within the lacy shrubs sector
breeze blown away
blooms of heaven-sent nectar
an attraction, an invitation
A meadow brown butterfly swarms to
its empowering rich white petals
resting, buckled, uncoiled tongue, sucking
scaled wings clasped, it settles
stupefied by scents, it feeds
bewildered by sugary sucrose
ideal prey for a spider’s capture
in its ampullate silk orb web
sticky droplets woven to ensnare
Asclepias incarnata, magnets for pollinators
Ice-ballet swamp milkweeds
amongst igneous rocks banding from foliation
rocks formed from cooled magma
gravy tones, an obsidian correlation
where white flowers string
In a momentums gain,
a brown butterfly takes wing
Life has many ups and downs
Personally more ups than downs
A happy life with many more years
A bunch more smiles than frowns
Surely one of the fortunate ones
The genes were a very huge factor
Nine girls and me at a baseball team
Each game we had our own sector
Yup nine girls and then li'l ole me
The talk of our little old berg
The Ellison's have finally had a boy
Biggest news our town had heard
Dancing in the streets all night long
A celebrity at a tender young age
So spoiled with all those girls around
To fawn over this sweet wee babe
Turned out to be a stunning specimen
Can still bring it at eighty-nine!
It's getting to be a lot tougher though
But that's it I'm feeling just fine!
Poetry soup in troupe of poets on participation.
Originating opulent ideas on ornamentation
Exploring enjoying essence of emotions exchanging feelings.
Tempting touching tickling thoughts.
Rolling , rambling resonating in rhythm.,
yielding yearnings through poems in gems.
Sheen shiny sweet ideas and composition,
offering satisfaction and solace on ovation.
An emotional bond uniting poets under unique umbrella.
Passion pierced to secrete nectar forming pearly poetry.
In the year Two Thousand Fifteen all on a sudden
I chanced to visit poetry-soup garden.
Mathematics is my study stream
Literature is my fantasy dream.
Both fields have brought admiration.
enjoying creation cum recreation and interaction.
That was the first time to explore English poetry
leaving aside fiction, features, Science and Mathematics
In the last sector of my life- zone I invented
this new field to cultivate.
Poetry soup has bestowed me access
to assess.like minded persona
I really value and always appreciate
novel idea and theme of any contest,
also eager to follow every comment.
My exciting entertainment ripples in Poetry Soup
I am ever grateful to sip Poetry Soup
Being a member of this group, I feel honoured
and respect each poet.
Lysander sat within the spire, no longer just a man,
But the central trunk and pillar where the neural rivers ran.
The agonizing crucible that made the species scream
Had bent his twisted posture lower in the central beam.
His crooked spine, an iron knot of old subterranean years,
Was heavy with the gravity of a planet's weeping fears.
But as the first fierce torment passed, and silence grew to grace,
A strange, organic alchemy began to alter space.
The malice of Vaeloria was burning out its fuel,
And empathy, though forced at first, became a gentler tool.
Within his blood, the cellular weave began to stretch and bloom,
No longer needing density to fight the bunker’s gloom.
The gravity of hunger eased; the scarcity was dead,
And light became the currency that kept the matrix fed.
He felt his marrow lengthening, a soft, calcific thaw,
That defied the ancient boundaries of old genetic law.
The heavy bone of Sector Three, built thick for digging stone,
Began to thin like hollow reeds the wind had gently blown.
His fingers grew like pale glass rods, his knuckles smoothed away,
As if the heavy clay of old was spun to silver spray.
He did not walk; he leaned into the mosses' golden net,
A creature caught between the things he was and would be yet.
In the realm of commerce and trade,
Lies an ever-shifting economic grade,
Fluctuations in numbers and charts,
Dictate the rise and fall of our hearts.
From the lows of recession and bust,
To the highs of prosperity and trust,
The economy is a game of chance,
Where the stakes are high and the rules enhance.
The value of goods and services we make,
Is the bedrock on which the economy takes,
With factors like supply and demand,
A delicate balance, hard to withstand.
Globalization and trade, the driving force,
Affects every sector, a sweeping course,
From agriculture to technology,
The economy drives our lives, undoubtedly.
Jobs and wages, a critical measure,
The economy’s pulse, a constant treasure,
A strong and stable economy,
Is the backbone of a prosperous country.
But at times it can be hard to keep,
An economy that's both steady and deep,
With every challenge, there's a chance,
To rise and meet it, to advance.
So let us strive to make it right,
For an economy that's fair and bright,
Where opportunity abounds for all,
And our collective efforts never stall.
The dawn of Year Ninety broke, a clean and golden morn,
A planet completely remade, a species twice-born.
Lysander stood upon the ridge above the Sunken Spire,
A willow-form of silver wood and veins of quiet fire.
His height was twice the stature of the child of Sector Three,
His movements like a slender branch that shifts above the sea.
The absence of all malice, of hunger, and of dread,
Had unspooled the heavy fibers of his biological thread.
And with his quiet rise, the phantom lines of sovereign pride
Dissolved across the valleys where the older world had died.
The borders fell like fever from a long-tormented frame,
No steel was turned, no legions marched, no decree spoke their name.
The ancient ghosts of territory, of fortress, and of crest,
Like winter frost before the sun, sank deep into the breast.
The pain that once had armed the hand and built the concrete wall
Was opened to the anchor node, unmetered, shared by all.
A mother’s cry in Sector One, the drought of Sector Four,
No longer stopped at checkpoints or the barricaded door.
The collective mind, in empathy, received the bitter sting,
And wove the ache of centuries into a single string.
Where once the barbed dividers stood to guard the hollow grain,
Now surged a tide of healing hands to wash away the stain.
The map of old Vaeloria, where blood-bought nations bled,
Became a tapestry of care, by quiet mercy fed.
No citizen was left an island, stranded in their grief;
The shared scar of the species brought its ultimate relief.
His mind was still the anchor node, but light the burden grew,
A silver song of harmony that every citizen knew.
The human telescopes afar, from some dark, distant place,
Could see the spark of Vaeloria burning bright in space—
Not with the glare of nuclear war or empires built on stone,
But with the graceful willow-light a lonely mind had sown.
THE CONDITION WE LIVING IN:Part 2:
The condition we living in,
The country is full of danger and doom.
Things are badly getting hard.
Politicians and technocrats are always deepening the afflictions of the citizens.
Always on the television debating aimlessly on unreasonable subjects.
They keenly rant to impress…with the idea to mislead the minds of the poor natives.
And it seems all hope is totally lost.
They ask us to trust them with our thumbs for development,
But we find them nowhere after they’ve won the polls.
“A dreadful story of disappointment and agony”,
Religion and politics are wiping out loyalty and self-actualizations.
In fact, theocracy is diminishing the peace and comfort of the land,
Instead of empowering the populace to understand reality.
The condition we living in,
Education is held preciously as a mandatory factor to individual establishment,
But at the end of the tunnel, the supposed light to be seen is replaced by darkness.
Lack of employment and resources will then serve its victims with frustrations.
The available jobs ranging in every sector too is always on sale,
And it even lacks a vital assurance.
This is the phase where dreams are shattered,
I mean this is where good people are nurtured into bad ones.
The stage that inseparably feralizes the youth, propagate insubordinations and desperations.
Speculatively, this is where the concentration is aligned towards personal interests and gains.
People begin to trade their integrity with all manner of disgust (prostitution, cyber fraud, human trafficking, theft and what have you).
Life in Gold Coast,
Indeed, this is the condition we living in.
Split Personalities
Any personality supposed to split
into dual triple even multiple
Characteristics be complex or simple.
Then and then human nature becomes complete.
Obstinate dominant boss in the office
may not dare to confront a domestic strife
but surrender to attitude of his wife.
At home, stubborn boss accepts soft suffice.
I, though a dictator in every sector
behave biased timid indulging my child,
submissive, cannot be rigid, always mild,
in magnitude and direction as vector.
Contradictory natures run parallel
Cruel- kind, mild- wild, bad-good simultaneous
Quiet-restless or scary-valorous.
Personality splits, quiet natural.
05/21/16
MAY DAY PREMIER Contest by Brian Strand
Electric sunrise loads another day.
My camera eyes record each pixeled row
As databases store it all away
In servers between Shakespeare and Van Gogh.
I watch each sunset shutdown with new hope
That one day all this data might compute
And deeper algorithms may give scope
Defining what is beauty: absolute.
For now a million years I have compiled
The works that all the human race had made.
All extant works of art sorted and filed
Each sector analyzed in retrograde.
The beauty that they spoke of, I can't see
It's all dim ones and zeroes still to me.
10.15.18
For Contest: All Dim Ones And Zeroes
Sponsor :Brahn Bailey