Long Self sustaining Poems
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A span of questions fogs the mind of man.
Some famous thinkers wonder; is there God?
Was man formed by chance or by divine plan?
If not by God, the Bible is a fraud.
Yes, Big Bang Theory through men’s minds does scan.
They may look at the world, like Adam, awed.
But the soul inside of me screams out, shouts!
The heavens pout when science leaves God out.
The Genesis account tells all minimally.
Man’s creation took God seven days.
If God’s creation to you seems flaky,
Consider that account in diverse ways.
After God rested, Earth life was empty.
Book one of Genesis says seven days.
Confusion says, “Look, a contradiction!”
The faithful say, “Find the explanation.”
Day-one atomic parts were organized.
God’s energy… orderliness began.
In great wisdom light and dark were revised.
Thus, light waves, sound waves, no waves as per plan.
Day-two divisions, has man theorized?
The waters were divided; place began.
Oh great expanse where suns-stars would soon shine.
Small things, together, all workings divine –
Day-three was the day for the seeds and trees.
Every species received traits by God’s hand.
Combinations of genes since then proceeds,
Day-four set the stars in the skies as God planned.
Our Universe became at lightening speeds.
Big Bang explains it to the human strand.
The Genesis account once known minimally,
Curiosity sees maximally.
Day-five, the day for birds, beasts, and creatures,
The genes were created, but not yet formed.
Every being received unique features.
The Powers of Almighty through space stormed.
Day-six: man, woman, genetic rapture.
To God’s great wisdom, creation conformed.
By these thoughts, my faith was persuaded,
That scientific fact has the truth, aided.
Day Seven, the day of blessings and rest.
God looked upon his goodly creation.
It was self-sustaining, working its best.
All forces, features, and facts did function.
God had laid the foundation for man’s quest.
However there was still much to be done.
He rested, time passed; creations seasoned.
Is there a God? Yes, for I have reasoned.
Ó January 26, 2014
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: In the faraway! (Old/New)
Sponsored by Giorgio V. Motiff Philosophical
*Genesis Decoded: http://www.redbubble.com/people/daneann/writing/3355478-
genesis-decoded
Stereo Man (It Takes Two?)
Stereo Man (It Takes Two?)
I’m a stereo man, and I carry two phones,
have two homes in two states (each sports car that awaits).
I’ve been married two times but find sin better match
for my partner’s been with me (a sign?) twice as long
as ‘pre’ marriages’ span. Was that somehow God’s plan?
Well, I feel twice as happy as ever before!
I’m a stereo man, with two billfolds, therefore
I don’t need a male purse and have less cause to curse
if one’s stolen or lost. I wear slacks (not sarong)
for two pockets behind (both have buttons to latch).
Got two mitts (and two feet), left one wipes, right to greet,
both born hooked to ‘dem’ shoulders or hips with ‘dry bones.’ (1)
I’ve two TVs at home, big screen’s shared with my friends,
small by bed (just in case I’ve an itch for some space).
There’re two friends (2) I love dearly, whose comments ‘are’ terse,
yet risk more than “I like it,” or “that one’s so great!”
But for many, this ask seems an unpleasant task!
What I’ve bared’s black and white! What friends take is my call?
Can a friend be too close? Those who take what transcends
all past warmth that they’ve known (don’t risk too), get outshone?
Or is taking what’s given a gift? (Not perverse)?
Must all friendships be work, dear? Why can’t they be fate?
Is a pleasure sought twice more my joy or a vice?
May one woman’s true love be sufficient, not all!
Long Tooth
January 22nd in 2022
Poet’s Notes:
(1) “Now hear the Word of the Lord!” - From an old ***** Spiritual Song.
(2) James Heaton is a friend I grew up with in Woodward, OK (who became
a chief technical writer for Bell Helicopter).
Mohammed Khan (who hails from India) is a great friend and poet I met on
PoemHunter.com. Poemhunter.com is also a free poetry website where those
who love to write poetry can post their poems and meet others who share
their passion. Mohammed’s passion is to give talented new poets exposure
in published books. ‘Author’s United’ is a small publishing house that he
founded to do this. It has released five anthologies that included several of
my poems pro bono. His dream is that book sales will make it self-sustaining.
Raw emotions
Churns like oceans
In my mind's eye
And my heart's cry...
Is left unheard again
Where have you been?
I will not worry
I will not hurry
I'm just concerned and I want the best for you
My ego of I'm-better-than-you is thrown out the window and front door for you too
Constructive criticism is what I need
I don't want your destructive put-downs
Humiliated as it already is...this engaging greed, I don't feed on, for it's not a good flower, but a bad weed
Don't give me demoralizing comments that gives me unhappy frowns
I earned the right
To have standards of being a positive poet wholeheartedly
I fight the good fight
To have the aptitude and ability to move on to other substantial things fortunately
We went through a De Ja Vu with a touch of Desperation
Hey who are you to say that I'm an exasperation?
I live to be a true role model inspiration
I sacrifice myself for others' sensation
"Live in the now"
Is an Incredible saying...without saying I'm just saying
Somehow I don't know how
To respond to my endless, foolish praying
Nobody cares about me...or at least it feels like it from so far away
I'm so upset because I want the spotlight when everyone else steals it from me today
I will be stronger than they'll ever know
I will go where the wicked wind will blow
I want to refrain from complaining
No more name calling...self-sustaining
Arrogant comments are not needed anywhere
Refrain from driving me insane or in utter despair
Even if it's just a hair...
Yet, you still don't care
Strikes me odd really that you are acting Real Nasty
You're something else, unfeeling and sassy
I'm not ready
It's difficult being me
I'm so unsteady
Felt this uncertainty
Throw me your confetti
Celebrate my downfall with me
I'm an overcooked spaghetti
The trash will accept me possibly
If I ran far away from yesterday,
I would compete with tomorrow
I'm in this race together with you
I will regain the strength that shines anew
SAFELINK TracFone unanimously synonymous...
not only as my lifeline,
and connectivity insurance
with family, friends and strangers,
whereby yours truly
experiences virtual safety net
as would be true
for many purple people eaters,
when havoc unexpectedly strikes
triggering an emergency situation,
where life and death
as very uncomfortable truth
teeters in the balance
necessitate immediate intervention,
hence survival
of one mediocre bipedal hominid
within twenty first century,
not only requires
allocated government funding
for unlimited talk and text,
to brook intervention
allowing, enabling, and providing help
while I channel urgent plea
via telephonic wireless portal
or surfing the cyber sea
if in need of an
up to date telephone number
until that one day in the near future,
when logical integrated circuits,
albeit miniscule or near invisible bots
to the naked eye,
said telecommunication trappings
ideally, easily, and admirably
embedded within body electric
batteries not necessary
when capacity to energize lovely bones
emulates, jump/kickstarts,
and powers an uninterrupted
self sustaining feedback loop
courtesy subcutaneous
nearly microscopic solar cells
(similar in principle
to intrauterine devices)
generates ample electricity
with resistance from subjects
to communicate wirelessly,
which means every waking
and sleeping movement
grudgingly monitored,
thus surreptitious antics
possibly flagged for:
accusation of plagiarization,
barbarization of mine mien,
cannibalization of pet peeves,
demonization of politicization,
elation of short lived beneficence,
fictionalization of embedded chip insertion,
glorification qua state of art communication,
humanization of artificial intelligence,
idolization of electronic engineering,
jollification of electrons
kation of covalent bond.
adieu from,
matthew scott harris
Gideon in his high viz vest
Trying his best
To look like those
Who graft for work
Forgetting we have a long tradition
Of this in the North
He doesn’t pass for a man
Who could load a van with 2 by 4
So if he thinks he has fooled us
The answer is no
Gideon, just take your
High vis vest and go
Maggie’s little helper may do well to note
That the North has long since
Had a deep mistrust of you all
If you think we were fooled
By ‘Honest Dave’
The working man’s friend....think again
The pain still exists
From what the Tories did
Back in Maggie’s day
Destroying communities
Denying us a say
Removing our way of life
So Maggie could have her
Unchallenged way
The slow death of the North
Decades of us being poor
Underinvestment and being ignored
From whoever was behind
That Number 10 door
It breaks my heart
When I think of how it used to be
Complete with functioning families
Self-sustaining and working communities
But yet again we are stuck
With the new Tory Dream
Globalisation for all!!
Which destroys us further once more
My home town now looks like during the war
Displaced persons from all over the globe
With little work and nowhere to go
Left to cut our own throats
For low paid jobs
Which have no future at all
Bet you Tories thought
You’d dealt with us
In the North
Long since crippled
Without a voice
No longer a threat to you at all
But the EU Referendum
Gave Gideon and pals
Quite a shock
A kicking I hope
They never forget
Arrogantly thinking
Project Fear meant
The Tories would win again
Just as they want
But in light of the result
I would invite him to redefine
What his PR man said
That The Northern Powerhouse
Was just a good tag line
Anna Archichek
Wherever there is carcass, there the vultures will gather -
Jesus stated this; there is nothing in this to blather;
There are reasons when eagles fly around; pointing danger?
Indicating birds or animals or human stranger...?
Yet, why do they circle - is not just a single reason…
Explanations are many; there's no obvious treason;
Do they circle around to enjoy the wholesome weather?
Is it an exercise to strengthen their lovely feather…?
Do they fly so in cohesion to tell us a secret,
That cannot be spoken out except into the closet...?
That the garbage here on earth has mounted so high above,
Emptying these is, indeed, a matter of concern, thereof...?
Do they do so to gain in air their equilibrium?
Or do they do so to perfect their dactylic rhythm...?
Or thermal cause of their circling around in trooping groups?
Do they have, in their instinct, like kites, self-sustaining loops...?
Symbol of strength; guidance; innovation; inspiration;
Hope, courage and salvation; eagle has no fixed nation;
To me this has symbol of my death and resurrection,
From where I got this? To this day I've no recollection...!
Something very strange God has given to you, dear eagle!
Cyclone and earthquake easily you could make out so well;
Signs of times you know; you know scientific tempers too,
Is it this why you circle around without any woe...?
05 July 2022
Pick-A-Title, Vol 31 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Oh an ode to jenni mann
To write an ode, oh an ode to jenni mann
Would be good, and proper.
Fitting.
Fitting, not like the clothes your distant aunty gets you.
They never fit.
Ill-fitting
Unlike writing an ode, oh an ode to jenni mann.
Fitting.
When the plutonian shores of my heart wash asunder my sadness and heart-ache at your loss
I shall endeavour to beware the boars who gnash without remorse- they do make me cross
Their eyes filled with the darkness of the Forest of Dean
But who is the Dean? The Dean of a University? A cathedral perhaps?
Or is his name simply Dean Fitting?
Fitting.
We had weed cakes.
The amnesia induced seizure did not please ya
Nor did it ease ya into loving me
Perhaps if I had sherbet it'd be different.
Sherbet? or Sherbert? I'm not a gambling man
I shouldn't have left you in your seizure jenni, i shouldn't have left you
Fitting.
Now you're dead.
And there's no amount of sherbe(r)t in the world that can bring you back to my nest of sexual decadence
My quagmire of lust is brown and hollow - like an easter egg, only there is no joy here jenni.
There is no fun to be had without you, all I can now do is reminisce of sherbe(r)t, boars, seizures and ill-fitting clothes
I am stuck in a perpetual state of limbo, I failed to beware the burn, I am in an ever self-sustaining maelstrom of torment and sexual grief
F*ck
I am no longer,
Fitting.
The red harvest moon shines deeply with its eerie light
Somewhere in distant galaxies stars are burning bright
The equinox is here this night
The countenance of mystery enshrouds this site
The wind whispers gently among ancient oaks
The great mother of thought druid invokes
Standing in the middle of stone circle which in nirvana night cloaks
Gathering from all over the world are ancient folks
As around the area field flowers bloom
Underneath the Stonehenge with his ring druid opens an old tomb
But this is not place of death rather for great force womb
That slumbers in underground room
The mirror is placed on rooms’ wall supported by two poles
Through the mirror there is vortex of souls
The druid is exhilarated as those spirits he consoles
The last fundamental place to which vortex leads philosophy extols
The Stonehenge was build in millennia past
The time like shadow of it is cast
Who knows how long it will last
But its spirit will be alive beyond boundless time long after stones turn to dust
The very meaning of life is at the base of philosophy by druid disciplined
The endless self sustaining wave based on pure imagination his soul has ginned
That philosophy in last fundamental place has grown beyond time and times’ limits it will rescind
Mesmerizing beauty of beyond meaning of life in heavenly place is story whispering in the wind
Where has all the water gone?
What is not poisoned is now in poor supply…
They call it “fracking,” a way of trapping
gas or oil for fuel to meet demands of energy.
Our water on this earth is the gift of life,
creating and sustaining it for all living forms
upon this wondrous self-sustaining world.
But technology…that is the world that
no other species knows about…
except for man…our demand
for fuel...the oil or gas, extracted in
this process of this fracking…cracking…
the earth below releases chemicals
into our precious flow of water there.
And in the process, we use up this
precious fluid in capturing our prize…even
in areas already stretched thin by drought.
The gift of knowledge…sometimes
we wonder if, in the balance of knowledge
and nature, it is perhaps not a gift at all…
for, in the end, the needs that our gifted
wisdom demands will upset the balance
that the endless force of nature commands.
Where has all the water gone?
What is not poisoned is now in poor supply.
The gift of knowledge?
The doom of greed.
Where has all the water gone?
Sandra M. Haight
~5th Place~
Contest: Global Poetry: Fracking's Effect on the Water Table.
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Judged 12/1/2014
rhyme cause i want to
all about the thought
develop my delivery
summarize a plot
story telling chivalry
too many double shots
its my medium believe me
when i say id never stop
disguised in scenery
inspiration off top
i absorb to administer
interpretations caught
one with the universe
you'll be feeling what I got
i am art fall apart
freestyling as i rot
cracking open my melon
art like smellin crotch
mics will need killin
till im a petrified rock
fresher under pressure
mcs get coal in socks
not everybody gifted
knottin heads like dreadlocks
even ancients rip
trippin so rhythm was brought
self sustaining compain
brings cash like a crop
rhyming any language
so every word pops
im outa this atmosphere
yo, beam me up scott
writing how im feeling
albums to be dropped
blessings from lessons
living life has taught
shakepseare aint ****
competitions locked
everymother ****er raps
only one can be top
illest styles originally
the rest can eat a cock
innovate or mortality
every choice has a cost
poetry of the street
feed off the broth
mutli flavored labor
faulty haters wanna jock
jealous is another word
for liking how you talk
bring love to the crowd
followers will flock
you are what you eat
hope my words hit the spot
when all is said and done
we were all hip hop