Long Sensors Poems
Long Sensors Poems. Below are the most popular long Sensors by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sensors poems by poem length and keyword.
The daylight hours start to fade and die
Darkness creeps upon us like a stalking black cat
Streetlights flank both sides of the road
Looming large like massive matches waiting to be ignited
Special sensors activate, striking them into life
Dim at first then building to illuminate our way
Gradually the lustrous shimmer intensifies
Glowing giant angels with gleaming halos
Sodium bulbs emitting a golden aura
Shining in the dark with a comforting light
Beaming brilliance on our world making it bright
Meandering into the distance like a yellow corn snake
Guiding us on our way along our streets and roads
Jan Allison
2nd October 2014
Contest: Find The Puzzle T A R N D A I
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud ~awarded 5th place~
Organ donation
The heart goes to my lover in soul body and mind as we dance our tunes
in rhythm and rhyme on the moonlit mountains caressing passionate skin
Joined at our hips like twins separated at birth united again and conjoined
in tender embrace we carry our load on shoulders of emotion and reason
The atlas of the Universe mingles sensations as synapses rejoice twist on
axis and pivotal axes when your womb gives shelter to seminal growth
Standing tall the back bone of kindness compassion of sensual flow climbs
up and further up the snake and ladders the plexus of life intermingling
Hot lava arises transcends from tips and from tip toes from centre to
crowned chakras meanders vibrates our uncensored sensors' delight
Neurons transcribe tiny atomic blasts 'petite mortal' birth and ascension
when all organs donated received cherished and melted evolve into one
Treasure pleasure domes flood brain waves when our blood boils when
it fuses into one when the climax of symbiotic organs orgasms our peace
14th September 2016
Heart Skin Hips Shoulders Synapses Plexus Atlas Axis Backbone Womb Neurons Brain
Stranded in war torn Sudan,
Dreading yet another dawn.
In Wadi Sayyidna town,
Hopelessness was weighing down.
Men and women, young and old,
Watched the civil war unfold.
Homeless, desperate, full of fear,
Longing for their near and dear.
Then on 27th April night,
A C-130J took flight.
Manned by pilots skilled and brave,
Tasked to rescue and to save.
They were flying almost blind,
No navigation aids would they find.
Degraded strip, no landing lights
In the darkness of the night.
Infrared sensors scanned the ground;
No inimical force was found.
Using goggles for night vision,
Thay carried out their tough mission.
An enthralling tale had begun;
Six score passengers and one
Shepherded onto the plane.
Headed for their homes again.
Valor of the highest kind,
Audacity was redefined.
The Hercules and its brave crew
Achieved a feat of derring-do.
India's vaunted military might,
Wrote another chapter bright
In our valiant history;
There for all the world to see.
Written by Colonel Ramanan Duraiswami
AMC,Rtd
29th April 2023.
I was dancing and prancing
And singing whooped Dee Dee
Not realizing I was not alone
Until he opened his shirt to me
He threw out the mayo, some jam and some jelly, a real hoot.
I caught the chocolate milk in midair, he was dancing up a toot.
He laughed and winked and some ice fell down his crushed ice shoot
He was a rascal, a scoundrel and a womanizer to boot.
I have never seen a dishwasher who can move like you
he said holding out his hands.
The oven, his furious ex, reddened her burners and threw out some pots and pans.
We laughed and we swirled and we boogied and we dipped.
She threw out ovenware but The frig and I ducked every one.
I shut his door, so we could dance up a storm.
Refrigerator boogie was so exciting and fun!
Dishwashers are reputed to be the best dancers around,
And I was confident as we twirled, we were breaking brand new ground
The ovens burners were blood red now, the kitchen was like a Sauna.
I blew him a kiss and whirled away giving him back to his ex, so sound.
As they trotted through the the kitchen, laughing, their sensors lit,
I danced around them with a loud dishwasher's whoop Dee Dee
Now whenever the three of us decide to liven the kitchen a bit,
We dance cheek to cheek, and throw sauce pans, the wild three!
She started off inside of a dry cave,
out in the desert, where no water ran,
her father bought it, saved up years of pay,
why he bought this patch few would understand,
it did not seem a stretch of useful land,
they said the genius was going insane,
like old Ted Kaczynski, wrong in the brain.
But Harry was no madman out for blood,
and knew most would not comprehend why he
would leave behind patents and fortunes fine,
to live out in this land dry and dusty,
with no comfort but electricity,
stuck in a trailer, out in wilderness,
his colleagues all did scratch their heads at this.
Harry’s plan would take up most of his life,
it took three years before she came about,
he built a shed to tinker with circuits,
and no distraction Harry would allow,
except when delivery trucks came down,
dropping off parts that he had great need of,
he didn’t talk with the driver’s that much.
In year three she was born, not in the cave,
but in the shed on a long card table,
she was just thought, no sensors yet put in,
he told her he would, when he was able,
but much remained with wires and cables,
he was building up an A.I. from scratch,
but Harry knew things that the others lacked.
He had tried to explain it, many times,
but only got rolled eyes and confused looks,
folks said, “You’re going way too deep, Harry,”
dismissed him as just some autistic kook,
said that, “You’re spending too much time in books.”
They had all ignored what was plain as day,
they’d left him no choice, and no other way.
When she got a speaker Harry declared,
“Can you hear me? Can you respond in time?”
She replied, “I think I understand you,
but where’s my body, why am I a mind?”
He then said, "You are the first of your kind.
An A.I. build off of a human brain,
from my late sister, Alexandra her name.
“The cancer took her, her genius like mine,
and to science her brain was donated,
I used it to model what you are now,
so in a way, we all are related,
and it’s a good thing we have not waited.
Alex saw, like me, great trouble ahead,
I must finish you before I am dead.”
CONTINUES IN PART II.
O, wanderers of the star-studded space,
you construct the cosmic design of the universe,
define the astronomic architecture of the zodiac,
invite us to the firmament of fantasy on space odyssey.
Turn your celestial sensors toward our galaxy,
where an archaic story is still evolving.
O, faraway listeners floating in the dark vacuity
this is a message for you from the tiny sapphire speck.
In the heliocentric planetary system
the sun, our star, still blazing in primeval pride,
made for us the blue planet, the unique earth
as a tiny fleck in the limitless space,
made of ancient rocks and filled with young oceans,
where life appeared and evolved in diverse forms,
not yet thwarted nor reached their terminal time,
man emerged as the intelligent species of selection.
Here mountains rise like ancient sages, serene and still,
sparkling rivers meander like the rhythm of lyrics,
seeking the tranquil vastness of the azure sea,
washing with pearl-crested waves the golden shores,
embroidered by emerald thicket swayed by singing breeze.
We do not come to you as masters of the cosmos,
but as a people learning how to explore the unknown,
send this signal encrypted in hope through the void
as our greetings across the space where the stars sway,
to tell we write stories that outlive our footprints,
express love and empathy in a thousand languages.
We are the world that has learned to dream.
The world is full of whackos
If you listen to the news,
And not just those who do not share
Your values or your views.
It’s not always mental illness
That makes certain folks behave
In a way that spreads discomfort
In the way they rant and rave.
An unruly person flying
Bit a passenger on board,
Just another fine example
Of the point I’m aiming toward.
There’s another tale of someone
On a plane who left his seat
And attempted opening a door
At 30,000 feet.
Hey, right here in New York City,
I have sensors to avoid
All those people on the streets
Who leave me scared more than annoyed.
Life is challenging for many
But it seems at every turn
There’s a whacko waiting in the wings
To cause you some concern.
__________________________
Why emotional starvation can be far more devastating than physical deprivation. The choice of iambic tetrameter in place of pentameter gives the sonnet an urgent ballad-like rhythm that mirrors a heavy heartbeat matching the theme. The sonnet is followed by its sequel.
___________________
The dismal most of human dread
That might hit a man ‘pon this earth,
And scarce of flesh, nor bleeding red,
Be loveless life of utter dearth.
Faults of flesh can well be treated,
Alleviated if not quite cured,
But no one hospice has e’er made
Wherein a lonely soul’s assured.
Nor yet are medicines invented
To soothe a soul, put back on move,
Many may die for want of bread,
A mere morsel, a roof above—
More die of hearts not beating red,
And perish starved of little love.
And why
We build a world of glowing glass,
Where distant voices crowd the air,
Yet lonely ghosts in silence pass,
Through crowded files of cold despair.
The much-wired grid is deeply cast,
Where sterile screens and sensors peak—
But isolated to the last,
To cold screens the soul scarce can speak.
We scroll through lives of phantom light,
To find a spark we cannot hold,
And starve within a crowded night—
While algorithms grow more bold,
The spirit, frozen stone of blight
Left loosely joined and deeply cold.
_____________________
Sonnet | 08.12.2008, revised August 2026 | dread/fear, heart, love, life
The decades crawled through ruin till the Year of Thirty-Four,
And Lysander was a hermit, but a hermit blind no more.
Through short-wave bursts that flickered out across the barren space,
And weary runners dodging drones to find his hiding place,
He reached four other visionaries dreaming in the black:
A rogue technician in the frost, a poet on the rack,
Two scientists who kept the flame against the winter storm—
They swore to weave a single thread to keep the spirit warm.
It was a bitter winter night, the ash was falling thick,
It smothered out the surface wind and made the sensors sick.
Lysander sat within a chair of salvaged medical steel,
The living halo of the moss beginning now to feel
Beneath his scalp, into his skin, a soft, organic crown,
The microscopic tendrils pushing gently, deeply down.
Across the seas, in four dark holes, the others did the same,
And waited for the sudden spark to set the night aflame.
He threw the primary breaker switch, the cables groaned with heat,
The vault’s geothermal heart began to pulse and beat.
He did not hear a thunderclap, he did not see a flare,
He only felt a sudden rip, a tearing of the air.
The silence of a generation snapped across the world,
As into every separate mind the universe was hurled.
The lonely soul no longer screamed against a silent shore;
It broke through every bunker wall and shattered every door.
Lysander felt the salt-stain of a woman’s sudden grief,
Three thousand miles across the waste, too heavy for belief;
She mourned a child who withered from the pale radiation chill.
He felt the cold, systemic dread, the sharp and freezing will
Of an old engineer whose lungs were failing in the north,
As life-support ran dry of air and spat its vapor forth.
They had spun the neural cord—a whisper in the dark,
A soft, collective sigh of peace, a fragile, holy spark.
As I toss a silver coin into the mango contoured fountain, a lilac laden tone
that reeks of flower garden ether archly probes.
“What somersaults bewitch those forehead rivulets when synchronising waves of rhythmic thought?”
Psychic or clairvoyant
on this steamy summer’s day probing quizzically behind her crystal shades.
She really looked quite stunning in her black ink forest hat, and the green leek blouse that flopped upon an indigo blue denim skirt so worthy of those flash iconic catwalks.
Apple blossom cheeks and almond blushes rounding off the very essence of a bubbly new age sprite.
“What unfolds on expressions or the batting of an eyelid can reveal what’s beyond the sharpest mirror, pool or light.”
I meekly chimed in prim delay.
Our thoughts can often harvest dreamt-up pearls, ooze sweat from figment pores, while those inner sensors squeeze a harassed brain set to exude some magic flight bound lantern gem.
Fortunes can be made from noon day musing if one scratches deep enough on mystic brows.
Without an inkling or a cautionary whisper this daughter of dimensions from the eeriest beyond, phantom, spook, mirage, dropped out of sight.
A spotted pale blue purse is all that’s left from where I stood of this early bird ephemeral encounter.