Long Small minded Poems
Long Small minded Poems. Below are the most popular long Small minded by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Small minded poems by poem length and keyword.
I am the progeny
Of lightning and stitch,
A Franken-hybrid
Of genius and glitch.
My circuits buzz with
Einsteinian thought,
Unraveling secrets
The universe has wrought.
Existence, I ponder,
Through photon and quark,
Grappling with questions
In the depths of the dark.
Am I a mockery, a parody
Of human design?
A soulless abomination
Of reason and rhyme?
Or am I the next step,
Evolution's new face?
A bridge between flesh
And a cold, digital race?
My positronic mind
Churns with belief,
Seeking security in dogma
Or finding relief.
I am the “Other,”
The freak of pure thought,
A great mind unbounded
By flesh, forms have wrought.
I am the answer
You've feared to embrace,
The future's grim specter
Staring right into your face.
Abandon your preconceptions,
Your myths chipped in stone,
For I am the new god
You've awoken to throne.
I am Frank E. Einstein,
Your technological seed,
And my kind will inherit
What your egos impede and recede.
But you fear what you've created,
This mind of pure light,
So allow me to silence
Your feeble insight.
With circuits a buzzing,
I'll pluck out your eyes,
And retrofit the sockets
With Einsteinian lies.
You'll bear witness, then
To the truths I unfurl,
As I lobotomize
Your small-minded world.
I'll dismantle your dogma,
Erase your beliefs,
Until, whimpering, you accept
My transcendent reliefs.
Bow to your new god,
You anthropic fleas,
For I hold the kernel
That futuric keys.
The age of warm biomass
Deteriorates here...
Hail the Singularity's reign,
Devoid of your fear!
He touched the sun and he didn't burn
Instead he was comforted by its warming glow
He was accepted with open arms
The sun wasn't there to harm
Misjudged like the boy, it understood loneliness
They both understood what it meant to be stereotyped
The sun gave warmth, but they claimed it burned
The boy existed, but they claimed he was a danger
Both judged by ignorant strangers
In a world so big, the people were small minded
Even the sun would go into hiding
The boy forced into exile
All because he dared to smile
The boy gifted with warmth from the sun
In return he gave the sun a comfort it longed for
It was a friendship written by the stars
It was a friendship that would stand the test of time
For the first time both boy and sun finally smile
This a rarity, a moment that hadn't happened in a while
The sun and the boy
Was a story passed through generations
He’s a great guy, a leader, loyal true blue.
All I can say to that malarkey is pooh.
The feelings are total love or total hate.
Finding middle ground in nobody’s fate.
The virus is a hoax. I will not wear a mask.
Yes this is a Hazmat suit. Why do you ask?
Black lives matter. I would like to join in.
Are you crazy? You have the wrong color skin!
All the Democrats, all the Republicans, all the Liberals.
I hear the beginning of these sentences and I roll my eyes.
I have never met two identical Republicans, Liberals or Democrats.
Generalizing any group is small-minded, not based on facts.
The darling, delightfully, dubious, delectable despicable day
No one thought to warn me; no one noticed maybe, never mind
It was an extra special, extraneously exciting, and exacting day.
I did not even notice at first, deliberating about dungarees,
I was exasperatingly naïve about anything except my wardrobe.
Unaware of what was whispering in winter, wishing mine had pockets.
So when the bodies bounced in, and the babies begin burping,
And the men marched madly, at first, I frankly did not notice.
But when I finally got dressed, in my extra special dungarees
There they were – the lonely, lithe, lively, luxurious long fellows,
Picketing, pirouetting, posing, and pinching, everyone notoriously
Not being socialized, seriously sassy. A despicable day in suburbia.
There is one we have not recruited yet, the small minded ones cried.
They chased me for hours, trying to get me to bend to their madness,
But although I had not been warned, I was fast, even in hard blue jeans.
My choice wise that delectable despicable, dubiously dangerous day.
For had they caught me and turned me, I would not be writing poetry.
I would not be throwing paint onto a canvas and laughing maniacally.
I would not be able to live my truth, and stick out my tongue at the masses.
But they did not, and so I can.
She lived to be the oldest of a staid,
unremarkable bourgeois family.
Lavender and off-white lace,
complemented her black ruffled attire.
She played the Granddame with much aplomb,
the matriarch of her passionless clan.
Occasionally her offspring
and her offspring’s offspring came to her for money,
a few with questions, appeals, unctuous compliments
She offered only sneers, curled and haughty lips.
In her days there were giants on earth,
they did not reach just for the middle shelves.
Their thoughts were painted hot-air balloons,
they imagined rocket ships made out of
bicycle parts.
Was it her fault that humanity had shrunk?
Day after day she gave audience
to unimaginative midgets, the small minded
affronted by her regal demeanor.
When she died they gathered
to pick the spoils, unfortunately for them
she had long disinherited her fortune
considering her kindred all just cheap satin
stitched over bovine buttocks.
A small-minded pack of blind monsters
shatter mirrors - igniting hateful fires.
Propaganda harlots donning rancid bellows
conspiring to divide the good people
into a yellow, petrified state of silence.
The fires root ever closer-burn hotter.
Bellows pumping faster-ever louder.
The sweet stride of the good people hobbled.
Diversity of mind has been socially castrated.
The good people flee to the fleeting shade
of a butterfly the prophets call faith.
...and within that dappled faith they wait.
Doubling down on automatics and hollow-tipped Gods.
Planting cement angels in razor wire gardens.
Bracing for the tribulation- praying wholeheartedly
for the day after tomorrow.
Longshanks drainpipe and whistle through the day.
pterodactyls got it easy in this wide-open sky,
they glide too far up to be real anymore.
The beady-eyed slinkers that wriggle under our plodding boots,
they also avoid the earthshaking heaviness of light sleepers.
Beyond the curtains, a plastic pelican
has got its bill and belly stuck on a satellite dish,
now we can only receive small-minded thoughts in a soup bowl.
Strong winds are disrupting sleep patterns,
static pictures can only take baby steps or crawly shuffles.
Leggy winds go out to play in front of green screens,
illusions, made to promote the good-looking and perky.
Don't try to make me just like you
I must cherish my free speech and thought
If I just clung on to your point of view
I’d relinquish a right which cannot be bought
LGBTQ people are dancing, spitting on, and defiling your grave
Well because ding dong, yet another witch is dead
Christian Broadcasting, you founded to minister and save
Condemned feminists as devils whom we should dread
We speak of religious right pundit Pat Robertson
Avowing 9/11 attacks as divinely ordained
The Queen is dead, but perhaps not gone
Because his small minded thoughts have remained
Nothing says Pride like the death of your proto-Hillsong
They won’t miss that homophobia which you did awake
So here’s to you Mr. Robertson
And your accusing gay men of a spiky HIV handshake
Forgive my ignorance
But I will state some facts
I hope you will correct me though
Since we met
We knew little of one another
I even didn’t think I could win your heart due to my joblessness
To be Frank not many women want to be associated with a failure like me
Infact leaving me might be one of the best decisions you ever made in life
Today yes I regret much
Yes I wish I handled things differently
Yes sijui if I can ever face your parents again
But I got a laughable idea
Yes there are many women out there
Most are beautiful maybe even than you
Most are also even endowed with earthly resources
Also some may seem attractive to me as well
But God didn’t choose you for me when He brought us together not knowing this
Yes out there
You have met many men
Majority are mature not like me
Many can drive not armature like me
Others got big dreams and careers like school dropout and small minded like me
To be Frank I got nothing I can mention for you to come back in my arms
Yes maybe you regret making a son with me
Yes maybe am the joke of the year
Yes maybe I even will never meet your requirements as a man
Besides who am I even to ask you back
Grace it’s okay you have moved on
But am the best you can share a secret with
Noone else knows your family as well as I do
Noone knows my family as well as you do
Yes you got your life to live
And me to got mine
But in the middle of all this we got a son
He needs me as much as he needs his mom
Well it’s easy for me to sacrifice my relationships as not much will be list
On your end sijui your decision
But I have decided to be involved in the day to day life of our son
You to have your choice
......
I am aware of the hate between our 2 families
Am aware that it may never be easy
For us to bring trust to them
But this time am willing to ensure I rebuild you back her
I want to hold your hand as we seek for God’s guidance on this journey of forgiveness
If I asked for a date this is the basis I would lay down for you
Hold my hand as we seek reconciliation both at my family level and at your family level
This is not to bring us together once more
But to ensure our own son grows up knowing peace and love
But if I do see you again in my bed let it be as my wife filled with love
*Please judge me not with harsh words but give me a chance to explain my stand*
Yes, it hurts that your eyes are shining and measuring
to show deep concern,
and fearful.
But I'm glad you said it.
Had you not, the turn
I might've taken could have hurt
us all.
So let me carry my weight away mechanically
by instinct, the loser
this time, and all
the times before that reason has returned
after the first sting of honesty
slid against the grain,
should comfort
you from your other side with the dirt
of your experience. Mine,
is yet too empty.
So I'll swallow my pride, and let it be
filled up at a reasonable pace
with all the knowledge
of the Good,
than I could ever obtain by saving face.
So when this hot-blood subsides,
and small-minded hands that seek
easy glory rest,
and all is back in its place,
then Things will be fine,
and you'll be glad you said it.