Long Species Poems
Long Species Poems. Below are the most popular long Species by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Species poems by poem length and keyword.
Germ of essence.
Human blob.
Shattered eggshell to the chicklet hatched.
Interlocking family of a kingdom.
Beget or begone? Antigone!
Pouch bearing mammal with no issue for her milk a plenty.
Enlightened species on
a zodiac sign.
Propagating genus wild and free yet stillborn.
Wet nurse in a pregnant phase but still a child at hearth or so it seems.
Meadow grazing Macropod fazes antipodean observer all the while.
New arrival signage whose laboured footprint chills on every impact.
Courier from catacombs, fateful torch aloft, flambeau at a glance where toddlers cheer, sonnet form heraldry ablaze with kindling verse.
Human destination thread that spins a hopeful tale.
Cave of legends halting site persevered by household zeal.
Stalagmite, stalactite, granite grey day gulag’s natal spasm.
Troglodyte who once did tramp upon a uterine tunnel trading in survival for relief.
Embryonic creeper stuck on dry wall canvas.
Border crossing cradle cordons off a check point, never mind the cost or inconvenience.
Acorn random toss, mighty oak seed trap between a leaf and fallen log.
Flower pollen stigma,
never seen as shameful to the fertile mind.
Tree of life penumbra casts a limelight shade.
Concepts pulse the mind like nascent parabolic kites that stymie outcome.
Genesis of brainwave.....
nurtured by insightful minds and marble carver tomes.
Olympic status offspring, budding Einstein player on the ball.
Thought, the inner urchin magnet probing deep inside magenta labyrinths.
Wheel of fortune‘s mumsy shadow
ova.
Masterful philosophy storing foetal logic on some growth cell’s wellspring fountain.
Infant augur embers fan their winter flame regardless.
Birthright , birthstone,
birth pang, the reproductive organs of infinity whose algebraic series has no final chapter scheduled.
Senescence concomitant
and best buds with malaise
despondency inescapable as
infirmity ages formerly young gals guys
though age just a "number"
father time not shy to apprise
every mortal wakes to the
inescapable truth that never dies
each living species mainly
one known as *****sapiens
allotted longevity not much
greater than highest
double digit which existence flies
at speed of greased lightning,
which passage of years
zip faster -- this strictly my
perception as one nears
cessation finally escaping
nasty, short and brutish
how to remain youthful lies
plugged by health
and fitness tricksters,
"FAKE" staunching
getting older decries
the science of biochemistry,
gerontology, kazoo whist tree, pathology...
though many consumers
spend bajillion dollars to disguise
and/or feebly stave off their demise,
oft times, yours truly (me)
doth not despise
the finality frontier, whereby body electric
ceases to function and this poet cries
against psychological torture of anxiety/
panic attacks linkedin to penuriousness
physiological symptoms
even with prescription medication
i.e. racing heart, chronically
sweaty palms, irritable bowels,
thus there ought not
be cause for surprise,
where salutary marital
bond bereft, when he dies...
finally free and clear
of Lake woebegone angst no lies
yet not courting danse macabre,
but occasionally sighs
pondering courtesy visit
qua grim reaper who allies
him/herself to every storied birth,
whose wish to live
long as Methuselah
an aspiration this
scrivener doth advise
against, no friends family,
nor lovely beau ties
remain, a near reality,
whereby alienation, I cannot excise
thus toy with suicidal ideation,
though ye might chastise
elusive joie de vivre impossible mission
to attain plus world growing
darker shadows along edge
of night with decreasing eye
cite, and gloomy prospect
Medicare maybe axed...
accursed fate eternal sleep
destiny or her her offspring
might hopefully exercise.
In his school years
he was good at naming things.
Trees, minerals, the anatomy of rabbits,
butterflies and all things
he saw or imagined he saw.
Later…much later,
He realized he knew nothing of anything
that walked the earth or grew upon it
or flew above it.
Later still, his internal organs
began to name him. Bushes and flowers
named him as he walked by.
Birds called out his various names,
his species and sub-species,
the Latin nomenclature,
the exactness of his being.
He heard all this naming
through an open window in his head
that could not stop reflecting thoughts
back to him.
As most seekers do
he sought the advice of a guru.
“Your mother did not love you
not just the way you wanted her to love you,
and so you had to name
all that she was not.
“What!’ he said,
is that your only answer!
“I could name a thousand more,”
the guru replied,
“but you have already named them,
and so they in turn named you.
Now you are caught,
pinned like a moth to a display board…
go now and un-name yourself!”
He thanked the guru,
hesitated,
then foolishly he asked the wise man -
for his name?
For a friend's partner who lost a family member. May he rest in peace. Even if you feel alone and the World moves on, there are people who keep you in their thoughts and prayers.
The World moves on
By Michelle Morris
31/03/2023
We held your funeral
Your death was in my face
No longer can I deny
That you're out of place
No longer with us
Into the realms of mystery
Where heavenly creatures
Hold you for eternity
The World moves on
The Universe keeps expanding
But here I stand
Forlorn and filled with sadness
Everyone else has a life
People who need them close
No more time for my misery
No more time to cope
No more time for feeling
Everything that I do
People survive and choose life
By mourning and pulling through
It's the way of humanhood
How our species survives
We have to have hope
In order to thrive
But there are people
Who'll be there in the shadows
Who'll keep you in their thoughts and prayers
And bless your soul with tomorrow
Even though the World moves on
And the Universe keeps expanding
You'll be able to cope one day
With love, compassion and understanding
© Michelle Morris, 2023
The cichlids patrol their 48”x18”x18” tank and
though this country has been officially metric since
April Fool’s day, 1975, I still measure fish and tanks
in inches, feet, ounces, pounds and gallons.
A mix of African cichlids, from lakes Victoria and
Tanganyika, but tanks are the only world they’ve known.
Cichlids are of interest to me because of their diversity,
they're the fish equivalent of Galapagos finches.
But I really keep them because their bright colours and
constant motion especially at feeding time provides
a brief respite from the humdrum.
Each species more or less keeps to themselves,
establishing ever shifting territories in the
nooks and crannies of the rock wall I built,
that runs through the middle of the tank.
There is a balance of density and species,
which I never quite manage to maintain and
as they mature, intra and interspecific aggression
becomes a factor and every so often, I’ll find
a beat-up loser floating at the top of the tank.
But other times they breed successfully and
if I separate the mouthbrooding female early
enough, I can raise another generation of fry.
It telepaths in from Zelenium 3,
Which orbits a binary star,
Having the advantage of being,
In telepathic terms, not so very far.
The host robot stirs
As it becomes a whole
Neuronic circuits active
As the visitor takes control.
Sensors adjusting
So the ambient light
Doesn't damage or overwhelm
Any visitor's range of sight.
Out into the open
Where the visitor meets
A totally the empty City
Of sterilely clean streets;
Sealed from the elements,
Showing not a trace
Of the builders of the city
That ancient alien race.
This empty world discovered,
Inhabited no more
Silent reminder of results
Of total biological war.
Restored by the federation
This planet there to display
An assumption of the life
As it was lived in its heyday.
The robot trundles on
The only thing it meets
Others of its kind carrying
Visitors around the streets.
There to learn a lesson
Obvious and succinct
A brilliant but warring species
Whose file is marked extinct.
The visitor learns the lesson
As the robot moves slowly on
Until, the lesson being finished,
It telepaths off and is gone.
Beyond the sealed city
A world of growth and green.
The plants have returned
In a wild and natural scene
There is a scurrying and hurrying
On that jungle's floor
And maybe, just maybe
Echoes of a Tiger's throaty roar
Humanity must hustle mach schnell -
At warp speed to stave off
further global catastrophe
courtesy portentous tragedy
loosed within Australia
think Pandora's box
harbinger spelling dystopia
across webbed wide world
avast holocaust cremating
irrevocable and irreversible
innocent species, now urgency
of humankind to reckon
eyes crisis endangering all
flora and fauna including
bipedal hominid *****sapiens,
whose burgeoning population
demands global bailiwick
the responsible province
of most cutthroat species
berserk beast running rampant
and roughshod furiously
indiscriminately slashing
and burning swaths of fragile
ecosystems ramping up climate
change i.e. global warming,
whose critical tipping point
of no return brink will witness
quantum leaps, whereby
ecological apocalypse promises
inhospitable planet Earth,
whereby simian stewards
severely shirked responsibilities
exploiting, polluting
trumpeting no holds barred policy
to plunder, pillage and rape
once bountiful zoological,
and avast botanical edenic grove
comprising extensive panoply
populating every nook and cranny
transforming once upon time utopia
unsightly, insufferable and
apocalyptic hazardous wasteland
habitats additionally threatened
linkedin with ruthlessness
amidst/amongst violence prone
primates peopling planet Earth.
A boy’s tears are distensible, like a brittle platter
embodying the face of rejection.
He collapses into the opposite of a child,
his hands in soot, trembling around a book.
Knowledge has no place in the mind of one who begs
to be fed, who escapes life like a skip button,
and bids his future into a refugee camp.
The quiet act of peace is the noise inside his dreams—
the raven’s voice telling him, Believe. Believe in today for tomorrow.
And by the wall where he hides to read, where he manifests freedom,
he clings to drawings, rehearsing his tracks back to a home
void of his name, its people, its purpose, its creation.
With his fingers, he traces humanity back to Eden,
to where water flowed without parting ways.
What do forgotten things know about justice?
If peace mutated the first time the sun hit Mars,
would the Earth still flutter?
Who passes rights onto a species?
Are we not all specimens walking into divagation,
laid on tumultuous eruptions, unable to see our toes
through our eyes?
If trees could water themselves, you think they would
dream of becoming fountains?
We have been reliving freedom like chickens birthing eggs—
endlessly, redundantly.
Until when will this wish be granted?
The boy knows grief as rebellion against his thoughts,
where bullets and bombs are not the only things
calling his death to nothingness.
For any living thing, to dream is grace.
And destiny, we know, malfunctions its way into adulteration.
So let him seek peace in the ways he wishes—
to free a bird from its cage,
to grasp in chaos and name it inspiration,
to be utterly mad and call it poetry.
Let him.
(Even Poetry can recall the warm days of summer.)
** In the August Heat **
———————————————————————
August roasts the red pears
Sitting crowded on the sill…Spoiling
With no protection from
The open, lime-tinted curtains
Speckled with tiny violets.
Shimmering sunbeams stream diagonally
Through the room’s air, while outside,
A lost cricket, cornered under a deck step,
Chirps! A repeating string of chirps!
His true place is elsewhere
In the night, by a willing mate. The natural
Balance of his 250-million-year-old species
Is upset — with only the heat sustaining him…
With his chirping! Chirping rondo!
With the promise that she will come.
So, there he crouches. Night…Night will come.
Heat will stay. His summer life yet has time to go.
So he waits. Chirping! His chorus repeats!
She will come. They will touch when meeting
Then flee on to their otherwhere.
The coming night’s course will please.
So he waits…Earnestly chirping!
Feeling the vibrations along his black back,
He waits. In his summoning melody,
He chirps! And, she will come.
———————————————————-
(c) sally young Eslinger 1/2022
It's nature's way that in the spring
Emotions make a lamb's soul sing
And so it was my young heart found
That love is not by species bound
Well cruelly spent, did cupid's dart
Pierce deep my foolish woolly heart
A wiser sheep would fain desert
Such love unwise and bound to hurt.
Nor was it then that common sense
Came forth to give me sound defence
No matter how well meant and groomed
My ardent love was clearly doomed.
For fate is fickle, fate unkind
Fate unhinged my young sheep's mind
Though strong inside my true love burns
It never wins my love's returns
So ardent burn my ovine fires
Kindling noble deep desires
But I know what e'er I do
That four legs never yet won two
She lives a life I cannot know
And goes to places sheep don't go
I patient wait and hope she'll pass
But know she'll never share my grass.
I know it's doomed, I know I've lost
My passion most unkindly crossed
For even if she knew my heart
I know our lives must stay apart.
But maybe she might scratch my nose
My love troth's a half-eaten rose
With that held in her lovely hand,
To think on, she might understand.