Long Theorized Poems
Long Theorized Poems. Below are the most popular long Theorized by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Theorized poems by poem length and keyword.
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
Rob Brezsny reports
In 2004, San Rafael hosted a World Conference of Soul-Making
resulting in three schools for best PeaceMaking practices,
to which I will add one
more democratically inclusive,
less autonomously exclusive.
"The Ruminators
theorized that humans are born without [divine] souls
and can create them only through arduous,
disciplined rebellion against all [trauma-informed] belief systems.
The Resonators
agreed that soul [peace] isn't innate,
but insisted that soul-making is by no means difficult
...gathering good [health-humor] stories is effective [necessary]
and not at all hard [resiliently sufficient].
The Revelators
said every [individual] person is born with a [peace-full monotheistic] soul
in seed form,
and need only discover the [organic] 'blueprint'
of that [individual] seed
in order to attract the [anthropocentric] experiences
necessary to draw out its [integrity's] potential."
Regenerators
win/win hypothetically agree with all of the above,
born with a potential integrating peace seed,
we struggle with systemic traumas
win v lose dualistic pathological dramas
painfully dissociative
devolutionary ruminations
yet also
celebrate our greatest Gaian Synergy Story
of inter-religiously ecological
cooperative revolutionary culminations
resonantly anticipating
health-climaxing wealth
of panentheistic pronoia.
Re-ligiously con-scientious peace-making
within universally engaged
neurosystemic unitarian mindbody
and
compassionately pleased
ecosystemic bodymind
Re-membering roundly resonant Gaia's
mystical polyamorous vulnerability
historical pronoia transparency
anticipating interdependent EarthTribe's
soul-communing peace communications.
Once again, adding a culminating four-fractal fold
to three interdependent dimensions
closes a four-season healthy
regeneratively wealthy
peace-development story
Inviting our polyculturally expectant revisit
for yet more win/win synergetic soul food
Re-ligiously feeding spiritual Resonator minds of
con-scientiously breeding natural Revelator bodies for
re-viving more sacredly compassionate Ruminators singing
organically co-pleasuring ReGenerators dancing
to soul-full musing EarthPeace.
An owl sat on our tree outside, and Dragon was completely mesmerized.
So Dragon ask what was his name, and Who was all that he devised.
Dragon said YOU, you silly bird; it’s YOUR name, which I want to know.
And again he got the answer… It was Who… Now, wouldn’t you know?
Now Dragon’s not a patient sort, so said… WHAT do you think of that!
Humpf!… If he won’t tell me his name, then I think I’ll call him Kersplat!
Who, said the owl again! Now, Dragon had began to become steamed.
Silly ninny! I named you the perfect name, ‘Kerslpat’, and he beamed!
Now, here Dragon realized that perhaps he needed to be, a bit more nice.
His words seemed limited, perhaps it wasn’t meant, as a mean device.
Now a crow came to the branch, and sat by the owl with a decisive bow.
The crow spouted, What? And Dragon ask: Are you here to help me Now?
What! came the answer from the crow, as the owl added another WHO.
Honestly, said Dragon! All I wanted, was to know your names, it’s true!
The crow’s hard of hearing, thought Dragon, as he suddenly realized…
Not everyone’s as fortunate as he, so he shouted loudly, as he theorized…
What’s YOUR name, he shouted! I’m tired of getting, NO good reply.
So he would call the crow What, and the crow squawked What! Oh my!.
Then little Whip Poor Will came and sat beside them, very, close and such.
When asked, he said Whip poor Will, so Dragon thanked him, very much!
Your name is Poor Will, but I won’t whip you, you deserve a gentle touch.
A Mocking Bird stopped by and Dragon introduced all his friends, as such.
The owl’s ‘Kersplat’, ‘What’ can’t hear, and ‘Poor Will’ are all my friends.
What’s your name little bird? For I’m Dragon, and you, I would befriend.
At that moment, I left the house saying Hello to Dragon and all those about.
The Mocking Bird sang: Dragon’s to Whip Poor Will, Mocks What can’t hear,
And wants to Kersplat Who! Blurting it out!
I dislike violence, so I sent Dragon to a timeout, in quick response, no doubt!
And I heard Dragon mutter, as he walked away, I now know what the term…
Bird Brain is all about!
A living organism accustomed to existing alive…adapted, acclimatized.
Breathing bodies, beautifully behaving as created, before being theorized.
Corporeal creatures controlled by character traits, occasionally compromised.
Divergent life forms delicately merged into a “Web of Life”, perfectly devised.
Entities experiencing individuality, establishing existence uncompromised,
Frolicking through life; incessantly looking for forever, mesmerized.
Gaining moral fiber through God given guidance sometimes, getting baptized.
Happily honing one’s persona hoping to help dreams become materialized,
Insightfulness encircles one’s sense of self to initiate a life-path individualized.
Jovial jesters, bigwigs, or judges with judgments apprized.
Kooky cool-cats, celebrities, or clowns cleverly disguised.
Laundry maids, lucky leaders, or racers with wins realized.
Milkmen, fishermen, or firemen with departments downsized.
Noble work is any work of which a lifetime is comprised.
Orchids, oxalis, oak trees, and sellers of fruits franchised.
Penguins, porcupines, parrots, and peacocks with feathers prized.
Questions surround the beings of which this world is comprised.
Reverence remembers Noah's ark and the lives that were remised.
Scientists study animals, cells, and quarks minuscule-sized.
Tomorrows are predicted with their remedies advised.
Ultimately, all beings will be recycled in to earth…revised.
Victorious are earth's environments enriched by life's demise.
Worldly ways and wisdom's walk in the end shall be surprised.
Xanadu sought requires the power to choose right and be not chastised.
Yesterday is gone, but life-luminaries were long ago stylized.
Zestfully living righteously marks the path perfection realized.
© November 8, 2011
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Being
Sponsored by: Paula Swanson
I have been told our culture cultivates moral decline
That we live in a time which pushes propaganda of pleasure, sex, and self interest
Our cultural standard of clothing has gone from the scandal of showing your ankle to the norm of displaying your navel
From Victorian coverage head to toe with no skin to show
To a life of spandex skirts and tube top shirts
And I wonder if this new fabric to skin ratio reflects a morally decrepit environment
With the shrinkage of clothes does also go the shrinkage of morality?
With each hem raised are more eyes raised in lust to see it?
With each pair of painted on pants are we painting an image of lustful conquests?
With each new inch of skin are we inching our way to a shameless action of sin?
Or perhaps are we finally finding our path beginning to straighten?
Are we seeing written on the butt of yoga pants a message not of depravity, but of hope?
Could it be that humanity is trying to redeem the invention of clothing at the fall?
Do we feel no shame of nakedness because all lust has left us?
Or have we lost that defense because lust now rules us?
Do our outfits speak of our desire for attention,
Or of our resolve for redemption?
So again I wonder if this new fabric to skin ratio reflects a morally decrepit environment
Or does it give hope to a radically redemptive movement
If we keep tightening pants and lowering tops
Will we be tightening our hold on a life in the pre-fall garden
Or lowering our standards till we've fallen farther than before?
Let us hope the former...
because without clothes,
we'll have no parachute to save us as we fall.
A gardener, I became by chance
a purposeful man with detailed plans
With a thought for each exigency
and a strategy for each contingency
I organized and theorized
I categorized, I normalized
I estimated and resized
and finally, I stabilized
I did this from a calm perspective
all done with the express objective
to prepare a comprehensive list
for mitigating potential risks
I worked, I worried,
I watched in horror
as my garden finally failed to bloom
Where did I fall? Which step was missed?
What miscalculation wrought this doom?
I sat in thought
(and deep in shame)
that what I'd wrought
had somehow failed
What was the task I had not caught?
(Or, was there something else to blame?)
Gantt chart, always at the ready
I began again, to make a plan
Pen in hand, as ever steady
a logical, beast; a thinking man
No change; no matter what I tried
the garden was again in ruins
at wit's end then, I simply sighed
and whistled doleful, mournful tunes
But then, a sunbeam warmly shone
upon my face, right through the pane
as I looked, I saw the rain had gone
that was the point, that I grew sane
I ministered lovingly to my plot
with patience and humility
gratefully accepting what I got
and forgetting old futility
No more planning, no more flailing
I saw the sun and rain as friends
Loving both despite their failings
and thankful for what each one lends
I watched in peace my garden grow
my focus reduced to just a glance,
indebted for what I'd come to know
that all things truly come by chance
Form:
A number of children are born everyday,
Yet among these are some of the special ones to stay.
Think differently, act awkwardly is their natural characteristic,
But the people around them consider to be mad proetic.
This often leads them to be discriminated,
From the friends and people they like to be stayed.
Albert Einstein wouldn’t have arrived on this Earth,
Because of his over matured brain to shatter up his birth.
He who theorized the relativity facts,
But this wasn’t initially accepted by people of different tracts.
Louis Braille being a blind boy,
Developed the Braille system for the blinds not to cry.
Shravan Kumar being a boy of B.C. tenure,
Had set an example for the coming generations to secure.
By carrying his parents on a beam balance,
Because their blindness had led them to great tolerance.
Stephen Hawking, as we all know,
Is one of the greatest scientists we ought to bow.
His theories of big bang, aliens and more,
Has left no person to imagine the core.
Though handicapped by appearance,
His brain has no equivalence.
These people have no avarice,
Because they only want world’s nice.
They are a real and rare source of inspiration,
For all the people who trust them with frustration.
It’s the blessing that Lord has bestowed upon us,
In the form of these great people who have no fuss.
There are a lot more examples of same kinda people,
Who have sacrificed their lives
For the well being of mother Earth.
From reliable sources and friends on
the web, I heard.
Five million children or even more,
with no daily bread.
An age of exponential knowledge,
health and wealth.
Yet hunger so severe, mercy is only
in death's stealth.
As I put pen to paper trying to find
the right words to rhyme,
a thousand more people are dead
from hunger and dying in grime.
They are so far away nothing much I
can do, so I theorized.
Throwing lunch in the bin while
dinner is planned, potato or rice?
At the table, a child will play with his
food, rejecting all but ice-cream.
Out of guilt comes the lecture about
a life of waste and living a dream.
It's not our children's fault for not
knowing about life's complexities.
Humanity comes at a cost face we
must, our moral responsibilities.
You do not have to be a millionaire to
help, for many ways God has
prepared.
Our Divine Mercy Greed is to give in
Deed but if impossible, give in
Prayer.
The power of prayer is potent, so far-
reaching that He has now touched
our Site.
For it was meant that out of the
Poetry Soup, a group of helpers
would arise.
To all distinguished Poets who heard
Demetrio's call to fight Hunger.
In your midst, someone has the
means to pull a little life from going
under.
Our prayer is that we all stand
together and do our best.
God is merciful, God is good, and He
will do the rest.
T M Ioane (March, 2014)
I once thought I could never be like them,
the privileged and rich whose every whim
is catered to by underlings like me--
but then last year I won the lottery!
The family I’d worked for soon went broke.
I hired them to take care of me—no joke!
Now I relax while they do all the work.
Sometimes I can’t suppress a tiny smirk!
To summon them, I ring my golden bell.
Today I ordered, “Meet my needs pell-mell!
Bring snacks and sodas. Then massage my feet.
Fetch me two pillows, and turn down the heat.
Turn on the tv. Bring me the remote.”
They do for me whatever floats my boat!
My six-course meals, prepared as I require,
are brought to me whenever I desire.
My house was once a mess; now it’s so clean!
My flowers are the prettiest I’ve seen.
My yard’s magnificent. It brings me joy
to sit and watch these workers I employ.
Cockaigne, imaginary land of extreme luxury and ease where physical comforts and pleasures are always immediately at hand--and EVERY possible advantage of these pleasures is claimed
The Land of Cockaigne — a 1567 oil painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder
(c. 1525–1569).
Also, a HIGHLY satirical poem theorized to have been written in the early
to mid-fourteenth century by a Franciscan friar
Date: November 14, 2020
entered in Edward Ibeh's poetry contest placed 3rd
Pick-a-Title, vol 25, Rhyme 2 --"In Land of Cockaigne"
When a student is on the verge
of surpassing the teacher,
there always comes a flashpoint of conflict
Giving way to superior intellect
is a difficult thing to concede
The elder acquiescing to the younger
is a most vexing deed
Thus was the case with the Baby
and her mentor, Miss Queen Eleanor
Her parents didn’t call her Baby,
they called her Infant Eyes ...
because she was so young to be so wise
But, Miss Eleanor called her Cakes,
because she was the baby of the Queen’s Mensa brood:
A smart, brainiac crew
that reeked havoc on all educational protocols,
old and new
And their leader was Cakes —
the alpha that stirred this cerebral beta stew
But when Cakes started to spread her mental wings,
she got into a major beef with the Queen
Cakes theorized a mathematical shortcut
through the temporal flux algorithm prime;
espousing a new law of quantum thermodynamics,
that would allow humans to transverse space in half the time
The Queen knew she was cornered into a checkmate,
and in the final analysis Cakes would win
But she fought long and hard, skin for skin
Making sure the new theory would hold up,
withstand all challenges in the end
Thereby forcing Cakes to acknowledge her as a worthy adversary
and mentor
Now Cakes, like all great pioneers before —
once creatively unbound,
are intellectually free to explore