Long Turbine Poems
Long Turbine Poems. Below are the most popular long Turbine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Turbine poems by poem length and keyword.
Cerro Gordo. Which one? Yeah thats how it goes. Either you are talking about a small farming town on the east coast of the Us or a Silver mining town on the west coast of the US> Both names have spanish or Mexican orgin. Cerro Gordo which translated means "Fat Hill".
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Micro Hydro Turbine Generator Manufacturer - Suneco Hydro.A hydroelectric generator for a creek converts moving water into usable electricity using either kinetic "in-stream" turbines or high-head penstock pipeline systems. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nuvo jHorn - Black-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Stacked together quilters (wof)---------------------------------------
Oh chestnut candy horse mane
Do your top button up blow the
red rum fluff away and jump the
brook
As I find it in the quiet best in-between
when the traffic stops at red lights
To detect the frequency of the waves
pitching and cresting from the blades
and turbine of the wind farm way up
high on the hilltop
The nurses footsteps walking the ward
beat beside the Doctor calling official
time of death
An unfurled rainbow green , red , blue
and orange flag coat of arm's celebrating
intertwined
Look Mr Fantastic ferrell Fox is swaggering
up and through the part residential city center
back alleys preening his whisker tips
Listen how a distant echo of a siren can be
heard and a blue flashing light seen as 1
of the 3 critical emergency services hastily
speed to a horror scene only for the brave
See under moonlight how menacing shadows
of rats the size of bunny cat's scale the walls
to make the gothic bird's above a building
rooftop scowl the night away
Look a man with his hand out hailing a taxi
cab saying to the driver take me home quickly
I'm back at work at 5am not doubt with a
massive hangover in check
Listen to the drunken homeless man arguing
with himself whilst playing rock , paper , scissors
over who gets to suck the bone or the cardboard
in order to sleep warm
Goodnight Liverpool
Sweet Dreams
God Bless
It's way past my bedtime
I'll see you in the morning
When the day shifts story a new begins
Today, the sun shone brightly over our shores.
Peering over the forest and meeting the cores
We share fundamental truths across the waterways.
across the grasslands, then onto the Himalayas.
Past somatic feelings are cognitively preserved.
Spirit is the natural extension of cognition.
Spirit and mind foresee the body, the spirit swerved.
Together, the mind and body create resolution.
The universe's sound is centered around silence.
A quiet that gives rise to that sound—its essence
Silence increases, dilates, expands, and evolves.
It's able to watch the blooming of other carves.
It is as copernican as the light we pass through.
Pedagogical schools have the same faint glow.
Solving math, questioning the past, or visual atom.
"I have a dream," I was told, to be in a ruling stratum.
Our lives connect us to grains and corncobs.
warmed by miners and dry wind turbine jobs.
Sugarcane is used to acquire paper and rubber.
My father's hands were swollen from scrubber.
Our biggest mistake was playing the drama alone.
as if life were a subtle crime without atone.
Denying respect is feeling neglected in a cage.
Shouts were buried by choruses, width, and rage.
Let the beat off your loneliness and start talking.
Your warmth tends to compile the kettle singing.
The world's fauna and birds are plainly unique.
Your life is ready and waiting for its peak.
Written: December 29, 2022
Quote: Forget injuries, never forget kindnesses. Confucius
A Water Fall is an awesome example of a supernaturally engineered portrait, captured by time and space, and displayed in a living masterful frame. It's inhuman but embraces a sight of wonderment; a sound that's 'forever hoped for'; a taste of 'peace unbroken' with nothing missing; a feeling 'undeniably enduring and soothing', and a 'to-die-for fragrance' of 'once upon a time'.
There is a beauty, crafted and hand-painted by the same fingers that formed me. It's an ever-moving and massive flow of living waters. Falling water, not to break or disintegrate, but divinely programmed to continue its flow to places far and wide with no place to hide.
There is no moon-controlled wave after wave of high and low tides, and whoever decides can come along for the ride. It speaks to longing and searching questions from deep within. It utters shouts of inquisitions such as: "O soul of mine, from whence cometh thou?" "What and where is your source, O gentle soul?" "And if the Water Falls have a source of origin and a point of destiny, does not indeed my soul also have a source of beginning?" O indeed, the Water Falls answer 'Yes' to me, saying, "O yes, you like I, the Water Fall, are handmade by our Maker, and absolutely nothing can deny us of our final destiny.
And so, I observe all of God's creation; and if I, like nature, continue saying 'Yes" to Him, all shall be forever well. Though our courses may toss and turn, our flows proceed. I imagine a gentle creek bed evolving into a river,
twisting and turning down-stream where it confluences with another river
and immortalizes its true identity and increases the power of its flow until reaching the edge of a cliff, where an expanse of earth is broken apart with an awaiting trench below.
Below, a new assignment of creative genius begins as a turbine is turned by rushing waters providing fresh energy. And new lights dispel the darkness.
the good
The doors to my mind and heart
circle as revolving doors.
A peek inside and you see
happy memories and joyous events,
the loves, and lifelong friendships
A cul-de-sac, though a dead end,
has a circular finish, a merry-go-round
that accumulates happiness as it spins
into a cloud of beauty and nature,
compassion, gods, and faith.
The breathless moments in life,
birth, newness, novelty, exuberance
in being, living, experiencing
laughter, butterflies, and springtime
within my soul, my gratitude.
the bad
The doors to my mind and heart
circle as revolving doors.
A peek inside and you see
the pocks of the years that came
to leave their soured, sadistic truths.
So, like a cul-de-sac you may enter
but the exit is the same as you came.
A Ferris wheel, past the highs and lows
of lost hopes, of murky dreams that end
with more questions than I will answer…
A dead end with death as the prize
for endless dreary days and noxious nights
of sorrow, sadness, misery, and grief
with no hope, no desire, no ambition
faith gone and forgone, abortive.
the ugly
The doors to my mind and heart
circle as revolving doors.
A peek inside and you see
the sear of anger and revenge
spiraling apocalyptically.
The cul-de-sac where giant wind turbines
turn and churn and gnaw at my insides
generating incompressible turbulence
that amasses until it ruptures, spewing
rage and outrage that I will honor…
In and out, inescapable, dead
like my heart, my soul black as coal,
seeking retribution for perceived
wrongs against me, ill-timed and
sanguinary persecution.
Atop a grassy hill I sit,
gazing at the rich azure blue sky
watching a few birds fluttering in and out of my vision,
slicing through the air like knives.
I lie there for what feels like an eternity,
wind turbine turning in calculated motion
out of the corner of my eye.
My rucksack ties me to the ground,
filled with a thousand weights,
preventing me from being like those birds,
majestic, elate and carefree.
But I can imagine.
The innocent silky clouds transform and bend,
producing a multitude of bizarre objects,
an army commanded by the wind
sauntering across the horizon.
A world with no end, limited only by mortal minds,
a mini-universe floating just above our heads.
We are the creators of this fictional world,
where human though unfurls.
I see an emerald dragon,
a group of chariot wagons, their horses galloping.
A circus filled with the most exotic animals,
an ivy snake laced with diamonds,
a canoe slicing through the sky.
A gnarly oak,
its trunk encased, fingers reaching infinitely high.
But each world is different for every one of us,
so tell me; what do you see
when you let your imagination
break free?
Pro-Chore Wrestling Series and Extrudeur Pro Products
have hammered out a deal to
have the Pro-Chore Champion
go on tour with there company while they
conveince american homesteaders
to unionize and buy there Products.
They have partnered using Pro wrestling
to speak to the masses about the new
cotton powered batteries and wind turbine
that will revolutionize the world.
the CEO wishes to get Homesteader
to allow corpartions
to build mini apartment buildings on medium sized farms.
buildings with small stores and greenhouses.
they would have brickmaking capiblities and other works
that Produce Product all over the world.
He said if woorst comes to worst.
They will have buildings with infrastructure that will
last well into the next century.
We'll let you Know how it turns out.
Kelp Seaworthy Reports.
i hear you deep within me
sirens of sound drowning engine
turbine whistle pierce the drum
welcome have a seat he will be with you
in a bit, he will see you now .
the hall is long and dark
seems like i have walked this before
pause an look at the pictures on the wall
and they say nothing at all
where have you been ?
it has been such a long time
you must tell me how you been
no time for that now enter here
the room is sterilized and you in white
standing there looking at me saying
"i do" not now i have no time you
start the engine and drive off dust clouds
whip and bend
i hear you calling me ,"wake up "
you have been in an accident are you ok ?
mind beat up and sober back to where i was
(Inveniam viam)
Far beyond these eerie things, where limits have no scales
Fish are replacing gills, with turbine aerated tails
Sea level’s losing all meaning, for the humpback whales
Ships piggyback them, harpoons syphon wind from their sails
Today I woke up early, lately I’ve let dreams flow
Into an abstract yonder, where visions often go
A wave came over me, up from my downy pillow
When tidal forces passed away, many moons ago
As the ocean waved goodbye, I called for an encore
Behaving like a poultice, the beach drew back old gore
You could’ve bowled me over, sent ripples to my core
Never again I’d sleep soundly, near this bloody shore
After a fretful lie-on, facing truths with each turn
My sundial running on empty, stars can’t always churn
Moribund in dimness, til an old spark can return
Reigniting glory days, (let supernovae burn)
Overhead the vacuum grows, just to make more space
Stretching my dysmorphia, to align with gods face
No one knows for certain, who enhanced his human race
Gave an artful hand, outsmarting evolution’s pace
As life spirals forward, in a world out of control
Entropy dismantles, stripping back our maker’s role
The poet in me keeps goofing, digging deeper holes
He’s a junkie rhymester, overdosing on this soul
So hail all billionaires, who never walk down my street
Flying above fake cripples, with power in their feet
Prodigies of bad and worse, scheming to make ends meet
Leaves an aftertaste of smugness, one that will repeat
As for those big questions, some take a straightforward twist
Two things I thought might go away, stubbornly exist
Not death or taxes, I’m already over that list
Each day I arise, how come lies and bullsh!t persist?
First there was oblivion, til I woke up and saw
Now fully awake, dead ahead looms a fatal flaw
But so long as I can dream, and able to guffaw
It only hurts when I laugh, Don’t you think? vents my jaw
By David Kavanagh
Hms
THE EYE of I
What is life? What is love?
The eye of I took it in…
The material rolling sweeps highs and lows--valleys cuts, grooves, gullies and gorges eye engorge crevices of porphyry
heat flies from the ravines
places the eye cannot see but the soul can visit-- living matter,
infused with tissue thoughts generated externally electrified internally
the sweat that beaded on the brow drips and spatters, absorbs the entity under
What is the breathing open petal life… radiating respiring
One throttle to quell that respiration, bright lightening beauty gently fusing into glow?
Brightening as I faster
Turbine-whistle I your master
beating, spewing, thrusting, ignition transference… body grue and stifles?… Gone
She stiffens the radiance of the face pale, milky, alabaster, clammy pore-less beams the lips and cheeks rubescent now. Smoothes, and transition into deep hues of blues, violent violets, ebony black. Hardens, stiffens stone then softens? as alabaster
Deterioration, matter, entropy all so naturally
Squall has past--the quondam respiring takes long respite..
The eye of I took it in…The material rolling sweeps highs and lows, valleys, cuts, grooves, gully and gorge I engorge crevices of porphyry
heat flies from the ravines folded as petals from
places the eye cannot see but the soul can visit
of living matter, infused with tissue thoughts generated externally electrified internally
The sweat that beaded on the brow drips and spatters, absorbs the entity under lies the breathing open petal life… radiating, respiring?
The fingers trace and fall in place the Etowah infused with breath
The sweat sinks in, absorption energy transfers electricity thoughts
Cabachon crescendos!
All the while the living, beating, breathing, entity flutters, shutters, smiles.