Long Underscore Poems
Long Underscore Poems. Below are the most popular long Underscore by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Underscore poems by poem length and keyword.
Doomsday Clock January 2022...
the most recent tabulation
signaled one hundred seconds to midnight
A couple years ago
similarly titled poem I did write,
yet looms as harbinger unless
*****sapiens can unite
one non Yiddish speaking
Ongematert wishing ye
fare thee well tonight
before betokening apocalyptic sight
'course one must go about
her/his business - right?
Rhetorical question - yet
impossible mission quite
challenging, where one
brother grimm ponders plight
Cosmofunnel favorite fan
Katina Borgersen "poof"
our acquaintanceship dissolved
(think - snapped fingers) outright
regardless, whether...
perchance we ever
cross paths long daze
journey into night
met under virtual reality moonlight
ah... the mere awareness
of her existence
metaphorically found modest, mercurial
mellow male within limelight
oy vey admittedly one
rusty Ongepatshket knight
fumbling in the dark with
his unreliable sputtering jacklight
hooping aforesaid gal whose eyes alight
upon mine genuine words doth newt
coon sitter me laughable, nor impolite,
yet accept hard reality to highlight
and/or _ underscore delight
full dame online - each of us,
an infinitesimal jot of granulite
within vast cosmos given finite
minuscule time to excite
our senses trending utmost delight
during brief unique
deoxynucleic chromosomal copyright
til death do us part,
whether natural demise
or... huge mushroom
clouds radioactive blight
unimaginable nightmarish scenario
impossible mission to close third eye blind
webbed global haunting spectacle
mortal creatures linkedin to ill fate
including yours truly,
a generic, garden variety
hermetically sealed cell bit anchorite.
Uneasiness far greater
to confront atomic augury
than pernicious penury
which ceases within eyeblink
far more serious than perjury
nonetheless afflicting me
with psychological injury.
Personal finances pitted
me deep in hock
into red room zone,
shining thru the mist
story, yes I experience
quite a shell shock,
to absorb inconvenient truth
great swaths of Gaia
analogous to dead zone,
nevertheless, now finds yours
truly poorest, oldest, and nerdiest
curmudgeon goofy "kid"
on the chopping block
within Lake Wobegon
hard space and third rock
from sun as inevitable doom
inches closer as each second elapses
insync with inaudible tick tock.
In the digital landscape of TikTok, scammers operate stealthily, strategically identifying their targets within vulnerable demographics—specifically, older Generation X users. Each profile is analyzed meticulously, revealing weaknesses that can be exploited. The anticipation builds as the scammer initiates contact, contemplating who will be ensnared next.
“Will she be my next target?” he reflects, as the initial engagement elicits a promising response: “Sure, count me in.” This raises a question of accountability in a game that resembles Russian roulette, fraught with risks on both sides.
The scammer initiates the conversation with manipulative charm: “Greetings, gorgeous! What’s your name? Where are you from? I have seen the signs of opportunity.”
His subsequent messages reveal a formulaic script designed to elicit emotional investment: “Could you be the one I’ve been searching for? The crucial piece in my heart’s puzzle?” When moments of silence ensue, he prompts, “Hello? Are you still there? Let’s continue our discussion.”
The language employed is rife with metaphor: “You shine like a star, yet I hold your wings.” The transition to a more secure messaging platform, such as WhatsApp, is an intentional maneuver aimed at bypassing TikTok's monitoring mechanisms. He nonchalantly suggests exchanging contact information, self-identifying with playful anonymity as “lover, lover.”
The nature of the communication implies a predatory mindset: “Lingerie or satin? To me, it makes no difference.” The scam artist masquerades as a fabricated identity—a “Nigerian king”—exemplifying the archetype of a rogue operator in the online ecosystem. The shared traits among these scammers highlight a systematic approach, appealing to the fleeting desires of unsuspecting individuals seeking connection.
Currently, he manages multiple admirers simultaneously, each vying for attention in this digital charade. The fluctuations of interaction underscore a transactional view of affection, framed as an authoritarian relationship—“Oh, what a night! Oh, what a dictator.”
**Advisory Note:** Elderly Generation X users must exercise heightened vigilance against online impostors. With economic instability as a backdrop, they remain prime targets for unscrupulous actors operating in the digital realm.
An evening stroll, on a chill night,
under the silver light of the horizon moon.
Life that burst among a small acreage,
of old-growth forests, flourished.
A delightful flurry of fireflies, drifting,
twinkle among the foliage, an amazing sight.
Echoing sounds moaned through boughs and leaves,
disturbing the night.
The air grew cold and grim.
A sudden quiet came, not a whisper,
of leaf or waving bough, not a breath of wind.
The forest was swathed in gloomy shadows.
Dim shadows obscured the eerie dark.
Curiosity reeled me in, as my freighted body trembles
and an awful, clenching nauseous feeling came over me.
I didn't want to walk any farther.
The moonlight sunk casting shadows.
Fragrance drift within, with the scent of blossoms
and the cool filled the air.
I found myself embracing;
my arms around me.
Roots moved around me, subduing nature.
An exciting feeling flowed through my body,
as I stood and stared at the tall trees around me.
They swayed as their leave's sing.
Don't be afraid as the sun is starting to fade
a smile to honor you with my dappled shade;
they all whispered unison.
If hungry, we offer the taste of my fruit,
as I do for my friends that scurry round my roots.
As it ought to be done.
I protect the area from erosion, beneath
and give them some oxygen to breathe.
As it has been done since time begun
And through the sacrifice of my life
the need of lumber or paper, make such a strife
In which of course, no discussion of mine, human won.
A joy to hear at first a passionate compassion,
then turn to heartache to a true deep reverberating message they convey.
5/19/2022
Wisdom From Trees Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
God loves trees
Other than people and God, trees are the most mentioned living thing in the Bible. There are trees in the first chapter of Genesis (verses 11–12), in the first psalm (Psam 1:3), and on the last page of Revelation (22:2). As if to underscore all these trees, the Bible refers to wisdom as a tree (Proverbs 3:18).
On a headstone in the ground,
a life's summation can be found:
born and died and little more
marks the end with an underscore.
Before I die I'd like to say
all that happened along the way.
There's a story to be sure.
Let's begin life's overture.
My life began in celebration;
The War was over across our nation.
A baby boomer I became;
My generation was given that name.
Born on the East coast raised on the West.
Who's to to say, "Father didn't know best"?
Dad's family was left behind
but mother didn't seem to mind.
Childhood was rough and raw.
Money scarce but, from what I saw,
friends and neighbors were in the same boat.
Families worked hard to stay afloat.
We made do with what we had.
In handmade clothes we were clad.
Our imaginations entertained us
while nature's bounty helped sustain us.
Raking, mowing and bottle collecting
provided things we weren't expecting:
to see a movie or buy a mitt.
If you wanted something, you worked for it!
So, I more than survived childhood;
I learned to be all I could.
Two years of college was cause for delay
before I declared Independence Day.
I left my parents; moved far away
excited to do it all my way.
To try my wings without a net,
leaving the nest without regret.
Any job well done is its own reward.
I found many occupations to be explored:
mail carrier, bookkeeper, manager, clerk,
soldier, census taker, service rep, soda jerk.
Made many friends along life's path;
A few have met with life's aftermath.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm still here
but, of death, I have no fear.
Of loves, I've had a few
but the greatest love I ever knew,
is the love of a mother for her son;
With him, my family was begun.
I leave my grandchildren to carry on
the adventure of life when I am gone.
I hope they thrive when they are grown
in a world much different from my own.
The legacy I leave behind,
I wish to be my words and rhymes.
So, on my gravestone may it say:
"Through her poetry, she came this way".
August 31, 2015
For my family
Awareness about behavior,
present since mine days of yore
an unswerving allie analogous
to peacekeeper ending civil war
belated insight suddenly realized
(better late than never) doth underscore
incumbent proactive communication stance
belatedly bestowed omnipotent awareness
crucial fostering ingredient to shore
maternal bond above
bejesus ear splitting roar
I admit regret (to self), there
dost belie suppressed yen to pour
out sorrows 'twixt this sole him son,
and long deceased mother, he
deprived her his love and outwore
the Scottish tartan Harris tweed
welcome (haz) mat, which pained
materialized soon after her death, nor
can compensation be made,
now ex post facto,
when futility of spilt tears got more
gauged and swept away, when
nary a trace I privately cried
amidst lachrymose lakeshore.
20/20 hindsight brought me unflagging mast
into stark painful focus,
essentially how mine
formative behavior wrought avast
dystopian emotional fractured mindscape,
which non positive coping methods
lit fuse kindling devastating catastrophic blast
from yesteryear to present silent woebegone
desolate gloomy terrain past
grandeur eclipsed by present gloom
finds yours truly stranded like cast
away bleached flotsam upon coast
amidst tempestuous rocky shoals
clinging for dear life with grasp fast,
Where tenuous, precarious,
and ludicrous ship
of state can no longer maintain
even a marginal grip
but with slight equip
age willing, wedding,
and wanting brings relief from whip
lashed incurred (within body) showing rip
pulled scarred taut welts testimony, sans
long electrified with aggravation,
excruciation, and intoleration can easily flip
a figurative switch in summary
ushering final lip
service to charade,
facade, and masquerade
at lightspeed didst clip
this...Potemkin Village,
where everything "FAKE,"
asper envisioning flickr
ring mirage recounting ancient Egypt!
Wibble wibble wobble is a typhoon of trouble in a whirling mist of beautifully arranged but mediocre sand castles. Sand castles are great to live in. They carry the might of the ocean. The deep depth of tidal spore. And the secret passageways of the sea whisperers. But sinking to a island that was once erect is very very very interesting indeed for information of indoctrination is merely a symbolic training map to ensure that the human brain is not elevated to it's primeval logic and the capacity therefore is closed, shut, and generally imprisonment is a format through the chains and charms of entertainment booming through rays to hypnotize and halt and to wave a bended stick to stir a non used recipe. When the fortresses of Neptune are discovered by a Neptunian the possibility of an ice cracking is quite a lucid idea. Much akin to a pass the parcel game on a massive train that tootles along over historic trails. Disturbed migration. Destroyed deities. Designed by demons and dug out dignity. But the princess is the royalty from an underscore that has been ignored but soon to enlighten even the most rockiest of landscapes. In hearts. In souls. And primarily in a souk. Wearing a pretty sari and carrying a nine eyed serpent. Good. God grabbing Gaia greedily. Gestational germinations gaming. And a turret talking to a rampart. Fantastic news for a pretty little eight inch worm on a boat journey down and up the river that resembled a hooded cobra when above the earth. And jt is at this point that the figures made will be adjusting the landing strips for the era of the evening is an evening of an earthly effigy. Efficiently placed. And a time of tick tock tick. So take rosin and whirl around the buildings. Hahaha swim suit on a suitcase swimming. Hahahaha beany bran. Xxxxx restitution z. This us the p Y Q REPORTING ON THE GROUND live from 89.0 in a hail of hoses hosing horses. La la Lola. 670,001,300,201. X z x z c vb fjfkrk
Form:
Quantum Glyphs
A particle’s not a particle,
a wave is not a wave.
It’s more or less equations,
of the way that they behave.
The particles aren't our focus,
of the why and for the how.
No... everything’s the Field,
that describes the then and now.
A beauty of probabilities,
a guess where they may be.
Real or just imagined,
for particle velocity.
The jump, the spike, a double jet,
to calculate creations.
How intricate the formulas,
of mutual annihilations.
But it’s not a vacuum of particles,
that hoover up the Field!
It’s the undulating Field itself,
in the blanket of the yield.
The surf is up, the trough is down,
the pattern’s on the Wall.
They shoot the curl, or wipe it out,
the field’s in caterwaul.
Then we draw analogies,
of what it must be like.
But something from the nothing...
classic logic takes a hike.
We try to tell what’s happening,
with speech not adequate.
Some forbid the lexicon,
of the maths in duplicate.
Yet it seems, to quantify,
in a language of it’s own.
And we can hear it chatter,
though its meaning’s not full blown.
We know Hadrons are the nouns,
and the Leptons are the verbs.
The Bosons are the adjectives,
and the Field is all the words.
The particles aren't our focus,
No... it’s to the Field we truck.
Wading in our Wellington’s,
in the fog and quantum muck.
A particle’s not a particle,
a wave is not a wave.
It’s more or less equations,
of the way that they behave.
By -Edlynn Nau
©March 1, 2019
If you’ve ever studied Quantum Mechanics, or tried to understand reality from the subatomic level, or follow new particles found at CERN, then you understand that analogies are about impossible for a science that just isn’t classical. This was meant to be fun and underscore the difficulty of the English language in not being able to translate the maths.
This is two parter. The first dealing with the abuse of the mother. The second part is about her child, growing up in care
The Girl, Part 1
A foetus from a mother’s womb
Prematurely born too soon
Due to punches, slaps and kicks
Delivered fast with fury, quick
By a man, in drunken rage
Who thumped a stomach, broke ribcage
Of mother who could not defend
Against the rage which knew no end.
Unbridled ire he launched against
A woman who had had the sense,
And also child beat out from her
By angry, savage, saboteur
N.L.G
The Girl. Part 2
She never stood a chance, the girl
A chance she never stood
At seven months, born premature
Kicked out of womb with foot;
By father laced in alcohol
Belligerent and vile,
Who spared no rod nor pulled his punch
On women he defiled
She never stood a chance, the girl
A chance she never stood
In Children’s homes and foster care
she lived through her childhood
Attachments never formed for her
No bonds or pledges made
By people charged to care for her
Just sorrow and dismay
She never stood a chance, the girl
A chance she never stood
No opportunities for her
They thought she’d do no good
Passed from pillar then to post,
And then passed back again
She never stood a chance the girl
For her no sweet refrains
She never stood a chance, the girl
A chance she never stood
Poverty for her assured
It ran through lines in blood
No song with lifting melodies
Would underscore her life
Just beats reigned down from angry fists
And chorus sung with strife
She never stood a chance the, girl
A chance she never stood
Disordered personality
Consultants diagnosed
Anxiety, depression
Heightened lows and lofty highs
Mental health became her norm
Well, should we wonder why?
N.L.G
wing my loss) if grim reaper
came for das scribe as skew
ward poem attempted to infer, now
circling back to your queue
ped ditty linkedin with aforementioned
poppycock poo poo
merely a hypothetical premise aye drew
if my unexpected demise took place
husbanding half a motley crue
(ideally such unexpected tragedy
ideally tubby quick and painless)
without war ning, via internal bombardier
in tandem with luft waffe.
Sorry for rather somber tone -
but this psychological state
of yo dough less bro
affected by his reading,
autobiography coup (now, no idea titled tract)
d’état of Abraham Lincoln -
the author drew
my rapt attention (american history
strong interest) – whereby
past, present n near fee var few
chore wrenched with both
prized progeny persevering
(as they should) a path to hew
of their own making,
which steps toward emancipation
(worthy proclamation) for gentile or Jew,
these kindred (chromosomal byproducts
from countless chanced
genetic dice throws)
perhaps n uncle or aunt a bit loo
knee, perchance dna housed new
bile queen of the nile,
where (August) Caesar
didst hotly pursue
anyway....yes, lives of
deux darling daughters
un wii ting lee triggered flashback,
when self worth equaled zero
tricked, replayed, and generated
mine horror silent film
to rewind at nadir total fall out,
when anorexia nervosa did stew
underscore ring (four decades plus…) true
value of this moment colliding
with elapsing squandered
youth in rear view
mirror, unseen only
by ma doppelganger,
I now close with whew!
Looms as harbinger unless
*****sapiens can unite
one non Yiddish speaking
Ongematert wishing ye
fare thee well tonight
before betokening apocalyptic sight
'course one must go about
her/his business - right?
Rhetorical question - yet
impossible mission quite
challenging, where one
brother grimm ponders plight
Cosmofunnel favorite fan
Katina Borgersen "poof"
our acquaintanceship dissolved
(think snapped fingers) outright
regardless, whether...
perchance we ever
cross paths long daze
journey into night
met under virtual reality moonlight
ah... the mere awareness
of her existence
metaphorically found modest, mercurial
mellow male within limelight
oy vey admittedly one
rusty Ongepatshket knight
fumbling in the dark with
his unreliable sputtering jacklight
hooping aforesaid gal whose eyes alight
upon mine genuine words doth newt
coon sitter me laughable, nor impolite,
yet accept hard reality to highlight
and/or _ underscore delight
full dame online - each of us,
an infinitesimal jot of granulite
within vast cosmos given finite
minuscule time to excite
our senses trening utmost delight
during brief unique
deoxynucleic chromosomal copyright
til death do us part,
whether natural demise
or... huge mushroom
clouds radioactive blight.
Uneasiness far greater
to confront atomic augury
than pernicious penury
which ceases within eyeblink
far more serious than perjury
nonetheless afflicting me
with psychological injury.
Personal finances pitted
me deep in hock
into red zone, yes
quite a shock,
now finds yours
truly poorest oldest
curmudgeon goofy "kid"
on the block
within Lake woebegone
hard space and rock
as inevitable doom
with each second approaches closer
with each tick tock.