Long Vegetative Poems
Long Vegetative Poems. Below are the most popular long Vegetative by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vegetative poems by poem length and keyword.
It's being used here for emphasis
denaturing and altering
the structure of germy surfaces.
Anti bacterium was created from
the need to both
clean and eliminate funk
and bacteria.
Vegetative Forms of bacteria can be
cleaned with alcohols. But have no affect on either
spores and viruses.
Disinfecting to eliminate antimicrobial
were antibiotics are used to help
eliminate the infestations.
Ozone generators and Anti odor beads are
used to get the Funk away and eliminate odor
Good old funk eleimanation can included
but should not be exclusive of the the latters:
Vinegar and baking soda, are a wise combination
the effect is almost instant and the smell
can be enhanced by using citrus oils and oils
Kinetic verbs are actions that relate to a specific topic or genre.
these verbs are in relation to a certain topic description of
rendering remedy using the terminology of the genre described.
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Kinetic nouns are nouns that relate to a specific area of study: word usage
and description terminology.
to give a more inviting scent to any area..
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Solutionary treatments are when the noun and verbs are used to help create a solution to solve a scentarian problem. for example
Cyon Sr. didn't have enough knowledge of science and didn't have enough money to have a solution created to deal with the orders and funks in his area of work.
He knew that crisp pungent odors from citrises like grapefruits, lemons and oranges could be extracted from the skins of the fruits and stored in extracted vegetable oil.
He save fruit zest for more many, many years and stored them in oils.
When he saved his money he wanted to create a product that would use these oils to eliminate odor and funk. He used these terms might the chemist would have an easier time creating a formula and soap to be used in Funk and oder removal!
A formula is an equation
where a function is predefined.
Isolation of Citrus Oils
optimization (the Extraction of oils from the zests)
Written by Professor Lydain Pinene
My darling daughter know I love you so,
And though I know I say it less than should,
(Though don’t I know it’s true of how you glow)
You brighten life more than your daddy could;
Think of the mountaintops near where you live,
That roll enchantment through a desert state,
Where sand should be instead’s vegetative -
Just like the light you shine when time is late;
Because although I know you know I lack,
And please believe I know you owe me zip,
When awful lies were said behind my back,
You stood for truth and helped me keep a grip;
So to my Lily Belle that heaven sent –
I hope you know how much your picture meant.
What if
Matter whether or not
You think you choose to digest the
Red Pill
Or
Blue Pill
1 and only 1
Constant common thread
remains in tact
Somewhere hidden flowing
deep inside the main frame
An encrypted Code does exist
Beyond the many Firewalls
protecting it
Supplementing the Matrix
That could bring it to it's knee's
And so expose the endless litany
of lie's used to subjugate the masses
into willing servitude
And we're to awaken enlightened
to so much fresh new information
racing through your brain
You we're barely able to recollect
something as trivial as the simple
necessity of how important it is
to breathe
And that all this information your
brain is now trying to process
May possibly even kill you or turn
your brain to mush
And leave you in a vegetative
incapacitated state
Like you we're initially before
Only difference is that this may
be a far bitter pill to swallow
Being it's a toxic deadly mix of
1 part Red and other half Blue
And the side effects leave you in
a permanent comatose state
of mind
To suffer the consequences of
whilst in purgatory
Every now and then
The cold blooded floor cements her dream.
Every now and then
She wakes up to the livid voice of her baby sinking into cupid rain.
The mercury of things on her chest is open as the cloud
Every now and then
She thinks of the diary of a teenage mother with baby sitter.
All these rotten times
She found no triangle in love.
All these rotten times
She saw no handwriting of her soldier on military wall.
Only the rose on his grave had kissed her thousand times in hazy vision.
Sometimes it seems as if the cloud over her head is drinking beer.
How will she find love in these rotten times.
Every now and then
She smiles at vegetative hands in the house of commerce.
I see a little love dripping out of her baby's feeding bottle.
I see a church of diapers becoming rare.
She's just 15 and mama is just a little girl.
My muse is on fire, she burns at the stake
guilty of poetasting, and glaring mistakes
Inferior rhymes with old Monoku outtakes
blaze all around her, as embers are raked
Badly blistered syllables, spark and flake
Whilst lacklustre stories, continually bake
A bard fans the flames, but he too’s a fake
for mincing his own words, with juicy steak
Making ado about nothing, soliloquy spake
Glory to the Efilist god, ha! give me a break
A dedication of respect
for rendering down a bard
# # #
However unpalatable
and repugnant the suet tastes
# # #
From March madness to April fool’s
digesting copious amounts of insipid tofu
# # #
Only to wipe it off
in an all encompassing
persistent vegetative state
By
David Kavanagh IV
My mouth’s in a cage, locked up and alone,
Sewn shut with no one to speak to.
My eyes have seen pain of mental torment,
A broken mirror that sees straight through you.
My ears are blocked to the screams and the cries,
A sand grain alone on the beach.
My skin’s now contorted to a dead cold bronze nothing,
Not tanned in a figure of speech.
My nose has been shattered to smells of a rose,
To the smells of happy and free.
My bones have been snapped, two pencils from one,
My body is now wasting debris.
My “me” has been broken, discarded and burnt,
Once strong, now brittle and frail.
My life is now cursed in this vegetative state,
On a bed my mind’s locked in a jail.
Travels of My Mind
My mind has travelled so far
It left my body behind
Doing what it desires
It wanders the universe
Collecting ideas from other lands
Alien to us mortals on Earth
Only it knows what it will see
What it has seen
It tells me in my dreams
Such wild vivid images
Colors and sounds that are new
Unknown by artists and musicians
Lands of fire and the darkest smoke
And others covered with ancient ice
Vegetative paradises
Alive with plants that touch the skies
Such strangely beautiful animals
Scents that drive my body to the edge
Trying to push it in a valley of ecstasy
This world where my body resides
The world of my home is so primitive
It cannot compare to what I have experienced
What my mind brings me as I sleep
The experience came fast
As streams flooded my soul
I had thought of an encounter coming
But slowly slowly it walked away from my worldview
Time is such a tiny vehicle
Driving life away from plan
I least expected streams to vomit water like a sinking body
The experience came prepared
Forming river links in my soul
Even in my dream
Rivers keep running after me
I could see ornaments coming along too
I lost fishes to the running splash
Fishes i had feed with the sand of life
Life is so vegetative in the pond
And fishes are interspersed among grasses
The experience came wild
Along with rain to share a particular relationship with time
Today
A beautiful sun is set above us
Giving us a flourishing light
As cassava stems
Stand looking gracious
I believe the last face of the sky
Gives hope in abundance
Today is faithful with us
And it's close to the end of everything
Faint flame emergent from neurotransmitters.
The brain, a torch arranging patterns of awareness,
patterns of recall, encounters, adventures, and ordeals.
Covert consciousness realized in coma patients,
detected in vegetative invalids by the analyzers
of EEGs, the probers of the mind.
Bedridden with no signs of life,
These sufferers were long thought braindead.
The only question; when to withdraw life support.
But our deepest traces do often linger with immobility.
Our hardly perceptible scintillas send measurable signals.
They offer no bodily changes, no responses to cues.
They never give themselves away in behaviors.
Yet, science now knows them as genuine.
Are these the souls and ghosts felt by our ancestors?
Are these the wraiths and apparitions feared
by so many?
Created from the temporal, assembled from
life, is their structure entirely in the mind?
Maybe part of their energy resides in other realms,
places in and out of which they drift at our death.
Accepted for publication: The Opiate Journal, spring 2023
"Are they going to take him off life support?"
I heard my middle daughter whisper with burden.
In a silenced gasp of terror,
I knew I was the subject matter.
A doctor's prognosis, in layman's terms:
damage irreparable, vegetative state expected.
I wrestled with my failed act of will to peal
open my eyelids, to motion that I'm still here,
living in mystery of the sight around me,
but still able to hear, still able to sense.
In blurs and slurs, I saw remembrances
of faces and places half fabricated, like in dreams.
Awake or asleep? --- I knew little difference.
I could hear each footstep coming toward me
and shuffling away.
I could sense someone's presence
by a muffled dose of warmth and light.
As I heard my pastor praying,
I embraced each word with the only hug I could give,
one internal, one becoming eternal.
As scripture dripped over my thirsty soul,
I fervently prayed for each precious visitor,
who would lament my impending absence.
Like an infant's babbles trapped within,
with inutterances now incomprehensible
even to myself, I began to fade
into an opening of light-flickering glimpses
piercing through the doom.
As I slipped off into the distance,
a redemptive mystery began seeping through,
ready to free me from my ebony prison.