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Long Environment Poems | Long Environment Poetry

Long Environment Poems. Below are the most popular long Environment by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Environment poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Robert Ronnow | Details |

Change

I am feeling the shock of fast change. How to cope with it is of course the question. Listen to Beethoven through the neighbor's window? Look up from the page? Appreciate doves even though they are so numerous? I seem to have limitless choices although this cannot be true. Could I have become a computer specialist? Sure! How to remain still in the ever-maddening mandala. To remain still on the outer edge of the wheel is to ride laughingly and pluck at the gold key. I force myself down into the craw of the black vortex New York until I feel the strong oscillations gather rhythm and expel me or accept me.

            What do I find within the black electric walls of this unique vortex? I find there is more space between people than I'd ever dared to hope. That my efforts are unnecessary and hopeless. I cancel my subscriptions and stop eating. I embrace wild roots and run through streets with arm around my girl.


                    *                                  *                                  *

What is important.
That question.
I part my lips in the middle
      and blow
eat corn chips, dipsy doodles
make love, eat grapes.
                                In their mere chronology
events have no relation. How was making love
different from eating grapes. Differentiation

is essential to bring order from chaos. The chaos
is the accelerated change created by our own species
whose consummations have a quantum effect
      on the environment.
                                   But the chaos
existed long before, and long after us
in both more serene and violent forms.
Again a duality, but here's why.
                                            For
each duality may then be said to be in a dual
relationship with another duality, forming
cubes.
           These cubes are difficult to join
with other cubes, unless first they are
somewhat melted.
                          We were traveling among
these cubes, maneuvering
through a static array of equidistant points
but finding it impossible to avoid striking them.

So why the difficulty adapting. Because no species
before us had to adapt to its own effects upon
environment? No, every species must

but our adaptations (of the world) are so successful
(such fabrications!) One green, one brown

                      Two dead leaves
                              sleep-touching
                                     Then a breeze!

                                        *                                  *                                   *

                        Loveliness and loneliness
                        these periodic
                        auras
                                 they sleep apart/together

sometimes not always
        using sheets of white nothing madly
                connecting, splicing, parturition
                        continuing to birth life and ideals
                                like ants or any other species.
                                        Tree, each poem, begins
                                                and ends and giving up
                                                        to life's forms
                                                                graciously

surrendering to greater force, power, strength
        whatever it is called, the clog of heels
                upstairs to the door, turning of
                        the key, the taking out of the
                                garbage down below, car
                                        starting, placed in
                                                gear, cat
                                                        meowing

anyway, for myself, personally, speaking only
        for myself, because although the Parks
                Department rakes the leaves as it
                        did last autumn, to keep them
                                from clogging the sewer system,
                                        I am in a heightened
                                                state of vibration
                                                        Quivering

like a long steel pipe banged hard against an
        iron beam. The hard hat feels it in
                his hand (on the gears) but
                        great buildings are built that
                                nature destroys in time
                                        with a little wind
                                                water, fire

air, you glide down through the limpid air
        toward the ninety-seven story abandoned structure
                remnant of an earlier civilization
                        abandoned but not yet entirely
                                swept away in slow waves
                                        of change.






Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

The Stricken Corridor

Fall tumbles relentlessly on our door steps
young winter birds inducing provoking sounds scamper in trees 
Watching winter crawling slowly under our feet.

The night rain wet the ground with sadness 
washing  away the environmental stench
purging the atmosphere of  its infectious dew
And  I could absorb fresh air in my lungs again. 

I fell into a deep sleep shortly after nine but woke up 
by my next door neighbor bustling activities.
Nice showers clean fresh air is the perfect night to
be drenched with sleep but instead I was on my knees.

An unknown burden overshadowed  me, disturbing my spirit
raising my curiosity, causing me to ponder over unknown mysteries
unexplainable matters that doesn't concern me, yet they troubled me.

I soaked myself in prayer seeking for a  plausible answer 
And after praying I fell asleep again; a sleep that 
I thought would be peaceful but here I am again
on an unannounced journey to the Far East.

I mysteriously found myself on a university campus in the Far East,
no paint, no color, everywhere was deserted, no one was around
except for dry leaves  spreading out on the troubled ground 
and dull trees astoundingly lingering in the autumn breeze.
I walked propitiously through the front door along a bare corridor 
in search of a toilet to ease my body pressure.

A desolated corridor whose hope seemed to be diminished with the passing of time
a million feet must have trodden upon it, feet in search of  freedom ,
feet looking for peace, proud feet, dirty feet, bloody feet, stubborn feet.
Feet looking for revenge and feet marching to the destiny of doom. 
I moved anxiously from door to door but every door that I opened I saw
Asian toilet embedded deeply in the ground and clean water flooding all around. 

I opened another door and found a western bath filled with clean water 
I kept walking along the corridor but all the Asian toilets were flood with water.
At the end of the corridor I found one that was completely  dry but there was no toilet inside except for PVC pipe fittings planted firmly in the ground.

I tread along the opposite side of the hallway still searching for  a toilet
but only rooms whose doors were removed  and leaning helplessly
in front of them occupy the other side of the stricken corridor.


I anxiously left the building and a slim young man in his early twenties 
wearing shaded glasses ran behind a reception area outside the campus ground
and pretended as if he was at work, but that was only a deception.

As I walked passed him he tried to reached out to me
He complained about someone who has treated him badly
and pointed to a friend who was instrumental in turning his life around.
A sizable crowd gather around him as he  illustrates his painful story.

He and his friend took me to the other side of the campus where 
a larger crowd of young people had gathered for a wedding
some were sitting under large beach umbrellas
While others congregate in groups all over the campus grounds.
I walked upon a platform  where the wedding ceremony
was about to  take place but daylight suddenly exploded in my face.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            ©2014 Christine Phillips


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Semi-Final Evaluations

In what ways have nutritional 
and health
and financial
and well-being values increased 
over past time,
whether a quarter,
or a year,
or a decade,
or a lifetime,
or a millennium,
and in what ways have toxic dissonant disvalues
and decaying trends ebbed and flowed?

Where exactly?
For whom and for not whom?
How, when, and where have we reduced and increased
both short-term and long-term economic
ecological risk?

Why do you think so,
or not?
Do you use as evidence your own lungs
and heart,
eyes and ears and feelings?
And perhaps those of your family and friends,
your local community?
How about your country of origin?
What about as a humane race toward 
Earth's Climax Global Tribe?
How is the larger DNA-regenerative fueled
branch of Earth's Tree of Life coming along
right now as compared to
when trees were the most intelligent life-formed 
diametric hierarchy?

And then there is the trunk and root system
of our entire polycultured and permaculturing
RNA-regenesis clan,
fractalling and crystalling and octaving,
folding and unfolding functions,
radically revolving and stealthily evolving.

Who is vulnerable enough right now
to truthfully teach us what they need,
who they need us to be for them?
Who is brave enough to listen?

How are we doing with our shared translation project,
syncing Eastern economies of karmic gratitude,
coincidental transactions of mutually bowing equivalence,
with Western stumbling incarnation 
of more actively graceful ecologic?
Some might even say...athletic

Herculean powerful birthing pains,
inviting yin's silent synergetic wisdom
to complement our yangish 
left-brained deductive 
languaged
metric
rhythmed
heart-beat
blood-flow ways
of reaching right's proportionally loving order;
intuited
decoding and recoding DNA/RNA
functions and binomial frequencies of octaved
ancient information systems,
shared with all our shamans and messiahs,
prophets and polypaths,
nurturers and regenerators,
producers and consumers.

How is our New Millennium mission
to love all others
all species,
all space and time incarnations
and coincidental potentialities
as interdependent with ourselves,
to bring synergetic revolutions to this
nagging competition between
eco-normic transactions and
permacultural relationships for growing ecologic values?

Have we developed our prototype
for incubating cooperative deep and wide ecological proposals
regeneratively designed to sync with global information networks
evolving cordless stringed formation,
we are what we absorb,
we are not what we dissonate?

How are we doing with combining our nutrient-value starved voices,
with chronically cash-starved voices,
performing our permaculture opera 
for philanthropists and investors and policy makers,
butchers and weapons bakers and candlestick shakers,
kings and queens and fools,
knights and damsels distressed about each other,
each inviting mentors walking their walk,
while shunning alien teachers,
optimizing ecological balance
by minimizing long-term life-investment risk?

Open system radiant energy confidently absorbs
what gravity decomposes,
waiting for adventure,
evolving toward diastatic light regeneration.

Deduce from past solar systemic orthopraxis
what we induct from future's optimizing intent.

Invest cooperatively in eco-confluent coincidence,
to divest of competitive ego-cognitive dissonance.

As before, so after,
as without, so within.


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Why Kites Fly

Fear and violence and guilty judgment
display synaptically sharp,
competing "Loser!" skittish economies.
Love and active peace sustain buoyance,
resilience,
robustly revolving away
from red skies of mourning;
cooperatively mutual Win-Win
ecology of evolution.

I want so badly to fly my competing belief kites,
and faith,
for my string to remain confidently taut,
vibrantly humming and singing my self-righteousness,
intrinsic value and merit,
for my eisegesis to transcend up and out
catching our multi-cultural wind,
decomposing old ways of competing
as we bow to my better judgment,
declaring my Orthodox wisdom kite
the Winner!

Still,
your kite won't fly this way,
or hasn't after all these frustrating
lean growing years of learning our faith
in competing paradigms,
where one must be more right,
the best kite,
but really not just the best,
because we would each love to obliterate
all inkiting competition.
Our ego-cycling judgment
reads and studies why each must be elite
to lead losers behind.

Meanwhile, some of us are relearning,
re-ligioning,
reconnecting,
reweaving kites flying best together
like wedges of geese
balanced and resiliently squawking
our glad tidings,
"It's warmer south,
and colder north,
and vice versa,
depending on which habitual hemisphere
you dominantly favor."
 
Together we catch post-millennial wind
to soar our joyously cooperating kites
in Golden self-regenerative atmosphere of inclusive grace.

If my eisegetical kite won't fly right,
if my EarthTribe can't hear or understand
or care about what I have to proclaim,
I listen deeper
to find how high
my kite might float
in richer racing flowstreams,
as positive deviant diversity
among mutually mentoring companions,
quacking our coincidental ecologic.
 
We find each Other's incarnated contours,
adjusting,
nuancing,
merging one breath,
two resonant heartbeat kites,
then three....

Then rise to fly apart.

Floating back,
breathe,
sustain mutual listening,
sync-rhythmic vibrant revolution
spiraling up and away,
soaring eastern harmonies,
dancing inkited incarnate breeze.
 
Left-Right well-bowed bicameral sparring confluence
balancing peace
toward mutual gratitude,
centering mindfulness soaring regeneratively up
reducing tipping-tail dissonance and stress,
waving down and up
in and out
back and forth to smile warm namaste.

Leaning left proposes inspiration,
flexing right disposes expiration,
together swelling prime (0) spinal soul,
our permacultural kite-fly system
fractally equivalent decomposing,
air-born swimming,
interdependent open windowed balance,
which was our Original Intent,
to reach up toward bicameral balancing flight,
as Left breathes in
Right breathes back out regifting Earth,
positively praying revolution's gratitude.

Breathing out what you breathe in,
breathing in what you breath out,
inspiring information,
expiring exformation,
my Yang inhale our Yin exhale,
my Yin exhale our Yang inhale,
balancing (0)-sum ecologic stress,
flying our long-taled inter-nesting kite.


Long poem by Vicki Acquah | Details |

THE NATURE OF THINGS

The Nature of Things

Birds ATE Worms,
Worms Tilled Soil,
Frogs ATE Flies,
Bees Made Honey,
Fish ATE Worms,
People ATE Fish,
Cats ATE Fish
Butterflies and bees
Pollinated.
Grass Grew, and the
Dandelions flew
al aroun' all aroun'
and Were Welcomed,
Life was simple back then.
Preying Mantis fought.
Snails made slime.

And the green grass
Still grew sublime
The trees bowed in dignity
and neutralized  the
Pollutants in THE AIR...
Then gave US the Oxygen
we breathed,
and the red clover grew
all aroun' all aroun'
Even the rocks did their part ,

Filtered the water and trickled

it down,to well up Into Springs...

Purified...and the red clover grew

all aroun' all aroun'

That was the nature of things...

when men loved naturally.

Until the disorder.

Who ordered the disorder.

If you if you do not know now.

Oh well!

I won't Tell --To bad for us all.

All I know, It was not that long ago

OK, I Will Tell ..it is

M o N S A N TO...Monsanto !

Now what we gonna do,

wait for our Karmic potion?

What goes around comes around...

and the red clover is

no longer all over-

and the green grass no longer grows

all aroun' all aroun'..

"Round up I would say.

"Agent Orange", the other nay

Every dog will have his day,

stay out the way

of other peoples karma .                                                                                                                             
Always ring the

alarm when you see

or smell harm

believe in your Intuition.

This is my last poem

In which I will speak

of times past,or will

I speak of blue skies

and babbling brooks.

I will tell you that truth

was written in books.

I will speak of air raids,and braids.

I will tell you how we went from

Empresses and Queens to slaves,

and from Stewards and

Kings to our graves.

I will inform you that people need

to get back on the right tract.

Will ask you to find your

dignity and take it back.

I will ask you to be vigilantes,

and stand up. Before we all fall down.

Before no more green

grass grows allaroun', allaroun'

I would ask you to draw lines and never

let anyone cross your boundaries.

I would tell you that the

herbs and the vegetables

were our medicine,study them

and get to know them again.

I would implore you to

question everything.

You are more than able

And never follow the crowd.

read the labels

We use to have Songs like

Black and Proud, or War by war.

War (uuugh) "What is it good for"

I would say so much to you

and send this hug to you.


Today I might be dead

and gone, but call on my spirit

and I will come.

Blood Sweat n Tears sang

"there will be one child born...to carry on"

Know that this battle can be won.

And no matter what

stay true to the real you,

whenever in doubt

Shout...the ancestors out ...

We are only a dimension away.

And that my friends is...

"The Nature of Things ".


Long poem by John lawless | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/i_cant_breathe___a_rant_625520' st_title='I CAN'T BREATHE - a rant'>

I CAN'T BREATHE - a rant

I CAN’T BREATHE

I am being suffocated by causes.
Will we march Quixote-like
enraged by the spinning of the windmills?
We protest the wars carrying placards
while expecting others to carry arms,
praise God and worship Jesus while
condemning all others to eternal damnation.
How many would offer to abort – an abortion –
by offering to adopt the child at birth,
feed the hungry at their own kitchen table,
stage a “die-in” in the lobbies of academia
demanding they empty their cash filled
endowment accounts – and give to the poor,
clothe the naked, drill wells for the thirsty.
In our effort to “Celebrate Diversity” are we
selectively excluding those who are just
too diverse for us?  Must we sacrifice our
history and culture on the altar of inclusiveness?
Perhaps, in time, our exhalations will become
toxic to an environment devoid of trees to
balance our co-dependent existence.
Why are the rights of the 1% minority less
important than those of the 99% who claim
to be in the majority.  Are not politicians corrupt
by the very nature of the political power structure?
Should we vote blindly because we do not
listen – only hear what we want to hear,
sit in the eye of the hurricane of apathy
warning all of the dangers outside of it,
tax the poor to fund programs for the poor,
subsidize farmers to grow less to keep the
prices high, rail against compromises in
the privacy laws while posting our lives
on Face Book, twitter, and u-tube.
Have we forgotten the cries of the oppressed:
“No more genocides, no more holocausts”,
turned our backs, averted our eyes
lest we see the horror we negligently condone.
Will we black out all our bumper stickers,
discard all of our tee shirts, assist the
elderly shopper in reaching the high shelf,
pick up after our pets – or even more
spiritually – pick up after someone else,
speak to the disheveled panhandler –
if only briefly - to say good morning,
contribute more than money and
three cans of tuna to the food drive,
assist voters to the polls regardless
of their political leanings, allow those
who do not see our concerns as having
any real value their opinion.  Will we(I)
be their when the marches are over,
the media bored with the cause, the
placards torn and faded, the enthusiasm
waning as work, school, exams, life –
and the living of it – move us back to
the eye of the maelstrom, the safety of
conformity, the “peace” of acquiescence.

Or will we scream each morning
“LET US BREATHE”.  Let us breathe
life and passion and power into our
day, reach out and “BE CAUSE”,
stay the course lest the ship lose
it heading, run aground on the shoals
of false satisfaction at how involved
we were, how much we accomplished.

Will we breathe the breath of truth,
of freedom, of love, of peace, of unity
across this land reaching to the shores
and forests of our world, reaching to
touch the hand of that stranger
who lives next door.


John G. Lawless
12/13/2014 



Long poem by Nsamu Moonga | Details |

The One I Love The One who Love Me

It is a Sunday morning.

The day before was still,

yet eventful and surprising:

sacredness met in holy places

and inspired persons.

Petrified trees and slave traders’ bedrooms;

cattle grazing and the ancient one sleeping.

The quiet sounds of lit boats by night,

and the sounds of men returning home

to meet with the people they love –

those who love them.

They sing and dance around their catches.

The wind carries the sounds miles on end,

conspiring to bring home love never possessed.

 

The one who loves me never says goodbye.

I am lullabied by the twinkling of the boat lights,

an assortment of colours.

I am awakened by the voice of the one who loves me –

The one I love –

in the sound of the waves of the lake;

the colour of the lake speaks primordial presence.

 

‘Good night’ and ‘good morning’ are not words any more.

They contain the eternal call to 

being still and knowing that where I am is eternal Presence.

I am here to learn how to be human as if for the first time.

I am drawn back to the place

where I learned to walk and talk;

the place where I learned to love and laugh;

the place where I learned to live and leave;

I learned to query and question;

search and never be satisfied by little.

 

The one who loves me – the one I love –

has known this journey even before it began,

long before I imagined it.

It began in eternity and ends nowhere.

 

I arise to the awareness that love is 

not for the knowing.

It is in the little awe at the 

sight of the vastness of a lake;

hearing the sound of the morning wind,

the sound of the waves knocking on the

door of the lake;

delighting in the brightness of the colours of the birds;

in holding on to the fear of otherness in

animals we call wild;

in the cuddle of the one who loves me –

the one I love;

in a mother embracing her child to security;

in the fright due to a sinking boat;

in the courage of a night-time fisherman;

in the drunkenness of a dreaming young man;

in the playfulness of a kapenta seller;

the closeness of a child on mother’s back;

the silences of the winding roads;

the inquisitiveness of a little child;

in the confidence of a babe;

in the enjoyment of song and dance of a grown-up man;

in the pleasure of friendship;

the communion of family;

the embrace of loving spouses;

in the laughter of young lovers;

in the trust of daring divers;

the sacrifices of trench diggers;

the freshness of cold drinking water;

shared dreams and fears;

the strength of the dam walls;

trusting the bridge will hold you;

the welcome of the shrines;

the generosity of those we love;

the daring of the swimming child;

the warnings of crocodiles and hippos;

the heat and the sweating;

the savour of food and drink;

in the beautiful places and the ugly;

the contrast between pools and the lake;

the pain of returning to business as usual;

the tear on parting…

 

The one I love –

and the one who loves me –

truly never says goodbye.


Long poem by Louis Borgo | Details |

Collective Unconscious

I never want it much but manners when it was due Recalling of yesterday wind Collectively bargain as I may call it as a rapper that was honor into the hall of fame That said he hope his rap would care over into the next generation if not then his legacy Collective bargain as I may recall it as another rapper he said yeah it's cool What today rappers are doing woman and money here today but it will be gone Tomorrow but what about the two wars we went through what about the economic once more This was not my words but I took it deeply to heart So a man heard what I said so he let me Break in line so I look a little bit closer and I seen the manger discounting of discounts not once but Twice and not even once but twice in same week of my grocery Im think to myself still today computer had a Glitch But my mom said it happen to her not once but twice in the same week that's "The City Im From" Onto the notion of word of mouth it has it on hall of fame we call "Word On The Street" And looking at life coming from the country with just a address and not a home at birth That I was told of My parents no matter there reconcile install into me the value of education And it was something that no one could take from you and I thought to myself that There are few legitimate ways to make Money, demand and supply, advertise for commercial, and the barter With that come the notion of the understanding what is Loyalty, respect, and power You cant make every one respect you, power is a conflict of interest going back to conquers, a reign is a reign no matter the king or queen bless it be the thing about loyalty You cant buy it and you cant fear into respect Can one have loyalty, respect, and power is it possible- Cause as a man you notice only what you see and sometimes it not you it's the environment but when do we choice to wake or is Awaking dawn apond our eyes I yield to maturity and ask "Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible". Young brother young brother would you like to hear my full story- But the integrity thing is you could have a million views or A thousand votes But it only take one somebody to notice you and it is live changing thing and that Somebody may not be a celebrity or even a house hold name and for me Money was never be my intention but usually good deed due become of rewards And that somebody that had a impact on me Im start to see what a woman worth Is truely about I never reallie understand why girls now that are woman like me so much was it reallie a cruel joke? And the phone rings hangs and click again And where she goes he will follow And the breeze steadily picks up on a winded blue night To insult my intelligence is to insult your intrigue why most you feel so inferior-


Long poem by Poetryof Providence | Details |

Increments

A thousand myriad voices           scattered on the wind
decry the human suffering questions will it end
tents in desert dustbowls        waiting upon the rain
lives molded in emptiness     how long can they sustain
 
Pandemic the diseases          a viral biology
man himself constructed          in tubes technology
outpouring chemicals     no plant life can escape
pillaging our resources         our planets incumbent rape
 
The corporations interest    aim profits in their greed
a force it must maintain             your pocket book exceed
desires  that are mercenary    have plans to you expunge
trash outstrips the landfills     the poor in countries plunge
 
The maintenance of property     with empty homes in rot
homeless children hungry   sleep in a parking lot
media insinuates                     you need be owning more
earning of the dollar          the dream you're living for
 
I have seen starvation          exists a different kind
a famine of affection     to others needs be blind
hedonistic pleasures          force decisions to ignore
repercussions down the road     contaminates hardcore
 
The disappearing species          on land and in the sea
ones  we've not discovered   may know them never be
chem. caused deformities               in humans also plants
cancer causing agents    saturating our advance
 
Facilities  explosions            toxic substances are spread
how much can nature take                 before our planets dead
we all have mankind's mind     we know where this will end
to destruct this machine                on man we can't depend
 
Aspartame and PCB's     nitrites not a few
pollution of the food supply        detriments not new
the really scary thing           as this accumulates
greater will its impact be       if prevention waits
 
As mans wars continue        a plan for our demise
we barely see the surface        that our governments disguise
there's a conspiracy      our morality to drown
if you hold to virtue                  their aim to take you down
 
In streaming videos          what's immoral implant
willingly absorb them            its profession is extant
the onslaught overwhelming          the pressure to conform
if you don't run with them        you aren't considered norm
 
The barrage of information           to absorb your time
new gaming now is free        to keep your mind online
even I use this tool         to reach inside your thought
every truth you hear            is seeking to be caught
 
here little there little           every piece in place
to clean up our planet     must destructive thought replace
errors inclination       mans  programming like a map
where is the intervention        to spring us from this trap
 
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C Michael Miller
Via Duboff Law Group LLC


Long poem by Carol Eastman | Details |

The Job Interview

The HR person called me in… I was turning gray… Was he even twenty-one?
I wondered if the interview would go well, as he did fung shui the chairs around.
Offered a caramel expresso mocha late decaf, I told him I took my coffee black.
Alas my friend, it got progressively worse, this: our proverbial generational gap.

He asked me to explain, how I’d be the best personnel fit, for this illustrious job.
Ah! Experience I had in abounds, as I pulled out a 100-page resume, neatly bound.
That question, had me off and running, but I knew, I was in some trouble when…
I saw his eyes glaze over, and he ask me, ‘Have we made it into space yet?’

He smirked, when he ask, about ‘Recent’ applicable education, in the last 5 years.
I condensed my course certifications till he nearly fell off, his crazy chair, my dear!
He ask the projects worked on, unfortunately, all were government secret classified. 
So I added some of the numerous skills, that had been applied, till he almost cried.

I started with the job descriptions, but he didn’t like… that the names were so long.
And the abbreviations normally used, in this line of work, almost blew his mind.
Though I also got the feeling, he may have thought that I’d finally, lost mine, since…
My accomplishments had scads of stuff he’d never, ever, be able to comprehend...

You know, ‘things’ about the job, HR doesn’t care about or bother to be clued in.
Luckily all was saved, before the interviewers’ jaw, hit the floor around his chair.
Using a power point presentation, illustrations appeared, giving him a better clue.
I even gave him a burned DVD, set to the music of  ‘Live Free or Die Hard’, too.

He ask about items, he’d never heard of, you know, from way before he was born.
But got the feeling he’d be more attentive, talking about a computer game going on.
I didn’t lie about a thing, it’s not my fault some Companies are now closed down!
But I felt things were somewhat a success, as security finally came to lead me out…

Unfortunately, in the end, they hired a young one, and I couldn’t understand why.
He was a quiet, little, studious kid, who didn’t say a thing, but had stars in his eyes.
He didn’t understand any of the work involved, but his pay would be next to none.
But that's whom they got: until that company closed for work that couldn’t be done.

All because the HR Department didn't help them get the workers they did need.
I became self-employed, developing computer games, all the rage! Oh So Sweet!
Yes, I became a millionaire, with my own company, without HR, anywhere seen!
Now, we develop rockets to go into space, where I felt, that HR person should be.

Dedicated to all those Middle aged people stressed out after looking for a job.
Wife and Hubby Collaboration


Long Poems