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Long Jobs Poems | Long Jobs Poetry

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

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Long Poems
Long poem by Terry O'Leary | Details |

the PLAGUE

as the PROPHETS of profits, WE lead and WE’re fair
while WE’re living the life of the poor BILLIONAIRE
– silver yachts, pearly castles, cash (plenty to spare) –
with the world on OUR backs... ah! the burdens WE bear!

being HAVES (not the have-nots) as nature decrees
means WE’re certainly the better (they’re vermin on sleaze).
if they pray for a lift in their dark fantasies,
WE just kick ’em downstairs, get ’em off of their knees.

yes, WE offer great jobs (much too busy OURSELVES!)
for maintaining the toilets, restacking the shelves,
and WE teach ’em to fear god and play with the elves,
thus dispelling ideas where the dark demon delves.

though they build mighty bridges, twin towers and more,
peddle pizzas and popcorn, sell guns door-to-door,
still they gotta have BOSSES to tell ’em the score
else WE’d never be needed, WE’d thrive nevermore.

when OUR profits are plunging, they do their part too
for they dine on the dole! yes, no hullabaloo!
soon OUR fortunes  redouble, rebound and accrue –
since WE fare well without ’em, WE bid ’em adieu.

’stead of wishing for welfare and standing in queues
or parading with pickets (look! holes in their shoes!),
they’d be better off scabbing to save union dues
... while WE whistle and warble, they’re singing the blues.

whether heros or hoboes, like spiders and lice
they just crawl all around us in life’s paradise,
but WE’re patient, big hearted and oft sacrifice,
spewing charity, kindness (though each has its price).

if they’re beaten or punctured or suffer assault,
are unhealthy or crippled or walk with a halt,
or retarded or helpless, it’s all their own fault – 
just like US they should worship the DOLLAR exalt!

protesters and loud mouths, you’ll find ’em aplenty
some older, some younger, the worst not yet twenty.
they’re shameless and brazen (unwashed, soiled and scenty)
impugning the prestige of brave COGNOSCENTI.

if they’ve got clashing colors  (or shades in between)
or opposing beliefs in the hidden unseen, 
well, WE’ll always exploit it, deflecting their spleen,
for with god on each side, would WE dare intervene?

WE promote many methods to keep ’em in chains –
daily rags and the tube spin OUR circus campaigns
“to pretend you’ve a voice”, an announcement explains,
“you can vote and decide on which ONE of US reigns”.

OUR policemen protect US, they stay on the ball
(they arrest ’em, no questions per law’s protocol,
and then jam ’em in jail with their backs to the wall) –
if you’ve lucre for lawyers there’s justice for all.

down the ROYAL road of justice WE march all alone 
– WE condemn their defiance, set ways to atone –
since WE’re sinless, unsullied, WE cast the first stone
(while WE cloak REGAL fetor with eau de cologne).

politicians, bald bankers, grand idols galore,
attend meetings, fete banquets in which they explore
how to rid US of rodents (the weak and the poor) –
well, just round up the riff-raff, dispatch ’em to war!

ah! OUR wars are.... well, just...... just a thing of the past
........... and the present............... and future... WE sure make them last!
if they frown as they gaze (armageddon!) aghast,
then WE smile back with pleasure, OUR treasures amassed.

useless ranting and raving (in rags, when they’re clad),
leads to losing their teeth (my! their gums are... egad!).
WE’re unselfish, indulgent, WE’d never be mad
if they drowned in the sounds of themselves feeling sad.

as the paupers are princes in midnight’s domain,
they have pipe dreams to lose, certainly nothing to gain
if they’re hoping OUR fortunes will wither and wane –
for “WE’re here by god’s will” as WE often explain.

yes, they wish to be US, with OUR wisdom and grace,
keeping up with ol’ CROESUS, maintaining the pace.   
but perverseness or rancor? they’ll see not a trace –
for WE hold ’em at bay with a fist in the face.

WE’re la CRÈME de la CRÈME, yes! the proud UPPER CRUST,
and OUR clothes are the finest, OUR hair never mussed –
WE imbue ’em with piety, duty and trust 
and they’re fed bread and water (if feed ’em WE must).

but they’re thieving, aggrieved, want a piece of OUR PIE
and request WE endure ’em, see EYE to black eye.
since they live in OUR land where OUR strict rules apply,
they must feast on the crumbs that may fall from the sky.

though OUR largesse and bounty WE don’t mean to flaunt,
yet the pittance WE pay ’em they surely can vaunt –
salty peanuts and pretzels (what more could they want?)
thereby keeping their kiddies so healthily gaunt.

yes, there’s room for the rabble (the back of the bus)
’cause WE treat ’em like equals, so what’s all the fuss?
all can rise to the top (yes! it’s always been thus),
to the suites in OUR penthouse (to sweep up and dust).

while OUR CHILDREN have tutors, the finest of schools
(being bred for the forefront, THEY’re nobody’s fools),
the ol’ school of hard knocks teaches: “follow the rules”,
building brawn ’stead of brains and broad backs strong as mules’.

and to keep ’em in line (to ensure WE prevail)
WE now monitor phone calls and read all their mail
(civil rights? what a notion! at best a detail!)
and if worse comes to worst...... well...... guantanamo jail!

WE’ve OUR quandaries and questions and headaches full blown
(like deciding design and decor of OUR thrones...
whether diamonds or rubies... to ivory WE’re prone) –
when WE deign to appease ’em, WE chuck ’em some bones.

now you know all OUR problems, OUR pains and travails,
– like preparing foreclosures, evictions  and sales –
but WE’ve no need for worries or gnawed fingernails,
’cause WE’re sailing OUR yachts through tempestuous gales
(with them bailing OUR banks when OUR stock market fails)
sipping daiquiri sours, champagne, ginger ales...


Long poem by Vic Pister | Details |

REVOLUTION IN TOGO

NEWS Item AP: TOGO
LOME – In an effort to topple a government set up to end a 24 year dictatorship rebellious army troops seized the state broadcasting station yesterday, then left the building but returned several hours later and recaptured it. Up to six people died in the clashes. The rebels forced a broadcaster to report demands that the prime minister Joseph Koffigoh resign and dissolve the high council set up to oversee the transition from military rule to democracy.


Revolution in Togo

I was lying on my lawn chair on a sunny summer day
With a dozen pack of Heineken and there I planned to stay
My wife came screaming from the house, most upset I must say
She knew there was trouble brewing, that I’d have to go away

In her hand she had the newspaper, waved it wildly in my face
I looked quickly at the headline and my heart began to race
What, I cried, a revolution? That could not be the case!
A revolution out in Togo? But we all came from that place!

“That’s impossible” I shouted, it is such a peaceful place
A revolution out in Togo? What a terrible disgrace!
I wondered what was brewing, what the problem there could be
My imagination then took over and the rest is history

I could see the picture clearly, I could see it all come down
It was all about the money, and the purse strings of the town
John Mulroy’d been in opposition for two terms maybe three
He was sick of watching the corruption and all the bribery

The foreigners came from Makaroff and San Clara and took hold
Taking all the jobs and contracts, lined their pockets with our gold
Johns support from Runnymede and Kamsack were stuck outside
Getting menial jobs and thinking they’d been taken for a ride

Rollie Hamel was Johns inside man, he was working for the town
Telling John what was going on and what was coming down
John was now determined to stop the debauchery 
And raise himself an army to set the people free

He got the Nabe boys and the Burbacks and a couple of their friends 
To mount an armed insurrection and bring this to an end
They quickly took the broadcast station in the back of Richies’ store
Within two hours the regular army came crashing through the door

What a standoff as they stared each other down with dirty looks
Talking about the law and the dubious entries in the village books
It was turning ugly for no one was backing down
But Richie’s store was also the only liquor store in town

In the meantime I had panicked with a sense of responsibility 
For there are times when a man must fight to protect his dignity
I sold my house and all my toys to buy supplies and guns
To try and save the homeland from the invading Huns

I arrived in Togo just in time to get to Richies’ store
And found a bunch of bodies lying passed out on the floor
What happened? I cried, with dread to anyone that could hear
John Mulroy said, with groggy head, t’was the best party of the year

“We came down last night to have a beer and watch the hockey game 
Drank a too much and passed out on the floor here, what a shame
We drank up all the whiskey, the whole supply in town
Then we finished off the moonshine as the third period wound down”

I said “What happened to the revolution going on here at home?” 
He looked at my newspaper article and said “No, that says in Lome”
Lome I said, confused now, where the hell is Lome?
He said that’s in a place called Togo, I said well…. that is my home…..?

He said “No you idiot, that’s not here, it’s an African country  
Everybody’s heard about it”, I thought “Yeah, everyone but me”
I said “Damn it, I’ve got loads of equipment, what can I do with it?”
He said “Sell it I guess, to tell the truth I don’t really give a shit”

So, I have two dozen crossbows, two hundred arrows and 3 Willis jeeps
I came fully prepared to fight the war, prepared to play for keeps
I have enough stores and weapons so any revolution I can dowse
I’m trying hard to sell it now so I can buy a house


Long poem by Stephen Kilmer | Details |

The Job - part 1

The Job

I got a plane to catch in the morning.  8:15 AM out of Austin, destination Orange County, CA.  Never cared much for California and I don’t think anything about this trip is going to change that feeling.  Ain’t nothing but a bunch of seaweed eating, tea partying queers out there if you ask me.  But hell I got a job to do; otherwise I’d stay here and water the dandelions growing in my backyard.  Bought the place on the GI Bill and been living here 20 years, most of them by myself.  Never cared much for “other” people.  That’s the whole damn problem with the world- other ****ing people.   Any Goddamn way I got a job to do in California.  I get a phone call from a guy called Phoodie and he says “Rick we gotta problem with someone out in Cali.”   Tells me there’s a plane ticket waiting and some money in a locker at the YMCA.  He just needs this person to go away.  I’m cool with that.  It’s not like it’s personal or anything it’s just a job.  I did lot’s of jobs in Nam when I worked for the Spooks.  That *****was all legal and legit.  This *****ain’t quite the same but it smells the same.

I feed the cat and put a little extra feed in the bowl cause I might be gone a couple of days.  Old Rollo can hang.  He’s a survivor.  If he runs out of food he can find a fat mouse chilling out somewhere.  I left him by mistake one time for a week and I swear when I got home he had gained weight and was eyeballing me on top of that.  Like he was stalking me.  I put and end to that *****right quick.

I like to work clean.  Some folks like to get close in and use a knife and get all-personal.  I don’t like people enough to take that path.  I like a clean shot, preferably just one but if I have to use two I do and beat myself up about it later.  Don’t get me wrong I have worked close in and have done so on many occasions but those were government jobs and I never liked getting wet.  Getting the blood out of the suit was never easy.  Time to prep.

I have a 9MM Mouser that I found after the wall fell in East Germany.  It was nothing but a shell of it’s former self; no stock just a barrel, cylinder, and chamber.  I took it to a friend in Istanbul that trafficked in old WWII weaponry and he put it together for me.  He made some modifications so I could easily break it down and get it inside a coat, added a scope and a very quiet silencer.  It is a killing machine.  It is the perfect weapon.  I could drop an elephant at 3000 meters with one well-placed shot.  No serial number and no way to trace it.  She’s mine and I am hers and we trusted each other.  I do my job and she does hers.  Together we are a fine tuned machine.

I pulled her out of the case and began the process that I go through every time we have a job to do.  She knew the dance and I loved to watch her move as I took her apart and put her back together again.  It was a sacred dance, a dance of death.  As I took her through the drill I poured myself a single malt scotch and slowly sipped it and worked both her and the drink methodically until we had both become a well oiled pair.  After a while I couldn’t distinquish between the weapon and myself.  We would commit the same crime and both walk away without feeling a thing because we were doing what God had designed us to do.  

After I finished the preparation I took a bath and cleaned myself from head to toe.  I then lay down on the fresh linen I had put on the bed after I got the call.  I needed to rest and think.  Killing someone is not as easy as you think.  You have got to get your head right.  Sometimes that means taking a couple of tranquilizers to steady the nerves.  You don’t want to get excited.  It just makes you make mistakes.  And one mistake turns you into the victim.


Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

The Immigration Officer Asked Me

                                 "The Immigration Officer Asked Me."

I was asked where are you coming from?
I answered I ran away from the war in my
country.?

I was asked how many years the war lasted?
I answered there was war for sixteen years
we were bombarded daily attacked by militia
on our way to work when we could go to work.

I was asked why did you choose this country?
I answered because they accept political refugees
and i heard that Canadians are helping us.

I was asked why do you look so pale and slim?
I answered because we had no food to eat when
we were bombarded we could not go out to buy
food, and when we were in the shelter nobody
brought us any food.

I was asked why are you wearing dark glasses?
I answered because i am not used to see the light.
We rarely had electricity, always using a candle
and staying in the dark for days my eye sight
weakened.

I was asked why don't you hear well?
I answered because of the arterially shelling.
And we had a bomb falling on our ceiling when
i was sitting in our home before the bomb fell.

I was asked why do you look shabby?
I answered because we never had water.
We never had water running in our tapes 
we had to buy water to have a shower or 
rain to fill utensils in plastic for many days.

He asked why don't you have any luggage?
I answered because i have nothing to wear.
My kids education needed all the money and 
i worked 2 jobs to bring in some money.

He asked what kind of work did you do?
I answered i was working in the hospital.
And working in a Boutique for mens clothing.

He asked were you working as a nurse?
I answered no i was cleaning the floors
and bathrooms i was everywhere for years
in that hospital.

He asked do you have any money on you?
I answered no the militia took everything.
When i arrived to the boat to leave the 
country as the airport was closed for 
years sometimes, at the port, one militia 
guy just snatched the few dollars i had.

He asked did you leave your home behind?
I answered no they bombarded my home
its in rebels i have nothing left in Lebanon.
He noticed my tears tumbling down my cheeks.

He asked where were you living then?
I answered i lived underground with many
people, for months sometimes we were 
underground sleeping on the floor somedays 
we had no food given by the enemy, the cry`s 
of children hungry was unbearable.

He asked do you have any family with you?
I answered no i have been alone since the war.
I had to send away my children after they 
were able to graduate not to be snatched by 
the militia. They both went to the US to work.

He asked how many children do you have?
I answered i have two boys one is a lawyer
and my other son is an interior designer.

He asked and where are they now?
I answered they ran away from the militia
to the US as we had very close friends who 
took them until they could find work to pay 
a rented room.

He asked how may languages do you speak?
I answered i speak three languages.
Arabic English and French.

He asked do you want to stay here?
I answered with my tears blinding
my eyes, please, i have nowhere
to go and i heard so much about 
the Canadians how human and 
generous they are.

He looked at me with a painful look
I will accept you as a political refugee
we will give you some money every
month you will have a bed to sleep
you will have food to eat work to do
water to drink shower and clothes
to wear and you can ask your 
children to come, are you happy now.

He stamped my passport and wished
me a good luck with a huge smile.
The beginning of a new life.

                                             Terry
                                           7/3/2013


Long poem by Matt Ancient | Details |

IS THE WORLD INSANE

(A SHORT COMMENTARY ON THE 21ST CENTURY CIVILIZATION)  


This story goes on to throw light on the 21st century civilization. And in that political era, the religious and political atrocities, which ended up as the back bone of social injustice, inequalities, war crimes against humanity etc. As in the Arab world an Islamist extremist rose to devour blood, killing thousands in the mane of God and prophecy, so many innocent people which died, losing their homes, friends and families all is due to wrong leadership.The rich wasted their time and money to see people to die, rather than to provide better education, jobs, health facilities to improve the life's of people. The same influence held people against their will, especially women and children were forbidden from what they perceive to be their destiny. Since ones religion which is backed by political atrocities will not permit them to independent and live their life as they want it or live a free people. People were persuaded  or manipulated to become serial killers and suicide bombers all in the name of religious and political atrocities, this done through the influence of the so called rich and vulnerable in society.Whiles politically Democracy was ignored by such leadership because they were selfish and arrogant. There was still stupid monarchs and dictators which no one dares to criticizes nor say anything about them. These so called leaders created enemies out of brothers and sisters, so that they fight among themselves. Instead of educating them and helping them to live a free and a happy world, in other words wrong leadership brought all these problems. On the other hand, in the western world of which the same religious and political atrocities also influenced war crimes, social injustice, inequalities, racism and so on. These so called leaders who pretended to be the protectors of the human world, were devouring blood and killing thousands, innocent people lost their families, homes and life's. False allegation were raised on opposition factions in the other part of world that they were manufacturing weapons of mass destruction which was not true. In view of this, these so called leaders, false fully and forcefully invaded cities and nations for their own selfish reasons and innocent people has to die all because of these atrocities. It was also difficult for the media to criticize the so called monarchs who were still in Europe, these so called western leaders formed collusion in other to topple up leadership in the Arab world, Latin America, Asia and in Africa, as a result so many people has to die for so many wrong reasons that no media wanted explanation from no body. As a result of this, there were terrorist who rose destroying properties, organizations etc. The implications of this was a serous economic crises, the rise of unemployment, sickness, diseases, disabilities and so on. Also economically, there was corruption, discrimination and partiality. Institutions which were established for the well being of the entire human world was monopolized, in other world it benefited other and other it did not. like the world had special nations he gives loans and help but others needed to borrow with higher interest rate which they could not afford.Moreover these comes with signing of false policies which may against ones culture or objectives. So the rich was getting richer and the poor, poorer. Crime rate, economic crises, illiteracy rate etc, so people will do all they can to survive. And at the end excellent excuses were given in other to justify these atrocities.


BY: Matt Ancient


Long poem by Cynthia Ozuna | Details |

This Woman

I remember my teen years and the attitude I had.
I always said, “I’ll never let a guy hit me or treat me bad.”
The first time it happened, the first time I was hit;
I couldn’t believe he did that to me, it was bullshit.
I felt immediate pain, disrespected, and degraded;
feeling like my mind, heart and soul had been invaded
with anger, tears, and genuine disbelief,
quickly turning to confusion, terror, and grief.
I remember crying out “Why did you hit me?”
He was drunk and so angry, he couldn’t see
the tears streaming down my face and the pain so deep.
He just ignored me and went to the bedroom to sleep.
I stayed up that night replaying that moment
when he first beat me, like a drum…an instrument.

That was the beginning of an abusive relationship
in which I received bumps, bruises and a busted lip.
The shame I felt with a black eye and bruised cheek;
calling in sick to work for two days that week.
Returning to work with makeup caked on the bruise;
coworkers saw through the mask, they saw abuse.

I was only 21 with a secret I couldn’t tell.
My life with my boyfriend was a living hell.
What happened to that strong Chicana who didn’t take shit?
Where did she go?  Why was she getting hit?
He made me question the woman I had become.
Maybe I did deserve to be battered, maybe I was scum.
I thought if I learned to cook better meals,
stopped wearing sexy clothes and high heels,
if I looked down when we went out,
maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t shout.
I feared his anger and rage
it was too much for a young woman my age.

How could I allow this monster to abuse me verbally and physically?
I had allowed him to strip away my pride, he controlled me totally.
I knew not how to escape from my new horrible life.
I was raised with a loving family, now all I knew was strife.
Even when I was seven months pregnant with our first child,
I was still being abused; a punch in the belly, that was mild.
The verbal abuse and hurtful names pained me even more.
I was called ugly, fat, slut, *****, and whore.
Each name and every slap or punch tore away at my heart.
I needed to leave, take my baby and go, but I didn’t know where to start.

The shame of being a battered woman was too much to handle.
If I confided in my family or friends, it would be a huge scandal.
How could I tell them that the strong confident girl was long gone.
I had become some guy’s doormat to be thrown and walked on.
I had lost my joy, my laugh and my smile.
I had become an abused woman suffering silently, yet in denial.
I thought I deserved the abuse; I didn’t make him happy, it was my fault.
Maybe if I lost weight and worked two jobs the abuse would come to a halt.
That didn’t work; he still beat me and cussed me out.
I knew he didn’t love me, there was no doubt.
I began to believe everything he told me…
He said I was disgusting, fat, and ugly.
He said no other man would ever want me and my children.
He told me I could never be attractive to any men.
I believed his bull*****and all of his bold faced lies.
My smile became a frown; gone was the sparkle in my eyes.

Fast forward my life, 26 years after the nightmare began.
Divorced for four years and living a happy life without that man.
I wish I’d known then, all that I now know.
Never settle for a man who’s abusive and love he doesn’t show.
If he doesn’t care and respect you from the start,
don’t allow that man any place in your heart.
Life goes on, the bruises fade, but the memories never do.
You can get away and find happiness by learning to love YOU!


Long poem by Bernard Colasurdo | Details |

The Lovers Dance

It was their night they shone bright as they danced their sweet dance
Two lovers embraced in their world of romance.

They laughed and they cried as their eyes locked in stare
It was their world for this moment as if no one was there.

And their steps they so flawlessly glided in tune,
To a melody that touched everyone in that room.

Their passion brought envy to onlookers there,
Who secretly questioned their own love affair.

But as the night closed and came to an end
The lovers were blind to what lie round the bend.

The house and the cars and the jobs that went bad
The kids drove them crazy and their savings were drab.

So they fought to hold on to the things in their life,
That caused them so much of their pain and their strife.

They fought with each other like enemies do,
And dismissed in their life everything that was true.

So when sickness and hardships and troubles occurred,
Their vows to commit seemed truly absurd.

Their home and their kids would now take a backseat,
For their moral obligation they chose not to meet.


So I Ask …
What happened to that dance they danced so well?
With passion and truth everyone could tell.

What happened to their dance where they held so tight?
What happened to the wonder of their glorious night?

What happened to the words that charmed their ears?
With a passionate rhythm that brought them to tears.

What happened to those vows that poured from their heart?
The “I love you forever and till death do us part”.

For these aren’t just words we borrow for the day,
From another who tells us this is what we must say.

We say them cause it’s what we feel true in our heart,
It’s a God given blessing we commit from the start.

But these words are now lost as they fall on deaf ears,
Since the pain and the struggles they’ve created these years.

So the lesson here learned dear people of odd,
Is that love is so fragile but made strong with our God.

So stop fighting for power and money or need,
For all of this nonsense is only our greed.

Keep God in your life and he’ll walk you through,
When heartache and pain and losses ensue.

For why commit vows in the eyes of our God,
And not call on him when life gets too hard?

For the truth of our vows we are all meant to see,
is that marriage is not, made of two, but of three

If reading these words ring some truth in your heart,
Decide that today you will make a new start.

Go hug your spouse and say something kind
Don’t let the small stuff cloud up your mind.

We’re all just lost souls who are trying to cope
If  not there for each other then where is the hope?

You see, the anger, the fight
that in us abide, Is only the insecure child inside.

So rise up above all this fear and this pain,
And see all the beauty that there is to gain.

By trusting in God and his will for you
Together forever he’ll see you both through.

For life is too short for our miserly ways
cheap on our love hence dreading our days.

He made us to love in all that we do
To wake up each morning and start us a new.

So pray for your spouse, ask God to be kind
To the person you prayed in the beginning to find.

They’re still the same person you loved from the start
But life and it’s troubles have hardened their heart.

You vowed that you’d love them in sickness and health
Now is your chance to show God what you felt.

So rise up my friend, don’t say that you’re through
For what if your loving God gave up on you?


Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

The Last Laugh

One of Life’s indisputable facts:
Government reserves the right to tax;
And tho’ they waste far more than they should,
It’s supposedly done “for the common good.”

Economists use the word “propensity,”
Just a fancy word for “odds”, you see:
The odds you’ll save, the odds you’ll spend,
And how many Tax Dollars those odds will rend.

The basis for U.S. government budgets is “Total Tax Dollars Collected”;
And any overtures to reduce those collections are summarily rejected;
And should a source of taxes have declined or dissipated,
Other taxes are increased and/or new taxes are created.

Many, if not most, of these taxes are “regressive”.
That means their actual impact on income is “progressive”;
But “progressive” in a very negative way.
Relatively speaking, the Less you make, the More you pay.

Whether you make it or sell it, need it or want it, Congress will tax it;
And, once a tax is on the books, Congress has zero “propensity” to relax it.
Congresses, Federal and State, love to tax Luxury and Sin;
Smoking Sinners have had their taxes raised again and again and again.

Cigarette taxes are frequently raised, the “claim” is to drive users to quit;
But Truth is measured in Billions in taxes, so we know supporters are “full of it.”
Meantime, Non-smokers reap many benefits, while Smokers foot the bill;
And if that should change, Non-smokers would taste a financially “bitter pill.”

Taxed and taxed and taxed some more, but not yet into submission,
Smokers could shift their tax burden to Non-smokers…without their permission.
Yes, what if one Fateful day, those Smoking Sinners, Each and Every one,
Just put them down and said, “I quit.”; said en masse, “We’re done!”

Congresses would be clamoring to derive Billions in Taxes elsewhere,
At first, Non-smokers may not realize the impact they’re about to bear.
When an industry dies, businesses and people’s jobs are lost…it’s true;
But all those Tax Dollars must come from somewhere...come from me and you.

So righteous, whining Non-smokers maintained their hue and cry.
They pushed Congresses to tax Smoking Sinners… tax them ‘til they die;
But after quitting, Ex-Smokers would pay less, while Non-Smokers would pay more.
Guess Non-smokers didn’t think far enough ahead, didn’t really know the score.

All those dreary anti-smoking ads, many of which falsified the cause,
Would disappear.  And what about all the useless anti-smoking laws?
Instead of Non-smokers not liking Smokers, Ex-Smokers would serve instead.
"The bastards are costing me money. I wish they'd smoked 'til they were dead."

So, Ex-smokers would be getting healthier and spending far less;
And may be cause for some Non-smokers’ financial distress.
While they'll pay more, Ex-smokers' wallets and pocket books can rest.
Non-smokers will be reminded daily, the Last Laugh is best.


Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

Riches to Rags

I have heard of it,
I was in it,
I have imagined it,
But I am yet to experience it.

What is this dream?
Who is this dream for?
Is it a dream for the wealthy and the powerful?
The politicians and the Gangs?
The Cartels and the Mafia?
Drugs and substance abuse?

Is it a dream for organized crime? 
Murder,
Robbery,
Rape,
Kidnapping,
Child molestation,
Sabotage, and hopeless?
What is this dream?

Is it a dream for big cars?
Credit card debts?
 Foreclosed home? 
And joblessness?
Is it a dream for freedom and justice?
Inequality and racisms?
Or is it a dream for peace, unity, love and compassion?

Some people have been dreaming too long,
 And it’s time to wake up to reality?
Everyday hundreds of people are killed in the streets of America,
Children are murdered in the schools
Businesses are robbed,
And illegal schools, and colleges are established on a daily basis,
Innocent people get hurt every second
And the security system is tainted with bribery and corruption
What is this dream?
Rags to riches or riches to rag?

Aunt Mary is a successful doctor;
She left her beautiful home by the beach;
She resigned a good paying job; 
She leaves her husband, and children
 behind in search of the American dream 
But she ended up in a rat infested brown stone, 
apartment in lower Manhattan. 
She works three jobs,
 flipping burger and scrubbing floors to make ends meet,
 And at the end of the month she can barely pay the rent,
 She cannot eat a proper meal
 she has to pay it back to the American dream.

My ink has been dried up for many years,
The weather was perhaps too cold for my ink to flow,
I have resorted to the computer 
but the keys were frozen too.
What on earth had gone wrong?
I might have been in America too long
My creativity was put on hold 
 because I was too busy trying to achieve my dreamless goals

Everyday thousands of people from across the globe
 landed on the shores of America;
Thousands of people have lost their lives
 in sunken boats, and extended journey across desserts
 some people have spent months travelling from country to country
 with the hope of reaching America 
only to be subjected to the materialistic dream.
A dream that will one day reduce them to nothing,
A dream that will make them work night and day,
A dream that will cause them earn their bread the hardest way.

Somewhere along the road
 the real essence of this dream has been destroyed
 And new meaning has been added to i.,
What happen to the ideals of America?
Where is the success and upward mobility?
Where is the fuller,
 and better life that everyone anticipated?

Can we still achieve prosperity and success?
Does this dream exist at all?
Is it a dream for some?
 Or is it a dream for all?
Open your eyes and recapture the American dream.

               ©2013 Christine Phillips


Long poem by Poet Destroyer A | Details |

PINK LACE

**Every pace change --is the voice of a poet sharing his/her view** 

"PINK LADIES"  
  
The phone rings, 
The clock dings,

I scream, scream, and scream:

I can’t grasp what is real
I can’t inhale the lives you steal
This game is like murder in the first degree,
I can barely feel the words you're expressing.
Your hand, holding on to mine, as if it was the last
I crawl I hide behind these moonstone walls
There it hid and robbed my Womanhood
Pink is the ointment rubbed inside my diary.
---

I crawl- I remember-
Looking through a dream, where the woman wears combat boots
Women ready to kill all confrontation with nukes.
---

I was lost!
Do you know the feeling?
Once you hear, the “C” word your mind starts spinning,
You can’t see what’s going on,
Your smiles soon to be gone,
---

LOOK AT ME!
On this fright night, I bleed
Hold on tight, of the dead of this night
I’m down on my fallen knees,
A secret I can't keep, no longer need
Breaking backs when I mention the word “C.”
It is like getting struck by a freight train
Taking what belong and makes ME me! 
Forgetting the Pink October ribbons, I wore
Taking  time to weave them into the last strand in my red chemo hair.
---

Now here you are,
Standing under the chest
Heavy shoulders a violin press.
No longer needing the little black dress
Skin pink tight leather, now you caress
My eyes are full of tears
Once I discovered the beast came back without fear 
The news blew like a missile in heat
With a fire’s shooting out from the dark
Sweltering me, blazing me,
Leaving the world all ribbon tied.
Dimples and pretty lips, I drop the world with beauty and tissues. 
Filled with  pink ivory issues 
This is the way that I feel, I am real… you are a killer, you are a disease! 
You can sit there and shatter our lives,
With many of us, you’ll discover we are not breakable like glass 
Still, we will walk in high heels strolling through pink valley skies.
With a charm called a Pink Ribbon; -I WORE-
---

- A heavy pink scarf now I wear like a noose, 
Remembering my days have been numbered by you.
---

I PLEAD FOR MY LIFE?
I have no family to lean on
Everybody’s plus my mother is gone
I have no friends by my side
You are the undead: 
Leading some of us into a watery grave
You are like a jack in the box
Hiding until you are found… 
You’re silent until your jobs done...

You made us angry, you made us cry, you killed many of us…
However, you will never come close to a glorious ~Victory~ 
We are  “PINK LADIES,” who  continue to be strong
I will find a way to sew my chest back to it's caressing view!

One day will find the cure,
And, destroy YOU "The miserable ‘Breast Cancer’ Disease" 
"ONCE AND FOR ALL!"


by;PD

Dedicated to all the females of the world. 
((And men whose life touched by this disease))


Long Poems