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Long Jobs Poems | Long Jobs Poetry

Long Jobs Poems. Below 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 Princess Poetry | Details |

Tell Them

Tell Them

To all who have never known, it's time that you've been told. 


Tell the population to change its ways before these lost lives and souls are all in vain. 

Tell the girls to think long and hard before they let a man twice their age break their heart. Tell 

them to think about who they are and what they want to be before they choose to conceive. 

Tell the boys who think they're men to think and think again when fatherhood is calling their name and 

they're hanging their heads in debt and shame. 
 
Tell them what it's really like to go to school, then work three jobs or more to pay child support, then 

beg a stranger for a ten dollar gas tip to fill up their tank just get home at night and make the trip. 

Tell them that their parents were right when they go to sleep, crying themselves to sleep at night. 

Tell them their friends are traitors in disguise, watching and waiting for opportunities to tell them lies 

and sabotage their lives.  

Tell the preteen girls in every walk of education and life to take control of their lives and souls. Tell 

them it's okay to tell the teenage boys that no means no. 

Tell them that being different is something to be proud of. Tell them that being different will save them 

for their true love. Becoming a Mother at thirty is a whole world better than being one at sixteen. 

Remind them of the wishes they made when they were little girls when they still dwelt in their hopes 

and dreams.  

Tell them to value who they are and listen to their hearts. Their unspoken, sweetest dreams are what

and who they're meant to be. 


Tell the young men and women who don't know what to do that with their lives not to rush into being 

husbands and wives. Tell them to become who they were born to be. Tell them not to lose their passion 

five or six days a week because they were given innate goals, hopes and dreams to fulfill their 

destinies.


Tell the girls who just discovered they're going to be a mother that they will make it one way or 

another. 

Tell them that when the guy they thought loved them was only telling them a lie, that he's not what's 

important anymore. Their little girl or their little boy is going to be their pride and joy. 

One day, they'll have a reason to forget the hopelessness and sorrow they once met. 

Tell the men who came home from war to find an empty house and home that there is so much more. 

Tell them they are our honored heroes. That is something that goes far deeper than anyone truly knows.

Tell the children who were moved from countless foster homes that they are not alone. Tell them there 

is someone who cares. Tell them that there is an end to their nightmares.

Tell the parents who lived their lives through their children that they can no longer run and hide. 

They have seen, heard and ignored when their children have begged and cried. Tell them it is their loss 

for living with their regrets and the lost expectations they never met.

Tell the criminals that live inside a demented state of mind that hell is reserved for the lessons they re-

fused to learn. Tell them insanity is never an excuse for abuse. 

Tell every man who ever hurt a woman and forced her child to watch has their time ticking away on the 

clock. Tell them they can't use violence to get what they want anymore. Karma is kicking down every 

window and every door. 

Tell the women who chose their boyfriends and their drugs over their babies that an apology will never 

be enough. Tell them that nothing is ever worth the price they'll have to pay for who they hurt. 

Tell the orphans that Heaven remembers them and hears their prayers. Tell them that Someone 

truly cares. Tell them that there will be someone to tuck them in at night and greet them each

morning when they wake up to the sunlight. 

Tell the women in abusive relationships that it won't get better. It will only get worse. Tell them to get 

out

now before they're not the only one who gets hurt. Tell them to get out before he steals more than their 

keys and their purse. 

Tell the countless girls who struggle with their weight to go beyond the hate. Tell them they are 

beautiful and perfect in every way and it doesn't matter what anyone else has to say. 

Tell the widows who feel the most alone that the Universe empathizes and it knows. Tell them they are

loved and they are on their way Home. 

Tell those who have lost it all, but still stand for what they believe in, that they are the reason we still 

have a chance to win. Tell them their bravery is what we stand for. Their courage is our open door.


Tell them. Tell them all we are here with open arms and loving hearts. Tell them this is the perfect place 

 to start. Tell them they can be all they are. Tell them that. Tell them then. Tell them now. Tell 

them time and time again. Tell them loud and clear. Tell them right here. Tell them. Oh yes, please tell 

them.


Long poem by nick goth | Details |

Clock Watching Agency Idiots

Clock Watching Agency Idiots 
Numerous times I have joined a work placement agency to do a mind numbing brain dead moron work, been on the poverty line. Hard up, broke. Take your documents in, sign on the dotted line and you belong to us right now. Send me to a crap place with crap people for crap money for a crap agency. Staff UK sent me to Constellation Luggage in a run down Victorian cotton mill, £3.60 per hour. Sorting out suitcases busting your balls emptying cargo containers, stacked floor to ceiling, from Red China. Up to three separate places on as many days when I worked a week. If the idiots have not paid me the week later, where was I at? At Fashion Logistics sorting out clothes; you can’t even take a crap without the idiots interrogating you. Don’t like it there? Walk home down the motorway from Castleton to Oldham, be picked up by the Old Bill. Taxi! 
To Rescource agency, to be placed at Bernstein plc, Middleton. Now shut. A real flat pack craphole! C’mon you idiots! First the bits flat into the boxes, have to beat the record! Xxx many thousands, beat the other line! You lad, who me? Yes, you! You haven't put the piece in flat, we had to stop the line. Frig you, I don’t give a frick, I’m only here coz they won’t give me my dole. I left another crap job - Park Cakes mental asylum. I eye up all the birds all day and listen to the radio, c’mon 4pm! Agency idiots at Rescource agency even charge me £3 a day for the privilege of going to their crap job. The boss is okay, short skirt and bare legs, I’d dance close to her. Late night drinks in Manchester for this Yorkshire bint. I waited one and half hours once to be picked up, at 5.30pm - guess who drove thru the gates to the small pond/nature reserve in her Pug206? Kerry to meet her fuck, didn’t give a hell about me. Then my lift came, idiot, no doubt as your lover ravished you, Bernstein plc style. 
After that crap I went on the dole for nearly a year, 2001. My, it was a sweet time paid for doing frick all but my book “Juniper’s Daughter”. I did other agency work, same old shit but cash went up slightly. Real crapholes like Shiloh by Primetime Placement agency, Primetime hicks. The gelled up prick in a shirt who drove a new Golf said to me: “We have a cushy (crap) job, we can’t seem to fill it. Not sure why?”(You should try this, you idiot). I lasted two weeks, I wonder why? Packing nappies for Welsh pensioners! Guess what? I packed all the wrong ones on purpose, how funny is that? I worked with a professional Bangladeshi gang member who was going straight, after killing a man in a car crash, a psycotic metal head and a burned out 30-year-old ex-rocker. My boss was a cow, he told me off for swearing on my first morning, the idiot. Guess what I did? Went on the dole again and stayed there three long poverty stricken lazy years doing my poems in my mouldy council flat. 
Did a bit more agency work with Esprit agency at DTS—that was okay. I loved working with the girls, some hot ones there! I used to dream about them when I got home. 
Other agency work I did was crap in more ways than one, moving crap for Epping council at Cory Enviromental with New Wave agency, Aug and Sep06. Finished that, onto the dole again, not in smelly Oldham but in posh Essex! How I’ve moved up in the world. Was on it six months. What will I do next? More crap agency work? I’m registered with Blue Arrow, Triangle, Adecco and one I forget. Not got a single day’s work, what does that say? All crap! Run by southerners. 
I won’t mention my temp to perm crap jobs that weren’t agency but here’s a taster – Littlewoods, Glyn Webb, Dunelm and Adomast come on down! I nearly forget, one agency put me down as a fork lift truck driver at a craphole hire and fire ’em place called Metool. Yet I was told I would be a van driver’s mate and then a lorry driver, not flt. What the frick’s going on? I walked out halfway thru my 3rd day. The dole is calling…all crap! 
As the years pass, so do the shit agencies in-between free government cash. After I moved back north I was on the dole for three and a half years. I finally got a job back in the biggest craphole in Oldham - Park Cake Bakery! Run by two agencies, both crap: Gi Group and Alpha. Had an interview with Alpha. Idiot who ran it liked a certain team; I don't. No job. Then Gi Group and I was putting cherries on cakes again. For 11 months I did it before I did my grand walk out and left the dump. 
After that I did some agency courses. Castleview were pleasant Gerordie lasses. Did the course. The promised job interview never turned up. A letdown. Twit! Number 2 agency course was ok. I had the interview but never got the job. Why? Screwing the system. Before I emigrated, I registered with Blue Arrow and did five weeks at Littlewoods, Shaw. Four weeks training to get up to speed, a weeks work including New Year's Day and then laid off! Nobbers! No more agency idiots messing me about doing muppet work. 
I've emigrated out of craphole!


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 John Arribas | Details |

ITS ALWAYS THE MONEY

ITS ALWAYS THE MONEY
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS


ITS ALWAYS THE MONEY I’M SADDENED TO SAY
PUT YOUR HAND IN SOMEONE’S POCKET ITS TIME TO PAY
WHEN ITS NOT THE MONEY IT’S A CRUSADE
OR REVENGE FOR A CRIME THAT WAS NEVER PAID
OR A PSYCHO THAT’S TOTALLY UNHINGED
WHO THINKS HIS RIGHTS HAVE BEEN MISMANAGED OR INFRINGED
THE AFOREMENTIONED GROUPS ARE  A PALTRY FRACTION
ALL THE OTHER CASES HAVE A FINANCIAL ATTRACTION

TWO MEN GO IN BUSINESS AS LIFELONG FRIENDS
WHEN THE MONEY ROLLS IN THE FRIENDSHIP ENDS
ONE’S WIFE WILL TELL HER SPOUSE WHY DO YOU SHARE
YOUR PARTNER NEVER WORKS HE’S SELDOM THERE
AND WHEN HE’S THERE YOU MAKE ALL THE DECISIONS
THE SHARING OF PROFITS NEEDS  IMMEDIATE REVISIONS
THAT’S THE BEGINNING AND THERE’LL BE NO RECOVERY
FILE ANOTHER ENTRY UNDER “ITS ALWAYS THE MONEY”

THE OLD SCOTSMAN TOOK HIS LAST GASP AND PASSED AWAY
DOZENS OF HEIRS ARRIVED ON TESTAMENT READING DAY
NONE EVER CARED , KNEW OR MET THE OLD GUY
BUT THEY’RE HERE FOR THEIR ENTITLED PIECE OF THE PIE
ITS NOT HARD TO TELL IF SOME ARE LEGIT OR ALBACORES
THE ASIANS  AND BLACKS ARE QUICKLY USHERED OUTDOORS
THEY SHOULD BE EMBARRASSED YET MOST THINK ITS FUNNY
FILE ANOTHER ENTRY UNDER “ITS ALWAYS THE MONEY”

HENRY WAS UGLY AND HAD LITTLE GOING FOR HIM
BOUGHT A LOTTERY TICKET, HIS CHANCES WERE SLIM
MUCH TO HIS SURPRISE HE WAS THE ONLY ONE TO WIN
NEXT DAY HIS HOUSE WAS FLOODED WITH WOMEN AND KIN
EVERYONE HAD A STORY FOR HENRY TO DIGEST
ALL HAD A GOLD MINE OPPORTUNITY FOR HIM TO INVEST
HE HAD NEW FRIENDS AND FAMILY THAT SUDDENLY APPEARED
BUT WHEN THE MONEY RAN OUT THEY ALL DISAPPEARED
HE HAS LESS NOW THAN BEFORE THE GALS CALLED HIM HONEY
FILE ANOTHER ENTRY UNDER “ITS ALWAYS THE MONEY”


ITS ALWAYS THE MONEY (2)


THOSE TWO BROTHERS WERE ALWAYS TOGETHER
FROM  A  RICH FAMILY IT WAS ALWAYS FAIR WEATHER
BUT AS THEY AGED THEIR TASTES OVERTOOK COMMON SENSE
NEW CARS EXOTIC TRIPS AND WOMEN RAN UP THE EXPENSE
THEY PLEAD FOR THEIR ALLOWANCES  TO BE ON THE RISE
THAT DIDN’T HAPPEN THEY PLANNED THEIR PARENTS DEMISE
THEY CONCOCTED A STORY THEY CAREFULLY SPREAD
THEIR PARENTS WERE DISCOVERED BOTH SHOT IN THE HEAD
IT’S A IRONIC YOU’RE MURDERED BY SOMEONE YOU CALLED SONNY
FILE ANOTHER ENTRY UNDER “ITS ALWAYS THE MONEY”

OLD TOM AND THAT BUFFOON HE CALLED A WIFE
REALLY STRAPPED LIVING ON THE EDGE OF THE KNIFE
THEY HAD NO ASSETS AND LACKED IMAGINATION
THEY HAD NO JOBS OR OTHER FUNNEL OF COMPENSATION  
THEY PLANNED AN ACCIDENT TO CLAIM QUICK CASH
LEFT A CAR ON THE TRACKS ANTICIPATING A CRASH
THE TRAIN MOVED FASTER THAN HAD BEEN  EXPECTED
POOR OLD TOM IN AN ARC WAS VIOLENTLY EJECTED
THE BUFFOON LONELY AND SAD NOW HAS ONLY REVERIE
FILE ANOTHER ENTRY UNDER “ITS ALWAYS THE MONEY”

MY COUNTRY IS THE BASTION OF LIBERTY
WE HERALD THE THEME OF PEACE AND UNITY
WE OPEN OUR DOORS TO THE POOR AND NEGLECTED
WE LET THEM SCALE THE FENCE WHERE ITS UNPROTECTED
OTHER NATIONS ARE BRUTAL UNCARING AND FEEBLE
THEY FIGHT EACH OTHER KILLING THEIR OWN PEOPLE
WE DARE NOT INTERFERE WE NEVER TAKE A POSITION
WE’LL SUPPLY WEAPONS TO AN ALLY OR OPPOSITION
OUR DEFENSE CONTRACTORS CAN TOOL UP  IN A HURRY
FILE ANOTHER ENTRY UNDER “ITS ALWAYS THE MONEY”

MONEY IS NOT EVIL BUT THE LUSTING WILL BE
THE WANT FOR MONEY LEADS TO CRIMES OF THE NTH DEGREE
PARENTS  MURDER THEIR CHILDREN  TO AMASS TREASURE 
CHILDREN MURDER THEIR PARENTS TO PAY FOR PLEASURE
THE FIRST QUESTION IN A CRIME IS “WHO TENDS TO PROSPER”
THAT USUALLY CASTS SUSPICION TO ONE NAME ON THE ROSTER
IT WAS THE LUST FOR MONEY THAT CAUSED THIS FELONY
FILE ANOTHER ENTRY UNDER “ITS ALWAYS THE MONEY”








 








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 Brian Johnston | Details |

What Day Brings - Poem en Duo

 Good Morning!

When the day sweeps 
Away the last drop of darkness, ?
(Aurora with her cool breath, ?
Gently rising to her duties, ?
And with the sun as her companion, ?
Drizzling light into dark corners), ?
It reminds the nursing mother ?
Of the child who interrupted sleep last night, ?
It touches the heart of the caring father, ?
Still working on their unfinished home, ?
And alerts the poet of his unfinished verse, ?
Of a dirge, whose theme is nothing but death. ???

But isn't it amazing, ?
How our minds are occupied, ?
By rainbow dreams that spark across the sky, ?
That must be true at rainbow's end. ?
A waiting pot of gold…?
Every nerve dances in anticipation! ???

Yet for me, every morning brings, ?
Such a melancholy joy,
But perhaps you understand, ?
For it sprinkles fresh hope to the boy, ?
While slowly, pushing him to his grave. 
?But as long as life endures, ?
And the sun continues to shine, ?
Surely every morning, ?
Is a good morning!

Abekah Emmanuel
August 25, 2014


Poet's Notes:
Abekah Emmanuel's Poetry can be found on Poemhunter.com. He is 21 years of age 
and lives in Accra, Ghana.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
 When I Give You My Heart…

The love I give to you dear one,
Is love I know belongs to me,
To think that it is yours alone
Is adolescent fantasy.

For if this love weren’t really mine
How could it then be mine to give?
If heart is always True Love’s home,
Without a heart how could I live?

It may not bring you comfort love
And you may never feel secure,
But dreams my heart is only yours,
Reveal a heart that’s immature.

For you to tell me that’s your gift,
As quickly tells me you’re a liar,
For even if you think it’s true,
The world can see your pants on fire!

At least most men aren’t made that way,
Our futures never are for sure.
And pleasures taken while we can
While praying there might be a cure.
 
A sick child cause our love to end,
Even our jobs drive us apart,
Though no one plans on stuff like this,
It spells disaster for the heart.

A partner that decides they’re gay,
Somehow an accidental death,
The day your spouse does not come home,
The world can take away your breath.

So when I ‘just’ give you my love
Please check your heart to know it’s true
And realize that lover’s chose,
It’s really all that one can do.

A witches spell, a chain of fire
Cannot restrain decay to dust,
A lifetime all we have to live,
Where good days start with hope and trust.


Brian Johnston
August 29, 2014

Poet's Notes:
Few go into a relationship with the expectation of love not lasting a lifetime, and yet we all know our relationship too will end, sooner or later, hopefully the latter. The time spent may be quality time or more of a learning experience, usually a mixture of both. But nothing can totally prepare us for the future except to be honest with ourselves and to admit, we are not really in control. That understanding can make things easier for those able to embrace it. Failure may always be failure, but being able and willing to forgive, to love yourself is the only path to future happiness.

A 'Poem en Duo' as coined/defined by myself is basically a collection of poems that 
address similar topics but which when published together (under a new title which 
illuminates their similarities) gives new life to each poem included. It could be a 
group of poems by the same author as well.


Long Poems