Bulletins Poems | Examples

Roots - For Alex Haley

Pensile clouds of a new Truth loom.
With them are selected versions of
Extinct grief.

Looking through the yellowness of a
Dog’s eyes, this aura of Truth, pervasive,
Sours my palate.

What say the bulletins and tabloids
In their speech potency?

Have they recoiled on the sudden encroachment
Of stale seas
Or have they rolled out drums for Haley’s ROOTS?

Between Kamby Bolongo of watery essence
And the forested, warm plains of Juffure, ROOTS!

And drums fashion themselves out for Kinte,
Who must tap gently the face of the drum
For earthly summons.

From sinuous, valleysome frontiers backward,
We yodel loud,
Fronting bands of ROOTS.

The Day Cnn Shut Down

If only love happened round the world
That would be a pretty slow news day
Actually CNN would have to shut down
No “JUST IN” bulletins, per se

Weather reports predict nothing but sunshine
Temperatures high in the 80s
People goin' round wearing dirty big grins
Things all coming up daisies

Wake up, wake up, my real good friends
Time to rise and start your day
Don't try watching the morning news
CNN has shut down they say

No point in broadcasting only good news
Boring and humdrum for sure
Imagine watching nothing but jubilation
It would sure bore one to the core

Wake up, wake up, my good friend Jack
Seems you were having too good a time
You had a great big smile on your kisser
 If only real life was so sublime

Undaunted

Tasteless pelt whiffs of mundane air
Against my nostrils numb with dread; 
Scarcely fathom I what spectacle fair 
Beyond this umbra curtain latent lies. 

Tetchy harbingers over dark corners
Lurk under dismal mirage-like cloud; 
Tomorrow's dreams in eldritch lines
 Occlude wisest presages renowned.

Each day's bleak bulletins present
Chillily menacing brutish shadows, 
As jinxed year's tides forward hop
Into ever-spiraling strangling woes.

Suave eccedentesiast lips no longer
Can mask sore past's swelling blight, 
Nor plastic laughter as finely conceal 
Apprehensive misgiving's inured bite.

Though indelible certainty clear outline
Of stealthily skulking prospect obscure, 
And crafty clock dials key inchings hide, 
This menaced soul shall still reign pure.

Take My Message Away

Wake my news, take my message away
Communication became a red flag
Bulletins became a blind eye
Abduction, tourism, grief, and murder became my footsteps
Each time I had to open my eyes
Ignorance and intelligence became enemies
The report, reporting, and reporters became advertisements

I try to scratch the surface looking for peace and harmony
Looking for followers of value
Preaching words of wisdom
Sending words to the wise
Letting us become one

Ceasefire to the bloodshed
Demolish torture, discomfort, and misery
Let’s, shake hands with the trigger person, prosecutor, and competitor
For assassination controls the pain we struggle to crucify
The message I try to speak only becomes a silence notification

Expression lost in fake news
For, when we become all for one, and one for all
Is when my message, becomes our message
 to new footsteps
Footsteps bringing communication off the red flag
Bulletins start becoming a shine to our eyes
Abduction, terrorism, grief, and murder take a leave
Each time we open our eyes
Making it our message
	Not just mine

My Seven Thousandth Poem

My Seven Thousandth Poem

This is actually it believe it or not.
I have composition books full of them.
They are even on all kinds and sizes 
of sheets of paper. I write them on
church bulletins and Day By Day.

Seven thousandth poem soon will reach;
Do wonder if I am a lenient poetry leech,
Steeling thought,
And got caught;
Write them God has many ways to teach.

Jim Horn

Love From the Uk

This morn I woke before the sun
The sky was dark and menacing
Just like the man who yesterday
Shooting his gun indiscriminately 
Those innocent lives he took away
A massacre after a bright sunny day

Mass killings are now three hundred and seven
Of innocent souls who are now in heaven
In days now totaling three hundred and eleven
These evil creatures instigating Armageddon 

There is nothing I can really say 
but wish they’d take those guns away
On this deeply sad, traumatic day 
My thoughts are in the USA
I send my love and hope and pray
that you will all keep safe today



Written after another mass shooting headlined our News Bulletins
9th November 2018

Party Animal In the Form of a She

She was the best of us. 
She was gloriously fun and exciting.
She laughed like no other, throwing back her head, full mouth open.
She was outgoing, completely her own person, and outrageous.
We adored her.

She grew up a few years.
Began dating three men at a time.
Engaged to one man, married to another.
She was living a life other women did not dare dream of in the 70’s.

She was a party animal before society knew women could be.
She came up missing in February.
Her car was missing too, a beautiful, two-toned sports car.
All the contents of the car were missing too, and there were a lot of them.

She was moving to another region at the time. She had partied with friends.
The next morning she was taking the loaded car and her children 
To move away from their daddy and all of his clan.
People who had been there for her children when she wasn’t.

The Highway Patrol put out bulletins.
People searched for months.
She never showed up, neither did the car.
The 70’s was not ready for a party animal in the form of a she.
It is a different time now.
I wonder if she would have made it if it happened today instead of 1979?

Memories of a Chalk

Silhouettes fade as summer draws near
Yearning for their presence in this barren room
Rippling sounds of one's laughter cause me to tear
Awakens this reverie like scent perfume

The vastness I never thought existed
Past the hallways where we've spent our youth
Smiles of the little ones thus recollected
Pictures from the bulletins show love and truth

Just as my heart, the red apple sits quietly
Treasuring the bond of our love so pure
The hugs, fights, celebration and anxieties
Carves the path to grow and mature

Oh darlings, it pains me to say goodbye
So please keep this chalk to remember me by.

The Second Exodus

How many more news bulletins
must there be
before we finally awake
And see this second Exodus
Unfolding before our eyes

How many more bodies on the beaches
must there be
before someone stands up
and in the name of humanity
welcomes these weary souls

How many more tears of sorrow
Must there be
Before we wipe their eyes with love
And offer this disparate throng
Safe refuge from the storms
and a place to call home 

How many more politicians
Must there be
Before one of them dispels
Their normalcy of rhetoric 
And realises that they must not
Consider the cost of saving so many
When lives can still be saved

A State of Majors and Algebra

A State Of Majors and Algebra

From a bridge I lift eyes weary from equation forms
Majors and Algebra instruct 
From on high the state loves us
Instinctively feed us what we must know 
Keep us in place for hours 
Guns on every head…to get ahead
Conclusions always drawn on time
Lines of math carried like conversations to their ends
Fractions fix themselves in front of us
Captured by majors on their heels
Algebra comes undone
Undressed for our consumption
Work, like dreams, goes on forever
Tonight it waits for majors and algebra to merge
Ranks remove me to seclusion
Books fall with rain into retreat
Lives are bulletins with holes
When government controls
Shocked to life with streams of data
Or shot to death in line with reason
Options can be unkind
No one inspects the dark
Perhaps it is not there
No one suspects me
In this my figures lie in wait
To see what moves prove
A state of majors and algebra
Or my escape

The Day Cnn Shut Down

If only love happened round the world
That would be a pretty slow news day
Actually CNN would have to shut down
No “JUST IN” bulletins, per se

Weather reports predict nothing but sunshine
Temperatures high in the 80s
People goin' round wearing dirty big grins
Things all coming up daisies

Wake up, wake up, my real good friends
Time to rise and start your day
Don't try watching the morning news
CNN has shut down they say

No point in broadcasting only good news
Boring and humdrum for sure
Imagine watching nothing but jubilation
It would sure bore one to the core

Wake up, wake up, my good friend Jack
Seems you were having too good a time
You had a great big smile on your kisser
 If only real life was so sublime

© Jack Ellison 2013

Only Black Roses Live Now - Act 1

Word has reached
A distant planet out their
Semaj, this ancient Celt
In ancestral despair

His droid Etto
Has bulletins relayed
The last human on earth
In final death display

Civilisation as he knew it
Has gasped its last breath
For the butterfly winged angels
Has left earth in death

For once again their desire
To gain the orb of life
Has left the world as he knows it
In death dying decaying strife

For weeks he travels 
To a world he once knew
In ancestral pilgrimage
Answers he pursues

He arrives through earths atmosphere
Human eyes will never see
He lands near Loch Torridon
Kingdom of the King Kane family

Whats left of his village
Bodies drained of their life
Children and the elderly
Man and his wife

For the very last time
He views his ancestral surround
For on these peat laden glens
Black Roses abound

Alba, his country
In death dying decay
As he speeds through its glens
Black Roses display

He reaches the lowlands
And its riches of soil
But nothing else grows
Black Roses spoil

Moments later
There is the sound of a sonic boom
Black clouds above separate
Lights appear through the gloom

~forty Degrees Needed But Only Cold Allowed~

I sat amongst The Beatles
pining for a “Yesterday”,
idly picking at leftover scabs
dried to kitchen table.
Wondering if, unlike me,
my jeans had legs wrapped around
your shorts, tumbling in wet ecstasy
but contemplating when
cycle would be complete.

-whether the spin would be enough-

and I suppose like that machine,
I ran each day through the mechanics
of my worth, whether aspirations
were set to economy or left to
ponder in a hard soak, just to eradicate
those guilty stains, the ones you
tried to hide beneath all our
other dirty linen.

I knew the line was broadcasting
daily bulletins across slated fences,
how the lingerie had left home,
been replaced by sensible attire
or just left lying, in punishment
beneath cotton comforts.

Maybe the centred cold divide of our bed
could be warmed,
if our spines were separated,
if only hardness was elsewhere
but your eyes.

Preoccupied

I am preoccupied with corridors,
Sci-fi canyons with automatic doors,
Leading to spaces of silence
Wherein the one who bore me lies.
The TV fills a visual frame,
Yet the sound is never on,
24 hrs a day, mute dramas and 
Bulletins lip synch to nothing,
Whilst, like a profane flag
The graphic observation chart
Hangs statically at the foot of the bed.
Sometimes I follow the lines,
Blue, yellow and red.
Sometimes they lead to solid walls.
The red one, though, umbilicus
Always leads back to something of her.

Pennsylvania Summer

Pennsylvania summer
In the coal mining patch
With crickets, mosquitoes and
Children racing sprinklers
Beside closed castoff mines
Like matadors with bulls;
The faded old grandmas sit on the porches
Lethargically fanning
With Sunday's church bulletins
Trying to create the breeze God forgot
As they prop swollen feet on an old kitchen chair.

• Short Bulletins Poems
• Famous Bulletins Poems
• Best Bulletins Poems
• Read Bulletins Poems
• Long Bulletins Poems
• Bulletins Quotes