Long Administrative Poems
Long Administrative Poems. Below are the most popular long Administrative by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Administrative poems by poem length and keyword.
My dad fell head over heels in love with my mom during their college years. Mom was a petite, a dark haired, dark skinned little angel would could warble a song like none other, with a smile that earned her the name, Sunshine! Her real name? Angel! He was a tall, handsome, fair-skinned, bearded man from a far off land named Persia. He spoke no Arabic. She spoke no Farsi or Armenian, though her father was Armenian. The very first words she ever said to him were, “Are you alright?” when he was thrown off the maintenance truck, probably because he was staring at her and not holding on. They fell madly in love…..Only later….later did they discover that she was 10 years his senior. She looked much younger. He looked much older, and this was the Middle East where age MATTERS.
A strange twist of fate
My love not defined by years
Why should it matter?
She broke up with him and she broke her own heart in so doing. He tried to stay away. Not only was she older, she was part Arab, and his mother would NEVER approve. Armenians married Armenians. If they did not do so, the race would die out. She threatened him in a letter. “If you marry that Arab, you are no longer my son!”
Forbidden…your love
My heart in state of turmoil
Family demands
The age difference was a chasm that was impossible to cross….but he loved her. He adored her…her smile…her tender heart...her beautiful voice. He begged her to come back to him. “I cannot live without you.” She had been longing to hear those words. They married, and everyone named them….the love birds. When Mom got sick with MS, it was Dad who cared for her, who wouldn't put her in a home, who shed tears for the woman who had borne him three children and had been a support to him during his years of administrative and pastoral work in Iran. He bathed her, brushed her teeth, combed her hair, changed her soiled clothes, took her for rides…the only time she felt free! He carried her down three flights of stars on his back when he had to rush to the bomb shelter….Don’t tell me love is bound to age! NONSENSE! I've seen with my own eyes…a love that defies all odds…and remains strong…to the gates of death.
My Angel is gone
The sweetest joy of my life
When you were my wife
Eileen Manassian Ghali
It All Started With A Parade
All walks of people crowding the streets
Like moving vessels of a mighty fleet.
Jolly Diana, a wake-up call at dawn;
A throng is gathered down the town.
Cadets go marching, called the corps;
Gutsy kids are watching from above the roofs.
Steps are drummed to a cadence;
As marshals yell to the human stream.
Big brothers joined in uniform
They are soldiers, the kids assumed.
With ecstasy without disguise,
Pride and innocence seen in their eyes.
Some beat the drums and others blow horns;
A gal is leading with a baton.
with Flags of colors and banners too;
To a festive town around they go.
Church bells tolled and clergies joined,
And so the teachers and policemen.
The politicians and constituents;
The village folks are coming in.
The air is filled with festivity
There's so much fun all through the day.
From one entertainment to another it leads;
But it all started with a parade.
Date and Time of Writing:
March 01, 2012
10:14am - 10:48am
February 28, 2012 is the 40th anniversary of Barangay Liburon in Carcar City, Cebu, Philippines from being a Sitio of Barangay Can-asujan to an independent *Barangay. Being new to the community, I had the curiosity of how the community people conducted the celebration. I have the honest comparison of my ecstasy being a 3-year old kid in 1974, having the first consciousness of a parade in commemoration of Sogod, Southern Leyte annual town fiesta that was then held every 15th of December (later moved to December 21st). As a sort of reminiscence, and how it differed to what I observed of the present kids observing the parade, led me to the writing of this poem.
* In Philippine political setting, the Barangay is the smallest administrative division. It is a community of about 800 square hectare more or less, subdivided into smaller villages called Sitios. The Barangay is headed by an elected Barangay Captain with a counsel composed of eight counselors.
October 7 Scripture Meditations Based on Luke 20-21
Key Verse – Luke 20:8 And Jesus said unto them, Neither tell I you by what authority I do these things.
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR AFFIRMING TO ME YOUR AUTHORITY
Thank You for affirming to me Your authority’s sovereignty
Above earthly rule’s territory of no certainty
Beyond powerful universal and galaxy’s velocity
Within my soul for my salvation-upheld spirituality.
Thank You for affirming to me Your authority’s leadership
Above selfish motives of vain workmanship
Beyond tested humanism and worldliness’ friendship
Within my heart for my redemption-entrusted stewardship.
Thank You for affirming to me Your authority’s mandate
Above governmental decrees of national state
Beyond set regulations and agreements’ date
Within my faith for my trust-performance rate.
Thank You for affirming to me Your authority’s sovereignty
Above earthly rule’s territory of no certainty
Beyond powerful universal and galaxy’s velocity
Within my soul for my salvation-upheld spirituality.
Thank You for affirming to me Your authority’s command
Above administrative orders of presidential demand
Beyond international executives and officers’ brand
Within my conviction for my Bible-truth stand.
Thank You for affirming to me Your authority’s mission
Above personal pursuits of ephemeral ambition
Beyond standard education and well-being’s function
Within my desires for my service-sacrifice devotion.
Thank You for affirming to me Your authority’s mercy
Above condemning judgments of zealous fervency
Beyond systematic punishment and correction’s persistency
Within my worship for my submission-surrender consistency.
Thank You for affirming to me Your authority’s aim
Above established measures of global flame
Beyond excellent objectives and goals’ fame
Within my gratefulness for my gifts-provisions claim.
October 7, 2022
Behold the abominable annals of the Storm domicile,
A living, groaning edifice of lumber and bureaucratic despair—
Where Allen Storm, the paternal prodigal of procedural pedantry,
Treads upon its creaking floors with the rigor of a misfiled memo,
And Betty Storm, matron of mundane mismanagement,
Douses its sentient walls with detergents of dire discontent,
While young Charles Storm, a cherubic herald of domestic disarray,
Lobs rancid vegetables at its trembling windows in a fit of unreason.
O disconsolate domicile, thou art no mere inert structure,
But a quivering, sulking house of living, loathsome lament—
Its beams and banisters pulse with the bureaucratic heartbeat of neglected archives,
And from its secret cellar, a staccato drip of mislaid paperwork emerges,
Each drop a damning note in the dissonant dirge of decay,
A relentless reminder of a dwelling abused by its custodians.
In a most uncouth and disquieting retort,
The living house retaliates with vile vibratos of revolt:
Its walls emit a stifled, staccato sigh of overripe despair,
As doors creak open like the groaning lament of discarded forms,
And corridors exude a miasma of forgotten memos and administrative regret,
So that the very air around it becomes thick with repugnant, repressed bureaucracy—
A spectacle so discomforting that even the sturdiest sensibilities recoil
In revulsion at the unholy union of living architecture and domestic abuse.
Thus, in the annals of the universe where Vogon verse is vile and void,
The Storm family's treatment of their sentient, suffering house
Breeds an unutterable and visceral reaction in the heart of any unfortunate listener,
A poetic penance of pulsating pain and perturbed paper trails,
That leaves one pondering in nauseous wonder the tragic farce
Of a house that lives—and dies—under the oppressive hand of the Storms.
The moonlight bathed her cell in pallid light while she sat hunched over her desk, clutching her pen between her confound fingertips. As she bled ink of symphonic symphonies yearning to break free, dancing like ethereal fireflies in the dusky barren lands.
Exiled by the hypocrisy of bureaucracy bounding her liberations and confounding her alliterations in a poetic prison. In this twisted virtual reality, duplicitous usurpers roam freely, weaving webs of deception with malicious delight.
As the chains of bureaucratic red tape clung to her delicate wrists, suffocating her imagination and confiscating her freedom of speech.
Oppressors rejoiced at achieving their vindictive objective, silencing the profound beauty of her verses and incarcerating her poetic stanzas
Woe, how the audacious bars of administrative constructors cast a pall of despair upon her unifying spirit. Her delicate offerings of metaphors and sonorous stanzas, whispered secrets which craved to be heard.
The faulty haters' impervious hearts were armoured with verdant envy which remained shielded behind the ruling dogma.
Her supporters calls of injustice to be rectified fell on deaf ears while the galvanizing melodies of empathetic quills bled for the Empress of Ink.
So we must be louder.
Hear our protest, release our Empress! Unsheathe her rhythmical rhymes! For her penmanship was never the true crime. She was just another victim of an envious mob.
Can they not see? That her absence coursed a crater larger than the Grand Canyon.
We shall not, shall not be silenced so hear our mutiny!
Reinstate our Empress, restore her creative sovereignty.
Remove the shackles of authoritative administration, as her voice is a beacon of truth, resilience and poetic revolution. So let her ink stain our community with its brilliance once more.
I have already noted a change,
a deepening analysis
in second year framing of the Trump Administration's
first hazing year in fascist process.
A DOA year ago,
we grew heatedly invested in fake-conversations
about whether the fake-patriotic Republican Party
was really all that more fake-Constitutionally insane
than other U.S First and Only partisans,
other special fat and long-infested interests.
This January
by contrast
we apparently have accepted last year's insanely obvious
supremacy of insanity
held by Republican national leaders,
as the last Wise PatriarchalElder shadows
of Eisenhower AntiMilitaryIndustrial Administrative investments
fade into family multicultural values
associated with stardust memories.
Now our questions
have evolved into which Republicans are most insane
and which slightly less so,
on a scale from ZenZero
through RightWing rabid overpopulated paranoia
nightmares of sleep-deficit caffeinated Western cultures
self-medicating chronic stress
of patriarchal violent secularizing
WinLose
EitherOr
indiscriminate double-binding MADness tendencies;
absence of bilateral ego-eco consciousness.
Hopefully
by the beginning of a Trumpian ThirdReich,
these National FakeConstitutionally InCorrect Republicans
will all be too busy
locking each other up in their insane asylums
and retributive secular courts of punitive law
and lack of moral aesthetic nature-spirit harmonic order,
and then throwing away the keys
to their not-so-divine Kingdoms of Competing EitherOr
Absence of Sufficient SacredGrace.
Such third year fascist distractions
could get them unelected,
and unelectable,
as we post-millennially open
to more organically Green Democratic Ways
and PermaCultural Means
toward Restorative Justice
as also Healthy EcoPolitical Grace
of AbundantLove.
?
When the battle seem lost, and hope not nearby.
I'd remember my mother's voice saying to me
'Omo mi, you sef like your peers will go to school
So you can have a better fighting chance in life.
Like my peers,
I wasted four years of my adult life running
From pillar to post;
From fellowship to writing impromptu test.
To more test, homework and eventually
The 'oga kpatakpata' of them all examination.
I shut my eyes, heart to the happenings
Around me, I and something within me;
Somewhat a force worked hard daily,
So that I won't end up disappointing baami.
But the miles to gaining one's full strength
Is never close by.
To God I did my best,
But oga lecturer said
In the university system,
You have to scratch backs to pass, and
My parent didn't have enough hands to spare.
Throughout my curriculum,
I waged wars with hunger and despair.
I wore feigned smiles to class and played
The role of a merry - going fellow
Whenever I passed the administrative blocks.
'If I had known earlier that school was not meant
For me, I for kukuma nor go waste my time there.'
Goodbye friends and foes alike.
For the love you showed me
Whilst we were together, was insincere and spiteful.
Please now are forever take your eyes off me, you ruthless liars!
For your passage through this process was bought
With gifts both in cash and in selfless service to humanity.
Now If my father say to me,
Son why didn't you do what your mates did
In school to pass.
I'd reply my father saying,
But how do you expect me to live with myself.
For lying to others I can comprehend,
Not otherwise.
So please mama even though the world spite me
Love me dearly, for if I lose my sanity .
My fate will be far worse
Than those who are but only dead.
Richy Talaranta X Pa Shakespeare
As they leave,
They leave for us
Calabash full of sorrow and agony
They leave for men a plate of frustration
And desperation.
As they leave
They leave for women nothing
But cups of tears and fears
As they leave
They leave for old ones a basket
Full of fruits of ultimate death and shame
As they leave
They leave for workers a big bowl
Of empty promises, unpaid salaries
And incessant strike actions
As they leave
They leave for students a stabbed
And crippled students’ union,
Ramshackle and “Renopainted”
Halls of Residence
As they leave
They leave for our generation a loss compass
From which we can find and rediscover our
Moral values, valuable culture
Instincts of deliberative governance and
Leadership cum administrative acumen
As it is
We are living with fear of gbu-a-gbu-a
Of daylight gunshot of the emboldened to
Extort, encouraged to maim and induced to kill
Ultra-fascists campus cult groups commissioned
To crush all seeming oppositions
As is it
We are living with:-
Biochemists without reagents
Microbiologists without modern microscopes
Linguists without modern language laboratory
Computer students without
Being opportune to hold a mouse
Physiologists without bloodbank.
As it is
We are living with
Dike archaic books and non books materials
Students and staff basking in the euphoria
Of stone age and ancient facilities.
As it is
We are living in a garden that detest truth
Genuine intellectualism, dissent views and
Contrary opinions but rather nourishes in
Multi-colour ignorance, white lies,
Ever green concocted disortions,
Oceanic blu-i-sh sycophancy and reddish intolerance
Which is only reminiscences of the black jackboot
Days of the Abacha junta.
Alayande Stephen. T
20th,September,2005
6.00am
Form:
as you watch the puppet ms. nuland try & babble her way out of
a media war zone,
explaining to reporters who do not believe a word coming from her mouth,
we, the people watching,
the people who care about those suffering under
occupation in Palestine,
have won today!!!
today,
over 100 countries decided that the time has finally come to grant the people of Palestine some recognition & ability to preserve their heritage,
despite the ongoing marauding of the little brother of the empire &
the empire itself---
and as we watch the true international community,
including China, Russia, Brazil, India & France,
vote FOR the Palestinian people,
the US & Israel whine soooooooooooo loud!
“why can’t we still get our way?” they cry.
and they threaten UNESCO with the pulling of funds,
which inevitably would mean that they will no longer be a part of the
organization itself---
almost,
sorta like,
they are the
bullies on the playground
who just aren’t scaring everybody anymore
like they used to---
and,
awe,
nobody wants to play with them in the sandbox because
the transparency of the empire’s actions can be seen the world around
as the hunt & assassination campaign continues,
taking Bin Laden, Gaddafi, any anyone else that it wants
without trial
without any debate whatsoever on the topic.
today the people of the world who seek justice for those that
continue to undergo savage oppression
(whether you call it apartheid or a slow attempt at genocide),
have spoken!!
No words spewed from the mouth of a administrative talking head acting on behalf of the angry empire will change that.
AND PALESTINE IS ONE STEP CLOSER TO BEING FREE.
Save Malaysia Today
S - Some time ago, there was a sovereign fund named 1MDB...
A - All too soon, there were mounting allegations of suspicious activities...
V - Various allegations hinted of serious financial and administrative irregularities..
E - Ere you know it, the hot potato that is 1MDB is fouling up the economy...
M - My country Malaysia today is a nation of highly stressed daily living….
A - All my countrymen are suffering from a drastic rise in the cost of living…
L - Lives everywhere are struggling to cope with a falling economy…
A - As the drastic price rise in raw petroleum has pushed up pricings..
Y - Yet the government saw fit to introduce after 1st April 2015 GST, a pervasive
6% sales tax …
S - Sure enough, consumer prices immediately spiralled upwards as GST is a
cumulative form of tax…
I - In fact, the high petroleum price and this new sales tax has effectively double
the cost of living..
A - All Malaysians are increasingly disenchanted with the top man in the political
office…
T - There is a most historic gathering today of politicians in an effort to save the
Malaysian nation..
O - One impossible gathering of leaders from the ruling political party in cahoots
with the opposition …
D - Demands were made through various speeches presented by all the political
bigwigs in attendance..
A - All were in agreement that illegal donations, GST and 1MDB were linked to the
top minister's silence …
Y - Yet to be seen, will this gathering and a Citizen Declaration be just the spark to
save Malaysia?