Long Agent Poems
Long Agent Poems. Below are the most popular long Agent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Agent poems by poem length and keyword.
This poem was inspired by the interviews by Earl K. Pollon and S. S. Matheson conducted with native Sekanni peoples who were negatively effected by the flooding of their communal homelands by the building of the W.A.C. Bennett Dam. “This Was Our Valley” tells that story of injustice. 640 square miles of riverfront and hunting territory would be flooded to form Williston Lake. The Sekanni peoples were driven from their ancestral homeland in northeastern British Columbia, Canada and dispersed.
The Shopping Cart Injustice
People, place and spirit
All were our relations
Biopeds, quadrupeds, winged or finned -
River language told us so.
Fishing rocks spoke the run
Where the riffles and the rapids talked.
Ancestors, dead and alive, told living stories where
Running the river banks, the children played.
The land was a book written in forms.
We made our mark with love, community
Fishing weirs, aspen dugout canoes,
Hunting trails, camps and sacred sites.
Always traders, we traded furs with
White settlers when they arrived
On the rivers Parsnip, Finlay and Peace at
Finlay Forks, Fort Grahame, Fort McLeod.
We added pack trains, teams of pack horses
River freighters, flat bottom ‘longboats’
For supplies and for mail delivery.
It seemed that we could live together.
Then one day a government agent said
That shopping carts were coming
They would flood our world
Water rising everywhere
Shopping carts with electric can openers
Full, fast to check out,
Shopping carts with electric hair blowers,
Full, faster to check out,
Shopping carts with electric air conditioners,
Full, fastest to check out
Shopping carts with electric stoves.
Check out, check out, check out.
They would make our rivers into a lake
We would move or drown.
Our elders did not believe it.
That was the only consultations!
Soon Saskatoon berries all under water
Next, the banks sloughed back to graveyards
Next, cliffs crumbled, and banks fell into rising lake
Houses of the villages slipped and floated
Coffins, bones and bodies strewed the shore
Where tangled trees, debris and more
Eddied with flotsam in the wind.
We wept for our ancestors!
We weep for our children.
We had to flee the destruction
Caused by tree grinders, D-9 bull dozers
The dam construction.
Now they want to take more
Another dam for more shopping carts.
Please stop Site ‘C’.
Mosque cowed covenant I keep Putin off...
and withheld broadcasting
the following communication
tucked away these many years,
when president number forty five
donned, jump/kick started, and tweeted
thru his musky, albeit flabby mantle,
a rallying cry forewarning onset of Mag(m)a
bubbling, gurgling, lobbing, and spewing lava
against backdrop of his trumpeting vitriolic
political preservation, salvation,
and veneration, though with hold
ding temptation tomb mike -
(make) pence sieve lee clear,
the immoral majority mold
toot hoods, (those bajillion
Americans unanimously polled)
did want me to broadcast, communicate,
and declare, sans incendiary fold
drawl (folderol) feigning migrant accent,
(no matter I'm getting older than Methuselah),
nonetheless Ivana trumpet from Taj Mahal
straight to Mar-A-Lago) all told,
plus thank Republicans
(past or present), who extolled,
an invisible grandiose fire walled
barricade (donning, enclosing,
and fortifying) against Carl mauled
din lookalike hackers,
despite one sporting "FAKE"
hook nosed, hunchbacked
adorned, donned with (Turin) shawled,
shrouded, and disguised vagrant, indigent,
double chinned agent - bald
(except for being bewigged),
viz flowing locks of "FAKE" gold
in toe with Amazon heavily funded
unbridled trailing retinue
chanting appellation Matthew
Scott Harris alias Oswald),
no matter said faux
renegade twittering lobbyists
to flock (like lemmings) within his fold,
and will laughably petrify
any vigilantes dead cold,
what with his bugs
bunny eyed (What's up Doc)
intent reader rabbit stare,
that doth playfully scold
any Bare Ladies scantily
linkedin, NOT nsync
with netiquette politesse mold
gobbledygook communication, (asper
my pork chopped message
higglety pigglety divulged)
obeying tacit gold
din rule to hoodwink public, nonetheless
lemme exemplify, how I plan to hold
world web electronically hostage
by secret Ransomware sold,
thru dark wide whirled web
cryptocurrency bitcoin blockchain trolled
under auspices, sans
omnipotent NON GMO
gluten free CRISPR rolled
oat sized INTEL nanobots,
no bigger than mold
spores heavily monitoring
meant to fortify electronic threads
woven into a virtual tapestry
likened to Dickensian chain e-mail
intent to foment pandemonium
at expense to captcha totalitarianism,
whereby democracy imperiled.
Voluntary unconditional surrender woke...,
Viz hitting yours truly,
when yokel egghead doth jinx
whereby ye cannot comprehend figurative
wimpy vainglory, unequivocally, tectonically,
smoldering resentments I stoke,
he doth bare his soul no joke,
no matter insight doth severely challenge
cyber surfing passersby, who attempt
to interpret courtesy
mental torture doth invoke
brutality, difficulty, futility gobbledygook,
heavily taxing your fifty
plus shades of gray
I apologetically, grudgingly (ha),
painstakingly, unwittingly... poke,
when mine broadcast
red by anonymous folk
admittedly poetically trumpeting ambiguity
overlain donned with high falutin cloak
peace be with thee courtesy this bloke.
Electronic date/time stamp permeates
within copious, illustrious,
and porous corpus callosum
hemispheric spongy sinks
mister re: mysterious as Sphinx
validation indubitably backfires
invariably induces loosed
unicellular sized rat finks
cerebral blackout courtesy
one to many drinks,
envision sucker punched by
rockin sockin robots one named
Muhammad Ali t'other Leon Spinks,
or gordian knotted cognitive kinks
bajillion befuddled blinks,
albeit feeble analogy methinks
to render genuine concomitant
convoluted, mangled, twisted... (think
Möbius strip) sentiment
specifically linkedin with
sincere appreciation meant
pertaining to this gent
despite slight trepidation
as faux Geico petsmart agent
forced celibate nun sensical chap
considering entering convent
cloistered existence remaining
days of my life get spent,
where "15 minutes
might save me, not so shabby decent
15% or more on car insurance."
Paraphrase aforementioned Matt Speak
more easily succinctly understood,
versus gibberish as ????????
(i.e. the word Greek spelled in Greek)
essentially long in the tooth fella
self anointed literate sheikh
feeble flattered fungi with
average mushroom shaped physique
trends towards playfulness
in tandem with harmless streak
merely acknowledges how his unique
self expression oft times
tongue-in-cheek
experiences giddiness at unsolicited
positive feedback versus he/she,
who doth bitingly, flagrantly,
outrageously, witheringly... critique
modesty misunderstood equivalent
of poetic (peekaboo) hide and seek
to Dani body hook ken find me
game to reveal me re: hide and seek.
Saloon
Squeezed between office buildings
On lower Broadway
Desolate and out of the way
Faint neon sign marks the place
For the downtown art scene.
Poetry readings on Sunday afternoons
Only the regulars show up
Invited or not
Some mount the stage and
Recite a piece or two
To scattered applause.
The beat goes on
Summer nights fly by
No Sunday readings now
It’s Saturday and it’s a different place.
Crowd mingles
Three deep at the bar
A/C working on overtime while
Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On plays
Jazzy and soulful
A monster hit
To no one’s surprise.
A hangout for anyone
Bodies waiting to meet
An Agent.
Or maybe a Publisher.
Or a Rep.
Anybody. Somebody. Anyone know somebody important?
Naw, this ain’t the place
This is St. Adrian’s
A place for
Artists.
Writers.
Sculptors.
Working class dreamers.
Pretenders and losers.
Wannabes.
Lost children and
Casual loners on the prowl.
Carol, alone in a corner booth
Glass of white wine in her hands
On the rocks of course
Smiles at everyone like a Mona Lisa.
Jack Micheline
Bronx’ original Beat
Wrote River of Red Wine in ‘58
Manuscript under his arm
Waits for someone
To buy him a drink
Elaine, beautiful in a peasant blouse
Scent of musk oil like a halo
Motions
To the young men
Who watch her hands
Move like deadly weapons
Stan’s a photographer. Sleepy, one night
Left his equipment in a car
Morning arrives and
Broken windshield screams
You’ve been robbed.
Junior, a sculptor, needs rent money for a walkup in the East Village
Otherwise he’ll live on someone’s couch
Gil does commercials
Until he finds an old lady
Then Hollywood here he comes
And Glenn is a writer with lots of ideas
But no paper and no place to go.
No one asked what I did for money
Or where I lived.
I was accepted with a simple sitdownhaveadrink.
Sometimes there’d be ten of us
Squeezed in a booth or
Around a table
Talking and talking.
Any topic not important
Just to meet and forget for awhile
The nagging loneliness and rejection.
It’s well past midnight
Chairs scrape the floor and there’s an echo in the walls
Left behind are empty glasses and stale beer
As the place begins to empty out.
We leave
Hitting the still streets
Looking for a cab
Or the nearest subway
But before we do
We promise to meet again.
WWII has been over for 66 years &
for some reason those responsible for the production of captain america: the first avenger
think that now is a good time to bring back a douche bag
who was originally called “super american”
by his creator, joe simon
(an obviously generic label amongst all the other “super” heroes that was even too much
for the morons at marvel to run with),
& so the captain was born
because
“there weren’t a lot of captains” in comics.
originally this super american punched
hitler in the face & sold almost a million
copies when that first march 1941 issue
hit the newsstands,
capitalizing on a war fervor that was
explosive in the US before pearl harbor had
even been attacked---
super american & his sidekick “bucky” went
on to fight more nazis & the japanese until
bucky died & was replace by “betsy ross,”
the super american’s fbi agent girlfriend---
modeled on the woman who is said to have
sewn the first american flag, betsy did not revive
the dying series,
mainly because the nationalism that was burning bright
during “the great war”
had burnt out during the cold war period &
so the captain & his flag sewing girlfriend ended up
ceasing after 75 issues,
by which time the whole fiasco had been retitled
captain america’s weird tales---
such justice doesn’t happen often,
it is a shame that it took 75 issues to bring it
about.
now that this new film is about to be release out into the world,
given the state of america’s wonderful reputation
(a bit different than in 1941) as the world’s policeman
who stops at nothing to rape this planet of its natural resources,
squeezing every last drop into its own mouth,
one might wonder how the producers of this film expected to
bring in a dime---
isn’t it bad enough that bombs, troops & drones are storming into
other countries?
now we have to throw it up on the silver screen as well?
it turns out that the film’s title is to be changed for release in
russia, south korea & the ukraine
to only the first avenger.
just what exactly is this super american avenging now?
it seems that now the big
bad
boogeyman
is
us & if there was anyone to be
avenged,
it would be
those that we have stomped on,
those that we continue to stomp on &
those
who we plan on stomping on in the future.
Pick me, pick me, you beg and plead
You think that you just what he need
Today, you in the game, yea!
Today you get to play and that totally made your day
But you don't love the game, you love the Coach
You're getting a home visit from Coach. Yes, he says he's coming over
Wow, you do dumb ssh for love when he's on his way
You quickly hide clothes in the other room, you throw stuff here and there. You run and tuck and when he's not around, you don't give a pluck. Clothes are here, there, everywhere scattered
When he's not around, nothing about clothes or your room even matter
You think and think and think of him
You think of 100 reasons to call him
You think of two reasons not to call
One, he's not going to answer, two, he's with that witch
Why she gotta be a witch? Cause you want her man?
There you go, when are you gon learn?
Second string on the bench, waiting again for your turn
How long will this go on? Will this ever end?
You've been waiting for a month for Coach to pick you again..Really?
Six weeks have passed, he doesn't even look your way
He doesn't give you or your name a call
She is staying in the game.
Why wait for the starter to get an offside penalty?
She's not trying to get no technical or foul out
She's playing tackle with him while you playing touch
You wait so patiently to get put in. But put you in for what? You on the bench and still getting ran over.
Don't you see, you don't mean what you think you mean to him
And no, you're not no challenge or no threat to her.
But silly ole you, still wanna be part of the team, so you try some new plays to impress Coach. Of course it's his way, cause when it's all said and done only the player that's gonna help him win get to stay in the game
And one thing I know about the game, you can get cut for no reason
There are many others trying out for your spot, but so far there’s only the two of you who are actually on the team roster
Stop playing second string, second string doesn't get acknowledged
Don't get no recognition and you don't get to meet the fam
Girl, you're not no second string material, get off the sidelines
You are not obligated to stay, you are a free agent
You deserve better, dream BIG, become part of a team
Where you won't be the Coach's player, you'll be... The Coach's Wife!
Moving Into a Haunted House
By Elton Camp
It was a story the Realtor had heard before
We were looking for an old house to restore
“It has to have a basement and two floors
If it was a Victorian, we’d like that even more.”
“On a large plot of land the house has to be.
We don’t want to look out and neighbors see.
It can’t be some old relic that is falling down
But we’ll do work on the house and ground.”
The agent then tried to hide a delighted grin
“Long on the market this one place has been.
Your description made think of it right away.
Get in my car and we’ll drive out there today.”
The fine old mansion wasn’t near to any towns
The driveway twisted through neglected grounds
Through a break in the trees, we caught a sight
The place brought a mixture of fright and delight
When we found that all furnishing were included,
We made an offer and the deal was soon concluded
At closing, the Realtor one thing more did reveal
“I learned it’s haunted so you can cancel the deal.”
“Hey, I am not some ignorant, superstitious fool.
One who believes in zombie, ghost, witch or ghoul.
If any spirits are in our house as you have predicted,
They better be packing as they’re about to be evicted.”
The very first night after we moved in from the town,
We were about to go to bed, but heard a horrible sound
It was something like from a movie or a scary dream
It was frightful, as if some tortured soul did scream
The source of the disturbance was on the first floor
We crept down the stairs and heard it more and more
I wondered if we would still be alive the next morning
I reproached myself for failing to take agent’s warning
Finally to find the dark, noisy room took us several tries
I shone into it the light and saw a pair of glowing eyes
The cries came to a stop and trembling I stood still
And down my back there ran a fright-induced chill
The flashlight tumbled to the floor from my hand
I couldn’t decide if it was better that I run or stand
What happened next was, to me, almost too much
A soft form, my lower legs began to lightly touch
I felt that I could not withstand the fright any more,
But my very feet felt as they were glued to the floor
My wife switched on her flashlight and yelled “Scat.”
Down the hallway scooted a lost and frightened cat
They all sit there lined up in a row
Not knowing when exactly when to go
Decisions are made on the image they are looking for
As the applicants mumble at the door.
Mommas got cash
Let those pass
The Agent said
Wondering if they knew how to play dead underneath the bed.
Here comes another one
Participating in the audition after getting some sun
Shez a factor the agent said and could be a fine actor
Take a picture with her in blood
And bet you bottom dollar she is not going to be a dud.
Two more come in
Being a sweet photogenic twin
And having what it takes to win
A prize which is the opportunity to hear some more lies
Maybe this is just something
Like a guy giving them a ring.
Pick up the phone
“I am alone,” she could say
About this selection process for a scene to roll in the hay
During this time when they know she is out of money
And reality states they are only there to be called honey
Having the only worry being ‘if tomorrow is going to be sunny’.
When asked to defend
Its for the men
They do state
Hoping a date will turn into a lifelong mate.
In this game where no one knows their name
One may ask about money
When the success is being a bunny
This is nothing new
In a profession that ends with “I Do”
Yes, no she is waiting for an answer
On whether she is the corpse of the principal dancer.
When she gets the green light to be in the dying fight
She gets pumped up with all the might
“How much should I show?”
She asks with a glow.
Just enough
the guys want to see your inside stuff.
Finally, they get cast as the damsel getting the gas
Ready to meet a monster with a dangerous tool
And not expecting to end up just body parts in a bloody pool.
It only takes a day and hopefully there will be pay
But if not, the picture taken could be considered hot.
Everything is fine if it looks good
Especially if the B movie talent has it all together underneath their hood.
Do not be worried since it’s just the character that is going to be buried
Then after weeks in the theater what will be sweeter
A shot on a magazine cover that begs for men to love her.
Soon the check will come
And it will be done
Once the payment goes through and she tells the one man in her life “I do”
now that the casey anthony extravaganza is
over,
the vultures begin to fly round the carcass
wanting in on whatever bit of
rotting meat
is leftover---
anthony is said to make at least $750,000 from
a book deal, while the television & movie industry is
foaming at the
mouth,
eagerly awaiting her release
(actually it doesn’t even matter if she gets released, as she
is free to sign on to any financial endeavor while still behind
bars)---
no one could have put it better than linda konner, a literary
agent in nyc, when she said
“anything with a mother and a dead child tends to attract lots of
attention.”
regardless of how you personally feel about the verdict
(if you care at all),
consider yourself lucky to not be a florida state tax payer,
as due to the fact that anthony was facing the death penalty,
the stakes went up when it came to defending her---
it is estimated that the court trial & all relevant costs, etc.
will sum up to be $4.5 million dollars.
casey anthony’s offer by vivid entertainment,
to make a pornographic film was retracted
by co-chairman, steve hirsch because after seeing the
public’s reaction,
he figured his company could not make money off her
afterall.
now,
consider for a moment those that were weeping, saying that they
lost their faith in the justice system---
better yet,
consider what was happening in the rest of the world over the
weekend besides the anthony case,
like
6,000 inmates in 11 california prisons being on hunger strike
this past weekend because of
“torturous & inhumane conditions”---
or perhaps
the
14
MORE
AFGHAN
CIVILIANS
killed yesterday in a US/NATO airstrike in khost province
(with 8 of the 14 being children) &
then
think about those that felt that they had lost their faith in
the US
justice system---
that same system that is supposed to be soooooooo great
that we are compelled to bring it to other countries
with airstrikes, troops & drones.
alas,
if a young white girl & her dead baby would work as a
formula to draw attention to all of the reasons to lose faith in
the US
justice
system,
we could simply give her photo-ops at all of the afghan operations &
for the prison hunger strike,
have her parade through cali’s prison population
for
starters.
I Asked Myself A Rhetorical Question...
Asper daily expounding fostering
inchoate manifesting mod
er writ writing quality,
solitary scrimmage tackling
undertaking, yielding whir
ring, sputtering, kickstarting, and
buzz-feeding at competitive, communal
crowed did metaphorical trough,
where household named author's
top New York Times best seller
tier, overshadowing under
rated genre bending, breakout aspiring,
story board qualifying,
opportunistic newbie man
use script artful dodgers
mere dust collecting drafts,
anticipating to stir infectious interest
incumbent - at mercy,
tripwire activating quint
essential key, which anchors print
ting projected uncertain
popularity first edition,
awakening, guiding, nosing
asymptote analogy steering
reader toward nascent
scribe, where paper
back writer wannabe,
toils away incorporating subtle
(hook, line and sinker) techniques,
(albeit apropos literary
ploys, a true test tum ment,
viz sophisticated gambits
to massage late tint
prestidigitation abra ca dab rah,
sine non qua cogent
see kant, and tangent triggers
modest mien fortified, exemplified,
and downplayed akin
to unassuming Clark Kent
in his cape ably nonchalant
transformation into superman,
and/or more pointedly,
some original heft leant
to set apart striking
poignant implement
exhibited by aspiring
writer daily revising,
albeit gal or gent
his/her uniquely obscure
trademark, but
eventually keen agent
assays non-boastful writing style
im prim mature print,
sans unassuming swiftly tailored
harried style seduces seek
curing sincere overnight reverent,
well deserved kudos
comically marveling
at thee most im portent
salient strengths, per
hops hue moored opulent
quality instigates
affinity toward nascent,
bar riddle be, bill leading,
bud ding scrivener,
not necessary alluding
to a hypothetical outlier
thus, any similarity between the
above statement and
a living person perchance named
Matthew Scott Harris
purely coincidental.