Long Analyst Poems
Long Analyst Poems. Below are the most popular long Analyst by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Analyst poems by poem length and keyword.
"Just block out memory," the analyst tells me.
Yet images of my friend, emaciated, persist.
His last day - I scream at the nurse,
"More morphine! He needs more morphine!"
Suffering that contorts his body like the peel of
screeching tires.
"You're not family," the nurse shouts,
"that decision isn't yours!"
My friend slips off, de-masking pain.
His lost grip on everything he once controlled.
We worked together,
built things together.
Years melted into our bond like the unheard voices
of beggars welded to streets.
I gave the eulogy.
Tailored dignity.
Was it enough?
Our suffering is an open jar of preserves
- preserved when we remember loss
- preserved because memory (ever on the prowl)
sits on our doorstep
to pounce every time we walk out.
SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH HE BABYSAT FOR MY FOUR CHILDREN WHILE SPECIAL AGENT PAULA BRAND INSTALLED THE WIRES ON MY UNBORN CHILD LEROY WAS THE SUPERVISOR I HAD TO CARRY OUT HIS DUTIES I AM BLESSED HE TOOK MY KIDS TO THE BEACH SINGING MY GIRL NO GREATER LOVE HE WAS AN AWESOME FATHER HE HAD FIVE KIDS HIMSELF I FELT MY KIDS WERE SAFE THIS HELPED ME GO INSIDE HOSTAGE SITUATIONS BUYING WEAPONS AND DRUGS FROM JUNK SICK OFFICERS AND MAKE IT BACK FINNY TODAY FBI SUPERVISOR BABY SITTING MY FOUR KIDS IT WAS LIKE HAVING CHILD CARE WHILE BEING AN INFORMANT I COULDN'T WORK IF MY KIDS WEREN'T SAFE SORRY FOR MY IMPOSTER TAKING ADVANTAGE OF SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU WERE BREAKING IN MY HOME LEROY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT TAKE NOTES YOU EILL NEVER EVER CLONE ME JAMAICAN TALIBAN IDENTITY THIEVES RACKETEERING EXTORTING EMBEZZLING VETERANS AND THEIR DISABLED FAMILIES I WAS BLESSED LEROY WAS THIER I WAS HIS BACK UP TODAY MY WAR HEROR GOT MY BACK SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH IS FISHING NOW THINKING ABOUT ME TELEPATHIC BEHAVIOR ANALYST HE TAUGHT ME TO DO HIS JOB WHILE HE PLAYED WITH MY CHILDREN YOU ARE A DOMESTIC TERRORISTS IDENTITY THIEVES SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH NEVER BROKE INTO MY HOME FOR IMMUNIZATION RECORDS TO KILL MY INFANT HE SAT DOWN WITH MY CHILDREN AND I WE HAD LEMONADE AND TEA HE WOULD NEVEER PUT ME IN HARMS WAY LEAVE HIM ALONE JHORE YOU'VE KILLED ENOUGH MEN YOU WILL NOT HARM MY WAR HERO STAY AWAY FROM MY DISABLED FAMILY YOUR SOUL SHALL BE SWALLOWED UP BY THE LION OF JUDEA HAILE SELASSIE THE LION SHALL PUR AT MY FEET JUST HE DID THAT BEAUTIFUL DAY YOUR RASTA ANDREW PERISHED AT MY FEET I WATCHED THE LION OF JUDEA SWALLOW HIS SOUL AS HE TRIED TO CRAWL SLIDING LIKE SERPENT COVERED IN BLOOD THAT'S WHEN THE GUNMAN SAW HIS SOUL SCREAM HE JUMPED FROM THE TRUCK AND PUT FOUR MORE SLUGS IN HIS BACK HIS SHOE SHOT OFF HIS FEET NOW I SHOOT YOUR SOUL HAILE SELASSIE RASTAFARIAN LION OF JUDEA DON'T YOU EVER CROSS MY PATH AGAIN
In the beginning ...," roosts;
Christians and Jewish boosts.
Hubs stretched out their ellipsed
rung, un-Earth cures eclipsed
space; science clues darkling,
emerging as sparkling.
Up and down, primordial
chains--retards cordial.
Time slot checking briefly
when brain cells claim chiefly.
Focused an analyst
review a panelist,
truth and not devious;
now, post-, and previous.
Be of good health, nourish,
mindful, and to flourish
together ... we harness
our outreached true farness.
Constants are the scatheful,
equaled by the faithful ...
life marks trails that puncture
time cross-over juncture.
Naysayers, "That's crackpot!"
Truth smiles at the jackpot
as hopes, a bit mournful
of those fiercely scornful
Truth be told--mortified,
unseat those fortified,
advent-relegating
actions delegating,
doting are distinguished
evil hailed extinguished,
sage passage dutiful,
heart imparts beautiful.
Gauging your fealty
accents self-realty ...
descension diminished;
exalted goals finished.
Daily scriptures strengthen,
understanding lengthen
all regenerated
by the venerated.
A righteous behavior,
prophets teach, a savior ...
of a lost lamb was--not,
for The Shepherd does--not,
hence, Heaven will cherish,
hell reroutes won't perish,
reborn renews brilliance,
transforming resilience.
I'm an analyst
a strategist
an execution machine
in a singular mind seen
with memories of being keen
I give something my whole heart
then get it back torn apart
repeat the cycle again
till I'm left with shattered remains
trying my hardest to stay sane
Shouldn’t a vehicle move straight ahead,
unless it makes a U-turn instead?
Why in mine I’m blindly led,
leaving me to burn,
no brakes to halt or learn?
In this moment, I’m a fern
trapped in a sunlit meadow—no return
Even a robot needs to reset
so it can preset.
When I try to slow and reset,
I get haunted by regret,
as if I’m drowning in debt.
I generally mean mine mien mental state
moost occasions heavily marinated stupor
long established as external trait
psychologically time tested trooper
impossible mission to kickstart sanity
doppelgänger regularly revisits his soul asylum
hellbent antimatter he cannot vitiate
despite therapeutic laxative merely exhausts
well bred literate smoking doobie brother
eliminating aforementioned pablum
witnessed courtesy one floundering grouper
among plenty of fish schooled
hyphenated (high finned haggled)
burn hushed scaled poem
courtesy one unionised rebellious party pooper.
Spellbound with colossal mental grippe
(i.e. all-consuming figurative cerebral
obsessive compulsive forced membership)
magnetic resonance imagine indicated jagged blip
and/or nsync microscopy
showed telltale genetic authorship
regarding above stated mental health crisis,
whereby Sigmund Freud analyst did flip
lid freeing leeches imported courtesy Philip
Hansel and Gretel a mere slip
o' lass whose nose she always did turnip.
E-njoy success N-ot happening S-ee how tough it is
N-oted writer I-nner peace E-ver scribe anything wise
L-otsa money R-eality appears L-ittle worth in lies
I-nteresting speaker V-ery introspect F-inding your own value
G-reat thinker A-ware of self A-t what point you realize
H-eroic advocate N-otices feelings W-here your courage is
T-op player A-dept listener A-lways not into winning
E-xpensive car A-ctually present K-arma has the keys
N-otable leader W-illing helper E-veryone can follow
M-ore attractive A-bout facades N-ature's true surprise
E-xpert analyst I-ntense focus I-nsight springs within
N-atural champion T-rue heart N-oticing other's lives
T-enacious fighter S-ilent friend G-ot everything
On what metaphysical, natural yet spiritual, principle
might agree
an economic ecologist,
an evangelist,
and a political power analyst?
Earth's prehistoric Creation unfolded
more regeneratively compassioned
than degeneratively dispassioned,
or anthropocentric history tellers
and sacred scripture retellers
and, eventually, writers,
could not have become
recreatively intelligent
regenetically empowered
neurosystemic co-investors
Enlightening SunFather
created LeftHemisphere's
AnthroCentric Logos
derived from spiritually sung
and naturally danced
empowering EarthMother's
indigenously wise RightHemisphere Mythos
Remixing
reconnecting
re-ligioning pleasure mysteries
regenerating passion history histories.
And if we add the further premise
that on bi-hemispheric Earth,
as in neurosystemic bicameral logic
and creolizing inter-religious language
and cobinary polymathic listening,
positive 1-SunGod History
is equivalent to
double negative 0-EarthMother Mystery,
then Earth's regenerative, resonant, resolving,
re-ligiously liberating
spiritually enlightened mind economic passions
balance conserving
naturally empowered not not political body pleasures.
Or maybe this has nothing to do with indigenous endorphin wisdom;
its just the more agnostic Nyquil.
I don’t ask for much.
Just peace.
Just proof.
I’ve wandered too far past curfew
God forgot to pick me up
Five days into April.
and I am still standing.
Not because I’m strong
but because I’ve forgotten how to fall,
any further without disappearing
You are giving me the proof
and asking if it means enough to bring up.
Or should we let the lie be.
Maybe start building fences.
The voice of the unseen analyst.
It’s not pride;
it’s the processor of paradox.
It doesn’t demand attention;
it filters it
And it’s divine in its curiosity.
I think I became addicted to the narrator.
Because it gave me a language,
for things that my heart can’t process
Thrift Store Foreshadowing
by Odin Roark
Inventory of past life inventories
Poised in dress-parade attention
Obliging his obligatory inspection,
Seeking the suit that would fit him well,
Avoiding the over-priced,
Cleaned and pressed,
Yet with frayed collar conspiracy
Luridly foisting their prominence
Beneath overhead fluorescents.
About the store,
Bathed in mist-like dust mites and hidden cobwebs,
Dummies dressed in street-window conceit,
Stood like Nutcracker soldiers
Their Mona Lisa eyes tracking his every move.
As rickety fans stirred the summer’s air,
Racks of faded dresses sashayed to and fro from hangers,
Not knowing he was of manly preference,
Even though…
Racks of shirts and ties waved
As he hurriedly sought an exit.
Dead men’s boots and shoes vied for his attention,
As sweat-stained Stetsons rolled along the floor,
Chasing him back to his slumber,
Where his time to wake meant quashing the noisy Big Boy alarm,
Following his ritual of ****, shower and shave,
And the daily venture into the real world of fear.
Sadly…
His analyst, the only known confidant, gave little credence to the dream,
Until having to identify his still body at the morgue,
Her doubt developed a bit more dream consciousness,
Insomnia becoming her constant companion.
...“Harpoons away,”this ensign said,
“Impact in a minute or less.”
The captain nodded, strange as this was,
they’d picked on the wrong ship to test.
Out on the Atlantic waters
across the waves the missiles screamed,
striking the Dutchman amidships,
blasting the ship to smithereens.
The gory bodies of the dead
were shattered or burned by the blow,
the whole hulk sank beneath the waves,
a bunch of sailors watched it go.
An ensign said to the captain,
“Sir, we should report the attack.”
The captain shrugged,”I guess we must,
but you know they’re just gonna laugh.”
Sure enough, that is what they did,
figuring it local pirate types,
they made note and forgot of it,
continuing on to the fight.
That’s how the Flying Dutchman sank,
though no one knew it at the time,
the folklore is still going ’round,
the stories still passed down the line.
It’s me, the naval analyst,
who put these pieces together,
spurred on when I saw less instance
of ships sinking in bad weather.
Part of me thinks it’s kind of sad,
to see an old legend vanish,
knowing I can’t tell anyone,
they would laugh me out over this.
But I suppose we benefit,
so in the end it’s fine with me,
the ocean is dangerous enough
without ghosts out roaming the sea.