Long Analysts Poems
Long Analysts Poems. Below are the most popular long Analysts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Analysts poems by poem length and keyword.
If you stick your neck out for a friend, you’re likely to lose your head.
A friend is a potential enemy in disguise as a loving wife just before vowing ties.
Friends are of all kinds but the kind you want them to be.
A friend you use is a friend you abuse and who has no use of you.
The friend you call upon in need is always in greater need.
If you give a friend an helping-hand, make sure you take it back as soon as you can.
If you trust your friend with your girl, you’re the biggest dope in the world.
When friends meet, they always talk about beating meat.
If you take a friend to dine, make sure he leaves his horse behind.
The friend with daughters is the kind you wished sported blinkers.
A friend who works in banks, we always drop in - in person - to say thanks.
The friend’s wife even if she’s a bad cook is no chinook to hook.
If friends go on vacation with their wives, they always know who connives.
Friends who live close-up always end-up in the lock-up.
A friend with an axe to grind always uses it on some friend’s uterine.
A friendly father is one who takes a lasting interest in his daughter’s girl friends.
A friend who loans you some dough is always knocking on your door.
Only a friend who walks his dog picks the hour your wife goes out for a jog.
A friend at your beck and call must be wondering why you don’t him enthrall.
A friend by any other name is a still a friend you can put to shame.
A friend is someone you can entrust your shame with, but never your fame.
Keep your distance from the friend who shouts in your face for it’s a downright disgrace he spits in your face.
Friends who work for rival companies tend to share daily work memories.
Friends who work in different embassies are thick as thieves.
The greatest friends are those married couples with very large families who realize far too late they are/were really homo-sexuals.
Friends who give one another too many presents ought to look for friends who only give presents.
The best friends are those who need no psycho-analysts for they can see each other without waiting for appointments.
Childhood friends always end-up wishing their friends on other friends.
A friend of a friend always turns up for a spend or a lend.
Long lost friends who meet to go out for the night leave behind wives happy, whallop-py and tight.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Boohoo is bidding for Boo-Boo
But Yogi’s not seeking a deal,
He’s scanning the park for a picnic
Looking forward to his evening meal.
Warner Brothers deny their involvement
So investors are kept in the dark,
But rumours are spreading ’round Bedrock
And the restrooms of Jellystone Park.
Boohoo is bidding for Boo-Boo,
It’s becoming a sought-after brand;
For Yogi it’s deeply upsetting
And he’s drawing a line in the sand.
This fetish for gobbling-up trademarks
Is addictive - a turbulent torrent,
So the trustees of Hanna-Barbera
Have rescinded Mister Ranger’s warrant.
Boohoo is loving the limelight,
Printing posters to boast of expansion.
Directors are driving round Dorset
Seeking out an available mansion.
Animated heroes fall silent,
Suppressing their deep-seated rage,
They’ve vowed to stop buying new costumes,
Thought bubbles stay blank on the page.
Snagglepuss is sacking his agent
Whose alibi soon fell to pieces,
Wacky Races have cancelled two meetings
Though Mister Jinks is still chasing meeces.
Huckleberry Hound is blue in the face,
So upset that he’s leaving his kennel tea.
Boohoo’s directors have not thought this through,
Analysts think they’ll soon pay a penalty.
Now Matalan, Primark and Peacocks
Are struggling hard to pay rates,
They see this young upstart named Boohoo
Just sealing competitors’ fates.
The Jetsons are locked in a hangar
Refusing to talk to the press,
While Cindy is comforting Yogi
Because bears aren’t accustomed to stress.
Just how many trademarks are needed
To cater for everyone’s tastes?
With so many trend-setters in lockdown
Periodically measuring waists.
The Jellystone team is downhearted
When they note that admissions are down,
With Boohoo now trashing their legacy
It’s the first time they’ve seen Muttley frown!
Yes, Boohoo is bidding for Boo-Boo,
It’s becoming a sought-after brand;
For Yogi it’s deeply upsetting
And the prospects for fashion seem bland.
these brick bound boxes
fill this equinox of smart headed people
of these independent achievable people
critical analysts of this 21 century
ready to be presentable to the unmighty
smaller population of antisocial teenage children
willing them to be
not to be free, but inside these brick bound boxes
that fill the human intelligence with total
literate irrelevance to who we should be
to who can be
ultimately like them
filled in these brick bound boxes
with mental instimulance
of a mix of lies, creation and motives
see, I don’t have a problem with any of them
just these brick bound boxes that hold them
hold this unforgettable willing mind
of someone we chose to leave behind
in these brick bound boxes
that encompass first the mind and then the soul
but who wants all this control?
society can speak of a whole.
an incredible strong mental image
of how life is to be--
within these brick bound boxes.
My life isn’t based in these brick bound boxes
but it soon will
creating a song of the monotone dead
longing to be passed on from generation to generation
but can't you see
can't you forget that this is not who we ought to be
unless we need to spontaneously combust
in this equinox till it metastasizes
catastro sizes to an everlasting dust
even you must ought to smell the musk.
So tell me, how do thee?
how do thee live with these brick bound boxes
filling up every empty not-yet-set concrete whole
implying of who you are before you could even
have some kind of control over yourself
its swept under the rug.
no biggie, you're just a kiddie
no actual value to this reality
yet before you can buy alcohol
and I’m someone to sound big
I just don’t want to fill these lonely brick bound boxes
where the death of every living will cease to be a beginning
in this equinox of the everlasting dust,
so do you must, live in these brick bound boxes?
What a name called?
Football a game called,
To known arena called stadium,
Played eleven to eleven side to side each,
Formations of it kinds,
Aims of a two goal post net,
Aims of a trophy,
Aims of winning,
In a color Jersey of its kinds,
In a color booths of it kinds,
Side to side balls picking sons round,
Spectators sat rounding pitch watching,
Centered with a nominated referee officiating,
Lined with a two lines men flagged,
Officials of substitutions in questions,
Pronounced by named commentators,
Red and yellow cards rules in question,
Supported keys of volunteers,
Supported with all sorts of supporters,
Declared a stadium manager jobs,
Declared a team manager jobs,
Host the nations, Host the world,
At moment of a country designated!
At moment of a country authorized!
Called for all practitioners....
Photographers, Cinematography, Press, Medias, Adverts, Sponsors, critics, etc. centred.
What a name called?
Football! football! ! football! ! !
A rounded leather circled!
Circled in its color of its choices,
Declared fifa authorities,
Declared statistical over all game,
Respect covered face to face,
Stretchers officials in uniforms of its officials medications,
Football a game called,
With boots of its kinds worn,
Saddled a whole lot supporters,
Saddled a whole lot analysts,
Presumption for a nation's glory,
Preemptive individuals' desirably for survival,
Football a game called,
Called to the passionate in spirit,
Football a game called,
Embrace understanding to unnamed,
Embrace love to unloved,
Embrace unity to diversities,
Embrace creativity to un-creativity,
Football a game called,
Adore a nature,
Football a game called,
Called to a glorious home,
Football a game called,
A rounded leather circled!
With boots of its played,
With jersey of its kinds,
With choices of many kinds,
Football a game called.
Heart problem? That's common to all; and nobody is exempted!
"I'm well; I'm healthy." You and I can declare such, when prompted...
Yet... the nagging question keeps on reverberating - - -
Like you, I'll face it - not resisting; and then, deal with it... unrelenting.
“The heart of the problem,” the analysts say
“…is the problem of the heart*.” I agree anyway
For out of the heart are life’s issues verily…
Thus is what God’s precept affirms assertively.
Today, I’m yielding myself to the heart Doctor
My Creator, life’s Designer, Operator
For Him to reveal my lingering heart ailment
That I ignore, deny, hide with guilt’s settlement.
Here am I, under the heart Expert’s scrutiny
Exposing common heart aches’ source that seems tiny;
Oh, how I cringe in pain as He names what’s the main…
In my inward parts there sits on the throne the villain.
Diagnosis shows pride exalting self’s glory
Highlighting selfishness’ ecstatic victory
Revolving around the I, me, myself and mine
With envy, covetousness, and greed next in line.
Midst the heart Specialist’s examination
I’m failing… and now fainting in deep exhaustion…
Gripped am I with feelings of doubt, confusion, shame
Though hurting, I come to God; His healing – I claim.
Now, I admit my severe heart-infirmities
And receive His cleansing for my impurities
“Lord, I thank Your mercy, grace, love that never lack
To safeguard me surely from fatal heart attack.”
*Psalm 19:14 Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O LORD, my strength, and my redeemer.
May 4, 2018
2nd place, "What Do We Have in Common" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues; judged on May 21, 2018.
A disbanded little colony of wacky souls ensues:
Some will head to the high purple hills
and live in caves.
They will bring cranberries and beets to crush
up and make paint with.
They will use horse hair brushes to write their
words on the cave walls for future cave dwellers.
Some, will make the long trek down to the sea.
They will bring sail cloth and hollowed out birch trees
and construct fine boats to set out on the blue.
Once past any site of land,
they will take empty oyster shells
and redeposit pearly orbs in them, now wrapped
in silk ribbons with words of poems written and bled on them with Indian ink.
They will plunk each one to the sea, watching them
sink as white stones past the line of sight,
to the sweeping sands below.
Others, will head to the plains.
Cowboys to horses and tumbleweed hats.
They will ride to the point of exhaustion
just to locate a piece of land that has never known
human feet.
After setting up camp, fire burning the smoke signals of life,
they will sing their words to the coyotes and the night birds.
Still others, like me, will retreat to the land within.
Storing up words and prose, muttering rhyme in the shower
toward upward twisting steam.
Eating a breakfast of oatmeal, but living my life's thoughts through the eyes
of an old man I saw briefly on the street the day before.
This wacky band of expression analysts.
Each as unique as the lands they will travel to:
The consummate lover.
The philosopher.
The artist.
The photographer.
The misfit.
The wonderful, blow your mind, every time, embodiment of inspiration.
A colony about to disband - to cover the earth in rhyme.
Where does perception lie,first,in the mind?
The eye of your eye or a trick of some kind?
Is every perception unique as it is new?
The "Eye of the Beholder",is that the truth?
We perceive what that is,is that what we do?
With senses in tow,as driven through time.
A Masters' Puppet show,or designing design?
Try as we might to know!
Uncover the discovered,will we ever unfold?
Lifes' two-fold greatest show not showing.
Showing the hand how it knows,knowing.
Senses come alive with thirst to analyze.
Sensation implies reality concocted,realize.
The Catalyst for all that we do!
Vantage point antagonist,simultaneous truth.
Are we analysts of perception?
Or does perception analyze for you?
Is perception of self how we perceive, else.
A water drop ring in the scope of things?
A ripple vibration-harmonic, stringed,felt?
If seeing is believing,somehow.
Perceiving is feeling,I have a feeling.
That you are doing so,even now!
So ,are we held in the virtues?
In the light of God's truth?
In the Righteous pursuit-might in use.
The Word through Ultimate Vision.
Perception-but law in provided provision?
The notion of law of habitual conception.
The emotional awe of perpetual direction?
The law of love-which is without undoing!
Our perception of Light needs no proving.
We exist through Gods'perception.
The Truth, unerring incessant Inception?
I perceive that when we defy God and Sin.
We deny Love,that in which we exist in.
Emotion is perception's Ultimate Truth!
Causes perception to come alive, in You.
That is where Perception lies and doesn't lie!
(Here, Clark Gable is speaking.
Gaylord Langland was the character
he played in the just-completed
movie. "Trotsky" is his nickname
for Arthur Miller and the "little
girl" is Marilyn Monroe. Gable did
not attend the wrap party and died
of a hreat attack the following day.)
Gaylord
Everything just happened wrong.
It'll do that, sometimes.
A movie set is like a ship, I guess.
Some are happy, some not.
I'll skip the party.
I've seen enough,
and I'm feeling kind of rough.
Trotsky? I won't bad-mouth the guy.
He knows so many things,
but he doesn't know women.
It was sad to watch him try.
When a woman decides, inside,
to pass on you, you're screwed.
Not even dynamite will do.
I told him, "Don't cling.
Stop thinking you can change things."
His intellect is all he had,
and he certainly deployed it.
But pain is part of the deal.
Can't none of us avoid it.
The little girl? We had a fling.
She's not like anybody thinks.
The brassy, buxom *****
is some ad-man's creation.
She's a brittle little child.
Her skin is too thin.
You cut your hand, she feels it.
In my philosophy,
it's a simple equation:
they pay me, I show,
ready to go. I don't know
why they need these
analysts and therapists.
Business before show.
She asked a bunch of stuff,
couldn't get enough.
Wanted my suggestions.
Hungry to hear about Harlow,
got me over a barrel
on Yvonne De Carlo.
Even asked about Carole.
I said, "Easy, Harietta.
You'll never know a man better
by asking him questions.
She’s a pretty little cottage with a pretty picket fence
She snuggles in the forest where the trees grow tall and dense
A gravelled path runs by her so the mailman can deliver
But nothing gets delivered now, since something made him shiver
The pretty little cottage isn’t pretty all the time
Something happens anytime no sun nor moon does shine
It’s only meant to happen on those starless, moonless nights
When logic takes a hike and someone turns out all the lights
Only owls and bats and big eyed creatures get to see
What happens when this happens in low visibility
The ivy, bramble and the nettle overrun the walls
While cobwebs fill the window frames to tuneless, haunting calls
Inside in total darkness something dead and awful moans
But no one, once the sun goes down, should hear these ghoulish groans
Of course its true that in the daytime our sun never dips
But neither should the mailman come… during an eclipse
*
But no one really knows what happened on that dark, dark day
The quacks and all the analysts could never make him say
He muttered that he listened to the chorus of the lark
And then repeated these two words, “The dark, the dark, the dark!”
*
So when the light returns and all the weeds and cobwebs clear
And there’s no mailman there to tell you to what there is to fear
Then anyone who ventures through the trees so tall and dense
Will find a pretty cottage with a pretty picket fence.
Military and civilian linguists and intelligence analysts, my colleagues and I were monitoring the Balkans troubles, supporting our troops in theater 'down range'. We were working the 'Mids' shift from 11 pm till 7 am at Bad Aibling Station--formerly a military intelligence site. I had read that we were in the western European zone that would experience a total eclipse of the sun that morning. One of the other Serbo-Croatian linguists had a car on post. I voiced the thought "wouldn't it be cool if we drove out to Mount Wendelstein and saw the eclipse from up there?!". He and another agreed. After shift we drove to the base of the mountain, and decided to hike the trail to the top rather than pay to ride the cable car up. Many Bavarians had the same idea, and it was somewhat crowded on the summit. When the eclipse was finally full, it was like standing on shadowy clouds surrounded by a large ring of light--eery, bizarre, and colder than anticipated both due to the elevation and darkness. Two minutes and twenty-six seconds of totality. I had goose bumps for several reasons, and could understand why primitive man would have been so terrified of the experience. Returning back to base, we learned that it had been overcast down there; so local people only saw it get dark, but missed the actual eclipse. However, three Sergeants had been in the right place at the right time, to see the first total eclipse in Europe in forty years, and last one of the twentieth century....August 11th, 1999.