Long Assembly Poems
Long Assembly Poems. Below are the most popular long Assembly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Assembly poems by poem length and keyword.
When the stomach of a child
Who has overfed rumbles, it is not
In memory of the empty hands of the past
Or what the future holds in hand
It is to mock hunger by saying all is well for now!
All is not well for tomorrow’s grinding hunger
When the Ministers of chronic poverty
Are the symptomatic children of gluttony.
The politicos eat their fill of the national cake
Down to their kin, while the dry crumbs
Are earmarked for poverty alleviation.
Today, like yesterday immemorial
They formulate policies, sign MOUs
Host conferences, organize seminars
Then publish readymadecopypaste reforms
Before the press and assembly
On how to terminate the gene (ration) of poverty.
But then, await aids, charities
Foreign loans, Sani and Diezani’s loots
Which are then looted again.
Only for the political meme
To procreate poverty, a social gene.
All is not well
When inflation drowns and hunger mounts.
You who eat until your every anatomy become fibroid
And then you say all is well.
Have you ever heard or felt
The roar and bite of empty stomachs
Or the crackling ribs of raving hunger?
And have you felt the hopelessness of trying
To perceive the aroma of tomorrow’s break of fast?
We cannot live by charities
Palliatives and crude empowerment alone
But from every sustainable development
Infrastructures and industrialization.
Our palms cannot always be spread under the sun
Awaiting bronze coin and silver manna.
No more nagging stomachs, colourless eyes
And furrowed brows
No more the darkness distributed by PHC
No more the public wealth shared by NASS
And their fellows, the contractors
No more business monopoly, hoarding and inflation
No more the love for foreign lands and goods
To the detriment of the homeland
No more insecurity, hate speech and division
No more fraud, immorality, tribalism and mediocrity
No more laziness, vain speech and promises
No more the birth of the almajirai and abandoned projects
No more the suit, cassock and agbada ministers of poverty!
Earth had offered Her eco-centric contract
of love and synergy,
awaiting ego's personal response each day,
each moment,
eager to optimize wealthy health care cooperations
of sacred grace.
Over an apparently inadequate lifetime
ego implied his competitive response:
I grow increasingly excited,
stimulated,
by this co-petitioning challenge
to frame our dissonance,
our operational riddles and puzzles,
games and illogistics
and dark strategies
Measured in statistical decomposition
of the odds for sustaining life
by perfecting hatred and fear
of death's dissociative decay.
I question Earth's right to positive resolution
and harmonic resonance,
as consonant co-governance
of enlightened ego empowering eco
to play win/win,
recreate without sin,
and co-passion nicely together
This co-petition against wasted anxious time
fully exercises my right of conscience,
to re-search 0-sum ego-partisanship
for absolute freedom from eco-dependence.
This co-petition asserts our human natural guild's unlovely preference
for contention over contentment
for sustained longing rather than resilient belonging
for uni-lateral freedom
rather than ego/eco bilateral interdependence.
EarthMother absorbed this richly contentious compost,
this dissembling over cooperative rights of assembly
and competition challenging associative eco-creation
as too inclusive recreation,
divisive of ego's omnipotent present place
in organic space
derived from eco's multisystemic functions
within history's healthiest seasons.
It seems to me,
said She,
Time has unfolded an eco-systemic co-tractive gift,
born of Her binomial grace
in bilaterally felt space,
a belonging response to mutually co-tribute with ego
gratitude for bicameral mutuality
and full freedom of co-scientific consciousness,
to conjoin time's eternal moment
of past personal ego
with future eco recentering life.
Post Scripted: "After all this time and space
repeating inhumane competitions and cooperative contractions,
deductive inducements to balance positive political space
with negative un-ecological economic time,
thank you for remembering why RightBrain felt eco-normics
gave birth to LeftBrain's verbal ego-petitions
in our first through last breathing moment
of win/win eco-operative identity."
Signed: Earth's Polypathic CoOperative Covenant
Methinks Mine Earlier Rhyme Came Across Desperate...
For Hard Cold Cash
This small medium at large
kibitzer did appear
more brash (albeit) poetically,
and insinuate with soft pedal blare
perhaps at the expense of dare
ring to losing followers, this crash
test dummies star performer
did not mean to ensnare,
perhaps hypnotically tugged
heartstrings with his flair
analogous to birds eye glare
ruffling tail feathers of
a frosty buoy hoar gull (hare
reed) loon seething with hormonal
secretion and the brink to engineer
foolproof mating elaborate fanfare,
when bytes of my obviously clear
expression to succor minted heir
to a fortune (courtesy
anonymous philanthropist), now leer
re: asper point blank plea
for wads of moolah, but mere
lee issuing agitation where
substantial outlay to repair
(passenger side rear)
brake assembly, the automotive
technician espied situation where,
abrasion and erosion clear
as day, which critical assessment
warranted me to declare
an immediate affirmative
decision, which near
broke ma stainless steel piggy bank
to tune of six hundred bucks - hair
reed, an understatement, almost near
lee six months to the day, a prior reap
pair cost similar dollar figure,
which even at present
found yours truly still in despair,
then only to experience,
sans "FAKE" foreseer
(as ordained by Oracle
of Delphi) despite prayer
for me to vouchsafe share
ring at least one daily
compliment to the missus - neh veer
being privy (during our
twenty second plus year)
of whetted bull
lust stick missile exchanges, there
came shortfall of forced favorable blare
ring of said utterenced, thus superstition
an ugly head didst rear.
Morning Thoughts
Sunday morning, heavy mist clings to the building
the bay of Cascais is shrouded as a grief-striking widow
inaudibly her sigh, but her eyes are still sea green
Ten days ago, I made a prediction 19000 will die before Israel was sated of spilled blood,
her primitive revenge speaks of Byzantine times
Truly, Israel is a religious state
The local news tells me in the last two years
three hundred thousand Brazilians have immigrated
to Portugal this without fanfare or disapproving remark
from conservative politicians, perhaps they have yet to notice this influx, which I think is positive.
Although Brazil and Portugal are Lucio-phonic, the incomers bring more color and wake up the staid
Portugal often sinks into an abject sentimental Fado.
The Portuguese premier is suspected of corruption, has resigned but will keep his job until a new election
We suspect he will be found not guilty, although he might have had a hand in the till; other people lower in the political landscape will pay the price, but Portugal has a forgiving people, or forgetful, will see them in the assembly again
In Alentejo, there are many men-choir like in Wales, a tradition to stand under a big Carvalho clicking stones together and sing what appears sorrowful tunes
There are no Brazilians in Alentejo one wishes that some of them would come and bring music to the sad songs
Otherwise, I like Alentejo; she has the best red wine in the world, and you can't top that.
.
Joshua 6:15 NIV?
[15] On the seventh day, they got up at daybreak and marched around the city seven times in the same manner, except that on that day they circled the city seven times.
?Joshua 6:20-21 NIV?
[20] When the trumpets sounded, the army shouted, and at the sound of the trumpet, when the men gave a loud shout, the wall collapsed; so everyone charged straight in, and they took the city. [21] They devoted the city to the Lord and destroyed with the sword every living thing in it—men and women, young and old, cattle, sheep and donkeys.
Now, seeing the walls of captivity
Building, around me from own works.
marching around six days a week stumbling.
In bondage of death and darkness.
Trying to figure a way out the depths of the pit.
Entangled in the deception of the world spirit.
In my distress I called unto the Lord.
The Lord heard my surrender,
On the seventh day when giving all to God.
The walls came tumbling down.
A Trumpet was heard of the Lord.
A presence of an overflowing Spirit.
This Spirit of the sword to circumcise the old man.
Uprooting ,everything that was going against God.
Placing a new foundation and cornerstone within.
That, the promised inheritance of the Holy Spirit might reign and dwell within to create one.
Unto ,the likeness of Christ to give all glory to God.
That, when One looks Jesus in the eyes.
There is a smile from him seeing what he died for.
Is reigning and dwelling within, a reflection of Unity.
?Hebrews 12:18-19, 22-24 NIV?
[18] You have not come to a mountain that can be touched and that is burning with fire; to darkness, gloom and storm; [19] to a trumpet blast or to such a voice speaking words that those who heard it begged that no further word be spoken to them,
[22] But you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly, [23] to the church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven. You have come to God, the Judge of all, to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, [24] to Jesus the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.
Late November,
and lonely resonance of harmattan
salutes this solitude.
A weaverbird's contralto, in one
gale-sweep, lays bare the lower balustrade
of a maisonette,
and the romance of the last seasons
shoots the long throat of the clarinet...
O'classicals, on wings
ye come;
leaf cusps and petal ears —
classicals, swearing oaths of
mellifluous assembly...
Calm rhythms hasten to the
ears of Beethoven —
summon him for a serenade,
lest the dark shelter of a
decrepit day strips this solitude.
Anodyne hisses among
this hidden threshold,
curing and healing the weakness of
Clepoatra's hair, dampened with
the venom of haters of vanity.
Classicals,
rid us now of this grief of mundane
dances...
Even in death, Stravinsky hails solitude
on notes of the keys.
From the clarinet,
the bimetallism of barter —
the platitude of life and death
(symbiosis of percussions)
epitaph to the aftermath of
inveterate tradition —
now and forever...
And the clarinet looms.
In the workshop of my waking hours,
I am the maker of my own day,
Crafting moments with a DIY attitude,
Twisting fate's threads with hands unbound.
At 6 AM, I pick up my tools,
Coffee grounds and ambition,
Mixing the elixir of caffeinated dreams,
Stirring in the alchemy of determination.
The clock ticks, a relentless metronome,
11:11 winks, an angelic muse,
As if the universe has a sense of humor,
A cosmic jest in numerical ruse.
"Make a wish," they say with a smirk,
As if dreams were granted in seconds,
But I'll forge my own destiny, thank you,
With sweat and grit, not ethereal reckonings.
No celestial arithmetic can guide these hands,
Turning the wrench of daily toil,
In the cacophony of self-made symphonies,
I dance with chaos, a rebel in the coil.
Lunchtime, a respite from the assembly line,
Sandwiches wrapped in brown paper,
I nibble on the crumbs of inspiration,
Savoring the taste of self-made capers.
The afternoon sun spills its golden ink,
I dip my pen into the daylight,
Scrawling plans on the parchment of possibility,
Mapping out a future, bold and bright.
5 PM, the whistle blows, a release,
Yet the DIY Day is far from done,
For in the studio of the evening,
I sculpt my leisure, a masterpiece begun.
Dinner is a feast of flavors and reflection,
A banquet of self-appreciation,
11:11 appears again, a cosmic wink,
Mocking the notion of divine intervention.
"Make a wish," it whispers with a smirk,
But I've outgrown such whimsical fancy,
For in the sweat of creation and the grind of will,
I find my muse, not in numbers but in the dance of circumstance.
So, here's to the makers of their own destiny,
The dreamers who wrested the real from fantasy,
In the DIY symphony of moments and minutes,
We find our purpose, our own sweet serendipity.
Failed infrastructure cannot be redeemed
In water bills
Also reserves and containers as volume
May not market dialogue as planning.
The slope in volume measures naught as letters.
Only as swan songs for election planning.
Root dissection as investigation of character
Thousand Oaks California
System engineer elected representative of assembly.
Does not delegate nor return delegations powers in the law writings to the poor.
Thus separation of vote is held across silence
Inside of this vote
A district does not benefit for life preserved
Only life spent as is, in complaint as used in
Contempt of Congressional directed spending
Trades of Conviction Bail
As sustainable measure of federal reserve
function post fraud is fraud
Failure to resign vote is testimony
and article before congress
Copyright © kevin mathenia | Year Posted 2025
Unincorporated districts measure of need methods and means to obtain premise of signatures
Homekey Fraud thousand oaks California
Private property assembly
Ok journal
Objective pro
Con
Resent all bills?
Write article of congress rebuttal against politician
Maintain reader on ship with sails?
Free speech is discussed newspaper not campaign rhetoric of welfare fraud lobby children corruption of municipal bonds and municipal works building keys they inherited
These people are journalists!
November 2 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Romans 13-14
Key Verse – Romans 13:1 Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY ORDAINING POWER
Lord God, You are my ordaining Power,
indeed showing that You are sovereign
Thank You for keeping me in Your goodness, away from vanity-terrain…
Here am I subjecting myself unto You without resistance-strain
Always rule over me along every work of my heart, body and brain.
Lord God, You are my ordaining Power,
indeed attending continually upon my soul
Thank You for keeping me in Your care, away from covetousness-pole…
Here am I rendering unto You my all, fully whole
Always help me prioritize You most as I fulfill my heavenly goal.
Lord God, You are my ordaining Power,
indeed loving me with Your compassion
Thank You for keeping me in Your care, away from carnality’s oppression…
Here am I praising You for Your granted salvation and commission
Always awaken me to behold Your light of divine vision.
Lord God, You are my ordaining Power,
indeed strengthening me against weakness
Thank You for keeping me in Your guidance, away from double-mindedness…
Here am I trusting You as my faith You increase with steadfastness
Always uphold me to withstand unbelief and doubtfulness.
Lord God, You are my ordaining Power,
indeed protecting me in my frailty
Thank You for keeping me in Your grace, away from uncertainty…
Here am I living for You, yielding to You- my supreme Authority
Always revive me so I can follow You with sincerity.
Lord God, You are my ordaining Power,
indeed constraining me to bow down to You humbly
Thank You for keeping me in Your right paths, away from wicked assembly…
Here am I striving to do well, rejoicing in You triumphantly
Always cleanse me to enable my holy walk daily.
Lord God, You are my ordaining Power,
indeed accepting my service-fervour
Thank You for keeping me in Your truth, away from deceitful endeavour…
Here am I following You for my stewardship’s approved savour
Always purify me toward my desire to gain Your sweet favour.
When children are the target,
We begin to write our horror stories,
For what will remain of us in this world we call home?
What will become of the echoes of soles and heels on the streets at dawn and twilight?
When children are the target,
Who will schools open their doors to?
Who will harmonise the voices of the instructors on the assembly ground?
Who will sit behind those desks with keen eyes, curious minds, and warm smiles?
Who will rush out of their classrooms at the sound of the bell to the awaiting embrace?
When children are the target,
Who will bring colour to our days at home?
Who will run joyfully through the sunlit fields, glowing with the leaves and petals?
Who will sit with us, gazing at the night sky, awed by its beauty?
When children are the target,
Grief will rise like smoke from our homes,
The graveyard will mourn for the trampled buds,
The universe will rage and fume,
The elements will be sorely displeased.
When children are the target,
The race we run will be futile,
The applause will not reverberate,
And the portrait of our society will remain perpetually blotched.
February 4, 2026.