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.
My elementary school was a box full of broken crayons.
You know, the kind that no one likes to use because they fit inside your hands like a hug that lasts three seconds too long.
Me and my classmates wore
hand-me-down smiles.
They were too big for our faces. We figured that eventually we would somehow grow into the sound of our own laughter, put on our happiness like gloves and wear our skin as if our bodies were made by Louie Vuitton, just hoping to be more than tattered pages ripped from the torso of coloring books.
More than the aftermath of two runaway trains headed to the same direction. Our parents drove their affection without insurance, and we are just head on collisions with no coverage. We got shattered windshields for eyes, and tongues made out of safely glass held together by super glue. It’s no wonder we spoke broken English.
With an entire orchestra drowning inside our throats, veins like guitar strings, our voices cracked like the self esteem of single mothers who carried us in their wombs like Molotov cocktails, and prayed that we would somehow find a way to mature into land mines
exploding underneath the feet that have trampled them for too long. These women, they dream in a language only fully understood by the tiles of an abortion clinic on a busy afternoon.
They raised us on top of broken promises made by men with grape jelly in their spines who were too busy jamming to their own
two-cent mix tape that they chose over their priceless women.
We didn’t come with a screwdriver. There is no picture on our box to show you what we should look like when this all is over.
We were just put into this world with a note that read
“Some assembly required.”
We were built inside of a neighborhood that looked as though it was slowly loosing a fist fight to cancer and kemotherapy claimed all of it’s dreams.
You see at a young age I was told that no matter how much furniture you move with a Honda Civic, it’ll never be a pick up truck
but have you ever wanted to be more than what you were made for?
Was there ever moment in your life when all you wanted was to be more than the wounded options that circumstance has nailed to your shoulders?
People question why we even have the audacity to breathe. That’s why when we walk it looks as though we are apologizing for our lungs.
But we ate not sorry for living this loudly.
It’s the only way we know how.
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
He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.
there will be no more death or mourning or
crying or pain, for the old order of things has
passed away. Revelation 21: 4 (NIV Bible)
I AM IMMORTAL
Explode from mortal to immortal,
in one forgotten breath.
Intake of first light.
Born, through the tunnel of my despair.
First images in black and white.
Mind snaps new memories…
I’m nearly breathless, as he comes into view,
hand extended - the one pierced for my transgressions.
And funny, my heart is racing, I’m sweating…
Salty tears run down my cheeks onto my shoulders.
I’ve hit my knees, weeping, at his bare feet.
His gentle hand upon my head,
he says, “arise my child.”
I obey, and blink through torrent tears.
I don’t see, but I feel the softest cloth – like cashmere,
rub over my face, catching each tear -
not one is missed.
I hear the sound of tinkling water.
The snow white cloth, I see it now!
He wrings out the shroud, and continues to wipe away
my misery.
“Cry, my child. Let it all out.”
He speaks to me as my mother would, lilted words.
Afterward, he points to a bottle, takes out a permanent ink pen –
Oh yes, they have those in heaven!
Writes a name. I look up at him, with questioning eyes.
Someone’s name, an unknown to me has been written.
Jesus smiles.*
“I’ve named you my child.”
I instantly hear the pronunciation, and register the meaning,
which, I believe, will take me all of eternity to dissect.
How beautiful, my name rings coming from pure lips!
“Come,” he says, “come and meet your family.”
We walk together, inside open gates - pearly gates.
I feel as though I’ve entered oz!**
Vivid rainbow colors, and colors I’ve never seen before!
Happiness like chains falling off…
like heavy burdens laid aside…
like a fresh shower…
like a new found tropical waterfall…
And I see exuberant faces. I know each name,
even those I’ve never met before.
I’m treated like a bride, an assembly line that takes their time,
hugging me, kissing each cheek. You see,
I have eternity. I am immortal!
2/19/2017
*smallest verse in bible – Jesus wept (John 11:35). In eternity,
I’ve adapted mine to say, “Jesus smiles.”
**L. Frank Baum’s book Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Movie
starts out in black and white then turns to color as the
protagonist enters Oz.
What's in writing?
What makes one to author something from the absolute scratch?
What is the science of this art?
Is it just the perceptible version of the human thought or something-deep lies within this solemn form of art?
The little magic of letters, the funny games between the lines…..
The kinship of paragraphs and hence the literal tribute to the risk that architects the inner thoughts that gloriously shapes the unyielding passion for a literary style and way of life.
Behind the veil of shadow charmed words, dwells the writer-man.
Who, armed with pen, tirelessly searches beneath the debris of feelings and desires,
And simply treasures the moments that designs this lissome piece of art.
Composing words
With skilled engineering of ideas that run down through the alleyways of mind…..
The writer-man illustrates the canvas where emotions are drawn,
Reflections are sketched,
And tales are told with human color and ardent strokes.
All those whispers of the little voice inside…
Wondering around the spaces between fiction and reality…
And all the conversation between the mind, heart and all the musings of the soul,
Where do they all go?
Locked up in the bubble of time?
Chained up by the codes of life?
Surely, beings in us desperately struggle to breathe in this secular sphere of ever expanding confusion.
In the quest for freedom, the spirit in us excavates our very soul,
And vibrantly surfs on the waves of emotions and loans ear to the assembly of million thoughts that continually circle around our misconstrued mind.
And often by the shape of words
These inner thoughts find their way out,
As they gently sail through our consciousness and make their way into the light.
The alchemy of alphabets allows us to have a glimpse of ourselves by streaming down soul's rearview mirror.
And the key to enter upon the realm of words lies on the urge of willingness to declare the innersole and the ultimate self.
Penning down the casual percepts and the untamed imagination could always open up the magical door to an unpredictable certainty.
Dodging the reality it creates a sense of belonging in a world,
That is designed to fit the shape of one’s true conscience,
Whether simple or mystical,
It surely travels right at the heart route.
(C) Obaidur Rahman. Published in the poet’s debut book of English poetry titled “The Mystic Inferno” in 2012.
I only learned one thing in school
And that was how to fight
The teachers were always so good at it
And they were always right.
One teacher was nicknamed spitfire
Because she'd spit as she spoke
All the teachers wore mortar board hats
And wore long black cloaks.
Always late for lessons
Always got the cane.
School books hidden in your trousers never worked
You had to feel the pain.
One teachers face got so red when he got mad
We only had a riot in class nothing unusual
Didn't think we were that bad.
Our sports teacher used to whack us hard
When we forgot our P,E kir
And make us run through nettles
In bare feet the hurt more than a bit.
In science we always tried to make a bomb
And leave the gas taps on
We'd make pea shooters from biro pens
And when the teachers were facing the blackboard
We'd shoot at them then sit poker faced wasn't me Sir.
We'd hide around building corners
To gamble and smoke a crafty cigarette
Until one day a teacher came around suddenly
With a water jet.
One teacher had an affair with an other teacher
With a very pretty one with nice legs and blonde hair
I used to dream about
In my fantasies she was mine
It just wasn't fair.
I was convinced they were not human
But came from some other planet one day in spaceships
And not cars
Maybe they were from Mars.
We'd put condoms on door handles
Let the teachers tyres down on their car
Sneak into the girls changing room for an eye full
And steal their knickers and their bras
Sing rude words to songs at morning assembly
Throw stink bombs in the teachers lounge
Draw funny pictures in our books of our teachers with their trousers down.
Sometimes I'd be madly in love with a teacher or a girl pupil
And do nothing but day dream all day long
Skipping through fields of sunflowers hand in hand
Kissing like to clams under a tree all day long
Oh I was always in love with someone
And would often burst out in song.
I got good at forging homework diary signatures
Explaining why my homework wasn't done
It was always some far fetched story
Like I was chased by Atilla the Hun.
Ahh school days yes we were nothing more than savages
But the teachers were savages too
They should have changed the name school
To Human Zoo.
''I was a good boy I was''.
Peter Dome. Copyright.2015. June.
I went to two schools in reality,
But only had one in my mind,
A school that assimilated and understood,
A school that would not drive me blind.
Daniels nursery was the best,
In all ways apart from one,
Because it accepted my difference,
Respected my pensive hum.
But they didn’t provide facilities,
For my disability, loud and many times proud;
Sometimes I needed just to talk it over,
‘Cos my disability was not a shroud.
But I came top in both alphabet and numbers,
The private Edinburgh school was not above me,
And I managed to carve some friendships,
That were a delight to see.
But since they didn’t provide facilities,
It was decided I would leave for another,
For my future primary education,
Where my disability would not be such my master.
So I moved to a special school, Graysmill,
Which asserted my normality fine,
But they saw my clever mind as my parents credibility,
And so for Daniels I would pine.
I felt so much loved by Daniels headmaster,
Who took me aside initially and asked,
If I was happy and alright inside,
And so my reality I never masked.
I questioned him, “Do I have to believe in god?”
And he replied lovingly and tenderly,
“No Rhoda, you don’t have to believe in god,”
So I was relieved and had hope for future longevity.
So in daily assembly when I just thought my own thoughts,
Contemplated and pondered quietly to myself,
He smiled at me once ‘cos he knew what I was doing,
That bold, quick-witted atheistic elf.
But when I got to Graysmill as a new pupil,
They thought their framework for me was the best,
And tried to beget me with Christianity,
Ramifying my parents traditional morality chest.
After about eight months of hardship,
I realised they did not understand as well,
My real disability and proposition,
Which would take them some way further.
They were so uncaring at times,
Forceful, heartless and cold,
Lacking the relationships,
Upon which I could hold.
They assumed I'd not liked Daniels,
And empathised with me about it,
Insisted I'd not taken to integration,
That along side me they did sit.
There should’ve been that middle ground,
That state school with creative gumption,
So that my worldview was never found,
Lacking, with myself in need of instruction.
The hurt builds inside, with no way to get free from within.
It’s havoc safely locked away, unable to wreak the divine chaos it so desires To spread like poison amongst cravings of unbridled fury.
To inflict on the soul that ignited this bitterness still left unspoken,
Screaming on the inside, paint on my smile, and look happy for the camera.
Why is it my heart cannot abide the counsel of my mind?
I would not have this anger and thirst for destruction dwelling on my mind.
The shattered glass has fallen in shards by my feet,
The leftover pieces of an emotion that doesn't fascinate me like it did before.
Always dancing out of my grasp, tempting me to seize what I cannot.
The illusions of my mind, the ones where I was loved, and I was happy,
Begin to disintegrate around me, flour and water mix, then become a paste.
One small, with its fiction and fantasies, it weaves a giant web of deceit.
I tried so hard to make them see that love has a cruel cycle it follows,
Demanding devotion, with it's array of charms and sober unrealities.
Impacts are worse on the naïve; truth becomes a chaos loosed in their souls.
The fright, shock leaves me standing alone not knowing where or who I am.
Bewildered, I wonder why I took this chance at potential annihilation,
The fabrication of my life filled with the wreckage of my self-destruction,
My downfall closing in quickly, I can taste defeat, like bile in my mouth
The flavor burns as it fills my mouth, I spit, foul though it may be,
I have unwillingly endured exposure to harsh realities, I can take no more.
Seclusion begins to soften my still raw emotions so I examine them up close.
Barriers stand on end, like a firewall, made of unyielding rocks and stones.
This time it will take more than charm and whit to break them down.
No big bad wolf to blow down my walls, strong in their assembly,
My refuge is sturdy, well built and formidable, and that is the way I need it.
Once again, I have restored my sanity, if only for the moment, and for now,
I will watch the daily lives of those around me, unable to participate, again.
One day I will rejoin the world, but for now I will stay behind my walls,
I will watch from afar and dream of the time I was on the outside,
Even if only for a moment in time, I was there and I tasted the air out there.
They called it school
I called it hell
From the huge imposing prison like doors
To the doom like toll of the bell
Everyday the same
Running for the school bus
Full of uncivilized Wild kids
Being pushed and shoved
Countless kids in uniform
Fearing the teachers and the day they were born
Satchel bags and lucky bags
Late for lessons again
Going to the headmasters office
For the cane ooh how my bum was in pain
Teacher at the blackboard
Pupils getting bored thinking about girls
Motorbikes and cars
Playing football in the yard
Playing sports in skirts and shorts
The one too big that moma bought
School desks fountain pens and ink
Boy how some of my classmates did stink
Trying to blow up the science lab
Bubbly gum and sherbert dabs
Giggling girls and bashful boys
Girls jutting out everywhere
Pigtails and ribbon on their hair
Always getting into a fight
Going home with a torn blazer and black eye every night
Lots of kisses on my homework
Rolling about in the dirt
Pouring ink into the headmasters aquarium
Holes in your trouser bum
Crafty cigarette hidden behind a wall
Morning assembly in the hall
School dinners you couldn't pick
Forced down your throat and made you sick
Being punished and kept behind doing lines
I must have wrote 'I must be good' a million times
Frog spawn put into teachers bag
Gas taps left on in the lab
The school nurse giving you a jab
Riot breaks out in class Running a race on sports day and coming last
Pea shooter and catapult Pulling your tongue out and being rude to adults
First love and nervous thumbled kiss
Girls with new sticky out bits
Hair growing in places it didn't before
Limbs aching and so sore
Always in trouble up to no good playing truant in the wood
Letting the tiers down on the headmasters car
Girls wearing training bra's
Exams were such a sham but wrote the answers under the bandage on my
hand Teachers talking about things I didn't understand
What a waste of time I was going to be a pop star and soon a man
Those daydreams of youth that still remain aloof
Hiding in the bushes watching girls playing hockey and net ball on the field
I still recall how that used to feel
Long school summer holidays away from hell
School books thrown down the well
Then back to school again to days of terror
And pain up early facing hell.
Peter Dome,copyright.2014. July.
Do you see What I see?
Dr Fauci says to wear a mask and social distance, it will prevent the spread of the virus. Has it, NO! It is spreading like wild fire. Fauci either is wrong or he's lying or both. I think both!
How do you have martial law, keep people in their homes, destroy businesses, destroy the economy, shut down state borders, set curfews, destroy childrens education, scare people by bombarding them with the spread of a common cold, by making it look more serious than it really is, confuse and distract people Do you really think this is all coincidence? Or is it an orchestrated plan to rob us of our Rights and Freedoms and ultimately destroy the freedom of assembly( Six foot Distancing)(Free Speech, they are censoring any truth that goes against their agenda on YouTube, Facebook, Twitter under the guise of hate speech) to hide the real truth of whats going on. So many Traitors to the American people involved. Mostly all your Governors, Politicians, Actors, Athletes, Musicians, Talk show host, Drs so forth and so on. Their agenda is to create so much Chaos that you will do almost anything to have normality back again. That's when they will say we can get back to normal but you have to be vaccinated. So many will take that lethal vaccine. The vaccine as much as it pains me to say this is a depopulation tool that is design to gradually cause our demise through the aid of the 5g towers that are going up around you. They will create virus symptoms and the Powers that be will say the Virus is causing these symptoms of sickness and death, when in reality it is the vaccine and the 5g. Their goal is to depopulate to 500 million. They will continue to say more and more are getting infected and dying to scare you into their trap. Problem(they created, the Virus) Reaction(Spreading, sickness, fear) Solution (The Vaccine) which is their ultimate goal. To add to the madness they will cause severe food shortages, and they will take away your cash. They will clamp down more and gradually take all your rights away. Germany is protesting by the tens of thousands but the Globalist control the media and you don't see it. China is going cashless. All because of the greatest lie told to the American people . Go to YouTube type in A call for an uprising Tell others Also Brighteon.com
A Wandering Boy with a Song in His Pocket
Arabic Poem by: Salman Dawood Mohammed
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
===========================
(5)
Just like the wind
I drive out loneliness of an empty bench for two...
And, like a curfew, I mourn pedestrians’ noise;
And as a shirt hanging on a laundry line,
I drip down, with all my moisture, on the surface of your days
And curse the cloud standing in the queue of ablution.
Then, I hate
Music,
The guards,
The law,
College students’ uniforms,
And astronauts;
And I dislike my life!
That all developed in the centennial commemoration of my wilting,
Amidst an assembly of militias and tambourines
Endorsing the funeral procession of my lamps
In the alleys
Of your absence.
***
(6) deleted
****
(7)
Housewives,
Hawkers,
The Ministry of love,
Tramps,
College youngsters,
Thieves,
Guests of No-Stars hotels,
Songs,
Traffic controllers,
Victims of the national anthem,
Train drivers,
Bin Laden,
Weather report announcers,
Gilgamesh,
Jurists,
Speech writers for the President,
Drunks,
And my mother,
All,
All shouted to my face:
“Don’t do it, O crazy! Or else you will die!”
But
O Glory!
I did it
And...
I fell in love with you!
***
(8)
Rest assured
After you, I wouldn’t be alone
A labyrinth is a home
And footsteps a family.
***
(9)
Your desertion, the deep rooted in wilting,
Is like a nail untouched by hammers;
Here it is, with its only sharp tooth,
Signing the deeds of tears
On the body of waiting.
Your painful desertion
Has pulverized me
Sincerely...
Hence, I saluted the remaining ashes of my burning with you,
Then
I lay on my blood
On
The heart of sunset
And
I ..... Died!
***
(10)
I loved you and went on
Just like a cloud skipping school.
I strewed my shirt buttons on your fields
And let down science class;
So my rain couldn’t be in a bottle anymore
And the road leading to you
Is no more a battle field
Or a bird market;
But
My soul is pouring down on you
And my hand
Stands
..
..
An umbrella.
***
(11)
The teacher said: “Draw a human heart.”
I laid a kiss on your palm,
And locked it in with the softness of your fingers.
The teacher is now in the recovery room
And I am
Accused
Of forgery.
****
Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
* Salman Dawood Mohammed. A poet from Iraq