Long Attendees Poems
Long Attendees Poems. Below are the most popular long Attendees by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Attendees poems by poem length and keyword.
Pontificating pin heads
laboriously tongue lashing
mandatory attendees
pundits, preachers
oligarchs of oratory
empowered by mad scientists
in twisted mind laboratory.
If everybody gets a bite
of a sandwich never ending
the masses will be sated
and we’ve controlled our spending
if everybody works for free
--that is except for you and me –
we’ll clad them in amorphous dress
and treat them all the same
then we’ll give them numbers
for servants need no name
We’ll sell them all a golden goose
some magic beans as well
fan the flames of fear and hate
then lock our compounds iron gate
rally them in revolution
painted posters – false solution
We’ll watch the sun set in their eyes
as curfew bells remand
the darkness to the deviants
who won’t cave in to them
listen in the shuttered minds
of echoless condemning sin
Peace cannot be won by war
global warming’s not just a thaw
bathroom doors are not the key
to making everybody free
nor does shouting down the opposition
lend credence to a fool’s petition
It’s tongue in cheek -it’s just a joke
just an old guy -blowin’ smoke.
But then again -it could be true
the proof is – sadly - up to you
John G. Lawless
©8/12/2018
Your smile was brilliant as you took a bow.
The upper echelon had welcomed you.
You donned humility, expressing how
we loyal members of your staff were due
deep gratitude. So few attendees knew
how often you’d demeaned us through the years
by saddling us with your less pleasant tasks.
We balked a little; you played on our fears
of job loss. We put on our happy masks.
Quite frequently, you saunter by and ask,
“Do you still like your job?” This time I’ll say,
“I don’t; I never did, your Majesty!
Your fine machine will lose a cog today.
If other peons leave, perhaps you’ll see
a boss like you makes people want to flee!”
May 9, 2022
Contest: Pick-a-Title, Vol 30
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Polly’s running--you might say galloping--
for a seat in the state senate.
She has definite ideas about what
this state needs--besides her, of course.
She practically glows with pride
when she shares her hopes for our future.
After each success, which she exaggerates, she declares,
"I'm just getting started!"
She criticizes predecessors for procrastinating in
dealing with pressing issues,
yet she’s sometimes late for meetings.
Her theme song—sung in response to
questions about her plans for bringing
her campaign promises to fruition—
is “I’m making progress and will
soon make an announcement.”
Her kids wonder why Mama’s always kissing
other people’s kids.
They can’t remember the last she
hugged or kissed them.
(During recess at school, kids talk about all sorts of things!
Adherence to moral principles is a must
in this challenging world
that cries out for honest leaders.
Polly’s strong on ethics
except when harmless little fibs are necessary--
during tax season, for example.
She’s being audited—again.
At town meetings, she regales the crowd
with little home-spun anecdotes,
sprinkling them liberally
throughout her campaign speeches.
Most attendees clap, laugh out loud, and cheer.
Those who really know her,
especially close family members,
emit forced chuckles and plaster on smiles.
I will vote for Polly
only if I’m being held at gunpoint OR
if her rival is Satan.
August 6, 2017, entered in Julia Ward's Polly in Politics Contest
Urgent Tea Party
Mrs. Jet sent out the invitations in a fever and a heat
Envelops sealed with royal wax and stamps she licked herself
The tea would be at Meadow Marsh Retreat two weeks from now
Appropriate attire is required for all attending this event
Pleated blouse and sleeves for women, tux and tie for men
“No extraneous unknown entities will be permitted
No other friends, family, dogs, or fish will be let in”
Attendees are sworn to secrecy
It must be something serious! It must be something dire!
Mrs. Jet intimated in her letter with some guile
In her subtle way by way of content details; “Oolong Da-Hong Pao and Dragon
Well Bud Tea will be prepared”, she wrote
These teas are only served in emergencies, as we all know
This must be something grandiose indeed
Two weeks later to the minute
Mrs. Jet and company sat under the ulmus trees at Meadow Marsh
Sipping the lovely teas when she stood up to make remarks
Welcome one and all to this Urgent Meeting on this urgent matter.
My credit score is perfect every time
I’m about to lose my mind
3 weeks ago my credit report was due
It was released but to who?
Perhaps they forgot to mail it
I fear it must be lost or stolen
The perpetrator of this malfeasance must be jailed
The TV says my credit score is needed
It must be repeated daily
Mrs. Jet set out to make this point
Without a credit report and score, what’s the use of going on?
Many of the honored guests were equally offended and annoyed
Some gasped. Some even fainted.
Who would take your credit score?!
One man interjected as he roared
This means war!
The silence was thick and bothersome
The choice of attire, coal black
The attendees formed a circle
Strung together by hands, a grieving pack
His body was displayed in a peaceful manner
Photos adorned the otherwise bare room
Monotone colors set a dreary mood
The atmosphere portrayed pure gloom
In the midst of the mourning ritual
Mary Jane's began to tap
Before long they swept across the room
Humble black shoes with a broken strap
This tiny person had the pack intrigued
Drawn in by her honest spirit
They watched her body twirl at ease
There was music, but only she could hear it
10/5/2015
Paraded endlessly, this spectacle the Elephants know to be degrading,
And their counterparts from the sea , the Orcas, resist in captivity
By refusing to unfurl their proud dorsal fin, stings my eyes like a gnat
Lodged in my cortex, no amount of profit seems to dislodge.
Waking from my dream, I notice the old man waving to the crowd,
Gesturing wildly, as if warning of something no-one has yet seen.
Every evolution of Plybinium Quasar, the spectacle increases, with
Dogs leaping and biting at the air, and Neptunes, of disproportionate
Size, unable (or unwilling) to allow the pain to subside.
The viewing platform, constructed entirely of entitlements, teeters
Vicariously in the breeze, with the prominent attendees smiling, despite
Frostbite, inching up their extended promises.
Utilizing “light-track” technology, the time hoppers applaud
At pre-determined intervals, a strenuous exercise for sure,
Given the time restraints imposed by the counters in the Humbolt Quasar.
In this unfamiliar atmosphere, what clean air there is left to breathe
Smells pretty bad, like a cake frosted with sulfur.
01/10/11
9:46 pm
© All Rights Reserved
When disconnected in a deep meditative state.
I feel my soul lighten and align with peace.
From the chaos of trying to appease an insatiable ego who calls itself, Me.
For a few moments, I feel free from a grip that has been depleting good energy, draining me.
I looked to many different sources over the years, searching for this needed relief.
I may have received a moment maybe 2, or 3 of respite from my object thinking.
One thought after another, no space between them.
Though, thoughts will never retreat.
I can, in a matter of speaking, slow them down, by creating space in between.
Space-thinking.
This concept is new, and still unfamiliar to me.
I’ve only ever had a noisy thought after thought, on repeat.
Large loads back-to-back, no separating.
Never finding awareness, or a state of awakening.
Ego oversees the table of fantasy.
Place cards with names assigned to attendees.
I never send out invitations.
The “invited”, were not requested by me.
Ego never invites consciousness, to share plates prepared by clarity.
It only requests restlessness, senselessness, and irritability to eat.
I unknowingly used to go back for seconds, times 3.
Now I am practicing pausing before letting just anything filter and exit through me.
Because I know, I am a vessel for an ego with an Insatiable need.
Who seeks to remove my ability to find truth between reality and lies, it feeds me.
In the past I let this ego fill and sustain me.
Followed by a gullible dessert, that kept trying to play with me.
A craving brought on by old thinking.
Pause, process before ingesting anything.
It’s not worth the toll on your soul.
Or the spirit depleting calories you’ll keep.
Holding onto fast thought thinking will only serve one purpose, keep you empty and in a state of unease.
Eventually turning into disease.
Killing off the entire being.
That you unknowingly kept feeding.
Spiritually suffocating.
I learned the practice of space thinking.
Which is being aware of the stillness in between.
It’s creating present awareness, a feeling of freedom, and a sense of inner peace.
This is what your soul needs to re-charge, from the chaos of object thinking.
Feels like ego deconstructing to be reconstructed.
Simple practice of looking at the sky for a few minutes’ day/night, is a quick release of disconnecting from the ego of me, myself and I.
Can we put a man on the moon?
Just asking, hope not too soon..
We've built him a rocket
In the shape of a bed
With nice fluffy pillows
For his white fluffy head
Powered by electrickery
With buttons and dials
It's sure to be comfy
For those final few miles
Can we put a man on the moon?
Not so gender exclusive
It's just time is short
And our volunteer effusive
We have oxygen prepped
With fire safety assessment
All the food is prepared
Every cover and vestment
Has been guilded with love
And we've washed up the dishes
Now a hareem of beauty
To attend to his wishes
It's an easier challenge
Than a rocket and booster
If the attendees can wake up
Without the aid of a rooster
A launch date is looming
So the countdown is clicking
It's weather dependent
And that red button keeps sticking
Not the end of his journey
But the start of another
This spaceman is ready..
Leaving me and my brother
Can we put a man on the moon?
It's an easier ask
But saying goodbye..
That's the heart-wrenching task
WHEN WILL MURDEROUS SPREES END???
An unprovoked angry, bloody,
and deadly war zone
on an unprovoked whim
dispassionately, indiscriminately,
and nonchalantly killing twelve
innocent people
with vigorous vim
subsequently,
(the lone this round gunman),
a Marine combat veteran met
similar fate tim
morosely, or with
machiavellian bravado,
once again all to soon
invoking serum
min eye zing against,
an aggressive ploy
to STOP wanton
heart wrenching mass killings
leaving grievous survivors,
friends and family
of those mowed down
teary eyed with many,
a blotchy red rim,
when a scant
few hours earlier
attendees at Border
line Bar & Grill
in Thousand Oaks
Southern California
meticulously did prim
and prep countenances nim
billy giving a final
touchup oblivious,
how soon, a dozen random
lives and limb
would be brutally
wrenched asunder,
asper an anonymous Jim
Mead self made assassin
already on record
(purportedly police
spoke with him)
last spring, he
Ian David Long, 28,
(a former machine
gunner, and Afghanistan
war veteran) did grim
lee forsake his life
amidst the
bloody carnage
again forcing Americans
love affair with guns
lessons purpose driven
existence go dim!
When you’re in charge of something,
It’s prepared the way you like.
The past few years, I’ve hosted
A poetic open-mic.
It’s through a group of teachers
And we hold it once a year.
Attendees vary – just a few
Or thirty may appear.
I always planned a writing drill
To get folks in the mood.
It broke the ice and worked its charm
On even those subdued.
We then went ‘round the circle
Sharing what we had produced.
Supportive comments always helped
To give a welcome boost.
Today I’ll be attending
But I will not run the show.
I’m curious to witness
How the afternoon will go.
It may be an improvement
Or not worthy of acclaim
For the passing of the mantle means
It won’t be quite the same.