Long Ballots Poems
Long Ballots Poems. Below are the most popular long Ballots by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ballots poems by poem length and keyword.
Evidently Voting's Trivial
By Franklin Price
9/2/2016
Evidently voting's trivial
I discovered so today
Learned from my on line trivia
This is what it had to say
Of the U.S. Population
That are qualified to vote
Only 66% are registered
This answer really gets my goat
It gets a little better
This is trivia of note
Only 57% of all
Cast their most important vote
Of by and for the people
Government is said to be
With this percent of voting
It's just not something that I see
If all of those who cast their votes
Matched their ballots all the same
Would barely elect the chosen,
By majority, what a shame
Many elections very close
Some a percent or two
That means percentage less than 30
Elected representatives for you
So if you are non-registered
Don't run your mouth at all
You're the reason for the spot we're in
Why we're in decline and fall
This year our choices not the best
Candidates not good by far
Please register and cast your vote
Be responsible, 'cause you are
I wonder how much,
if any, distance
we might uncover
between The Lone Warrior
surrounded by weary white YesMen,
and The Naked Emperor
surrounded by timid white YesMen.
Both Warriors and Emperors
long for those they serve
by ruling over,
by disempowering healthy democratic voices
of critical dissent,
to wake up to their personal
omnipotent
privileged vision
and sacred words,
their supremely authoritative
and defensively authoritarian
win/lose knowledge
That competition to serve as YesMen
YesWomen
YesChildren
is the only appropriate role
for weak serfs;
those with too humble
poverty of spirit
and degenerative win/win nature,=
integrity
responsibility
compassion
Rather than daring
to look into our own Lone Emperor
richly naked eyes
of narcissistic disappointment.
Like all of us,
all Naked Warriors ever healthy long for
is to be appreciated
and played with
by peers
of resonant
compassionate integrity
caring
health wealthing.
The nakedly lonely
Warrior Emperor
of win/lose capitalistic politics
is not what EarthTribe had in mind
as reborn worshipers
cast our famous ballots
for EarthMother's sacred
non-yeswoman birth
Back
back to enlightenment
of GrandMother Moon.
No, I am not the smartest apple on the tree;
and maybe I don't rely enough on social media;
and perhaps I don't believe everything I hear on TV;
but I am certain that my head is not buried in the sand.
It's like this. Last week I received the instruction package
for the upcoming Governor Recall Election in California.
We recalled one governor some 15 to 20 years go, but
I forgot the process for voting in a 'special election'.
So after receiving the information package, I called the voter
registrations office to verify that in addition, I would be getting
my usual ballot in the mail. I was cordially informed that my ballot
would be in the mail the following week. By then, I'm asking myself,
"How hard is this?" I am pleased with the intelligence and politeness
I received from our county workers.
The following week has arrived, and I received my ballots in the mail today for the upcoming September 14th election. Again, I say to myself, "Everything is so timely; how hard can it be?" Within a couple of days, I will have voted and my ballots will be in the mail, postage paid.
And I say to myself, "Am I missing something, or is it only like this in California?" I tell you, it must be different. Otherwise, I'm confused
about all the 'voter fuss'. ... What am I missing ...?
Voter fraud is one thing and voter process is another. The process can be adjusted and remedied, but fraud is a moral dilemma that will never be fixed with politics. Our culture is most definitely moving away, not toward God; and therein lies the problem. God help us.
081721PS *Update: I received a notification from the county election officials on 82421 that my ballot had been counted.
Deep within throes of writer's block cerebral cortex feels frozen to the core
Haint no rhyme nor reason
why writing a poem such an arduous chore
twenty two days afore
winter solstice twenty twenty more
or less three weeks from tomorrow
November thirtieth, I implore
the god/goddess of poetry,
perhaps found within Bangalore
highlighted by the 'Green Door'
guarded by the key don Eeyore
also known as Al Gore
him of Earth in the Balance fame
who by George got ambushed unsure
if he chad chance to claim victory tour
when former candidate did score
less electoral college votes
nevertheless in my mind before
thoroughgoing count did ignore
discarded ballots scattered
all across the floor
which outcome incurred Iraq war
insinuating weapons of mass destruction
the gung ho forty third president forswore
existed but quite a few
respectable Republicans did abhor
pinning such ambiguous lore
upon head of recalcitrant Saddam Hussein
bombed back to stone age
think lavishing primitive home decor
no imprecation heaped and hurled
upon United States military, nor
thug, who nobody did adore
asking politely "por favor
can I pretty please take detour
to Galapagos Islands of Ecuador
made famous courtesy Charles Darwin
still popular best selling author
at garden variety generic bookstore
which borders on ridiculous for sure
yet inane rhyme tore
thru my noggin after writer's block
yours truly did deplore
he would spend countless hours in vain
every burst of creativity I did explore
found me smack dab against
figurative cul de sac and bonjour
to you too three score
orbitz after me late papa did bore
mama, she passed away
fifteen years before.
Golden Lungs breathe in the light.
Fumes, and doom singe the open air streams death contagions disintegrate.
Pomegranate embraces the sense that walks in the light along the fences we climbed.
I wish I could keep this feeling pirouetting in the palms of my hands.
Fears cower in hunger of endless biting never able to sever the tissue.
This isn't how we are made up to be.
Vocal ideas ferment in the vat overflown, and laid to rest forgotten as cruel men are raised, and went.
Knees, elbows, and the contours of our frame walk into wilderness.
They could never find me, or let me leave.
From nightmares, to daycare, and extended absence.
Shame has long been perfected and complete.
The circles end, and the linear thoughts get up and start walking into long ranges.
Boundaries are discarded the edge of touchdowned dawn stretched across forgotten faces.
Obscurity, untouchable, included in the absentee ballots of conditions that produced us in lust, smoke, and grief.
Somewhere we were planned for.
The gentle frames painted out like alphabets on morning hung horizons.
Presence longed for in the cloudy afternoons where they recruited the best, and buried the rest in the wake of trash heaps that shower us in garbage.
Repurposed, Reselling us the same plastic we burn every night.
Igniting in our veins.
Pretending we forgot.
Pain always changes.
Standing on the edge of sonar, summer, and widening free.
Searching for the glimmers the son shines through.
A Effigy in crystal
abandoned
in time
fixed the twinkle
shining crysolite eye
gentleness shown
by slant of her mouth
Traveller’s stop
lingering long
whispering Softly
of Willows sad song
A balladeer
old for his time
Sagacious voice
singing in rhyme
sits in shadow
lamenting
her plight
serenading willow
A good many night
All hallows eve
bloody right gale
A stocky young man
wandering round
no thought involved
feet are guided
Invisable hand
forcing along
Ward enters our tale
The balladeer
an entranced visage
does see
sits forward of shadow
starts speaking free
“I’ll tell you the Story
of beautiful willow
here in her glory
ere’ she stands
light of the vale
until her true love
triumphant prevails
See her father
a Czar
No blessings did give
distressed and dismayed
Willow did flee
fell over the parapet
mortal injury done
abruptly appearing
a sorcerer arrived
told all around
restore her I can
If a tarrif be paid
Need a son do I
my eyes
A slave made me
As mournful a cry
keened through the night
the mothers of vale
cried out their plight
Our Noble Czar
far from calm
threw up his arm
his agreement no alms
So a deal was set
with a nod
the vote was cast
with a sob
ballots read
son of the poorest
man with dread
forward he came
the poorest of males
way down deep
deep in the vale
the wizard proceeding
with no sound
A spell made
hands flying around
Lifting poor willow
up off the ground
nuclear light did abound
the vale lit up
making all
jump in fright
the sorcerer concluded
that horrible night
to all who would hear
those far and wide
even quite near
“Touch not this girl
till love finds her here”
People of vale
in shock and dismay
screamed their protest
noone did sway
tricked them had
the magical bard”
Balladeer
his story now told
set down his harp
hands did fold
Martin Luther King would not tolerate it, and call it a crying shame. Shelf-life is what matters, and it has become more important than nourishment. News Flash: Quality really is no longer 'Job One'. For more than a generation, I have heard cries to save good jobs, clean air, clean water, green trees, and endangered species. It appears the ballots, as well as the die, have been cast. We have decided to run the world 'our way'. Away with Jesus! Give us Barabus!! Nevertheless, there still may be time, and we shall, therefore, pray as we wipe away our tears and work to make way for hope, restoration, and renewal.
Ronald Reagan would challenge it and call it a crying shame. Barely heard are lesser cries to save unborn babies from abortion as well as the entire human race from Artificial Intelligence, robots, and self-destruction. Once upon a time, I heard the cries of 'Let freedom ring!' It meant freedom for everyone. It appears that civility is on vacation. The 'hot emotions' of selfishness cries, 'Let my freedom ring!'. There is a runaway train on a down-hill course headed for certain disaster. Its cargo consist of The Bill of Rights, The Constitution, Family Values, Traditional Marriage, Freedom, and Justice. There is hope the high-speed train can be slowed, detoured, or stopped. Maybe there is yet time. Maybe not. We shall see.
07062018cjPS
The votes counted
More ballots were founded
Voters in record numbers
Political sites, lots of funders
Plenty of unrest
Opposing sides, candidates at their best
Can we work together
Solutions instead of division. Oh, that's clever.
Taking sides, talking battles
Criticizing, interruptions, so much, it rattles
Working together
Sounds better
Political choices
The prople's voices
Demonstations, people shouting
Others doubting
Signs are made
They're not getting paid
Choices, confusion ensues
Who doesn't have the blues
The protestors march
Walking under the arch
Lots to say
Their cause will stay
The days are getting cooler
as summer starts to fade
Classes are beginning
and Jack-O-Lanterns made
The Autumn winds are whistling
a most familiar tune
They say they’re mailing ballots out
and we will get them soon
They say Trump lost his luster
his grifts have all grown stale
Every venture in his life
has been an epic fail
And now we’re in a pickle
in a war with no end nigh
Led there by a loser
who knows not the what or why
But people are resisting
refusing to back down
Protesting in cities
and in every little town
Because November’s coming
and judgment, many say
the Grand Old Party’s reckoning
will be Election Day
Secret Ballot Impeachment
By Franklin Price
1/28/2020
Trump impeachment now in process
Is on the Senate floor.
The Democrats have said their piece,
Rehashed the House, and not much more.
Republicans now have their turn,
Of course, they will defend.
There may be more to testify,
But projected at the end,
Will be a vote of yea or nay,
To dump Trump from his seat.
Republicans voting all for nay
Are impossible to beat.
The balloting is public.
There for all of us to view.
When votes are cast and counted,
The president will not be new.
Rumors now are being tossed,
Some nays would change to yea,
If the vote was made in secret,
When it comes to voting day.
Trump would then be ousted.
The tables would be turned.
The president unseated.
We the People would be burned.
The Republicans who would vote yea
Are not the ones we need.
They are the liars either way,
Who make this country bleed.
No matter how the ballots cast
In secret or in view
Should be the same, it's not a game
Should not be one, much less, a few.