Long Bernie Poems
Long Bernie Poems. Below are the most popular long Bernie by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bernie poems by poem length and keyword.
Success
is no more emails
Not one
throughout the day
No beeps
and no vibrations
to clutter up
the quay
My sails are up
the winds are fair
distractions
far abeam
No G.P.S.
or radar
To chart
— this sailor’s dream
(Annapolis To Bermuda: August, 2005)
Fool Them Once — Fool Them Twice
Oh Bernie, Bernie
as crooked
thou art
Thy wife
more dishonest
filling up thy cart
A noble pair
thoust do
protest
Within
thy harvest
and monied chest
To hide among
a lost
enclave
With fortunes
promise
most illy made
Behind thy mask
corruption
flames
Thy hoax
to bear
— eternal shame
(The New Room: July, 2026)
Shifting Sands
Chagrined but involved,
Demographics today present
The Silent Generation and Baby Boomers,
Gen Xers, Xennials and Millennials,
And Generation Z in the digital era agape,
Staring in bewilderment
And grappling with the reality imposed:
That the crème de la crème
Of the millions of US citizens
In the party of Jefferson, Jackson, and Roosevelt
Tout a socialist clown and a gaffing buffoon
(Who are both very white, very old, and very stupid)
As presidential candidates
To lead the charge to victory come November.
Surely, there is better fruit in the land
Rooted in the shifting sands.
***
Note:
Joe Biden and Bernie Sanders were two of the leading figures in the 2020 Democratic presidential primaries.
The Silent Generation: 1925–1945.
Baby Boomers: 1946–1964.
Gen X: 1965–1979.
Xennials: 1975–1985.
Millennials: 1980–1994.
Gen Z: 1995–2012.
Thomas Jefferson (1743–1826): 3rd president of the U.S.A. (1801 to 1809).
Andrew Jackson (1767–1845): 7th president of the U.S.A. (1829 to 1837).
Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882–1945): 32nd president of the U.S.A. (1933 to 1945).
Mine fervent aspiring political activism...
Gunning gusto, (while rosy axles grind)
for Bernie Sanders dagnabbit
nipped in figurative bud triggered zilch
prospects to germinate,
cultivate, and amalgamate
late blooming spore port as
schlocky, reedy, quirky, political neophyte,
whose aura, charisma, dogma
enigma, persona... absent gregarious masculinity.
Scant hours after posting Facebook message
Monday February 17, 2020
(regarding becoming linkedin
among Bernie Sanders's supporters
within Southeastern Montgomery Pennsylvania
hinting genuine motive (mine of course)
to join local grassroots bandwagon
electing catapulting aforementioned
Democratic candidate president,
into Oval Office
overwhelmingly elected
Tuesday November 3, 2020
an unexpectedly pleasant forthcoming response
(courtesy Jon Hall seven nine five eight at gmail)
informed yours truly transcendently, telepathically
inspired debate watch party
would be (accompanied when in full swing)
by most popular contra dance bands,
and eminently choreographed counting
topnotch cadres of policy wonks
upstairs at Molly Maguire's Irish Restaurant
(197 Bridge Street,
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania)19460
slated for Wednesday
March 19th, 2020 at 2000 hours military time.
Guess what dear readers...?
Yours truly, (an aging,
albeit eternally youthful
long haired pencil necked geek)
never experienced sought after fraternization
think ennobling rite of northwest passage
comprising electrifying informality
getting plugged into self-described
indomitable enthralling brouhaha
starring none other than
Democratic socialist and independent senator
from Green Mountain state
(by Samuel de Champlain in 1647)
Bernie Sanders exuding vim and vinegar
at age seventy eight
heartily hailing (no kidney ying)
who served in government since 1981.
I showed up at designated place
and specified time,
and got politely informed
courtesy young attractive hostess,
no such arousing, inspiring, spine tingling...
commingling of eager electorates slated,
thus overzealousness (mine)
bit the dust i.e. never got kickstarted.
Imperfect indifferent ineffective Ivan Inglebritzen
Was wistfully, wildly, wantonly weird at work.
Not indispensable, but rather despicable, desperate and diabolical.
Cautious co-workers candidly discussed dozens of Ivan’s idiotic decisions.
Determined to alert Alvin, our alluring but not attentive boss.
Bernie, Beaver and Betty bellowed about his shoddy shortcomings.
Providing proof of Ivan’s problematic predictably imperfect performances.
astute assessments failed on prideful, persnickety, president Alvin.
asinine attempts at preventing Ivan from essential employment a bust.
These three did not know that Ivan was Alvin's caustic cousin.
Alvin kept him, not wanting him to crash on his cushy comfortable couch.
!!!Breaking News!!!
By Franklin Price
4/1/2016
April has just broken
And so has April's news
Unbelievable what's happened
There's been a change in many views
Kasich and Cruz have dropped out
To give Republicans a jump
It's really quite amazing
They're both endorsing Trump
Women are organizing
A special group for him
He has apologized for comments
They've decided he's a gem
Hillary admitted
Her server was so wrong
To be used for government data
Was not where it belonged
Has dropped her run for president
Was apologetic too
Endorsed her opponent Bernie
Said, “We need thoughts that are new”
Both parties have sent questionnaires
To the people of this land
To see what it is we really want
To tell them where we stand
Might make the U.S. Better
Think it would be so cool
Instead I'm having fun with you
This is just an... APRIL FOOL!!!
Executive orders signing spree
Quite a start for old JB
Killed off the jobs of myriad employees
Put a chokehold on the oil industry
But in the name of his pitch for unity
Lets look at JB's orders with impunity
Rejoining the 2015 Paris 'dialogue-ees'
He's eased up on our good friends, the Chinese
Plus he's helped so many radicals smile with glee
Like Ms. Omer, Ms. Tlieb, Bernie and AOC
Not to mention old pros like Schumer and Pelosi
Now on to re-engage Iran, Obama's lose-lose strategy
Canceling rents and student loans in late February
Open the borders ~ Here comes amnesty
They survived the Great Depression, my parents did
living from hand-to-mouth for over a decade
Took any job they could get, and were grateful for it
working 72 hours a week for a ‘salary’ of twelve lousy bucks
My father watched grown men cry and jump out of tenement windows
ashamed that they could not provide for their families – two or three a day, he told me
My mother heard ‘dirty Jew’ hurled at her so often
she became obsessive about washing her hands and face…
…Yet when it came time to serve their country
they were first in line for the privilege of seeing America through WW2
Fighting side by side with fellow un-hyphenated Americans
Jewish or Catholic, from Italy or France – didn’t matter
Americans all, they fought their hearts out for the Stars and Stripes
for the land of the brave and the home of the braver
******
And now, it pains me to see what we’ve become on the cusp of our 250th birthday
Capitalists fleeing our signature city, NYC, run by an unrepentant socialist radical
‘Woke’ Governors, Congressmen and Mayors giving away ‘stuff,’
Free health care, free college, free food, free rent, free bus service, free, free, free
The greatest public misfit of any age, Bernie Sanders, the cheerleader egging it all on
And the devil himself, George Soros, quietly financing the destruction of the country
America! that saved his life, granting him refuge from the Nazis
******
May my mother and father, and their entire generation, rest in peace knowing they made
America great once and made us all so proud.
In a city populated
by selfish, soulless men,
ghosts roam the streets tormented,
thinking of what might have been.
On the searing, sulfur sidewalks
haunted money hawkers dwell;
they meant to live in heaven,
but they find themselves in hell.
Account manipulation
will not give them what they need;
all the gold in Midas' coffers
will not change the way they bleed.
Chasing after their god Mammon,
killing love with greedy gain,
alone they ride sin's savage subway
in their city bricked with pain.
They might buy the Eiffel Tower
with the profits they amass,
they might be the king of Wall Street
on the backs of those they pass;
but every man must face the mirror
hanging not upon a wall,
this world is not forever,
pride still precedes the fall.
In a city populated
by selfish, soulless men,
ghosts roam the streets tormented
thinking of what might have been. . .
Copyright, 4/28/2014
Faye Gibson
Northern Ireland, it was a peaceful Saturday of August 15,
1998. There were many people shopping in the center of
Omagh, in Tyrone. Then, at 3:10 p.m., the car bomb
exploded close to the junction of Market Street and the
Dublin Road. The bomb, the murderous bomb, the
life taker ripped into the flesh, the existence of 29 people,
men, women, children, including 2 unborn babies. It
injured 220.
Britain's PM Tony Blair, Marjorie Mowlam, the Secretary
of State Northern Ireland, Mary McAleese, President of
the Republic of Ireland, Bernie Aherne, the taoiseach
Irish PM, all condemned this slaughter of humanity.
The Irish National Liberation Army called itself the "real"
IRA, claimed responsibility. They had slain God's own.
I dreamt of the Troubles, as mournful Celtic music
slowly played in my sorrowed psyche. Blood on the
shamrocks as the bombing victims still tell their story.
In my daydreams, children's choirs sing-
"When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" in many other areas of
the world, in the merriment of children's goodness.
Death should not collect especially the young, the hopes
of all of Ireland's youth, including Northern Ireland.
These days gang violence has made more shamrocks
bleed, as the gangs murder each other's dreams.
All of the emerald beauty's Troubles cannot fade into
history without the names of the innocents, and their
blood will not disappear. The tears of generations of
her people, her mourners, in every one of her rainfalls.
And I, an American of both Irish and British heritage,
grieve for her too. ~
The wooden floor wore
decades of dust.
Near the doorway
brooms grew out of a fire bucket
and bloomed in an odd
array of heads. A pile of coir mats
lay stacked in a wheelbarrow,
all chorused in a WELCOME.
Bernie's store was a haphazard
sprawl of hardware stuff
and followed no order at least
by any stretch of logic.
Hammers were paired
with paint, boxes of nails
mixed company with hinges
and fittings for copper pipes. And yet,
Bernie had every item carefully
mapped in his head.
Ask for something
and he would take you
straight to the spot.
It had the air of a serious place,
almost like a church. Tools were
the blessed instruments
of a sacred order, treated with care
and reverence. Back then
power tools were just coming in
but none contaminated
the sanctified air of Bernie's
hardware store.
On the back wall,
above the garden tools,
hung a plain wooden crucifix
beside a picture of Bernie's
late wife. From her lofty height
she seemed to look down
with an approving smile every time
the cash register rang,
accompanied by a “thanks”.