Long Bottleneck Poems
Long Bottleneck Poems. Below are the most popular long Bottleneck by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bottleneck poems by poem length and keyword.
Announcement from Congress
By Franklin Price
4/1/2017
Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye
We've come to you today
To announce a change in Washington
To begin the first of May
We the seated members
Of the Legislative here
Have agreed to work together
To make our actions very clear
Work with the current president
Try to get things done
We know we've been the bottleneck
We admit that we're the ones
Putting parties in the back seat
Here to reach cross the aisle
To make this country great again
To make you the people smile
If you like what we've announced here
Please join us in the pool
Be another U.S. Citizen
Another year an April Fool
There sat in opulent xanadu, the
demagogue of empirical hedonism,
his granary once fuelled regal reign of epicureanism:
gregarious, restive, much-awaited successor of imperial dominion,
neurotic, obstinate, was the cynosure of cynicism.
The eldest child of Duke and Dutchess of York, erstwhile Prince of Wales,
the proclaimed young heir, stood far from the course of sceptical euphemism;
The heir apparent had a historical encounter with Wallis Warfield Simpson by fatalism,
by wooing Wallis, the royal blood encountered, clangorous cynical criticism.
The resultant mayhem broke, the blue- blood became the bottleneck of idealism;
sagacious, was brooding strategies to be the prototype of unprecedented heroism.
The proclaimed marriage faced vehement oppositions:
encompassing : religious, political, legal and moral objections.
The outright denial to accept Wallis as the king's consort, broke the anticipated rebellion,
Edward's refusal to give her up, led to his final abdication.
When was quite apparent, he could not marry his beloved Simpson,
finally settled to rebuke the throne from etched imperialism as emancipation.
The man of the hour was then entitled "the Duke of Windsor", a transformation stunned the world and wrote an unprecedented statement in chronicle after abdication.
Edward VIII, once epitome of monarchism, became an ideal icon of asceticism.
A sybarite, turned commoner by deserting the successive chair of the british kingdom to wed his ladylove;
a tale of unprecedented impeccable loyalism.
The abdicator's epitaph on Royal Burial Ground, Frogmore,
is still bearing in indelible transcription,
the testimony of an uncustomary love saga of renunciation.
An epoch making transformation, decades have ever witnessed from iconic monarchism to transcendental loyalism:
through unprecedented renouncement
of the bequeathed throne
to array chronicle's unrivalled iconoclasm.
All Rights Reserved © SILPIKA KALITA
Grains of sand, begin to stream in steady flow,
As the hour glass is flipped over.
One by one, they fall, through the bottleneck.
Each one a moment, a tick, tick, tock, soft and brief.
On top, the grains are gathered haphazardly in a pile.
At the slippery neck constriction they line up to queue.
like a flock of birds or a school of fish,
getting ready to be called to free-fall in formation,
through the slippery glass funnel into the abyss below.
There they pile-up forming a stock-pile of memories
shaped in an inverted funnel of regret begotten,
in a pile with sand grains tumbling down the sides.
At the top of the hour glass lied a collection of time unspent,
Below lies a pile of sand grain ticks, expended, some misspent.
Between them, lies the funnel of fate’s eternal hand,
Its fingers guiding the passage of time
as grains of sand flowing through the hourglass.
Grain by grain, moments fall,
all fragile and small.
time drifts endlessly
slipping away
sinking,
gone
as memories
pile up, collected
as they spill and tumble
down the face of the base
of the sand filled hourglass
wobbling
anecdotal
narrative
conspicuously
from
nature's
vernal
threads,
twisting
stitching
an
ornamental
of
bucolic
rustic
quintessence
whispered
yarns
of
spring
relics
rains
bottleneck
processing
seal
blubber
in
hollowed
space
still
withholding
still
shut
mercy
of
rain
silence
depth
&
night
abyss
questions
throbbing
&
blunders
resurface
in
search
of
peace
built
bridge
on
mountains
&
climbed
streams
hunting
peace
to
breathe
believe
air
was real
dreams
reconciled
unique
comfortable
place
laying
on your
heart
to
feel
your
pulse
&
love
Written: February 18, 2023
YOUR CHOICE AGAIN Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Traffic lights flash, but we're far from light
Heavy flow on streets, emotions flow tight
Horns blare a symphony, tempers blare too
We're all packed in, feeling blue
Drive me crazy, this gridlock scene
Drive a hard bargain, just to stay clean
Cars run smooth, but patience runs thin
Time runs out as we're running in
Stress mounts up like cars on a hill
Road rage boils, but we can't spill
Bottleneck here, choked up there
Exhausted drivers, exhaust in the air
Signal your turn, but who'll signal care?
Rush hour's rush leaves us worse for wear
Brake for others, don't break the rules
Brake pads wearing, wearing us like fools
Merge with traffic, ideas merge too
How to fix this? Clues are few
Pass the time, but can't pass through
Pass judgment on those passing you
Cruise control? Ha! We're not in control
Take the wheel, take a toll on the soul
Steer clear of trouble, clear as mud
This jam's preserving nothing good
Lane discipline? That's a dead end
Right of way? Rights soon bend
Left turn ahead, nothing's right
High beams blind us to any light
Speed up, slow down, it's all the same
In this stop-and-go losing game
Rear-ended thoughts, front-end collisions
Road to nowhere, faulty decisions
So we inch along this concrete stream
Progress crawls, crawls our dream
Of free-flowing days, of open roads
Where "traffic" means more than heavy loads
But for now, we're stuck in this jam
Vehicles, ideas, all in a cram
The traffic of thoughts, the traffic of cars
Moving nowhere, under traffic stars
There is a piece I've longed to share,
which, up 'til now, I wouldn't dare,
where courage pushes fear aside
and shackles up my foolish pride...
To put to words, as much for me,
affection in simplicity,
and say those things I wished I could...
that chance may now be gone for good.
I near succumbed to COVID's wrath;
now, barricades deny clear path -
a bottleneck for oxygen.
So much to tell; where to begin?
A battle raged; a drawn-out war
that ended with a winning score:
I pulled ahead - a blessed reprieve;
the reaper's gone; yet, still, I grieve.
For scars remain; we coexist.
Not given up; I will persist,
but dreams? There was one 'mong the few:
to hold you close and sing for you...
A tune that melds our hearts together,
and keeps us warm through stormy weather,
a lullaby to ease all fear
and let you know how much I care.
But vocals won't cooperate;
on ev'ry nerve the raucous grates.
Those singing days are done, it seems;
some visions, sadly, dwell in dreams.
If fate insists that I must wait,
this voice will ring at Heaven's gate!
So, pardon, if I'm way off-tune;
at least, at last, Love will shine through!!
Jodie
5/23/25
Sue wrote a song, thought she had a hit
I could relate to its meaning and wit
It came from her heart but stayed unknown
A lovely tune that sank like a stone
Jeff wrote a memoir of true crime
Couldn't get anyone to read a line
He pitched it to Hollywood but stayed unknown
His urgent story sank like a stone.
He tried ads, even tried a book signing
I understood his frustration but got tired of his whining
I told him that many try, few make the big time
It's a dog-eat-dog world and turns on a dime.
(chorus)
You overcome hurdles but it gets steeper and steeper
Then you're turned back by a gatekeeper.
You stand in the square with a megaphone—
The crowds split around you like a stream round a stone.
Millie had a personality like a witch
she wrote a rap song about killing the rich.
It was a hit, yuppies loved the rebel tone
Sue and Jeff's hearts sank like a stone.
Millie was the star, Millie was the rage
a commentary on our tasteless age
She rose like a comet, come and gone
Self-destructed, and sank like a stone
So have a day job, where you can climb
Don't sleep on a friend's couch, don't waste our time
Know with the crowds, you are still alone
And be prepared to sink like a stone.
And don't stream your meltdown from your phone.
What if it’s only a nervous breakdown if you bottleneck and bury the emotions that are trying to come through you?
That’s what causes the breakdown.
The resistance to what is,
the stopping of the process before it has an opportunity to move toward realization and resolution. What if something beautiful is actually happening within you,
something that wants to heal and move into full authenticity?
What if this is not a nervous breakdown,
but a nervous break-through,
a profound emotional cleansing,
a dissolution of the false structures that have ruled your life,
a breaking through to a more authentic state of being?
Crime wave, crime pays
Crime goes on all day
But its not a crime to
feel the way i feel
Say the things I say
I stole your bike
cause had built in getaway
I stole your wife bewcause
She said she wasnt
into it anyways
I dont know why Im so
Worried about it.
God knows the world
Servbes me cold
So I sent your wife
riding your bike righ
Back into your life
Right back to you
that
Right here in the situation
Right here in the clench
Jammed up in the bottleneck
Right here in the strategic conversation
Youre complete dissertation
Your doctorites thesis
On masterbation
You otta check
Direct deposit your
Thoughts through
your hollow neck
If you check what I bought
You know
That its time that
Its time to inspect
As I slip into the void,
of this endless black;
a moonless sea séance;
there's no way back,
for black is black,
flack is flack!
The blues I stack,
into my backpack.
Are old bent music notes
of bottleneck-drawn cries.
Sung in well-past midnight bars
lamenting what I've misspent
in twelve-bar lag dues.
The sea and sky know why,
I'm not coming back.
They never knew me.
They just sailed right through me.
Like a freight train moaning
on a tear-stained track—
sending me flying away, flying away.
Why? Can't I say?
Why? They washed we away!
There's no anchor here
to belay my stay,
to make me rue the day.
So I can't delay
for another day, no no longer!
So I slip my bottleneck slide
down the frets,
screaming a high-note cry;
squealing to a high-end bend,
into the empty void,
of my black-hole blues.
Black is black, flack is flack,
There's no coming back
from these old black-eyed,
black-hole blues.
No coming back
from these old black-eyed,
black-hole blues.