Long Brand name Poems
Long Brand name Poems. Below are the most popular long Brand name by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brand name poems by poem length and keyword.
There is a light on my front porch I turned it on in memory
Not just for the baby Caylee
But for all of the children who die daily
We mourn and cry and are justly outraged
When we hear of such atrocities and read of them on every page
But it is not just the children it is people of every age
Senseless killing and blatant neglect
Marriages and homes hourly wrecked
But in satans world what else would you expect
Watch out for number 1 cause no 1 is watching for you
Respect is earned through violence and the brand name on your shoe
The kingdoms of his world he offers over to you and in exchange you give your soul
cause you've nothing better to do
Desensitized and mesmerized by shiny things and fame
We worship at his alter as his angels of light blaspheme Gods name
We play and seek after every hypnotizing game
Blind we are and blind we lead
Not seeing not caring not hearing the pleas
We talk and do nothing as the innocent continue to bleed
06 July 2011 5:30 AM
Pronounced side effect upon my dreams...
courtesy Fluoxetine hydrochloride
Fluoxetine Hcl (C17H18F3NO·HCl)
known as Selective Serotonin
Reuptake Inhibitor (SSRI),
especially prescribed to treat
depression, panic disorder,
and obsessive-compulsive disorder
the above symptoms
profoundly experienced by yours truly
said prescription medication
seriously impacts sleep (mine).
Debilitating panic attacks
wrought (particularly years gone by)
physiological displeasures chiefly constituting
vertigo, racing heart, nausea,
excessive perspiration, adrenaline
coursing thru body,
whereby Prozac (brand name regarding
aforementioned synthesized chemical)
ameliorated unbearable, unmanageable, untenable...
earth-shaking, devastating,
and crushing manifestations
disabling, exhausting, jackknifing... functionality
hijacking life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.
Essentially yours truly experiences
dilemma analogous to sleep deprivation,
cuz ofttimes upon arising,
I feel utterly tuckered out, exhausted, bushed...
thus zapped body, mind and spirit
ill suited to physical,
mental or spiritual endeavor
subsequently lovely bones (mine)
(pine to join grateful dead)
rather than feebly kickstart
lame effort to write, read or meditate.
Thus respecting Sir Isaac
Newton's first law of motion
a (human) body at rest
inertia keeps said entity at rest.
Interestingly enough as
daylight doth wax and wane
casting dark shadows upon urbane
countenance buzzfeeding hidden reservoir
exerting estimable energy
decreasing arduous strain
therefore purposefulness,
I seek renewable resource to imbue
garden variety generic
doubting thomas and ordain
him (i.e. me) with spontaneous
magnificent grandiloquent enlightenment
ala Orson Welles Citizen Kane
laughable comparison linkedin
with story extraordinaire quite insane
September 4th, 2020 insight one can gain
perchance even coaxing passable poem
from deep within Matthew Scott Harris' brain.
an inner conflict dust brew
within this scribe, who offers ye to chew
(like sweet treats metaphorically) thee do
tee incumbent, when Doomsday clock
counts down minutes few
according Al Gore rhythm
unstoppably ticking,
when life gets turned to global goo
tenderized viz Doctor Zeus
if not Horton Hears Hoo
then most definitely The Lorax
(couching urgent morals underscored
by satellite photographs
showing melting icecaps or igloos,
which planetary sos, sans in extremis
requires joint effort of Gentile and Jew,
plus every other sectarian credo,
dogma, ethos...knew
clear family, and whatnot
to become linkedin with Linda Loo
yes, we moost not forget
Old McDonald with his moo
moo there bovine creatures
agedly hobbling along, or new
lee born, cuz juiced one day
per three hundred and sixty five
(six with leap year -
to appease ghost oh Rachel Carson
imagine dragons festooned leotard
with brand name Oroblu)
or poor ole Whinny The Pooh
eternally stuck in Rabbit's
hole sum Hutch as a queue
doth loosely form dreaming up and rue
mien hating solution
(burning the midnight oil) true
lee trying to remedy plight
of said bear character,
perhaps unstated message being woo
king in tandem solutions to resolve
wretched condition of world wide web
possible by bridging differences
between me and you, and you, and you...
Caught In A Sunstorm
(1)
Often on days when I am spent
And I am dry from a dyke burst
Of words
And the sun is hot in heaven
Wrapping me in sensuous warmth
There occurs the moment
Of that kind of woman.
For being sick to death
Of brand-name ethics, I rebel
And turn away to give play
To my mind
Where that kind of woman and I
Can romp unseen
By decaying eyes of half-humans
(2)
She will say
She knows nothing of Sartre
As she lies there naked
Like perfect work from Rodin’s hands.
He would approve, I say,
Because we are here together,
Now,
She tells me
She was with a circus once
As she demonstrates the split.
Good exercise and constant practice
Were her secrets to success.
I asked if she performed upon the high wire
And she relates tales of how
She would sit upon her partner’s shoulders
As they walked in space above a million eyes
But most of all she liked the trapeze,
Swinging by her knees
Upside down so all was blurry:
“It was good for the thighs,” she says
“See?”
A calliope plays at a distance
As hours pass; we never tire
For the mind has inexhaustible energy
We drink pink wine to make us laugh,
And she swings from her knees
Recalling the blur of love
(3)
As she slept, I took my leave
Because the sun was setting
And I felt its warning chill,
The movement of the planet
Controlled our time together,
And it was good
Knowing that a higher order prevailed
Upon the movement of our bodies,
The power of the mind,
The shifting of the planets
The moment of that kind of woman,
The equation of life and truth
That we eternal nomads seek.
(4)
Why must this moment lie obscure,
Hidden in rejection
Until there must be love?
Can a burning star contain the warmth of love?
For love is painful when it burns
Leaving ugly scars.
Yet she came with the sun
Leaving only comfortable fatigue
Whose sunlike burn remains,
A gentle tan:
The imprint of her body and her soul.
She will come tomorrow — if I choose,
And the next day and the next
Until I tire
Of that kind of woman
Whose perfection and endlessness
Are guaranteed by the sun
That lights my internal world.
Life was hard in the money department
My parents had what was called a paid job
Just over basics it was evident
Someone else ate the corn, they got the cob
Life was grand, week to week we ate biscuits
There was sidemeat on our plate with syrup
The salt made the sweet dance by castanet
That simple food had what is called one-up
Then mother lost her job, more biscuits served
Hollyhock flour purchased by twenty pounds
Its brand name stamped across the sack in red
She bleached letters off, she didn't mess around
Fabric to make shirts for me to wear to church
Embroidered by a friend 'pon collar and sleeves
I wore them like a princess, now for them search
In my heart, and for those beautiful clothes grieve
Finis'
Sponsor: Judy Konos
Contest: Whatever Happened To Flour Sacks
I saw some flour sacks at Wal-Mart in the last few years
and it was only one time..I did notice that it cost more
to get the flour sacks..I remember when I began to
learn to sew that mother gave me flour sacks to
fancy up to put in my hope chest..I did a technique
where I pulled threads out which left an open weave
on the ends to make fancy dish towels..I also embroidered
them with fancy designs to put in my hope chest..When
I was newly married my mother-in-law would get flour
in a sack with a dish towel sewn into the end seam on it..
I guess one flour company trying to outdo another company.
Two toddlers laughing and playing in the sand with balls and toys.
Their sweet friendly nature, being together, each one enjoys.
As the two friends grew and are now all of seven,
One’s parents are loving, the others are in heaven.
One has pretty clothes and views the world with delight.
One yearns for kind words and a hug at night.
Life goes by and now the two are turning eight,
Watching for someone to love her, one child will wait.
Music and dancing and parties are all part of life for one.
One is lucky to be an orphan when all is said and done.
For her life could have been worse with an addicted mother.
But its outings and dolls and making a fairy garden for the other.
Life mooches on now they are ten, life is glitter and ballet shoes,
Or its second-hand clothes and pre-loved toys to amuse.
Wonder there is now, being a teen, with jewelry and brand name jeans.
For some that is, and for others, growing up fast is what it means.
One looks forward to prom dresses, friends and dates with boys.
The other looks back to playing in the sand, laughing with balls and toys.
Earth Day April 22nd 2024
I lament bidding Gaia's creatures adieu,
an inner conflict dust brew
within this scribe, who offers ye to chew
(like sweet treats metaphorically) thee do
tee incumbent, when Doomsday clock
counts down minutes few
according Al Gore rhythm
unstoppably ticking,
when life gets turned to global goo
tenderized viz Doctor Zeus
if not Horton Hears Hoo
then most definitely The Lorax
(couching urgent morals underscored
by satellite photographs
showing melting ice caps or igloo,
which planetary sos, sans in extremis
requires joint effort of Gentile and Jew,
plus every other sectarian credo,
dogma, ethos...knew
clear family, and whatnot
to become linkedin with Linda Loo
yes, we moost not forget
Old McDonald's with his moo
moo there bovine creatures
agedly hobbling along, or new
lee born, cuz juiced one day
per three hundred and sixty five
(six with leap year -
imagine dragons festooned leotard
with brand name Oroblu
or poor ole Winnie The Pooh
eternally stuck in Rabbit's
hole sum Hutch as a queue
doth loosely form dreaming up and rue
men ate about the old woman
who lived in a shoe
mien hating solution
(burning the midnight oil) true
lee trying to remedy plight
of said bear character,
hemmed in courtesy
*****sapiens population explosion
whereat their den only
allows, enables, and provides
cubby hole view
perhaps unstated message being woo
king in tandem solutions to resolve
wretched condition of world wide web
possible by bridging differences
between me and you, and you, and you...
essentially everyone
comprising the human zoo.
(presumably still alive
predicated on rumored sightings dive
ving fast as blazing saddles,
her blitzkrieg,
nothing but a blurry beehive.)
Swifter than Usain
(lightening) Bolt
Eden Liat
(thine eldest daughter,
a mixed hybrid breed
greyhound and whippet)
leaves in the dust
topnotch any racehorse
prompting speculation,
she harkens, and begat
from a long line,
sans award
(at trough feed ding),
many a cooly
winning super naturally
infused awk worded Colt
surpassing (with a flash,
plus even sub track ting
considerable handi
capped add halt
ting delay), thine
prestigious, princess,
and prodigious exalt
ting marathon running
smart lee zipping
as a whip lash heiress,
thru no fault
in the stars
of her astrological designs
oft times humbly declines
adulation, benediction, dedication
and deferentially finds
reasons amazingly, gracefully,
and mannerly deflects
self imposed grueling practices,
that she quickly grinds
into pulverized powder,
any high top custom made
high tech lines
brand name
threadbare sneakers saved
with countless
trophies that aligns
storied (and stuffed
animal bedecked)
bookshelf, even gag
me with a spoon
humor tinged competitions,
faux rotten tum ate oh
(John Heinz)
seeded "ketchup with me"
hash-tag game
opened to all kinds
of village people, including
some barenaked ladies,
where flashy Mainliners
dressed to the nines
(essentially for sound
garden variety public,
who generally favor squash),
that crop up during
Indian Summer salad days
punctuates the warm air,
where one after
another lover doth appear
oak kay embracing ephemeral
pseudo sappy romance
spine tingling
as sharp needling pines.
Concrete
Cold pavement
I watch the shadows huddle by the subway vent
Fear
Heavy and deep
Afraid of where I’ll lay my head to sleep
Toronto winds
They cut like glass
Counting every nickel as the minutes pass
I walk
I wait
Checking every receipt by the iron gate
Don't call me cheap
No don't call me cheap
I’m just building a floor so I don't fall down
I’m just building a floor so I don't fall down
I’m just building a floor so I don't fall down
Safe and sound
Racks
Rows of wool
Found a winter coat where the bins are full
Soft
Cotton seams
Living out a life on a budget of dreams
Second hand
My hand
Better than the hunger that I can't command
I save
I survive
Keeping my dignity barely alive
One shirt
Used well
I’m wearing it today can't you tell
Don't call me cheap
No don't call me cheap
I’m just building a floor so I don't fall down
I’m just building a floor so I don't fall down
I’m just building a floor so I don't fall down
Safe and sound
It’s an insult
It’s a sting
It’s a bitter kind of thing
When you look at me and laugh
When you look at me and judge
When you look at me and sneer
I see the struggle
I see the sidewalk
I see the truth
[Verse 3]
Style
Is what you make
Not the brand name that you choose to take
Hard
Thrifty grace
I won't let the poverty erase my face
No debt
No shame
Just a different way to play the game
Friends
Listen close
I’m the one who values the most
Pure thrift
Daily wear
Keeping away from the cold despair
Don't call me cheap
No don't call me cheap
I’m just building a floor so I don't fall down
I’m just building a floor so I don't fall down
I’m just building a floor so I don't fall down
Safe and sound
Every single day
Every single day
This is my style
My own style
Don't insult me
No
Don't insult me
Just let me be
Free
Born in Cincinnati that buckeye state
January 13th 1959 – 57+ years to date
A tangle of arms & legs testing lungs, which sounded great
He kind of resembled a misshapen octopus with oval pate
Glowering inxs of deep purple from blue mood being irate
Thrust out the womb of Harriet Harris whom Boyce did date
After courting this youngest Kuritsky kin whose ill-fate
Whisked by grim reaper, which demise she did hate
For her being imbued with vim and vinegar til illness ate
Away her je nais sais quois personable maternal trait
Evident during my boyhood reflected by her son of late
As he too inches closer to his mortality and Hades gate
Aware that each day ought to be cherished as the rate
Of time courses down that zip line where grim reaper does wait
Attired in brand name hoodie swinging scythe across oblate
Spheroid i.e. terrestrial firmament – though many years some great
Yet to be lived – trying to recapture childhood bliss before freight
Train on a collision course toward self-destruction ala tete a tete
With Anorexia Nervosa as thy then coveted deadly mate
A brutal hellish spiral down into abysmal depths of despair did create
Indelible psychological affects undermined existence I now equate
writ horrendous emotional, physical and social upon head of mate
Pledged his troth (almost 2 decades ago), which spouse doth berate
For lack of expressed concern and attests schizoid psychic slate
irrevocably seared and stunted natural development where I rate
prepubescent, early adulthood mental illness did grate
Against once boisterously playful innocent boy crushed potentate
Only male heir from me deceased mother who tried to extirpate
Mailer daemons who forged suicide pact and via voice did dictate
Albeit without success, yet decry forsaken innate
Experiences with female relationships lured my own poisoned bait!