Long Cartridge Poems
Long Cartridge Poems. Below are the most popular long Cartridge by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cartridge poems by poem length and keyword.
The trouble with idiot lights,
You see, it’s a problem
That goes, perhaps,
Farther than me.
There's abundant ignorance
That floats in the bog
In a kingdom where machines
Can measure breath’s grog.
More than vast numbers
Aggregating in crime,
There's a feeling that
What is happening.
Somehow, isn't mine.
Big obvious red light, birthed
a message, idiot message on the dash.
Just the observation
Almost made me crash.
The warning, foreboding,
Read simply "check gauges.”
So sitting at the light,
I scanned all the stages
With the sets of information
A car shares on its pages.
I sit, quietly confused,
But the intersection’s raging.
The gas tank wasn't empty,
The oil read fine,
The engine not hot,
Battery volts seemed in line.
Responding to the honks,
I mosey down the road.
The engine’s working fine,
But my head held quite a load,
Of all the problems awaiting
For the idiot who couldn't interpret
The idiot light code.
. . . No problems yet,
A small sigh escapes
But I am mentally set,
Will I fall for the bait?
I would make a sizable bet
That I am sitting
On some universal debt.
Then as I was using
My copier that night,
Beeping techno-barking message,
Really set me to a fright.
A word chain shackled,
Scrolling a last request
"Printer ink low."
Sounds like an open book test.
Try as I might
Following precious words in sight,
Then a new unique message:
"Insert cartridge right."
Just follow instructions?
I’m ready for a fight.
I opened HP's lid
To see what was the matter,
Then came a horrible clacking,
Tic-tic-tic-clicking,
Hardware techno choir prater.
I shut the lid, and said a quick prayer,
Hoping God could save me from taking a dare,
And shooting the damn contraption
Right then and there.
With a web site visit, and many more clicks,
I found a FAQ answer.
My problem would be fixed.
There within the info sheet
Set my big break:
“Think about it, Dummy,
Did you remove the pink tape?”
So now, I sit here, contemplating,
Perhaps, I should consider
Getting out more, and dating.
The odds are better
. . . with two idiots instead of one.
Their numbers drawn, the backwards lottery
Almost none were aware they were playing
Assaulted by the poisons that save them
Hairless children with steroid-swollen cheeks
Feared stigmata of chemotherapy
Daily valiance, heroism unsought
Magic bullets are a relative thing
Modern wonder within the foulest curse
Not many years ago, a death sentence
Now, survival rate of eighty percent
It’s miraculous,
but if it’s your child
Then it’s a slow round of
Russian Roulette
Our own bullet burn unforgettable
Swelling in his eye, excised then regrown
For those of you playing along at home
Regrowth is a very ominous sign
Mucous Associated Lymphoma
Our newest demon, bane of our baby
Based on looks, it’s sixty percent likely
The microscope will have the final word
Sword of Damocles hangs
for six long weeks
As a succession of pathologists shrug
I can do the math much quicker than that
It’s sixty percent times twenty percent,
Probability times mortality
Twelve percent chance he will not live five years
Our sweet baby boy, turned budding young man
A gun with eight cylinders, one cartridge
Facts melt like lead into a bullet mold
Neither dead nor alive, Schrödinger’s cat,
His fate, an unseen quantum paradox
Not resolved until we open his box
And create life or death by witnessing.
Savoring the taste of each day as a
Maddening flavor of infinity
As we wait for a loud click or a bang
Finally the word arrives:
no cancer.
Spared, this fate of others,
no good reason
Not a part of God’s plan for us
this time
5/22/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
4% mnm
Mountainous syllables can never really tread lightly across a rope bridge. But living in a cabbage house is fantastic fun for many leaves make many rooms and many rooms make much rubbish. Don't trip over the staircases. Nor the bins. Nor the fireplaces. Be safe in an oceanographic breeze. It is often wise to counter count. And never leave a leaf door ajar. Ok? Good. Fodder not a fried fish. Especially when driving a forklift truck. Ponder not the wonder of a damsel on a butterfly couch. How very sedate! But neither seductive nor secretive for serpentines are often deceptively shark like. Particularly when partially shaded by a curtain. Pull shut then open to reveal. Wow such revelational defects. How quite ornate. And a man in a suit with a small briefcase is often as round as a round house. No spring in a portly framed partridge. But carrying a cartridge through the airspaces can bring a ship to life. Smiling. Waves kiss the sides. And sailors play swan lake on harmonicas and violins for the dusk often brings dust. And to halt is to delay only for points are gained by talking treadmill like in large halls with lecterns'. Drink then. Capsicum rice flavoured juice creates much lemon spittle. How rather remarkable are the quotes from the pickled saged cavern dwellers in yachts awaiting the demise of development. The continuation of a fluctuation is a fascination for a fattened form. And so the bead arrives on slightly bended knee in a small sixteenth century chapel. Hum not a tune of trotting uniforms and hooves. No haha to that. It is merely a zero percent of a demonic deficit sweep. Swimmingly seemingly surpassing swamps. And a door swinging happily. Haha jumping jamming junipers. Hahaha statutory static void. Hahahaha xx pea leap. Xxxxx monopolistic Z with the p y q. 89.0. Xzx
Form:
4% mnm
Mountainous syllables can never really tread lightly across a rope bridge. But living in a cabbage house is fantastic fun for many leaves make many rooms and many rooms make much rubbish. Don't trip over the staircases. Nor the bins. Nor the fireplaces. Be safe in an oceanographic breeze. It is often wise to counter count. And never leave a leaf door ajar. Ok? Good. Fodder not a fried fish. Especially when driving a forklift truck. Ponder not the wonder of a damsel on a butterfly couch. How very sedate! But neither seductive nor secretive for serpentines are often deceptively shark like. Particularly when partially shaded by a curtain. Pull shut then open to reveal. Wow such revelational defects. How quite ornate. And a man in a suit with a small briefcase is often as round as a round house. No spring in a portly framed partridge. But carrying a cartridge through the airspaces can bring a ship to life. Smiling. Waves kiss the sides. And sailors play swan lake on harmonicas and violins for the dusk often brings dust. And to halt is to delay only for points are gained by talking treadmill like in large halls with lecterns'. Drink then. Capsicum rice flavoured juice creates much lemon spittle. How rather remarkable are the quotes from the pickled saged cavern dwellers in yachts awaiting the demise of development. The continuation of a fluctuation is a fascination for a fattened form. And so the bead arrives on slightly bended knee in a small sixteenth century chapel. Hum not a tune of trotting uniforms and hooves. No haha to that. It is merely a zero percent of a demonic deficit sweep. Swimmingly seemingly surpassing swamps. And a door swinging happily. Haha jumping jamming junipers. Hahaha statutory static void. Hahahaha xx pea leap. Xxxxx monopolistic Z with the p y q. 89.0. Xzx
Form:
In 1996 I was living in DC
while serving as a diplomat
At the State Department
My wife was in the military
Serving as a major in San Antonio
That fateful morning, I went jogging
Early in the morning
Fell down a ledge
I did not see in the dark
I shattered my heal
Into a millions pieces
Had to have heel surgery
The ER patched me up
I went to San Antonio
And had the first
Of 15 surgeries
Over the course
of the next nine months
After the army doctors
Preformed an experimental procedure
Using shark cartridge in my heel
The staph infection got lodged
Behind the cartridge
Morphing into an evil, malignant
Mutant, multiple drug resistance staph infection
Had to take IV antibiotics
Using vancomycin the nuclear bomb of antibiotics
Blood tested four times per day
The dosage had to be constantly adjusted
Too little won’t kill the bacteria
Too much could end
killing the patient
Meaning me of course
I Almost lost my leg
And my life
Left me with lifelong arthritic pain
Fibromyalgia and hammer toes
Five years later had two hammer toe surgeries
And will have to do it again within a year
I soon developed a ritual
The night before the surgery
I would call my wife
My mother
My two brothers
My sister
My five best friends
My wife I knew
She would be my side
Even if she was far away
I felt that my brothers
Were indifferent
It would not really matter
If I died or not.
My sister would mourn me
My friends would miss me
My best friend was in DC
And visited me before
And after each surgery
My mother was slipping
Into dementia.
And I was not sure
She understood
What I was going through.
But still I wanted to hear
Their voices perhaps for the last time
before going under the surgeon’s knife.
Who wounded you enough that picking targets to retaliate against is a game to you and their destruction is your level up? It’s like your only way to survive is to tear life out of others and exist off their desperation for your attention and help, even though you’re the one who made them this way in the first place.
What about me is not valid enough to you that you feel the need to shove your opinion down my throat as if I haven’t heard enough of it? It’s like a force feeding of acid that deteriorates my heart and flows out my eyes when you leave.
When did it ever become okay to walk through my chain-locked door, then break the hinges off when you leave so it’s now agape? It’s like you planned on leaving so you had your tools ready in advance, prepared to destroy me in the most efficient way possible: letting the draft in and my vulnerability out.
Where did the empty look in your eyes come from? It’s like your mind and heart were squeezed until your spirit poured out with the strength of a dam and was collected into a disposable cartridge and was quickly burned through by the fire of abandonment.
Why did you turn your back and walk away even though I was screaming your name with such intensity that windows three blocks down shattered? You stabbed a knife through your own heart so you wouldn’t feel the same agony as me, and any screaming from me sounded like a whining child who has lost their candy.
How can a dream feel so real that when I’m at the bottom of a swimming pool I still inhale water when I breathe and wake up choking? It’s like my mind is so accustomed to pain that it confuses dreams with reality and drowning makes sense in the muddled state of unconsciousness.
Form:
Take everything not my writing, amputate my joints, fracture my body but please not my mind, it is in my mind where I live, with no rules, no fear nor regrets, its in my writing where I mind only my own, where I choose to only hear my voice, its in my writing where only I matters, not the world not humans but I,
take me instead not my writing, shut my eyes, capture my soul but lay not a hand to my mind, these eyes that God gave to men are no less to what this mind of mine allows me to explore, I fear how useless these eyes are when its only pain and disappointment they continuously take in, seeing only here and now, limiting men to greatness of life,
in this mind, windows stays open, possibilities competes, time limits none and nothing is limited. The versatility, the capabilities and the infiniteness, my mind it's a galaxy by its own, please don't take this life inside my skull, instead take me,
Launch in your best ammunitions and put a bullet to my brain while I led idle my writing abilities, for its writing I live for, the voice in my ink, the eyes in my expressions, it is the complexities in my writing that sets this mind of mind distinct,
I hear you complain of meaning and understanding, coherence and clarity but my flow so projected at flowing, I fear it part the sea while you still waiting, said in my own words that I'm expressionist, but I forgot to tell you that I'm not an explainer,
sorry to leave your egos bruised, art has no boundaries to fear, so is my painting brush, lemme change my poetic ink cartridge, for the flow still yet to flow afar off and beyond, poetic ink is my name, I am poetry
#Poetic_Ink
A cartridge filled with a horde of shackled emotions, am I,
Trifle feelings loiter within me, until she elicits them out,
Wizened by time, she knows that otherwise I might turn mordacious...
God guides my pen and has assigned her my way,
~ She is the vociferous voice of my heart ~
She knows my malleable moods and masterfully makes magic
By weaving whispers into wistful words,
~ She is the byzantine boon of my being ~
With cogent candor she cajoles me to compose poesy,
She and I share a companionable camaraderie...
In the mystical moondust of Maker's majestic mercy,
I acquiesce to her ingenious genius,
~ She is an efficacious eclectic enigma ~
For sometimes, she plays truant tricks,
Her surreptitious evanescence is a conspicuous conspiracy,
Abandoned, I have to await her august appearance...
The soft stardust of her sartorial splendor,
Renders me a mere puppet of her puissant prowess,
~ She is a phenomenal Phoenix ~
For she encourages me to endeavor towards excellence,
Her alacrity aggrandizes my acumen,
Having faith in her fortuitous favour, I flourish...
~ She is my God-given "gift of grace" ~
Her multifarious munificence is a monumental mystery,
She has transformed me from a fruitless flibbertigibbet
To a fulfilled female fount with her unfailing finesse...
~ She is my mysterious, magnanimous Muse ~
Feeling forever grateful to God for her grandiloquence.
5th January 2023
It's hard to believe in redemption when all you see os hate and corruption on TV.
Humanity has become numb. Humanity has become an orange spray tanned jack ass waxy discharge with baby hands and verbal diahrea dribbling down his receding double chins and onto his motherland red tie.
All of the 7 seadly sins sit marinating in his swollen abdomen like bacon gone rancid bubbling in its own fat; and then flying out of his mouth like indigestion and out the other end as vitriolic excrement that fertilizes the right to believe that they have the constitutional freedom to sucker punch the nation and blacken her eye.
America is a battered wife tied to this writhing feckless maggot in a shot gun wedding, mumbling her vows around the gun in her mouth. That was the beggining of the hungry days.
Now shes all rib bones swimming in the filth of betrayal; skin stretched thin lile a human lampshade. Shes the limping horse of famine. A beat dog paralyzed by a master that still has her loyalty despite him breaking her spine and making her legs drag behind.
He's ed the whole world and didn't even have the decency to leave money on the dresser. He threw up out with the sour garbage like old pennies forgotten in a couch.
He's all cartridge, he bends in unnatural ways and always seems to escape.
He can step in a land mine and step out of it like dried dog using verbal gymnastics and scare tactics.
This man is an insult to men..and abuser of women...a bully to children...and a disgrace to humans...and yet....this man is president.
You're about to witness mayhem caused by the poetical beast incarnate
Stand back so you don't get sprayed by my pens cartridge
Stay if you're willing to witness beautiful murder by your favourite ugly artist
I stay up at night, thinking about how I'll succeed with my day plans
I talk for myself, I don't need a Paul Heyman
I'm focused on my next cards, while you cry about played hands
I got back up from everything that knocked me down
I won the battle even when I lost Some rounds
You just put on a brave face
I'm not letting go of my pen, so Poetry is in a safe place
I know some can't wait for the day I'm all rhymed out
Eminem said "How much damage can you do with a pen" well you're about to find out
I'll still stand if they ripped my spine out
Giving up is never an option no matter how much I'm hurt
To me this is life, to you it's just a verse
I'll die before I allow anyone to crush my words
I know some speak on me, saying he's just absurd
I'm crazy, insane and Bipolar, I've always told you that
But I'd be a fool to let it hold me back
Depression took it's best punch and I'm still standing
But it couldn't handle the punches I was handing
I studied my opponent, my victory came with planning
bragging about a battle won, is a distraction from focusing on the next battle
I'll play with 3 less tiles, and you still couldn't beat me at scrabble
I work better under pressure
I'm the poetical Brock Lesnar