Long Commentators Poems
Long Commentators Poems. Below are the most popular long Commentators by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Commentators poems by poem length and keyword.
Ronaldo, The New Emperor
It is news in Portugal: the footballer Ronaldo has won the Golden Ball, highlighting his importance in modern sports culture.
And the country rejoices. After Eusebio died, a new emperor was needed,
a hero people can look up to, one who can continue the people’s culture....
Football!
This is modernity: technology, instant messages, and the global reach of sports like football are shaping society.
Down to a game of football and a TV that has commentators who cannot stop
Talking about it. The mind appears not to expand as modern skill does, oftentimes it does.
A Little behind the days when people asked why rivers tended to run into
Luckily, they lacked the skills to make rivers run faster.
Straighter shaving off curves and circles.... The reason we live in relative peace
Has to do with what great thinkers thought and wrote about, and influenced our
In our imperfection, we looked up to the stars and asked questions, a curiosity that.
Modern mass media and sports have made us multicultural and interconnected, shaping a collective cultural identity that unites us all.
In the end, life is a game of soccer, and a football has no corners.
Like gladiators, though in suits,
They marched onto the stage,
Their confidence or nervousness
Impossible to gauge.
The moderator welcomed them.
The crowd gave their applause;
And then we held our breaths, in hope
Of seeing someone’s flaws.
Their words lashed out, attacking,
Modern weapons they were wielding;
And both repeated errors –
To the truth they weren’t yielding.
We squirmed a bit at things they said
And silently entreated,
Encouraging our candidate
To not act so defeated.
The commentators waited
‘Til the battle reached its end
And then declared the winner,
Which supporters would defend.
At home, we turned the tube off
And, elated or dismayed,
We wondered if the undecided
Might have gotten swayed.
With two more competitions
Plus the VP’s set to meet,
It’s too soon to determine
Who will end up in defeat.
The myopic state
We live in a precarious world when opinions
other than the official ones are banned and ignored
I’m thinking of RT (Russian TV.
That brings news and analyses of current events
the commentators are usually scholars, intellectuals
that do not get a hearing in the usual media
I watch the channel and many others to get a perspective
of the world, we live in.
I Germany RT has been banned because of not having
the right silenced. this is not true and RT is taken
the relevant authority to court.
Probably RT will lose.
There is in Europe and the USA a myopic view
of what we can say or do and many of us who question more
Will and cannot be heard.
This brings us to those who refuse the covid vaccine
they are not criminals but people who fear the restrictions
will lead to more restriction and when a constraint is in place
the likelihood is will be permanent that will
curtailing of freedom.
Our liberty to have a view other than the one accepted
by the sensors who works for the state against the will of the people
Flipping Through the Channels
By Franklin Price
3/11/2018
Flipping through the channels
On this, time changed, Sunday morn
The network commentators
Politically committing ****
Presenting their agenda
Spouting their one sided view
To degrade the opposition
To see who they can screw
We participate as voyeurs
Watch the honored guests they slam
The truth is secondary
For the hosts don't give a damn
Asking very pointed questions
Elicit answers for their side
When not hearing what they want,
Their guests are taken for a ride
Verbal water-boarding
Not below the path they choose
To make their guests look foolish
In presentation of the news
Sunday shows one sided
Commentators rant and rave
Have no doubt that Walter Cronkite
Is spinning over in his grave
The speech was reassuring,
The delivery was fine
And only one or two real whackos
Seemed to cross the line.
The commentators noticed that
Republicans all sat,
With stony faces and no clapping
For the Democrat.
In other years, some issues would
Unite the gathered crew,
But here’s my theory – MAGA folk
Are scared of you-know-who.
I wouldn’t be surprised to learn
That some were paid to note
If any “traitors” might have clapped,
For that would get his goat.
And all who weren’t loyal
Would be punished; so, in fear,
They dare not jeopardize the one
Who might end their career.
Zillion supporters screaming, a loud buzz,
Yearning to return home cheered by victory.
Xerox machines preparing the next day’s papers; Max
Wit for the shame or fame of a member of the show.
Violent vitriol from commentators like engine rev
Unites with supporters’ glee at likes of Eto’o or Kanu
To spur skill at each minute to get even one stunning stunt
Spirits soar, sink, so it is, for here serenity bores.
Roulette, lifté, counter-attack by one party raising the roar.
Quick kick! Oh no! Replay?! Why not? That must join the FAQ
Pray the corner kick slays the opponent; oh that header was sharp!
Oh he missed that goal again! No replay?! Hell no!
No! Now he’s channeled that ball too late for the man,
May the coach coach correctly and call him to quit the team!
Leave the pitch you little loss-bringing imp! LOL!
Khaki-wearing “messer” I can even get your reek!
Just as our jests are about to milk out laughs, I couldn’t find a word to end with “J”.
Instead I had a whole lot of them J-starting words. So I
Hunched to think, but then looked up at the BROOHAH:
GOAL GOAL!! Oops the scorer is the "Mr. Bug"!
Fooled? No, I’m still for him leaving,( Scoring oaf!)
Even though this elation, release and joy, came from his device!
Defensive tactics, offensive backing up, I can almost get mad
‘Cos the best defense is attack Doc!
Bye losers, we took this easy. Supporters bob
Away, and the whole stadium sleeps in the starlight bathed by mother Luna.
(c) Nyonglema
So, the glistening aim noticeably passes by,
So, the dangerous motion formidably goes by,
So, the unknown one remains unknown for the time being,
So, one is ahead of the petty singing.
The one and only is good-natured and well-behaved,
He is favoured and well-blessed.
Though the great Guide is sacrificed, done and dusted,
The honest being is fit, fine, and well-crafted.
The physical existence is going to be dealt with,
The mirrored organizations are going to vote for the myth.
The glass is going to be blurred by its connotations,
The pure man is defined by his situations.
The window is becoming larger day by day,
The commentators are solitary soldiers in their own way.
The perception is becoming blinded,
The light is the only lie that is provided.
Here, the perfect human is the representative of his species,
Here, he has grown up with his lengthy speeches.
Here, he is no longer unknown or unfeasible to catch,
And therefore, he has everything else to match.
War is Lovely
It´s a hell of a war, soldiers running between burning buildings.
It is a great war good for sex feel the strength running through veins
blood oozing out of bullet holes and onto the sand that is the other guy´s
the person called an enemy.
Was this their finest hour defending whatever they have told to defend
Wonderful war brilliantly red, and women dream of joining them
only to find they are out of place; soldiers will rather masturbate in a fox-hole.
Glorious war, something the survivors can talk about in the park playing card,
name the buddy who didn´t make it out lost in reveries and full moon.
Do they see the green leaves on trees or the flowers; is it all death and ruined buildings?
Forever etched in their crippled brains.
Oh, I´m so tired it is hurting me, endless wars and commentators explaining the murdering
of the innocent according to what the think-tank pays them.
I long for the autumnal colour in Portugal, a place to heal the abused body so distressed,
facing away from the TV, screen that drips of blood or failing that of football boots.
To walk on old cobblestones and fallen leaves and remember that we live in a beautiful world.
It stands in the middle of the field looking furiously across the distance with its two ears shooting in the sky and its adrenaline rising up in its feet and running around with fear.
What is the meaning in this when you are trying to get away from the precipice, the corners around it are very steep and it is walking towards the middle of the street running around in circle and doing a double dance.
The morning starts off with a bang with lots of media bangarang , pundits and commentators, deal breakers and opinion makers all gather around the town looking at full moon, and the miracle to be declared at noon.
It has been months of wrangle tangling and more than a hundred thousand hours of deal making and trucks full of negotiation driving up and down the street.
It alone knows what it wants, and it can only be said in expressions or in a few words moving slowly from the lips; it is not to be written on paper or fold up in a diaper but to be tendered gently and delivered with the rush of the breeze.
The horse is still walking around the track with a miracle mounted on its back and the sole of its feet has a marking that will show you how to enter the dome and exchange the throne.
Two phases are over and some people have just crossed over, the mountain is clear but the ambush is drawing near, a chicken in the middle of the street will make your heartbeat, it is unusual to see chickens in the middle of a busy street when traffic is flowing in several direction, and if you see a reindeer coming out of the bush leave that place quickly it might be an ambush .
The grape is running up the vine, the tension has decreased and the officials have taken to the street to stand in solidarity with the horse and the moose. I am wounded but I am not done yet, I will make your body sweat, I will go the extra miles until you breakdown and cry and I will lift you up and mount you on the horse and take you home.
Politics, politics!
Speculation runs rampant!
Words, and more words!
Slurs, lies, truths
And half-truths!
What is the truth?
Does anyone know?
If anyone knows,
Who is it?
Commentators, pundits
Speak loudly
And argue endlessly.
Reporters on the scene
Give us the “inside dope”!
Oh, really?
Is what they show us
Unslanted, unbiased,
Or does it merely
Justify a point of view?
Pork and more pork!
What’s mine is mine and
What’s yours is mine!
Graft, inside deals, corruption –
Where do we fit in?
Those of us who work,
Or used to, until we
Lost our jobs, our homes,
Our self-esteem?
We try to make our views,
Our pain, known -
We write letters, make calls!
Is anybody listening
Or is it all just
Politics as usual?