Long Commercial Poems
Long Commercial Poems. Below are the most popular long Commercial by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Commercial poems by poem length and keyword.
Old and Alone Through the City
Old and alone, autumn wanders bare through the city,
A smoke of memories coiling around the streetlamps,
The woman dissolved into the arms of another mirage,
And the dog grew old begging for the warmth of days.
The child who was never born wanders through the fog,
A bodyless shadow knocking at autumn's gates,
And the wind and the sun, old brothers of a lifetime,
Lean on each other on the steps of forgetting.
The old organ-grinder, with his leg of wood and dream,
Cranks out a melody rusted like a wound,
The old prostitute sells her shadow, the unclosed
Coffin of her longing under a pagan moon.
Someone in a graveyard whispers a song of wax,
An old head trembles, hollow as a scorched bell tower,
The tree shakes its leaves like a final summer,
The idiot from the commercial smiles, a wounded mask.
The whole city trembles, full of loneliness,
Crowds of old young people flow like a river of wax,
All of them, everything, old and alone, carrying in their chests a fortress
Of silences fallen to their knees, under the same bitter snowfall.
Mightn’t get any sleep
Nose pressed to the screen
so…colorful
so…dreamy
mesmerised
No one’s turned the faucet off
landfall imminent
head like a pressure cooker
build up
drip drip drip
commercial break drums
melody strums
calculating where my loved ones are
a hurricane inland!
the light’s turned off
outside
flashlight relied
upon
filling the tub
not for ducks
morbid message
for those who stayed
permanent i.d. yourself
so your loved ones
don’t need to guess
upon recovery
Mightn’t get any sleep
Nose pressed to the screen
so…colorful
so…dreamy
Cat 4
floored
Suburban resident pretense, a bleak uniformity.
I grew up among the repetitious homes,
isolated alienated, I wandered the conformity,
the endless square yards, the dull feckless syndrome.
Repugnant yet intriguing, a redundant singularity,
fabrications of fortified, fraudulent self-deception,
blocks and blocks of suffocating, vapid vanity,
I endured the bland boredom like an endless inquisition.
All history, all memory was recklessly strip-mined away.
Barren of lore, fat men rode loud, smelly power mowers
belching oil over manicured lawns with access to the highways.
Insular castles in the air, the tributes to white flight silently cowered.
Everyone tried to grin with toothpaste commercial smiles.
Everyone tried flaunting success with Chevrolet Bel Air fins
and backyard swimming pools, barbeque pits, or patio tiles.
Success was a charade hiding deep, wounded chagrins.
This was the sterile zeitgeist of a secretive colonization,
where everyone was living in Thoreau’s quiet desperation,
where in desolation and despair, every heart lay resigned,
where perverse platitudes and euphemisms numbed the mind.
This microcosm where all communal convictions were taken,
where the broken edges of confident affiliation never awakened,
where commodified adorations formed the language of thrill,
where a busyness cluttered every weary mind like a noisy drill.
I grew up among the monotony; I was devoured by the beast,
this juncture of moment and place, its pain has never ceased.
The Great American Make-Believe, for Bobby and Sue.
These property lines were the racial entitlement of a few.
Some recast this age as Great America, craving a narcotic,
but ennobling these glib, obdurate neighborhoods is ironic.
The Great American Make-Believe, for Richard and Nicole,
concealed the dejected anguish, searching for a soul.
1964, Saturday night, 7 p.m.
Mom has prepared meatloaf, scalloped corn and baked potatoes.
We are okay with this, sitting behind our TV trays
In the living room, waiting for Lawrence Welk to come on
Surrounded by wallpaper of giant green philodendron vines.
We are impatiently waiting for our favorite TV show.
So we can see the fabulous Lennon Sisters.
We have their paper dolls, don’t we?
“And now a word from our sponsor”.
But it is more than one word.
It is “see the USA in a Chevrolet”
and then it is “Plop Plop Fizz Fizz Oh What a Relief it is!”
Suddenly a Spaghettio commercial comes on.
“Mom! Can we have Spaghettios next Saturday?”
We say this in unison, not understanding
We just insulted the dinner she had spent an hour preparing.
Strange dreams last night
include gathering enthusiastic consumers
to shepherd and possibly own
cheaply decaying properties,
ghettoes of hopelessness,
ungodliness.
And, later,
an all male bacchanal
of real estate agents,
toned agencies for commercial acquisition,
surrounded by witnessing properties
of no sensory interest
to any realtime guy,
straight or gay
or in-between.
Gathered to teach their purchasers' desire
and demise
while getting naked
in a boorishly unsexy way,
while dispassionately watching
in time's eternal mirror.
They
and our witnessing
and witnessed properties
nakedly longing for resilient sensuality
and settling for this brief
spasmodic climax
of Time's young adult male supremacy
over realtime commodified markets
Iconic of mass mediated
male mattered
sexuality,
Visual
and, at best,
marginally sensual
Inviting touch without true feeling,
sight without warm hearing,
natural taste without spiritual fragrance,
being without belonging,
mass without energy
yang without yin
space without sufficient time
to dream,
remember
regenerate
resonate
resolve
dissolve,
Breathe in
as out
invites Earth's new dawn
PostViral 2020
strange dreams last...
Commercial (The TV Miniseries)
I watch TV all day, even when I play or sleep
Information about cars, phones, pharmaceuticals
Is what I’m craving for, so give me more
Drug companies pay billions to make a score
To educate, inform, cure us of diseases we don’t have
They make sure we watch and never think
Commercials play repeatedly
Even if we’re bored and snoring
Don’t blink
They save us from the heartbreak of scoliosis
I don’t know what that is or what it’s for
But give me more
I buy everything on shopping networks
Including insurance for car and house, though I don’t have them
I can’t live without meteor and nuclear war insurance
According to the message
I can’t wait for the new season to start
My heart is palpitating
Commercial, The Miniseries will air September in the nation
Pull up a chair and start your couch potations
It was a delicate time
Different than back in the 60’s,
A curiously odd trip to a town I had
remembered as clean and happy
Ocean waves the same
Too commercialized now
Bar signs everywhere
Scantily clad women in our faces
A town promoting liquor and debauchery
Maybe I had not noticed before
Because I was a child
Beaches littered by people yelling loudly
Seemed quieter before
I did not remember so much meanness
or loud brags
People leaving their wrappers
Not looking as they left
Not seeming to care
Tin people on beaches
-a different beach now
littered up and commercial
sad feelings arise-
May all sacred,
but not quite omnipotent,
fathers learn this day
as we impatiently correct
our stress-disordered sons
That respect is earned,
so maybe disrespect is too
positive and negative layered
for and against authority
for and sometimes restlessly against
repeating Business As Usual
white middle-class dadisms:
You snooze
you lose
May apply to your lethargic
chronically anxious
thuggish
couch-surfing
cannabis-fed son
And yet feels counter-intuitive
for babies
and us great grandads
who need our outside rest
away from commercial
too lit up
and loud
and relentlessly plastic
inhumane degradations
In such a rabidly anxious hurry
to wait for inevitable pandemics
and genocide,
floods
hurricanes
tsunamis
forest fires
drought
dry river beds
famine
insomnia
rabidity
insurance company bankruptcy
government balkanization
supremacist tribalism
Silent self-medicating snoozes
feels like a healthy alternative to:
capitalist narcissism
anthro-supreme monotheism
monoculturing nationalism
painful survivalist isolation
demented diseases
species extinctions
self v other criminalizations
weaponizations
May feel like hoarding safety
for defense-oriented males
on a bad day
in a depressing moment
Become
yackity yack disrespectful
feeling entitled to rightwing exclusively define
"real [unwoke narcissistic] men."
Yet quietly hiding
under these sacredly respected
and secular unrespected unsuspecting layers
of diverse manhood hues and warring cues
lie traumatizing patriarchal cultures.
Capital co-invested resilient climates
prefer cooperatively active integrity
over passive faith-based respect
and dramatically traumatic disrespect
and unenlightened
stress-triggered verbal unrespect
accelerating competitions,
dis-integrity
unhealthy desecrating excommunications.
Consecrating sacred solidarity feelings
learned today
converge synergetic need/want supportive
resonant polyvagal
resilient communication systems
searching for win/win reconnections
Even when sometimes disrespectfully correcting
my pre- and post-traumatic
stress disordered father
son.
My length of walk?
From origin as work
Defines energy in momentum
Obstruction is capable mathematics from here
On in the document
As sun crests new yorks harbor
In California I awaken to writing, publishing
Shower of body is not reachable
Nor the causeway of commerce
Food procurement
The framers cannot be gained by days end
Patterning a fold....this is that budget measure
Finish map with lifeline tent
Proximity build 1
Mean median and mode
Q factor constraints
Point a nearest origin (highways and bus)
Lag halts at commercial district mid service station
Janns road complex
Patience and safe space for respite and last words
Small portion control point of obstruction to prosperity
3189 characters left
These messages are being captured and archived in compliance with the Presidential Records Act or the Federal Records Act.
No money there
She trains coming
Circle homes, begging nothing
Waiting, reading, instructions, go! No?
Gotta, can't the jog
Moving in? With/while going out
2nd application note, pencil in me
Successful spy, avoid partnership
Partner with news ship
Next worry district going away
Reach and change rent appointments
Losing let down tap, taps
Taste of upstairs
Still in process of fold and arrive
Arrive greets and seats
Picture of joy
Joy of arrivals
Shuffle of gamble deposits
And loans to room matings
New officer of bank?
Sliding on staircases of banking exit
A vice president on the cover page?
In my early 70s (not THE early 70s) I discovered, without having had the benefit of being properly schooled for old age planning, that "long-term lifetime goals" have become "longish term waistline objectives" over maybe the next decade or so.
The retiring, too quickly transpiring, nature of these hoped for outcomes has also triaged down to a more responsible mature adult scale of peace-making literacy:
good health plans for resilient physical dexterity,
(used to be sexual athleticism)
good humored anticipation of resonant mental acuity,
(used to be world-famous genius)
and good faith passion for integrity
(used to be making a living by doing something not hopelessly toxic to everyone, everything, everywhere, all the time).
Big surprise in the gerontology department, lesser quantity of life, but healthier qualities of love.
A Taoist's pronoia version of fair trade.
(used to mean not-fair-trade paranoia about getting ripped off by suspiciously threatening Others, God, Aliens, Big Brother, Artificial Intelligence, Big Pharma, Big Government, Big Bullies, too much over-capitalized, and weaponized, Bigness, etc.)
Now I practice compassion-engaging faith and humor and health by responding to systemic TrumPublican trauma with music and movement therapy, and writing sexual politics poetry, for which there is not a large commercial market, and practicing good liturgical song and dance.
Now in my 70s, I've also noticed that good sacred music, like good humor, and good health, is not just about commitment to the stretching movement, but also to the silent rest.