Long Common people Poems
Long Common people Poems. Below are the most popular long Common people by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Common people poems by poem length and keyword.
imagine if all your heroes,
all your idols, all your
“spiritual leaders,” who
have supposedly written books
(or had books written for them/
by them), whose “lives” have
been depicted as such by those
who never lived when they lived,
who never saw what these
people were supposed to look like,
who tell us that they themselves
never had even an iota of
ulterior motive
in the making of these characters---
imagine if the characters themselves
were all in a room today,
a room somewhere in the middle of
nowhere, surrounded by psychiatrists &
sociologists, psychologists & representatives
of every normative leadership franchise
(full of presidents of nations, CEO’s of
companies, heads of military, heads of
churches, temples, mosques, etc.)---
imagine that they actually let some of
us “common people” into the room as
well & then imagine if those in charge of
the gathering allowed these
supposed heroes & idols to speak.
one after another,
those who have been looked up to for
guidance, those who have been painted on
walls, formed into sculptures, those who
have been killed for, those who have
“inspired” whole nations to kill each
other, those who have been talked to
by the zillions on bended knees with
their eyes closed for century upon
century---they all spoke &
as they did,
those watching who hold power, those
who gear the cultural trends for our
puny existence & all of us “common
people” as well, began to
diagnose these individuals in accordance
with the parlance of our times, whereby soon,
these characters would be found to
have multiple personalities…they’d be manic-
depressive…they’d be schizophrenic…they’d
be writhing with all the imperfections,
chemical imbalances, phobias, flaws &
disorders that are used now to write off every
single aspect of human behavior that
extends even the slightest outside that perfect
little square (like a child coloring hard along
the lines in a coloring book…never venturing
outside them) &
most of all,
all these once followed would be found to be
nothing more than as wretched as the rest of
us---one could go further &
assume that no books would be written about
them, no books would be “written by them” &
in a few years, much less than how long
they presently have all been looked up to for
the ages,
all these followed would disappear &
yet,
without any of them, we would all still get on---
yes we would.
It is not like these restaurants in America
with their sterile atmospheres: slick new furniture,
stylized art, ambient lights, and every angle
rationalized to the judgment of specialized interests.
It is a restaurant filled with details,
inviting customers to take in an experience while eating and drinking,
to converse casually and caress senses
with a collage of décor less convenient.
One side is open to the city,
looking out on multi-story hotels with lush landscaping,
palm frond trees and a pine tree
with spreading branches and a green cloud of needles above any tourists.
Short squat curved posts hold up a wide concrete rail
with two bouquets of flowers on it: one has small yellow blooms
while the other has white daises mixed with tiny red blooms.
A Mediterranean influence can be seen in columns
supporting a large opening onto the street.
It is also present in a mural painted on the wall.
In the mural a tall woman baring her breasts
looks down on an angel reaching out to her,
below them is a rural town and above them two puffy white clouds.
Painted around the kitchen doorway’s edge is a grapevine.
Near the doorway a statue of a nude child blows a horn.
At his feet are a bouquet of daises and some yellow candles.
In the center of the room is a wide wood column,
on which appears a green copper statue of a woman in a long dress,
holding a large round bouquet of live yellow daisies above her head.
There are four groups of people in the restaurant.
Two are near the wall.
Two are in the center of the room.
All sit at round tables draped with white linen trimmed with intricate patterns.
The chairs are curved with no angles.
Two small rams’ heads are carved on the top back pieces of each chair.
Each table has a bouquet of red flowers and a large yellow candle.
Customers drink beer from green bottles and tall clear glasses.
A waiter rushes out with the empties.
A man with a dark complexion, thick hair, and mustache
beams with friendly eyes and expressive hands
talking about things that interest common people.
For him common, in his place of impractical details.
For travelers far away from their bare, stripped, planned environment
his speech has a life that is new, different,
paced with living rather than practiced in haste.
The huge sky overseeing the emerald and bluish earth...
wouldn't be the only sky in our incredibly diverse Universe,
if limited sight weren't the obstacle to the awesome images that surprise couldn't conceal;
but many more galaxies hiding their splendid suns and planets,,
are still unknown and Man, overtaken by such a magnificence, expresses
himself in more atheistic ways not to compromise his own foolishness!
If we declare faith non-existent, cupidity can become our fetish...
filling us with more rampant pride to enforce its hypocritical seal!
More universes, like ours, lay dormant in their stillness,
" And will life be found on them? " is a question too inconclusive
that we can only answer by being so compellingly delusive;
more universes await the discoveries of the intelligent mind,
to lay out their awsomeness and beauty to discard the thought of finding life,
impelling us to preserve ours, not to destroy it by valiance or insanity!
Search history's events, are we capable of pursuing happiness...
without conquering and proclaiming our power with mighty armies?
In ancient days, they created unrealistic gods and goddesses...
not conceiving that the Supreme One wasn't a god in human form,
but rather the Invisible One, who often scolded them for their wickedness;
so in stone and marble they continued to sculpture divine faces
that the common people hailed and worshipped, and would they refuse
to obey their tyrant's wishes: their worthless lives would be taken...
and did Paul, the follower of Christ, go back to that cult so perverse?
We know, from the Holy Scriptures, he was converted and put down his sword...
More universes more magnificent than this one,
can be discovered and inhabited if they are livable;
and scientists are working hard along with astronauts to accomplish our dream,
and who isn't excited and show interest to take a voyage into the outer space?
Navigators ventured on perilous seas to attest that their concept was solid and real;
we, with more sophisticated computer science, are groped by the unthinkable!
Persuaded or not, discouraged or doubtful, researches must continue at our expense;
and what if we were successful, wouldn't everyone be taken by shock?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
While waiting but not watching for the sun to set, perhaps the bullfrogs are creating the shadows with their croaks, my friend screams out because he has been bitten by a fly. He is not quiet enough so the flies obtain special pleasure from teasing him. Meanwhile bluebirds skirt the lake surface like the most perfectly designed fighter planes in twos or threes and argue rising up on their tails into the air. While insects prey upon and tease the bare flesh and blood of we humans, they fear the silent violence, the sudden huge presences of these family birds.
A larva with a leaf tip for a cocoon descends a white birch by a long thread. We free ourselves from our writings to observe phenomenon. Then thinking about dinner. The flight of J. Krishnamurti, the eagle guru says even artists (after physicists and mathematicians) may penetrate the unknown if not too absorbed in their own emotions and imaginations. We common people too who loving our wives can love everyone.
What eyesight the bluebirds have to swoop the lake from shore for a flying insect or descend from fifty feet on a thin straw grass and return to chew absent-mindedly! Just fun having song sung among men. As for the syntax, a daisy could swing it unthinking and coast. Along the beehive rocks ants crawl on connecting interlacing instructions. All around us and inside too as if stars were unseen but present it's true. So a man desires breakfast with his lady; could it be more amusing, material or smell?
As the eyesun descends below spun clouds, spirit or the eagle or the drum? Round. The dialectic obscure couldn't be more better said. So round and serious. To love everyone with clearer vision than a bluebird or a lake is to transcend the innocence of insect and take flight action and feed the babies of fate. Phew! Dinner outside the cocoon. I brought myself a student upon the hill or mountain and said to myself I said Obo rebop in summer sweater and what less overweight can carry test uphill so slow? Presently, reformed, informed by the bluebird's eagle spirit, clear cleanhead, I return coagulating mightily ideas the bites of insects ow! to breakfast home and everywhere unknown. Hearing bird with clear conscience echo make.
Used to be a happy go around…later shrouded in frowns…?
For many a birth places…what are the shades of their faces…?
A log of many a cases…where are the words of their paces…
Memories of a ghetto…not in Soweto…
But it is located in Jamaica…some call it ‘Jah Mek Yah’…
Right there in Kingston…where the 70’s ‘kill some’…
With smears of being all poor…what is there to adore…?
Is there any glowing in their growing…or is it a constant lowing that is flowing…?
Incense of some violence…at times very intense…
Why question from whence…the condition of your fence…
Some work for minimum wage…till their children comes of age…
Some may try a ‘hustle’…amid times of a real tussle…
A school is the real tool…not to be classified a fool…
How many took the opportunity…was it there in its entirety…?
Expectations are low…within the underlying glow…
If you noted some highs…many people might accuse you of lies…
But what about some doctors…what are the determinations of their characters…?
What says of the lawyers…any semblance to Tom Sawyers…?
The list of engineers…worthy of professional scares…?
What of other professionals…would you question their rationales…?
What do you expect…outcasts in select…?
To put it in context…a myriad of rejects…?
Like some ‘Shotters’…what are their real matters…?
The diary of their jotters…to splatters…the brain of ‘ratters’…?
What of the common people…any conclusions from their STEEPLE…?
A ‘transfer’ will be good for him; or her survival…are there many a rivals...?
Through Western Union…is this the symbolic source of a reunion…?
Or through Money Gram…is it the lamb within a damn…?
Within the spacing of the land…are there any sightings of bland…?
Good gods of Moses…will their limitations exposes…?
Can they escape the brand…is there any magic in their wand…?
Within the society…what are the flavours of our notoriety…?
You are not from ‘uptown’…will I make you a frown…?
What’s the expectation of your game…any flame; or is it plain lame…?
Like ‘boys in the hood’…can you ever come good…?
Questions to a faction…what’s the typical reaction…?
Will you move beyond the seeming limits of your scope…?
Or will you condemn yourself to the notion of no hope…?
Jones Town…it once was my playground…
Chasing The American Dream Part1
The wonders of social media and its different applications ...
They allow everyone to make reconnections and link up broken communications...
Recently through the ever pervasive hphone What's app application...
Chanced upon a long lost childhood acquaintance while in primary education..
Going back 50 years or thereabouts, we were school kids so care free...
School was something we had to do going by our respective parents' decree...
Classmates were aplenty when we were that little and so carefree...
Being that many, some were invariably great company and others were on the periphery...
Now that this generation of us are all pushing 60, greying and decidedly growing old...
Facebook and What's app are some social media aids we indulge among friends so old...
Little wonder we are like scattered oats, prospering all over the globe...
Many of us are already dotting GrandParents and savoring our golden years...
A few adventurous souls have conquered distances, seas and the oceans...
They are no longer residing here in Bolehland, the motherland where they were born....
These adventurous ones are now Australians, Singaporeans and one is even in Kiwiland...
And of course, a few are living the American Dream, lapping it up in the Land of the Free...
Now, at the present moment in history, Bolehland here is far from rosy...
Our currency, thankfully it is stabilised temporarily, has fallen considerably...
The political situation is a tumultuous one with frequent spats of public bickering...
The ruling party appears less than satisfactory and perceived to be corrupted and less than worthy...
The common people, the rakyat, are understandably far from happy....
From the onslaught of removed subsidies, new taxes and heightened cost of living ...
So things are far from rosy here in Bolehland, very much unlike the fabled American Dream...
Where freedom reigns to provide golden opportunities of revelling in the American Dream...
So here's the glaring difference, Bolehland here is sliding down a slippery slope of economics...
While far beyond the horizon, the Trump administration is working towards making America Great Again...
What a difference...
There are 144,000 persons living in an open land. All are freemen and women. They have everything they needed to survive until one day when almost all people needed something else to quench their thirst for immortality. Not everyone wanted immortality where there is already peace and harmony in their common lifestyle. Some opted to live a simple life while more people were tempted to search for more to suffice their bodily pleasures.
"Whose idea is this?" one asked.
Many people replied: "Nobody except of some animals that approached us."
The same person asked another question: "How can animals talk to humans... in what language?"
Nobody answered out of the many people of over one hundred thousand.
Many days passed and day by day a group of men and women started moving to a different place. For a very long time where these common people have lived with serenity in the very same old place of peace and laughter, they are now being divided and scattered. No one was able to explain if it's an ideology or a new belief why people started to view things around them differently. People looked at each other in different ways unlike before. More years passed and almost everybody's gone except for a family of eight.
One day, this family discovered the place where almost everybody went... a secluded site believed to be a paradise in the outside, but only hatred and sorrow in the inside. People who immigrated to this new place can no longer return to their old blessed land which they once called "wasteland" -- land of their birth and good values.
Do you know where most people went?... a place immigrants called "Nede."
All six children-members of the only family left outside of the so called "Paradise of Nede" asked themselves if they can survive in the coming years. Their parents answered: "Why worry when you don't live with guilt?"
I only write, but never kill
My blood runs deep, but temperature is still
So deep and caressing as the ocean moves
Over sands and paper, always wet and proves
Reminiscing your memories in me
Reverberating your sweet thoughts of me
Your heart that speaks... my pen that tweaks!
(Prosebite)
At the breakdown of ages man disappears and reappears
In the form of an easy-to-use scheme
Over the last half-century, man has been replaced
By technocratic ideas of what a man is
But the real man can no longer fit into these forms,
which have shrunk like old clothes.
At the breakdown of ages, man is left to himself.
Politicians and their servants are becoming more paranoid,
Which isn’t surprising at all, and the common
Become even more apolitical than before.
At the breaking of the ages, there is a time of no time.
Reality postulates wars, destruction
and the breaking of ties for nothing,
But simply by virtue of political games,
Their uncontrollable inertia of enmity.
Enmity has no calculated cost, and no rational reason,
Proposed justifications only multiply sorrowful nonsense.
Politicians want admiration, no matter the context,
Common people want to be left alone
At least in the negative sense of peace
Criticise us all you want, just leave us alone
If we're so unteachable, then don't teach us,
Go teach your children instead, save your time
Don't adopt or foster us, for God's sake.
Take all your money, grab us with taxes, spend it as you like,
Run secret emissions if you don't have enough money.
Declare yourself champions of the universe
In all your favourite genres, fests, competitions.
Award yourselves whatever prizes you like,
Just don't impose for the zillionth time
Your legalised insanity to us plebs,
We're not your doctors or patients.
Complain to God, MP, GP, journalist, priest
About our impenetrable stupidity, just get off our backs.
Lock yourselves in some suitable metaphysics,
Tell in the school textbooks about you, the greats
About your heroic struggle for our freedom
In choosing a bank and an insurance company.
All power ends with aging and loss of meaning.
The survivors of your era
Will go by about their business looking at their phones
Past your pigeon pooped statues
And for the younger generation
You will be just a line they’ll be forced to remember
At the history exam, settled as if on purpose
For momentary forgetting right after passing.
He was a sort of a king, a man at the top of King Hill. He had the most food, and the most guns. He had servants at first, but they were too hard to feed after a bit, so he let them go. When he was younger he used to come out of his glass castle and look down the hill at the common people, but that got depressing as he aged.
All around him was famine. The common people were starving and fighting over food rations. He watched in curiosity as they fought over ham steaks and bags of grain. One day the almost-king watched the Theys round up the Bittles. First they rounded the Bittles up, then they tied them to trees, and let them starve and die of thirst. He could have helped save them, but he did not want to get involved.
They came for the Zygons next. The Zygons did not go as peacefully. They fought and clawed, kicked, hissed and spit. But They rounded them up anyway and locked them into stocks where the almost-King could see them, but he did not know anything about Zygons. Why should he help them?
The almost king was looking from his balcony one day, when something treacherous was happening to the Lillies. The Lillies had always been kind to him, and he felt badly about it, but he was afraid to speak because his castle was made of glass, and he was rapidly becoming afraid of the Theys.
So he hid inside, and did not open the door to anyone. The Theys were surprised when they came up the hill to round up the Polk Noses. The Polka Noses had weapons. They fought bravely, hurting some of the Theys. But in the end, they got the Polka Noses under control.
The Theys were becoming a formidable group. There were thousands of them now and more Theys were joining them every day. Joining is better than being targeted by the Theys, right? Ask my cousin, who used to be a We.
The almost king disapproved of the Theys now, but fear kept him silent. He was hoping they would not notice him or his glass castle. He hid inside, not protesting, not making any noise at all, fearfully silent until they started chanting as they came up the hill.
Moral of this Story: Speak up before they come and get you.
That Ancient Darkside of All Hallows’ Eve Past
As in the fabled medieval times of centuries in the deep past,
It’s time once again to celebrate the hidden ugly horror that
Seeks to infest and devour all human souls in this new century.
Be warned that false-faced beggars shall knock at each door,
And unbeknownst to the common people that they shall meet
On this All Hallows’ Eve—all shall not be well and normal!
With their bloodstained masks these real Ghosts, Ghouls and
Goblins shall shout out “Trick or Treat” as a fiend’s true cover
For something that’s sordid, unclean, ungodly, and macabre.
Looking for a clever sweet surprise for the unsuspecting souls,
These devilish minions begin gathering and dancing wildly to
“The Dark Spirit of the Pale Hallowed Moon” on this night!
Shawled with the darkness of souls and their living nightmares,
Ghastly silver phantoms now seek to scare the living-death out
Of every innocent person they encounter on this darkest eve.
Houses are marked by an eerie orange-pumpkin-light escaping
Into the dancing-dark shadows that hold all night-life precious,
As these phantoms move freely in the frigid breath of this night!
Creating a palpable angst they begin shaking the tree branches as
Horrid and terrifying spirits of true evil and witchcraft escape into
The cold-dark ether caught up in the vile magic of Lucifer himself.
Fortunately, they are tricked by the sound of an old tune playing a
Heavenly paean for knowing “What's Right From What’s Wrong,”
And warning them that the wrath of Almighty God awaits them!
In the end, the absolute power and holy majesty of Almighty God
Served as the saving grace to this foul situation which threatened
The innocent souls who were ensnared by these unholy phantoms.
And so, if thou doth question the probity of what hath been related to
You in this sacred narrative, then thou shall risk forfeit of your soul,
As these evil phantoms lurketh ever in the shadows and never forget!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 19, 2018
(Tercet)