Long Commute Poems
Long Commute Poems. Below are the most popular long Commute by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Commute poems by poem length and keyword.
It is Labor Day
I am paid not work
but what am I to do
the festive trimmings are not attached
so the perk is an useless quirk and
my boring schedule quickly fills in the gaps
as usual, my alarm sounds at 6am
the coffee maker perks at 6:15am
my rested body flings away the covers
I watch the Today show while shaving
fetch the newspaper, quickly scan the headlines
wait, I have more time my curiosity to prime
but the dog is on his normal morning schedule
so I speed to the door, his bladder to mollify
no fancy holiday breakfast awaits in the kitchen
so, on cue, I grab an egg, poach it, down some juice
my family sleeps on through the holiday mirage
my engine is in overdrive, but where to go
no parades, pageants append this vapid day
but there is no reason to stay at home either
no arriving relatives to amend the boredom
still, I have one day's free pay to spend
maybe, I'll take the car to the wash
nah, that is a weekend ritual
perhaps, I will canvas Pro Bass Shop
nah, the drive is longer than my work commute
OK, I will stay at home and be a utilitarian
I can finish trimming the bedroom shutters
but wait, I am out of that flossy white paint
and didn't my wife need the car for her
annual holiday shopping spree
I could re-mow the lawn to give it
a manicured look, but nah
to labor on Labor day is too oxymoronic
so I curl up in front of the TV
finish watching the Today show
contented with the lofty notion that
I am being paid to while away the day
Tell all the worlds about the treasures found
Renaissance trace spellbound in the ancient form,
Tender and haunting; an era of time curves around
Past the present to a future beset with tech charm.
Historical pages cling romantically to our eyes,
Each epoch defines a sparkling gem of surprise,
Their fluttered rebirth is like stars changing sizes
Release by time flown from the damp demise.
That dip their limbs to bow unto gloss modernity
Like the artist and sculpture, they paint a world.
Of aesthetic peculiarities and lofty discovery,
Longing to find a place soaring free in the soul.
A vault of citadels says much; then said no more
Deep within, ancient wonders rise from the ashes
Talented beauty weaves from centuries we adore,
The time and place asleep in a waste wilderness.
The plague of colors survives in medieval triumph,
England, a literary monument of architect literature.
Finds the noble heart to express cherished breath
Creating the etiquette claimed by French culture.
Such dept alone could not be paid by metamorphism
Humanism fading in a mist has its place in society,
Heightened with extreme lust and erotic mannerism,
Italy removes the conscious veil from bizarre reality.
Ceiling significant through music strings serenade,
Renaissance dazed; allusion lay dreaming half awake
The inquisition of fate went on pilgrimage made,
German sentence commute through the classical gate.
The Netherlands explore and navigate all the distances
Byzantine adherence goes beyond impregnable walls,
depict faces of the Tsars persist in the military hypothesis,
And labyrinths take refuge in Russian banqueting halls.
The richest measured proportion of distilled beverage,
Vodka values more than all the dull limited senses,
Spanish religion repository of the myths and rage
Set the path where new western experience commences.
Portugal selfie, the pinnacle piece that thirsts for commerce
Lisbon flourished paints and medicines with Flemish.
Poland concept and conflict gain border land dominance,
Spice trade rises high and makes indiscreet allusion flourish.
We travel far beyond renaissance to the greatest monument,
When the transition of culture from the middle age evolved
Mesmerized art is a rediscovery of an enduring cultural movement,
The monarch of the Roman Empire renaissance man inspired.
If I let my heart be broken by a stranger
Is it impossible to believe
Or if loving at the first of sights
Not embarrassingly naive
Or if I claimed to know of true intentions
From a flurried passing gaze
Or if from but a fleeted greeting
Be colorfully amazed
Or if to me it makes no difference
Instants or many years
Or if without specifics
Commute your pain into my tears
Or if clairvoyantly I see the way
Of two becoming one
Or if to me it's always been shone
Like the everlasting sun
Or if you could only know me wholly
Now the way I see your soul
Or if it would only take forever
Fervorous ardor full
What if dawn’s amethyst light is just a murmur,
a suggestion we agreed upon while sleeping?
The alarm clock’s persistence, the morning commute~
all figments, conjured by the mind
that forgot it was dreaming.
What if every touch is ephemeral,
watercolors on the canvas of our own choosing and making~
and the body, with its ego and burning desires,
merely a costume we wear
to dance atop the pulse of the unreal?
What if love is the only law in this realm~
gravity dissolves, skin translucent
like the space between stars,
and every wound we stitch ourselves
is just another thread in the tapestry
we wove just for the satisfaction
of unraveling and learning?
What if we wake, and none of this was ever solid?
What if that is the secret?
We've been imprisoned in our own homes
to fight a disease so devatasting,
and the impact on our well-being
is depression and solitude distancing lives!
How delightful was to take a stroll in Manhattan,
view the tall skyscrapers while munching on a honey bun!
People were cheerful and always said hello,
where did our genuine happiness and positive attitude go?
Wearing a face mask is a requirement,
don't walk into a supermarket without it:
you'll be forbidden to enter the premises;
be very considerate, think about others!
Health advisers promise a possible vaccine
by the end of this year and it shows promise,
the pandemic is spiking, children aren't immune;
will they go back to school and happily commute?
I have applied for a new job to beat boredom,
age is not a factor when you got the enthusiam;
staying at home ages your body and makes you weak,
I have to rejuvenate myself and not become a freak!
Ah, yesteryear as we remember it is missed and wanted again,
only viewed into the mirror of consciuosness when joy excited us!
Can it be revived and be ours again after this deep crisis?
Ah, all these reminisced memories conjure us to a speedy return!
Passersby rush past on their daily commute to work
Day after day they see me; or others like me.
We’re like unwanted rubbish on the city streets
cowering in shop doorways, acting like frightened animals.
People hurry by; few look me directly in the eye …
I guess they think I’m trash,
just a discarded soul littering the street
The cops come along acting like the trash collectors
moving me on and dumping me elsewhere.
People seldom ask me my story,
what compelled to live on the streets -
if only people would stop and listen.
Gee if I could turn my life around I would
Every night I dream of sleeping in a warm cosy bed
having food in my starving belly, a job ….
There are many war veterans forced to live in ‘cardboard city’
They gave so much for their country …
now abandoned, they are the forgotten army.
Contest: Garbage.N/A in contest judged on 7/22/16
Submitted to I Got Zero, Nothing, Nada- 2 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings
07~17~16
This morning as I was driving to work
A car passed by that was driven by a jerk.
He flew by me and then cut in front,
But I didn’t care much for his little stunt.
I dare not honk in this day and age;
He might just shoot me to show his rage;
Nor show my displeasure by flashing my brights;
lest I end up as the subject of a fight.
I pull beside him and look at him long;
He flips me off like I did something wrong.
This is my life; it’s such a pity;
my daily commute through the big city.
This daily commute is starting to suck;
going to work each day to make a buck.
I say to myself why not retire,
And quit this commute before I expire.
Skyline shadows
Moody clouds stain;
Tempest confronts
Broken winged bird
Life pulse oozing;
Death comes around
Umbrellas clutter
Colours now drenched;
Rain and wind dance
Wind-blown message
Beyond weather forecast;
Aqueous revelations
Dreary moods linger
Suburban contours;
Torrential downpour
Wet day forfeits
Dry sanity;
Misty mad coldness
Freezing cold
Hurls shivers;
Teeth-rattling commute
See that mad man
Crazy and insane;
Thinks we are all mad
Happy charades
In a mad town;
Mourn with regret
Tea at the circus
Clowns tell you how;
Manage madness well
Go with the flow
Just let me know;
Confront vain ego
Leon Enriquez
11 August 2014
Singapore
Intelligence
Knowledge
Ivy League
State Educated
Working Class
Upper Class
Held in high regard
Or a lowly security guard
Single Parent
Family of 10
Reared in a Pen
Holidaying in the Hampton's
Penthouse suite on the corner of 5th and Central
Bus commute to work
Or Chauffeur driven limos
And Broadway shows
Or pint of beer and salt and vinegar crisps
Hand me downs and a handshake from dad for a birthday gift
Can't buy love
Can't put a monetary price upon it
Its priceless
Everything else is window dressing
There are as many if not more
Unhappy wealthy people than there are poor
It is indeed a worthy pursuit, but it's not a morning commute.
That it's even achievable, some would dispute. But those who do deserves a most joyous salute.
No, it cannot be created by the sound of my voice.
But yes, my happiness has a lot to do with my choice.
To some, it disappears as quickly as the morning dew. It's reality varies, because there are many points of view.
Calm and solace; peace and poise; or even silence is involved; but if one truly has it, temporal matters will not easily dissolve
true happiness; nor does material possessions make it possible. Sadness is a pricy package of life, but being happy is still affordable.
06282017PSContest, Happy Days, Nayda Negron