Long Controlling Poems
Long Controlling Poems. Below are the most popular long Controlling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Controlling poems by poem length and keyword.
She arrived driving a black cougar red
interior a dark pony tail she was the only female
agent so she would always install the wires on
my unborn child she was working under FBI
Leroy Heimbach he would become supervisor
for the Milwaukee FBI they were both out of the
federal bureau of investigation Chicago investigations
into corrupt officers selling drugs led to the arrest
of Catrina Bell Mckissick my stalker attacked me in
broad daylight with four gang members two men held
both my hands while catrina bell brutally punched
kicked scratched pulled my hair my only escape was
being a dancer I leaned into the men holding my arms
and used my legs to break free both men released me
I fell to the ground face to face with detective my attackers
uncle Richard Mckissick he warns me i better not go to court
or else because Catrina Bell was his niece she already brutally
beat four other women including a rite aid clerk and a car bombing
I went to court my life has been threatened every since
it was special agent Paula Brand convicted the corruption
operation all the dealers including Catrina Bell was convicted
six years what a blessing she became a queen pin gangster
disciple gang leader behind bars controlling recruiting female gang
members the Wisconsin women prison actually intimidating
inmates to give false statements against FBI informants
witnesses victims and their children in order to convict innocent
prey and grant early release for severe repeat habitual violent
offenders in Wisconsin to allow terrorist back on the streets
special agent Paula Brand warned me never ever return to this
deep dark organized crime corruption operation a vicious stealth
a tangible intimidating wrath craving my blood craving my death
I am America
Western Prairie Desert Dust. Tumbleweed fly. Howling winds, Shutters pounding houses. A former gas station once active in but now is a Greyhound Bus stop. The place being Howl Town, Arizona. The Ghost town had no trace of citizens visible. Were they still there? Bus passengers were asleep but suddenly awakened in the sunrise. The thought of Nightmare on Elm Street. Another male passenger was boarding for his start on the trip. He had an evil and sinister look. He maneuvered himself towards the back of the Greyhound bus. All the passengers didn’t want to fall back to sleep. No one knew what the male passenger was thinking because he talked to himself. His mind controlling his every thought. The Greyhound bus bound for Los Angeles had originated from New York City. Will the Greyhound bus passengers arrive at the designated finale safely or will it be the end of the road? The passengers wondered and attempted being prepared for anything. At least that is what they thought. Suddenly, the male passenger made his move scoping passenger after passenger. Immediately, one passenger was attacked with a big sword sharp, and his head was cut off and following more deadly manic murders. Passenger after passenger was a continuation of killings. The male passenger that boarded was Demon possessed, and it was kill, kill and kill. Some passengers even had skin torn from their faces with no recognition. While other passengers were stabbed hard to their chest. The Greyhound Bus Driver’s head was cut off and caused the bus to go out of control and falling deep down the mountain gorge and falling on its side. The bus burst into flames. Screams were made during the first attack. No warning. Breaking News flashed on TV News reported the bus crash, but it was announced no survivals. Yet the male passenger wasn’t accounted for. How did he escape, and what will be his next stop? For the Greyhound bus passengers, it was Detour miles of journey kill. The male passenger is now wanted Dead or Alive by authorities. A word of caution, your town could be next. Worry, worry, worry. Don’t go asleep as there is no promise you will wake up. The male passenger lurks and could be watching you right now.
Beware and alert. You have been warned.
Witch’s Story
You were evilest of the evil
Controlling earth, wind, fire and water
Your kind persecuted young children
And brought virtuous men into sin
You were hunted by good men
Tried on the filmiest of evidence
And burned surrounded by jeers and drinking
But times have changed ever so slowly
Your kind still exists
Gone are the stereotypes of so long ago
You are no longer feared or hated
You still belong to nature
And you teach others of your beliefs
Wicca is a miracle in itself
Surviving persecution and death
It became a symbol of love, faith and peace
And you are proud to be a witch
You are alone,
So what if everybody has gone,
You are not yet blind,
Solution to the problem you just have to find,
Count your blessings,
Not your faults,
You have got it all,
Just don't lose your control,
You can still reclaim your crown,
Just don't bow down.
You may have lost your mind,
Just because the monsters inside your head is controlling your mind,
Sometimes you don't understand the problem is what about,
Because you are wrapped up in your self doubt,
But there is so much more,
Which you can't ignore,
So just forget your past,
And make sure that you are not your past,
Because you can still reclaim your crown,
Just don't bow down.
You can still control your madness,
But there is no logic in your sadness,
Because you gain nothing from misery,
And this is not your destiny,
Put your faults to bed,
Don't loose hopes even if it is the end,
Even if you fall down just get up again,
Because you can be king or Queen again,
For that you have to reclaim your crown,
Just don't bow down.
Ennui conspires insipid moods
infringing human awareness,
ruled by a lunatic vision,
not controlled by insight and lucidity;
and desires of a Dolce Vita
mollify a false illusion
to appear on an intaglio, to gradually
become a shining insignia.
To steer a ship, takes effort and patience,
and if its course is guided by favorable winds,
all is well for the adventurous captain;
and should he lose focus, lured by lunacy and nihilism,
his enthusiasm wears out and failure sets in...
and his ship will lurch on unfriendly waves,
and his ennui lessens courage to deviate
from the safe route when nocturnal vision is lost indeed.
Ennui insinuates myopia,
muzzling the voice and halting
the mind's performance,
thus forging the promise of utopia;
and the hunch is to pursue intuition
whenever it may lead...being
the holster controlling the steed,
getting rid of the humdrum and huff,
humming and ignoring the hourglass,
which trickles sand to infuse fear.
Maria Flores
1878-1923
Si, he was muy macho!
I was the last to see him.
Before Senor White sealed his body for eternity,
Inside the cheapest casket I had ever seen!
And I was working there, for White-Emerson,
From the time I was 16,
Combing the dead’s hair, and mixing make-up.
Señora White, she put the make-up on their faces,
And I stood back by the door and watched.
At first, it was two or three bodies a week,
Mostly white folk, stiff and cold as ice;
They were Whittier people I did not know;
Older folk with life’s road behind them,
And young childer, brought in by wailing parents,
Dead from sickness and accident.
I prayed for these poor people because they were sad.
Later, the visits of the ever-marching dead,
Became a more common event,
Every day he, Señor White, brought the dead in,
Every day I combed their hair.
This I did until I myself died in 1923,
Giving birth to my still-born son.
Then it was my turn for Señora White,
To apply my face with fake life;
Her creams, rinses and perfumes, magically,
Made me appear as alive as I was.
But oh, I wish now to trick fake death,
And live again,
Be there again,
Down in the dark embalming room,
There at White Emerson, with him.
Si, he was muy macho!
And yes, I was the girl to love Roscoe last!
Me, a nobody Mexican with little money.
Shh, let us whisper now.
Let us be quiet and honest;
I was the last one to coddle him there,
The last to stroke his lifeless bill,
My eagle of a man!
There in the still darkness,
He, the most handsome boy,
My eyes had ever seen!
Dead and lifeless there,
In my secret embrace!
Dead in my controlling grasp!
I combed his locks for two hours,
And prayed, yes, I prayed,
For his departed soul, and body too,
For, let it be known to all,
For it no longer matters at all,
I was the last girl to have him.
Muy Macho!
Controlling my breathing in a cloud-like pattern.
No one, not even a bucket of slime can hurt me.
Lying down “Not Really.”
Feels like it,
The horizontal sensation.
Jumping out at me.
They play like that.
Molecules inside me, and out there.
All in a bedroom where I’m always alive.
Everyone has a time where they don’t sleep.
Just like a fly doesn’t sleep, he just exists.
Overhead.
Behind nothing.
No one can explain how a dream-like state can pinch and bite like this.
Then it’s not dream-like is it?
It’s just a pulley system tugging me out of the well.
Drop down again.
The sun doesn’t do anything.
Doesn’t even haunt me.
Just expands and extends everything and all the planets circle in agreement.
And that’s what rest is to me.
Time – a prison
I see my Daughter’s life, spent in a time capsule,
locked in this prison, a prisoner of her own devices,
waiting for the phone to ring, to bring her to life,
to open the cage door, behind which she keeps herself,
hidden, setting her free for a moment, to run,
with living time, instead of locked up in it,
letting it be her guide, carrying her along.
The moment of life passes, time once again stands still,
as she reincarcerates herself, relegated to that void,
that pain filled space of motionless, lifeless time,
dead time created by, imprisoned by her belief
- in this conman, a man steeped in ********, in lies,
this imbecilic child in a man’s shell -
that it’s love coming from this controlling child / man
fated by, fuelled by the emotions of a child, my Child.
Oh !!!, to turn back the clock, if but I could,
teach my Daughters, they need not, should
not follow, blindly, the footsteps of us who would
send them on a journey towards self-destruction,
we, who guided them along without instruction,
we who failed them miserably!!!
That we, be their mother and me.
B. J. “A ” 2
May 5th 2002
It is in the air
Maybe the chair
Giving everyone a health care scare
And that is not fair
Added to having the homework done
And recess fun
Wearing a mask
Is the law abiding marketed task
Saying this will solve the problem
Scripted “We got them”
Ending the virus infection
As a prescription protection
Face covering does have an angry sight
Uncomfortable and tight
Frightful with might
Trying to breathe
Taking away human expressions to see
Trust needs to come on board
To win the invisible contagious war
By showing the door
Defeating controlling factors looking for a power play score
This is a choice
Made behind the godly surgical hidden voice
“I see your man date
And raise you ‘after Election Day get things straight’”
This is a concern
Distractions in the environment where students learn
Both book smarts
And social starts
Memorizing everything by heart
In order to be ready in playing a part
In this debatable plot
Dumped on those wanting a shot
Know the setting
Before betting
Taking the mask off
And getting a life threatening cough
From the smoke
That the Marlboro cowboy stoked
And the entertainers puffed while telling a joke
Sipping on something added to their coca coke
Wearing a mask is not a way to conform
Instead it’s a peaceful way during a storm
To call the house
Squeaky as a mouse
“I hope you have a better hand
In this political party stand
Or a new generation will win the pot voting ‘you are canned’”
So, party with me in this passionate, illuminated night; there’s a disco ball hanging by the last thread – off with your head if you don’t fight what I call the greatest fight – stand tall and give it your all and you’ll stay by my side this shining night! Shimmer anew like fresh drops of dew on the green, green grass, for the grass on the other side of the hill is fading away into desert land….dry with remorse, hot with discord, getting outtah course, the expense – they must afford without uttering a single sound-of-a-word! Release your wings from bondage’s chains and take wing out of your captivity’s cold chambers that buried under by the snow of the perilous past!~ I lost my hopeful speeches that has been tucked into my memory files…We need a happily ever after after all! Deplorable Reality’s strategic tragedy stings like billion’s of buzzin’ busy bees out of their honey dens or hives! You kill’d me inside and out and I won’t pout like a child, running about! You killed me with your lonesome song and I have no slight doubt about that, if you know what I am speaking of no doubt! Are you damaged by your suicidal depression? Do you have any clue what I’ve been through? Anxiety took a toll on you – you’re in its session…it’s controlling you like a puppet, doing whatever the puppet master tells it to do! You are fenced in by the absence of hope and the approval of avarice appeal! Ignorant to the time, drifting away from your grasp! You hold your breath and you gasp! At last, you understand how important it is to immediately dispose of your expense! Just reap what you sow and pay up for your sins! Deplorable Reality’s strategic tragedy stings like billion’s of buzzin’ busy bees out of their honey dens or hives! For some odd reason, I love uneven numbers…some say they love even numbers, but whatever suits their fancy, or as I say it, whatever floats their demented boats!!