Long Corporate Poems
Long Corporate Poems. Below are the most popular long Corporate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Corporate poems by poem length and keyword.
Woodland lakes inspire making room for joy
and leaving rooms of gloom
for ruminating sadness
below darkly ruminating fear forests,
where senses slowly fade
toward disintegrating death.
Making room for glad
lake lands deep maddening sad
with wood fuels
released from landscaped trees
beheaded and disrooted from landscapes
now conformed to commodified manscapes
submerged from indigenously wild
toward domestic unwooded lakes
of perpetual badness.
If positive polynomial polypaths
form woodland lakes for beauty
and repose
then so too
all notnot monomial monopaths lead to double negatives,
as time squared marches
to soft-lit tunes
and souls of woodland lakes;
where lonely manscape sad
replaces belonging landscape glad
as upstraight corporate bad contrasts gay EarthIncorporated good
as mad monotheistic domestications
seek more polypathic wilderness anticipations
floating on water forested
double-binding co-reflective surfaces
out and in
over and under
lakes of woodlands.
Not truly seen
if not also heard,
more fairly touched by human trusted hands
when also felt by divine beauty minds
all this lake's past waters
sinking down to summer up again
as sun spins set to co-arise tomorrow
Woodland lakes
best seen and manscape smelled
in tasteful co-reflective landscapes.
From Charts to Helmets
I rose in the glow of digital screens,
A queen of forex, a ruler of crypto dreams.
In the unreal world where numbers collide,
I coached forty thousand to trade with pride.
I built empires in fintech’s embrace,
Carved my mark, left a lasting trace.
From graphs and codes to crowds inspired,
A voice that lifted, a fire that never tired.
But destiny whispered a different call,
Beyond the markets, beyond it all.
Into the factories, the sites, the steel,
Where safety at work becomes power made real.
Now I wear a crown of another kind,
Protecting lives, securing minds.
From trading floors to corporate gates,
I guard the future where safety waits.
I’ve served my part in fintech’s flame,
And now in safety, I stake my claim.
For whether in markets or worksites unseen,
I stand unshaken—forever a queen.
Freddie the furlough
Sat there with his Merlot
Watching the sun go up and down
While his body got tan and brown
They said they had full control
That is what Freddie the Furlough was told
Sitting in his cubicle one day
They came over to say, ‘you are still going to get pay’
Are you asking me to take an absentee leave?
Despite my hourly wages having not much of a fee
It is time for you to go
They repeated to Freddie the Furlough
You do not need me
I do see
Without a tear
Freddie the Furlough got up having no fear
Tired of all this shtick
Considered office tricks
Freddie the Furlough knew he performed his tasks
Honestly not needing to hide behind any corporate flask
Resulting in wearing the afternoon mask
Freddie the Furlough did not fold
Instead he was pretty bold
In dealing with this feeling of cold
From this job they thought he loved
And in reality the one he was ready to shove
Freddie the Furlough
Finished his Merlot
With enough cash in his tin
And knowing that the day was a win
Entitling Freddie the Furlough to a Jimmy Buffet happy hour fin
It saddens me
To read poems of our poets
Anguish of life
And society knows it
The threat of eviction
Because no jobs can pay
Multi conglomerates
Stand in our way
Their tall buildings
Overlook our homes
Shadowing the poor
Savings they comb
Destitute families
Looking for a way out
Administration
Give them a shout
We voted you in
To change for the good
No wonder so many
Have to turned to the hood
The weight of the world
Is on us all
But the ones at the top
They rarely fall
So Corporate America
And corporates worldwide
You wouldn't be there
Without us, by your side
Written after reading James Peranteau's poem " I'll loose my little Son "
whilst listening to Tommy Shaw's " The Weight of the World "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/loss.php
They came with robes and golden rings,
Not to heal — but to own sacred things.
With Bibles bound in blood and silk,
They turned living water into poisoned milk.
Altars became ATMs,
Forgiveness priced in tithes and gems.
Salvation auctioned on Sunday screens,
While hungry mouths haunt shattered dreams.
They preach of heaven, sowing fear,
But drive their heaven in Bentleys near.
They claim to serve the Lamb once slain —
Yet dine in halls of Caesar's gain.
Not soul but ego leads the choir,
Their prayers are wires, their God — empire.
The gospel now a corporate creed,
With holy names used just for greed.
But beneath this glass cathedral’s dome,
The Spirit weeps and finds no home.
For truth is quiet, love is free,
Not bound by walls or policy.
And still, the light that can't be sold,
Flickers in hearts both brave and bold.
The soul knows lies, the heart can see —
That faith was never meant to flee.
So let them sell their plastic grace,
While truth returns to its rightful place.
Not in a pulpit draped in gold —
But in the silence prophets hold.
Full of courage, winter,
geese fly north. The car
almost wouldn't start.
Drive along the Mohawk
flood plain. Cattails, grasses,
no doubt ash and elm.
Restful tans and browns.
Flat, low, but still city.
Arrive at the interview.
Corner of State and Clinton,
luminous blue corporate logo
between empty store fronts.
That they might not offer me the job
and they might, make me equally sad.
Fly in formation, life for pay.
Young, my boast had been
distances and heights traveled. Now
any road serves well
as the long narrow road to the north.
The cold, quiet solitude of that road
would serve well too.
The story of Sally, the story of John.
It takes an advanced, healthy economy
to produce science and technology
but aborigines may track animals
and draw symbols in the sand, give
each cloud and bird and tree a personal
secret name. And explain according
to a logic for which we need equations
how geese in winter flow north today.
Gadflies
are not about group hugs.
Communion is more of a catholic honey bee paradigm
of win/win resonant satiation;
A winter seasonal anti-climax of body
but ecstatic dreamy democratic mind feeling
perpetual gratitude attitude,
safe ego
within this significant paradigmatic ecosystem
of compassion communication.
Gadflies are more about spring
and sometimes overwrought
over-heated climatic summer,
LeftWings tempted
by win/lose RightWing
LeftBrain dominant communication
competition
win/lose
either military-industrialized capitalism or corporate death
debate
And defensive
unsafe anxieties about chronically stressed economies
of capital-nutrition over-infestment,
political disempowering degeneration,
blind rabid faith prayers sacrificing costs
to be paid by future thirsty
drowning
burning
choking
starving
dying generations.
Gadflies
may not worry enough about death
of Earth's global anthro-elite ecosystem,
too frantic with hungry
competitive need to ego-replicate.
Meanwhile,
honeybees gather pollen
for ecstatic winter's
regenerative
warm sticky climax
eco-communion.
I am in charge of a nominating committee.
I nominate what I believe the entire nation should eat,
and I nominated cheeseburgers and was supported by the democratic party.
Fried Chicken has always been a favorite of the republican party,
so I also nominated Fried Chicken, the republican party unanimously agreed.
Eat Anything You Want has been proposed by some lone independent,
whom you can also vote for, but who most likely won't win,
in a major election without funding and corporate backing.
Is this truly a democracy?
I can sell it to you as a democracy,
because you get to vote and choose what the entire nation will eat,
and in a well funded majorly publicized election,
tribal groups will form that are Pro Cheeseburgers and Anti Fried Chicken,
while other groups argue that Cheeseburgers will be the death of everyone,
and Fried Chicken will be the answer to everyone's salvation.
Is this truly a democracy?
I can sell it to you as a democracy because you get to vote,
but if you ask me, this questionable democracy as well as our vote,
is nothing more than one sad, pathetic practical joke.
… being played on all of us.
in this world of the limped nuptial
i’ve appeared as a power-missile of the lac-dye
that is used by the hindu women
to paint the border of their feet
the tooth-ache of some-one pumpkin
that grows on the thatched roof of a hut
has wringed spirally
my mythological birth with corporate death
managing and arranging my thoughts
on what I was in the past
what I would be in the future
or what is my dos at present
the wonder-paintings of the altamira cave
unfolds its wings beside my painful in-growing nail
and in her own sky of miss marry
my hands become so much condensed in every drops
as if within that moping smog
without any speech
speaks the twinkle twinkle little star…
beside that labour pain what awakes then
is the patronage of a one-horned idea
along which while walking without much preparation
i can enter into any e-mail
though our love pulls a very long-face about itself
and in the opinion of the married women
the sigh of the sin ? of our love wants to cultivate
mustered-seeds on the soil of the inhabitants
of this human-life
with a stick by which the monkeys are driven out
what more can i say in lieu of
a piece of red-salute written in green ink
if i say in the dawn of the 52-cards
i touch your face
by the hands of a school-boy
your calmness and earthly perfume
make me stunned
then in this field of sweat and war
the explosion of logic and intellect
of your top-floor
seems more famous anchor than the milk
that spilt over on the fire
and more to say
when daubing all over the body
all taste of the path of joy
enter into then fort of gold you can notice there
when in some unknown moment
my pajama dies socially
by the bite of the snails and oysters
to keep the heart of the break-kiln always move
this form-less interactions are so well
in the harvest-arrangement of the late-autumn
we are all uttering the name of cherry-flower
and begging shelter from the mango leaves
Used to be that a simple handshake would seal the deal,
And a feller's word was as sound as tempered steel!
Of his legal obligations a feller never needed remindin',
Since his handshake and his word was ever bindin'!
In olden days, corporations were built by the shake of a hand.
Simple trust and honesty once prevailed throughout the land.
Nowadays, a handshake is risky and could lead to litigation,
With legions of corporate lawyers seeking compensation!
Deals were struck with handshakes and a tot of whiskey.
In yesteryear, such alliances were considered much less risky.
Didn't need platoons of pesky attorneys prowlin' around,
With their reams of perplexin' contracts to confound!
Farmers didn't solicit advice from legal sources,
When sellin' crops, breedin' hogs or tradin' horses!
They'd never hire a lawyer with his jaundiced view,
When a simple handshake among his peers would do.
In days of yore, business could be conducted without peril,
With a handshake across the top of a whiskey barrel.
Now, hordes of lawyers wearin' Rolex watches and Gucci shoes,
Require reams of clauses to befuddle and confuse!