Long Council Poems
Long Council Poems. Below are the most popular long Council by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Council poems by poem length and keyword.
FIREGUARDS ON THE WINDIES
Growing up in Belfast, through the troubled ravaged years
Some days where filled with laughter, others steeped in tears
A normal decent childhood, where my life seemed complete
Though we had fireguards on the windies and soldiers in the street
Bombed out shops and barricades, were a normal sight to see
An alternative children’s playground, an exciting place to be
There was no health and safety, no risk assessments then
Just the local council workers and the vigilante men
We played pretendy riots and had shields made out of tin
Clauded stones for ages, though no one seemed to win
The parks were closed on Sunday, so we couldn’t go and play
A bylaw, from a bye gone age, to protect the sabbeth day
We collected army badges, and we’d sometimes hold their guns
Playing on the scout cars, mother gave them tea and buns
A normal Belfast childhood, where life seemed so complete
Though we had fireguards on the windies and soldiers in the street
Listen Up, all good citizens of Milton Creek
If it's a night on the town and good food you seek
Come over to Aces
With your smilin' faces
The Grand Reopening's tonight. Come, take a peek!
Milt left his Aces Hotel to the entire town
No better place for a steak house, so come on down
It's got a new name, "Hank's"
In advance I'll say, "Thanks"
It serves the finest T-bones anywhere around
Restaurant and hotel are managed by Lin Lane
The town council swears it won't be part of a chain
Come early; take a seat
The steaks cannot be beat
Tonight there's free whiskey and imported champagne
Now, Lin is from way down yonder in New Orleans
She makes good chicken gumbo like most Cajun queens
It's good down home cookin
You don't need a bookin
Heard she's servin' jambalaya and collard greens
Right here tonight, in Milton Creek, as a surprise
Hanks will be introducing burgers and french fries
A dish loved in the South
It'll taste good in your mouth
But save room for pralines, and bourbon pecan pies
Mosey on over to Aces and have a bite
Tell all your friends and bring a hearty appetite
Get on your horse and ride
No guns allowed inside
There's a big party goin' on at Hanks tonight!
Sunday 2025.05.25
This morning, I arrived at the Station,
Gave the Swan Hill V-Line train a miss,
The same train which I travelled
Exactly one year ago.
When I had a relaxing and peaceful time,
At the border of NSW and Victoria.
It turned out I should catch the missed train,
To take me to Kangaroo Flat,
One stop away from Bendigo.
What significant thing about the last trip,
Was I did it without BB,
And came home to find
The back boundary fence of my property,
Was damaged by thieves that evening.
It was also due to that mishap,
Which tied me and BB
For the next six weeks,
When we carried out the project,
"Putting lipsticks on the pig"
Which was named by BB.
The ironic and sarcastic things were,
BB loved me as a friend,
Cared about my safety and well-being.
He kindly helped repairing the damaged fence,
To protect me from further burgeraries.
On the contrary and unintentionally,
I let him entering
And breaking my heart lockers,
Which I installed them more than two decades prior.
He did it very nicely, gently and kindly.
Strangely, his lovely gestures
Triggered and brought out the best in me,
Since then, I have been working hard,
To keep the flame of music passion burning
Now, I played wherever I found there was a public piano.
Five years ago, before Covid,
There used to be twenty plus of them
"Play me I am yours" was the name.
A project promoted by City Melbourne Council.
All was stored away during Covid-19,
Mainly to tackle the issues of hygiene.
Since then, there was no more of them.
If there was any one left,
They would probably be wrecked.
The Binger streets are empty,
The Mayor’s mansion sits alone.
When God remembered Thy son,
He summoned Big H home.
His giving heart stopped beating,
Within an April day.
His memories continue on,
For hmmm...is what he’d say.
For the spirit of his giving,
Was the community’s best ally.
Then God requested his council,
For the meetings in the sky.
The golden life he lived,
Was eulogized by the reverend.
God promoted his giving soul,
To be the Mayor of Heaven.
______________________________
In memory of Howard 'Big H' Taylor
for his giving heart and warm friendship
to the community of Binger Ok.
Every scream has an echo.
In alleyways slick with rain,
Where mothers light candles
For sons who won’t come home again.
It rattles through church halls —
Empty pews, silent choirs —
Where prayers turn to ash
In unholy fires.
Every scream has an echo.
In the stomach’s hollow roar,
Where children count cracks
On splintered floors,
Dreaming of feasts
They’ve never known,
Sucking on pennies,
Pretending they’re stones.
It ricochets off council walls,
Graffiti bleeding names of the dead,
While men in parliament chambers
Debate the price of bread.
Every scream has an echo.
In veins carved hollow by rusted spoons,
In toilets that reek of midnight tombs —
Where trembling hands
Trade blood for release,
And the only high left
Is the hope of peace.
It hums in the silence
After fists meet skin,
When apologies are whispered
But bruises sink in.
Every scream has an echo.
It doesn’t fade —
It stains the bricks,
Haunts the drains,
Hangs in gutters
Like cigarette smoke,
Carrying names
No one dares speak aloud.
Listen close —
You’ll hear them now.
A choir of ghosts.
Stacked screams.
Stacked souls.
They scream for justice,
They scream for light,
But the echo grows darker
Night after night.
And when it circles back —
It lands in you.
In your chest.
In your breath.
In your truth.
Every scream has an echo —
And one day,
It will answer you.
Our mayor and city council know what to do
The county supervisors and talk show hosts too
Budget measure HHH we Angelinos passed
Costing billions, homelessness would end at last
There were 57,000 unhoused in L.A. last year
Now it’s 68,000, growing with elections near
The garment district downtown and all of skid row
Are squalid tent camps where filth and despair flow
From the Valley, to Hollywood, out to the beach
Huddled in parks, under bridges, hills out of reach
Some scream and curse, drugged or drunken
Others silent and still, bodies broken, spirits sunken
They’re bad for business, they spread disease!
Will our elected officials do something? Please!
Neglected, abused, mentally ill
There’s really no urgent civic will
Some may receive disability pay
Enough for liquid comfort, but a room? No way
A lifelong Angelino, I feel enraged and defeated
For I see my town by how our worst off are treated
5/31/22
How can we not have this conversation
where footprints of the poor vanish
beneath the boots of investors,
and the river sings only
to those who can afford its luxury?
In Chobe, the elephants roam free,
but people walk caged in poverty.
We call it coexistence
when tusks are protected,
but mothers bury their sons
gored near neglected kraals.
And no one comes
unless it's a game drive
and the victim is not black.
How can we not speak
when the lion's roar is louder
than a widow's cry for compensation?
When leopards eat goats
and ministries write reports not cheques?
Let's talk about the five-star smiles
that greet foreign tongues
while the Batswana mop floors, serve beer, and sleep on concrete after ten-hour shifts.
Let's talk about uniforms and pay slips
that smell like servitude,
contracts folded into silence
in offices lined with antelope heads.
And let's speak of the racism
how a Black woman was shot by a white woman
who said, "I thought it was a monkey."
As if her body was a silhouette of threat.
As if Blackness is always a blur
on the edge of someone else's comfort.
The river bore witness, but the law shrugged,
and headlines softened the bullet.
Let's talk of fishermen
banished from their birthright,
told their canoes spoil the view,
that their laughter scares the tourists,
that their presence is pollution.
Let's speak of lodge owners
who toss insults like breadcrumbs
to those who clean their sheets
lazy, slow, replaceable.
No chains, but contracts.
No slurs, just smiles
with knives beneath them.
We cannot be quiet
when the sun sets
behind lodges built on lies,
and the river is fenced
not for safety, but exclusion.
How can we not speak
of the politics of permits,
where land is leased
like livestock,
and council seats are auctioned
to the highest foreign bidder?
Corruption blooms like water hyacinth,
choking life from the roots
of communal trust.
The sand knows.
The baobabs know.
Even the crocodiles know
how long we've swallowed
our own tongues
to protect the myth of peace.
So let us talk.
Let us gather in the heat
of midday truth,
where no luxury air-con hums.
Let us speak until the sky listens,
until justice stalks this land
as fiercely as the wild.
Because silence, here,
is complicity.
And we have been quiet
for far too long.
Form:
Bartholomew Barton; his friends called him Barty
Eighteen years old but no birthday party
Slumped in the mud, a gunshot to the shoulder
But unlike his comrades at least he’d get older
Tyrannical forces sought world domination
And Barty had marched with his mates for his nation
They gave him some medals for some of his actions
They don’t stop him flinching at noisy distractions
Those heroic deeds he did when he was able
His medals he'd sold to put food on the table
Brought him a pension that won’t pay the rent
With callers demanding the money they’d lent
One day the council demanded his key
And food graced his table now infrequently
But ‘table’ is merely an old cardboard box
And food is a bin-find he shares with a fox
He could do a D-Day and steal a small boat
And hit a Kent beach in his moth-eaten coat
But the taxes he’s paid since his battlefield hell
Do not seem to warrant a four star hotel
So thanks for your effort Bartholomew Barton
It’s qualified you for a pine veneer carton
You gave us your all to give us our today
Then too many governments turned you away
The question is now would you do it again
As you sleep under cardboard in torrential rain
For fighting a war for a brighter new day
Should not mean that home is a dank alleyway
In the dead half of night, when the dark is too still,
The Sacred Meow Society convenes to court thrill,
A council of cats, with eyes all ablaze,
With ancient importance through worlds they liaise.
They gather in secret, beneath high moon's light,
Muted meowing their own regal rite,
Discussing the mysteries of yarn and of death,
And the ways of the world, and new cures for fish breath.
With flicks of their whiskers and fur shining bright,
They purr of appeasements and secrets at night,
And though their language we cannot speak,
Their power and presence we constantly seek.
For this feline committee is more than just cats,
It's a connection to something, that goes beyond that,
A reminder of mystery, it's woven in life,
That enigmas and horrors exist next to strife.
Keep your ears open along with your eyes,
For ominous mews from which fright fills the sky,
And know that the cats, who gather in peace,
Are a reminder of darkness, that never does cease.
From the Desk of February 14, 2026
Globe_Shere Pro Rassling
a Stromberlino Media Group Co.
123 Tussle Avenue
Grapple City USA
00123-123
President of Operations
To all Members of Both Pro Wrestling Assocation
and National Council of Wrestling respectivly.
Dear Madams and Sirs:
As you know we have been in neogacations to purchase the Pro Wrestling entity known as Pro Wrestling Canada
or Pro Canada International. The deal which would have combined the three companies has fallen through. We were able to procure only 44% of the company with another company who had been in a bidding frimsy against us. The Company WiffleBall Earth, has purchased a 44% share of the same company: with 22% of the company being held by the Board of Directers. If between now and Next thursday we aren't able to make a deal to with the Board of Directers to purchase a majority ownership of that company that the B>O>D> have created, we will then try to purchasce a majority share buy out of Wiffle Ball Earth. A current deal has been in the works to purchasce the WiffleBall Company.The Board of Directers have issued a Supension of Hosillties ACT that would divide the companies personal so that conversations between Newly formed Alliances and Factions which could further dived us as a cohesive unit. Furthermore company personal will be reassigned and a certain level of decoruim will be expected from employees of of this new merging Company. In an attemp to curtail any share buyiong or selling within the companies, all assets will be still vauable but suspended until Thursday of next week when a press conference will be held.
The shows to air this week will have an interin Genral manger. in the agreement with WiffelBall Earth all titles will be recogned as they are now with the current champions still throned and there challengerss in ranking to be same. The Champions who will be televised during the interium period will be those of the indepedent promotions who hold a minorty share in the company.This period will then be over and the sheduling which exsisted as of4;09 2-12-26 will take stage and show in full production.
Thank You
Harvey "The Ox" Stratten
President of S>M>G
Was it a Kayfabe storyline or a real business deal?