Long Demand Poems
Long Demand Poems. Below are the most popular long Demand by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Demand poems by poem length and keyword.
I wouldn’t call what we do ‘blogging,’ would you?
I’m somewhat conversant with blogging and it would be like:
‘December 14th, I realized I was out of dental floss, so I called 112 (France’s 911) and they yelled at me.”
A poet might say:
The morning was pale and judgmental, the light didn’t illuminate, as much as accuse me of oversleeping. I’d just spit-out the last of my bubblegum toothpaste, when I tugged the dental floss only to be rewarded with a two-inch fragment.
The sink gurgled like a drowning swimmer as I rummaged through the medicine cabinet and then the linen closet - where we store spare soaps, shampoos, mouthwashes and the other detritus of modern hygiene -
but no floss.
I’d started the shower minutes ago, expecting a quick entry and now the bathroom had become sauna-like. French bathrooms have these box-like, ‘on demand’ water heaters, like 2 gallon coffee percolators, that dispense hot-as--holy-hell water, the mist of which, falling on the chilled, white, underfoot tiles, created a ceramic slippery-slide. I even searched Peter and my travel toiletry bags! Alas and again, no floss.
The ticking clock, that merciless, bureaucratic tool, mocked the undoing of my morning schedule.
In a moment of clarity, born of despair, I picked up my iPhone and demanded “Siri, call One-one-two!”
The French telephone system returns a higher-pitched, single-tone ring with longer pauses in between.
Three rings later I got an answer, “This is an emergency.” I announced (‘C'est une urgence’).
“What is the nature of your emergency,” a calm, dispassionate A.I.-voice asked.
“I’ve run out of floss.” I blurted.
There was a long pause where I could almost hear the A.I. dispatcher glitching.
“Mademoiselle,” it finally said, “calling 112 is not a joke.”
“Neither is plaque!” I replied - thinking of how proud my dental hygienist would be of me.
“Yet here we are,” I added, before the line went dead.
.
.
A song for this:
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_21.mp3
You got it in your head it’s okay to make up excuses
you’re only letting me down proving yourself to be useless
continuously lie until your lie is accepted
left feeling uncomfortable when your lie is rejected
every year on my birthday you do exactly the same
building up to it coming but on the day it’ll change
a last second situation will arise just the same
and you won’t be coming because you’re busy again
when really you’re selfish and fear honesty
making out that you’re helpless always lying to me
so I don’t invite you that way you cannot drop out
still you say you are coming and there isn’t a doubt
but then on the day the unseen comes about
expect me to waste time hearing lies out your mouth
even though I ain’t asked you and never I cared
you start telling me lies I thought I would be spared
it bothers I’m nonchalant to the story you’ve shared
like you need me believe you the reasons why you won’t be there
so you follow me around and keep repeating the lie
as I say I don’t care before saying goodbye
so you can get on with what you need to tonight
but you reappear many times through the night
when you’re supposed to be busy you appear in my sight
so you’re here to tell me why you cannot be here
and as it’s my birthday I’ve no desire to hear
but you’re annoyed at the effort that this lie is creating
I don’t seem to accept it as I say you are faking
insanity is when you expect a different result
but you carry on lying each time’s an insult
I’m in a club at this point you appear at the door
demand I come outside to hear you lying once more
but I don’t come quickly it’s my birthday I’m sure
when I go outside you’re angry at me to the core
because I took too long and it’s me you’re here for
I’m wasting your time as you say the same as before
all of your focus is on me believing your lie
until it’s achieved you can’t go home satisfied
and get stoned out your face the true reason that you lie
annoyed that I don’t believe you and that I never asked why
think you’re my best mate and can do what you like
making it clear you’re only selfish inside
treating me worthless as you repeatedly lie
but you weren’t invited and have harassed me all night
you only think about you I want you out of my life
He spoke with his ego-systemic body
through his own eco-logical maturation.
She flowed bilateral time
with her ego-eco centering mind
incarnating Earth's humane regenerate economy.
Together they commune nature-spirit hybrids,
bicamerally creolic
co-redeeming care-giving spirits,
completing each holonic tridium of becoming
one within spacetime's ecological promise,
three-placed co-present economy
of trilateral political grace,
playing enculturing WinWin games
ego-eco creations of just right mentoring integrity
strategizing cooperative economic-logical health,
this Holy Trinity's supply and demand
for resonant triaged wealth.
He asked of this grey spirit,
Are we white or black,
male or female?
She responds in gray embodied script
Yes, both white and black,
patriarchs born of bodhisattva matriarchs,
yet not mature all white
and yet not mature all black,
and in-between our ecologic-economic natures meet
enspiriting cooperations
of integrity
with all trinitarian stories past enfolded
and all those yet wu wei unfolding
within Earth's potential bounty.
Each languaged life,
both embodied left and mindful right relational
internal political landscapes
dawning through Earth's renewal
of and for external climate health of bodymind
organic integration networks,
integrity of love's polyphonic wealth.
And so this marriage
of ego-capital,
wisdom's logical acquisition
and accumulating
and re-investing body,
with eco-normative mind
regenerates nature-spirit nondual wedded stories
co-arising through each reweaving
enspiriting
incarnate Promise Day.
Boy, you Folks sure have a lot of Nerve!
You empty your Corporate Colostomy Bags,
On the same Workers that filled up your Greedy Guts,
Then pay them off with their own Bloody Rags!
Have you no Shame? You Clowns! Have you no Soul?
Your Mantra seems to be a bit One-Sided,
More Money! More Money! More Money Boys!
You hoard the Cheese and keep the Mice divided!
Those Long Corporate Strings are strong and stretch for Miles,
You Dangle your Puppets and Dance them till Dawn.
"But, how dare "They" ask "Us" for Concessions,"
"Gee, can't they see that their Labor Leash is On?"
From their Lofty Loft, they "Blow" that Big Bullhorn,
Jump! Jump when we say "Jump" all you little "Slaves!"
"Breaks? Benefits? Bonuses? Insurance? Pensions?"
"Your list of Rights are "Moot" unto your Graves!"
"So, Adapt to your Strings that Feather no Wings,"
"Shove your Grievances up your Bowel Syndrome Rears!"
"You Demand our "Trust?" Then "We'll" give it to "You,"
"We'll pay you off with "Dust" for all your Faithful Years!"
In tinsel time the bells do chime.
We deck the halls and shopping malls
with plastic bough and holly wreath.
The conjured tricks that lie beneath
the plastic magic make-believe
pull cheap tradition from the empty sleeve
and, with the angel chorus on demand,
demand the payment of the damned
by overdraft and plastic cards,
with season's greetings and regards
for Christmas Joy and Yuletide Cheer;
the end of one more bloody year.
In tinsel time the bells do chime
the dance of money and the mime
of love's best giving soon forgot.
And in each cardboard palace, hot
inside each borrowed suit of red,
each Father Christmas pats the head
of every child, drags out the lie;
and so the holy days go by
and fall beneath the pounds and pence
that parents value more than sense.
The harlot traders rub their hands and cheer
the end of one more bloody year.
In tinsel time the bells do chime
and all rejoice and with one voice
proclaim, disclaim, complain the lack
of honesty in Santa's sack.
The parties drag from pub to pub
and end up at somebody's club
and after, in the morning pain,
the disenchanted mutter "not again"
and stagger through another day
but then, again, go out to play;
Until, at last, the bells they cheer
that start another bloody year.
Kim James
12/12/95
La La Land
Where I was born, where I was raised
To me it's such a wonderful place
It's where I spend all of my days
La La Land
Really makes no difference to me
Where it is of course is where I should be
Free from all in life that's bothering me
La La Land
La La Land
Welcome to my state of mind
La La Land
You're free to visit any ole time
Where we're high on hope and low on demand
La La Land
Yawning is what I set my watch by
Cutting down on life's stresses and strife
You might have guessed, it's a wonderful life
La La Land
Here is where we all get along
What it is, is what it is going on
Want you all join me in song
La La Land
They're starting to gather in small clusters.
Fed up with being shackled by a 5-star virus.
Letting a redrum rat control how they live and think.
Soon they'll gather by the thousands-then millions.
Shouting out "we are not your commie minions".
They will march and demand and never go away.
They will not stand for a summer of perpetual gray.
There are napalm and gasoline in the air... again.
Camouflaged hearts have turned into slurry and flint.
Batons will twirl in the streets, seeking innocent blood.
The sound of halos cracking-the smell of rat tails burning,
All the goodness in life being dragged into the urn.
The ultimate alpha male is pissing blood.
Eventually he'll place us gently into our destiny.
Churning earth into a ball of Tiffany glass.
Pretty whorls of panic, loneliness, and death...
Let the cleansing begin.
At what point in life is one allowed to give up?
After how many falls and risings,
Do we give them a go-ahead to giving up?
In a land of verbal freedom and peace like this,
Where you and I belong as good citizens,
Workers are enslaved and exploited,
Made to work like donkeys and rewarded with bones like dogs;
Not by man of different origin and color and language,
But by man of a resemblance of all except DNA make-up!
In a country like this,
Hard economy; as difficult to get a coin as it is to get water in a desert,
Yet with an education system contrary to the needs of man,
With a high demand for money like a bottomless pit of hell.
In a world where they preach to people that education is life,
Only to be roasted dry by the scorching sun as they roam around looking for jobs.
As it rains,it falls mercilessly onto them with their documents,
This is when they remember that,once upon a time, they had dreams,
Dreams to be great people and make their parents proud,
And yet,here they are, not any different from the fauna in the parks.
At this point,isn't one supposed to let it go?
When man starts eating dust like the cursed serpent,
Is it not right for him to give up and try something better?
When that something better gets worse than this,
Is it not right for him to completely let it all aside?
Afterall,isn't life better than all these,
Prestige,good jobs, pretty children and beautiful families,
Large mansions like palaces, expensive rides like the president's;
Does breath not surpass all these?
These that perish and vanish in a blink of an eye,
Yet life, regardless of this all,continues for as long as God has said?
When should man give up?
After how many losses, and beatings, and deaths
Should we allow him to let it be?
My roommates and I congregated in our suite's great room and we’ll head out for dinner soon.
“Have you ever eaten dog food?” Leong asked Anna.
“No,” Anna answered, “it smells like chicken - it’s got chicken in it”
“OOO!” Leong pounces, “Busted!!”
“What?!” Anna reacts.
“How would you know that then?” Leong asks, doubtfully.
“My mom told me!” Anna cries, in self-defense. “She’s a vegetarian too.”
“Your mom told you.” Leong said, like a prosecutor raising an eyebrow for the jury.
“I just took my last English class,” I report, pony-tailing my hair, “my teacher told me - privately - that my writing destroys.”
“Nice,” Lisa says.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling and grooming with pride, “I thought that was a ballin’ complement and I’ve been riding that high.”
“No doubt,” Anna says and nods.
“My English professor..” Leong says, exasperated, “is driving me crazy,” I’ve written three final papers so far and she’s rejected them ALL.”
“Huh?” I gasp, “Show me one!” I demand, wiggling gimmie-fingers at her laptop.
“Here’s a question,” Lisa asks the room, “What would you change about your childhood?”
“I would have never grown up.” Sophy said.
“When I was in third grade, in the UK, a girl in my elementary school, was murdered,” I reveal.
“What?!” Anna says.
“Oh, my GOD!” Lisa gasps.
“Spill” Leong demands.
“Her name was Kennedy,” I begin, “She was in another class, I didn’t know her but I started to imagine that I’d known her. I’d think of her playing on the swings in a yellow dress, in daydreams and in nightmares.
“I can see that,” Leong said.
“I was flummoxed, at the time, how a family could lose a little girl and a president.” I added.
Anna looked confused.
“I was in third grade,” I replied,” what did I know?
“Go ON,” Lisa prompts.
“We heard that she was walking home and got snatched,” I continued.
“Jesus,” Lisa said, shaking her head.
“Although I never walked home, I was careful not to be snatched for a while,” I summarized.
“I bet,” Anna agreed.
“That’s what I’d change,” I said, “Poor Kennedy.”
“People suck,” Lisa pronounced, and there was general agreement to *that*.
I was one of the best leading men in Hollywood.
Many people thought my acting was quite good!
As long as Jack L. Warner said it was so,
I would be acting in many a diverse scenario!
They would have me playing a gangster or tough guy.
My great acting caught many a theater goer's eye.
Movie fans loved me in my appearance in "Public Enemy",
when I smashed a grapefruit in a woman's face for all to see.
Those were the usual roles from the studio I would get.
However, in the forties, my best part would come yet.
I won the Oscar for portraying a real-life song and dance man.
who was known on Broadway as George M. Cohan.
After that, I received many an offer and demand
to play many lucrative parts! Life was surely grand!
In a fifties film I starred in that played in many places,
I was Lon Chaney in "A Man of a Thousand Faces"
My last starring role was as a man with the Coca-Cola company.
This was in Billy Wilder's film "One, Two, Three".
In this film, I got myself in plenty of hot water
where behind the Iron Curtain, I lost the boss's daughter.
That was the last film for me for quite some time,
until I appeared briefly in the picture "Ragtime".