Long Dossier Poems
Long Dossier Poems. Below are the most popular long Dossier by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dossier poems by poem length and keyword.
Imagine all the people
who trade in human life,
imagine all the reasons
given to this particular vice.
I visualize the rivers
that run with coagulated blood,
I visualize the tyrant
that stir the waters good!
Imagine all the evil
where nightmares are conceived,
imagine all the weepers
locked in harmony.
I visualize a great peace
when man is down and out,
I visualize a yearning
to stir up warring lout!
Imagine all the carrion
fleeing this earthly scroll,
imagine all the zombies
them humans without soul.
I visualize the populous
with only one track mind,
I visualize the despotic master
not too far behind!
Imagine all the wrongdoers
that wait for the morrow,
imagine all the innocent
with aggravated sorrow.
I visualize his disciples
locked in earthly battle,
I visualize all intellect
smitten with ancient prattle!
Imagine all the dreamers
that dream in psycho colours,
imagine all the dead ones
John Lennon and others.
I visualize the sky
that reflect the sombre waters,
I visualize the time
they’ll be no virgin daughters!
Imagine all the children
born with colour blindness,
imagine all the peace
driven by human kindness.
I visualize a new order
maybe for the best?
I visualize the establishment
being put to the test!
Imagine all the people
with lives of eternal bliss,
imagine all the barriers
created when living with this.
I visualize heaven here
in this heathen place,
I visualize the angel
in pure virgin white lace!
Imagine all the new born
scanner pattern at birth,
imagine all of today’s crime
eliminated through death.
I visualize a dossier
of PLC news speak,
I visualize authoritarianism
of every aspect!
Imagine all the cloning
created for human part,
imagine all the respect
donated to this particular art.
I visualize the unscrupulous
desperate for existence,
I visualize the farm of haste
the plough of insistence!
Imagine, Mother Shipton
prophecies all came true,
imagine only one statement fails
the end of the world.
I visualize even then
common sense will prevail.
I visualize only Jesus Christ
will forecast the ultimate end!
© Harry J Horsman 1993
The alleyways within the maze are paved with rats and mice.
Evangelists with moneyed fists collect the sacrifice
from losers scorned and rubes reborn, and promise paradise,
while in the back they cook some crack, inhale, and roll the dice.
A bum called Boe has stubbed his toe, he’s stumbled in the gutter;
with broken neck, he looks a wreck, the sparrows all aflutter,
the passers-by, they close an eye, and turn their heads and mutter:
“Let’s pray for rains to wash the lanes, to clear away the clutter.”
A river slows neath mountain snows, and leaves begin to shudder.
Though rip-off shops and crooked cops are paid not once but thrice,
the painted girl with flaxen curl is paring down her price
and loosely tempts cold hands unkempt to touch the merchandise.
A crazy guy cries “where am I”, a schizo titters twice,
and double quick a lunatic affects a fight with lice.
The jungle teems, a siren screams, the air is filled with meth.
The Reverent Priest and nuns unleash the Holy Shibboleth.
And Righteous Jane who is insane, as well as Sister Beth,
while telling tales to no avail of everlasting death,
at least imbue Hagg Avenue with whisky on their breath.
The Reverent Priest combats the Beast, they’re kneeling down to prey,
to fight the truth with fang and tooth, to toil for yesterday,
to etch their mark within the dark, to paint their résumé
on shrouds and sheets which then completes the devil’s dossier.
Old dan, he's drunk and in a funk, all mired in the mud.
A Monk begins to wash Dan’s sins, and asks “How are you, Bud?”
“I’m feeling pain and crying rain till soon there is a flood.
And no god’s there who seems to care I’m always coughing blood.”
The Monk, he turns, Dan’s words he spurns and lets the bible thud.
Well, Banjo Boy, he will annoy with jangled rhymes that fray:
“The clanging bells of carousels lead blind men’s minds astray
to rings of gold they’ll never hold in fingers made of clay.
But crest and crown will crumble down, when withered roots decay.”
Continued
The Perfectionist is Listening
the rich are committing suicide
and taking us with them
the prosthetic limbed bastards
Fort Darwin tottering on fewer stilts
once the masters of the universe
presently picking through garbage
looking for an Icarus to pilot
some way back among the clouds
their telepathic goon squads
armed with the hard on of God
squat in the darkness of doorways
lightning strikes all around
even their machines were clairvoyant
several thousand watts went up my leg
shorting out the only attention span I own
left me perforated but not lacy
wearing all my masks all the time
fragments of self are selves
in a bulemic deconstruction
where form and content
mud wrestle incessantly for attention
on the crazy train to 3 color hell
the protagonists the antagonists
fornicators masturbators liquidators
pariahs and unlicensed poets
preaching hellstone and brimfire
apparently the ancient gods still rule
in their madhouse heaven
petulant and stupid gods
thought their figures included all the angles
sword point conversions gun point perversions
now their carcasses are steppingstones
what quirk of an infinite being
makes this burning plague village
of a planet so alone and necessary
of course none of this is protection
it's psywar out there kids
better find where they hid your dossier
mesmerized of the world unite
you have nothing to lose
but your failed methods of addressing reality
said his twisting tongue
struggling for ratings like any media
the soul cannot erase it can only go sightless
a phantom trapped in melancholy
when we were built to dance
with the twinkling stars
he finally learned to undestroy memory
being an ascended master of non sequitur
carried aloft in the arms of Mother Goose
his metabolic hurricane of why
an inferno of intrigue and superstition
our embryo-headed UFO ruling class
have me inside their fence of skulls
an investment in diagram futures
the idiots
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Just a wisp of a girl, dainty as a rose
Dark as the color of bitter-sweet cocoa
From her short hair to her perky nose
A black queen from the Big Apple’s ghetto
As a girl, she often sucked her fingers
Obtaining that infamous, toothy overbite
The memory of the dirty slums still lingers
So gracious, sweet, and habitually polite
She got pregnant at the age of seventeen
Yet, she pursued her dream to be an actress
Mama’s church girl, spiritually quarantined
She loved to model; her beauty was breathless
Why did we applaud her? Why do you ask me?
Her dossier was unmatched and acclaimed
Such an urban legend from our community
Much respect and props for her notable name
She began her career on the New York stage
Put her heart and soul into each role she played
Drank from the youth fountain didn’t look her age
In these glorious years, her career never decayed
“A Woman Called Moses”; don’t forget “Sounder!”
“The River Niger,” we won’t ever forget “Roots!”
A club for growing black actors, she was the founder
Presidential Medal of Freedom, she bore much fruit
“The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pitman” was fearless
Having a guest role in many Tyler Perry movies
With her prodigious acting, only she could harness
Held her nose when asked to play ratchet or a floozy
She scorched the earth for other black actresses
Angela Bassets and Viola Davis, to name a few
Never bad press or scandal as anyone’s mistress
When she passed away, still giving interviews
Her biography hit the streets, fresh off the press
Traveled to promote her school of Performing Arts
Still worked and spoke while impeccably dressed
My Lord did she not have a run, never a false start
You can’t tell it! So let me tell it; made “Just as I Am!”
Had a chance to tell HER story many she out-lived
Elegant, royal; she was worth the title of madam
Although so petite, Cicely's career was so massive
Though discriminatory asper discerning
legitimate information TIME
Magazine considered
a reliable trustworthy,
and valuable source to this rhyme
stir, who perused cover story, sans
January 28th, 2019 issue as prime
material to concoct
more serious than amusing
poem mindful not to spoil mealtime
sharing insightful ruses not so sublime
utilizing underhanded tactics that chime
with markedly innocuous discordant
undertones for longtime
(within realm of information technology)
garnering bajillion zeroes
after face value of dime
(I chose that denomination...
just book haws), suit clime
mate here, plus yours truly
aspired to fuel inquisitiveness,
since text unable to display mime
relayed by this messenger,
who questions gravity of crime
head honcho blithely
involving selling personal data
thus affecting prospects of incipient wartime.
every keystroke action typed by me,
and everybody else linkedin into web
foregoes their life details free
for selling treasured binary binded bits we
bull leave tubby encrypted, yet algorithms
invested with secret electron size key
sophisticated to sniff out valuable trove
within every pixel typed into ever re:
screen of every Internet app pre
pair ring the equivalent
of voluminous dossier lee
ving nary a trace, yet data packets
more precious than fine spun gold,
invisible electronic bursts glee
fully swept up like nobody's business – see
ming to provide a wellspring
of many a cottage industry
similar to a pugilist on par with Muhammad Ali
generating revenue, and
driving profits with accessory
trinkets or gewgaws hyped up as de
facto plum purchases, perhaps purchased online
whereat vendor (unbeknownst to patron) sells
vital transaction information to data broker he
or she obviously for a price - yes our SECURITY!
Seven minutes lingered, an interim of residue,
a trembling partition between continuance and conclusion.
The body rehearsed survival, a theatre of reflex and delay.
Then the stage went silent,
a horizon drawn flat, an axis without a pulse,
and the world sank into a white silence.
Afterward, an emergence.
Not awakening, but reclassification.
not darkness, but a chamber of neutrality,
where remnants of existence drifted in an ordered abyss.
No faces, only the abstraction of record:
gestures catalogued, errors weighed beside their opposites,
the arithmetic of a lifetime balanced without judgment.
No weeping, no pleading, just the hollow patience of cattle.
An attendant present neither stern nor merciful, only procedural,
spoke as if reading an inventory.
Then a designation was issued.
At first numerical, then nominal.
Identification persisted, even as the self no longer did.
The chamber resembled judgment,
yet nothing of judgment occurred.
Records lay in sequence: notations, erasures, marginalia.
"An account, not a verdict." The clerk read,
Errors and kindnesses balanced in two columns.
The result: Passable.
A new dossier appeared.
Families arranged in archival order,
faces attached for reference.
Instruction: Choose.
The choice was not preference, but compliance
the necessity of continuation.
From abstraction into assignment,
from absence into recurrence.
Thus the cycle proceeds:
not reward, not punishment, but iteration.
Existence drafted again,
not as consequence but as mechanism.
The soul does not inherit.
The soul does not stumble.
The soul is allocated, reinserted,
until the ledger of moral requires no more.
Government uses foreign gov-loophole
and harlots by proxies geo-fence by proximity.
Old bedfellow with Politicians and 3 letter agency,
no surprise there.
Garland and Wray want your push notifications
to complete your dossier profile picture,
wants FEMA camp for detention, el Permanente, Draconian Fair for opposers no expense spared.
In this world of shadows and gray,
Find no solace in bad actors that fray, that "go there". Reward your California delusionals to higher Office.
The cocaine White House likes your way,
and cocaine and curriculum de orifices and cocaine
(yes, I went there).
Newsome; Your state has run out of U-Hauls to leave.
Maybe parents are tired of your oprn-wife stalking their children with innocence killer-materials or "The Hood" curriculum deputy of the Interior. You have the worst education results in the entire World, Pizza Steve!
Maybe just this one addition/critique, add a syringe to the school/library books cover sleeve?
You certainly are bold.
Your intent is obvious to me.
You want Americans out, for China to No Vacancy.
World's largest real estate broker, licensed by DNC.
Most brilliant masterminds could not destroy
what you destroyed, and they work for the DNC!
That is why you are their candidate, confidentiality.
"Despicable Me" may just use your exploits
in their next movie.
But Mayorkas, M-Vanilli, Garland, Biden and Cortez are still building their destruction resumes.
But watch out ! Biden has sold out our entire Country! Is that why you are running for President?!
Ah yes, I see.
And you know what? This was supposed to be about Push Notifications and Warrants of Geo-Fencing !
Dossier (doze heir) About This Sleepy Head
Unable to shake off drowsiness
iz not ease zee,
hence, as a night owl, no
(not that you
give a hoot) ye
may be share compatible
(i.e. nocturnal) circadian
rhythm with this wee
Willy Weber,
but more particularly
one po' somnambulant,
whose square noggin resembles
a flat screen tee vee
actually receiving signals
from the outer limits
of the twilight zone
quite clear reception,
especially after three
o'clock in the morning
slightly before scree
ching roosters announce,
the break of dawn re
lush hing, the
poignant hush pre
seeding the sudden
onset of que
kin ning hullaballoo
amidst hectic pre
dominant hustle,
and bustle to and fro,
hither and yon nee
sis aery frantic
pace to maintain
21st century
technological light
(reo speed wagon) rush,
this lifestyle not for me,
hence I favor
knuckle scraping,
bloodied hand to mouth,
bare subsistence
existence my lee
ving no wiggle room
for adverse sit tee,
thus very mindful to maintain
laser focus key
ping astutely attentive visa
vis discover ring je
nais sais quois,
(the only French I know)
hee...hee...hee
well nigh conk
clue ding goofy
dwarfed poem (compared
to the Iliad,
or Odyssey), now
time to put this old
Scottish matted
(swiftly tailored,
haired styled)
puppy (i.e. me)
to the land without
my wordy wizard - Doctor dre,
but alive with
a Rob'n Zombie!
The Baboon Dossier…….. By Peter Onyancha
The child laughed, blurred
There were little tears steaming
The mother Baboon; a signature smile
The story teller sustained –
The Dossier:
As I said, that was long ago
We were like them, yes
The humanbeings, with human things
We used to wear cloths; our skins were delicate
We struggled and caged ourselves in houses
Even the feet cushioned with solace Shoes
We have come a long way.
Nature was alien, child
But how, mummy how
An intelligent child; curiosity – distinction
How did we become today, mummy
Will they successfully walk naked?
Will they ever change, poor things!
(Evolution – child, from mother )
And stop the baggage of those cloths
And be free from fear; and become normal
Mummy, do they also think!
Child, you think too much
Mummy prevails; they are not as bad
In their homo-egosystem, they are fine
You may not understand the science inside
Ours is ecosystem; theirs egosystem
“Ego” and “Eco” is too much, child
Ask your dad, when he climbs down
It takes millions of millions of time to develop
When they become us, we will be their histories
A Mercedes Benz with a flag –
And another many other around it mill
Then land rover with humans dressed like the bush
Mummy, look, poor things
Child, Listen before we go up home
The flak you saw, flags the hope
These creatures, too, cherish some hope
The bush –like dressing is the vision
A future, where they shall be, Child
Where we are, Child
When you grow up, run but learn
The myths, the truths and the gem
You will note them, child
You will not then, chide!
High athwart global sphere
planet Earth doth app pear
tubby totally tubular as a mere
twinkling gem devoid of lesions from hare
brained schemes to exploit near
Gaea, where
legions of self aggrandizement tear
ring into all four corners
of terrestrial firmae orb *****
hull us wreaking indiscriminate havoc,
yet blithe dismissal mare
ring greedily inducing
brass knuckle sandwich lobbed punches
punctuating each pugilisitc
jude dee ish us punch with denunciatory jeer
accompanied in situ with a malicious glare
destroying staunch
eco-friendly advocates tabulated violations
kept under lock and key
within a filing cabinet dossier
to hell rants Donald Trump and his miscreants
in reference viz those “FAKE” defiant, hippo critical
defenders of Earth, wind, fire, and air
subject to rampant wanton (soup per) discrediting
substantiated scientifically airtight conclusion,
sans irrefutable linkedin cause and effect
against human perpetrators
rampant environmental abuse
pegged since that first Margarita
signaled industrial age crowdsourcing,
crowing, crowning deuce
ex machina leveling landscape until
scoured bowels of oblate spheroid glacis loose
to wring and extract sought after mineral wealth
essentially wrenching, hammering, nailing cinch,
which global gem analogous
to affixing a polarized noose
specific metals deemed precious
justifying reckless ramifications thin as gruel excuse
whereat said esteemed Mother Nature privy ledges
sheared to extract vis a vis akin to a sluice...