Long Drill Poems
Long Drill Poems. Below are the most popular long Drill by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drill poems by poem length and keyword.
Radio free State of Deseret 3 July 2118, 6 PM Salt Lake Time
International news first.
27 Zionist terrorists leaders were beheaded in the Caliphat of Palestine yesterday after their failed attempt to establish a third state of Israel in Jerusalem during Rhamadan.
One of the last two remaining members of the European Union, France, decided to secede after the other remaining member, Germany, forcibly annexed neighboring Austria after a surprise attack last night. Experts think the attack on Austria was to gain thousands of hectares of undepleted uncontaminated topsoil, and to find a place to deport all the refugees Germany has taken in from the Kurdistan-Turkey-Syria conflict.
After six months of street fighting, Anglo-Canadian forces finally captured the last of the Quebec Libre forces in Montreal. Surviving members of the Libre forces offered only token resistance, as most were near starvation from the blockades.
Several promising oil fields have been identified in the Amazon River Valley of Brazil. Indigent natives had already left the area after the last of the rain forests had been plowed-under to grow sugar crops to make ethanol for fuel.
Venezuela and the Latino Free State of Texas are competing for contracts to drill.
Regional news.
Tomorrow marks what would have been the 342nd anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence of the former United States of America. It also marks the 42nd anniversary of the simultaneous nuclear attack by North Korea and Iran on 7 major coastal cities of the USA during America's tricentennial celebrations, which precipitated the schisms in North America today.
The Deseret Volunteer Guard and Air Force successfully defended the kingdom against a new wave of attacks by gangs, pirates, and sexual deviants that tried to infiltrate via Las Vegas into what used to be Zion National Park.
The Prophet's Safety Council wants to remind all faithful member-citizens to avoid exposure to direct sunlight, to always carry your portable water decontamination kits and air filter masks with you, and to compost all plant materials and use your compost in your sheltered Victory Greenhouses.
Keep the Faith. Radio free State of Deseret signing off.
In One Hundred Years poetry contest
3 June 2018.
How I'd relish standing Obama at a brace and show him how to salute!
He's shown zero respect to the Marines and I suppose he thinks he's cute.
No one salutes with a coffee cup in hand, not even the rawest, dumbest recruit!
Should a soldier, sailor, airman or marine do such, he'd suffer the toe of a boot!
He's been seen on camera saluting the flag with his left hand over his chest;
With hands over his crotch or no salute at all with neither hand on his breast.
If the president is interested in gaining the respect of those who keep us free,
I'd volunteer to teach him the rudiments of saluting as learned by this old retiree!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Come with me to the mountains let me show you something. Come with me to the mountains let me show you where I have been. I have walked the corridors of time searching for what is mine; I have lost myself in the woods walking between the trees looking for a remedy that is suitable for thee.
I have spent my evenings by the streams meditating with the wild winds as I gazed upon the skies above me destiny confronts me. I see the ocean spread out in front of me and pregnant clouds rolling in the sky with vengeance in its eyes. The rain clouds bear its bosom in the sea searching for an answer that no one can answer but the fish know their doom so they swim in the early morning instead of noon.
Come with me to the mountains let me show you how the devil bargin. Come with me to the mountains let me show you the fountain of sin. You see that landscape over there; they have a lot of things to share. They have stood the tests of time battling with the rain and the wind, sheltering the land from the heat and the cold and at night when it gets dark it becomes a covering for the old lark.
Come with me to the mountains let me show you something. You see the land beyond the horizon, right in-between that patch? A set of people once live there and they have lost all that they have got. They used to roam the woods at night, cutting down trees, slaughtering the animals and throwing them along the path to scare away human predators.
Such vicious actions upset the sky Gods and on the fifth of July, 1927 a ferocious wind swept through the woods and burn the entire village to the ground no one escaped the terrible heat and one was left to tell the tales.
Sit with me on the hill, and let's go over the drill. Their army is three million strong and they have boots that can cover the entire land.
They have been training for more than three decades to take back the universe for a price that cannot be bought. Look at the land around you and the vastness of the sea beneath you, time will have its share before the end of the year, a missile goes up and rockets explode on the ground. But nothing can destroy you.
The earth is beyond you and the heavens glorify you. I would like to hear your story of how the mountains save you.
Earlier today, I had a small-group evaluation
that I’ve been quietly dreading
and frankly, I wasn’t sure I was ready.
See, I’ve neglected things of late
I had the flu and couldn’t concentrate.
But once that was over, I could focus,
and I did some uneducated guessing,
about what the physiology skill-drill might be.
My group peer-assessed me, and those guys can be savage,
and a fail on the quiz could block my module passage.
I showed what I’d prepared, 2-hours focussed on things like prioritizing diagnoses.
Their questions were pointed but they didn’t reveal their prognoses.
How’d I do? I haven’t a clue.
I was quivering with exhaustion when I was through.
The professeur seemed pleased, and I got a few nods and smiles,
in my clinical-presentation debut.
.
,
A song for this:
Diary by Lucy Tun
You Need Therapy (Ready) by Mila Smith
non-compensatory - A fail in ED/PBL can block module passage
Full of colour and so very gay
my voice it can be very shrill
keep me happy so i won't stray
See my feathers all in array
I sit and watch upon the sill
Full of colour and so very gay
Keep that beak of mine at bay
I can use it with such great skill
keep me happy so i won't stray
Now watch my fancy foot play
as i sit here and preen a quill
Full of colour and so very gay
so just sit and watch my byplay
its fun and will give you a thrill
keep me happy so i won't stray
thus my joy for you I will relay
fill my tray you know the drill
full of colour and so very gay
keep me happy so I won't stray
Taking a lovely morning walk along the Ness
while spending a few days at Inverness
this walk has many grand features on its way
get the winter clothing on, no need to fashion dress
We pass firstly 3 statutes - faith, hope, and charity
at a small garden near the church at Ness bank
then further along a memorial for Elizabeth Caveth
a WW1 nurse who saved lives then, many gave thanks
Many of nature's highlights may be seen nearby
having some trees with a fountain at the side
along with red squirrels, otters, herons, and bats
on this Ness island such delights on your ride
The river glides past the island on either side
it can be dangerous as its fast flows so deep
this is in middle between a couple of suspension bridges
these were built in 1828 still standing strong to keep
Walking over onto the island you'll find 'Nessie'
the wooden version that's motionless and still
then there's a small amphitheater so grand
where in the 50s summer dancing was the drill
Coming back to the city on the west bank
passing the RNI* chapel and Eden Court theatre
which is a lovely mixture of old and new
St Andrews Cathedral then highlights the highest rank
In coming back along to the city look up high
your eyes feast on the castle along the skyline
well, a lovely way to spend a January morning
strolling along the River Ness, a joy so very fine
(*Royal Northern Infirmary (hospital).
(I have written this piece having spent a few days in the city of Inverness last month, the unofficial capital of the Scottish Highlands.)
The Teacher boomed "Girls Curtsy" now "Boys Bow".
"Learn your Etiquette, Ladies first Gentlemen".
"We do not run we are not a herd of cattle, Now single file !"
"You Mr Smith will hold the door !, Thank you sir"
We filed threw the door unlike cattle as best we could.
Young Mr Smith falling promptly into the end of the line.
The girls giggled at us boys, as it seemed we were most in need of discipline.
And now to add to our disgrace we must, I must, keep from becoming violently ill.
For today we will learn to dance with Girls !
Behold the Gymnasium, the fetid hall of Torture, First Dodge-ball and now this Humiliation. Under the glaring lights of the Gymnasium devilish eyes gleamed across the way as they separated boys from girls.Damn their souls !, Begone ye pony-tailed and frilly spawns of Satan !
If only a deathly rain of frogs would find this an opportune moment to appear.
With their Ghastly shrills they would scatter to the winds like dandelion seeds !
But protected they were, the roof held steady and appeared it would for quite sometime.
They then paired us off, boy-girl, boy-girl, no chance to protest it was done.
I stood there holding her hand, staring at the back of her curly red hair.
She turned and smiled then shrugged, looking away so I would not turn to stone.
The Teacher sneered with fiendish delight and clapped her hands "Now Begin !"
Music filled the air and the frilly beast grabbed my other hand and pulled me towards her."Step-Step-Step-Left-Step-Step and Right, Boys pay attention !"
Slightly above the music I could hear groans from my fellow tortured souls.
We drug our feet desperately hoping for a Fire drill, The A-bomb, anything to end this nightmare ! The clock ticked slowly away and finally it came to an end, Death did not come we lived on.
The Redheaded Demoness turned to me "You did good" she said, and walked away to rejoin the giggling herd. Several days later a note appeared tapping on my shoulder, from the (Redheaded Demoness) "I like you do you like me Y/N" it read. It was over for me, my journey through the light had come to an end and into the darkness I fell as I pressed down with my #2 Pencil and circled (Y).
I’m a people watcher
A thing I instinctively do
Please don’t take offence
If you see me watching you
Walking, such a common thing
We do every single day
But so many people seem
To do it in their own way.
That attractive young girl
With the swinging hips
And the dazzling smile that
Could launch a thousand ships
The entwined couple in
A world of their own
Listening to music
From a shared iPhone
The grizzled veteran
In some mental despair
That he’s not as erect as
When on the drill square
The teen slouching along
With his dragging feet
Being quickly passed by
A bouncy stepped athlete.
Walking, a common thing
We do every single day
Yet many of us seem
To do it our own way
And People Watching is
A habit so compulsive
Fascinating, rewarding,
And immensely instructive,
The chest of earth is cracked,
its dying blue heart exposed.
Now we've our dirty little mind on mars.
To plant our soiled little flag deep in its red skin.
Stitch another star to our banner of war and sin.
Pock it- drill it- scar it -pollute it- rape it- shackle it.
To our fathomless battleship.
Build new age slave cities-
make the slave make slave bombs.
Concoct wars in masks of peace.
Tear everything down
with dirty little mushroom clouds.
Then move on down to the next star town.
The star people look upon us, concluding:
There's no lasting peace in the heart of these beings.
never was never will be.
No chance to reach out to these war warped beasts.
Who suffocate their own children
veil their minds with black masks
then toss their ashes into dying seas.
An infinite plague of cannibal crows to be avoided
locked away - lowered into water cages.
I want to peer through tomorrow’s eyes.
Not a thing already old,
not a yesterday word
only temporarily paroled
from a moribund dictionary.
These words
newly dead now for millenniums.
Words old enough to have echoed from Eve
as she howled
from her guttural heart to a mute moon.
The newborn always come in the night
always in-between the past and future.
I want to be the parent of that birth,
not a distant and feeble uncle already
replicating an old understanding,
not a gummer or mummer.
I want words born in a universal forge,
their fire burning bright still.
Not any part of an effete scribbling
far removed from an Ur meaning,
its archetypal images already diluted
in ages of misreading and misdirection.
The etymological root of everything
is just the one word for everything.
Instead I only have these words
seeking to be new while still wearing
old, borrowed clothes.
Sometimes I wake up
in the middle of the night speaking in tongues;
a language so luminous
that star travelers from the distant future
could converse with me
from any compass point of my mind.
I want new eyes to drill down
to the pictographic roots
of every linked letter and script.
Words then would be individual revelations,
direct arrows from a new bow,
each a poem in itself.