Long Drilling Poems
Long Drilling Poems. Below are the most popular long Drilling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drilling poems by poem length and keyword.
New moon vanishes into a blush of russet
where humid air twirls along with clouds,
and stars burst…
flickering above hilltops
to cast my anguish across the sky:
How wanton gulls crisscross on a flight;
their shrill rattling an echo that my heart pales
from an image of first passion’s gaieties
outlined by his maze of treachery, of ruse :
Forgetting not my lesions from one August night,
tears split forth in torment
without measure:
Naïve at eighteen then, I drank yesteryear’s pain
hoping fate could heal me from such drilling spin...
then to wake up fed with grace
to echo new morn's canticle of beginnings
1st place.
(Immediately after being found "guilty"
of denying that the earth was stationary
and the sun orbited around it, Galileo
said, "Eppur si muove!" [But it moves!])
It's hard to live in Lilliput, I find.
I have to cross my fingers, play their game.
Their billing, filling, drilling daily grind
sits ill with me. They all trot out the same
tired cliches. Passing a painting, never fail
to comment on the squareness of the frame.
Unprofitable, weary, flat and stale.
You can't earn prizes here. These fools prize earning.
No sweets to eat. It's one long dreary tale
of condemnation, disapproval, spurning.
The Sunday supplements determine taste,
all tearing down, forbidding, banning, burning.
They're sealed in heavy metal, concrete-cased
austerity. They put the "die" in "diet".
What will survive of them is nuclear waste.
Denounce, detract, dismiss it and deny it.
Don't look for clover - look for cloven hooves.
Excoriate it, flay it, vilify it.
They'd love to let life lurch along in grooves,
the gauche, perverse, unruly human mind
trapped tidily in aspic. But it moves.
There are things in this world that,
no one can explain or completely understand.
The human ego believes that it knows everything or will…
eventually.
Over a century ago, humankind knew that,
there would never be people living in space…
perhaps they’ve deluded themselves
into thinking that there are?
They knew that nuclear energy would be easily controlled;
perhaps they only dreamed of nuclear meltdowns?
There’s no question about fracking; drilling into the Earth’s crusty rock,
can’t possibly affect the shift of the…Teutonic plates…its absurd!
Why would any intelligent person think that it would cause earthquakes?
Volcanoes don’t erupt; they just boil forever.
Satellites don’t fall from the sky onto houses and neither do airplanes.
Man can build the perfect, automatically-controlled airplane or ship;
even a self-driven car.
They’ll all function perfectly because, a human being created them.
The Titanic was a bad dream.
The Costa Concordia, a myth;
nothing built by human ego can,
possibly be…imperfect…can it?
Humankind is a fallible mechanism; making mistakes,
getting sick, enduring malfunctioning organs.
It stands to reason that, anything built by humankind;
could and would potentially, fail. Forever incapable of creating the perfect machine;
humans must eventually, accept that fact.
I hear him knocking.
No matter. I will not let him in.
The tree exploding with sound -
better that it’s not my siding.
The cluckity…clucking,
I don’t mind, as long as
the woodpecker stays off the periphery.
His sound inviting, but he’s not invited in.
His sharp beak, hacking away.
His bright, red head endlessly bobbing.
This is no bobbing for apples.
Chisel…chisel…chop…chop.
I can take the noise as long as he doesn’t exploit his choice.
For he confers with the squirrels
to burrow into my Winter walls.
They’ve been fixed.
Don’t be up to your nasty tricks,
your antics or you’ll be in a fix.
Thank you, for now….wait! What!?
Suddenly and expectantly,
with sudden urgency, like the drilling for oil, the cruel
headbanger searching for gold…fool’s gold.
The shining objects, with owl shapes, can only deter to a point.
Smart critter listens for the creak of the front door. He’ll fly away,
then circle back and drill some more. I love the fall,
but not the fowl feathers…
Last night our kitchen light stopped working
It was intermittent all flashing and jerking
A replacement one was quickly needed
There was one on the shelves – our prayers were heeded
We were both up the ladder – we were drilling and screwing
Oh I am thankful my hubby knows what he’s doing
When the light switch was switched on
Bright golden glowing light gently shone
Everywhere was covered with a fine layer of dust
So I got out the hoover - I cursed and I cussed
I started cleaning the nooks and crannies
My hoover is quite new it’s not like my grannies
I hang lots of washing by the kitchen door
But something had dropped right onto the floor
The hoover sucked up my pink lacy knickers
The light on the hoover went red and flickers
I shouted my hubby please come here quick
The hoover has swallowed my frilly nicks
We started to laugh as we undid the cover
My pink dusty knickers we soon did discover
The moral of this story is hang on to your frillies
If not, your assets may get a dose of the chillies
I’m going to keep a tight grip of my panties
I wonder if my husband totally agrees
30th March 2014
This really happened yesterday!
I’m sitting alone in a nightmare again,
A dream that’s not of my choice.
Sitting with iced eyes drilling my skin,
Alone, here, without any voice.
And no one can hear my screams in the night,
Nope, no one can hear what I roar,
And no one can see the wounds on my skin,
I’m captive in the bloodiest war.
Often I’m trapped, unable to move,
Unable to break out of this room,
While other times I’m chased, chased in a hunt,
A hunt to my imminent doom.
I’m here, alone, to battle my sleep,
Imprisoned on this warpath.
My weapons are belief when meditating myself,
And, before sleep, running a hot bath.
Expectations
No rest
No time to breathe
A weight on your chest
Nothing less than excellence
Even that's not enough
A world that tells black people
That even if you follow the rules
You are still not good enough
Because as long as your black
They will always have the last laugh
In a world that preaches equality
It sure is a hypocrite
From young we are taught that life is a test
That no matter how hard we work
We will always be seen as less
Even with perfect scores we still come last
A crooked system used to keep us at the bottom
A crooked system used to make sure our life is a struggle
A box with no key deprived of freedom
Locked in with chains so we can't outshine them
Doing everything in their power
To watch us sink
In an ocean that steals our breath
Drowning in a watery abyss
A constant fight to stay afloat
Whilst they just stare at us
A fight that isn't fair
The water keeps us suppressed
So everytime we open our mouth
The water sinks our words
Just like everytime we try to speak
We are labelled dramatic
All this happening whilst the weight of their hate
Slowly drowns us to death
In a world that claims progression
The education system sets us back
Policing black children
Whilst holding us back
So all the white kids can succeed
Then tell us we will never amount to anything
That all we are good for is a prison sentence
Drilling inferiority straight into our chest
To make sure discrimination is the only education we will get
The only lesson received is how racism will never end
The syllabus being slurs and all the different ways we are hated
Buy something they seem to forget
Is we have legacies of strength
We are stronger than the hate that you threat
You push us down and yet we continously get up
We are made of tungsten the strongest element
You think you can break us
Your hate will break instead
You try to steal our breath
But our oxygen tank is unlimited
We are here for the long run
You'll just have to get used to it
We are here to stay
And we will never let you forget
Gray matter subjected to accumulate
incessant overall slack heavily larded
earlier in marriage, viz Zison clan
evicted Harris family,
whose hardship unemployment did exacerbate,
neither me nor birth mother worked
both this sir, and mum mate
afflicted with psychological disability
where physiological torture did subjugate
our respective physical beings with inadequate
skills to cope with child rearing,
hence blissful dialect tickle
accent doth boldly punctuate
angst strum fretful das
chord dent mental state -
mein kampf pronouncedly scarred,
asper lifetime subjected to debilitate
ting panic attacks impossible to abdicate -
relentless whipsawing, hammering,
and fracking drilling would never abate,
ache ken to ten thousand maniacal banshees
nsync with mailer daemons create
ting bedlam courtesy (Olive)
garden variety silently kick starting freight
train recklessly coursing heedlessly
despite engineer hood handedly
madly, and ominously didst gesticulate
in vain, the loco motif
barreled thru one billeted gate
after another crashing, this soundless fate
driving me into marshy madness accelerate
ting an existence toward self destruction
in tandem with Sue S Side, I accentuate
time and again, yet self obliterate
ting this papa would eviscerate,
(albeit emotionally) lovely Punim
9/8/12
There is a wall that no one can break through
It has stood silently for a long time, begrudgingly still
Many have tried to climb over the wall, but somehow they always slip
Many have tried for years only to give up on it
The only enmities able to climb are the tangling vines
They crawl patiently and gently over the weathered wall of woe
Blooming balms of serene patience, becoming one with it
All humanity is blotted from the mysterious path of horrific nature
The wall towers over all, looking down rather impassively
Mature and grainy through rains and severe storm
Never once discouraged in its intense solitude
But someone began drilling into that unbreakable wall
They drilled night after night, day after day
Trying to figure it out, trying to understand WHY
Crackles and crunches, debris falling fast
The wall no longer passive, but perturbed and aghast
Drilling and drilling in monomaniac delight
The hands pushing into the cold and the hot
Holes destroying completion, giving into depletion
Cracks growing bigger, giving view to a river
Flooding, gushing through, pressure giving way
Drowning the driller and all the land of today
Carnivorous vines curl, cutting off circulation
Behold, the breakable—the revelation
Another dawn moment
Another dawn crime
Another act of violence
In a violent desperate time.
The firing squad paraded
On the killing ground
Every rifle charged but
One with a blank round.
They carried out the victim
Tied him to a chair
Filled full of whiskey
Just to get him there.
As one the rifles fired
On the officer’s shout
And then the firing squad
Marched off and fallen out.
Through each mind
A single thought was drilling
Pleas God I had the blank
So I didn't do this killing.
No such hope for the officer
Who, with strained white face,
Had with single revolver shot
Performed the Coup de Grace
Another dawn moment
Another dawn crime
Another act of violence
In a violent desperate time.
No attempt at understanding
No attempt at any care
It should have been Kitchener
Or Haigh tied to that chair
It was said that one weapon carried a blank so that nobody was certain whether or not they had actually carried out the execution.
Apparently towards the end, to stiffen morale, 5 or so officers faced the firing squad.