Long Engineers Poems
Long Engineers Poems. Below are the most popular long Engineers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Engineers poems by poem length and keyword.
My appointment didn't show up today
So I decided to hang out and play
I circled around Ellanor's Park
wandering about in the dark
and thinking about the road ahead
The rain has just fell leaving mud
and water on the swampy ground
The pokemon go gang was playing around
disturbing nature with their silly sound
They walk up and down the wet grass
communicating with their partners
One by one two by two they showed up and join the crew
As soon as I arrived more of them anchored down
creating nuisance and spreading bad energy around
Luckily the Gods were lingering by to listen to my silent cry
They came down form the sky and spew them out of sight
so that nature could sing and dance about
On by one they jump into their cars
and drove out of Ellanor's park
I closed my car and walked over to an old bulldozer
stationed on the park's ground
the equipment was so old
I wonder if I was still in America
The owner was not around
so I climbed up and sat in the chair
and examined the levers and gears
I was captivated by a certain power
It felt good sitting in an elevated tower
It has been parked there for many days
Rust and dirt was musing on its face
No work was going on and the pile of sand
stood waiting on the ground for the fix it man
The same roads that were repaired
has been dug up and repaired year after year
The paved parts are lean and bumpy
And when I drive my truck rocked side to side
Where are the professional engineers
Cheap labor has sucked every penny out of the mill grinder
And America's roads are in danger
I watched them prowling up and down the street
Trying to figure out my heart beat
But I sat in the big old bulldozer scrutinizing them all over
I felt a sudden rush of power
I felt like a queen in her parlor
And I felt like a queen riding in a carriage
Waving to the magnificent crowd shouting out loud
If the owner was around I would ask for permission
To drive it up and down and through the town
Wolfish influence peddlers
Big belly contractors and poor skills workers
has feasted on the wallet of the county for years
But now I am in the bulldozer and I am getting
ready to run some one over
America needs a constitutional face-lift
Here I am in this big old bulldozer
feeling energetic and strong
I am ready to dig up and tear down the remaining barriers.
An Awful Harvest
I went a hike up to Wawa in Montalban and up the mountain roads. Here I was to go past the peaks of Mt Parawagan, Susong Dalaga and Mt Lagyo plus others. The road had been improved by engineers with trucks and plant equipment. I wanted to hike a big circle right back to the beginning. This was possible a few months ago but not now due to the building of the Pamitinan Dam. It will take four years to do this and flood a complete valley near the peaks. A guard told me no entry by the construction site. I talked to a head engineer and he told me more details. The dam will be eighty metres tall or deep more than the Kaliwa Dam of sixty four metres. These are big structures. Hikers wanted to hike from Wawa to Casili by the newly improved mountain roads but the dam construction stopped this. In time a new road will be built above the dam level replacing the old road. Even if the road is built in a year the dam will still be unfinished so still no entry.
I saw a sign saying beware of UXO Unexploded Ordnance. A local man told me about this, of how the military was looking for it and would defuse any found. His details matched much of what I’ve heard before, like finding shrapnel in the soil. The sign was for the road improvement and dam construction. Sleeping shells waited to knocked awake and kill.
The digger, bulldozer and plant drivers need to be paid danger money. No joke. The area they work on is a small part of a huge World War 2 battlefield. An awful harvest litters the land with unexploded ordnance being buried in the soil having not detonated. Mortars, shells, bombs and other things; these all need locating and safely defusing by the military.
People live in the area and many have found live or exploded shells. The live shells are complete and the spent ones are in varied sized pieces. On my hike up there I was given a piece of one five five millimetre shell from a local. This was in two parts, the biggest weighed many pounds. I estimate between one in four and six fired never exploded. On the stone mountains like Mt Lagyo the shells and bombs will explode on impact if the detonators are triggered. In soil covered peaks the shells can just dig in and don’t go off. The army went up to Mt Lagyo looking for unexploded ordnance. They found nothing.
Azure-accentuated ambiance awaits aspiring artists
Baby’s birth brings blessings, blowing boredom-blues
Cool calmness charms circumspect chefs to create cuisine cravings
Daybreak dos and don’ts discipline drivers from direction-dazzles
Enlightenment-exercise empowers engineers in their endeavors...
Fiery fluorescent fearlessness fuels firefighters’ faith-fortitude’s fervor
Glowing grace of God gears guardians for guiding governance
Hope highlights health-helpers’ handlings midst heightened heaviness
Illumined instructors inspire with their influence-iridescence
Justice-jubilation juxtaposed with jurisprudence-judgment joins jury...
Kaleidoscopic kindness-keys keep kinship’s knot kindling
Light’s luster leads liberation-lovers to lift the lamenting and lowly
Morning’s majestic magnificence moves mothers with mercies'* might
Nourishing nurses’ nurture and nature negates night’s negligence
Overwhelming opportunities open officials for output-optimization...
Peace-packed period pulls prayer-partners into Providence presence
Quality quotes quiet the querulous' qualms and quixotics' questions
Redolent reflections refocus reviewers against regretful reveries
Spiritual songs by soprano soloists shut silence-stillness
Triumphant thanksgiving tops tight timetable of tenacious teachers...
Ultimate urgency upholds undaunted umpires unto usefulness
Verses vanquish vanities vying against vision of the victors
Watchfulness warmth wakes the weary to welcome words of wisdom
X rays of ‘xpertise ‘xamination x-out ‘xpectations for a Xanadu
Yes-yells yearn for youth yielded yeah-yowls from yesterdays’ yets
Zion's zephyr zooms the zealously zestful to zenith of prize-zillions!!!
*Lamentations 3:22-23 It is of the LORD'S mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning:
great is thy faithfulness.
Abecedarian and alliteration forms
July 28, 2018
Edited on May 19, 2022
1st place, "ABCEDARIAN POEM" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger; judged on 6/4/2022.
Challenged by the visionary speaker decades ago
I had a dream to become a tribal missionary to spread heavenly glow...
To make myself engaged in every discipleship engagement
involving in worthy tasks of counselling settlement...
Looking forward to learning different dialects and languages
my tongue would struggle with twists and accents along session stages...
With ministerial pursuits, I would delight to see youth joyously ready
and children from heathen culture grow in faith through Bible study...
Then help families to be health-oriented along good hygiene perspective
yes, pushing for rural welfare and development of Scriptural directive...
While encouraging lasses to pursue teaching toward life-upholding
and lads to be future engineers beyond infrastructure-building...
Pressing young ladies to prepare themselves as functional homemakers
and gentlemen to become bread winners and God's will-seekers...
Prayerfully instilling value of God-granted peace and security
when serving as values coach to courageous vanguards in the community...
Charging the fathers' valor in their decision and determination
as soldiers of their own houses, guarding loved ones with compassion...
Concerned with wives to optimize their skills and capacities
inspiring them to do well as light of illumining abilities...
Being with environmental stalwarts for their ecological posture
so enthusiastically trekking mountains for nature-venture...
Introducing technology for progress acknowledging tribal uniqueness
prodding for advancement that welcomes adjustment against perilousness...
Empowered by the Holy Spirit to run patiently along hardness-race
my faith would cleave to grace and cling
Still envisioning to serve the Lord in such mission field one of these days
I trust* the Almighty to bless those whom He has sent there always...
Finally, to write about the triumphant journey
exalting the Saviour in my jubilant tribal mission testimony!!!
*Psalm 112:7 He shall not be afraid of evil tidings: his heart is fixed, trusting in the LORD.
March 30, 2021
Edited on May 30, 2023
4th place, "Dreaming" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh; judged on 6/15/2023.
Used to be a happy go around…later shrouded in frowns…?
For many a birth places…what are the shades of their faces…?
A log of many a cases…where are the words of their paces…
Memories of a ghetto…not in Soweto…
But it is located in Jamaica…some call it ‘Jah Mek Yah’…
Right there in Kingston…where the 70’s ‘kill some’…
With smears of being all poor…what is there to adore…?
Is there any glowing in their growing…or is it a constant lowing that is flowing…?
Incense of some violence…at times very intense…
Why question from whence…the condition of your fence…
Some work for minimum wage…till their children comes of age…
Some may try a ‘hustle’…amid times of a real tussle…
A school is the real tool…not to be classified a fool…
How many took the opportunity…was it there in its entirety…?
Expectations are low…within the underlying glow…
If you noted some highs…many people might accuse you of lies…
But what about some doctors…what are the determinations of their characters…?
What says of the lawyers…any semblance to Tom Sawyers…?
The list of engineers…worthy of professional scares…?
What of other professionals…would you question their rationales…?
What do you expect…outcasts in select…?
To put it in context…a myriad of rejects…?
Like some ‘Shotters’…what are their real matters…?
The diary of their jotters…to splatters…the brain of ‘ratters’…?
What of the common people…any conclusions from their STEEPLE…?
A ‘transfer’ will be good for him; or her survival…are there many a rivals...?
Through Western Union…is this the symbolic source of a reunion…?
Or through Money Gram…is it the lamb within a damn…?
Within the spacing of the land…are there any sightings of bland…?
Good gods of Moses…will their limitations exposes…?
Can they escape the brand…is there any magic in their wand…?
Within the society…what are the flavours of our notoriety…?
You are not from ‘uptown’…will I make you a frown…?
What’s the expectation of your game…any flame; or is it plain lame…?
Like ‘boys in the hood’…can you ever come good…?
Questions to a faction…what’s the typical reaction…?
Will you move beyond the seeming limits of your scope…?
Or will you condemn yourself to the notion of no hope…?
Jones Town…it once was my playground…
FASCIST STATE
They did not come upon us like blitzkrieg in the night
or goose step into town like a plague of parasites.
They crept on us like shadows in increments so small
they did not seem, at first, to be that menacing at all.
But an eerie posture lurking in those twisted silhouettes
triggered in my senses the twinges of a threat.
So when I turned to look at it what loomed before my eyes
was a figure black in battle dress, fully weaponized.
The more I studied it the more my inclinations ran
to perceive it as an insect rather than a man.
It was clad in armor that formed a battle skin
like some science fiction creature’s exoskeleton.
Peering like a mantis, devoid of all remorse,
it assumed the posture of a ruthless brutal force.
Unmoving, it awaited some unsuspecting prey
to trigger programmed instincts into deadly play.
It was not a thinking thing but a proxy sent
to execute agendas of torture and torment.
It was posted as a sentry by a calculating hand
to reinforce the stranglehold of evil in command.
Secure in it’s status as an instrument of pain
it stood rigid in a posture of arrogant disdain.
it’s value was its ignorance, it did not comprehend
that it would be destroyed when its purpose came to end.
It emanated coldness so inhuman that it seemed
to have stepped from a nightmare to stomp upon a dream.
The whole landscape of existence changed dramatically
beneath the hostile presence of such raw authority.
Where once the streetlights offered sanctuary in their rays
they now morphed into searchlights hunting down a prey.
Sirens screamed atrocities that took the aspect of
a jackboot psychopath with a fist inside a glove.
Beneath the cyborg menace was evil more discrete
skulking in the think tanks, and the bunkers of deceit.
A covert insurgency of social engineers
bent on the subjugation of the hemispheres.
Through orchestrated episodes of endless global war
they reveled in their orgies of sabotage and gore.
The sentry was the whipping tip of the chain of command
lashed across the back of every dominated land.
What darkness of impressions an image can command
when the shadow of a fascist state falls across a land.
In last night's movie, a young writer
and an older, married with children French woman
fall in love. They did not meet during a village massacre
and money is no object, Manhattan
the place I was priced out of. But after everything has happened
she cannot leave her children, not even for love, because of love,
the love that brooks no serendipity.
Here, in my family, love is taken for granted
except when it's withdrawn and then even the trees lose all meaning,
familiarity. Now it is almost dawn:
this and that must get done in committee or alone.
Don't reach, go slow as the day will allow.
But that's not what I came to say.
Perfect rest v. having a destiny.
A complete breakdown in self-discipline.
It begins by saying nothing I do matters under the eye of eternity.
Hamlet x 5 centuries.
Add to that all the science--chemistry, physics--calculus and music
I don't know. I have sat next to, at weddings,
brain surgeons and robot engineers. I hit the street
choosing a church on Fifth Ave. or Trinity Cemetery, walking the
heartless city.
In the subsequent late night movie, a wealthy
altruistic doctor arranges for the murder
of his neurotic concubine. His guilt provides us
with an opportunity to consider
the concepts of faith and forgiveness, that all will be well in the end
after a period of meaningless suffering.
In this way the seasons have been circulating for eons via convexity.
I don't know what I'm doing but I'm doing it anyway.
You trust in genetics, God, prosthetics or prayer, whatever
gets you to the morning. That's when the sun,
a billion trillion nuclear detonations per second
warms your bones.
You may remember an old lover who's gone before
or continues to exist on another plane, in another ecstasy.
Having installed a new toilet seat
and made a few philanthropic donations
I can kick back tonight and watch movies, right?
Not. I'm ridding myself of another addiction
like illegal drugs via caloric restrictions
getting enough sleep for two people or more
and reading none of the dry words in books from the library.
When there's nothing to do, when I'm bored or dreary
I'll sit still and watch from the window, I'll wait
for the weather to change, which it will.
I saw the top twirl
As he whispered over again to the crowd,
“You must be the change you wish to see in the world”
I breathed in his air as he did the same to me.
I could feel his presence,
His pressure
And yet he had no name.
He was homeless, he was free.
His speech ran through my bones
As he injected me with,
“Where do we belong in this world?
What are our hopes and dreams?
Are we glad to be alive?
Have we seen this world?
Have we explored it inside and out?
Have we discovered something we know nothing about?
Have we made a difference?
Have we made a change?
See this world spins around like this top in my hand
And I am surrounded by hims and hers.
The lights that make this world glow,
brightens our knowledge
And decides what we know.
This world is made up of scientists poets and theorists,
Writers, musicians,
Engineers and lyricists.
That is not a dream,
This is a part of reality.
The King had a dream, he wrote his own speech.
And Mrs. Parks was a black women and didn’t move from her seat.
Margaret Thatcher First woman Prime Minister in Britain.
Obama First black Leader in U.S.A.
They all made the change that effects us today.
But is it enough?
Like this top that twirls,
“You must be the change you wish to see in the world”
Take in this pressure,
It’s the world you’re after.
The decisions,
The chances you take,
Makes you…
Or causes disaster.
Like a hurricane or a typhoon
Maybe a tornado or a monsoon.
Punishment is natural and the effects are crucial
But what can you do to contribute to
To change…
The child that cries at night with no mother.
The prostitute that runs the street with every other brother.
The girls.. Date Rape.
The homosexual beat on because he’s not straight.
HIV and sexually transmitted diseases.
Things happening because of our reasons.
We blame it on each other and who’s pointing at me
We put the blame on everyone else except the person we see.
So this world is just like this top the twirls
“You must be the change you wish to see in the world”.
As I walked off I recaptured my thoughts
And loosened my brain.
I felt a change go through my mind
And my body was sore
I knew I must be the change I wish to see in the world.
Doctors (particularly biomedical engineers)...
really trolley train hard to keep track of patients
Eye tell ya we (spuds)
pulled up stakes after four yar
and zero scores ago living in Bryn Mawr
salutary heart and lungs figurative
storied Main Line Health medical network
latter part of June tooth thousand seventeen
approximately July first
same year bidding au revoir
bid good riddance account
to slumlord - hood did spat and spar
moved to Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
unsafe to ride bicycle without handlebar
economical, geographical, practical...
subjected by Grosse and Quade tyrannical czar
dom low income facilities housing
nattering nabobs of nihilism whose intellect subpar
candidates vetted by Jaclyn Geiger registrar
courtesy nepotism unexceptional manager
thanks be to her papa, she drives fancy car
unlike this pauper and the missus
limited to schlep near and not far
afforded by rattletrap motorcar,
no driving prohibitive number of miles,
crossing sketchy territory warning signs
picturing dangerous avatar,
(especially during inclement whee thar)
determining risk to forego
top manic kin Michelin
money grubbing cannibalistic
surgeon's earning equivalent silver star,
or comparable civilian rating touting specialists
while bonafide topnotch indivisible tailors swifty
stitch ink, viz tattoo back parlor shop whar
exemplary Patients Matter Always
buzzfeeding, inoculating, kickstarting...
healthy medical network,
hobnob, kibitz, schmooze...
drown lackluster lovelife at the bar
parting paramour with such sweet sorrows par
for the course during pouring rain how bizarre
necessitated our lucky find locating physicians
supreme nsync with Google high reviews
receiving, scoring, nabbing,
incorporating... truevalue re: vector and scalar,
we veteran trooper seasoned renters
luckily blessed chance
cost us pennies on the dinar
general bang for buck amazingly
found yours truly strumming his air guitar
pleasantly situated among picturesque poplar
resort within Skippack Village, a tourist
mecca for devout or
secular gourmandizing, earning
catering and acquiescing savoir
ole mighty faire Benjamin
legally tendering expensive bazaar.
Beneath the city the river fishing is good.
I roam with tackle and pole below those wiggling tapeworms
Wound around the cement underbelly of bridges
Devouring the guts of the city’s glamour
Down here where shadows are long as green moss
And the voices of old black dudes echoes to casts
“Damn motherer, you crossed my line!”
Splash.
To catch catfish on a wad of bread is a worthy fight.
It takes shoulder chest and wrist and it’s not just the fish
But the current of the Grand River pulling us over
That sucks us in like a Thanksgiving ladle
Into a whirlpool of brown gravy spilled on a dinner table.
The trouble with catfish is that they swallow the hook
Beyond the use of pliers
And when they’re too small
We cut the line
With a lack of guilt like Old Testament God
Throwing the creature back
Hoping for a miracle.
Logs are tipped over along the gooey shores
And upon them painted turtles sleep
Sunning like leprosy sores.
Even from down here in the cool mist umbrella from summer
We can see the smokestack vapor
Twisting overhead like a genie rubbed from its lamp
Thin at its head thick at its feet still stuck in its copper mother
Arms outstretched like a Christ-cloud spooking the sun.
There are other mysterious pipes
Lips rust red as strawberries
Bloomed from the banks dripping silver
While mouthing a lullaby
To the muck
Like a whore at the end of her exhausting shift.
A railroad bridge rattles to life
Swollen by the axles of its returning soul
A freight train pounding out the Blues
A rhythm meant for bass and drums
That part we don’t sing
But the swing that keeps our foot stomping
And in that noise
Software girls flutter about like orange ribbons
Untied from the hair of the downtown towers
Drifting along the river trails at lunch
Jogging in pony tails and pink shorty shorts
Fingertips stuck into their cotton ears
Ever on the lookout for us
The creeps.
The trick is to not make eye contact
I mean us with them
The fishermen the engineers the long forgotten wrenches
Screwing cranks turning knobs yanking hooks from helpless fish
Drilling the pylons through chemical gold
That holds up this magnificent city.