Long Equipment Poems
Long Equipment Poems. Below are the most popular long Equipment by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Equipment poems by poem length and keyword.
I leaned back and rubbed my work – weary
eyes as the stress of teaching left my
mind.
The children were playing a few yards away from me.
Their cheerful laughter could easily be heard above the
din of voices.
I checked on them briefly, then turned to the sky that
stretched out in a seamless blue. Occasional clouds
floated by.
It was a beautiful day to be out. I was glad that I had decided
to take a break from work and bring the kids to the park. My
husband agreed whole hearted
The children had jumped at the opportunity to go
play there; though it didn’t have much for play
equipment.
Despite the slight sheen of rust on the slide and
the dull pin pricks on the wood swing, the kids loved the
decrepit playground.
However if the parents ever found out what the children did
on the fallen play ground, they would be most
certainly be shocked at the manner of it all. For those
parents had no notion of what those children hid.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I looked at my twin in earnest. He had to understand.
In order to save Lishon I had to go. Just had
to.
The river flowed before us with a vengeance. It was as if the
water was displeased with the rocks and it had taken upon
itself to punish them.
Jorden looked at me sadly at the thought of jumping.
He knew that it would cost me my life if I
did.
“You just can’t Clarisa. If you jump the Noli will take over
Lishon and without you at the archers command they
will vanquish us.”
“Yes, but if the river is not quieted, our armies will drown.
As the Shana of the sea I must have control: just as you must
control the evergreen and the willow.”
“That’s different and you know it. The sea is fickle and
will turn its tide with little concern but to toss you from
its grave.”
“Jorden I must do what I must and not you, nor
the Noli, nor the Glifon , nor even the Great Shuka can
stop me.”
“Watch what you say Clarisa or the Great Shuka will
stop you.” Jorden’s features softened after this warning.
He knew.
I looked at my twin affectionately. For all that he
was, Shano of all trees and animals on land, he was
still my brother.
“Should I not return, defend Lishon with all you have. If
all goes well the frilena shall bloom once more in Lishon’s
courtyard.”
Jorden’s eyes glimmered like the wisps of freed droplets
from the surge of the cataclysmic rapids that was once calm.
He knew.
I have tried to teach people
that saving ten dollars per week
together, as a group of people
can create wealth
If you invest each week
and help it grow,
you could buy off the internet
and sell through garage sales,
watch television
you could go to
secondhand markets
and sell at auctions
You can buy equipment
and start your own cleaning service
thousand of people could add to my ideas
one hundred people saving ten dollars per week
Could be used to buy houses
one thousand dollars per week
fifty-two thousand dollars per year
the deposit every year for a house
the planet has six billion people
six billion people times ten dollars per week
is sixty billion times fifty-two
the money to build anything
Desalination plants
factories
anything you can imagine
granted there would be problems
people buy houses
sometimes tenants won't pay rent
people buy, franchises
and some lose thousands
We can all watch the news
and see the risks of small business
five of six small shops
shut down, across the road from us
I presume, they could have made a profit
but some shops, never have customers
with rents wages and running cost
going into business is hard
yet if people don't go into business
nobody would have jobs
the word on the street, people say
companies get away
with not paying tax
maybe that's the truth
but companies pay wages
and workers pay tax from those wages
So indirectly companies do pay tax
I watched a female manager
who owned a coffee shop saying
it's not fair, the wages a too high
I can't take time off I can't afford the costs
every day she worked and struggled
to make a profit, business is hard
but growing small business
is what builds your economy
Mr Bill Gates started micro soft
from his back yard
now it makes
thousands of dollars per second
Imagine what he could do
with an investment
of sixty billion dollars per week
But I can't afford ten dollars per week
well that's true when people get only
seventeen cents an hour
when people live in poverty
Watching their children die
ten dollars per week
would be more than they could afford
That why I suggested
Encouraging Industrialized nations
employees to become investors first
ten dollars per week is just half a pack of smokes
you spend more going out to the pictures
I escaped to a quite place to meditate
But as soon as I got there an old man in a red cap
with a wretched look on his face invaded my quiet space
I have noticed him perpetually prowling around the park
with his long range professional camera shooting from the dark
Today my spirit got crossed and I came face to face with him
I labeled him a stalker but he quickly denied and
and confessed that he was a habitual bird watcher
I felt a sudden vexation brewing and with deep sorrows inside
I took my bible and sat on the damp grass and
read a psalms from the depth of my heart.
The rain came down suddenly wetting the pages in my bible
And forcing the bird watcher to close his despised windows
His conscience started screaming at him and in a few
minutes he hurried away from that place.
Something compelled me to leave that spot too
so I rode my bike along the wet trail leading to a muddy course
and a man riding in the opposite direction crossed my path
I attempted to get off my bike to let him pass
but he said aloud "I will ride in the muddy part"
As soon as I reach around the tired bend
I pounced upon a sign which reads
"road under construction, closed"
The broken swampy road perishing from inside
with heavy equipment blocking the route kept everyone away
I felt extremely happy
I parked my bike along the broken track and walked on
a board that connects both trail and continued on the track
I kept walking until my spirit led me to a peculiar place
A tree on the river bank with roots swelling out of the ground
with no soil to cover it's body and veins running all around
caught my attention
I made my way into the bushes
and sat on the root with my bare feet dangling
above the slow moving water and flat rocks gazing at me
as if they have something urgent to show me
I kept looking all around still there was nothing to be found
But right in front of me the hidden mystery was staring directly at me
There it was in living proof five trees standing on the river bank
four trees leaning over the river in a cluster
with one almost falling to the ground
But the fifth tree separated from the cluster was standing upright
looking healthy and strong sucking up the energy from the four falling ones
I photograph the living image of the four trees
collapsing over the big dirty river.
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.
When you speak to an audience, who are you talking to? The people in front of your screen or those trapped in your dreams? More than thirty thousand people are watching you simultaneously and the language that you portrayed is interpreted in many different ways. When you are on screen, you are not speaking to one person; your multitude of words can rest heavily on the soul for those who absorb them.
I don’t know who you are talking to when you are on the screen unless you place me in a private chat room and direct the conversation to my dream; the universe is blending with you and they will tell you what to do; over a million voices have heard you and ten million ears understand you.
When you leave this place, you will be a better man and a better woman, don’t ever take me for granted because I have ninety-nine lives and I have died and risen many times so get ready for the next journey because we are going to break the box office record and then we dance the shimmy.
I saw you on the screen yesterday with a burden on your face; it is not the regular excitement that I used to see, it’s one mounted with fear and anxiety. It was as if you were speaking and thinking of the journey you have to go, but all the reporters on the scene add compliments to the show.
You use a lot of energy to present the news, do the commentary and analyze the prosperity; the ship is waiting in the dock and the passengers and crew are watching the clock, the cameras are rolling, the makeup is on and you must be on the set before the break of Dawn. The story is just unfolding.
When you speak to an audience let them know what you mean, your body language and tone reveal your countenance for the entire day and even a subtle eye movement will show you the way.
When you are speaking to an audience, you must show variation in your tone. If the point is directed to me, let me know through the constant movement of your little finger because the audience is the art of the show.
We are getting ready for the summer “shots” and we are going to give it all that we’ve got, the equipment is on board the crews are rolling in, location scene shots are identified, analyzed and scrutinized. Security arrangements are put in place for you to completed this final phase, the heat is on and the sacrifice has begun and the queen of the sea has landed.
Saloon
Squeezed between office buildings
On lower Broadway
Desolate and out of the way
Faint neon sign marks the place
For the downtown art scene.
Poetry readings on Sunday afternoons
Only the regulars show up
Invited or not
Some mount the stage and
Recite a piece or two
To scattered applause.
The beat goes on
Summer nights fly by
No Sunday readings now
It’s Saturday and it’s a different place.
Crowd mingles
Three deep at the bar
A/C working on overtime while
Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On plays
Jazzy and soulful
A monster hit
To no one’s surprise.
A hangout for anyone
Bodies waiting to meet
An Agent.
Or maybe a Publisher.
Or a Rep.
Anybody. Somebody. Anyone know somebody important?
Naw, this ain’t the place
This is St. Adrian’s
A place for
Artists.
Writers.
Sculptors.
Working class dreamers.
Pretenders and losers.
Wannabes.
Lost children and
Casual loners on the prowl.
Carol, alone in a corner booth
Glass of white wine in her hands
On the rocks of course
Smiles at everyone like a Mona Lisa.
Jack Micheline
Bronx’ original Beat
Wrote River of Red Wine in ‘58
Manuscript under his arm
Waits for someone
To buy him a drink
Elaine, beautiful in a peasant blouse
Scent of musk oil like a halo
Motions
To the young men
Who watch her hands
Move like deadly weapons
Stan’s a photographer. Sleepy, one night
Left his equipment in a car
Morning arrives and
Broken windshield screams
You’ve been robbed.
Junior, a sculptor, needs rent money for a walkup in the East Village
Otherwise he’ll live on someone’s couch
Gil does commercials
Until he finds an old lady
Then Hollywood here he comes
And Glenn is a writer with lots of ideas
But no paper and no place to go.
No one asked what I did for money
Or where I lived.
I was accepted with a simple sitdownhaveadrink.
Sometimes there’d be ten of us
Squeezed in a booth or
Around a table
Talking and talking.
Any topic not important
Just to meet and forget for awhile
The nagging loneliness and rejection.
It’s well past midnight
Chairs scrape the floor and there’s an echo in the walls
Left behind are empty glasses and stale beer
As the place begins to empty out.
We leave
Hitting the still streets
Looking for a cab
Or the nearest subway
But before we do
We promise to meet again.
I was born, Bronx, New York, in the year 'Thirty-Nine',
the first child with a brother who followed in time.
Ten years later, moved North, Hudson Valley, same State
where I've settled, lived on with my loved ones to date.
But when young, in my school, two fine talents emerged,
and my teachers spared hours to encourage my urge.
I enjoyed my young years while I painted and penned;
lots of canvas and paper used up without end.
At eighteen, I then married the love of my life
and enjoyed my new path of becoming a wife
to my US Marine, very handsome and true;
Parris Island, our home for a year, almost two.
By the age twenty-five- was a mother of three;
a fine son, two sweet girls, a complete family.
We worked hard every day and our life was so good.
I wrote poems and painted whenever I could.
Later, painting with oils was the pastime for me-
while I studied for years at an art gallery.
Varied art shows, displays, and a job filled my time.
Soon I sold many pieces and life was sublime.
Yet, the years went by fast and at age thirty-nine,
I enrolled in a college to study part-time.
Six years later, I earned my prized English degree-
a BA—and a Minor in Business for me.
Then my pictures with words replaced those done with art,
and I soon published poems of life and of heart.
Yet along in this time of my great writing spree
I worked hard every day as our business VP.
For a full twenty years, we worked hard faithfully
after hubby retired as the Chief of FD,
selling our fire equipment, all types, big and small
to FDs, factories, district schools, and the malls.
Our dear children all married, with families too,
are involved happily in whatever they do.
Happy grandma of five- twenty-five to eighteen-
and one granddaughter married two thousand thirteen.
We retired, sold our business thirteen years ago,
still so busy with life, with its ebb and its flow.
We are proud and so blessed and thank God up above,
for our days and our life of good times filled with love.
April 11, 2015
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Where Are You From
Sponsor: Joseph Soper
Judged: 08/01/2017
~2nd Place~
Contest: Bio of a Poet
Sponsor: Tammy Reams
Judged: 04/18/2015
Form: Anapestic Tetrameter (12 syllables, 4 feet per line)
Yesterday, turned out,
To be, a magical day...
I got a great new drummer,
Totally excellent, I must say,
And he took the band,
To his amazing studio...
With every bit of exotic equipment...
A musician could know...
He mixed in like magic...
Making the band's chances
of reaching success to greatly grow...
And, though my physical pain was
much greater than usual,
We went to a diner in Queens,
for a menu perusal,
I treated my mates,
To a hearty dinner meal,
Glad for once I could treat,
It seemed no big deal...
From there on we went...
To the Howard Beach Yacht Club,
To play a musical gig,
The kind of job we do love...
Hosted by Queens Hell's Angels,
A fund raiser for poor kids,
For the "toys for tots bike run",
Sounds unreal, yet it was not,
It was just what it claimed,
That it really was, and every year
It still is...
We played for free,
though we got food or drinks,
Without charge...
And helped them earn money,
In their own hometown biker's lodge...
Well we were suplimented by
by other good musicians we knew...
We played an awesome set,
We knew what, and how, to do...
As for me, when I received,
What I perceived as a musician's slight..
Asked not to play...
every song that was planned,
For that big night,,
It seemed to me....
To be not being treated quite right...
So, yet, when we played,
We were sharper than a knife...
And were heros for the night...
Every song quite tight,
However, this somewhat offensive remark,
That was made to me,
Turned my playing skills
Up quite a mite....
And when we reached...
A great level of musical
Excellence,at that point,
And when it was at it's height...
We were rocking that joint,
We played way out-of-sight.....
But regarding my minor ego wound,
I somehow made my point,
So by a long night's end,
I had easily won that
Stupid and needless musical fight...
Picture "biker chicks" dancing
Exotically in front of the band,
Seemingly in ecstasy...
Which gave us a hand...
You see, such a thing...
Will make us play all the better...
And thunderous applause,
It seemed dotted the "i's"
In that letter....
We "Smoked 'Em" real good,
They loved every song....
Seemed they wanted us,
To play all night long...
Great satisfaction, and fun,
I really did have...
For at least my tired soul,
It was a heavenly sent salve.
My friend John Barnes is as special as can be.
When it comes to friends God sure blessed me.
There are some things we lose, while others we win.
Some games we play lead us into sin.
I’ve have been lucky enough without any doubt.
I have a friend who always helps me out.
He drove across the state to find me on the roam.
Said, “get into the car I’m taking you home.”
He never once asked for a thing or questioned me.
I reckon that’s how a good friend should be.
We worked together off and on, our entire life.
I’m on number eight, John’s with the same wife.
John and Lisa have most certainly had their fights.
In the end they always do what is right.
Work it out, stay together, never giving up.
Realizing they already have a full cup.
They have raised all their kids, which should include me.
I reckon that’s how a parent should be.
John’s not really my dad but he is my brother.
He’s a friend to the end like no other.
A perfect example of what a friend should be.
That’s what John Barnes has always been for me.
From the start of the game to the end of the show,
John’s been the friend who has never let go.
He has stood by my side through thick and thin.
I’m very proud to be a friend to him.
Through the love of my friend I was able to see.
This is exactly what a friend should be.
You guys know that twinkle that you see in a star.
When it comes to life that’s what good friends are.
John Barn's is my best friend. Him and I met in the Oilfields outside
of Bakersfield where he still resides. We worked together on many
different jobs together over the years operating heavy equipment. I
reckon I was about 20 years old when I first met John and Lisa, his
wife. I haven't had 8 wives but I have 3 had wives and 5 significant
others during the time we have all known each other. I'm very lucky,
as well as, very proud to have had them in my life. We may not be
blood but we are family. Several times in my life they have opened
their home and helped me. Never asking for a thing or questioning my
behavior. Of course, them I would never disrespect. Not even in my worst
days. In fact, I never was a disrespectful or rude person. I just had bad
habits. I wrote this in honor of them but it is how I feel about all of my
friends. You guys all shine in my eyes. God Bless, mj
In our small community, there was a library surrounded by a playground filled with play equipment for children. There was a large and strong swing set
made of iron. There were also a sliding board and merry-go-round, both large. This swing set was the best, and it was built to last, with no fear of breakage.
Whenever the coast was clear, and if no one chased us off, we'd play for hours. "Coast was clear? What on earth do you mean?". What must be understood is this: In America, I grew up in the 50's and 60's in the rural South. Jim Crow laws were in full force, and that presented a major 'bigger than life' problem that my friends and I had to overcome. There was only one playground in town, and it was for "Whites Only".
However, in this heavy farming community, our playtime was limited and restricted. Because of that, when the 'spirit of playtime' embraced itself around us, we were willing to violate the rules and have fun as long as we could, which usually was a very short duration. It was like flying through the air without wings on childhood aircraft forbidden to us. So many other freedoms that were taken for granted by most kids in America were denied to us; but to play on that vast playground was so much fun and so liberating, that we broke the Southern Rule. I cannot count the many times that we were chased off; but we always went back, again and again.
No. We were not trying to change the world; we just wanted to swing.
No. We were not fighting for civil rights; we just wanted to slide on the boards. We were simply innocent kids, looking for joy rides on the merry-go-round.
If we had a motto, it was not "Let Freedom Ring; but rather, "Let Freedom Swing".
That was over 50 years ago, when Jim Crow was alive and well in America. Now, most people prefer to forget that he ever lived. I choose to remember.*
10192017 Contest, The Sounds Of The Past, Roper; Chosen picture for theme: The Swing Set; 2ndPl;*"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it", John Santayana