Long Establishments Poems
Long Establishments Poems. Below are the most popular long Establishments by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Establishments poems by poem length and keyword.
I don’t know if there’s a God,
But I still prayed we’d not be seen,
That night we scaled your neighbour’s fence,
To steal their trampoline,
In the halflight the elastic,
Shone like a lacquered animal skin,
Stretched taut across the beaten frame,
Held in place with rusty pins,
Sat there crouching in the darkness,
Like some huge primeval beast,
Yeah it sat there like a drum,
As our souls slapped a beat,
Put me in mind of Three Blind Mice,
Or God Save the Queen,
Or The Rhythm of Life,
Pulled me closer when the net,
Became an oil slick in the rain,
Said whatever souls are made of,
Yours and mine are just the same,
Well I’ve never like clichés,
And I don’t believe in fate,
I’d prefer you to quote Hardy,
I find Austen quite passé,
But there was something in the way,
That you could spin a phrase,
Yeah when you shaped them with your mouth,
Those old words seemed newly made,
You said,
I’ll live my life according,
To the fortune cookie sages,
And glossy magazines,
With their astrology pages,
We can chart a route to China,
And sail by the stars,
We’ll earn ourselves a name,
In brothels and in bars,
Yes we will make our fortune,
And we will find our fame,
In a place where they write danger,
And opportunity the same,
Well I’ve never been to China,
Couldn’t quite see the attraction,
Why fly halfway round the planet,
When there’s sun and sea at Brighton?
And I never understood,
Your peculiar gravitation,
To late night establishments,
Of a dubious reputation,
With their smoke and smut and chewing gum,
And soggy Carlton coasters,
And air of desperation,
And karaoke posters,
Full of ugly men and women,
Making ugly propositions,
You say ‘perfection is a fault’,
By way of explanation,
And claim that there’s a quiet glory,
In decay and all that’s grimy,
And you’ve always been so partial,
To the charms of ugly beauty,
Then sang,
I’ll live my life according,
To the fortune cookie sages,
And glossy magazines,
With their astrology pages,
We can chart a route to China,
And sail by the stars,
We’ll earn ourselves a name,
In brothels and in bars,
Well they’ll never see it coming,
Our touch will leave them changed,
Once we’ve finished with this world,
It will never be the same,
Oh once we’ve finished with this world,
It will never be the same.
Top shelf cologne exhibits sensual tail of peacock
Entrances my senses at our eleven a.m embrace
Eyes shut, my erratic stamina borrows comfort
Curled into leather front seat, chest inhales safe
Our waterfall guffaws cascade in establishments of stature
Grilled salmon, staple lunch, gregarious wine supports us
Role's novelty and glitz incessantly scratches my rapture
Unorthodox allure makes mockery of standard formulas
Indirect looks from diners, behind raised glasses, warped
Solid gold arrogance declares benefits blatantly displayed
Society fears breaking the mould, glued to ordinary course
Our acquired theme sustains disdain for lifestyles staid
Ocean boulevard grandeur sees counterpart meshed potential
Sleek topless travel exalts unfelt mist, road gloss moisture
Your life thickened fingers amorously grasp my thigh's tender
I agree to be owned, an ornament connects material pleasure
When the Polstar slows to crawl of steady tiger, stealthily slips
mid afternoon into carpark of your harbour side apartment
Disparagement wedges beneath my ribs, not having envisaged
aerobics of limber mayhem, loosened make-up, not just yet
Smug expression hugs your face, read in tight lipped pressure
I assert my plan to showcase new swimsuit may now be ruined
"Absolutely promise, gorgeous, there's no chance you'll regret."
My climbing premonition messages a gem of genuine
Ponytail splayed against mirrored wall of elevator
Ardent kissing's conclusion resurfaces your chivalrous
Door barely closed before I pouncing kitten paw you
Your flailing indicating a spare key cut for me, erroneous
"My doll, my dear desirable, the key is incompatible."
Mysterious grimace molests your face, causing me to frown
"Did the rum with lunch rupture your remaining brain cells?!"
Fatherly pats of my arms speak a decoy which confounds
Journey up two flights, could it be... heart in throat
Silenced keys caress sweat sodden peeled open palm
Your anticipating stare burns my back, unopposed
Oh, justify me - yes! - the door complies on demand
"Neighbour, do you like it?" superfluous inquiry smiling
Floating eight stories above glint of yacht metropolis
Invited by windows handing out reviving hold of horizon
Violent screams likely deafen you, interjected with frantic kisses
Today we drove from Wolf Point, Montana to Minot North Dakota
making one major stop on the trip…
at the Dakota Drug Store in Stanley, North Dakota to enjoy a Whirla-Whip.
What makes this treat so special and why we had to stop today
is they have the only remaining original Whira-Whip machine in the entire USA.
In the 1930’s Whirla-Whip thought they knew what their customers deserved.
Their machine took frozen ice cream…mixed it with other flavors
and, voila, the mixture came out soft serve.
What made this machine unique, still does, in the 1930’s speak…it was dreamy
how frozen ice cream went in…and came out smooth and creamy.
Whirla-Whip didn’t take off like they hoped it would…
soon these machines were nowhere to be seen…
replaced by soft serving establishments…like those at Dairy Queen.
But the Dakota Drug store’s Whirla-Whip remains…
and as far as ice cream on this trip…we haven’t had our quota…
which brought us to this soda fountain…in Stanley, North Dakota.
We shared a spoonful with each other…but the rest ate a capella
I had chocolate with brownie cake and peanut butter
Deborah…vanilla, peanut butter…with Nutella.
And it was smooth and it was creamy…but what really blew us away
were the people we met and talked to…at the soda fountain that day.
Two air force men (I must be getting old because they looked more like boys)
talked with us a bringing us such joy.
And we stayed and talked with the three young girls
the ones who made our Whirla-Whips
We talked about their winters in North Dakota…
and they asked us about our trip.
If I had to describe, so far, each part of the first 3000 miles of our trip
I’d have to say it’s been amazing…and a lot like our Whirla-Whips
How different people, each with different flavors, mix together…
just as we did at the Stanley, North Dakota Drug Store….
and how those flavors once mixed together…
come out tasting better than each flavor did before.
1. Today’s rains make me feel a drought
All the more thirstingly. A drought
Of all that is not unwanted
All that is not love, that is.
In times when farmers kill themselves
Due to debts, a rash truck kills
A man on a walk and fellow
Students rape a girl in the lab.
It’s all goose-turd and rat-piss.
2. What it would be like if the rains
Could be stilled in mid air. To hold
It stilled in hand and seek
Like a child its sparkle inside.
Dull or sparkling, something or nothing
I wouldn’t break it like a child.
Rain and water are brittle like
Limbs, hearts and life. Handle with care.
3. Is it not wonderful when
Tomorrow’s rains rain today. Yes.
But not always. Today it is.
Tomorrow I might be drenched
To my bones. But its soaking me
To my heart’s content today
Is the price the day offers
To all those who waited out the bad
Days through failed power, lost TV serials
And washings that would not get dry
And washed away belongings.
4. And finally when it rains, it
Is simply rain. Torrential
Or scanty, flowing or fitful.
No room to safekeep my private
Thoughts against the querying chill
No scope for my forlorn hopes
Against this searching soggy breeze.
Someone across the street has switched
On a record which goes about
Repeating ‘Om Namah Sivayah’
And I conclude boldly and brightly
It rains pristine and cold. It rains.
Like a holy chant, an oft-heard song
It rains life and hope. It rains.
Note:
1.Bundh is a form of public protest in India against governmental action or inaction and is observed through closure of business establishments, stopping of public transports etc for a specified duration, usually a day.
2.Om Namah sivayah is a religious chant, which is supposed to bring the blessings of Lord Siva .
The choice to stop was mine.
The addiction itself was a different story.
Doctors don't write prescriptions for this kind of stuff.
The cold sweats associated with anger.
The beginning is the hardest part.
Admitting temptation.
I was addicted.
The situation had ended but I kept obsessing.
Knowingly risking health.
The way you feel, the way you taste.
I couldn't afford to lose you as well as myself in the process.
Properly insuring another substance for another.
The cost of Medicare.
It was my decision, my choice.
Your voice a constant peer pressure of finding bliss.
If only for a minute.
At some point I ignored my own voice.
Reaching for you again.
I acknowledge that it was my responsibility.
Blaming everything around me, even you.
In this brief moment, common sense wasn't so common.
Not anymore.
Forgetting that actions have consequences.
For every second I ignore you.
You whine, you cry.
Becoming my chronic illness.
The enabler to what ever complaint.
It's hard to quit.
Finding every excuse except the right one.
She was the highway.
I was the traveler.
Weary in search of exit.
This road becoming longer and longer.
The lights becoming more and more distant.
Each exit in-between stops having fewer establishments.
Additional signs appearing with more temptation.
The cold sweats are back, this anxiousness to reach for something that I know isn't there.
This addiction to hold you, crave you, taste you.
This urge to love you as much as I did.
This persistent itch that I can't live without you.
Doctors don't write prescriptions for this kind of stuff.
The warning labels causing more harm than good.
Reminiscing on times that I shouldn't.
The choice to stop was mine.
To love someone that doesn't love you back
Southgate and Sterling discourse on the disturbing. Alarming' The focus of classes through
Which much chattering passes, in meme graph and drama a gasp'orama of division's incision draconian Intrusion, reality never meeting; insanity tries our reason, as all seasons grow evil.'
Three meters apart, we survey the heart to heart, Sterling is speaking of racisms seeping
In establishments 'a steeping.' Against the grade he'd kept keeping moving in reason
Playing believing, although at times seething he'd still kept on keeping, right in his sights'
Southgate spoke fairly of efforts and aims, of soul searching to gain, for the betterment
Waiting not to get lost in the making, in the race to a summit not to jeopardise something
A reaching of reason, he expounded his thesis I believe he is open from what he has spoken
He and many knee taking, their sign to humanity with its fractures and vanity's in the making
Yet apartheid was there breathing it's death stench, I felt my inside almost up-retch invisible
Walling from floor up to ceiling 3 meters from reason; from the spirit of Christ's season
The farce of pandemic with dystopian rhetoric, was adhered to in action complying with
Coercion while denying its perversion, living out an in-version blind were the sighted
Yet puppet masters so delighted, set the scene and invited this righteous pair; so united
The validation of division apartheid in Britain! an acceptable evil; is this truly liveable?
Imagination un-holy in the scenes now bestowed me I saw the spectre of evil
Strutting in between them, breathing their words in, and spitting out silent signs'
Pseudo derived 'lateral inanity' our salvation? And To embrace such insanity?
© Joe Maverick 2021
I've strolled among pharaohs, saw realms rise,
Blended with rulers, and watched civic establishments death.
From old Greece to cutting edge skies,
I've borne observer to mankind's difficulty and murmurs.
Through shroud of time, I've seen your sort,
Battle, look for, and perpetually loosen up.
Your most noteworthy accomplishments, your haziest deeds,
Reverberations of an immortal, infinite statement of faith.
On this, my last visit, I come to say,
Your predetermination's not composed, no matter what.
The ways you pick, the decisions,
Will shape the future, for the good of your own.
Trust and destruction, weaved like a plant,
Your activities will decide the heavenly.
The earth shouts out, a delicate home,
Tended by your hands, or everlastingly distress.
In this time of marvel, and winding down light,
Recall the universe holds limitless may.
The stars over, a divine ocean,
Mirror the profundities inside mankind.
Stir to your power, and your predicament,
Embrace empathy, and touch off the light.
For in the embroidery of reality,
Your strings of consideration weave a holy spot.
As I withdraw, leaving impressions in the sand,
I confer this message, from an ageless land:
Your future's unwritten, yet to be told,
Creator your own legend, youthful and old.
Weave stories of adoration, of harmony, of difficulty,
In any case, in particular, weave an embroidery of life.
For eventually, when stars blur from sight,
Your heritage stays, a signal in the evening.
Goodbye, dear people, may insight guide,
As you explore the maze of time.
May your hearts stay open, and your spirits touch off,
To enlighten the way, through the dull of night.
The talents of Poet’s being an Art
Poet’s works should be viewed in a place where the public can actually see
As Poet’s, we are the be
It’s our creativity being words of activity
Words need a place where they can roam
It’s our feelings letting it be known
Imagine a Poetry Museum
A place for Poet’s history
More than a heritage, but an honor
Accomplishments that were turned into establishments
Poet’s words that bring new meaning
The excitement being a home run inning
The breath of enduring words
Those same words offer the public in have your heard
We as Poet’s have heard being our voice, Production pen and computer keyboard
Again, it is the creativity in what words can become
Designation in how Poet’s words were constructed
A message being encouragement
Our Gift being from above
The ideas of everything to think of
A sense of what thoughts that were within
An observation during the Poet’s when
Transparency that was from then
Later, it was the climax that came at the end
Poet’s words are truly sculpture
This is makes the Poet’s adventure
Public, please admire our work and the effort that we put in
It wasn’t luck
It was our determination that stuck
I hope you enjoyed this short Poet’s ride
As a Poet, I just wanted you to be inspired and follow our stride
We are Poet’s and don’t intend to hide
The words will continue by and by
Our sunrise is our motivation to get up and write
During that time, we just write our tomorrow into another tomorrow
A question of a Poet’s why is the reason why we continue to advance proving our try
I am the Poet I was meant to be
To the public, open your heart and you too will see.
I know the end approaches..I observe many views on that
Unesco friends of the esrth action against climate
Change w e f and various national governments.' Evangalists. And jw's there are many differing views on this
How it may end etc etc etc.. At the same time dissoulute
Living is fostered and financed by many establishments
Banks invest heavily in armerments, and drug companys
Supplying large sums to finance, war in Afganistan the covid debacle and
Then propping up the war in the Donbas on the borders
Of Ukraine, and lateley the horrible attack and murder of Jewish citizens
Also hostage taking, and subsequent conflict in gaza.' These wars have
Cost many lives, and billions in funding the results being
Parts of the world are awash with arms and drugs..
And people displaced.' Inflation rages and there are no
Shortages of (experts who can fix it.? ) in all this I know
That true Love conquers all.' So in this knowledge I stand
In determination, not to take sides.' I may be wrong I know
That Isreal was special to God and (no doubt) still is.' I am
A man aware of this, and am compatible to allying myself
With them, yet would rather they make the leap to Yeshua
I have sympathy with Ishmaels descendants, also wishing
They will accept Yeshua.' also God wrote
In the old testement, He would make them a mighty
Nation.' I therefore bear this in mind and that am still just, in the age
Of grace.' Accept I may be wrong.' God is always right so i
Will accept any sentence i may deserve.' For indeed who
May lecture God ? So I will follow His teaching of Love
As the best service I can offer; worthy or unworthy.'
Stone set unblemished unworked faces create hardship floors on which to sip out of rock puddles. Such luxury. In a fine art landscape one must always wear clicking heels. And one must always lift ones head and toss one's bowl hairdo around. It gives an embellishment of establishment. Yet whilst closing establishments always arrange the items on the tray to perfect the mass erosion of corrosive killers. It is to be said that dueling in a spa is the undeciphed leak of a giant cat. Fat catacombs playing whilst the sky bird drops upon the earth in destructive violent ease. Smiling. Thumbs up. Goggle eyed. Then carcasses pulled by mules. In skirts. Carry no silver blade. Wear no authentic ancient dress. Don the hats and adornments of the fake. To fix a fax is to fornicate frantically causing fish to float. For danger lies in spewed out materials. Look no further than within for truths said millipede to centipede. They were crossing a heavily used junction. Look there at the fortresses and deem not of importance the wealth of a breed born. Then off. Zoom. They went zoom. Good. Gratefully grabbing garters giving greatness. And a small atomicity agonising. Not good. Not great. So no hahahaha to that fried wok explosion. Of sorts it is a curvaceously built argumentative and aromatic compound in a cutlery drawer sailing. Admirable. No not admirable. Jeer not a rolling pin shaped triangularly. Be not a bend in a lane. Xxxxx insectivorous ideologues. Xxxx bean bomb. Xxxxx destitution demon xxxxx dragline drainage basin *** cosmopolitanism z z z.
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