Long Facilities Poems
Long Facilities Poems. Below are the most popular long Facilities by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Facilities poems by poem length and keyword.
ALL RISE!!!
All rise
Let's make welcome
The brightest son of our land
Whose industrious lifestyle
Has paved, pave and paving ways
For our liberation and spiritual growth.
All rise
A sentence of honor and horror
For the hour of aquital and sentencing
When hope is elated or dashed.
All rise
To the son of the soil
Whose activities are channel
Towards bringing us out of slavery
And fought our battles for independence dependence
Making us vulnerable to Gs.
Daily give credence to the Gs for loans
And highly security system in blessing our minerals
All hail the Gs for fatting on us
While we are daily shrinking.
A step to liberation
Is a threat to the peace of the world
Gadaffi, Ibrahim and others
Are the villains of Africa
While the Gs are our heroes
Just like CBEX and MMM
Served as the last hope of the Poor.
All rise
To the black
Whose belly is never filled up
Like Oliver's twist to bless the Gs
That education on his land
Is not worth attending
The health facilities are not worth its use
Justice system is seen to be outdated
Yet Black's life matters
In convention or in reality?
Nothing is seen to be wrong
Not supporting the liberators
That the Gs are making to be our foes.
We need messiahs
To open the veil off our faces
But how soon will this be?
Life and time will not delay
Time is running fast away
Life is now today, today
Up! And On!
What a lovely sound from C.M.S. Grammar school!
Could the hope of liberty be lost?
No, never.
An affirmation is laid in our heart by Alma Mater
Africa will surely rise
Fail we not in high emprise
Hidden here the secret lies
Up! And On!
No matter how much we rise
In your honor to our dishonored
It will come to pass
That in your colours
You'll say,
All rise to us
©?Olorunleke Olorode
Conversion to Boric Acid
Dissolve borax in hot water.
Add a strong acid like hydrochloric acid or sulfuric acid.
Cool the mixture to precipitate and filter out pure boric acid crystals.
Dehydration to Boron Trioxide
Heat the isolated boric acid above 530°C.
The heat drives off water vapor, decomposing the acid into boron trioxide (
).
Grind the resulting boron trioxide into a fine powder.
Reduction to Elemental Boron
The final phase involves a chemical reduction where the oxygen is removed from the boron trioxide to isolate the elemental boron. In laboratory settings, a reducing agent like magnesium is often used because of its high reactivity.
This specific stage involves significant physical and chemical hazards:
High-Temperature Reactions: The reduction is highly exothermic (releasing intense heat) and is often described as a thermite-type reaction. These reactions can reach temperatures that cause standard containers to fail or shatter.
Chemical Byproducts: The process produces various byproducts, such as magnesium oxide and potentially hazardous gases, which require specialized chemical washing and filtration in a controlled environment to safely manage.
Impurity Risks: Extracting high-purity boron outside of industrial facilities is extremely difficult, often resulting in amorphous mixtures or magnesium-boron compounds rather than pure elemental crystals.
It is highly stable
non radioactive
isotope of boron
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"A collaberation of sorts
must we never give up what
we are greatest at
creating and recreating
successful templetes of
modern effeincy!"
Professor Egmious Swaggeler
at Delgrin University
in Dell City Tx.
Speaking of
mass commercialization of direct
energy conversion, decentralized
micro-generators
, and cheap water desalination
Down in Haiti
Far from the dream
Way on back
From the vacation scene
Lives the people
Trapped in a life
Poverty, sadness
Toil and strife
Children weeping
From worm infested,
Swollen, malnourished
Starving little bellies
What would Golden
Flower think of today
The country she loved
Destroyed in such a way
(Missionary from Haiti came to visit our church yesterday. With his visit and
talk, I see solutions to problems in an instant. Something to treat the water
before the people use it, reforestation, wells in places that need them, and
proper out door facilities for areas that don't have them. Money, work, and
time is needed to carry these projects out .)
I hear the clarion bugle calls at Fort Carson when conditions are just right,
Sounding "Reveille" at break of dawn to the mournful sound of "Taps" at night!
"Reveille" 'wakes soldiers from their well-deserved rest to begin another day
Of training to protect our freedoms, though they do it for very meager pay!
The bugle sounds "Chow Call" at noon for lunch, the most welcome of calls!
The dining facilities peal with laughter, Yankee twang and Texas drawls!
The bugle calls "Retreat" and the roar of cannon is heard to end the day.
Old Glory is slowly lowered, solemnly folded and tenderly stowed away.
The plaintive sound of "Taps" is played at ten PM echoing as clearly as a bell!
Its peaceful call heralds, "You've earned your rest, God is nigh and all is well!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
UNFINISHED
These streets mistreat
one hundred degrees in the heat
rode past said a prayer
lying on the pavement
was the new wretched
of the earth, so caste down
nothing left but death.
All them with nowhere to be.
Not allowed at bus-stops
or on park bench.
Emergency room huh no care zone
not even Obama care.
No walking on pavement
while impoverished.
no urgent pooping or walking
on grass. No soliciting tissue
to wipe their derriere – No water
no roof- no soil...
100 degrees on the cement.
Most alone -Few with someone
Lying on bare ground –
Mate stretched out
on her back-
She in an odious state
White woman, with black man
He tenderly rubbing her like a favorite pet.
Let’s not speak of the stench, that foul air that attacks
nostrils and eyes. Not even soap.
Could quell the smell.
People cross to the other-side.
dare not bear witness to the offensive odors.
No air, nor breeze gives relief, not one clean breath or inhalation,
Hot pavement and stale air make you heave on these
Streets.
Mistreatment of those detested, barely they breathe.
as they reached their safe haven, in front of that building.
A shelter that’s reached capacity, no entrance.
God forbidden streets, continue to mistreat, no loitering.
Passer byes making the sign of the cross, as they cross the street.
Uttering “but for the grace of God there go I”
Seems like Mockery and blaspheme.
Do those outstretched not also deserve God’s grace?
The righteous strut past hurriedly,
without concern of Karma.
Feeling better than the least of them.
Wonder why their being punished.
Mental illness, grandchildren
abandoned to the system.
War veterans, Prison release,
Outlived their children.
Bloated Bellies eat…
Fancy scraps from high places –
nowhere to alleviate.
Good deeds written off on restaurant tax forms…
but can’t use their facilities.
Devour and swallow without tasting,
Chewing without teeth.
The righteous strut past hurriedly, without concern of
Karma.
The Orphan
At a time a young mother and her secrets knew,
that a infant boy in her life where counted days in few.
A priest helped her to put the child into an orphanage he knew,
a Saint Franciscan home with facilities for boys to learn and grow.
The little boy and his energy got quick the nickname Rumpelstiltskin,
stumping the ground and crying the anger to bitter tears on chin.
The school had a soccer team and the ball became his workout,
given his young years the challenges to control about.
He became the captain of the team and learning was easy picking,
his shores in kitchen duty kept another talent clock ticking.
At the age of 15 they put him into a chef apprentice,
giving his energy level room for the heat ascendants.
He felt that the alchemy of food is the element of his magic,
still playing soccer to keep in touch with that static.
The years went by from kitchen to kitchen in many lands,
hoping to take that good of knowledge into own business hands.
The temperature for the natural nourisher in perfect sense,
created underlying purposes not quiet applicable hence.
The spirit fire raised its procedure to be of service on a different plane,
and provided projection of people and philosophies the same.
Years in seclusion of studies turned the frustration into meanings,
giving the spiritual fire the poetic nourishing leaning.
Today his cauldron provides those foods for thoughts,
where past lives tragedies become the clarity of deep talks.
Written By: D. Collins 3/15/25
A Nigga Nature is something you’re not accustomed to.
In that you have the privilege of color afforded to you.
Ten times have passed since the beginning of time.
That people of color are known as the bottom line.
Our history is being dropped from books in school.
But it’s in our Nature to progress using all the tools.
If the doors are shut as they’ve always been.
We figure out a way to let ourselves in.
Restarting “segregated facilities” on federal contracts.
Is still not enough, 'cause we’ve been there, and done that.
We just strap up our boots, waiting for the battle to begin.
Realizing the that each and every day, we are Hustlin’.
Removing the history of Medgar Evers and Tuskegee Airmen.
Won’t deter those who lived through it and know what happened.
Our history will be history whether in, or out of print.
We’re the offspring of what are known as “Real Men”.
I am dying to be by you, at your bedside
Mon amour, I yearn every second to be by your side
To soothe the pain, to give you a good massage
To mesmerize you and to send the right message
To your body, to your soul and to your enduring heart
Darling, going forward, you and I should never be apart.
I am dying to be with you at night and day
Throughout your rehabilitation and your stay
At any medical facilities. I miss you very bad
I miss you all the time. I am both sad and mad
That I am not with you right now and today
I’m craving and dying to be by your side right away.
I will see you soon. I will be with you all the time
I will be the sweet healer who will happily rhyme
For you. I had been waiting for the perfect occasion
To come. I am eager to see you smile and laugh again
I am dying to be sitting and standing at your bed side
Sweetheart, I miss you like a sad lover, like a poor child.
Copyright © September 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
À Ton Chevet
Je meurs d'envie d'être à tes côtés, à ton biais
Mon amour, je suis assoiffé d'être à ton chevet
Pour éteindre ta douleur, pour t’administrer un bon massage
Pour t'envoûter et pour envoyer de doux messages
À ton corps, à ton âme et à ton cœur ébranlé
Chérie, dès lors toi et moi ne devrions plus jamais être séparés.
Je meurs d'envie d'être avec toi, nuit et jour
Pendant ta réhabilitation et ton séjour
Dans toutes les facultés médicales. Tu me manques terriblement
J’ai soif et faim de te voir. Je suis à la fois triste et en colère
De ne pas être avec toi aujourd'hui, en ce moment
Je suis chaud d'être à tes côtés, tout de suite, tendre mère.
À bientôt. Je serai avec toi tout le temps
Je serai le doux guérisseur qui rimera joyeusement
Juste pour toi. J'attendais l'occasion parfaite de venir
À tes cotés. J'ai hâte de te revoir sourire et rire
Je meurs d'envie de me tenir à ton chevet
Tu me manques comme un pauvre amant largué sur le quai.
P.S. Translation of “By Your Bedside” by Hébert Logerie.
Copyright © Septembre 2025 Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés.
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs recueils de poésie.
Jonnie Peacock was born on 28th May in 1993,
And is an English sprinter and right leg amputee,
He won gold in the vital games of London 2012,
And into the category T44 he does neatly delve.
He was born in Cambridge, that old university town,
But at the age of 5 meningitis did make him frown,
So he asked his hospital for some football facilities,
Who gave him a prosthetic for his lively jocularities.
Directed to Paralympic sport, he did truly awaken,
To running the 100 metres, and he was totally taken,
Not faking, he raced at the Paralympic World Cup,
His first international, in Manchester, he did build up.
Next month June, the US Paralympic trials do occur,
Jonnie set a record time of 10.85 to squarely concur,
With his coach Dan Pfaff, who believed he could win,
At the London Paralympics, where we saw him grin!
I went to two schools in reality,
But only had one in my mind,
A school that assimilated and understood,
A school that would not drive me blind.
Daniels nursery was the best,
In all ways apart from one,
Because it accepted my difference,
Respected my pensive hum.
But they didn’t provide facilities,
For my disability, loud and many times proud;
Sometimes I needed just to talk it over,
‘Cos my disability was not a shroud.
But I came top in both alphabet and numbers,
The private Edinburgh school was not above me,
And I managed to carve some friendships,
That were a delight to see.
But since they didn’t provide facilities,
It was decided I would leave for another,
For my future primary education,
Where my disability would not be such my master.
So I moved to a special school, Graysmill,
Which asserted my normality fine,
But they saw my clever mind as my parents credibility,
And so for Daniels I would pine.
I felt so much loved by Daniels headmaster,
Who took me aside initially and asked,
If I was happy and alright inside,
And so my reality I never masked.
I questioned him, “Do I have to believe in god?”
And he replied lovingly and tenderly,
“No Rhoda, you don’t have to believe in god,”
So I was relieved and had hope for future longevity.
So in daily assembly when I just thought my own thoughts,
Contemplated and pondered quietly to myself,
He smiled at me once ‘cos he knew what I was doing,
That bold, quick-witted atheistic elf.
But when I got to Graysmill as a new pupil,
They thought their framework for me was the best,
And tried to beget me with Christianity,
Ramifying my parents traditional morality chest.
After about eight months of hardship,
I realised they did not understand as well,
My real disability and proposition,
Which would take them some way further.
They were so uncaring at times,
Forceful, heartless and cold,
Lacking the relationships,
Upon which I could hold.
They assumed I'd not liked Daniels,
And empathised with me about it,
Insisted I'd not taken to integration,
That along side me they did sit.
There should’ve been that middle ground,
That state school with creative gumption,
So that my worldview was never found,
Lacking, with myself in need of instruction.