Long Factory Poems
Long Factory Poems. Below are the most popular long Factory by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Factory poems by poem length and keyword.
EDDIE MARS AND THE SOLAR WINDS
The biggest band in Lisburn and fronted by Eddie Mars
A guy who could play anything, on his collection of guitars
On vocals, Charlie Venus, who was the joker in the pack
He played his fender tele' through a great big marshall stack
On bass was Johnny Neptune, with his yellow platform shoes
He harmonized on vocal, a disciple of the blues
The keyboards were delivered, by Hector Mothership
He worshipped things electrical, and loved the microchip
Ray Uranus kept the beat and he wore a bowler hat
Sure only a crazy drummer, would adopt a name like that
They played all over Britain, with their rockin lunar style
They sold out gigs in Wigan, they were lauded in Millisle
Their stage show was fantastic, with a massive lighting rig
A spaceship and some planets, lit the stage at every gig
That grew a loyal fan base, as they played across the land
They lived a life of excess, just like any touring band
Success soon followed in their wake, awards came thick and fast
And very soon the space machine, had an ever growing cast
Five young lads from Lisburn, fifty people in their crew
An entourage of strangers that they never even knew
Five big trucks, a fleet of cars, a chopper and two planes
A man to do the finance, who didn't even know their names,
Still, fashions change, the sales dried up, the audience died away
And soon there were no big crowds, to watch the five lads play
Their last gig at the Ulster hall, was an evening to forget
Out of tune, and full of beer, as they stumbled through the set
And things got pretty messy when accountants came to call
They had no cash, they had no rights, seems their manager had it all
Their luck ran out, the band where broke, they had to end the show
They had to sell up everything, the spaceship had to go
Ray could never come to terms, with all the hurt and pain
He took some drugs and alcohol, he just never woke again
Hector went to college and he earned a top degree
And now he is the I.T guy in a light bulb factory
Johnny is the local star, who likes to talk about his fame
He tries to pull the young girls, and dine out on his name
Charlie lost his family, when the alcohol took hold
He shelters in the hostels when the weather gets too cold
Eddie left the country, when it all became too much
He now lives in Australia, but he never kept in touch
MY POETRY
Here's the entry !
Not for contest
but chanced to set,
doing my best.
Appreciate.
Directory !
Taking no theme
for her or him.
Nothing supreme .
Only blank film .
Biometry !
Light, strong or firm.
Thoughts sprout on arm.
Dreams shine on derm
carrying own charm.
Geometry !
Curvy or straight:
Whims going great.
May you accept
or can reject.
Gem Factory !
What's in a name ?
Words ef poem
glisten as gem.
Poetic game.
On Chemistry !
Combination :
Words ! Emotion !
Perfect fusion.
Composition.
Sweet Symmetry !
Words play random.
It's my freedom.
to feel seldom
any boredom.
It's Poetry !
Verse : Rhymes both run
each taking turn
in depth or fun :
Satisfaction.
I
A queue to a doorway
No-one knows what´s
On sale there
It could be washing powder
Almonds or diamonds
You think this was some
Yesterday
Look out your
Ghost smeared
Window
This is now
II
Throw stones at the
Motorcade
The pin pricked
Giant will barely
Pause
At banners & petitions
Faded pendants
Worthless paper
Riding out for a
Losing battle
Looking to a broken sky
For some Mon´s Angel
Less an army
More a mob
To the castle!
To the castle!
With flaming
Molotov
You awake in darkness
Hopeful
So many crusades
Begin in dreams
III
Tobolski late summer
With blankets for curtains
Tapestry dust
Stirred into
Koptyski forest soil
The former holy
The highest
Dragged
Splintered
Made human
Or less
IV
Each new dawning day
Spins us up to escape velocity
To be spat out to unthinking stars
Made passive by the weight of reason & history
We stare out into the rain
Believing wolves rule beyond the clearing
Elsewhere there is dancing
Cruise ships leave a wake of
Halved grapefruits
Shirts and skirts worn once
Gilded, seamless they glide
Oblivious to the hidden knife
The newspaper wrapped revolver
Passed under the café table
At the platform´s edge
All are equal to the justice
Of the approaching train
V
Red Emma
Red Emma
Won´t you send Berkman over
With a satchel full
Of dynamite
On a Chicago bound
Train
VI
Part six
In which
I dig a hole
To bury past dreams
And convictions
I brain-grew
At a factory lathe
Always knowing
There was escape
A high window climb
And as any fool knows
The fresh-turned soil
Of any deep hole
Can be easy seen
From the public road
VII
My advice to you
Young devil-cared rebel
Why don´t you climb on the roof
While your parents are sleeping
Try & flag down a passing
Black star liner
The busted sewer pipe
Has flooded the basement
Wet pages spin like lily pads
Stashed furniture corpse-bloats
Full boxes mush-mold
Time is tight
Young devil-cared pilgrim
Take with you only
What your pockets can hold
VIII
Among the defeated
Slack faces on rusted fairground rides
Among the defeated
Eating smoke rain mocked
Among the defeated
Careless cigarettes burn umbrella holes
Among the defeated
Landlocked padlocked frozen out
IX
Don´t
try a handstand
Your coins will
Fall out
X
Under the tar
The chariot ruts
A Golem
Is stirring.
He had do fight all odds
A man of unbreakable idealism
Alone with his ideas
A mysterious death at high sea
The truth will never be known
--------------------------------------------------
Gegen alle Widerstände
Ein Mann mit ungebrochenem Idealismus
Alleine mit seinen Ideen
Mysteriöser Tod auf hoher Sea
Die Wahrheit wird niemand erfahren
-------------------------------------------------
En lucha contra todas probabilidades
Un hombre de idealismo irrompible
Solo con sus ideas
Una muerte misteriosa en alta mar
La verdad nunca será conocida
Note: Rudolf Christian Karl Diesel, 1858-1913, was a German engineer and the inventor of
the Diesel engine. He spent his youth until 1870 in Paris and surroundings. When being
extradited after the start of the German-French-War in 1870, Diesel and his family left for
London. He as a child travelled alone to Augsburg, Germany were he lived for five years
with his uncle and went to school there. He started studies of mechanical engineering in
1875 in Munich and applied for a patent of a „New and economical power engine“ at the
Emperial Patent-Office in Berlin. From 1908 on he developed the first functional model of
his engine with the financial assistance of the Krupp company. In January 1898 the first
factory for Diesel engines was built in Augsburg, Germany. A Diesel Engine Company was
inaugurated by autumn 1900 in London. The first motor vessels with a Diesel engine were
built in 1903. Diesel was at a state of bad health due to numerous patent-lawsuits. He was
not a good businessman and lost his complete fortune. On September 29th Diesel boarded the
mail-vessel Dresden to cross the Channel for Harwich to participate in a meeting of the
„Consolidated Diesel Manufacturing Ltd.“ in London. He seemed to be in a good manner when
he was last seen on board of the ship. On October 10th 1913 the crew of a Dutch
government pilot ship saw a body drifting in the water at heavy sea. As the body was
highly decomposed, the crew only got hold of some personal belongings (a pastille box,
purse, pocket knife and a spectacle case) which were later identified as Diesel's
belongings by his son Eugen. The real cause of his death was never clarified and his
dependants never believed in suicide, but in murder to steal Diesel's ideas. So his death
is still remains a mystery.
Return Of The Tyke
Tyke, tyke, tyke' they’d chant to bait the bairn.
But insult hurled at Yorkshire folk is water off a back.
Take it, use it, grind it through the crank
As fuel for the fire, grist to mill.
Man as boy the tyke unwraps his bike.
Ride a mile, another ten. No stopping, pumping into the blood.
Cycle, eat, drink. Eat, drink, cycle.
Life’s biggest problem, darkest mood, cured in the turn of a pedal.
Through God’s own country
A yellow jersey pulls a golden thread.
Up fell down dale, through Yorkshire’s warp and weft,
It’s cruelest contours purled,
A bright new yarn weaves into the fabric of the hills.
Past mill, past gate, past pit-head dead, history’s milestones marked.
The ride is metaphor, the towns tell out my story.
Otley, Ilkley, Asgarth, Hawes.
Mum at factory, Grandma, The Black Bull - still standing.
The first sip of warm beer.
Mallerstang, Fleet Moss, Tan Hill.
Simonstone, that teacher, my Dad, Wensleydale and Granddad Thompson.
The Scar, the Cove, the Stang – part of us in every crevice, crook and corner.
Muker, Reeth, Masham, over cattle-grid, up the switch-back,
Buttertubs - Buttertubs - Buttertubs.
Suck at the air, tramp on the pain, tyres spit rubber, spit grit.
It’s all about the climb. Locked in battle against the gradient.
She’s out to hurt us, here to make us suffer.
In sickening waves her sweet call comes to quit, to quit,
To quit this spiritual ascent.
Up ahead, on the tarmac one by one, the giants of the fells swing into sight.
Robinson ‘55, Hoban ’68, doff your cap to Tommy Simpson
And Beryl Burton, she showed the lads a clean pair of heels.
I close the gap and hear them urge: “We too were once like you.
Ordinary.”
My own story is forced out,
Spat through bleeding gums and panted breaths it comes
“I’ll catch you, catch you, catch you.”
In Oxenhope and through Cragg Vale
Spirit generations line the streets “Make us proud son, make us
proud.”
We race by in a flash. As lives lived, as lives past.
One evening,
When final stage is done and life turns back to dust,
Take us back to the mountain top. Pause a moment as the weather turns,
Then set us free in the teeth of a gale.
I’ll call them on, those that struggle through the sleet and hale, soft and
strong.
As I myself, one morning, was called.
© Ben Hodgson 2014
>>1111>>STRAIGHT TO THE POINT<<1111<<
Straight to the point,
No stopping this,
I'm your rival,
This life is about survival,
Or survival of the fittest?
The dopest most explosive lyrical genius writing this,
Beats are tight and vital,
About to take and claim my title,
I'm a nineties dirty ghetto kid,
Accessing detailed memories through subconscious files,
Skateboard connected to my feet grounded,
Pen and paper writing for miles,
Embracing life in a system of madness,
Always doin my best with a huge smile,
While fully grateful,
Within the game with no shame,
On a different level,
Nothing is ever the same,
Imagination left wild,
Positive tendencies learnt through experiments,
Some failed,
Listening to greenthumb, inhale,
Giving anything a go,
within a system i'm not labeled,
Minds collectively lacking cognition,
Brain function disabled,
Getting a message across in rhyme,
Mailed to your mind,
Will it consciously reach ya? teach ya?
My krew never far, we have a laugh,
And hit the footpath,
Skating to a spot with steez,
Stomping tricks but it’s not enough,
Gotta skate fast and master our craft on film,
A skate process of learning patience and pain,
Falling constantly, never giving up,
Fully mindful maneuvers landed consistently,
Converting new skate knowledge to life instantly,
Brain cells firing with high energy form electricity,
Synapse resurrected for the very first time,
Elevating effectively with positivity and productive activity,
In the eyes of society I’m on the same level as workers in a factory,
Trapped but found my way out,
On an alternative route,
I’ve knelt,
To the source creating all of our force,
A seeker without remorse cause that don’t matter,
There’s no deity creator,
Just innocent ignorant talking as a hater,
Instead be like ill mind of Hopsin seven,
Questioning sin, Dismiss,
Listen up, I gotta state this,
This strategic system using the majority of countries citizens,
What I’m consciously witnessing from a distance in the South pacific,
Is insanity at its core to be specific,
Writing from my imagination sober and sometimes stoned,
Striving for balance,
On my skateboard I feel the same,
Sending this out,
You know my name,
Just another street nobody with fame within my clan,
My man Fury this is for you Homie.
Branches of beans wave most predominantly in stormy weather but heavily prevalent are the many climbing chimps whose antics please the spotted cloud and cause a clap in the sky. But half a cup of mildew in a snow covered dome is neither a doorstep nor is it a milked out heifer in a four poster bed. Recline no reaches. Reach no radiuses'. And surely then a bean pole could adequately carry over forty-six washing baskets full to the brim, nineteen plates of roast dinner, ten puddings and a very large crystal chandelier. How rather marvellous. And how talented too. Recreation receiving rather real room radii. And the ratio of a dandelion could be said to be equal to a sponge in orbit. Wow. Mere waste of a tongue to be taking a meal off an iron suitcase. With or without gravy it is quite irrelevant to savour such a lead. But beading on a skirting board can often be very amusing and comical as it tells the best jokes to rugs and doesn't like the carpet as it gets very dirty very quickly. All rise then. Make sure you glide around the floors in the house. Levitate if you can to avoid foot sweat on fabric and wood but mot on marble. Here the sweat is procreating playing poker. Large high belted heavyweights. Piccolo putty in a jellied eel frame talks with great seasoning to a bull via a wireless hookless contraption that cannot be seen by aerial prowlers. Nor cannot it be photographed. But photographers put painted pain plums onto paper. Always see within the tight fitting frying pan for the handle is not to be adjusted at this time. Make way for the herds of pancakes are clamouring together to catch a glimpse of the latest spawned factory product. When hair is not a hare. That is too natural and wild plus it is very clever too. Cleverness is unwelcome in steel framed prison planets and areas of true freedom and safety are yet to be exact and as yet have not been to a zoo. Multifunctional zoo on wheels racing against a circus, a football game, a badminton match and an opera. Produce no pollen from a hypocritical hippo whose hidden house halves then heaves. But ni leaves. For they are only for the waiting skirts and shirts with heels and glasses chinking in a bystanders glance at a freeform rabbit dance. Haha mealworm arriving. Hahah plate of combustible prawns. Xxxxx morphology Z z z z z
Form:
PERSERVERANCE BREEDS SUCCESS
Jss One was an insult, I cried
Like time should hit full stop,
My breakfast was sweet without
Salt,
My parents tasted like this evil
Citrus,
I continued to hide like Air Force
Was only for my seniors.
Jss Two arrived with the wind called
Releave
I began to breath as an aspiring king
Now I believe the race would definitely
Finish.
Jss Three was the mighty season
Everyday had a sweet beginning
Suddenly the queen became pretty
As boys begin to fill big,
Every Sunday I was in the dining hall
To clean wasted beans,
The brown Khaki now fits my tiny skin.
Never did I forget the mighty JSCE.
Ss1, trousers became the big deal,
I was also a victim for every ss3's
Laundry,
Morning duty was almost ending,
Up keep of the latrine was attached to
Me.
Inter house games had huge meaning
These was the day to show all my special
Skills
And entice that pretty queen,
As we stroll through freedom tree
Dangling the box room's key,
My sunday wear now had this profound whitish Glimpse.
At ss2, I became a commissioned officer
I began to predict the whether,
Even during holidays, I dreamt of returning
To my headquarters,
In Jaguar I had two lockers.
In Dornier my friends sent invites for
Dinner
Alpha wasn't my regular signal,
She whipped me in basketball finals.
I measured my days and wised there
Could be an alternative taste
But JPE was the key to unlock ss3 dreams.
Been a finalist was like magic
Today I float on the atlantic
As I scream 'ONE BOY'
The hostel begins to panic
Ariku becomes my transit
I trained this special team of bandits
So I had a contraband producing factory.
The days now had wings
Time flew without traffic.
My ink recollect's like she was a five
Minutes conference meeting,
Many couldn't climb this Iroko
For sex seasons.
Today, am not only an ALUMNI
But an harden fresh corrosive lime
Ready to swim under river Nile's eye.
AFCS is high in the sky
With the flying colors that now
Leave in my life.
KEYWORDS:
Jss_ junior secondary
SS: Senior secondary
Jsce: Junior secondary certificate examination
Jpe: Joint promotion examination.
Ariku: A small town in Iwo,Ibadan,Nigeria.
Khaki: A thick brown material
AFCS: Air Force Comprehensive School.
HABIB AKEWUSOLA.
The Charter of Rights is a document,
as a member of the society, we must understand -
only by following human rights,
a society can peacefully thrive.
all human beings are born free,
they have equal rights to liberty, dignity and security,
no slavery or servitude to be tolerated
in any form.
right to freedom of expression,
right to receive education,
right to marry and have a family
people may move according to their choice,
an individual is innocent -
until a crime is proved,
everyone is equal before the law.
my experiences in three countries,
experiences of immersing in varied cultures,
have taught me deeply ponder -
how much we follow the fundamentals - to bring
Peace, Dignity and Equality on a Healthy Planet!
Nature does not discriminate!
Are all children getting enough food to stay healthy
Are all children getting equal opportunities for education,
Are the basic needs of mankind - food, housing, medication - being met?
Clean air, clean water for everyone?
Are elderly living with dignity?
I write poetry when the moon shines, and the stars blink!
I write poetry when rain whispers love...
Poetry escapes from me when I see a child working in a factory.
So many questions, very few are answered.
December 4, 2021
For "Human Rights" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Robert James Liguori
Stashed with programs recorded, which, condensed on universal files
Will tell them very little of what they don’t know and may never know
In this lifetime or the next heaven, in this orbit or the next
Treasure from this Earth loaded up on classical chips, some kind of text
Even the quantum loads with memory mimetic, made to mimic the brane
Will lead you no where’s at all, empty, with your mind well past insane
For what else or beyond could be so crazy as to part from this precious earth
Without ever having known it’s cost, price, work, measure or stint of worth
And clearly, those who leave, when they leave, will not have known one grain
Of sand or soil, mud or toil: all dusty plows pluming billow-clouds into rain
Run on gasoline or stocks of mules, donkey, horse, or ram, shepperd’s hand
Fields from lost fields, turning wheat from grass, rice from blue water land
The mystery of death and birth still a mystery; life a mere reminiscence
Without any real light here or plant photometry, only luminescence
Imagine leaving this planet without every having known it’s rhythm
Going to some other world set in it’s own path, with it’s Keplerian hum
Beating out some different drum, set in a blinding sphere of light and sound
Like blended whiskey with the Irish; or Navajo, without the calendar round
Sans irony, the starmen will consult their astrologer or star-chart for this logic
Countin’ the days before they land again when the stars are [csmo]allo-genic
Since this cosmos has revealed no light to them, the starmen going forth
Eager to jump off of Earth’s orbital path, bend and trajectory
Their spacesuits, ships, tanks, sabres, and thrusters made from the factory
Everything printed like plastic in hazy glow and in false dimension
In light and low gravity, with false smiles and fat charms hanging in suspension
How could the new age begin completely unaware, one might ask ?
With no real knowledge of how the past one ended, without a task
This high level of dimness, this naivete, and ignorance unknowing
Much like blind men on the river styx, or perhaps, along with Homer rowing
Going from one ruse to harbour next shenanigan—look into the Cyclop’s Eye!
No land in Egypt and with Dido elope, with the Siren’s despair, intoxicants in Libya