Long Goers Poems
Long Goers Poems. Below are the most popular long Goers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Goers poems by poem length and keyword.
In 1994 Jeffrey K asked his company for a raise, a hundred dollars or more, probably in the least.
He had been instrumental at creating The Little Mermaid, The Lion King, and Beauty and the Beast.
Company said no, so he rounded up Steven S and David G and they promptly formed their own studio.
If you have ever heard of Dreamworks, you know where this successful story is about to go.
A multi-billion-dollar company today that employs twenty-seven happy hundred employees,
His ex-boss is no doubt sorry that they did not try to keep their film editor, with a thank you and a please.
Amazingly, Dreamworks has cranked out fourteen of the most favored animated films of all time.
Shrek, Madagascar, and How to Train your Dragon, a series that has movie goers standing in a line.
This studio has been in business for nearly twenty-five years, with lots of ups, and nary a down.
Sometimes when you do not get satisfaction, you need to find the right people, so please look around.
When you are not happy, or the job is not right for you, worse you give them everything you can do,
If you do not feel appreciated, or you go to work feeling unsatisfied or bleak or blue,
You need to take a page out of this innovative idealistic man’s imperatively important book.
People are out there to appreciate and help you. But it is your choice to figure it out and take a look.
There are more than pennies in the sand.
I stumbled across a wedding band.
Me with a metal detector, walking along.
Other beach goers in throngs.
Dropping tiny things that they will forget.
But I found something that has caused regret.
Sticking this ring into my bag.
Who knew finding something valuable could be such a drag.
This beach ate up a wedding ring.
I should have known what such a search would bring.
For now, I’ll take a break to relax on the beach.
Holding onto this jewelry which was out of their reach.
I hope they are still together.
I hope when they were here, they enjoyed the weather.
There are more than pennies in the sand.
There is what is in my hand.
A piece of someone’s love left behind.
For someone like me to find.
I didn’t know what I would feel about Doug Gay,
But I looked for a motorbike outside the church,
To reinforce his black biker jacket and sociology,
Which superseded church goers and that bunch.
I made it one of the first things I did in Glasgow,
To spy on the sanity crutches of its gem leaders,
Of the contemporary church the ancient throw,
To understand my place in society, had readers’.
I actually managed to have a short conversation,
With him, where I did inquire about monasteries,
And he told me that there was an abby, fixation,
Which he attended often for all his quandaries.
I felt that Doug Gay thought that this discourse,
Was important for what direction I took for sense,
And I knew he wished to replace choice, of course,
For serendipity, onto which god could map, hence.
It was an ephemeral chat, but I kept the dalliance,
And I felt efflorescence from my litre against religion,
Because I’d confirmed that Doug’s bold defiance,
Of the traditional church was fuelled by abbey liaison.
He related the bucolic abbey to Christian theology,
Saying that the Glasgow Christian scene was demesne,
And was a harbinger to the students was cosmology,
By relegating the church’s Jesus to erstwhile, totally.
He said that his god or Jesus had petrichor sweet,
Unlike the nauseating odour of the church stated,
Giving him propinquity to redolent credence neat,
Because he was historical, within the abbey gated.
I appreciated the Late, Late Service somewhat, bits,
His modern worship service of dance, so rebellious,
And now the Rev Doug Gay diligently and surely sits,
As a Glasgow University lecturer in studies religious.
Loud guttural roar filled Steamboat Convention Hall
Stovetop hats rose up higher, and most were already tall.
The tiger made his entry with a loud snarl and a pounce.
Watch out! Someone yelled. I think this creature can bounce.
We ran out of the way, as fast as heavily-dressed convention goers can.
Tiger made a bounding leap and soon was shaking a trembling old man.
Don’t eat him! A girl in a pretty petticoat with a corset yelled out.
He gulped him down, after shaking him up, down and all about.
We did not see any blood, for the tiger ate every drop that he could.
I was running as fast as my legs would on this double treated oak wood.
The tiger was gaining on me, I could feel his breath on my neck.
I fell out of bed before I was eaten and I said “What the heck?”
Why ghetto people pray everyday
There is a place where life's
Are so in needs
This place is found so famous
On the third worlds and so popular
The poor the people living in this
Places are called
Oh what a name for a classification
Life In the ghetto speak a lot
About humanity
So Now my pen bleeds again
Why ghetto people pray everyday
How come the greatest continent
On planet earth
With it endless abound ant resources
Could afford a place on it great land
Called ghetto
Leave me with a doubt that nothing
Is impossible
Why ghetto people pray everyday
It draw my concern
When I see the most populated
Church goers, and other religious
Temples are more of the poor
From the ghetto
Every day dreaming
Every day praying
Only for the better days
Is no new strange thing
In the ghetto
So I wonder how come it
Be so if man is not of greed
Why ghetto people pray everyday
The root of all evil greed
Rest on the leaders down here Africa
Leading a lot of innocent soul
To crimes
If you want to see hells
Look alike visit the ghetto
Then say for yourself
Why now my pen bleeds again
Is clear life in the ghetto
Are like the hardest life
Existing on earth
Which people suffer most
Horrible style of life if not the
So called poor in the ghetto
Now I understand
Why ghetto people pray everyday
High above the ocean
Below being a sandy white beach
Easy to watch
One can sit all day and observe
The beach goers, Swimmers and Surfers
The ocean view stretchers for miles
One can reflect back in time
The simple and plan life
No riches in thought of Robin Leech
The Lonely house had fancies
A house with a roof and a place to sleep and eat
Just the fruits of one’s labor
Ocean to house
This lonely house had nothing before it was brought
It looked like shack filled with nothing
Once a dweller brought, it was given new life
Renovated having everything in what a house deserves
A place to be proud of and everlasting living
It took patience and of course the right contractor
Specifications were right and all the construction equipment needed
A lonely medium house because a much bigger house
Where one can admire and enjoy for life
Solid foundation
A dream through reality
No longer a lonely house
House friendly with no mouse
A house back then
Showing what solid as a rock can be
Calm breezes and relaxed souls
The aroma of sugar and spice
What could be so nice.
The past few weeks have been so tough
As you can clearly see
Four funerals for us to attend
But its not made me teary
The first was Aedan’s he was a lovely young man
I worked with him at school when he was aged eleven
He told me then he wouldn’t be long on earth…
At aged 20 he now plays his x box in heaven
We attended Derek’s funeral the very next day
There were tears of laughter that’s all I can say
The vicar John is a hilarious guy
I could picture Derek laughing from his place in the sky
Vicar John told a joke about a priest and a nun…
I didn’t expect to laugh and have so much fun
The next funeral was for a lady called Jean
(You don’t usually attend a funeral for a person you’ve never even seen)
But the family needed help to rig up a PA system
So those in the overspill hall could join the service and listen
My husband and I had worked tirelessly
To install speakers and wires that no one could see
With microphones rigged the church service was relayed
And we joined in the hymns when the church organ played
We de-rigged the equipment and were given cakes and tea
The church goers were delighted and praised my hubby endlessly
Today we went to the funeral of Bob our lovely friend
He had bravely battled ill health right to the very end
My son came from London and he sat on the pew next to me
There was a massive smile for him from Bob’s wife named Mary
After the service she gave my son a huge hug and I heard her say
"Seeing you in church was the best thing to happen on this sad day"
In memory of Adean Kennaugh, Derek Nicholson, Bob Doyle and Jean Vernon
08-11-17
Think of May as a wonderful month, never rude,
bringing beautiful days with warm showers...
to make beach goers wrap themselves in towels,
then the hottest sun will break through!
Why do we love this month that makes everyone fantasize?
Is it the new flowers, or Mother's Day itself?
We agree, its the last one I mentioned with great surprise...
wanting to honor the one we all love to death!
And as I am talking about this special event, which is of a specific sort,
you wouldn't forget to give her a little sweet something
that she likes: from a single flower, or paper heart to a chocolate torte;
many more you can find: like puppets that dance and sing!
Think of May as a wonderful month when imagination is wild and free to err,
and the desire to escape is not limited to sea, sky or a far-away friend;
it can reach, quicker than any whispered prayer, the loneliest heart so afraid,
but ready to embrace mom's heart despite the love one has denied her!
Entered in Carol Brown's contest,
" Memories Of May "
Written by Andrew Crisci
clad in rags, he wanders on Wall Street
he is invisible to hustling stock brokers
he is a man with no money, no property
a hapless struggler of excessive loan burdens
bitter winter winds blow across Broadway
he is invisible to affluent theatre-goers wearing warm winter coats
he is a man who watches them scurry past the cardboard box that is his bed
like a rain-dog, huddling in the shadows of alleys and doorways
he hears deafening explosions of New Year fireworks
he is invisible to the revellers
he is a man who cowers, recalling gunfire of a war he fought
echoing through his mind in restless nights
the incessant thumping of traumatic stress
he is invisible...a victim of post-Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq
who once bore a uniform and served his country with pride
he is invisible suffering alone, paying the price
through severe disabilities and permanent scars
with sadness, he watches voters going to the polls
he is invisible, a veteran with no voice in elections
he is a man who cannot vote without an “address”
a placard on a pavement might catch the eye
unemployed, homeless, unseen
but most of all forgotten
he is a man who seems invisible
but he is still a man
-------------------------------------------------------------
This is co-written by Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire
in remembrance of our war veterans.
[Published @ Muse to Move (A.P.F. Publisher UK 2017]
Welcome! everybody now
Europeans, Italians and otherwise
Wild birds all set to crow
Intent on pretzels and gnocchi
Liters of beer and wine prevail
Local foods will make you drool
Party-goers in the groove gear up
Arriving with cheers - Huzza!
Returning guests and those on tour
Teetotalers too we will admit
You are welcome; come and stay
Lederhosen and dirndls, dress apparel
Initial parade complete with confetti
Kicks off the breweries' lark
Every first Sunday, a costume parade
Trendy tents offer entertainment
Historic foods, mostly deutsch
Even children enjoy rides and flume
Reservations you will prefer
Early evening tents may close
Should safety cause concerns
No first-timer can turn down
Ox on a spit and all things potato
Thrills last for more than a fortnight
Oompah music always crescendo
Munich Madness - groups perform
Oktoberfest yodeling, give it a go
Regulation insures your beer -
Real German malt lager
Official toast, “O'zapft is!” - Cheerio!
We will party like there’s no tomorrow
written as a double acrostic on November 7, 2016