Long Government Poems
Long Government Poems. Below are the most popular long Government by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Government poems by poem length and keyword.
The Pope Came to the Congress
By Franklin Price
9/25/2015
The Pope came to the Congress
Both houses gathered there
His excellence had no defense
For their uncooperative share
In the state and the condition
That this nation now is in
Cannot repeat the words I heard
But paraphrasing I'll begin
This nation is still wonderful
Even though I must confess
It took a lot of thoughtlessness
To create this awful mess
It's not too late to fix it
Just have to reach across the aisle
With open arms of friendship
Handshake and an honest smile
Heritage of most Americans
Came from immigrations past
Conflicts were more than many
Resolving made this country last
When it got too much to bear
An example we were sent
A Lincoln, King, Melton or Day
One was even President
I could go on forever
As I thought the Pope would do
Was a little hard to understand
That's why I translated him for you
You have to stop your stupid ways
Be politically astute
Negotiate some resolutions
You're not here your horn to toot
You're here as representatives
Of all the people of this land
Government of, by and for them
You sometimes don't understand
Your job's to ask and listen
And act on what you hear
Hope what I here have said to you
Did not fall on deafened ear
O Lasgidi , city of hustlers, bustles, knuckles
In your belly called street, lays lifestyles of hustlers
No Man's land your pseudonym, Eko your first name,
Lasgidi a middle, greetings to you , your last name .....?
O Lasgid! fountain of hustlers, bustles, knuckles
potholes eaten on You, like a Baldhead
The coal tied road, trunk A. B. C
Yellow is the vultures vest
Their shoes an athlete choice
Fit to run to peg their wings
On the innocent souls;
The bus conductor they perch on
drivers they beak on
Tribals mark they tattoo on vehicles
A logo, a sign , a stamp for the" Owo boys!"
Malnutrition their dietary, yet belly is full
Empty in it, wears attitudes bulging tummy.
O Lasgidi city of hustlers, bustles, knuckles
And the vultures in yellow, they run the potholes
Up down up down just for their belly sake pay up dues
with whips held in their hands like ancient masquerades
Yellow is the vultures, garages it perches
O Lagidi city of hustlers, bustles, knuckles
Please shed off your yellow vultures. Away them
They put more potholes in mind of drives, motor boys
To drink water, they gulp Alcohol, marijuana their diet
Eyes beaming red like crimson teeth decayed age 39
O Lasgidi city of hustlers, bustles, knuckles
Wear out your yellow vultures
A perfect pseudonym abgearoo!
And their motor; "owo boys da"?
For ,drivers and motor boys in the
Potholes their dough falls, thus
marathon struggles continual
O Lasgidi commercial pride of the nation
Where is the government, where is the law? hiding
Like candlelight underneath a bushel its glows
But for men its blurred, waiting folks, worn out, verdict
Must sing loud, like a gong its should sound goom
O Lasgidi city of hustlers, bustles, knuckles
Mother to no idle man
I hail thee
Agbearoo! :roadside transportation tax collectors
6/4/2020
Dear Lord
Your peace
brings total wholeness
nothing broken nothing taken apart
Your peace brings a sense of calm deep within our heart
your peace is perfect it makes us feel at ease
bringing us to a place we belong
and we sing unto you in joyful song
we could search high
we could search low
we could search the world through and through
but the peace in this world is nothing
compared to the peace that comes only from you. Amen
Lasting peace comes only from God.
Isaiah 9 verse 6-7.
For a child is born to us,
a son is given to us.
The government will rest on his shoulders.
And he will be called:
Wonderful Counselor,* Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
7 His government and its peace
will never end.
He will rule with fairness and justice from the throne of his ancestor David
for all eternity.
The passionate commitment of the Lord of Heaven’s Armies
will make this happen! Amen.
Green currency
currently has a capital city way
of ungreening pastures,
dying waters,
spoiling mother lands,
decapitating valleys of red-flowing death,
fears of divested death,
war-torn unvictory gardens,
childhood dreams of peace
and nightmares
of capital-infested war machines,
robots,
goose-stepping soldiers
bearing automated black and white rifles,
either death or life,
you or me,
mutually ungreen
disempowered,
While cooperative
deep qualitative
memories of Earth, pre-capitalized,
and healthy ego wealth
playing ecological green win/win
nurtures greener theological pastures,
and cooperative self-government of grace
restoring living ecosystemic waters
of justice,
MotherEarth flows uncapitalized nutrients
dark and light
wane and waxing childhood lucid dreams
no greener than just right.
Wrecked, but still,
The quiet eminence of distrust buries itself deep inside of each one of us,
Whispering hatred in foreign tongue,
Until it becomes loud enough,
Not for us to hear,
No,
But for us to forget,
To assume that the voices were always there,
And of course I’m not suggesting,
That perhaps there is something wrong with our government,
Because horrible masked men have always been in charge,
Right?,
And I’m no Anne Frank,
But Hell,
I think I’m alive,
And I still remember that ten year old me knew it was wrong to be a Nazi,
Or a communist,
Or a confederate,
But who am I kidding?,
Ten year old me was so foolishly naive,
Not to understand that perhaps,
These stories weren’t a fictional dystopia from a land far far away,
But a poison painted over the stakes that hold white men up upon the cross,
A secret society of, “Sic Semper Tyrannis!”
And each stripe and star isn’t a symbol of freedom,
Because freedom is a sick, twisted joke,
And I’ve grown tired of waiting for the punchline,
But perhaps we are the comedy,
Bred into a world that wears racism, sexism, and murder like precious jewels,
And I guess, what I’m trying to say,
Is I’m tired,
And people are dying,
Trying to survive,
Dying to try,
Trying to die,
But foolish, prideful,
Masked men need to feel alive,
And perhaps the only way,
Is to take a life,
And now I must ask,
When will it be mine?
Our province's premier resigned yesterday
After his liberal government had their way.
Making deals with Ottawa behind our backs
Then wondering why his integrity we attack.
When asked why he's stepping down after nine years
No honest answer came , just vagueness appears.
Not because trust from the masses and his own party he lacks,
He's just run out of ways to stab us in the back.
Now he'll take the hefty pension allotted to him
After making sure the rest of our wallets remain slim.
Goodbye Mr. Campbell, you won't be missed,
Can you see the finger sticking up from this fist.
for Carolyn's "Election Humor Contest"
Let God and government be judge
in earthly crimes man does to man;
in hurts personal, I would turn the cheek,
give coat and cloak, and hatred ban.
Make my hands large for giving,
generous and capable tools used ably
for unselfish, loving service -
binding wounds, setting captives free.
Make my heart large, by sorrow shaped,
scraped, crafted, into golden bowl
overflowing with unfeigned love -
poured out upon a broken soul.
I should not tally scores but yield;
the blessed golden rule is true.
I would prefer my neighbor; judgment
is God's; He decides twixt me and you.
Measure for measure, shaken down,
as my Lord Christ dispersed to me . . .
I try, but never will exceed
His inexhaustible treasury.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 5-17-2014
My culture has been taken away,
I am a result of the government;
my hair dark and long
sometimes I wear it in braids,
I am of an era brought up white.
My life happy and I have been loved,
though, I always knew that I was different
and have a wildness inside of me
that could never be tamed.
(I yearned for something unseen;
in dreams I ride a wild horse
and live in a forest- green.)
In time I was told:
that I was Ojibwe
so I went in search of my roots,
the reason for my vivid dreams.
I recall my first visit to an Ojibwe Culture Center,
where I felt, this is where I belong, with
my people.
I listened to the teachings of the elders
their stories, songs, and the beating drums,
I heard the lessons on morals, values and spirit.
The stepping stones one must follow,
The 7 Grandfather teachings;
the wolf, the raven, the buffalo, the bear,
the beaver, the turtle, and the eagle
and that everything in life is circular, and
the heart is the center;
and after all this I embraced the eagle.
(The eagle flies the highest and is
closest to the creator and sees all
from a great distance, the eagle
is the core to all teachings. The
eagle is love.)
One day, I climbed a high cliff
I stood tall in my doe skin dress,
and my black braids blew in the wind
in my mind drums beat a rhythmic pounding
and the elders sang.
Soon an eagle was hovering above in the azure
and down drifted an eagle feather
into my hands.
This is considered the highest honor
the most sacred gift,
I placed it in my hair- and now I have found
my place in the circle of life and who I am
meant to be.
_________________________
February 10, 2017
Poetry/Narrative/Everything In Life Is Circular
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 874-147-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Native American Lore Contest
sponsor, Frank Herrera
Third Place
Tranquil Waters
Steady goes the stream of pure tranquility
Clear blue water rushes over smooth polished rock
The landscape is so green near this water of fertility
To this mountain lake nature's Beings tend to flock
All the sounds of nature make it so peaceful here
Admiring from above this breath taking treetop view
The frigid waters look so very pure and clear
Dazzling with its very own enriched color of blue
The wind is dead calm stirring no ripples in the glass
Watching the colorful fish in their under water dance
Blue ones, pink ones, red sunfish, trout, and bass
All together in this classical mountain top lake romance
The sound here is so silent exemplifying the word peace
A world full of panic never touches the beauty of this lake
Here there is no need for armies, government, or police
It is so sad the things for granted we as humans do take
05/17/17
Submitted for poetry contest: "Mountaintop Lake"
Rainbow nation
It rained and rained, fine rain but persistent
mountains dissolved, and rocks turned into sand
When the rain stopped, a smooth landscape
of peace and camel dung
Before the deluge, people who had sinned were
stoned to death since this was no longer
possible the sinner had to eat a kilo of carrots
until they turned orange and
were not invited to dinner
or supervised at the supermarket
The authorities thought this was a good idea and
made a color program,
to better classify
left-wingers
and radicals, making them eat cabbage till they
turned green and could not hide their socialist
tendency and forbidden to enter posh restaurants
The government liked this so much that they decided to
classify all classes, beetroots for the royals
deep yellow for the middle class and potato peel
for the working class and pink for artists
Alas, people fall in love across the color barrier
their children looked like rainbows and were impossible to classify
Therefore, the government declared everyone s
equals, but instead build bigger prisons