Long Handlers Poems
Long Handlers Poems. Below are the most popular long Handlers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Handlers poems by poem length and keyword.
Scared
by Odin Roark
Fear saved the fly
The spider wept
Fear kept men alive
While Napalm paved the way
Fear keeps the 1% insulated
Handlers and mental bodyguards
At their beckon call
The mongrel on Manhattan’s frozen streets
Knows well the virtue of fear
Yet
Never will we see our species
Handle being scared like an animal
Where the lesser evolution will defend
We the sentient superiors will think only offense
How beautiful
How heart wrenching0
The defense elephants
Rhinos
Big cats
Exert to protect only that
Which is their province
Their instinctual responsibility
Wanting not to harm the perp
But only to ward off the aggression
Escape to safer surroundings.
Why does man feel he must instigate aggression
To justify his superiority?
Why do we continue our behavior
Moving science
Technology
Mind set
Ever closer to android resolve?
Might we be so complacently satisfied
We ignore the advances of AI?
Are we really so consumed with the media clap trap
We’re becoming more and more ignorant of information
Vet proof stats that tell us
Wake up
And yet
To sit in a quiet attic
Observe the simple
Yet perfectly designed survival
Instinct of the spider
Is to become aware
It’s all about living in harmony
Not acrimony
Wait patient spider
What you need for another day of survival
Is but waiting
Love nature
Or perish
When I go outside and see the homeless, I see one thing,
There are no homeless Hispanics and yet,
There is a Hispanic Panic amongst those who are paranoid
From the abuelitas selling taquitos to artists hawking cartoon portraits, street vendors were hustling long before the pandemic. But they are being forced to adjust even more due to the downturn caused by COVID-19.
Mexican merchants are struggling to keep their
Food Truck small businesses, LA Street Vendor’s, are not pan-handlers
For goodness’ sake, buy KEEP-SAKES!
In an era where more of our workforce is in the informal economy with zero protections and safety nets for emergencies
LA Street Vendor Campaign demonstrates how local solutions
can scale up and reach thousands of precarious workers
across Los Angeles and beyond.
Rumors of death, come and gone,
I’m still here, fighting on.
Like the lies you weave,
Faced the dark, can’t believe.
What’s the matter, can’t you see?
I left you there, I was free.
Shadows haunt my sleep.
Tried to bury you deep,
You were gone, I walked away,
Here you are, a ghost today.
Look at me with eyes that burn,
Did I miss, what did I learn?
You were never alone, never left his side,
Never left his side
Tell me now
Who's the one that lied?
How did he escape chains that bind?
Three drug felonies, Feds never kind.
D E A, Agents directing your hate
Showed him mercy, sealed my fate.
A paid rat ran in the night,
You set me in your sights
Sold his soul, fitted him right.
Rumors of death, come and gone,
I’m still here, fighting on.
Like the lies you weave,
Faced the dark, can’t believe.
Now he is just a ghost,
Corrupt handlers, I lost the most.
Everyone in the end has a price,
When his suppliers found out
Groveling Rats on your knees.
Both would have been shot
3am at ‘Lake Burchie’
Never real, a shadow to chase,
Confidential Informant, disgrace.
Now you know, shadows bring,
A game of death, I choose to sing.
Cancer took him, I am raw,
Bent as Oklahoma’s law.
Funeral postponed, I’m alive
He is ashes, yet I survive.
Rumors of death, came and went
I’m alive, weight you lent.
Like tales, lies you spin,
In shadows, where I begin.
Were never alone, never left his side,
Tell me now, who's the one that lied?
You never left his side
Never left his side
Never left his side
Never left his side
He got a speeding ticket on a lonely road in Montana. It was 3AM. He was alone. All the “support” groups were declared “non-essential” by the AI super computer and sent home to “shelter in Place”. A Satellite reported “thermal” imagery of movement around a fire in the woods of Washington state. A “self-driving” EV drove off a cliff. The “accident” was deemed an “algorithmic anomaly” caused by an “unknown stressor”. A body lay motionless in a city park. A police officer called for an ambulance as he administered “Narcan”. A group of “onlookers” videoed his every move. It was immediately posted everywhere. My “cell phone” is a “RAT”. It is in constant contact with its handlers, reporting my every move. If I leave it home “other” handlers search for me. When found I am admonished and told how “important” it is that I always “take my phone with me”. My GPS hates me! I turn it on and then don’t follow its directions. I facetiously tell people it is just another “woman’s” voice I don’t listen to. I am a “GUY”. I used to be a “MAN” but by definition “they no longer exist anymore”. I like to “figure stuff out”. Y’know, like, before GOOGLE. Y’know, like, sit down and think about it, make a diagram on the box, “improvise”, get it done. The TV tries to tell me what I would like to watch. My computer tries to tell me what I would like to purchase based on a profile they claim they don’t have. My mother stopped feeding me baby peas when I spit them out the second time.
Why doesn’t the computer have that “profile” stored in its “algorithm” of asinine profiles? Anyway, I’m off to the Tattoo Parlor to have a “third eye” tattoo placed on my forehead just to screw with the “facial recognition” feature of my allegedly benign “cell” phone. Don’t forget your “phone” and “keep both hands on that freakin’ steering wheel” .
Hugs and Kisses
They Know Who
"We are the wandering wonders forever readying ourselves until our next show and we will be even more spectacular than any of our previous performances where we shall not only marvel at ourselves, but we shall dazzle you our world audience
with our refreshing and mesmerizing brand new us." ... by Poet
“we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love, concurred”
Do I anticipate, be I forethought,
plan, cautious, store-bought, or am I free thought,
or should I turn and be an afterthought?
Flipflop, reverse or have a second thought.
Mayhaps I be the one in the mirror,
behind the glass or in front, be clearer.
Tell me true, tell me blue, or who's nearer.
Where does consciousness stand; bring your shearer.
Former victims serving others in need.
Lost times we wonder who does a good deed,
deep in prayer, our sins washed, we succeed.
Reclaim, recover, get back, now we're freed.
When we crossed the lines, didn't think it would count,
after all, 'tis a concocted account.
No rhyme or reason, or scheme to surmount.
Pique cross fallacy or clarity fount.
Reincarnation, its majority
tether nature's beast and humanity.
Genesis claims Eden and Ark, singly.
Man and beast aren't one, Christianity.
Pews be filled, constant prayers forgiving.
Pews be emptied, constant those be sinning.
Our measured worth is primed for exampling.
Pews new souls earn Heaven's Gate opening.
Our eyes were opened, filled with empathy.
And see what's meant to be, and not to be.
We're led astray, but here we stay, Glory!
We had learned all about Jesus's story.
They'll be messengers, one true, and one naught.
They'll be harvesters, most rot, others fought.
They'll be winged handlers, who'll descend when caught.
They'll be winged handlers, who'll ascend those brought.
The cadence of the knell on the wind Lord
Has folk peering from windows and doors
A reminder of fickle mortality
Peals forlornly, for whom the bell tolls
The screams of the Angels, are deafening
Those with the conscience to hear
Dark Winter, cuts colder than ice
Unfolding, the fear of all fears
Media controlled information
Has us fighting brother to brother
As the puppeteers pull on our heartstrings
An Orwellian surrogate mother
Totalitarian terror prevails
An Agenda to meet, time is flying
Denver Airports Time-capsule, historic
Egomaniacs prayers to the dying
Positions of power are key
Those appointed are elitely chosen
Merchants of Venice they’d shame
Like iniquitous embryos, frozen
World Health Organization, instruction
To quell conscientious objectors
Mouth the words of the purse-handlers credo
The beneficiaries, monied investors
The greatest good for the greatest of numbers
Bantham cries, from the crest of his pew
Utilitarian logic prevails
Though, decisions are made by the few
Get in line, live your days in your cells
As we gather the troops to protect you
Martial Law looms, incessantly closer
For your safety we’ll need to inject you
The corruptive, are those with the power
Wielding deaths sword, resolutely
Political towers of Babel
Where power corrupts absolutely
In a World of pandemic paranhoia
The essential works, deemed to be crucial
Are the implementation of towers
Beaming Signals of Sorrow, so brutal
A virus is only a name, you see
It was never a death causal factor
Electromagnetic technology
Is the key to the virul reactor
Big Brothers got one million eyes
And a chip, for to go where e’er you go
No crock of gold’s waiting out there
Hid beneath, ‘An Invisible Rainbow’
vaudeville stepped off the stage
and leapt into the living room
with hot topic-tuned antenna views
shy ventriloquists turned from radio
to television with a vision to be seen
juggling with eye-catching
candle-, duck-, and ten-, pins
off the bowler skids in aerial suspension
abracadabra handlers saw their guests -
half of them enjoyed their shows
hats and canes spinning, shoes tapping
all the old variety - hosts rolling eyes
acrobats rose above them all -
the fall guys, the masters of the skies
Marx, Burns, Allen, Fields, Benny
broke their audience records
showcase of holidays and war
in time with comedy and lyrics
The good old daze
replaced by supersonic, telephonic-cell
(the farmer in the dell throws down his pitchfork
to watch)
to hock back the latest, greatest craze
of series, not to purge, but to binge
staying carefully away from Burnett, Sonny and Cher,
Donny and Marie, and Ed.
drooping eyes spring glasses,
a glass of red or white…
elsewhere, the hypothalamus of the kids,
impacted by Squiddy, Stampy and CaptainSparklez
5/25/2023
The museum is full of gangs,
child gangs that roam sneering at the 70’s people.
The 70’s people live now in a diorama.
For the most part they are cheerful,
they cut grass with push mowers,
swim in above ground pools.
By and large they don’t kill each other
or pillage the Malls.
Some are vets with grey ponytails -
they ride to forget.
The 70’s people that lived in New York
pretend not to have been there back then
and take long meditative soaks in crude
high rise jacuzzies.
Behind the glass
the 70’s people mechanically wave
at the hordes of sneering children.
A young questioner asks his handler
why the 70’s people are not all dead?
A reasonable question
which the handler deflects
with a long tale about dinosaurs.
Meanwhile the 70’s people
peer out of their mid-century homes
and watch the foot traffic
as if it were an older black and white TV.
The young are getting bored with the 70’ people.
they move on to stare incredulously at a representation
of humankind back in the 60’s.
The handlers also cannot quite believe their eyes,
they explain that though there are many artifacts
of that previous civilization
experts disagree as to origins
and the strangeness of their bygone lifestyle.
Salem Alabama and Woodstock
are small print on a sign no one reads.
The kids are hungry and whine loudly,
the school-outing is a bust so far.
Harassed handlers usher them into a cafeteria
where they slaughter the air
with a wolfish glee.
A few Jeer at an 80’s person
who has wandered into the wrong room.
The Queen is dead; a kingdom mourns
And all through her domain
There will be countless tributes
To her long amazing reign.
Ascending to the throne so young,
She ruled with style and grace
And no one (certainly not Charles!)
Will ever take her place.
To us, across the pond, she seemed
So decorous and prim,
Requiring a curtsy (from a her)
Or bow (from him).
Her matching suits and hats defined
Her monarchy and yet,
Beneath that stiff demeanor
Lurked the Queen most never met.
I once read that her handbag,
Always draped across her arm,
Was moved quite subtly to
Her other elbow, an alarm.
She did this when she’d had enough
And wanted to take leave,
A signal that her handlers
Were on lookout to receive.
That story showed her human side;
Will wonders never cease?
We’ll miss you, Queen Elizabeth,
And may you rest in peace.
The Door Wolf.
And, what of the waxing Moons
Its flood, of relentless tides, that time
of scar faced pit dogs, long sharp toothed,
their belly grumbling handlers, eager
to chalk a death line, on cold ale stained flag stones hard.
While in bleakness yard, belly tumbling hags squeeze, last drops out of well gripped ****, for the blind pups bellies,
babies must wait, in so many ways they are a benefit, against the door Wolf.
And what of pale, deep eyed children
Barefoot in waste lands of snow
Thin as cotton threads, as are their ragged clothes !
Their belly grumbling quenched, by easy swallowed earth worms, to placate the parasitic worms hidden within.
Ahh, all in ! to the avoid the door wolf.
And what of the well heeled lace lover,
hovering in trinkets of silver, and cups spilling with distain, against the scroungers pain ?
With, Parisiene perfume, to muffle the drum
Hum drum stench, from a piss trench
soaked and brandyied to sleep.
Her blinkers finaly, blinked blank.
Those waxed, and wained Moons !
Now cobwebbed in long past night skies.