Long Hours Poems
Long Hours Poems. Below are the most popular long Hours by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hours poems by poem length and keyword.
It's easy to blame Life for our plights and woes.
The day-to-day throes that weigh heavy on us.
Those that overwhelm our senses with worry.
Is it actually Life that torments us
or is it just the pretense we use to blame
our troubles on something... anything
except ourselves as being responsible
for lighting the fuse igniting our struggles?
Life is a rat race where we scurry like mice,
hurrying here and there with things we pursue.
Finances are always stretched to the max,
our names etched on documents for payment due.
Problems ensue and we become imbued with
health issues, climate change, global unrest.
It seems each day we're being tested anew,
taunted, and haunted by fear when we hear
of some new threat to society and more so
when it involves the ones we dearly love.
If we feel Life holds us in its grasp like a vise,
maybe we need to consider a new attitude.
Few of us ever have enough financial security.
Nickles and dimes buy nothing lately,
and never does time allow us enough hours
to get through a day feeling unscathed.
I've come to realize that Life is not to blame.
It's wayward people who treat it as a game,
those who hold power for greed and gain.
We don't roll the dice to decide where we go.
We're responsible for so much more than that.
But there are no do-overs for any of us
when wrong decisions are made.
Nor do we get pats on our backs
when we've made the right choice.
It's our voice that we listen to; our voice we hear.
Our jaws are often clenched,
our teeth grinding to the point of pain
when burdens and despair drive us to the brink
of feeling like we're standing on the edge of a cliff.
But is it really fair to blame Life for our troubles,
or when our thoughts ask the question, "What if?"
Let's not keep our jaws clenched in silence.
Speak up; speak out against wrongdoings.
We all have problems on different levels
with which we struggle, but breaking free
of them will release the tension in our jaws
and the vise grip we accuse Life of having on us.
We need to find a way to stop those stones
from hurling themselves in our direction...
the ones that ripple across our calm waters,
threatening to keep hold of us in their grip.
I received an exciting soup mail
I’m minted, with wealth off the scale
But I know it’s a fraud
By some bloke from abroad
These fraudster’s should be put in jail
Got a call from a ‘Microsoft’ guy*
His fake story I did not buy
Said he’d turn off my ‘puter
And re-route my router
He told me just lie after lie
These scammers just want a quick buck
They try to find a sitting duck
They’re after our money
It sure isn’t funny
Their unscrupulous actions just suck
We have had several calls from 'Microsoft' saying our computer is at risk and they can help protect us ... I just put the phone down on them. Unfortunately an elderly friend of ours got taken in by their persistence and when it got to the you need to give us your bank account details part he realised it was a scam and wouldn't give his details but he had inadvertently given them access to remote control his PC and they put a password on it so he couldn't get into his files. It took my hubby several hours to sort out, remove the software programme they were using to control the PC and get the computer back to him so he could use it.
7/7/18
They hit the road before the break of dawn kicking down doors rattling gates and slamming car doors. “The computer people a goh kill the woman ova there so, we a goh murder her!” threat come echoing from behind the wall saturating fear through the modern roof.
The commotion continues throughout the wee hours of the morning and the turbulence shows no sign of stopping, the shouts and the threat continues and when I could not bear to listen to it anymore; I took a walk out door to examine what was on the floor and the excitement speed off about seventy miles per hour up the road, and a woman’s voice shouted, “A mi alone in a the car now” It didn’t sound logical but I could analyze its meaning.
I continued my work in the early morning and the traffic keeps coming and going and suddenly I heard a screaming, the cops come rushing down the hill and parked on the other side of the street and a woman emerge from the car and descended into the yard.
Domestic violence it seems has derails someone’s dream and the little man with the taxi came rushing in was part of the bubble; there was going to be real trouble. He parked in front of the cop's head on and puts on the white light signal and pretends as if he was the boss
He went underneath the big apple three on the other side of the street and the domestic upheaval intensified. I watched from the side and listened for a while then I zoom them out. It is the nonsense mixing with common sense that didn’t make sense.
The brawl continues into broad-day light with the cops and the neighbors arguing about I don’t know what, the woman was issuing murder threat in front of the cops, and on the other side of the big church the lawn mower man was cutting grass and digging up earth drowning out the domestic confusion.
And so the morning faded away with the cops, the computer people and the PM people running around the town without shoes and crown, with the minstrel and the drums sounding behind them.
I could not hear them anymore even when I walked through the door; the morning suddenly became still and just the warm heat and slight breeze, I could feel blowing over my feet and the stage was set for a brand-new journey.
A misfit in Liverpool
I think of oranges when I see a painting by Constable of a morning sun
that looked like blood orange dripping nectar down on some
fishermen trying to catch eels on the dark surface of the bay.
There were sail-ships too ready to hoist sail in the morning wind.
When I lived in England, I met several police constables, most
of them, nice blokes, but during the miners´ strike, they became
radicalized, they had a good talking to by those higher up and
were also promised plenty of overtime.
John, a police constable fifteen years on the beat and no promotion-
a friend of mine refused to partake in hitting miners over the head,
he continued his lonely beat, but at the station, he was ostracised,
a lonely figure in need of a friend- He often came into my cafe after
hours, we drank vodka with orange juice, lamenting the time we lived in. John took early retirement, and I sold my cafe.
Little Wolf met her namesake this week at Apache festival with her brother.
They were together all week, running from one booth to another
Can we keep him? She asked her father, a chief and her mother.
I will keep him at my house, offered her giving grandmother.
Little Wolf, wolves need to stay in their packs, and run free.
You would not want your companion to be sad, you see.
Give him your best wishes, and he will visit from time to time.
But no one can truly say a wild animal “is mine”.
They parted ways, Little Wolf and Little Wolf, kindred souls.
But they always remembered they had likewise goals.
Connecting during star hours in their deep sleep.
Without making a sound, not even a peep.
He ventured from
the wooded square acred forest that remained
in search of food and a companion or two,
there was neither;
down along the rows of $600, 000 homes,
5000 square foot monoliths for two and a child
fenced in against the surrounding world,
traveling along, alone on a desolate
macadam paved roads
and the concrete stepping stones
that ached
in the touch on his swollen hooves;
it was the three o'clock hour
the darkness surrounding the early morning hours,
no traffic sounded on the pavement,
he stepped cautiously listening
straining to reach the other side
as the car reared its fender against him
it raced away pushing him to the curb
where he lay slowly dying
stretching his life into extinction
lost to the progress of mankind.
Life behind these eyes
This old body, harboured among so many artifacts.
My Spirit wanders the spaces within my four cornered rooms.
My Soul searches for meaning beyond the bars of my steel cage. .
My heart beats against the walls of my memories hoard.
Blood pumping, awakening the essence of what is stored.
My nights becoming the life what should be my days.
Slipping my mind into neutral, sound and electromagnetic waves carry.
Living vicariously through the eyes, imaginations, the talents of others.
Writers producers, directors, camera create and bring to the screen.
That one eyed monster, the cathode tube that carries one beyond.
Awareness of space time continuum, its linear journey lost to me.
Consciousness of times passing no longer has any relevance.
Seconds into minutes, hours, days, weeks months, years, a lifetime
One elongated stream, without destination, meaning or substance.
Carried off into the sun set, carried on the wings of solar winds.
Particles of time, connected, never seen by these tired old eyes.
Reaching, with both hands into the ether, the four corners of this universe.
Habits, rituals, routines dominate, no longer cognizant of times movements.
Days have become night, many hours spent in a bed of water.
Lost in dream land, where the subconscious brings to life ones history.
Stories told, be they positive, negative, indifferent or be they illusions.
A surrealistic representations of unfinished business, of desired unfulfilled.
On occasion, a vision, a premonition, something beyond a reflection.
For the most part, a desire to, once again, to experience the essence of.
Passions, desires, a life no longer afforded a disabled, indigent senior.
Only in the images played out upon the back of ones eye lids.
Painted upon canvases, woven into tapestries, displayed on TV screens.
Phantasmagorias that elucidate a life, some regrets, a life consumed.
B. J. “A ” 2
January 24th, 2021
Is the urge to crush rebellions with the threat of death
the quickest way to dominate a nation in fear?
Would I be a fair ruler of Humanity and be loved?
I shouldn't fear anyone whispering real sense into my ear:
"Listen to suggestions, don't discard them into the trash;
stay alive, govern with intelligence and be praised! "
The fairness of my kingdom is a universal one:
all races and religions in harmony with each other,
" Hurt no one, love everyone, and in judging be fair;
if all these requirements were met, you'd be fine."
Think about the failures of the rulers who bitterly regret
the harsh treatment of their people who went hungry
to feed their starved children who couldn't stop crying,
not understanding how cruel someone could be denying
them the right to health by showing a bit of generosity
and spare them death and horrendous hours of fret.
The fairness of my kingdom will reach the gates of Heaven,
God will make it rain to fill all the empty wells that ran dry:
come people with thirst and drink the purest water to regain
the confidence in a government where all are treated equally!
Written on 8/15/2020
She rode a horse named Romance through the field that day
Squirrel asked chipmunk, “Are they yet far away?”
Chipmunk did not know, so he put his ear to the ground.
They’ll be here in a few hours, he said next to ant mound.
Romance was swift, joyful, a wonderful ride for Lulu.
She thought she might find a beau before day was through.
Potential suitor was intimidated by the well-toned steed.
“I guess she has everything she will ever need.”
So that day was not lucky, or the next few years either.
As for squirrel and chipmunk, they traveled to Peither.
Potential suitor married her cousin, a woman named Kay.
Who had no handsome steed, but a lovely kind way.
I rush every morning holding my coffee .
I board the bus , checking my phone
I want no problems .
As mind prepares for hectic hours
some daring guy breathes on my ear,
questioning me for my IG .
beyond upset
I say : no way.
Another guy at 7’s platform wishes
the same ,
he’s fine ,
I give in .
I finish work and I feel drained
And again on the bus
Coming back home an old guy casually
gives me his number
and he says :-call me
I feel disgusted .
The next day comes.
The first guy stands in front of me
The bus is packed ,
and he tells me please give me your IG .
I feel the sin of my hypocrisy
so out of pity ,
I give in .
One minute later he is texting me
He likes my pics , he hearts my comments ,
OMG he is so extra !
I have to ghost him .
Three days have passed
He hates my guts , if looks could kill …
I would be dead tomorrow morning.
Then he gets salty
He writes I’m basic , and even chunky.
Then he posts selfies with his own shorty
That’s it !
I have to block him .
The hunky one , he booty texts me
I check my phone it’s 3:am
Asking to meet me
so we can cuddle until the sunrise.
Forgot to mention his IG contacts
are only women , with huge sweet bums
and scarce clothing .
I can’t reply I have my pride
hottie and all I have to block him.
And every day repeats same stories
of dummy guys
asking for something.
When I say no I’m nasty B,
if I say yes I’m nasty B.
Only cause
I ignore them.
As you can see I have my motives,
to my dismay this city is full of spineless men
Younger and older.
Still I have old pops phone number
I haven’t called him
Maybe I will , I’m very morbid .