Long Interns Poems
Long Interns Poems. Below are the most popular long Interns by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Interns poems by poem length and keyword.
This autumn morning with the birds waking up
and the leaves changing is Election Day. I meet
Jane Trichter on the downtown train and discuss
Henry's upset. Her skin is soft especially her cheeks
and she is intelligent and sensitive. The subway riders
do not recognize their representative.
All week, at the office, I accomplish nothing substantive
but keep the aides and interns working
and cheerful. On Tuesdays there is always a wave
of constituent complaints, by telephone. One woman's
Volkswagon is towed and the police break in
to get it out of gear. Do they have that right,
can they tow even though no sign said Tow Away Zone?
It is an interesting question but I try to avoid
answering it. The woman persists and succeeds
in committing me.
The people at the office want to bomb Iran. A few Americans
held hostage and therefore many innocent women and children
pay the postage. It may be good classical logic to hold responsible
the whole society for the acts of a few, however, then
I must begin to expect the bomb and the white cloud that waits.
Apocalyptic visions are popular again
but we are more likely to thrash the earth to within an inch of its life
than scorch it to charred rock.
Corner of Church and Chambers,
German tourist's language, accent repels me
although I wasn't alive 45 years ago
and many sweet, great Germans opposed the crazy Nazis
but lately I've read Primo Levi's If Not Now, When?,
seen William Holden in "The Counterfeit Traitor",
have followed the argument started by revisionists
who say the Nazi atrocities never happened.
War brought many shopkeepers, bookkeepers close to their earth,
weather, seasons, death.
I see daily life as low-intensity warfare
as my father, the World War II vet, did.
Off to work we go. What is war?
Population control, mother of invention, diversion
from the work of making life permanent.
Today is Election Day and because it's a day off
for most municipal employees, the City Hall area
has been quiet and easy to work in. Henry and Jane
hold a press conference on teenage alcoholism.
Leslie, the other aide, who I'd like to draw
the stockings and clothes off of and feel her whole body
with mine, goes home with her mother, leaving me
standing by my desk with my briefcase at the end
of Election Day.
The Greeter at a Museum
I am prepared to perform my mindless task
when they open the doors at ten am
and when the visitors enter I recall
my preamble and it goes like this
Good morning, folks where are you from
sorry no cokes or food beyond this point
well hello grandmother, I love your dress
don’t you look hot I mean that in a flattering way
unless your not hot that is
Wow, I remember Kent, MA
I used to live at Loggins Way
did you know Marth and Faye, oh Marth is dead
and Faye ran away with a younger man,
a poet you say it doesn’t surprise me
she always had a yen for younger men
enjoy the art and if you need anything my name is Barte
with an e at the end it was my mothers maiden name you see
oh your name is Wolfe with an e at the end
nice meeting you until then
Hi there, what a handsome child you have
he favors you Id like to add
his creviced chin and ruddy cheeks
add character to this winsome lad
Hi folks, you need a lift ,oh your’e from England
its an elevator here in the USA
let me direct you to that spot bye the bye and all that rot
Hi can I help you can I help you sir no I can’t
you’ve been here before well oh well
I bet you don’t know where the President fell
you were right behind him when he took that spill
but you didn’t see me on that day
I was right behind the exhibit display
to keep an eye on creeps like you
who don’t know the importance of my job
so leave me now artistic snob
oh I love to greet and I love to meet
knowing where the his and her bathrooms are
I can even tell you where to park your car
I think I found my niche in life
as to the who what where and why but
if perchance you know this place when you see me walk on by
*Dedicated to all the art interns at museums
Premier Membership Expiration Contest
Sponsored by IrOnic ZiNk June 16, 2017
The silence can seem cold and detached,
like a balloon or bubble in space.
An Avatar with no face.
But also can be warm and safe, attached,
if you are impending intently your confidence
in expecting wisdom, grace.
Because you can be instructed.
You can be reformed and formed again.
But is it the calm before the storm?
The aligning before the dividing,
for an Armageddon.
Haven't you all been warned?
What is to come.
What has been released
for its season to be airborne.
Circling directional winds
in your media go round-rooms
of advert admin, AdMen.
KY a healing balm of direlect dialect masokist-palm, I dream of, Djin e/bin hellogram.
Sting yourself, in from fires surround Town mounts,
Sun Tzu-interns of hatred's pathogen of Abaddon's nadirNado dervishes of stooge
N.O.W. playing at megaphone2,
SoundCloud of Leviathan Tidal
signatures turned blue.
Bodycounts, tik tok views, news,
pandelodeon dGorno bentai tentacled cartoons,
escape rooms
with features of Blue Lagoon.
The Moon indeed thinks it is perma-stationed
in Scorpio.
Aspected by Pluto and Mars- conjunct
American Psycho,
CSI, surgical- squares,
transitionals Saturn mapping,
tapping pixels at CERN, squared to everybody else, especially Family Matters
and all the Moore'n to mourn.
The Moon in the Eighth House,
binary twin at the door to reboot.
Nowhere to hide no place to run.
Dare I say it.
The Age of Aquarius, an epic fail,
a replacement Theology, as sirens wail from.
Who's buying what their peace sells, sails on.
~ I thought that they were angels
But to my surprise
We climbed aboard their starship...
~ Styx
Dear Franklin St. Four,
We have not met
but, no,
I'm not hoping to take money
or assets
away from you.
Quite the contrary.
Your rental building,
with four residential second and third floor units
above a first floor store front
is for sale--
and the seller knows nothing about this communication.
You could buy your building together
for no more
than your current rents--
probably somewhat less.
I'm hoping you will decide to buy your homes together
and repurpose your shared first floor space
for a Cooperative Dreamers Cafe
with child care during the day
and after-EcoSchool interns
for healthy cooperative evening recreation,
skill-sharing,
writing and song and dance,
ecotherapy repair and design and entertainment projects,
permaculturally designed
to share in this
your cooperative ZeroZone CoHousing Cafe.
Why would I care?
What's in this for me?
I am a retired Permaculture Designer
recently relocated to Norwich
and certified to mentor Green STEM projects.
I'm looking for ways I can help,
especially in your town center area
and especially now that I don't need to charge fees
for facilitation
of cooperatively-owned health and nutrition integrity projects.
So, if you are interested,
I would recommend
reading Permaculture Opera,
which will tell you far more
than you might truly care to know
about my family and me
and our therapeutic journey into this great transitional day
and cooperative-growing time.
If you buy it
on amazon.com
then my royalty share
will help support this project
should you all four choose
to move cooperatively forward.
But, I can also loan you a copy
or you can read all in it
and far more
for free
at www.gdill52.com.
With springtime hope
and resonant regard,
Gerald 0-Liver, PDC, MPA, MDiv
The Greeter at a Museum
I am prepared to perform my mindless task
when they open the doors at ten am
and when the visitors enter I recall
my preamble and it goes like this
Good morning, folks where are you from
sorry no cokes or food beyond this point
well hello grandmother, I love your dress
don’t you look hot I mean that in a flattering way
unless your not hot that is
Wow, I remember Kent, MA
I used to live at Loggins Way
did you know Marth and Faye, oh Marth is dead
and Faye ran away with a younger man,
a poet you say it doesn’t surprise me
she always had a yen for younger men
enjoy the art and if you need anything my name is Barte
with an e at the end it was my mothers maiden name you see
oh your name is Wolfe with an e at the end
nice meeting you until then
Hi there, what a handsome child you have
he favors you I'd like to add
his creviced chin and ruddy cheeks
add character to this winsome lad
Hi folks, you need a lift ,oh your’e from England
its an elevator here in the USA
let me direct you to that spot cheerio and all that rot
Hi can I help you can I help you sir no I can’t
youv’e been here before well oh well
I bet you don’t know where the President fell
you were right behind him when he took that spill
but you didn’t see me on that day
I was right behind the exhibit display
to keep an eye on creeps like you
who don’t know the importance of my job
so leave me now artistic snob
oh I love to greet and I love to meet
knowing where the his and her bathrooms are
I can even tell you where to park your car
I think I found my niche in life
as to the who what where and why but
if perchance you know this place when you see me walk on by
*Dedicated to all the art interns at museums
Queen Hillary's election to the presidency seems a foregone conclusion,
Brought about by back-room deals, magical tricks and considerable illusion.
I thought I'd offer suggestions for her cabinet officers (as if she cared),
To surround herself with top-notch people so that she is fully prepared.
Jane Fonda, who loves the military, I'd suggest for Secretary of Defense.
Tax evader 'Rev' Al Sharpton, as head of the IRS would make a lot of sense.
The Department of Labor needs a person who is considered top-drawer;
The only guy who I can think of for that job is super-patriot Michael Moore.
The Education Department could be offered to Jesse Jackson, the 'preacher',
And from that bully-pulpit expound his inane babble to every teacher.
Pelosi for Department of Transportation since she knows her way around.
She's adept at using government planes for junkets for which she's renowned.
The inventor of the internet, Al Gore, would qualify for Secretary of Interior.
He could rant and rave about melting ice, a topic about which he feels superior.
How about Barbra Streisand for the important job as Secretary of State.
(She'd outshine Hillary from all her antics we've learned about of late.)
Former Congressman Anthony Weiner might possibly serve on her staff,
But I'll leave his job for Hillary to name -I want no part of that gaffe!
There must be something for Bubba Billary to do, her ever-faithful spouse;
Ah! I know! He could 'manage' young female interns working at the House!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
We cured death on a Tuesday,
launched the trial on a Thursday,
by Friday, 14% of the test group
was gnawing on the janitorial staff.
Still, the press was kind.
“Remarkable resilience,” they wrote,
as Unit 42A chewed through its restraints,
and tried to bite a cameraman.
We called them SoulSavers™,
engineered for eternal youth,
a proprietary blend of nanites, CRISPR,
and just a dash of hubris.
ReVive™ hit the market with glowing ads:
"Because Forever is a Family Value."
But the legal fine print… oh, the fine print:
May cause mild memory loss, spontaneous moaning, and cannibalistic cravings.
They rose in boardrooms first,
CEOs with perfect teeth
tearing into interns
like gourmet hors d'oeuvres.
By Q3, the infection was global,
but stocks soared--
because someone monetized the mayhem,
packaged brains in biodegradable boxes.
The living now hide in Costco bunkers,
bartering soup for silence,
while ReVive™’s jingle
plays softly from every abandoned screen:
“You can’t spell ‘afterlife’ without 'life'--
Sign here, and live again!”
So yes, we cured death.
We also cured peace.
And now we walk among the ruins,
clawing for comfort,
with half a heart and half a face,
still under warranty.
Author's Note:
This poem is what happens when you read Tom Woody’s contest prompt and accidentally engage the undead half of your brain. It’s a free verse romp through biotech gone wrong, corporate chaos, and a sprinkle of satire. No contest entry--just undead fun.
Dear Mr. President,
Today,
at my Green STEAM EcoSchool--
Which Mother Gaia asked me to mention
was supported by the Environmental Protection Agency
until plundered into
your Environment Predation Agency,
an offense against health defense.
Anyway,
back to what I hoped we might talk about,
We learned about designing multicultural nurturing guilds
composed of polyculturing plants
like cooperative flowering eastern pollinators
and chickory deep soil/soul southern enrichers,
and yummy nutritional western food producers,
and north wind resilient double-boundary networks.
And how building cooperative multicultural guilds,
and feeding them
with WinWin organic compost,
democratically and resonantly yields
long-term resilient
economic and political
and polycultural
nutritional optimization outcomes.
And how building boundaries
and walls between these polypathic
potentially free WinWin cooperators
leads to emerging WinLose climate competitors
building even larger scale
ever more supremacist monoculturing wars
and mutually unbalanced
and devastating
LoseLose climate pathology terror.
That was about it
for today
as I recall.
So,
what did you learn outside today
listening to your EcoSchool root system mentors
and interns
and WiseElder matriarchal teachers?
If Mother Yin-Gaia spoke to me,
just a Green kid,
I'm sure She would speak with you.
Just another Green post-millennial kid
listening to your pre-millennial Red State,
hey doc
give it to me straight
you'd be suprised what I can take
no candy coated words
surrounding terms I've never heard
you use to scare
off all the interns...
I'm so sorry
for all their inquiries
they think are so necessary
for you to answer immediately
who are they to say?
asking you about him
talking about when when when
why don't they mind their own business?
Why don't they get out of your face?
you'll never let them see him
in this fragile state
get them all away
They ask how is he
but they're too busy
to talk right now
says their bodies half turned
so you lie through your teeth
tell em he seems to be
turning around
and they're too smart to learn
so they agree
happy to move on
they say they want the truth
but they only want the good news
and don't get it otherwise
says the confusion in their eyes
only want the positive
while you're left to live
as they can walk away
"what a wonderful day"
who are they to say?
"I understand"
dumbest words ever said
all I know is
nobody knows
nobody ever truly understands
I'm so sorry
yeah he's out there
that monster
and he plays dirty
and I'm sorry
it had to come to this
we'll beat him with our fists
for what he's done to our parents
and what he's done to us
as we had to watch
with our wrists locked
why does it have to hurt so?
why does it have to hurt so?
when God lets us
I'll beat the monster with my own fists
I'll beat him for me
I'll beat him for you if you need
or better than
I'll hold you together so you can
It was never about the suit,
the charcoal stitching,
the pocket square that folds itself,
the red tie I swore was alive.
At first, it just stood there—
hooves crossed, ears like knives
stabbing into the conference room light.
It never spoke, but no one dared speak over it.
The org charts bent to its gaze.
Quarterly losses shrunk like timothy hay
waiting too long for sun.
I kept my hungry eyes on the llama,
after all, its black-marble stare could polish
a version of the best vision of myself, if I let it:
animal energy tugging at my own red tie,
my voice cracking like a glass ceiling
when I pitched the last idea I was proud of.
Now the llama knows my name.
It signs my emails
and leaves fur in my throat
when I try to say no.
On Tuesdays,
it stands too close
to the mirror in the breakroom,
straightening its tie with my hands,
licking the salt from neck—
its muzzle smelling like a ferment
of wet grass and my sweat.
The interns whisper that it’s a myth,
but they’ve all stopped wearing red.
I now sit at the head of the table,
rubbing my hindquarters with two toes
on the scale, protecting my own
wall-eyed stare. The suit fits better
than I thought.
You can see everyone from here—
their necks, their ties,
the slow nodding of skulls.
The llama was never absurd.
It’s they who look strange now.