Long Megaphones Poems
Long Megaphones Poems. Below are the most popular long Megaphones by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Megaphones poems by poem length and keyword.
my x has been boxed
Stations have been played
nine ten do
switch
my reality virtualised
my intelligence artificialised
escaping fear in evil
residently near
Trevor smiles
as his stole car
switch gears
Of wars i am well versed
Honoured with medals
Never smelt the Battle field
Duty always called
From mist
filled silent hills
screaming megaphones call
Half my life lived
Fi-fa-foo-fum
I smell the blood
of a lego x-man
Mind my craft
Spy with row
Crash the band
i could
Assassin hid by hood
Redemption read
Dead rise and walk
May i cry ask the devil
Raid the den
The division with which her
smile has changed
wonder if these days
are the last of us
You can’t hurt words.
Lord knows I’ve tried.
For years I tortured words,
twisted them, kicked them about.
For a time,
it was just me against words.
The more I hammered on them
the more they jumped back up
and mocked me.
There is a God of words.
He protects words from politicians,
lawyers and poets.
I learned the hard way
that you have to love words.
They are not weapons, there’
not flags, not megaphones.
Loving words means knowing when
not to use them. This is just respectful.
You won’t hurt their feelings.
but if you misuse their power to
Illustrate and illuminate,
they will smear and smudge,
or shout too loud.
Words do not need much company;
just enough of themselves
to actually say something real.
You can’t hurt words,
and in themselves they do not lie,
it’s only the heart that lies,
and of course,
untold numbers of poets.
Do you ever feel like –
You are being driven onto jagged rocks
By an unforgiving tide,
Searching for a refuge,
Searching for somewhere safe to hide?
Feel the world is spinning much too fast
And you are barely hanging on,
Like a vinyl record spinning out of control
And you don’t like the song?
Feel like you are on a sheer cliff face
And the next hand-hold you can’t find,
The storm clouds gathering above you
And they aren’t silver lined?
Feel you are wildly out of step,
With the decision makers at large,
That you cannot make yourself heard,
Cannot influence those, seemingly, ‘in charge’?
Feel you are whispering into the wind
While others bellow into megaphones,
While the privileged feast high-on-the-hog
And throw you the picked-clean bones?
If you feel your warnings can’t break through,
Just be mindful to protect your mental state,
Your views will eventually gain support,
Just hope this happens –
Before it’s much too late…
Mysterious Mumbo micron meanders most monochrome mornings
Merry Mickey monster makes mentionable mackerel marmalade
Michigans maleficent mayor maimed Mrs.Maryjane May Marlow
Mumbling meager monarch mumbles making Muncie memorable
Minute minions marched missing marshmallow marsh
Montana mistresses mixed millions, mincing megaphones
Marvelous misguided monkeys mimed minutemen,
Milly mistakenly met misogynist men making mincemeat
Marty’s munchable muffins mysteriously melted
Mystical memories mischievously met Merry Mickey
Missouri's mania maybe mystifying many Minnesotans
Moppish meanies mislaid miniscule Mississippi maps
The eyes behind a head inclined reflect a universe
Of shanty towns and kings in crowns and parties in a hearse,
Of heaping mounds of coffee grounds and pennies in a purse,
Of heart attacks in shoddy shacks, of motion in reverse,
Of reasons why pale kids must die, quite trite and curtly terse,
Of puppet people at the steeple, kneeling down averse,
Of tinkle tones and megaphones with empty words and worse,
Of life’s begin’ in utter sin and other things perverse,
Of lewd taboos and residues contained within the Curse,
While poets blind, in gallows’ rind, carve epitaphs in verse.
I want to live in a world
Where people with substance abuse problems
can walk hand in hand with a community of friends
Because addictions as we know it is harder to fight through then it was for frodo in the Lord
of the rings
I want to live in a world where
Poverty and homelessness is in our realm of political focal lens
Because the way I see it
Poets are street reporters
and Misery is the sheets that blankets
the poor.
Our pens are our megaphones
Social Injustices have continually been silenced
The news focuses on Angelina's Newest Babies
Or whether Tiger woods was guilty of infedility
and My god..... How distracted we become like
horses with side blinders
so mindlessly flipping through our
television sets
which in essence are portals where the doldrums of our brain cells come to hibernate
and we forget about our abilities to cause a commotion
Inspire with our thoughts
Our crazy, beautiful, wonderful, abstract, unique, witticisms that can set off a movement like
a thousand beautiful rainbow dominoes.
Falling to the floor in a ballet of tumultuous delight because
Change... change can simply erupt overnight
Form:
Summer love, a man, a woman, conception, a new born
Ring the bells, amplify megaphones, bugle the cow horn
The ceremony begins, baptism, cries, holy water
From two one, family, father, mother, son or daughter
A priests blessings, proud grandparents, proud parents, birth anew
Hospital papers, a birth certificate, much to do
Tears from parents, tears from baby, tears from all, tears of joy
Breast fed, nipples, milking mothers, changing diapers, oh boy
A songbird sings, rock-a-bye-baby, lullaby's at large
Aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, sitters take charge
A pacifier, a cradle, corners of stuffed toys
Hanging crib toys, singing toys, jingling bells, rattling noise
A new generation, of life, all this, in summer love
A woman, man, baby, a family, from god above
A highlight of my grown-up life,
Before I was a mom or wife,
Was being one of those who cheered
On game days, when our teams appeared.
This was in high school, years ago.
The squad, unlike today’s, gone pro,
Was there to get the crowd enthused;
Exhilaration we effused.
Through megaphones we shouted out.
The crowd responded; we had clout.
So when we yelled, “Gimme a T!”
You best believe they did, with glee.
We practiced hard and stretched each limb
For many hours in the gym.
It was our church, or more, our temple
And our rabbi, Mrs. Stemple.
I wore that uniform with pride.
To me, it most exemplified
A feeling potent, deep and strong
That to this world, I did belong.
Tonight our squad will reunite;
This poem I likely will recite.
We’ll reminisce about our past
And hopefully, we’ll have a blast.
But looking back, what I know now
Is being on that squad, somehow
Was magical and did provide
Such joy, I still have some inside.