Long Metropolis Poems
Long Metropolis Poems. Below are the most popular long Metropolis by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Metropolis poems by poem length and keyword.
Somebody should start digging,
a big hole, we need a big hole.
Big enough for 300 babies, 300 children,
300 young women,
300 old women
300 fighting men, 300 just talking men.
300 charging horses and riders,
300 retreating riderless horses,
300 peace workers, 300 idiots,
300 hundred nurses and doctors,
300 politicians, 300 martyrs.
It will be an underground city,
just for Samura, Trojans, cherups, devils and angels.
We will call that subterrain metropolis:
WELL INTENTIONED.
We will plant Red Poppies and White Day Lilis
upon that covered-in mound.
On Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays
we will pray for all of the slaughtered,
read from the book of the dead,
each week,
redefining the meaning of innocence.
Metropolis…
a cackling cacophony of confusion
energizing some and enrages others.
Concrete and steel giants,
loom forebodingly over the masses;
blocking out gifts of the sun.
The maze that tires me from constant searching;
why am I here in this overcrowded and hopeless abyss?
The bang-clang trucks and trolleys,
beat out their metronomic, one…two...beat
and the drone of engines,
sings a tired ballad of the modern world.
Cities are the lairs of bad-tempered dragons;
harboring too many precious trinkets.
Vulnerable souls are the noonday snacks,
devoured by cold-blooded sharks.
Sandpiper Pausing...Again
What times are these
where hearts run hot and cold
ceaseless conscience alerts
remind us of steel girders fallen prone
entombments sealed
their distant voice remembered well
Compassion's lens peers through
this fallen metropolis of micro-flesh
this glass transparency
engulfed by forsaken smoke
knowing today's ethereal
descends as heart's residue
embracing darkness recalled
clock hands stopping
media rushing to air-time
yet never to be out of date
Silence remembers
fused tragedies
crumbling worlds
bodies falling
hearts broken
Yet
learning comes hard
More violence breaks the silence
cacophonous pandemonium
empty shell casings bouncing
pop pop pop pop pop
children's pleas
teachers' bravery
first responder's sorrow
parents traumatized
grievance everywhere
Sterility reigns
Washington defers
barbarity's extended abyss
the next tragic moment to define
insensitive that irresponsible behavior
will spawn new memories
destined to awaken vanquished yesterdays
Like a video game of archaic gulosity
certain chameleon passions remain insatiable
indecisive apathy-driven appetites
fuel congressional obstruction
While at the shore
A sandpiper pauses
beneath remembered ash
echoed violence
unredeemable screams
floating atop societal trade winds
seeming to be never forgotten
Like other creatures of blood that flows
eyes that see
ears that hear
hearts remaining conscious
knows not cowardice
Even a bird understands that
And so...
Even as the sandpiper probes away
its discovered sustenance hard fought
its needs remaining small
congressional appetites of power and greed
continue sated only with constituency expectation
indulging in anticipated 2013's gluttonous reward
thinking the next tragedy but finger food
the next gun sales windfall a payback for re-election
answering the next challenge of moral impotency with...
Not a problem
Not a problem
The emblem on the pendant
was new to all of the professors
they sorted every detail
from end to end
they sampled and examined
until were lofted dumbfounded.
a miracle: something that
made all in attendance
stop to notice.
They looked one another in such
amazement that they were then
lost for words.
It appeared that who ever was
held the precious metal was entitled
to be the strongest man alive.
It was exclusive to gender.
The stone must be from space
it's vacco said one professor.
He can lift us all, without afford.
We entruest could understand
what we were seeing: we understood
the value of the item before
us. But "which then is neither" was mad
understandable
when the walls came crumbling down!
"My God: my God!" Professor Yelp, screamed
as a large super vessel came through
the wall. After moments a dark athletic
figure stood before us.
The "The stone" he demanded.
I looked at him and knew he was
Luthor! Lex as he introduced himself.
"I am without any need of inspiration I simply hunger"
"No side kicks, no villain in the making a sacrificial lamb
or a sidekick:I am, that I am!" "hand over the precious amulet!
He than turned a tuner on his waist and we woke up
minutes later and he , the amulet and the
vessel was gone
leaving a large hole in the wall.
Professor Dissan Dungier
Scientist at Metropolis University
Excerpted from Wide City Metropolis
Channel 18 News
A Pier Pier Corp Company
The season is warming up,
shirts will come off
then holes in the flesh
of babes in their beds will blossom red.
There will be no posters made,
for instant martyrs,
no outrage from politicians,
no edge of the seat television trials,
no protests or marches,
no 24/7 news cycles,
it will be just another day
for the metropolis near the bay.
People drink more
as the bodies pile up.
The rain is soft on the blacktops
blood more easily washed away.
The city is stale, ghost gusts on the lake
don’t make it to the shore,
where the still heavy air
continuous its threat of ignition.
Today and tomorrow
the guns will be warming up.
The dead are statistics -
roaming gangs of statistics
add to the deadly roll call.
It’s not all bad news
after several weeks
a child found her lost puppy.
Between the funerals
there are baby showers.
The city is doing just fine
if we close our eyes.
The good ship "Vision of the Seas" crossed the tidal rip,
And now glides majestically toward her mooring slip.
Seattle 'wakens from its slumber as I gaze across the bay.
A glow in the eastern sky heralds another glorious day!
Ferryboats ply their routes carrying drowsy folks to work.
Little boats scurry about as if they have gone berserk!
From my lofty perch I can see that the rush hour has begun.
The magnificent skyline of Seattle is aglow in the rising sun!
Mount Rainier shimmers from afar, the sun tinting its noble crown.
The Space Needle stands as a sentinel o'er the wakening town.
Playful dolphins dart to and fro guiding "Vision" to her quay.
The dawning o'er Seattle, no mere artist would dare portray!
I'm startled from my reverie by the shrill barking of a seal,
And the plaintive cries of gulls as overhead they wheel.
Sonorous blasts of the ship's horn will awaken the metropolis,
Perhaps even rattling those reposing in the local necropolis!
Tho' Seattle drowses, on the dock there is much ado.
There is no respite for the "Vision's" stalwart crew.
The sights and sounds of the Emerald City I will e'er remember,
As I recall a beautiful Seattle dawn one day in September!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Life's many ups and downs
I
My entire day's earnings
are a morning,
a noon,
an afternoon,
and a night.
My name, too,
is terribly absent-minded.
Now and then
it forgets me
and goes riding
on someone else's shoulder.
I become
a nameless pickpocket,
travel to the land of the moon,
and open a school
to teach
the art of picking pockets.
The moon, meanwhile,
resigns from its job,
and takes to the streets
of the metropolis,
wandering from one road
to another
as an LIC agent.
Even the kangaroos
in the zoo
strangely enough
change
their surnames.
II
With no work to do,
I go and sit
beneath the banyan tree
in the middle of the field,
quietly,
watching
a few leafless trees
standing here and there,
their leaves shed
at winter's end.
The boro paddy
is being transplanted.
The hardworking people
are at work.
And overhead,
a flock of cormorants
flies across the sky.
III
Those who were
asking questions,
I put a bidi
between their lips,
one each.
Those who are
giving answers
have bidis
between their lips now, too.
All around,
there is only
the smoke
of bidis.
Some people
cough
a little.
IV
When I walk
down the stairs,
my eyes
look downward.
When I walk
up the stairs,
my eyes
look up.
Up and down,
down and up,
in the story of a life
stitched together
by a staircase,
a house lizard
calls out.
V
All day long,
that odd,
irritating
crying of a child.
Are you getting
annoyed?
The walls
of the room,
the ceiling fan,
the furniture,
all of them
are looking
at you.
VI
Life's many
ups and downs
need not
get under your skin.
Keep some Boroline
with you,
and beneath
every wrong answer,
carve your own name.
Then let those answers
be carried away
by the southern wind.
"Gratitude is the memory of the heart."
-- Jean Baptise Massieu
~~~~~~~~~
Here we pause
Look back before;
Appreciate change
~~~~~~~~~
Poignant times
Sacrifices made;
Journey outcomes
~~~~~~~~~
From mudflats
Modern metropolis;
City of hope
~~~~~~~~~
Urgency wrought
Hand-fashioned sculptures;
Dream come true
~~~~~~~~~
First bold vision
Sheer hard grit;
Emergent outcomes
~~~~~~~~~
Once upon a dream
Walked a band of brothers;
To cast this lot
~~~~~~~~~
Here we are now
Little red-dot island;
Sea of pragmatic faces
~~~~~~~~~
On this day pause,
Remembering you;
"Happy birthday"
~~~~~~~~~
September 16th:
On your 92nd year;
We miss your gaze
~~~~~~~~~
On 9/11
Cast our votes;
Stamped our choice
~~~~~~~~~
We have a new deal
A resounding Yes;
A fresh mandate voiced
~~~~~~~~~
Rest in Peace now
We chose the best;
Just like you asked
~~~~~~~~~
Here's to you
Son of Singapore;
Memory says: "Thank You"
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
15 September 2015
Singapore
In downtown, middles turn square, streets bend then end
Out of sight, day begins to climb the mountain sky
With a glow light lost on the fading fog on the horizon
Less incognito, glass panes fill up with peoples forms
Silhouetted on the floor, shadowed in the windows
Concrete surroundings open like curtains in a room
Apartments spread apart to welcome company
Steel beams grow to towers touched by silent sides
Small objects come in from outer space to settle
Downtown is a lovely place for moons to gather
As visitors tour on the metropolis boulevard for stars
It is hard to imagine how massive objects fit in the city
With all that traffic, gravity and laws of physics
It all works out on the cosmic stage completely strange
After all, a downtown complex is built to handle change
There is nothing more complex than visitors from space
Round and solid as the citizens who parade as bravely
In the middle of downtown in the middle of chaos squared
Where mountains are seen stretched just out of reach
Moons roll along the streets to meet the bent of realms
Lost in their dreams as they have no footing in this reality
And no feet to stand on, on the thoroughfare out there
Where downtown is everywhere
Gods of glowing neon and gaudy screens
smile upon charming, charming patterns of heads.
All colors of hair, lit red, then green, then blue,
guided along invisible paths, crown heads
perspiring, chanting and glancing down
on marching, mechanical arms, then worrying
as they scurry along infinite, crisscrossing paths -
at once so ordered and so unfathomably chaotic.
Drums are rolled by hurrying feet
dictating the race of mankind.
A metropolis looms, adorned by a billion shimmering jewels -
electric jewels - and an apparition sways over the
bustle, silently watching, silently floating.
Giant chutes proudly puff out plumes of nightly black
and devils forged in impure fire do rise
to the heavens above, graced by the blessings of
the industrial revolution, in turn blessing humanity with progress,
imperceptible except as phlegmatic gasps
and the whiff of crisp green paper, distinguished by
wizened faces and packed in neat bundles.
Bulbous, aged fingers do trace from within
the sanctum sanctorum of a temple aged a thousand years,
charming, charming patterns of jewels
in intricate, frozen dance, carving out hexagons of perfect symmetry
from wearily cut marble windowsills.
The work of a thousand splendid hands
preserved by the unseen, dusty hands of time
did render the mosque palatial, its beauty heavenly.
The admiring eyes sing hymns praising the architecture, alas
they are blind, for the marble, white as angelic wings, is grey now.
The scientist appears, eyes hidden by thick glassy cubicles
yet shining through, lit by the endless pursuit of knowledge
and equally burdened by numbers, figures, notes
and the maddening myopia of man.
On the screen appears, against fresh white
charming, charming patterns of red, green and blue
sinking downward, worryingly as it would seem,
his uninflected pleas let in through one ear, instantly
shunted out through the next by the populace, to whom
the music of modernity rings sweeter.
First Place, Charming Patterns Poetry Contest
Date: 16th October 2021