Long Microphones Poems
Long Microphones Poems. Below are the most popular long Microphones by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Microphones poems by poem length and keyword.
I'm pretty sure I know their dirty little secrets
With Big Brother watching over me
And what I know you know that I can't keep it
Remember this in case tomorrow I'm history
U.F.O.' s are flying past my building
I see them wink, little men of green
It's time to foil up all my outside windows
Keep the gamma rays from infiltrating
And of the mailman I'm more than a bit leary
Letters and bills are not all that's in the post
A very good reason for most of today's junk mail
Is in the hiding of tiny microphones
When I head out to the grocery, people are awful friendly
Asking how I am, checking up on me
Pretty sure every one of them is a Russian agent
With that English accent down to a tee
When l'm alone at home doing daily dishes
I often hear strange voices gurgling from the sink
I'm always very quick to close the refrigerator
The other day I caught the honey ham glazing back at me
And all of this because I'm privy to their secrets
How do I know, my source's tell me so
If I told a few to you, you never would believe me
But then again there's just some things the common man should never know
I have a guy on Facebook that has gone over the edge with conspiracy theories that it borders on the absurd.
So what do I do about it? Write a poem of course! Duh!
Friendships, wordy scripts, cameras, microphones and venue blips. Call security, no need to be shirty, let's go again.. scene five, take thirty. Action. Cut. Time for tea. The bar is closed but coffee's free. The waiting patiently never ends. We chat we laugh. We're making friends. The brushes flash across my brow.. my shirt is steamed no creases now. As runners jog and sound men lean. I've learned my lines, we're quite a team.. with birthday Sue and sooty Dave.. the risks we take favour the brave. It's all been worth the sweat and tears, a hundred props of seventeen years. With actors, crew and faithful few. The final shots to rave review. A shout hooray and rapturous clap.
For Acting on Impulse.. it's a wrap x
The culture of any education system,
including a national multi-mediated,
possibly under-medicated,
Education/miseducation
Healthy/pathological
in-between system/chaos
communication relationships
include a "PLEASE SHUT UP"
non-verbal divest of attention
remove from esteemed status,
degenerate into lesser caste
class system
of ignore
and deplore messages.
We speak this language
in silent
stunning
shunning.
Would that a recent former Chief Executive White Officer
could attend such a multi-internationally
co-mediated shunning school
of silent microphones,
still cameras
pointed in most any other direction,
Preferably more multiculturally intelligent
educationally cooperative win/win systemic
more than miseducationally rabid,
win/lose chaotic
Unlike the culture of any education system
practicing
Integral
EcoFeminist
ReStorative justice
ReGenerative green peace
NonViolently communicating
Permacultural Win/Win ZeroZone
Wide Web WorldView
Health/Wealth OptimaLearning Outcomes
GLOBALIST HAVE A SAYING.
YOU'LL OWN NOTHING AND BE HAPPY.
WHEN YOU TRY TO FATHOM THIS
YOU'LL SEE SUCH A LIFE IS CRAPPY
WELCOME TO THE FUTURE.
NO NEED TO UNDERSTAND.
ALL YOU NEED, IS TO TELL YOURSELF
IS YOU ARE MODERN MAN.
UPGRADE YOUR CURRENT CELLPHONE.
SO IT'S NEVER LOST OR LEFT BEHIND.
IMPLANT NANO MICROCHIPS
AND CONTROL WITH JUST YOUR MIND.
YOUR LANGUAGE WILL BE ALTERED.
TRANSFERRED INTO CODE.
YOU JUST NEED TO LISTEN
AND DO AS YOU ARE TOLD.
WITH CAMERAS IN YOUR EYEBALLS.
MICROPHONES IN YOUR EARS.
YOUR MASTERS CAN SEE EVERYTHING
AND HEAR EVERYTHING YOU HEAR.
RECORDING YOUR EVERY MOVEMENT.
THEY KNOW WHERE YOU HAVE BEEN.
YOU ARE CONSIDERED A PROPERTY
THE CONTROLLERS RESIDE WITHIN.
YOUR THOUGHTS ARE FIFTY FIFTY.
HALF OF THEM INCLINED.
THE OTHER HALF BELONG TO THEM.
YOU'RE PROGRAMED TO LIVE THEIR CRIME.
YOUR DREAMS ARE PROJECTED PROGRAMS
INTENDED FOR YOU TO SEE.
SUGGESTIONS FROM YOUR MASTERS
HOW YOUR LIFE IS MEANT TO BE.
YOU'LL EAT WHAT AND WHEN
THEY SAY YOU WILL.
YOU DON'T HAVE A CHOICE.
YOU'LL NEVER STAND OR SPEAK AGAINST.
BECAUSE YOU WON'T HAVE A VOICE.
YOU'LL WORK AND PAY MORE TAXES.
YOUR PENALTY FOR GOING WOKE.
BASED ON GLOBALIST OBSERVATION
YOUR LIFE IS JUST A JOKE.
VISITING MOTHER NATURE
IS A PRIVILEGE IF YOU OBEY.
IF YOU DON'T PRODUCE ENOUGH
YOU'LL BE FORCED TO STAY AWAY.
YOU DON'T WANT TO TRY IT.
I'M TALKING ABOUT RUN AWAY.
ALWAYS KNOWING WHERE YOU ARE
EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY.
YOUR THOUGHTS ARE BEING PROCESSED.
YOUR BEHAVIOR MODIFIED.
THERE IS NO YOU ESCAPING
TILL THE DAY THEY DECIDE YOU DIE.
WELCOME TO THE FUTURE.
YOUR BEING IS IN THE HANDS
OF THOSE WHO HAVE CREATED YOU
WHO'S WISH IS YOUR COMMAND.
WHEN YOU DEPEND ON THE RULING CLASS.
IN A WAY YOU BECOME THEIR SLAVE.
ALLOWING THEM TO TAKE CONTROL
AND ALLOWING THEM TO PAVE THE WAY.
WHY WOULD YOU WANT THIS TO HAPPEN?
TAKE A MOMENT TO STOP AND THINK.
THEY'RE OFFERING YOU THE KOOL AID
EXPECTING YOU TO DRINK.
Michael E. Harris
08302022
My demons terrorize my ghosts.
With cannabis, I treat the aftermath of my chaotic choices.
Irrevocable truths engraved on the indelible scars of my impure soul.
I'm still trapped in the same nightmare since my divine spark drifted closer to the flames of hell.
I sing the symphonies of my miserable life into the microphones of the bearer of light.
I stopped whining before the universal force.
One day, I will bathe in Lucifer’s furnaces to taste the delights of eternal life.
I accumulate transgressions and blasphemies since I discovered the grim nature of humanity.
I celebrate my failures so my victories remain taciturn, like the melodies of silence.
I still cannot chase after the fleeting vanities that humans sanctify.
Still not a hypocrite, so truthful that solitude has become my ally.
Still allergic to injustice and forked tongues.
Still alive to never imprison my dignity in a dungeon of victimhood lamentations.
We were calculating theoretical yields on chemcollective
and somehow we ended up dancing to ”go left.”
We were finding oxidation numbers on labster
but somehow we started laughing.
We were balancing chemical equations on PhET
but now we’re singing “World we created” with hair-bush microphones.
Believe your competence - be impressed with your progress.
Attack every challenge with self-contained ease.
Armor yourself with confidence.
You’ll like the way you enjoy it.
*We started studying for school - weeks in advance of spring term - those names (Chemcollective, PhET, Labster) are tools for working out chemistry equations - like calculating theoretical yields from compounds. So we practice, practice, practice until we can do them blindfolded - or in pressurized situations like tests.
the book DELBO, is a story about a Docter who did a
" word gathering study" which measures the degree of
a woman's deceit. Instead of saying that certain
patterns were derived from
DNA, the Docters attached microphones to sons
of unmarried mothers
and did the same to the sons of married mothers.
certain patterns were discovered( see the chart).
the Docters looked to have further study , they
sought couples that had planned to divorce,
but would use counseling to solve their marital mix-up.
so they attached two micro-phones one a dud and
the other a live wire, ( the dud would activate only
at certain times). Certain areas of the study centered
on the deviant actions of the woman,
was she honest in her answers of the males question.
did she lie to the son, about things.
did she hide truths from him.
did she or was she part of whatever or whoever, is and was against him.
did she make conditions to be, by her actions.
di she make him responsible for the welfare of another, when he was
lied to or in the influence of her lies.
did she provide away of correcting what she lied about.
and did she allow the males in the family the same opportunity for
medical attention as she would allow the females( did she take the males to the Urologist, the same way she'd have taken the females to the (gonnocoligist)
…..
this study outraged woman, who had been allowed to lie and dispend there boys, and treat them as she would treat her females. This knowing their biology is different.
Emaciated test-tube mutations
Raised apart in pristine distillations
Conceived in dexedrine celebrations
and the crazed, ecstatic inhalations
of the professor’s choicest pheromones
Right-angled, inverted, and star-spangled
Drained and dangled till their nerves were jangled
Nearly psychedelically strangled
Quantumly, at a distance, entangled
On celestially balanced microphones
Their unproven kaleidoscope harmonics
Haywire mk-ultra histrionics
Phosphoric rhapsodical symphonics
And their backward time-lapse polyphonics
Transcribed on interstellar xylophones
For homunculus scintillations
Splintered, syncopated oscillations
And desperate mute gesticulations
No one beats those galactic sensations
Our own mad-twin Splitzmodic Vibratones
They changed their flags before sunrise,
and called it weather.
By noon the microphones were blooming
like plastic flowers in dust.
Reporters asked straight questions;
answers arrived sideways,
oiled and smiling,
wrapped in patriotic ribbon.
A man declared himself the nation,
the worker, the owner,
the speech, the applause,
the hand that signs its own praise.
He wore green glasses in famine
and praised the harvest.
He wore dark glasses in fire
and admired the shade.
Truth stood outside barefoot,
waiting to be invited in.
No one heard her knock
above the cutlery of ambition.
Wherever the platter was fullest,
there rolled the faithful.
Principles were folded neatly
and kept for ceremonial days.
Someone asked why the hen
still sat upon the egg.
The minister promised progress,
a cushioned chair by evening.
We laughed, because laughter
is cheaper than revolt.
We laughed, because the room
was wired to record our silence.
And still, every season,
the chair arrives before justice.
I thought I knew what love was,
What it meant, how it felt, and how to contain it without absorption
But I could’ve never been more wrong
The idea was foreign to me until our paths crossed,
Until our eyes met between shimmers of light in a crowded room,
Our hearts between microphones, consoles, and television
And our souls between the familiarity of being a victim in the past
The truth is and I’ve said this before,
But know now I’ve never meant it more -
I never knew what love was until I met you
You show me patience when mine is thin,
You show me compassion when my heart has gone cold,
and the world numb
You love me with intention
The intention to be more than superficial
I can only promise to love you the same in return,
Until I breathe my last breath,
And the dirt overturned
I love you, always
xoxo