Long Minimum Poems
Long Minimum Poems. Below are the most popular long Minimum by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Minimum poems by poem length and keyword.
I thought I was ready.
I really did.
I thought I wanted love,
thought I was healed enough
to hold someone’s hand
without holding my breath.
But then I realized…
I still have the habit
of shrinking my worth
to fit inside
someone else’s half-effort.
I still have the habit
of accepting attention
like it’s affection.
Like a text back
is a love letter.
Like consistency
is too much to ask for.
And maybe that comes from the fact
that I entered this world
already missing something.
A father gone
before I could even learn
what it feels like
to be chosen first.
So I grew up watching people settle.
Watching women call survival a relationship.
Watching the bare minimum get dressed up
as commitment.
And somewhere along the way
I started believing
that love was supposed to feel like…
waiting.
Like being almost wanted.
Like being an option.
Like being convenient.
But I am not convenient.
I am not someone’s “maybe later.”
I am not someone’s “when I’m lonely.”
I am not a placeholder
until something better comes along.
I am not your second choice.
Not your third.
Not your last thought
at the end of the night
when the world gets quiet
and you suddenly remember
I exist.
No.
I am worth more
than being pushed
to the back of someone’s mind
like an unfinished task.
I am worth more
than being loved in secret
and ignored in daylight.
I am worth more
than being kept warm
on the back burner
while you decide
if I’m worth serving.
I will no longer audition
for a role
I was born to deserve.
I will no longer mistake
attention
for intention.
Because love…
real love…
does not make you question your place.
It does not make you beg to be seen.
It does not make you feel
like you are too much
for asking
to be held properly.
So no…
I’m not rushing into anything.
I’m not settling anymore.
I’m not accepting crumbs
and calling it a meal.
I am not the back burner .
I am the whole damn fire.
And if you cannot meet me there…
then don’t reach for me at all.
They made mammon somethng measurable, mighty, & magnificent,
everywhere that labor, exchange, & entertainment exist monuments
to money, large and small,
the genesis was excess manufacture
such as grain, gold, textiles & ceramics,
animals & people,
purveyors were born like corn on the cobb,
like mist in morning,
buearruacracies of religion & government emerged from the basic business
of buy & sell, structure was supplied by law & covetuousness,
the greed of need,
people enticed to sell their Spirit in the form of toil for products,
eventually for fiat currencies, profit took the place of contribution,
slavery evolved into serfdom,
from the plantation to the factory unproductive owners needed managers,
individuals with minimal compassion & maximum ambition, essence extractors,
the whip replaced by the 'write up' and tacit threat of poverty,
the iron chain supplanted by hopelessness of ignorance in limited training,dependency,
management believed in synergy,the kind that rewarded the few
at the expense of the many,
the river of Life tore into the irrigation of wealth for selected heredity,
bussinessmen want employees & citizens with low self esteem, shallow interests & passions,
economy as cosmos, profits as pieties, workers as sinners,
edicts of 'minimum wage' and requirements for age are simply Market stabilizers
implemented to ensure profit,
taxes a financial plan of slave paid for regulation,
the management caste, the sociological strata designed to keep laborors feeling underachieving,
crows squawking against crows so that dragons fly free -
J.A.B.
Pensioners Plight
Years working outside in the rough
While it was good it was also tough
Battling the elements day after day
No work today rain will have its way
Retirement age announced I’m here
Tools down there’s nothing to fear
Fifty years the end of a bumpy ride
Intense question how now provide
Hairline receded teeth not your own
No movement without an audible moan
Ailments unexpectedly urgently appear
Acute pain discomfort sometimes a tear
Finally so dependent on a social grant
Much more needed they say they can’t
State officials take millions in cash and kind
Pensioners grant would sadly blow your mind
Learn to survive on the barest minimum a day
Who wrote the manual in this revolting way
How end this deplorable wretched fight
This travesty of justice this pensioners plight
Pulp fiction had nothing on him. He was a man’s man. A protagonist
of his own making, self-reliant, and self-assured. Marlow kept his wisecracks
to the bare minimum when meeting a new client. Dames were not as compliant as they used to be, and they carried their own derringers now.
More dangerous than ten years ago. He leaned back in his chair, enjoying a swallow of nicotine from his favorite cigarette. He had heard this woman was stacked. Mrs. What? He reached for his paper. Mrs. Stanton. She sounded stacked, a real femme fatale. A harsh knock came on his outside door.
not a woman’s knock, and yet, there she was.
“she’s a murderess
This mattered not to him now
Private eye smitten”
Written 4-29-2019
Contest: Pick a title, volume 4 – Haibun
Prompt #2: The private eye and the femme fatale
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Tonight I lay in bed in dread
of returning in the morning
to the beige building on that dead end street
that floods like the Nile after a rain
potholes in the parking lot like a lunar landscape
to my tiny office the last on the left in the back
its one window facing a barren farmer’s field
where I’ll listen to the click-clack of the keyboard
as my fingers fly nimbly over it
I must have been meant for so much more than this
mind numbing monotony
of minimum wage pay though I have a college degree
to type marriage licenses and divorce decrees
tax returns submitted by the wealthy
that only serve as stark reminders of forty years of failure
to make the world take notice of me
as if I were cursed from the cradle
to be covered with a cloak of invisibility
forever to remain a nobody that no one can hear or see
as all the magic in my mind withers on the vine
wasted before it could be made into wine
The Time Between The Seasons
Spring! King of seasons joyfully appears.
Leaves glow glistening : Dryness disappears.
Blushing blooming buds, cheery chirping birds.
Cooing doves make love with care and regards.
Spring bids bye : My forgotten past whispers.
In between hot Summer is almost prepared!
Summer shows grammar of heat getting warmer.
Sowing seeds to harvest, busy farmer.
Sharp scorching Sun blazes, dazzles shiny
Sometimes stormy sometimes days go rainy.
.
Summer bids bye : My forgotten past murmurs.
In between breeze of Autumn: The charmer.
Autumn! Trees always feel free to welcome.
Leaves tend to leave and fall as Fall has come.
Plants feeling too eager to get rid of
drooped dry dying or yellow leaves, shedding off,
Autumn bids bye: Reminiscence to overcome.
In between speed of cold wind starts: Minimum.
Winter enters slow and shy aftermath,
with cool temperature on frosty path.
Climate is composed in snowy effort.
Chilled weather needs and claims woollen comfort.
Winter bids bye: My forgotten past seeks warmth.
In between slow steps of Spring shown on Earth.
07/10/22
The Time Between The Seasons
Contest by Kim Rodrigues
.
I was crushed today by the news I had to hear,
It was no wonder so many left, you brought my heart to tears,
I cannot say I hate you, because it's the opposite of how I feel,
This system is so corrupted, it plays on all of your fears,
I remember a time when trust was unbroken, the bond was more than strong,
I can't understand why it happened, or what went so terribly wrong,
I will keep my words to a minimum, for the last thing I want is for you to get a name,
But the truth is, even if I say nothing, everyone else will talk anyway,
I've met with someone I trust, and in private I have cried,
Why can't I just leave and let it go in my heart, please explain to me why?,
Was the honesty meant to come out?,
Were the warnings not enough?,
Can't you see the words I have said all came out of love?
Declined
Laughing, only to hide the tears,
now gathering in the corners of my mouth,
drowning me…(I should be so lucky)
staring at a reflection in the protective glass,
not someone I recognize at this convenience store counter,
even if it is me
When facing a fool, as I often do,
I close my eyes as to not see the sorrowed face,
yet I know…I have been warned
“Don’t reach for what you cannot have…
No hands in the cookie jar,
it’ll spoil your appetite”
But I don’t listen, I hear, but…I am hungry,
she can’t mean me? Not me,
not the dancing clown that brings smiles
Watch me juggle, my heart, my love, my soul,
spotlights transition my lenses
and the stage goes dark
The minimum wage clerk is not amused,
wiping his nose with his hand,
then extending it as if requesting payment
But I have not purchased, I have only looked,
watched her walk to another, thumbing her nose in my direction
as if hitch hiking on her face
Still I reach for an empty wallet
filled with past due receipts and plastic poison,
fattening the faux leather Fossil with I.D. holder
Another swipe of the card, slowly as directed,
magnetic strip inward…
declined…what else is new
two old poems
from the book
2000-2001
Minimum Wage
Pigeons coo
as Seagulls fly
in spiraling swarms above
(universal?)
Birds in anticipation of an unknown purchase
practice aerial acrobatics
**** spattered on fresh Windex streaks
Squeegee stopped mid stroke
and swaying as I scream skyward
Formations unaltered
unlike the boss’ face
Windex bottle shattered
blue liquid down the drain
Sand King
Atop the dunes of time
spent some hours tracking
circles in the sky
and diggings in the dirt
in hope of finding water traces
not so distant but sweat
on my skin sparking
spoke of urgency
The day never so long
as night’s descent
on the old dented diesel
Peyote psychosis
now nearly nonexistent
Lighting a cigarette for change
red paint flaked off
the beat up Ford
leaving a cinder trail back to civilization
When this Corvid crisis is over
There has to be Social Reform:
We just can’t expect things to
Return to their pre crisis norm.
All those essential workers
Daily risking their lives,
The security of their families,
Their children and wives,
To try and keep things going,
Keep society on track
Until the lockdown has ended
And we get normality back.
Many of those are working
On Minimum rates of pay
Which has got to change
Come crisis over day.
There’s talk of a medal to
Recognise all they’ve done,
Recognise their hard work
When this fight is finally won.
But, you can’t feed on medals or
commendations from the Queen.
Let’s have something lasting
With results that can be seen.
Close up the tax loopholes
Take away the benefits of evasion
From those companies that operate
From their offshore tax haven
Reform this unequal society of
Selfishness, grasping and greed
From each according their ability
To each according to their need.
When we’ve managed to enable
This necessary social reformation
Only then will we be a real, not
Just Lip serving, Christian Nation.