Long Movable Poems
Long Movable Poems. Below are the most popular long Movable by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Movable poems by poem length and keyword.
Wheels unstoppable
Enabled inspiration
Determined
The gentlemen called “WHEELCHAIR LOUIE”
He lifts heavy weight to keep in shape, and not look like an ape
Wheelchair Louie is into Wheelchair Bodybuilding to compete in Bodybuilding shows along with his brethren
Wheelchair muscles of the fittest
He trains at “ENERGIZE GYM” to work out and enhance his muscles into proportion
Transform and intensify growth
You would find wheelchair Louie posing in the mirror using his own wheelchair for support
Analyzing structural and definition in his muscles
Wheelchair Louie doesn’t see a handicap as he sees the will to try
Being movable and encouraged with a pursue and winning spirit
One has to give him merit in his efforts in not settling on his circumstance, but devoted to accomplish like anyone else not in a wheelchair
What is Wheelchair Louie’s advice for those in a wheelchair, Exercise and break all barriers of doubt and bring understanding with every try in accomplishing whatever your heart’s desire with a promise of fulfillment
Give Wheelchair Louie an applause in his quest for standing on his
solidarity and eyes on his own victory.
Trucks hauling away defunct Malls.
One city has been transported to another,
until superimposed, only the name are different.
Freeways chase endless miles,
looking for more things to shift,
shlep and shoulder.
Ninety per cent of everything movable
is assembled by 100 percent of new renters.
Oil, cattle, and inflammable gaseous toxins,
are handled by cab radios, satellite commands,
and shredding rubber.
The main drags compete to be anonymous,
wear the same masks, many disintegrate
or morph into closed forever signage.
In the concrete encircled,
whittled-down woods,
lovers try to imagine a better place to live,
one that is not yet on the road.
Slave ships drowning our names in the darkness of so-called “civilized” nations,
A Yalta of vultures: yen, yards, barrels — Africa sold without ever being consulted.
Exegetes in uniform: incense and executions poured into the same holy font,
Césaire cried out; the colonizers counted cocoa, skulls, and schoolbooks.
A kaleidoscope of crimes: kepis, Kalashnikovs, mass graves, leonine contracts.
They spoke of “assimilation”; above all, they sought enslavement without eyewitnesses.
At the heart of slave plantations, the glory of empire carried the putrid stench of the torn holds of slave ships,
A “French Union” whose only true unity was the whip striking scarred backs.
High priests of the Republic, triumphant vocabulary dressing genocide in elegant attire,
Uranium from Niger, monetary ultimatums: an independence controlled by the Nazi bailiffs of the French treasury.
Soldiers without scruples sowing social earthquakes beneath the sacrificed suns of the trenches,
Slaughtered riflemen, traditions slashed apart by racist tribunals too convinced they were illuminating the face of the slaveholding Republic of Enlightenment.
And colonial schools imposed shame: “Speak French if you wish to exist in the garbage bins of assimilation.”
Red rivers of independence fighters reduced to the status of rebels to be pacified,
“Humanist” West: an oxymoron where the Black man remains an object to classify in the encyclopedia of movable property.
Mutilated memory, demonic masks locked behind glass while African mines are privatized,
Africans called “brothers” when they must die for the liberation of the Republic of the Code Noir; “migrants” when they seek merely to breathe beneath the fountains of liberty, equality, and fraternity.
Imperialism clothed in neocolonial garments: interests, influence, Arab, Maghrebi, and Tuareg terrorists as intermediaries — the whip has gone digital in the colonial trading posts,
Our ancestors were not savages: they were simply too dignified to be tamed by negrophobic barbarians haunted by their own existential anxieties.
Remember not being able to reach the pedals?
I have been making the keyboard much more work than it needs to be.
A movable keyboard, but I did not readjust my thinking about it until today.
I slide it to the edge of the desk. Making my life six times easier.
I have been overreaching this keyboard for five months.
Look around. What are you doing to make your life easier?
It’s admirable and fine to do something differently. Take a risk.
Change things up. Try a new way. Try a new hairdo. Try a new hair color.
Try making a new friend. Meet them for supper. Surprise them and pay.
You are old enough to reach the pedals now.
They hunted, captured, deported, raped, flogged, and dehumanized our ancestors for centuries.
With the complicity of some of their own Negrophobic kin.
They were chained in slave plantations and in colonial trading posts.
They were movable property—docile, servile, and submissive—for the glory of that slave-owning empire.
They ended up in the human zoos of the Republic of Negrophile Enlightenment, in the land of human rights.
Alienation, submission, servitude, cowardice, and betrayal poisoned their genetic code.
Their descendants fill the supremacist prisons of the West.
Persecution has become the straitjacket of their identity.
Their victimized lamentations remain inaudible to the heirs of the Code Noir.
Most of them shine in entertainment, which the West capitalizes on.
They embraced the obscurantism of Abrahamic religions with the zeal of those fanatic fundamentalists, descendants of Arab-Muslim slave traders.
They resemble every other people, except themselves.
They hate themselves so deeply that they curse their Africanness.
They are compulsive consumers of the West’s waste.
They have Westernized, yet still suffer the plagues of Negrophobia.
To you, the self-hating: you are, and will remain, Black in the eyes of our oppressors, despite the opportunities that may improve your standard of living.
Each Catholic Church may be unique
But you will find familiar elements in any Catholic church
That you also find in our own parish home.
Baptismal font—a pool or large bowl of water usually stands
Near the doors of the church and reminds us
That baptism is our “door”
To the Catholic faith.
Nave—the large open room usually filed with pews or seats is
The main assembly area.
Sanctuary—the part of the church reserved for liturgical
Action that contains an altar where the priest celebrates the sacrifice of
The Mass
A chair for the priest
The lectern for reading Scripture
Tabernacle—usually located in a place of honor in the
Sanctuary, this receptacle holds consecrated hosts. A candle nearby
Signifies when it is full
In our Parish Church of St. Andrew
It was built after Vatican II
The option to put the tabernacle
In the chapel was done since the main church is ‘multi-purpose.’
Crucifix—a prominent cross with an image of Father Christ crucified
is usually located near the altar. Here in St. Andrew we don’t have this
Though we have the processional cross.
Statues—Statues and other forms of art of Father Christ Jesus, Mother Mary, or the Saints remind us of those who inspire us by their holy lives
Here in St. Andrew we have the movable statues located at the vestibule of
the Church and in the chapel that are placed in the altar on feasts
Solemnities
TAKING STOCK
“STOCK” – the bits and pieces of accumulated this and that – with tags!
Strings of memories, and far off debt, and a sea of medicinal prescriptions rustling
In a cobweb bound table draw which needs as I do, a repair, “STOCK” then glancing across
Boxed books and movable immovable objects piano, Dresser, TVs, and three different pale green
painted splashes of a future make over or fast fix.
Toffee -less tins stacked and not open, and only thoughts of toffees in them, and photos taken long
ago, I think! Dog eared edges caught under the lid, - then impatience digging out the bank
Statements, lots of cash for a rainy day, there have been many floods, and the cash is still here.
Cars and sheds and kids, and dogs, and clocks unwound, AND laptops, alone in sealed boxes.
And all this Stock for a bonfire down at the crem! And - relatives.
Let the brief time be cast away,
Let the movable thread be loosely handled,
Let the shadow be cast on you,
Let the water flow over the distant edges.
But when you know you’ll never get the wanderer back,
Even as you cast him off,
When you tally the drifters,
They’re all misplaced and undone.
The Moirai will let him go,
Because, you know,
You only need him when the lights are burning low,
And sympathy wears veils no daylight wants to show.
His shadow is turning into a gyre,
Spin after spin;
Wearing lonesome attire,
Only his body is the circling machine.
His dreams come slow,
But they go so fast.
Perhaps they were never his,
Just echoes in the gyre’s turning shadow.
Ignorance.
It’s not a lack of knowledge.
Ignorance is the act of ignoring.
It is the denial of Truth, the setting aside of practicality, and the excusing oneself from living.
Ignorance is the favorite child of the ignominious and the ignoble.
It speaks volumes about our commitment to hard work (we don’t have one!)
Ignorance is the running aground of a perfectly good ship, that was going somewhere, because we can’t bear the strain of pulling in the sheets*, of steering the rudder, of ducking the boom.
It runs out of excuses early.
Ignorance is telling Hans Mellqvist ‘no’, when he needs help, and there is nobody else but me.
Yah, IGNORANCE!
It is all about me, and none about you.
Ignorance. The Height of Selfishness.
_____________
* the sheets – lines, used in sailing, to control the movable corners of a sail
L-yre of Jane is played
A-t the floor near the villa's door;
R-apture and given gaiety
A-re added to the pleasure.
J-ane's lyre is gladly played
A-t the bench near the villa's movable piece;
N-ice stuff of the harp class
E-specially was used in ancient Greece.
V-iolin, guitar, and other
I-nstruments with strings
L-et one hear the good sound
L-eading him to thrilling things.
A-s Jane's lyre is played,
F-illing one's heart with joy;
U-se the rare opportunity,
E-njoying the musical toy.
R-ainy night won't pass by
T-ill September twenty-four;
E-very year Jane's lyre is played near the villa's door.