Long Movers and shakers Poems
Long Movers and shakers Poems. Below are the most popular long Movers and shakers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Movers and shakers poems by poem length and keyword.
With warm, loving memories of my mom,
appreciation and blessing I frame.
Like poets of old, I’m penning this psalm
to give praise to those who earn that good name.
Movers and shakers of the happy home
risk takers, bakers and merrymakers
mood breakers / servants with a rare genome
Salutations to moms, our caretakers.
Even moms sometimes feel failure, defeat;
circumvent arguments, speak peace instead.
Once in a while, she will need to retreat -
grant her a garden with grace overhead.
A garden where mothers can go to pray;
a place that provides strength for each new day.
July 2, 2019
contest: NA the day away
host: Lu Loo
I want to write a poem about men
Because I love men so much
I think they are the coolest creatures on earth
Regal and proud
They have their own way
Of what they think their world should be ruled
They make big decisions, grand decisions
They come to a problem with a let’s solve it attitude
They know how to turn things around
They have an instinct for survival
They think of new ways
Constantly evolve
They don’t let setbacks set the norms
They said what can we do it today
They are one minded head for it risk taker
They set their own rules
Chart their own territory
Set up laws and orders
Society is nothing without men
They are the movers and shakers
Things change
And get done because of them
They don’t mind glory
But usually don’t toot the horn
They let others carry their own tune for them
They are so humble as nature provides it
They are so down to earth and kind
They speak softly yet loudly if it needs to be heard
Men what do we do without them?
We love them
And cherish them
They are the true blood of nature
Hot, full of adrenaline, testosterone
They make up who we are as a human race
Full of vigor full of strength
Glorious, splendor
They walk proud
Never know what it means to lose
Courageous, valorous, men of steel
Lion-hearted, noble, brave
They are what we stand for
Lover
Caretaker
Friend
We couldn’t do without them
And won’t do without talking to them
Life would get so boring
Without their company
Life of the party
They add spice
Flavor
Ingredients needed
For a successful life
Fulfilled and full of dreams
So men
We salute you
Keep on
Doing what you are best at
Turn the world around
Turn this heart of mine
Inside out
Do
I’ve walked the city streets
marveled at the night lights
and majestic high buildings
seeming to silence the sky
a blot of darkness, for nothing
is visible above the eaves--
top floors reserved for
Penthouse gods and goddesses…
I’ve witnessed the motion
spoken to Movers and Shakers
and have concluded that
even death can be quite animate
but there is only Life in Love…
(God has no enemies
but evil begets its own
sows where the heart
has left its vacancies)
The past is a place
we are all too familiar with
for the present benefited
or the victim--
the future our place for
hope and dream, immediately
blessed where there is
abundance of faith and love…
The world has gotten
much smaller, too many
eyes: no place to hide
without snap snap click click
not a word is said without
leaving a recorded echo--
tigers and lions now our
technologies, licensed to
ambush and devour…
Since when did News
become Gladiators,
good vs evil, excluding
the facts? Not that I
don’t like a feisty fight
every now and then,
but when seeking news
I prefer the right—a clear
and penetrating pure light
absent the glaring egos
we now call Anchors
more A Ship of Fools.
He's not in a hurry, he takes his sweet time
A man once rich, now worth but a dime
Twenty years sober, a hard drinker he was
Frequenter of casinos, in his long-ago buzz
A man who stumbled badly; he fell from grace
Who hobnobbed with movers and shakers, an ace
Now enveloped in mystery, nondescriptly dressed
His past unknown, his cards held close to his vest
A man destined for greatness, hailing from wealth
Who chose gambling and drinking ---
Now sober again, in good health ---
His shuffling gate makes me dizzy, in its blissful stealth
August 12, 2019
Bring a Character to Life Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
Why must the American people keep asking why
The FBI always seems to get a Bye
When accountability for one's actions
Should be so high
Persecution of so many a- lister's stuck in the public's eyes
Though they deserve the cost of their own demise
Because we no longer just let it lye
So once again we try to send our cries to Washington
Hoping they will not fall on deaf eyes
When people plug into the few systems on which we rely
To prevent any more of our teachers or students from having to die
That leaves so many families devastated asking why
Our Governments plan ends with nothing but a lie
Social media and reporting these troubled teens actions
Should never have been put aside
While Congress takes a free ride
Gun control so widely divided among our lawmakers
That seems to be a bunch of overpaid fakers
That is supposed to be the movers and shakers
For the American people who elect them to office
So much gun violence in our schools and streets
Have parents demanding answers while Congress retreats
From the president to the FBI should be held accountable
When public awareness is so high
American people won't tolerate any more of their attempted tries
We need them to set their agenda's aside to hear the families cries
I say this to open up with my own silence
To deal with all the headlines about the rise of school violence
We need our governments promise they will decide
These kinds of actions will no longer be allowed to backslide
Or be put on the back burner to let ride
Or accountability in our elected officials will just have to rise
In the public's eyes that will cut them down to size
To elect a government willing and wise hearing America's cries
He enters looking bedraggled, tired and worn out, his skin like Vellum, blank and pale. Lifting his eyes to catch their gaze he gives a slight nod to acknowledge their presence. He scans the room as he would a poem, looking for an Indent that leads to a quiet corner. A half-lit light casts a shadow on the flock wallpaper, (ink stained)! He sits hidden from view, away from plagiaristic eyes. Head in hand scribbling while listening for a new word. A muse sings, emanating an un-heard Beat that guides his rhythm while searching for that elusive vowel. On the floor a scattering of pencil shavings and broken lead... frustration at the loss of an adjective, the Half-Rhyme squeezes like a tourniquet on the brain...
Frustration runs high as Enjambment slips off the stage and gathers in reflective pools. The Lady Pastoral reads an Elegy to the passing of Sir Rondeau Redouble, he lead a very lonely life, ascending and then diminishing becoming less Didactic, the Footle holds a Lantern for the loss, while the Limerick found it quite humorous.
At the bar a Stanza of poets gather, disciples of Villanelle, and regale of their latest triumphs in Womans Quarterly. The Epulaeryu's compare their Diamante while eating their babba ghanoosh. At the pool table the movers and shakers decant opinions on the latest 'form' something to do with A.E.I.O.U...Acrostic looks it up and down looking puzzled, Blank Verse remains silent. They dissect, analyse the entrails, the faint hearted look a little Grook. The atmosphere is tense, Verbs drift like dust in the light, causing confusion, they mop their brows with a tired Senryu, the Haiku has little to say on the matter...
A Quintain of intellectuals quietly sit, the Sicilian sipping slim line Monoku's ( no ice ) hoping for a Couplet before the end of the night. On a stool sits the barfly spilling his Bio over the counter top exposing an Ode-ious life, (Metaphorically speaking). On stage the hottest group in town, Chant Royal and the Syllables...singing their latest Sestina, the notes drift across the room resting on the floor, congealing into a Poet-tree fountain, they feel at home as the last act MC McWhirtle enthrals with his Ballad, the barman Ric Tameter calls time, the evening is a Rap, the club is Epic...
What if, we are all being lied to
What if, all the facts are untrue
What if, they just want to control you
What, if it's true, do you do?
What if, when we had the plandemic
What if, it was planned from day one
What if, the brand new vaccination
What if, it was already done
What if, with the weather still warming
What if, all the figures are fake
What if, though we are getting warmer
What if, we are not going to bake
What if, when the temperature rises
What if, it does not create hell
What if, it's just wholely delightful
What if, we end up doing well
What if, all the so called solutions
What if, they just make matters worse
What if, they are not our lifesavers
What if, they are more of a curse
What if, all the movers and shakers
What if, they are pulled from their towers
What if, we just kick all their arses
What if, we remove all their powers
COLOR FORMS
The movers and shakers of art delight.
In the shadowbox-brain they regain sight.
Dear Dorothy clicks her sarcoline heels.
Her striped boat sailing on sea-hued teals.
Zenith dawn blazes in coquelicot hue.
The artist’s tipsy trees blushed pink and blue.
Majestic Oz - smaragdine-jeweled city.
Ponies prance romantic colors - witty.
Brush brush brush then fill the scarecrow with straw.
His prideful chest overloaded and raw.
The movers and shakers of art transform
Fairy tales into surreal color forms.
10/12/2018
Anthony Slausen’s The Paint Movers Contest
sarcoline - flesh colored
coquelicot - (kohk-li-coh) - red like wild poppy
smaragdine (sma-rag-din) - emerald
Warfare, what is fair about war?
People are suffering everywhere.
Death, Destruction, Dignity lost.
Horrendous acts without counting the cost,
Of the irreparable damage caused by war
What is war for?
War is the ultimate sin,
That festers and grows
Once it begins
It quickly overflows.
Taking on a life of its own,
Causing unrest to all humankind,
Who leave their kith and kin behind
What is war for?
Make peace, not war,
We have heard this adage,
Many times before
Why don't we heed this advice?
And implore,
The movers and shakers
To think twice.
And add up the score,
Then answer the question,
What is war for?
If these wars don't end soon
There will be nobody here
The world will be empty,
Barren and drear
What was the reason?
Do you know? my friend?
Who's purpose was it?
For the means to our end
Strange Fruit choreography
speaks to me of seeing
and smelling
this strange evil fruit
of hatred
and bigotry
and fear
and straight white man
perpetual menace.
Choreographing trauma
only infrequently translates words
of DarkHole poems
Rhetoric hoping to carry carrion reek,
shock of evil awe
and dark timeless burdens
Terrifying wonder
as perceived
within this Strange Fruit DarkView
Rather than more interior unvoiced feelings
of profound inhumane disarray,
denial and division,
hate climates
monoculturing supremacy
Of straight white monotheistically judgmental,
capitalist movers and shakers,
commodifiers
and waste disposers
and arms salesmen
prepared to aim at
semi-domesticated talking animals,
defiant live stock,
breeding stock,
bargain basement slave labor
Too smart to be trusted
not to seek reparations
and revenge
Strange Dark Fruit,
the enslaving racist face
frantically encircling
straight white fascism
in full flagrant,
strange southern fruit,
industrially resilient horror.
Strange Fruit Anthropocene,
with polyculturally felt choreography
of ecopolitical
disempowering/unenlightened
monochromatic lack of appropriate appreciation for color,
spectral circling octaves,
and peak experiences of compassionate
bipartisan drama
Cooperative intent,
without so much
Patriarchal-Capitalist
monotheistic
StrangeFruit
xenophobic trauma.