Long Municipal Poems
Long Municipal Poems. Below are the most popular long Municipal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Municipal poems by poem length and keyword.
In ecstatic climaxing designs
for healthy multicultural communications
ecopolitically correcting
currently imbalanced
unhealthy
disempowering outcomes
Our most resiliently robust productions
derive from nonviolent communions,
compassion restoring cooperative
healthy EarthJustice
Resilient democracy
co-invested in green peace
repurposing relationships for mutual equity,
co-empathic integrity,
win/win cooperativity.
This NonZero HomeZone
is our most authentic open design
for health and safety systemic thrival,
composed of egocenter's integral survival,
Self/Other
Me/We extending primal family zones
of great regenerational transition,
safely within our primary shelter
for cooperative relationships
with neighboring boundary habitats.
Zone One,
furthers interdependently defined
loneliest shade of Othering neighborhood properties
since the number TwoZones
in co-passionate thriving re-membered relationship
within our municipal
eco-political
democratic communication,
designing unitarian green communities
with woke regional interreligious education
and nondualistic natural/spiritual
indigenous wisdom reformation
Sharing Zone Two
lived fully
gratefully
gracefully in our daily
sacred experienced community
conjoining double-bound interreligious cultural connections
to our eco-politically ego/eco-organizing
HealthCare Design Team
for Golden Ruled bioregional optimization
of wealthy co-invested atmosphere,
ecological soil,
cultural drinking water
interwoven in this robust economic climate
of cooperative design
for win/win multicultural compassion.
Completing this holonic Open System Fractal
is Zone Three,
Gaian EarthMother
still cooperatively rebirthing
healthy
resilient
spring climaxing climates
remediating rebirth
with all cooperatively designing
organic EarthTribe species,
Currently excluding anthrosupremacist Zone Four
LeftBrain dominant
dualistic commodified employment
of de-nihilistic CAPITAL-HEADED fundamentalists
worshiping anti-recreative professional consumer design
bowing to an autocratic StraightWhite militarized altar
of politically uncorrected Patriarchal Capitalism
suboptimal disassociations
settling for win/lose normativity
ZeroSum pathologically uncaring
lose/lose entropic absence
of regenerative health is trusted wealth
bicameral design.
NYC nior in black and white
NYC nior in black and white
Dark landscapes 1957 NYC
of automats radio city and hotdog stands
memories of things past
Take us back to lucid dreams of light and shadows cast
set the stage late night dark wet NY detectives on the beat
slow moving like grit and steel they stride down the great white way
steam and clouds shoot to the sky from sewer covers
smoke rings blast out from bill boards of urban midnight cowboys
from route 66
On the street hipsters glide down in pinstriped suits
cool sleek long with straddled watch chains dragging
smoking stogies from drooping lips
wing tipped shoes rested on black boxes at shoe shiners row at 53rd and lex
wanting fem defal’s dark diva’s in fish nets tight red skin dresses with sleek spike heels long cigarettes with long brim hats and netted veils as they walk the line swinging their Purses leaning against posts on the foggy corners
Dharma bums gaze at city lights dreaming of old bards songs
through garment push carts and rushing feet
in the machinery of the steamy night
the boxcars moving past open doors
The cities glare in shadows bare
neon signs striptease flashing in the backdrop of honking horns and traffic
night clubs casinos and one night stands in greasy motels
pool hall hustler’s poker players loan sharker's and scheamers
whisky bars dockyard and widowed screams
tenement houses windows open curtains drawn
sweat and muscle tee shirts yelling out to others
saxophone city of butchers boozers bribers and brown baggers
Bright yellow checkers and taxis on Times Square
down the smoke hazed dark lanes against the hard walls
slim Jim zoot suiter’s lazy dazed side leaning
roll loaded dice with steaming cheap Tricks
Newspaper stands and barbers shops with marbled checker floors
white steaming towels with waiting hot lather
man with straight edge and black leather strap leans over
with Sinatra playing in the back
Neon city balanced in chaotic disorder of abstract lines
of municipal signs
city where monk lady day and Coltrane play Improve
in old coffee houses of smoke filled cafes for pennies a day
as street poets whisper and drink their troubles away
dreaming of Brando bogie smoking Joe's and blondes
of slip hips and jive
This autumn morning with the birds waking up
and the leaves changing is Election Day. I meet
Jane Trichter on the downtown train and discuss
Henry's upset. Her skin is soft especially her cheeks
and she is intelligent and sensitive. The subway riders
do not recognize their representative.
All week, at the office, I accomplish nothing substantive
but keep the aides and interns working
and cheerful. On Tuesdays there is always a wave
of constituent complaints, by telephone. One woman's
Volkswagon is towed and the police break in
to get it out of gear. Do they have that right,
can they tow even though no sign said Tow Away Zone?
It is an interesting question but I try to avoid
answering it. The woman persists and succeeds
in committing me.
The people at the office want to bomb Iran. A few Americans
held hostage and therefore many innocent women and children
pay the postage. It may be good classical logic to hold responsible
the whole society for the acts of a few, however, then
I must begin to expect the bomb and the white cloud that waits.
Apocalyptic visions are popular again
but we are more likely to thrash the earth to within an inch of its life
than scorch it to charred rock.
Corner of Church and Chambers,
German tourist's language, accent repels me
although I wasn't alive 45 years ago
and many sweet, great Germans opposed the crazy Nazis
but lately I've read Primo Levi's If Not Now, When?,
seen William Holden in "The Counterfeit Traitor",
have followed the argument started by revisionists
who say the Nazi atrocities never happened.
War brought many shopkeepers, bookkeepers close to their earth,
weather, seasons, death.
I see daily life as low-intensity warfare
as my father, the World War II vet, did.
Off to work we go. What is war?
Population control, mother of invention, diversion
from the work of making life permanent.
Today is Election Day and because it's a day off
for most municipal employees, the City Hall area
has been quiet and easy to work in. Henry and Jane
hold a press conference on teenage alcoholism.
Leslie, the other aide, who I'd like to draw
the stockings and clothes off of and feel her whole body
with mine, goes home with her mother, leaving me
standing by my desk with my briefcase at the end
of Election Day.
Potential I Presume More Limericks
Big and tremendous come to mind.
Tremendous, stupendous, upend us.
Gargantuan, passion, trashing.
Immensive, aggressive, sensitive.
Ultimate Utmost, out grossed, horrible host.
Pittance, sentence, repentance.
In effect essential, provocative, potential, quite intentional.
Necessity, complexity, anxiety.
Court Municipal, Peter Principle, always apprehensible.
Concerting, blurting, hurting.
Infinitesimal, decimal, inexcusable.
Horribly huge, difficult deluge, shady subterfuge.
Passion, mansion, ration.
Explanation, creation, prevarication.
Expedient, concillient, what he meant
Congenial, menial, essential.
Validate, marinate, create. (For you cooks out there.)
Ballad, salad, valid.
Repudiated, humiliated, regimented.
Surgical, liturgical, hysterical, historical.
Urgence of resurgence of common sense.
To endure, become obscure for sure.
As of late would be great if they negotiate.
Kept at bay until miles away so Standish did say.
Had to humiliate to rehabilitate then consummate.
Were reassured could have occurred if enough endured.
My patience was tried then cried and cried after he had lied and lied so Bonny could be bona fide.
What part of the ocean had Bonnie been laid over at anyway? It must have been some perfect excuse
to go on a cruise and of course if you snooze will definitely loose.
Love could have occurred after I was assured no more lying will be endured.
If totally transparent, it could be inherent was apparent both were probably a potential parent.
What to we did allude, the became unglued in the middle of a family feud.
Embarrassed we became when he was up to his old game of seeking more fortune and fame.
Guess who and am sure you knew when bailed out the whole crew.
Patiently particular, was a homicide which was vehicular deduced by a diverticular.
Beside the sea with idea would wrestle should nestle under a trestle out of rain to wait for next vessel.
On Trump it finally dawned, if he would wave his magical want another witch would respond.
Instead of Grinch he would be the Witch Who Stole Christmas among other things.
Jim Horn
Mary, the daughter of some parental friends, is on her high-school-senior college-tour and my mom (on Face Time) told me their plans called for them to be in New Haven over the weekend.
“Would you mind taking an hour to give her a campus tour?”
I rolled my eyes saying, “I barely know the place myself.”
She waited silently with obvious, parental patience.
“I’ve got a TON of homework,” I pleaded.
“I’d owe you,” she said, encouragingly.
I sighed, struggling with my new and heavy burden, “ALL right,” I groaned.
Mary and I know each other from hospital events we couldn’t avoid (her dad is an emergency surgeon) but we’ve never hit it off.
I take some pride in being able to talk about anything - from football to politics or movies to fashion but Mary’s one and only interest is guys.
Mary’s one of those girls who HAS to have a boyfriend - like there’s a municipal ordinance requiring one - and just about any guy will do. She didn’t even have to particularly like them but they had to be Instagram pretty.
So any time I’d see her (we didn’t go to the same school) she’d have a Tom or Ed or Frank in tow, filling that boyfriend requirement and due to the high boyfriend turnover rate, she’d constantly and embarrassingly flirt with other potential boyfriends right in front of Mr. Now. It was enough to shame my gender.
A typical Mary conversation:
“Are you dating anyone?” She’d ask.
“No,” I’d admit.
“You’re just shy,” she’d say, “You just need to put yourself out there.”
She was positive and encouraging, even in the face of increased competition.
“I used to be shy,” she revealed. Which I doubted very much.
Anyway, once they (her Mom joined us) were certified vaccinated, we got a student volunteer for a real Yale tour. I love the “Harry Potter” look of old campus. (COVID restrictions limit where visitors can go).
I find I already have a sense of “ownership” here and I secretly hope she ends up somewhere else. I waved as they drove off, wishing her a bucket of instagram smiles.
.
Hmmm… maybe this sounds catty *shrug* - does this sound catty?
(Where the streets are full of pity)
Last night! I met an old boxer
in an alley of cardboard;
he seemed glad to see me,
shouted me over for a fight!
I told him!
“Hey I’m not in your league”
“Young man.” He said. “That’s alright.”
“So! I suppose you’re going to leave me,
cos the forecast is for rain, you in
your fine mansion, mine, just a
bloody pain”
“It’s not corrugated you see
it just keeps letting in the damp.”
“But then again I guess,
that’s O.K, for a foolish old tramp.”
He told me!
“What’s the price of glory if one is
shackled to the past. Even my old
woman left me, took my purse in
pursuit of another man. To think
I really loved her, gave her all that I
could, the witch hankered for the
final count, then left me where I
stood!”
He rambled on discursively!
“Take me away from this
‘Cardboard City’ Wrap me up in
sentimental pity.
Help me roam within my native
‘Devon’ Chase illusive rainbows back
into heaven.”
“Its years of abusing whisky,
Its years of abusing gin,
Its years of perpetual hoar frosts
that hones this savage grin. For
here I lay beneath this lamp, I hope
you understand, with only a
watery moon for comfort and
above me, this single amp!”
“How do you think I feel, here?
In chains of formal sorrow,
replaying each vintage year
each round like no tomorrow!”
“Each morning still, I count the
homeless, watch the van collect
the corpse, I caress each nightly
affliction to ease each delusion
that warps.”
“So! Give an old man a second chance
to come out gamely fighting,
repay life’s referee, society
the uninviting.”
His bottle ran dry,
his words began to wound.
Here! In God’s own country
left high wide and marooned.
Yet like the mortal flame
he submits to the desolate night,
the municipal van empowered
to administer the ultimate rite.
No dawn able to invigorate
leaves this empty feeling in me
the morning dew edulcorates
while a soul in hell is set free!
© Harry J Horsman 1996
I can’t walk out on this feeling,
The fat lady has just about sung the
Ultimate aria of her own selfish pain and loss.
The duality of my desires schism through my heart
Like a fuzzy scalpel, cutting and tickling at the same time.
I visit the municipal baths site of my hometown,
Find it gone, the pool filled in and grassed–over as if
It had never been; the only reminder a blue concrete
Fountain still intact; no water, just earth and grass,
Filling the basin, moss and lichen clinging there.
I touch the stone; run fingers where as a child
They had been run many long years before.
Contact with the past, bolts in the brain, I am back.
Hot lemon sun beats down on bare skin,
Chlorine fumes stab my eyes, water splashes, crisp
Packets rustle and I see the changing cubicles: cupboards
Of wooden blue slats with batswing doors,
And myself swimming through cold, clean water
Aged eleven and full of life and vitality,
Future mapped as some golden pathway of potential,
As summer goes on and on, feeling like forever.
Above, the rumble of twin engines, a plane draws
A vapour trail, silver cracking the intense blue,
My eyes narrow and tear from glare when looking up;
I see the plane fly away, on and on without crashing,
No engine failure, no loss of life.
And I smile in the chill of the water and
The scorch of the sun when emerging to lie on
The grass or the sizzling concrete surround.
The skies dim, though, evenly cloud over that afternoon,
People pack up and leave before the first downpour.
Don’t go, I say, stay, it will pass.
They pay no heed, they do not hear me, ghosts are habitually deaf,
And soon I am alone as the first cold drops, big as shillings,
Spatter the ground; with shivers, the past recedes
I am back here; the pool is filled in and grassed over.
Modern rain, dirty, acidic, with trace elements of carbon monoxide,
Mocks my reverie; a junkyard dog cruelly barks laughter
In a distant scrap-yard of ruined machinations.
Last night I met an old boxer in an alley of cardboard; he seemed glad to see me,
shouted me over for a fight, I told him ‘Hey mate, I’m not in your league’
‘Young man.’ He said with glint of victory in his solid brown eyes. ‘That’s alright,
I suppose you’re going to leave cos the forecast is for rain, you in your fine mansion, mine here, just a bloody pain. But then I guess, that’s okay for a foolish old tramp.’
lonesome sadness blues
through the lips of the city…
the eyes are windows
He told me ‘What’s the price of glory if one is shackled to the past. Even my wife left me, took my purse in pursuit of another man. To think I really loved her, gave her all that I could, the witch hankered for the final count, then left me where I stood’ He rambles on discursively ‘One day I’ll roam within my native Devon, where I’ll chase those illusive dreams back into heaven. Its years of abusing whisky years of perpetual hoar frosts that hones this savage beast.’
this fight on its knees
many blind eyes a mismatch…
all have a story
‘How do you think I feel in these chains of formal sorrow, replaying each vintage year each round like no tomorrow, each morning still, I count the homeless, watch the van collect the corpse. Man, I need a second chance to come out gamely fighting, repay life’s referee, society the uninviting.’
incompatible
metabolism a stray…
unfriendly advice
His bottle runs dry, his words begin to wound. Here, In God’s own country left high wide and marooned. Yet like the mortal flame he submits to the desolate night, the municipal van empowered to administer the ultimate rite. No dawn able to invigorate leaves this empty feeling in me, only the morning dew edulcorates while a soul in hell is set free.
careful where you tread
mats to wipe one’s feet upon…
look down you may see
Entered sponsor Mark Toney's 2022 Marathon 19
poem converted from free verse to haibun 2022
3/11/2022
big Yawn Productions presents
the daytime drama Living Therapeutically
as others live randomly or habitually
you'll need a supply of 3-D glasses
and I know just the guy
a trailer park Samuel Becket
cheeks rosy like Mr. Stalin
sitting atop the dustbin of history
a loafer researching activity
with plenty of typos under his airbrush
did we mention the amnesia
mind like a document shredder
but as the italicized print will indicate
Big Yawn will take you back to a time when
we used fact to be stupid with
we were trained and armed to the arm pits
for the great battle between
the grunting instincts of ownership
and the suicidal embrace of empaths
cadavers of man and animal everywhere
though the limbless victims of the empaths
were more carefully arranged in rows
we had to take sides to survive
galley slaves of the world unite
oh yeah you're already united
chained to your oars and all
well then don't let the trolley
to the asylum leave without you
the inmates are management again
I banged my cage door for an eternity
Tex Lester the cowboy yodeler
came to my rescue somewhat
Tex once played 8 ball with the Devil
had to let the Devil win of course
swear to God for what it's worth
municipal records will prove my case
they have been weaving the world together
for over a thousand murky generations
starting from the premise
that life is an unbridled miracle
yes logic is anti-coercive
or is it vice versa where are my bifocals
one tends to go in the direction he's looking
intention being a common denominator
of some influence
Samuel's DOA toe tag read
tried to die with a smile on his lips
left only a cartoon grimace
had it most of his life
so it was hard to tell
if he was actually dead
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
If we have to make a new India we will have to do reforms in our education system and all these reforms have to start primary to higher education. We will take up reforms from primary to higher level as follows:
PRIMARY & SECONDARY EDUCATION
The whole educational system should be recast. Instead of 10+2+3, it should be changed to 8+2+2+3. Govt. should make education compulsory up to Std VIII. The examination should be conducted at VIIIth standard level as it was conducted earlier in British Raj and only those who secured good marks in VIIIth standard should be allowed to study in Govt. aided institutions. The rest should be diverted to either unaided Institutes or Vocational Courses. The Govt. should spend on Vocational Institutes of various fields from Taluka level and the present ITI Institute should be merged with these vocational Institutes.
The municipal and local authorities are forcing the Management in aided schools to admit 60 to 80 students in a classroom. This practice should be stopped and like in ICSE board, the strength of students in a classroom should be of 30 to 40 students. This will help the Teachers to give personal attention to students and the quality of education will improve.
To encourage the school going students in villages, slums & poor students should be given a maturity bond of Rs. 1,000/- up to seventh std. and Rs. 5,000/- for 10th std. studies, and Rs. 10,000/- bond for graduation studies and Rs. 25,000/- bond for post-graduation studies. This bond will automatically help them for higher studies. The state Govt. giving this type of bond should get separate subsidy from the central Govt. This facility should be available to all weaker students of the society whose parent’s income is less than national average income or those who are below the poverty line.
Form: