Long Not personal Poems
Long Not personal Poems. Below are the most popular long Not personal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Not personal poems by poem length and keyword.
"My decision
is not any negative reflection
on you.
It's not personal."
This would be a Business School graduate,
meaning, if it is personal,
then it is not political or economic;
so, if it is political and/or economic,
it is not personal.
"It's your decision,
for you to personally
and responsibly make."
This would be a Social Work graduate,
or maybe some variety of therapist,
recognizing that what is personal choice
is also political, empowering or disempowering,
and possibly economic investment or divestment.
What is personal,
like what is political,
is about power
and vested interest
and small ego-staged,
even if short-term.
"Our decisions
about who runs for office,
who votes which way,
who nominates whom and why,
are matters of individual conscience."
If this statement
is made by someone in political office,
who knows?
Maybe s/he gets it
that personal is also political,
that individual organic corporations
are also economic actors and investors,
or not.
So, what do you think?
What is your personal preference?
The Business Party view,
segregating personal faith
from political powers of relationship,
financial influence,
Or the Social Worker model
of power analysis,
individual through global,
competitive through cooperative,
personal through ecopolitical?
I suppose this is at least one reason,
my Republican colleagues,
when I was in a Master of Public Administration (MPA) program,
found the cultural distance
from a Master of Business Administration (MBA) program
subtle
opaque
unclear
ambiguous;
while the Democrats
and Green Party students
found differences between MPA
and MBA cultures
profound,
cooperative v competitive,
looking for Win/Win resonance
as opposed to searching for Win/Lose
ZeroSum endless growth of market share.
If all organic energy systems
are also ecopolitical communicators,
then we all have ecotherapeutic opportunities;
Some great,
some small,
but all one moment,
one message,
one relationship,
one rhetorical non-violent/violent
association/dissociation
at a personal political time.
Come in take a seat
The young man furrowed his brow
I em wait where am I
The older gent motioned to the chair
Please take a seat
As the young man settled into the leather seat, the older filled the glass on the table between them with water
Slightly trembling the young man lifted.the glass and sipped at the water
A loud click as he placed the glass upon the table
His gaze drifting around the sparse room
He looked back to where he had arrived but couldn’t see a door, just another white wall
I a cough as he cleared his throat am Zion
And unfortunately you are dead
The young man blinked twice and a smile morphed erratically upon his face
The older man continued
The young man winced as the image of headlights
speeding towards him which flashed in his head
Frantically throwing his hands over his face
Yes, that happened, Zion.flatly uttered
These are you final moments
You may ask any question
All knowledge accessible
You can fix any regret
Talk to anyone living or dead
Dean my name is Dean -offering his hand in welcome
Is it just Zion like Madonna he smiled
No second names
Zion bemused-No second name
And if it’s not personal can I ask what are you
An angel Dean chuckled
No no nothing like that
I am your sciribe
He continued
Everything existing or not has one
We note everything from your beginning to
well now.
Dean lifting his glass once more to his lips
The clear liquid in his glass now tasted like lemonade his thoughts drifting to a long gone summer sitting with his sister on the newly cut lawn.
That taste you just had-Zion nodded, it’s the same lemonade.
It's not personal, it's business,
says the guy overcharging you.
Knowing you'll begrudgingly pay:
they keep squeezing until you're broke.
You cringe inside each time you hear:
it's not personal, it's business.
And yet, partial payments increase
the amount owed on their ledger.
With no job, you live off food banks
and grift on the street for your rent.
It's not personal, it's business;
doesn't help when your hydro gets cut.
Society's a heartless beast;
that chews up souls and spits them out.
And as life beats you down, you hear
it's not personal, it's business.
Systemic Strain, Not Personal Fault
"The walk for help- " I walked miles with
Nothing but courage in my pockets, hoping
The doors ahead still cared ".
" A bank shut its doors on my survival, and
The pavement became my only witness". After
A bank shut its doors on my tomorrow ".
"Need pressed against my ribs while someone
Behind a counter constrained against my dignity ."
I stepped into a room built for mercy, but the air was
Heavy with judgements, eyes measuring my worth
Like I owed them proof of why hunger had followed me in.
They keep telling you
"Hold it together "
Like you ain't already patching cracks
In a world built crooked
You juggle bills,
Appointments,
System that glitch like busted streetlights,
And they still ask
Why you walk like the weight got hands
Around your larynx.
But listen-
This ain't your flaw
This is pressure cooked in premises
You never stepped in,
Policies you never voted for, rules penned
By people who never had to stretch a dollar
Til it yelped.
You ain't the problem.
You're the evidence.
I throw down poems onto a page, and look at them fondly.
Some glare at me, others take a swift bite out of my neck.
Trying for attention.
I know it is not personal, so I let it slide.
Enthusiastic poetry always starts out with the words
“dancing and prancing” which is tedious now, but Trixie is stuck there.
Do I retire her? Fire her? Inspire her? Aspire to guide her gently?
It is a quandary.
Rhymes I love, but they take a bit more work, for I
am compulsive enough to want each line to have exactly
the same amount of syllables. Often an impossible feat.
And yet, here I am, throwing tally marks all over my paper.
Someone asked me how I come up with ideas.
They land in my lap, on my shoulders, they hit me in the petootsie.
When I least expect it some of my most unlikeable co-workers
will run in to confide something, and voila. An idea is born.
I have an affinity toward making fun of co-workers
silently, stealthily, behind their backs.
Or in front of their faces.
It matters not a whit.
They never see
themselves.
Systemic Strain, Not Personal Fault
They say "pull yourself up",
But the set of steps they hand you got rungs
Missin, bolts loose,
And a warning label that indicates:
Good Luck.
You out here dodgin' glitches, cutoff.
Caseworkers who forget your name
Bur remember your target dates.
You fight battles they swear are "Personal
Choices ".
In the process the whole damage system
Been leanin' crooked since before you were
Born.
And still- They point at you like you're
The Crack in the pedestrian way not
The aftershocks they triggered.
But Nah you're the one who learned
How to walk broken streets without
Losin' your pace.
You're the one who maintains truth
Like a blade tucked taintless under the
Tongue. So you spit it raw:
This constriction ain't mine this fault
Ain't mine.
This weight was innovate by hands
That never had to lift it.
I'm not the blemish, I'm the witness.
I'm not the burden-
I'm the blueprint of persistence.
I'm the voice they can't repose
With paperwork and excuses.
I'm the specifically of every person
Whoever got blamed for a system that
Failed them first. And I say it blaring
Loud enough for the block, the courthouse,
The whole damned state to hear
I'm not broken.
I'm piloting what was built shattered.
I'm navigating what was built and that
Truth, That's power
When I was young, I wanted to run away to the circus. Then one day I realized the circus was life! Are we not the clown, the strongman, the freak, the daredevil? Is there not personal sorrow and the desperate search for pleasure? The flying trapeze man and woman are in love, and every performance, they risk the breaking of their heart. When one almost falls to their death, the audience cries out, and then claps even louder! The freak show is hidden in the back, though its location is well known to local politicians. Then to play the games on the midway, with its crooked carnies, rigged set ups, and worldly women. The city is 'the big top', its chaotic gyrations and jaded excitements, all part of the show. The grandstands are filled with 'television head' people, buzzing with excitement. See the eye of the tiger, hear the trumpet of that greatest of beasts, cowl at the jungle kings exclamation! Later that night, a young boy lying in bed, wonders if it was just a dream. Then, far off in the distance, a whispering growl was heard!
Hello Love, how are you doing today?
Me? The same as yesterday.
Although there remains sorrow,
I reach for tomorrow.
Hello Love, will you please pass my way?
Oh Love, I met an old friend the other day.
Like old times, I knew just what to say.
Why were you not there?
I believe you lack any care.
Hello Love, will you please pass my way?
Each time I call Love with you that I fall.
A feeling so strong how can you be so wrong?
I know it is a shame but Love you are to blame.
How can Love be so blind?
Sorry Love, I should never talk this way.
It is not personal, I do hope you stay.
Why must you go?
You just got here, you know?
So long Love, please come back to me someday.
...............................................
Contest Entry: A Conversation
Date Judged: 09/05/2016
Result: NA
Contest 2: Take the Dagger from My Heart, Please 2
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Result: 2nd Place
............................................
My truths about self are important
To me but, can be different from others.
I ‘ve wiped tears from my cheeks from being knocked down.
I’ve told myself, fail I will not; personal honor, self-respect
Is important; I will fiercely fight.
I will not abandon my trust of moral values, personal,
Or political; or harshly criticize and place myself in guilt.
I will abandon ego of self-importance, work on personal growth.
I have a lot of weakness, but accountable.
So, I look for my strength.
Want to be appreciated for contributions and who I am.
Alone in whimpering gloom darkness alone I do not desire.
My truths about self, trust God.
Believe; with Him, I can do all things.
He was a cold dish, had to walk away from the table. No love was being served. He would never give me what I deserve. He only ever left Me unnerved. Curled into a ball crying, unraveling and rolling away from sanity and peace. In him I found no relief. In his arms I only felt harm. He only left scars, internally marred. Loving him was a disaster, wanted a partner but got a Master. I was his slave. One day he'd feed me than starve me for days.stockhome love disease, I was lost in a haze, unable to distinguish, the truth in his lies. Saw nothing while looking in his eyes. Black and soul less ,in him I found no solace. Dark and dusty, i'd stumble and choke trying to navigate the hallways of his mind. Tried to find his motivation for playing with mine. Never found a reason other than just the flavor of the season. It's not personal ,this type of man is impersonable. In the confines if his soul there is obviously a hole. I hope it heals, but nevertheless I am outa this deal.