Long Nots Poems
Long Nots Poems. Below are the most popular long Nots by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nots poems by poem length and keyword.
grabbing at straws the luck of the draw
some live big some live raw
a few like gods on hills of gold
every things fine just do what were told
A man on the corner needs something to eat
money walks by thinks dirty deadbeat
separated so the poor don't offend
at least when your down no need to pretend
late at night at the castle on the hill
a drunken success pops another pill
doesn't talk to his kids doesn't have real friends
his wife loves spending and the hottest new trends
a mother and her children prepare for the meal
what little there is seems so surreal
Everyday she struggles to provide
all she has is love and great strength inside
the driver takes him to the company he owns
he makes money by working others to there bones
always watching for a worker whose down
to remind them hes got the best jobs in town
eight sharp she takes the bus into work
she works for sol ittle just to please some rich jerk
the boss points out maybe its time for some new clothes
hes pays so little cares nothing for what she owes
the girls need braces but theres no way to pay
she smiles real big and says well get em someday
but shes knows she probably wont ever afford
she can barely make rent on her own accord
when he enters his mansion he feels quite alone
a beautiful house but know sign of a home
he decides it be better if workers lost there medical coverage
the company will save and even the overage
two people so very different one thinks hes what most people want to aspire to
the other wonders how long she can hold two sick days she'd be out on the street
the first one is selfish drinks every night avoids his family and lies a lot to
the second is down but will never give up and her children love her she is so sweet
these two people we see everyday I'm willing to bet you may look away
she just doesn't know how to save irresponsible i hear people say
when you see the man in his top notch suit and perfect smile
i hear people say what an outstanding man i like to talk for a while
When i see the man in his thespian role i feel a ting of pity in the heart in the soul
all the money doesn't help him see the person he his the one he could be
when i see the women struggle all day i wonder why we aren't all this way
her strength and courage virtues indeed a path of love is always richer then one of greed
Form:
Never have put all my faith, in someone I've not met
but when it comes to Presidents, I had to hedge my bet
I listened, just to what was said, from the horses mouth
teleprompter easy read, what's from his heart went south
Everyone just turns away, because of who has spoken
the little "adlibs" at the end, are called a "trademark token"
It took awhile to readjust, not comfortable at first
waiting for the "Hope and Change", instead things just got worse
I don't put words in peoples mouths, news briefly passes by
hesitations, pauses too, just watch and you'll know why
His demeanor says it all, can't look you in the eye
like a child's hand in a cookie jar, caught in another lie
I voted Independent, just like I always do
"08" I said I'll take a chance, and vote for something new
Took a chance and voted once, against what's in my heart
hoping this would be the one, to give us a fresh start
Listened to the arguments, on both the Left and Right
checked my dwindling bank account, it's almost out of sight
Some people think I'm selfish now, look at the flag I've flown
it's odd I've no Entitlements, and pay for my own Phone
How do you let him off the hook, divided we now stand
his bitterness shows near and far, beyond the Rio Grand
If you don't agree with him, they say you're spewing hate
they won't sit down and talk it out, no common sense of late
People think they understand, compassion in their hearts
you have "yours", let them have "theirs", forget that "theirs is ours"
Try to remain civilized, and show them you do care
he seems to think we "owe the world", his way to make it fair
Redistribution of our wealth, the "Robin Hood" effect
give it to the "have-nots, their life is such a wreck
If you never worked for "it", believe me you're not owed
reason for the "Bridge Card"? We won't know we've been snowed
He's not alone you understand, "bad apple in the bunch"
I really think he tops the list, of course that's just a hunch
We can go back a lot of years, "W M D s" and more
his sights are set, it's "Tunnel Vision", to give away the "Store"
Bring them in, from down below, he'll smile and look away
knowing well, that all of them, are surely here to stay
A scary thought (you know it's true) he's letting ISIS in
his hope and change "America", he tries, but will not win.....
When the raspberry horizon
is curled up,
shaping caramel-lilac lips
of the cashmere kismet,
singing in a choir of cherry chivalry
and honey-glazed fireflies ~
those snowy stars
simmering in summer silence,
f l i c k e r
a w a y
leaving burgundy blurs of beliefs,
wrinkled in those blinking blemishes
of clementine memories,
which once trailed hysterical footprints
across my fairy-threaded horizons...
And I lay, breathing l o v e
on a pillow of pristine pearls ~
succulent with the silver songs
of perfumed yesteryears ~
chiming through chocolate valleys
and rippling in the ruffles
of origami reveries,
weaved in scarlet sonnets...
where you and I, chakras of the divine ~
w a l t z
like the sunset
and its shadow
through a halo of rose-rings ~
our spiritual silks
rinsed in rubies,
as every aromatic alphabet
caresses those syllables of storms,
stained with the murkiness of maroons
and the velvet rain of remnants
leaves a champagne spark ~
igniting indigo illusions
that whisper
whirling intuitions
in my saffron-kissed kundalini...
" O' thistle-light
distancing me
from my dandelion i n k ~
I'm no longer a paranoid petal
swirling in a havoc of hate and rust,
rather, I'm blossoming ~
aesthetic in strawberry arcs,
dreaming of a reality
above imposters of nightmares,
where my honeysuckle sepals
hold hope as a golden anchor ~
fluttering in pink opal warmth,
and I feel like the heat of life,
for those decaying flowers,
betrayed by
the
torrents
of
t i m e... "
dear lord of the scintillating swan light,
in the fulcrum of fragrances ~
this sailor soulfully sails,
as a telepathic trespasser
tangentially
steering
to an orchard
without
rose-tinted
reveries...
to be the last scent
of forget-me-nots ~
manifesting a meraki of miracles
in those mulberry mosaics,
where the esoteric zephyrs of elysium
still remember me ~
as a sandalwood-scented soulmate
of the forgiving sun...
I was a planetary climatologist, who studied climate variability and change,
Like sweet variability of stunning, green tulips, in lavish garden rearranged.
Studying the said effects on the biosphere, absorbed so many daily hours,
Like industrious days of fragrant, amber honey, after tumbling into flowers.
My labors impacted energy usage, along with food production and health,
And the survival of endangered species, like golden rays of natural wealth.
Faddish flowers fascinated friends, who flattered them, at my broad fence,
Under fleecy, lemony clouds, fast moving, and orange sun, grown intense.
Famished, feasible family feasted, in lavish flowering fragrance of Fridays,
When fugitive, frosty stars flickered, winking at green garden bonsai trees.
I lived in the house of emerald echoes, in vivid memory of nature's sound,
From birdsong to crickets to evening wind, and brook of babbling renown.
Sachets swept away a sudden sadness, as robins sought another summer,
On my street of starry-eyed forget me nots, like a tune with no drummer.
Nobody knew latest neighborhood news, like my nearest friends next door,
Like chameleon sun, crisscrossing teal sky, wholly ignorant of 'nevermore.'
Pink birds were living high, and red butterflies viewed a world, ultraviolet;
And yellow bees went about their sweet labors, since queen bee desired it.
Strawberry clouds sailed around the world, for clouds ever love adventure,
As dogwoods barked in summer's dog days, during a gold noon surrender.
As I was walking home one day, the sun vanished as skies turned ominous.
There was a lightning flash just before the thunder, loud and cacophonous!
Suddenly, I saw a male face in the clouds, that was bellowing and enraged,
Like blizzard winds through naked trees, howling at a lush year that's aged.
Taken aback, like butterflies in gusts, I had come face to face with thunder-
The mighty, furious face of the storm, and I was filled with sudden wonder!
Then came the silver rains, sideways slanting, at the dead end of drought;
And I raced home like all uneasy nature, in the successive hours of doubt.
Scintillating sun had returned next day, after banishing the tangerine mist,
As benevolent nature was no more angry, its tale ending in an orange twist!
HOOKEY DAY
So you went off to school son and what did you learn?
will it make the world better the next time it turns?
No I didn’t go to school ma, I played hooky today
and I learned that it’s time to throw the books away.
I went to the cities and I walked down the streets,
and talked to the graduates where they work and compete.
I looked at the systems that they have contrived
and it’s hard to believe that we’re still alive.
I heard bankers scheming financial plots
to turn all of the haves into have-nots,
to place the whole world under total control
in endless poverty with no hope of parole.
I heard doctors and lawyers speaking in tongues
to patients uncured as the innocent hung.
Big pharma was addicting whole populations
as wall street convulsed in financial elation.
I saw shadows behind men high in power
as the world grew darker hour by hour.
The light at the end of the tunnel seen
was in the hands of an interrogation team.
My thoughts became knots, all tied up in the hype
that the media weaves through the lines of it’s type.
Life was distorted by camera and crews
***** called art and fiction called news.
Did you study your lessons and pass all your tests,
will you use what you learn to become a success?
I learned that the minds of those studying there
are molded by evil for tools of despair.
They're captains of industry, the corporate select
who ravage the earth and cause human neglect.
They measure success by raids and attacks—
and the depth of the blade in society’s back.
They control the planet and technology
that could energize earth, pollution free,
but they profit more from machinery
that fouls the air, the earth and the sea.
Go to their schools and you’re taught to agree
with the policies of the powers that be.
To aid and abet them in criminal goals
of pillage and plunder and global control.
To cast aside all conscience and sense
and leave the future to pay the expense.
To covet and hoard, collect and amass
and consume the earth to the last blade of grass.
These are the men of letters and worth
of corporations destroying the earth.
Go sit with their scholars and sully your brain
I’ll pass on the classroom and keep myself sane.
Creeping creepy creepers, the crawling trellis
jutting out of everywhere
snaking through country and metropolis
twisting turning in floral bliss
but more like snakes that hiss
But in quietude feign death for self-defense!
Weeping willows with an unreal surreal sorrow
weeping tears of dew onto the silted furrow.
Perhaps weeping for bretheren felled
in deforestations and land clearings in
my imaginations of the call to preservation.
Against ethnic cleansing of greenery for selfish building
As per man's construction for mere recreation
Velvety-green tear- stained faces or rather foliage
When dew is stuck on them as nature's trinkets of pearls.
And over there touch-me-nots swaying coyly
like prim and proper maidens
in the fantastic floral gardens.
And what in the world is this case?
Imitation flowery in place of imitation jewellery?
Yeah, thats poinsettia in a vase
Leaves in the disguise of flowers
Its actual flowers relegated to backstage.
And ethereal fairy-slippers await their never coming wearers
and Indian pipes to be admired by Red Indian sightseers.
Oh and here's another spectacle- but sniper tactics this time
Yikes! Let the naive insect world beware!
Whilst the bloodthirsty killers lie in ambush
Those camouflaged jungle guerrillas
or should we say the venus fly-traps!
Or a more harmless one yet mimicking the scary
A snap-dragon flora, its mouth opening and snapping shut.
Then watch that mega-sized jumbo giant flora
The world's largest flower
No stems, no leaves, plant-eater plant, rafflesia.
Is it too much for the faint-hearted ha ha.
And wow now watch that incredible costume, oh my!
A flower masked as some pesky fly!
None other than the remarkable fly orchid.
And yet another, the silent music of the fiddlenecks
Fiddles as if for the light-weight fairies.
And lastly not forgetting ofcourse
the sky-blue unforgettable forget-me-nots
A memorable bouquet but themselves devoid of memory.
Ah nature lover poets if you wish to view
more of flora in a fancy dress masquerade
Go ahead and flip through the pages of
a botanical, floral
horticultural
pictorial journal.
And see for yourself the fantastic flora's charade
or else imagine them dressed as a floral renegade!
REGENERATION GAME
Poverty stigmatises
Poverty overwhelms
Poverty condemns
To rid an area of its poor
Is the new regeneration game
That governments catering to middle class greed employ
Thus keeping the third estate in check
Sterility of environment
White washing of areas
Coupled with compulsory cauterization of attachment
Are the sticks that beat down the resolve
Of the new underserving poor
Those that made an area
Vibrant
Rhythmic with charm
And a melting pot of cohesion
Are no longer welcomed
Now the developer sees an opportunity
The middle class scramble
For central havens
Above the best schools
Sends planners into an orgy
Of false accusation against the poor
And wilful disregard for the
Life blood of the communities
They so lovingly plunder
The hardship of having too much
Is the story of those in power
An Understanding of poverty
Is not a vote puller
Thus all are rated on their property value
And their post code
To beat the low paid and waged
And the non-double barrelled named
Is a game the chattering classes engage in
Stigmatising the hardworking
Demonising them for living
Democracy functions today
By dividing society into the powerful and the followers
Those that cannot influence
Or have friends with connections
Are never to be allowed within the city walls
Lepers they must always be
To occupy a space where one
Is no longer welcomed
Is the daily grief of the estate inhabitants
Those that have stayed when the going was rough
Are now discouraged from
Claiming ancestry of an area
They will be rooted out come what may
By a council with middle class ambitions
Social depravity does not fit
With most government’s upward mobility
The Victorian idea of the needful poor
Rears its ugly head even in our modern times
Those that have not are always
Meant to be have nots
Politically motivated poor bashing
Is how a party gets into power and stays in power
The economy and society are pawns only
To attract
Buy
And keep voters
Fooled by the scraps from a heavy laden debt table
Selfishness is an ingredient in all
Past social implosions
Today’s regeneration plans
May ignite and incite smouldering ambition
When those that want a fair share
May overcome
The goliath that is selfishness
'Being decisive and confident' are powerful assets, but "I don't know" is asinine. Whole hearted and half hearted people are not half, but whole worlds apart.
A famous baseball player once said, "Don't look back, something might be gaining on you". Looking back over the years of my past, I have observed a pattern that portrays the fact that I have rarely returned to places I once have been. It appears that I finished the work or the assigned mission, moved on, and seldom looked back.
I have sometime wondered, but not seriously, about the direction my life would have gone, or the path I would have taken, or the career choice I would have made, if only I had joined my best friend in Tennessee rather than start out in Chicago; or if I had been drafted and sent off to Viet Nam rather to college in Chicago; or if I had not gotten sidetracked and forgot about the enrollment fee I had payed for a Texas computer school; or if I had not misdialed that telephone number that connected me to a school I was not looking for that became the school from which I graduated; or was it really a misdial or the pathway to my destiny? Or what if I had accepted that promising job offer while still a sophomore in college?
I have never been bothered by the 'what ifs', 'why nots', 'why me', and 'maybe'. Still, sometimes I think, but not seriously, "What if I had not gone to that college where I met Bob through whom I met Carlis through whom I met Barbara to whom I have been married for 48 years with whom I have had three children who have given us six grand children"?
There may be long and short answers, but I've always believed in getting to the bottom of things, getting to the point. That's not to say that life is all 'black and white and no greys'. Sometimes, maybe, maybe not, my 'what ifs' would have taken me to New York and not San Francisco, but I think now as I thought then, that the proper decisions and chosen paths were the right ones for me. And I don't mean maybe.
080120PSCtest, If Only, Maybe, Sometimes, Silent One. 5P
Perceptions of the world around us,
are shaped by what we’ve lost or found in the
dusts of membrance, trusts of memberment
busts of everEssentialEssences
bodies of discernment
In every person, there’s a story
A deep, complex and vivid glory
Some see beauty, some see pain
The same landscape, yet not the same pane
We view the world through coloured glass
And some may see a rose,
others thorns en masse
of briared walls
of no escape, of the impasse,
razored maws agape
Perceptions can be joyful or bleak
A kaleidoscope, that’s ever unique
We love, we hate, we laugh, we cry
Our emotions, reflections that lie beneath,
ripples of watery eye, the deep rings
of being a being
Yet, if we could just take a step back
And see with the eyes of a love we lack
Our perceptions might just change
And the world could be transformed
in brilliant range,
back to a pleasing view the eye feasts to see
In the end, it’s all we’ve got
Our feelings, perceptions, and our own plot
of coordinate directions aloft
So, let us cherish and embrace
The beauty and the love,
with no trace of hate and have it all,
instead of the have nots
For when we see beyond ourselves
And feel the pain of someone else
Our perceptions broaden wide and far
And love can heal the deepest scars
So let us walk with open hearts
And see the beauty in all parts
For in this world of joy and strife
We all deserve to live a life-
Where love and kindness reign supreme
And hopes and dreams can always gleam
Let's shift our perceptions, just a bit
And make this world a brighter, better fit,
for a better place for dreams
Continued from Part 1
“Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots,
Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
“You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You’ve wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
But when you’ve paused to preen your pride, you’ve scrubbed a scarlet blot.
“In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts -
In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot.
“The haunted winds strew leaves of time across a shallow plot
Where now, beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust to feed Forget-Me-Nots
Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught.
“In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot
The black and withered tree of Death arises from the spot
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat.
“While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots
And gaping wounds with bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
For wrapped in chains around your throat, the Reaper’s grim garrote.”
Yes, that’s the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot…
End