Long Operation Poems
Long Operation Poems. Below are the most popular long Operation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Operation poems by poem length and keyword.
i need to stop frowning and epitomizing
and sell this Caddy to the Cardinal
trying to let it miss your attention won't fly
since writing is speech even if somewhat removed
or fit only for bouncy news anchor banter
pancake makeup a bit too aflame
like they do in shadow theater
where the container is the contained
because we can still index the cornucopia
eff you said the furry little May Pole Bunny
you can be sure he was in on it too
along with the Hen in the Willow
the Great Flaming Spiral in the Sky
and the nuns of St. Manacle
doing their Plantation Rebel Dance
with cascade of equally herkimer antecedents
perpetually enthused with the mystery of tomorrow
just don't try to tell me how to move my eyelids
smoke signals will always take care of that
cascading across the clacking copper contacts
in a total lack of continuity all at once
it is a pigeon tongue spoken in barter
barely able to walk after the derision of linguists
lobbed horseshoes across the barricades
against surgeons wielding kitchen knives
on a search and destroy mission
for chopped liver epicures from the Bank of Winter
living dead men's dreams was no picnic
memes eating my soul like red worms
only my degree from the School for the Sickly
standing between me and the Necromancers
who were emphatically not house trained
my collective unconscious operation manual
tossed on the burn pile half a life ago
now dumbed down to syntactically correct
in infinitesimal quantities with a Nefertiti smile
my mind a bordello of interpretation
God is not dead he is passe etc.
a raised by wolves feral non-conformist
everything orbits everything else
and that's space for you
which will bend yer crank kid
unless you can get your mood to swing
out from the nether realms of mourning
and the agony of oblique signals
written with the ***** of Satan
shaking money from your pockets again
a Conniving Backstabbing Bastard production
he hated coercion like he hated licorice
he was revolution incarnate all fresh and rosy
it was a kosher Pentecost event
tried quoting Lenin but it was too easy
the proletariat is people in a pickle
the dueling cucumbers of class warfare
now I'm on a dozen watch lists
followed by Diana's paparazzi
to this claustrophobic cinemaplex
and its temporal artery of light
at 3 in the afternoon
a good cheap remedy
following a bad diagnosis
>Are the best things in life free?
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad Author
& Poetry Soup Honourably Mentioned
One of my cousin’s on Facebook one day.
Said the best things in life are free.
Then she wrote a list you see.
Well not you, as it was seen by me.
I had of course, to reply.
Well my writing bug did, I sigh!
1. Hugs! To have a hug that close honey.
I need deodorant and that costs money.
2. Raise a smile! For that I must clean my teeth.
Toothbrush and paste, they are not cheap.
3. Family! That’s not free.
Just think of the mortgage fee.
4. Sleep! Really need a bed for that.
They are not cheap. That’s a fact.
5. Kisses! Flowers, chocolates and all that.
Leaves my wallet looking flat.
7. Friends! No doubt my turn to treat.
Every blinking time at pub we meet.
8. Memories! Now that is the one.
Don’t need cash to remember one.
That was before all those things I did do.
You said were, ‘free,’ you did it’s true.
Sadly they were not for me.
The seven things you said were free.
So that’s all now, you’ll get from me.
And all of this, ‘was,’ blinking free.
ooo0ooo
Some of my Angels are on loan.
I say I have four caring for me.
Two in the day and night you see.
As my cousin was ill, you know.
I ordered two, too her go.
My cousin later informed me she was okay.
her operation done she did say.
So my two angels she thanked that day.
And bless sent them back yesterday.
I sent the following message on Facebook 9-8-15
I have trolled, you have been told.
And I don't know what to say.
Those angels I did send you know,
Are still not back today.
Did you tell them to travell by train?
I know their wings don't like rain.
I checked the air at Felixstowe.
Just in case there they did go.
Sadly there was no sign of them, you know.
You know I am a patient man.
Bet they are talking as angels can.
Expect they'll turn up, and when they do.
I'll tell you when to cover your ears too.
As the air here might be blue.
Bit like the sky, i'm telling you.
Oh yes! Hope you are well soon too.
Having released those angels two.
I'll clip their wings that's what I'll do.
And next time, send my men angels to you.
(TMA)
As we are both recovering the Angels are on stand by. Well you never really know when, or where they will be needed do you?
ELOQUENT GEMS
Part 2
But it’s show time, word genius making a fuss within ya brain hemispheres,
I’m rear in all the ages, pages outdating your solar systems burning spheres,
I leave ya mind scared with the truth, scared of what you will lose,
These writings are like hip hop and blues, blowing your mental fuse,
Your used, abused by your ignorance, cant advance from ya current mind stance,
With plans upon this planet, over running ruins, within ya delusions, ya say plans?
You ran away from your divine land, residing instead blind following lies,
Firmly as earning spiritual advice, nice and nicely played out well,
As you fell I tell a real story of glory of the real history with fury,
Furious but word notorious, worry about these things, they are nearly near,
Yeah bearing witness to those that stumble and don’t get up, find ya wings,
Hear the voices singing songs, lethal sequels seeking ears to hear,
Fear the mighty word warrior, steer your vessel, bless you from the summit, right up there,
But I don’t care, I steer a mind behind the vessel, as I wrestle good and evil,
Always climbing levels…. Depart devils, be gone please, ya don’t stand a chance,
One glance of these words puts you in a trance of stagnant brain operation,
Change up ya station,
Excellent, your seeds growing,
Into a plant with enhanced reception,
Tuning in, dismantle the stress,
Confess your ruining ya perception,
In the life of Mass Deception!!!
The completion is to reach them, all of them,
Mindfully seen through intervened letters to them,
Them? Who’s them? Remnants of the mighty men of old?
The Chosen few… come on I don’t know….
So I can’t just follow in blind faith,
Distasteful foul ways of the fools,
Who are schooled within disgraceful enslaved schools,
Check ya schedule, Like King Saul you will fall,
Slayed by your own sword and missed out on the reward,
Plagued by an evil spirit, devils mindset absorbed,
Records show a man that didn’t grow so jumped overboard,
Absorb these words, sort what distorts and delete,
Don’t retreat and be defeated in this heated war of good and evil,
Find your tranquil place and be seated, meet the inner self,
Where the real help resides, inside your house, your temple,
Disassemble and reassemble yourself, resemble principles possible,
Irreversible when awake!!!
Quincy Mac
date written: 5.12.2015
It was when I reached my fortieth birthday.
Not so young, but, youthfulness ruled the day.
I was known as an educationist, around,
My intelligence and wisdom, they felt, was sound.
Not many were invited to my birthday party,
My friends said I looked hale-and-hearty.
Cut the cake and with all simple meals shared,
I felt, as though by all, I was loved and cared.
It's when I stood to thank each one that evening,
Something tucked my tongue for no evident reasoning.
I stood silent, shocked, perplexed and lost,
None could understand what had happened to the host.
I tried to talk. I could not. Tried again; failed!
Not knowing my state of mind my friends hailed.
When, after hard trials, like dew drops, my tears spilt,
All, around, understood. Lo! There’s some tilt…
They took hold of me and asked me what happened,
I could not articulate; all seemed so saddened.
Doctor - some said; That's what they soon did,
None could remove from my tongue that lid.
I, an orator, remained speechless. Is it God's work?
Or demons do such tricks that God gets the jerk?
I resigned to the state of affairs and remained silent,
Everyone around understood this and became quiet.
I felt my trouble is nothing before John Milton,
I could see; he could not; My path is, hence, silken.
Pain in me, yet, grew, like fire in a dry forest,
Though I seemed silent, within I had great tempest.
Having found no remedy in treatments mountainous,
I turned to God, who is bundle of boundlessness.
I surrendered to him and said - Give me speech -
In return, I will, your glories ever preach.
In return? O fool! What would you give God?
Inner mind said. What could to God you award?
It's, hence, I lay before him, as though dead,
As mute as a muted lute, I went ahead.
In one of praise and worship during night adoration,
I could feel, within my tongue, certain restoration.
Is it reality or illusion? I did never know,
Dumb will speak, scriptures said, if believed so.
I believed; trusted; relied on his immense power,
Many prayed during that very long operation hour.
I talked. They could understand me as before,
Does anyone know, yet, the truth within the core...???
God and God alone is the truth I firmly say,
Without him, for salvation, there is no other way...!
24 October 2022
ER: Enlightenment Recovery Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Call me mad if you must
But please first hear me out
I just got back from the Cryogenics lab
And guess who's head I picked from the crowd
If your thinking Jimmy Hoffa
No, he's somewhere deep asleep in concrete
I grabbed someone much more spectacular
I grabbed the frozen head of Walt Disney
You see years ago he had himself chilled
At least that which contains the brain
The useless part they put in a casket
And far be it for me to dig up a grave
I've now got Walt packed on ice in a cooler
It wouldn't do to have his head melt
What kind of operation do you think I'm running here
Some kind of Mickey Mouse?
First on my agenda find Mr. Disney a body
One that won't give out on him too soon
Cause once we thaw out Walt and he starts to talk
There's no telling what he'll want to do
So I let my fingers do the walking
Here's something interesting...Bodies By Jake
I just hope we find Jakes place in time
Before the ice melts and we are to late...
...talk about false advertisement!
Jake the snake didn't sell bodies at all
Walt and I are more than a little disturbed
There really should be some sort of law
Guess I should have thought this all over
Long before I thought of it now
So as a special treat I thought Mr. Disney and me
Could go see his "World", so we headed South
Standing in line to purchase tickets
The cooler shakes when Walt hears the prices by chance
No need to tell you that if he had lower extremities
He would crap them if he wore any pants
We decided to do something a little cheaper
And with a Disney movie just out today
It was kind of hard to follow along though
When all you could hear was his body spinning in the grave, miles away
Guess it's to early to try and bring back Walt Disney
Maybe one day I can try it again
But before we leave for the trip back home
We stop at the concession for diet soda and Jr. mints
Once we got back to the Cryogenics lab
They're looking for me so over the fence I let the head fly
No need to worry, one of the guard dogs grabbed it
And I'm sure drug it right back inside
I hear that the Disney Corporation, after reading this have gathered together their top notch lawyers and are wanting to set up a meeting...
I'm thinking they're going to offer me a movie deal! Wish me luck!
I'm thinking Leonardo DiCaprio could play Walt...
Poetry as well as writing are both gifts and labors of love.
Jesus Christ has freely bestowed upon me his gifts of
Writing and poetry. I am primarily an inspirational/
Christian poetic writer. It is plain to see poetic/
Creative writing are my passions. And one of my major
Reasons for existing on planet earth.
Using poetry/writing as part of a time capsule. In order
For any future unborn generations. May discover and
Perceive their very own literary legacy. By desiring to
Make an impact and a difference in the literary circles.
Shaping and molding younger writers, and my peers
To uncover their own goals, hopes, dreams and planes.
Writing for the both the enrichment and amusement.
Are working together. Simultaneously in prefect harmony
And Creativity. Working together hands in. "Hands across
The water and hands across the sky,"The Beatles.
Often used exclusively for spreading the good news.
And informative news of the life Saving gospel.
Courtesy of my beloved Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
Jesus Christ is my bright and shining candlestick. He
Is my brightly shining candle light. Illuminating the
Darkness in a sin stained world!
Turning on the Lamp of his lighthouse! Guiding ships
Into their Harbor of perfect security and safety. Entering
Their Home port of operation. And welcoming their
Loved ones safely back home once more again!
He is the Sanctuary of my life. He is my BFF, my very best
Friend. In the entire world I exist in! He is my guiding
Candlelight by morning, noon and night. When things
In my life go upside down. Jesus Christ sets things
Upside right!
He has bestowed his free gift upon other Christian
Poets and writer. Who know about writing and the
Gospel of Jesus Christ. Than will be revealed to me
In my entire earthly life.
Who far surpass me in Their very own ability and
Creativity. I do not compare myself To anybody else.
For I can Never measure to their professional quality
Standards!
But Christians, everywhere through out, the world.
Are spreading the good news of the gospel of
Jesus Christ! "Turn on the light house. Turn on
The lighthouse." Leaving it on morning, noon,
And night. Who love their beloved Jesus Christ!
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
July 12, 2020
I'll never forget the date, the nineteenth of November
It's etched firmly in my mind, and I'll always remember
It was the day that I had my spinal decompression surgery
And hopefully it would put an end to over a year of misery.
I was struggling to walk, and it was depressing for me
And it was especially frustrating for all my close family
I couldn't go cycling or for walks in the countryside
I just wanted to stay at home and from the world hide.
My journey started with physio, but exercise caused me pain
And I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever be the same again
My MRI scan showed trapped nerves at the base of my spine
I opted for surgery and the surgeon reassured me I'd be fine.
I arrived at the hospital and was under the care of a surgeon
A renowned Consultant Spinal Neurosurgeon, Mr Faizul Hassan
They put surgical socks on me, along with a hospital gown
Then a porter arrived at nine o'clock to take me down.
They put a mask on my face and then I went to sleep
And it was a quarter to one when I was woken by a beep
A nurse then asked me if I wanted a drink of water
And I thought I'm having an op, maybe I'll have it later.
But I'd had my operation, and I didn't feel any leg or back pain
I was so relieved I'd had it done and I could live normally again
The porter took me back to ward one and the nurses were there
It is their kindness I'll never forget and their excellent care.
And all the surgeons too who performed my operation
They've given me my life back; for them I'm full of admiration
And all the porters, admin staff and auxiliary nurses too
They all play a vital part in making dreams come true.
I'm recovering at home now and post op I've got slight pain
I'm so glad to have had it done; I have plenty to gain
My three daughters and my wife are now looking after me
And I consider myself lucky to have such a caring family.
In a fortnight I've got to have staples removed from my back
Then my back won't feel so stiff, and I'll soon be back on track
And I've got to take it easy for a few months and watch what I do
No heavy lifting of any kind and in six weeks return for a review.
Written on the 23rd November 2023
Dedicated to all the staff at the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital in Birmingham. UK.
This responds to “Operation Raise the Colours,” where some have painted the St. George’s Cross across streets, roundabouts, and takeaway shops. Claimed as patriotism, these acts are vandalism and an attempt to erase community spaces and stirring division.
Red bleeds across zebra lines,
slick on high street asphalt,
smearing over takeaway shutters,
stretched across roundabouts, stubborn as lead.
Rollers scrape and flake,
pigment cheap, sunlight shakes it loose,
drips into puddles,
history seeping through plaster,
like damp under primer that never hides the past.
The streets run red and white,
paint claimed by hands insistent on marking stone, brick, asphalt—
silence made loud in streaks and drips.
Roundabouts stand proud under fresh layers.
Slash Dulux over despair—
coverage meant to hide, but failing.
Paint bleeds over more than tarmac—
onto takeaway windowpanes, footpaths, shop signs—
a mural of identity, impulse, defiance.
Undercoat logic tries to cover the past,
but no sealant ever lasts.
Brushstroke patriots,
emotion disciples,
armed with rollers like substitute rifles.
The painting’s wrap is hollow,
decorating decline as if it were fate.
Every slogan,
a stencil sprayed on the breeze.
Pigment flakes with ease,
truth showing through the layers.
Heritage red becomes eviction scarlet,
brilliant white papered over target.
Crowns drip Crown paint onto stone,
monarchs in tester pots,
empires reduced to monochrome.
Borders cut by shaky hands,
masking tape straining against the straight line of intention.
Private bleeding edges,
lines never straight.
Revolutions run off into puddles of hate,
mirroring the sky distorted,
clouds stretched, colors torn thin.
Tins are stirred, paint slapped on the ground.
Every revolution circles round,
because property cannot be glossed,
despair cannot be mapped.
Whitewashed roundabouts cannot hide the cracks.
Paint peels, drips, bleeds into puddles,
but the fissures of history remain—
veins in stone, stories in asphalt,
layers no roller can erase.
Crowns, crosses, streaks of red and white
twirl and fall like the last dance
over streets that remember,
over walls that refuse to forget.
The cracks take the floor,
silent but insistent,
and they will not be painted over.
What do I have to do with thee when you keep pushing the water towards me, what do I have to do with thee when everyone keeps coming after me.
The tides are riding high and the message is radiating in the sky, get all the people out of that place and get ready for the big race.
Look at the skies above you and examine it through and through and when you see the old man in the clouds with the beard you know that sorrows are drawing near.
If you see the birds flying in different directions, you know that it’s time to step up the operation.
Pack up your belongings and join the choir and all road leads to the airport alter, don’t leave a dime behind for the vulture to commit some hideous crime. Send the heavy things in advance and carry the lighter things with you.
There is too much burden over there and the clouds are pointing you were to rebuild your life after years of painful sacrifice.
I walked along the shore examining the particles on the ground and watch the seagulls pulling worm out of the sand while the children on the other side build giant sand castle with their hands.
The snipers are all around and they bury themselves deep down in the sand with just the head visible above, they look like birds from afar and you could never tell that someone was rally there if you are not near so don’t let the seagulls ambush you , the magnetic field is rising from a hundred degree.
The boats are coming in and big missiles are dropping from the skies, the parachute and hot balloons are up there too and journey from the East lands safely on the shore.
Their mission was very clear as soon as they got over there. The snipers did not make a move, because they were wearing the pacemaker’s boots.
More than a thousand of them landed on the shore to conduct the operation from door to door.
They carry a medicine that can sniff out the enemy in a jiffy. They are fearless soldier that have no appointment with heaven, they come without a bullet or a clout and they know what fighting is all about.
The multitude is leaving the city and the trucks are moving in , the boats have flooded the shore and you have got to open the iron door. The seagulls are parading on the sea, they have an urgent message for thee so observe their movements carefully.
Due to the extreme measures my
identity thieves have taken in order
to extort my American poetry from
mafia wise guys to corruption to Jamaican
female impersonating me with data breach
and severe identity fraud i adore writing
poetry everyday but i must stop for now
allowing these thieves some twisted sick
respite away from tormenting me being
on this sight allows them to be able to mimic
terrorize me with terrorist threats it's very cruel
but some people would do anything to harm
innocent person god bless all of you here
on poetry soup keep writing I shall my prayers
are with my step son who took his life thanksgiving
the shock of my mental health being exploited for gain
by identity thieves mafia corruption for gain leading to
101 reason taking his own life poetry in the wrong hands
we sigh for the giving and pray for the souls of the silent
beings for their pain shall always shatter thee earth the
infamous core tangible structure of the mind shall be
replaced with insanity for a brief notion gathered for sheer
peace hence release I am completely traumatized my abusive
ex his accomplice the arson murderer Ciro Gargano identity thief
Jay Townsend Johnson Henry my complete stalkers trickled
down ongoing abuse from my bitter arsonist ex husband
sacrificed his son in order to assist these imposters to
extorting my American poetry to allow this imposter
impersonate me for gain literally giving my step son
no other options taking his own life while family gathered
giving thanks a falseness knowing they were planted
outside my door awaiting my disabled spouse and I to go
to VA appointments so they could enter our home searching
for poetry data to summit finally exploiting my mental illness
my husband's 101 airborne releasing suicidal thoughts in a family
My step son set a plan and ended his life due to plagiarism.
It had been twenty years since I contacted the FBI when
my identity thief arrived with her Jamaican gunman to end
my life over my American poetry he died at my feet complete
karma taking my step son 20 years later this operation forced
him into suicide ending his own life shattered into after realizing
the severe domestic abuse identity fraud plagerism arson murderer