Long Overseers Poems
Long Overseers Poems. Below are the most popular long Overseers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Overseers poems by poem length and keyword.
It was one of those sunny days, that later on merge in memory, and you can’t tell one from another instantly, but on the second sight they discern, each with its own number of little events. There was good visibility from the second deck of the bus - my memories start when we are standing at a junction on red, we need to cross a major motorway. There are not many cars moving along the motorway, we keep staying, I remember a delivery biker, and a yellow DHL van in front of us, it looks like it is going to attend in the same direction. Finally, the light turns green, and we slowly cross the motorway into a narrow street. The low-rise houses are half-hidden by trees - the spicy smell of linden trees in bloom wafts in through the half-open window on my side. We pass an industrial zone, a string of concrete warehouses standing tightly together, then we descend into a valley, then the road goes up the hill. Soon we stop in front of the barrier - ahead we see the car park, small groups of people here and there - tourists who have come to see the Seven Sisters, and perhaps to swim in the sea. I descend a fairly steep path down to the sea, and finally I'm down on the shore. Although there are people wandering around, I don't notice anyone, and I can't hear what they are saying. I manage to sit down on one of the rocks warmed by the sun, and just stare at the water, at the calm waves. It doesn't matter whether I exist or whether someone else is looking at the sea, as long as I stay in some incomprehensible flat that serves as my home, although my home is something out of the realm of unrealisable fantasies. But there is no law that compels one to have a country, a home, habits, a job, a family. I don’t have a country, its the country that has me, for reasons beyond my comprehension, same is relevant about that bogus home, job, family, habits. I agree to relate to some point to a number of things that are not my own, its not a big trouble. But I don't belong there mentally or spiritually. I take advantage of this oversight of the overseers of order, and slip away to where the waves reflect the light of the sky. Who I am, doesn't matter. Can be anyone, or someone you happen to know.
Moment bleeds into hour
Activity moving along
Every thought of danger
Always wanting to belong
Nothing seems to pan out
Leads surface and disappear
What is wrong with my person
No one can endure me being here
Other people have support
Mine is rescue-based
Where they always come out the hero
I'm kneeling alone...feeling debased
I'm done with going along
Getting along has cost me living
I will no longer abandon my self
To endure required giving
Liberation is death to systems
Designed to keep servants working
Overseers hired and placed
To hide around corners, always lurking
So what if it looks like I am alone
My spiritual family has my back
Daddy God designed my success
As trust learns peace in the midst of lack
Seasons come and go
This season is the point of no return
I am losing everything
That has prevented me from wanting to learn
Silence
Written by Trudy Schrader on 01-17-2026
Weep
When will you cry?
Will you cry when they kill all your dreams
or when the sun stops
setting? Or when you cannot have kids,
or when they cancel your wedding? Will it bring
you to tears when there's another 911
or you get a bill from your overseers that makes you
feel forlorn; Or when they whisper softly"
there's something wrong with your newborn" Then
will you cry? Will you cry when the poison from
the food kills your body’s natural
protection, and leaves you no longer immune?
That is around the corner waiting and will be
here soon; Doctors with
"C" averages, taking out your body parts;
Will you weep then? What
will make you cry, what does it take to make
you stand:
Misdiagnosis? You are not exempt.
Missing children or grandchildren, babies
without bottles, missing; Vacuuming pedophiles
body parts!
When will you get sick of this manure?
What will make you fight these horrors
back? It happens to Jill and It happens to Jack...
Perhaps you don't want to fight, perhaps
You think it only happens to blacks,
or browns, or poor whites; No, you don't want to
fight, you feel exempt;
But there's a tear out there waiting,
it has your fingerprint! So
keep on thinking it can’t happen to you
nothing can affect you, you have it all sorted
out, and life is not fair, but we are
breathing the same air!
So, if you think these
conditions will only affect others;
And you have your paper
money tucked safely in the
bank, you live in a different world....
so, you think! Again, I ask; What will make you
fight, what will make you cry,
When things come to the light...
when things to the light?
Your safety net has holes
in it, you are slipping
through the cracks, paper money is torn
worthless, dried up trees!
Life for others is not fair, your luck
is running scarred;
We are breathing the same air!
When the lights come on
There is nothing more to see, you
knock but can't get in;
Your names first on the list.
Your money was not that long; The
Kidney that you needed, went to one
who had much more!
Now you die from waiting, it is so
aspirating, the playing fields not even;
But now it is too late, you can no longer
wait.... So, you Die.... And so, you Die!
The puppet pranced
The strings frayed
A jackass brayed
As poppin’ hoppys
Sat and rose
In ballet dance
Of well browned nose
Applause and “clapture”
of Stockholm rapture
A mocking strut
Of failing stature
Overseers jaundiced eyes
Pundits seeking pulitz prize
Dissect the metaphoric frog
Wash it down with pints of grog
Amidst the spin of liars din
They shout pick me let’s ride again
Update quickly twitter feeds
Sating lustful twitter needs
Condense a two hour monologue
Into a twenty-five word blog
Check the facts, don’t be a chump
It’s just another “word soup” dump
John G. Lawless
©2/8/2023
Planned trips can be stifling and boring
As a spontaneous Gemini, I took a happy risk
I latched my kayak onto my jeep and drove west
Spoke to people along the way
One forest ranger suggested an isolated spot
It’s busy in the summers, but not at this time of year
The day’s skies celebrated with me as I disembarked.
Giant overseers in the way of mountains cheered me on.
There were no trills, peeps or whistles.
If there were birds, they were silent.
A splash in the water turned my head.
A circle of possibility was to my right
The water was cold, so I was glad I was wearing waders.
I pushed my orange kayak into the lake, loving the silence.
Sun spoke to clouds, and they floated off to another lake.
It was the perfect day to be alone with God.
They sit high – very high
in their echelons of such great importance,
where they can look down
on us
(all the millions of us excluded
from their exclusive group) -
from the penniless and the ever-struggling souls
to the middle class and even
to many of the upper classes -
Oh, the countless souls they have convinced
that their falsehoods are truths.
With money and with powerful connections,
and with the "so-called" science of those they bribe
to push their falsehoods,
they have insinuated themselves
into every organization of great importance,
where their ultimate purposes
can best be carried out.
The “Cancel Culture” originated with them,
for they try to silence those who oppose them.
They cause their messages
to be imprinted on the minds
of the masses through endless repitition
in the conventional media that they control.
This constant regurgitation of their messages
becomes the belief system
of nearly the entire global community.
They talk and talk and talk,
feigning interest in OUR best interests
as they sit high – very high
planning out an end game
which does not really
have all that much longer
to be played out.
March 3, 2021
for Beata Agustin's 'MY SIGNIFICANT 2021 POEM ' Poetry
My only dramatic monolgue of the year and also one of my most significant poems.
In winter's cold grip
In the land of the Angles
The Good Christians came
Against their will to a trial
In a grand city
Called the Ford of the Oxen
Good will be slaughtered
By the hands of hot fire
The hands of the judge
The home's ruler was their judge
His stare was piercing
That went with flaming outbursts
And with his red hair
And the king's false overseers
Were the proud jury
Against the thirty Christians
Who came years before
Who came to spread medicine
To heal the ones sick
Cleanse all those with leprosy
To raise the ones dead
Cleanse all those with black demons
All without a fee
But to the judge and jury
This was dark poison
That spread about pestilence
And the Good Christians
Were flees spreading everywhere
Now in England's robe
Eating away the fabric
The thirty Christians spoke thus
"Blessed are those ones
Who suffer from sword or flame
From rope or prison
Or from winter's sheer coldness
For the sake of light
For Christ and goodness itself
For they are Christ's own
They are in heaven's kingdom"
The jury looked on
In their long adorned white robes
Clenching their own fists
Feeling their ring in their palms
"Heretics!" They yelled
With that word, the trail ended
They were now guilty
Still they sang a song of life
"Blessed are those ones
Who are reviled and hated
Rejoice and be glad
For great is the light of Christ"
As red flames rose up
The king in his ruthlessness
Had all of them flogged
In the sight of the cattle
And had their brows burned
And drove them from oxen's ford
And they stripped them all
To wail and die in frost's grip
Or be still in pain
But they kept singing with joy
The king shut his mouth
For hot anger chained his lips
His freckled face scowled
All the cattle were ordered
To have no pity
And walk to the other side
If one is in sight
And not pour good oil and wine
On their bleeding wounds
And not let them find an inn
To find some shelter
They were in winter's cold chains
For nature herself
To be executioner
Those few Good Christians
Still had the spirit in them
And looked to the stars
Just as Christ laughed on the tree
They joyfully laughed
They went to this world laughing
And left this cold world laughing
President Olusegun Obasanjo- Atiku Abubakar
Promises of pardoned traitors
Reek like ancient regrets.
Exhibitions,
Steeped in rapacity.
Inured to light, they
Dominate blindly
Evoking the same air of oppression
Noteworthy of the days of yore.
Traitors in transit, trampling as they go.
Over us, they bellow.
Lording it, they rule
Under the guise of foreign dogmas,
Silence all demanding.
Egocentric beasts with rotund bellies
Gloats with our reserves.
Unaffected by the groaning of a people
Nestled in penury.
Our Overseers,
Behemoths, disguised,
Assiduously make us the
Shame of the whole world while
At perfect ease with themselves.
Neglecting the many sufferers about, they
Jostle for private vaults in Zurich as
Our poverty became their riches.
And the bespectacled gargoyle
Trenched in the prison called Rock.
Impervious to all wisdom,
Kept an unholy vigil as
Undertakers beckoned suddenly.
Archetypical simpletons, they
Bask in gaudy wealth
Untouched by the miseries surrounding them
Building high walls to keep prying eyes away.
Atop Hills, perched like Vultures,
Kleptocrat searching for new honour.
Aglow in oily garbs, they
Regale themselves, as the world looks on in amazement!
Moses hungered mightily for Canaan,
That fabled milk and honey promised land.
He ‘scaped by wading hip deep through the water
To keep from leaving footprints in the sand.
This engine sent to free you
From bondage that be keeping you down.
This engine meant to lead you
To stations on the sweet underground.
Moses tended Pharaoh’s great plantation,
And suffered by the lash like all his kind.
The overseers victimized his manhood,
And paid their Christian creed no never mind.
This engine gonna move you,
But sure don’t run on any graded road.
This engine ain’t no choo-choo,
Though good and plenty soon to be bestowed.
Moses set his vision on Mount Zion,
And wandered through the desert seeking clues.
With cloud and fire offering their guidon,
He soon became the father of the blues.
Moses hungered mightily for Canaan.
The apostle Paul God's holy servant
addresses God's chosen holy people
speaking with true royal authority
looking to God from His holy steeple
God here speaks to His very own
all of those God regards as saints
draped in the shed blood of Christ
the righteous badge God has known
The people of God are His elect
chosen before the world began
in faith endowed with divine righteousness
God's blessing put on sinful man
For this sin, God sent His beloved son
to be the sacrifice our sin to atone
on the cross, Jesus paid the price
acceptable to God who accepts no clone
God's word speaks of the holy necessity
without holiness, no one shall see the Lord
every unholy being God will reject
make sure your sins are under His sword
("Paul and Timothy, servants of Christ Jesus,
To all the saints in Christ Jesus who are at Philippi, with the overseers and deacons:
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.")
Philippians 1: 1-2 (ESV)