Long Pan out Poems
Long Pan out Poems. Below are the most popular long Pan out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pan out poems by poem length and keyword.
when younger & full of life,
idealistic with fist in the air,
hell bent on changing the world
with a communicative heart
whose capacity to give &
care for those around her/him
seemed without need to ever
replenish,
the thought that an institution
whose front seemed to be legit,
whose will to instill knowledge in
the population of those willing
seemed pure & true,
never seemed to register.
so onto college went the aspiring
world-changer,
doing all they could to study hard
to be involved in the community
to picket when needed, to protest
when driven, and on and on went
the wonderful world of
hope,
until
graduation.
now the taming came when the
bills started to clock in,
for the job promised by the admin
staff in the human resources dept.
at the college,
just wasn’t there, when the student
got out,
so the scramble to climb back up the
tree trunk,
in order to get back in that academic
nest,
began---
but this time, the stress of life on the outside
forced the individual to be scrapping for a
way to pay the rent while also
applying to a grad school &
the new dual distribution of energy
just didn’t pan out like it used to,
because the student had been
off the wagon,
so to speak.
in attaining a job to pay the bills,
without health insurance or
permanent status promised,
the lies began to show their face &
the idealistic student now became the
angry individual
whose whole attempt to become a
“better citizen”
had been shown to be an ordeal
not really worth having unless one
wants to be a slave to the loan companies &
therefore, a slave to the established status quo
of indifferent self-struggle,
which became par for the course
when the taming began.
now, without time to get out in the streets,
as there had been,
political motivation to change the world
morphs into a combination of
dissatisfaction with the slow outcomes &
a sense of failure in many different spheres---
now out of the academic loop &
locked into the work force,
the tamed, frustrated,
slave to the system
bows down their head to offer up their mind to the
chopping block &
uncle sam raises up the axe,
until down it comes thrashing
with all the glory of a good, solid,
decapitation.
It was on a Sunday morning in the village where I stay
Out walking with my dog, I heard some pensioners say
Did you hear about the earthquake, it was somewhere in our State
No magnitude has ever been like it, it's impossible to relate
Quickly I headed home, to view this terrible news
Upon turning on the TV, I'm in horror at what my eyes now view
The awesome Golden Gate Bridge, against an azure bluey day
Lies broken, distorted and twisted, as if it's foundations had given way
The camera now focuses on the mainland, capturing plumes of choking black
Freeways lie twisted and contorted, trains running from their tracks
Gas lines spew throwers of flames, sirens resonate in blaring sound
What was level hours before, have dropped from it's original grounds
Many reporters are now on the scene, as they pan out across the blue
From the helicopter of CNN, Alcatraz disappears from their view
Slowly the island it sat on, as if by magic, now it has gone
Words are heard through the speakers, what the hells gone wrong
The daylight turns to black, a city lies in shreds
Memories of 1906, when three thousand plus were dead
All through the night, tremors came and went
Has history repeated itself, the San Andreas Serpent
I am awoken in the morning, having left the TV on
Panic stricken reporters screaming, most of San Francisco's gone
Where once stood a city, lie pillars of battered ruins
Deep gorges surround them, in bloodied scattered strewn
There's a break in the programme, it's from Yellowstone National Park
The land is starting to rise, incredible is the remark
Geysers that once flowed often, have receded in their shower
Are we about to witness, another of her powers
Back to the CNN studios, more footage of the morning
Towering inferno's in sickened tears, the clock, the warning
I fall to my knees in remembrance of the date
It's December the 21st, has earth met it's fate
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-17.php
I never thought things would pan out this way
I figured i'd be alone for ever
No friends needed or required
They were simply not necessary
But here I am now
3 years into the future
I have so many friends
that to please them all
Is a huge feat in itself
So to juggle these friends
Like circus clowns juggle pins
It's really a difficult thing
Cause where does my happiness
fall into this process that's starting
to feel like manal labor
Sometimes I feel like i'm filling to capacity
Trying to please one and than the other
gets mad at me
Why do I always have to be a good friend?
I mean it's easier said than done
Especially when your juggling more than one
Where did all the fun go?
It went right out the window
I need a vacation
A lacky to take my place for a minute
So I can go back to the days of being alone
I'm not saying it was better
I'm just saying back than I only had one to worry about
and that was myself
I'm tired of juggling
The word of discovery of gold in '49 in Californy raced across the nation!
Why, it was said you could fill a bushel basket full with little botheration!
This appealed to a young feller in Boston town named Clancy Wiggins,
Who forthwith trailed the sun west to help himself to his share of diggin's!
In them days to make the trek you had a choice of travelin' by land or sea.
He chose the sea carin' not a whit for wagon trains or tanglin' with Cherokee!
Clancy left his mom and dad, Spike his dog and Sarah Jane his fiancee,
Fixin' to strike it rich, return safe and sound to marry-up with her one day!
In March of '49 he boarded the ship Barnacle and sailed from the Boston quay.
'Twas cold and icy, the sea was rough, he was sea-sick, not a cheerful day.
They tacked to and fro and three months later transited perilous Cape Horn!
Four months later they reached San Francisco, both man and ship badly worn!
Clancy bounded off the ship anxious to head fer them thar hills and streams.
He bought the necessaries needed to accomplish his far-fetched dreams.
Includin' shovels, boots, jeans and grub as well as a sassy mule named Fred,
Plus pots and pans and a tent to 'batch' in to lower costs and overhead.
Fer nigh on a year he panned, dug and sluiced searchin' fer that pot of gold,
Sufferin' claim jumpers, cheatin' partners, floods, rain, snow and cold!
Now and then he'd pan some dust or a nugget, but didn't amount to much;
What he found he quickly blew on gamblin' whiskey, wimmin and such!
His venture didn't 'pan out' like them lying Californy hucksters said it might.
He sold Fred and his belongin's since his future as a miner didn't look bright.
Clancy left Boston with 21 bucks and left Californy with 18 bucks in his jeans.
It might be said that he didn't arrive back in Boston as a man of means!
Hatched from an egg, larva begins gathering around massive trees;
consuming enough leaves sufficient for morphing within chrysalis.
Once this process is a success, reconfigured caterpillars nibble and wiggle their way out.
Something extraordinary happens—
Atomic metamorphosis liberates an epiphany.
Majestic, colorful creatures emerge—
Beautiful butterflies make birth, liberated larva bloom, flourish and blossom
A state away from cocoon, a graceful performer sets sail.
Boating across blue skies, butterflies float in thin air.
Rays of sunlight break amid overcasting clouds.
Bright shiny wings vibrantly glisten.
Seeing colors, happiness smiles and goosebumps pan out shivers.
Butterflies of beauty miraculously appear.
Viewing spectacular enlightenment—
Bearing witness to an irrefutable, sighted stupendousness.
Delighted butterflies reminisce, recalling life as larva.
Remarkably capable of flying anymore, professing subject ability by becoming remarkably adept; nearly instantaneously.
And no matter how ugly the world may seem; at times—
Butterflies of beauty allow belief, tarrying wings of hope.
Metamorphic, frosted cookies maintain my emotional environment; anchoring momentous love.
Inclined to bind a beating heart—
Now filled through butterflies of beauty, deep blue eyes shine, reflecting love and life; unveiling romantic harmony.
1/09/17
For contest sponsored by Mystic Rose.
For fifteen years I’ve watched the world,
Seen the flags of ‘we’ versus ‘them’ unfurled,
I may be young, but don’t you underestimate,
The potential I have to overcome, and to dominate.
It seems the powers that be are perturbed,
Their once firm grip on society is disturbed,
For what they miscalculated, or failed to see,
Is that overbearing control does not earn loyalty.
So despite all the censors, the rules, and the lies,
The chaos is growing right before our eyes,
Though we paid for ‘security’ with voluntary cuffs,
There will come a time when the people have enough.
When **** hits the fan, what would you prefer?
To get information from the source, or use the media to infer?
To infer the truth about the goings-on around you,
To know before things happen, and understand the ‘why’ too?
We’re now at a crossroad, a difficult decision,
One road is normality, the other is broadening my vision,
I can live out my life and fulfill normal goals;
I can change my direction and be at the controls.
And though neither is right and neither is wrong,
The question remains, how would you carry along?
Each option results in its own implications,
The effects of this choice could be seen for generations.
Although I am still pondering what I should do,
This crossroad will also pan out before you.
And so, choose wisely which path you will seek,
But commit to it fully, this choice is unique.
Les C. More back from the vay-cay holidays,
giving my poetry peeps
a look-see at an odd Klondike meet
He ain’t nothing but
small potatoes
Trying to live
big-talk lettuce large
His backsliding snowshoes
walk so holey
That short con grifter grin
spin tall tales —
Green giant beanstalk
talk guacamole-y
Mucho moneybag dreams
full of empty air,
that don’t ever avocado amount to nothing
Small-time schemes
of simple-minded plans,
which never pan out ... sub zero foul headed south
Always bringing in less than nothing
He ain’t never gon bandito be nothing
but a small fry —
Small-time peso, catphish criminal
on an asphalt pond coin hustle
Pennywise pygmy putting on froggy airs,
croaking a tough guy cry ... squirting big croc tear lies
Acting like dollar store muscle
But his big, bad Canadian woofs
be a poodle scare farce,
French barks full of nothing ...
giving him kennel plenty caged time
to have more polarizing, petty cell thoughts —
Little gray matter blowing
big bluster got busted ... Arctic cop caught
Leprechaun brain freeze melting grandiose dreams
into Yukon fools gold, iron bar moonbeams
Solitary mote musings eyeing elephantine endings:
more get-rich angles, poach-the-poor fantasies
Tiny-hearted man with big swindle hands,
always got a large lung bag of con
for holding paper vapors less than nothing
You need to do this
It would be better if you
...did it my way
My way, well, I don't know
I'm still figuring it out
....along the way
Ways,days, leave me dazed
With confusion, illusion, and conclusions
....that never pan out
But I want you to listen
I have important things to say
....I'm a poet, for goodness sake
Words, like perfectly formed turds
Still stink when they are delivered
....no matter how tightly wound
A wounded wound, makes a distinguished sound
On the piano of the heart
....like a weighted string
B R e
a
k
ing.....trying to take on one more note
The pressure of holding it together
Giving way...to the thud, of words
.....pianos float notes...not words
The beauty of rhythm and flow, gone
The whipping of the string, finally free
....to make noise in the air
with WHOever is there
daring to care
for the broken great.
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-30-2018
Note: Fear communications are so damaging...just had to walk away. Also, it's a wounded (injury) wound (past tense of wind...ahhh...words make me silly with joy).
You know, its been in most fimiliard circles that the saying is...."tomorrow is
not promise to you". Yet 7 day's a week the census of time passes us hour by
hour, minute by (?) you know. The way of creation dictates why so many fimil-
iard people's live with so much sorrow. Do we tell them also that "No Tomorrow's,
no need to expect hope, hope in exceedily better yesterdays that promises a
chance at lease, if you get up-pitty is replace with No Tomorrow's".
You know, its been said by the glamour of religious folk's of scholar, that the mea-
sure success of rules and regulation, help determine how far some churche's bridge
out into the community. But what if the same bridge only pan out to certain people's
with Dollar for dollar faith in a God of wealth and presteige.
The word of God tells us that the death on a tree is an atonement that reunite be-
lievers unto his Kingdom. That the light brings one from the darkside who's suffering
despair and horrow's. It will give some strength, some the knowledge that heaven is
a better place when the bridge offer's a one way road to all that know the word is my
foundation, in a world that thrive's on, "No Tomorrow's.
Not long to go now until we are
told we will know
How the next 4 year's are bound
to pan out
As the way it's been reported on
it's almost like we have a casting
vote or have a say in it ourselves
Bering in mind however or whichever
way it pan's out it is entirely up
to them not us
I highly doubt they care what we think
anyway as they have far more pressing
problems to deal with
And when such a big deal is made
of Russian interference why or how
come we don't feel the need to but
out either
If you believe in the supposition
that the news media are the so
called all knowing visionaries
they proport to be like our very
own BBC
Then this election is moot anyway
And just how much power can
or does a President really wield
in an actual democracy
Only a Dictator who rules by
an iron fist is trully blessed
with the gift of absolute power
Ask any old ordinary folk who lives
in say Russia, China, Iran, Afghanistan
or Saudi Arabia
On the basis of if no one is looking
over there shoulder or they are
reading verbatim from a script
Pause, smile for effect praise
the leader and maybe you will
see your family again