Long Players Poems
Long Players Poems. Below are the most popular long Players by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Players poems by poem length and keyword.
Like all Earth's timeless Muses,
Musicians never die,
we just keep improvising
on resonant themes of fading elder voices.
Apathy, especially about Earth muses,
is not necessarily an inevitable pathological anti-empathic EgoCentrism
Growing cynical about life's authentic opportunities
need not always invite death's terminating risks.
Muses have never said we are realistic
or rational,
thinking only of narrow walls
protecting fearful and angry anthro-capital city demi-gods.
Sacred Muse resident cooperatives
could become mutually inviting and resonant places
without capital-driven anthropocentric Win/Lose competitions.
Resonant therapeutic music
and healthy movement
can yet emerge from liberal democratic trust
and conservational respect
among compassionate bicameral players
and workers,
parents and mentors and musing trust teachers,
more musical ensemble preachers,
interdependently non-sectarian,
cooperatively unspecialized.
When green ultra-nonviolent Muses fail
to ecosystemically see and hear
beyond narrow walls of short-term Win/Lose capital investment,
resonant cooperation among us Muses
becomes yet another revolutionary anthem
remembering long-term economic
and political longing,
biological
and Earth-logical DNA
of and for creative Muse resilient voices
fading and swelling,
breathing out compassion,
breathing in cooperative co-relations,
Like cytosine interbreeding with uracil,
yin with yang,
out-flowation with information
matriarchal with patriarchal
RightBrain induction with LeftBrain deduction
southern river valleys with northern mountain glaciers
resonant with resilient
singing with dancing
ultraviolet with green
bilateral TaoTime with 4D FractalSpace
sacred with secular
theological with ecological
balancing Truth with Beauty Muses.
Musicians never die,
we just keep Win/Win improvising
with resonant themes of fading WiseElder voices.
I saw a hockey game last night
It was there that I saw the fight
The one that some saw as a brawl
While others stated, “It’s part of the game after all.”
I saw a hockey game last night
And it made me wonder
Yes I know we have come a long way
But the crowd cheered and the noise felt like thunder.
There were punches
And there was blood.
And the “settling of the score”
And some in the crowd wanted more.
I saw a hockey game once
Perhaps it was played in my mind.
I thought it was played right
I think it took place somewhere outside of time.
Maybe it has yet to happen… I don’t know
Perhaps it happened a long time ago.
And they played for the game
For the love of stick and puck in a having fun domain.
It was hockey and that I’m sure
There was skating on ice and speed
And shots that hit the nets
And the cheers came from the players’ silhouettes.
I saw a fight today
On the internet and it took place not far away.
It happened in a school yard they said
The two wanted to “settle the score”, is what I read.
I saw a hockey game last night
It was there I saw the fight.
The one that some saw as a brawl
While others stated, “It’s part of the game after all.”
‘All the world ‘s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.’ (As You Like it Act 2, Scene 7)
(A Sonnet Inspired by Shakespeare)
The Hollow Stage
We slip upon a stage unmade by hands,
as viewers' eyes, like spotlights, burn above.
Our script is scrawled in fusain, as per plans
of carved agonies, most disguised as love.
Our opening verse in screams and gasps for breath,
then crawl through acts of mischief and of pride.
A longing laced libretto until death,
while swapping roles in masks we wear to hide.
The victim dies, the set with danger fraught,
the hero fails, the clown cries on the scene.
Elusive dreams are cheaply sold and bought.
Our exits come abrupt, precise and clean.
We play our parts yet know the truths engage,
that curtains fall and hollow is the stage.
At this time, I would like to thank
Chairman Xi and Chairman Fauci
For injecting that golden virus into my life.
I get plenty of overtime, although some of my coworkers have died.
I'm not much of a people person, so the social distancing isn't a problem.
I actually prefer 6 miles between myself and the nearest person.
I'm pretty plain, so the mask has been a significant gain.
I'm enjoying the wide-open roads and spaces.
I don't do the shopping, so I don't have to battle
the gas-gulping gangs nor the toilet paper mafia.
Truth is I'm flourishing although many are rattled.
When this gain-of-function charade comes to an end.
America and the rest of the FREE world
will come out stronger than ever-
The power players and billionaires-
will be overexposed and hopefully disposed of.
The gene pool is going to run a little leaner and cleaner.
As they say, only the strong are deemed worthy to survive.
P.S. Thank you, Xi, for your viral dream for mankind.
Now, if you would let your people vote, you might win the Nobel Peace Prize.
I was once a king in the empire of commerce,
a CEO crowned with gold not by wisdom,
but by the endless flow of numbers on a ledger.
My pockets were full, yet my heart —
a barren desert thirsting for rain.
The more I drank from the chalice of wealth,
the more parched my soul became;
money was seawater,
it promised relief,
yet deepened the ache of my thirst.
I believed riches would buy freedom,
but they purchased only fear,
a thousand sleepless nights,
and admiration that bent like reeds in the wind,
admiration bought — never earned.
I labored not for love of the craft,
but to keep the machine turning,
to feed the illusion,
to maintain a throne carved of fragile glass.
Even as I traveled the globe,
I saw the same masquerade:
value weighed not by virtue,
but by the weight of one’s vault.
Wealth had become theater,
its stage set with golden curtains.
The rich paraded as actors,
clothed in applause that was never real,
while the poor — seated in silence —
remained the unwilling audience.
And with all my riches, I was hollow.
Gold echoed louder than my own voice;
diamonds sparkled, yet darkened my soul.
I learned at last:
money cannot buy happiness,
it can only counterfeit its glow.
If respect may be purchased,
then respect itself is debased;
if honor bends to currency,
then honor is lost.
And so I saw the truth:
society has become a game,
its rules written by the rich,
its players trapped,
its meaning vanished.
The hunger for money —
a hunger that devours the man himself,
until nothing remains
but a shadow in a gilded cage.
My inspiration is Joe Bonassamo's cover of Midnight Blues
with fantastic, amazing blues guitar playing and voice
~ and my lyrics go like this ~
its dark dark in my soul at midnight
and I'm miles from being well
tried to sleep but drank instead
from my open window a guitar is wailing
the jazz club down the street is rocking
the midnight blues
and I am swaying in the midnight dark
dark, dark like black ink
cannot sleep cause I'm down, down low
so dark in my soul I am lost
and I take another drink of bourbon
and I am swaying in the midnight dark
dark, dark like black ink
cannot sleep cause I'm down, down low
so dark in my soul I am lost
and I take another drink of bourbon
this drifting guitar captures me
wraps me in a warm blanket of soulfulness
and I am swaying in the dark
miles from being well
and I am swaying in the midnight dark
I can feel the guitar's soul
the players fingertips upon those strings
he squeezes every note and makes it linger
as it drifts in the midnight dark
dark, dark like black ink
and then his voice soothing, oh so soothing
like a lover whispering
I can feel the guitar's soul
the players fingertips upon those strings
he squeezes every note and makes it linger
as it drifts in the midnight dark, the darkest night
dark, dark like black ink
and then his voice so soothing, oh so soothing
like a lover whispering
like a lover whispering
as I sway in the midnight dark, dark
dark as ink, dark, dark like black ink
and I am falling, falling, falling, falling
lost in his voice
his guitar
like a lover whispering
as I sway with my imagination
to the . . .
midnight blues
oh the dreamy, dreamy
midnight blue
I feel like Archimedes building calculus from scratch;
Got a lever I can lean on, but the fulcrum doesn’t match.
You’ll find them on the scoreboard
And every roulette wheel.
They help you cheat at blackjack
By sweetening the deal.
I feel like Isaac Newton making gravity a game,
Setting poetry in motion, riding Kepler’s horse to fame.
They figure into interest rates
to calculate the yield,
And help the fans identify
The players on the field.
I feel like Alan Turing cracking codes at Bletchley Park,
Decrypting the enigma of injustice in the dark.
They calculate the census,
And quantify amounts.
They’re handy for those vultures
Who tally body counts.
I feel like when Bob Seeger sang of bad arithmetic,
And rocked his Silver Bullet Band in Hindu Arabic.
They give a helpful estimate
Of what we’ll have to pay.
Just amortize your mortgage rate
And wait for Judgement Day.
Ex-WoW Player’s Hate Me.
...I’ll still be playing with my little Gnomies,
Guildie Homies
And a big ol’ Boar.
Are you keeping score?
If not write a recipe.
I just learned three and it thrilled me to pieces.
Time to take a pause...
You need the applause,
For claiming your game is better, ok, whatever. Whether, or whenever, or whatever you say to me,
I hold my disbelief in your entire mentality.
You have never been right about anything about me! Never have been.
Never will be.
Nothing’s changing but the weather,
And whatever the score I’m still here playing, Whatever it is you’re saying,
But some noob needs advice,
So do you get what I’m saying?
Brb to you when I’m in the mood.
Got to go make my Tauren Paladin say Moo!
Not to you of course,
You’re busy murdering pixels in your chosen game,
Your chosen Call,
But I only kill these things in a fantasy world.
Don’t need realism in my imagination.
Don’t care for a nation, or a flag to fly under.
I have a dragon to ride
And a bridge to swoop under just for fun, yeah.
Go find another new game to own
And I will still be here playing WoW.
It’s a thing that I got
And you ain’t taking it from me!
D’jah get me?
Got Bone through the speakers and some herbs to get. This calls collect; do you wish to accept?
Or just close your eyes to the possibility
Of anybody but you being right?
Aight!
Peace!
I’ll leave you to it.
You can keep on talking.
I’m out of here...
Grinding you down is sooooo boring.
(C)2025 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
It is good to know what we resist,
but my best way of knowing
is by self and other showing
what we together
would more health wealthily
assist.
You might assume
the only way to effectively resist patriarchalism
is to fight.
Turns out,
fighting may be the surest way
to already have lost the battle,
and to continue losing
an ecofeminist war.
You might think the only possible way to win
is if all other players lose,
but what, then,
have we the OnePercent gained
toward healthy resilience
and safe peace on Earth?
You might assume the only way to gain power
is to compete
with surpassing strength
for economic and political victory.
I might guess another way to empower
is to cooperate
for healthier
sustainable flow-with
empowering enlightenment
more resonant in compassionate relationships
than suspiciously lacking robust
interdependent
communication networks.
As for patriarchalism,
probably far more erectile dysfunction
is the result of intentional economic neglect
than vindictive political abuse
and threats of war-mongering.
Experiential peace and beauty
and truth and trust messages
trying to break through LeftHemispheres
fascinated,
sometimes mystified,
by enigmatic
elliptical
sacred words,
scriptures,
messages
deep pre-historic passion feelings
Preferring win/win climate health Paradise
over win/lose ego/ecologically pathological risks,
chronically dissonant cognitive minds
at war with affective body issue
nerve tissues
bipolar stressed
As processed by Either/Or LeftHemisphere
dominantly StraightWhite monocultural
patriarchal not-listening
jumping to deduction
reductions
not able to hear inductive WholeEarth
interdependent EarthMother ReCreation,
over the sound and constant lights
of fossil-fueled degenerating
militantly industrialized
colonizing
bad karma energy
Instead,
our co-investments
in cooperative wealth systems
restore multicultural EarthJustice
AND
restory Earth's green peace
ecofeminist narrative
In which
we too often assume
the only way to effectively resist patriarchalism
is to fight.
I will be quite honest with you
this girl does not know a thing about football or soccer
men or women's, not a thing . . .
but, I can feel the excitement of what is happening in France
especially the opening game on Monday with my
country of Canada vs Cameroon . . .
and WOW, Hoot, Hoot, VICTORY for Canada !!!!!!
of course, its a four week tournament so anything can happen
but being a Canadian let me wave our flag-
I am so proud of these amazing athletic women
and their fighting spirit to win, win, win . . .
so proud- not just for the Canadian women but all
the players on every team from all over the world
for their dedication and work to be the best they can be
and for representing the women of the world-
oh yeah, I like women who play the game of football soccer !
_________________________
June 11, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/Their Fighting Spirit To Win
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1151-602-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, 2019 FIFA Women's Cup France
sponsor, Mark Toney
Third Place