Long Principals Poems
Long Principals Poems. Below are the most popular long Principals by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Principals poems by poem length and keyword.
SCHAEFFER BEER BREWING COMPANY, INC. iconic advertising slogan being “ONE BEER TO HAVE WHEN YOU’RE HAVING MORE THAN ONE”
The Schaeffer Beer man being my Grandfather who worked for the company 25 years as a NIGHT FOREMAN
A mover and shaker in results
My Grandfather was outspoken and didn’t play with his words that moved productivity in the Old Williamsburg Section of Brooklyn, NY
Nestled right at the river near the Williamsburg Bridge
My Grandfather took me on a tour once, and I met the staff he supervised.
I guess my Grandfather wanted to show off his Grandson
Inspiration in me is what determination satisfies
My Grandfather got things done
I am only sorry he is no longer among
He was a man of perseverance
My Grandfather was short, but don’t let his size fool you
Just like David from the Bible, no Goliath too big nor small would Intimidate him
As my Grandfather was capable and confident
He would have never retired, but SCHAEFFER relocated from Williamsburg to Allentown, PA
My Grandfather is my Hero
He taught me Typing and had me practice 4 hours every day
He even told me business principals and preparing for college
My Grandfather also had me incorporate words from the Thesaurus
Inspiration has followed me from then to now in my adulthood
Thanks to my Grandfather
There are times his wisdom guides me in assurance in carrying me through situations that I face
I owe my Grandfather the honor in my trace
Journey on in Heaven Pop.
Celebrity Dreamscapes
Washington
Wall Street
Hollywood
Nashville
Where regurgitation overflows
And Barmecidal bait boxes
Morph their delights by the hour
All the while
Gluttony's promised feast
Ignorant of cyclic famine
Awaits the pernicious fate-agent
Scouting to burrow like a weevil
The new crop of innocence
Trusting destiny to the winds of chance
Confident redolent success smells
French perfume
Garlic enhanced delicacies
Fresh tanned leather of opulent travel
Are theirs to have
How fragrant the illusory air becomes
The temperature of anticipated fortune's shift
Where once a round-shouldered indigent freshman pounded doors
Now seemingly triumphant
Unknowingly erect as a naked rose stem
With yesterday's portent of rich reward
Rapidly sheds its petals
Mulch for tomorrow's next planting
How fleeting the enigmatic feast of notoriety
Time's incumbent qualification
For re-introducing innate principals
Cautioning today's attention
Is but a requisite for tomorrow's elusive truth
Yet
Fearful of fruitless coming years
Too few embrace cognizance over
Fading Klieg lightsParty snubs
Absent red carpet entrances
A maître d's forgetfulness
Yes
The harvesting of one's experience
Might suffer drought and winds
Scattering past efforts
To but memories of dust
Rather than priceless benchmarks
To reveal the authentic self
Yes
Such a disposition may well make "Being" difficult and distant
Where the "take a number and be seated" readout at DMV
May well become a feared test
Where waiting
Becomes a ticking-off-process
Asking if one can hold onto the simpler distant past
Those surprising coming-of-age sensations
The first time rewards of libations' survival
The generous thank you once felt by the first kiss
And yes...
One's elation upon receiving that first driver's license
We think
We review
We ponder "what price" aspiration
Ambition
So often blind to trickery
Frequently stumbles upon start marks
Not meant to be
Distant finishing lines
Not meant to be reached
Still
One can take a number
And eventually hear one's name called
To be who you are...
Or not
There is no trace of them on face book,
No matter how hard you look,
It is no better,
To go on Twitter,
And you would not want to be talked in,
To having a debate on LinkedIn.
Letters to the Editor are now,
Just for show,
At most meetings you are kicked out at nine,
Which leaves too short a time,
For the subject to define.
Table talk is all but gone,
And you would get more out of debating with a stone,
Doing it alone,
Is hard to condone.
And doing it on the phone,
Leaves one headache prone.
Soap boxes are no longer safe to stand on,
And politicians only debate when they have no legs to stand on,
As having principals is now frowned upon.
Schools still have them,
And my children did well in them,
Though the topics did not make sense to them,
Yet like me they found Toastmasters a good fit to them,
Until they outgrew them.
Occasionally we get to debate,
Which ends in a stalemate,
As one or the other disappears out the gate,
As emotions spoil the debate,
So we prefer to play Chess than end up in a state.
A weekly debate with a friend,
Gives me a small dividend,
And cheers me up no end,
Even though we are often on common ground,
The table we never pound,
And a winner is never found.
Yet I still lament,
The lack of fresh comment,
That could cement,
An outcome half decent,
In a world full of the incoherent,
That is in danger of a fast descent.
PASS THE TRASH
Poem sure to sound familiar,
Catholic church scandal recall.
Pedophiles bounced just everywhere,
predator list … kept growing tall.
Clergy, priest but now teachers, are
problematic in school classes!
“Passing the Trash” school’s call this, some
schools blind … wear rose colored glasses?
“Pass Trash” numbers are sicking,
News mentioning five principals,
three assistants, two hundred and
ninety teachers … unthinkable!
Abusers hide in school systems,
best you check, your community.
Parents advised to document,
what child tells you … or what you see.
Documentation need, check see
something matches accusations.
Be diligent, keep abusers
away from our daughters … and sons.
July 25, 2023 copyright
Contest:1232
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Tongue Study
Tongues
Steady it wags
needing to know
more, about the
the very thing that
causes wars.
peace and pain.
I study my tongue.
Much has been said
about the tongue yet
how has it pertained
to my own.
My tongue has delivered
and served, it has given
and taken, it has blessed,
it has cursed.
It has been bitten,
and it has been written,
the tongue can be tied, twisted
curt, sweet, sharp, wagging or
bragging.
It may be your
native tongue
or foreign, it may be
exciting or boring.
If quiet is your tongue
"the cat may have it".
If you use your
tongue to speak ill
of the dead, you may,
challenge a force and
be cursing your life's course.
The tongue's confession's
may sweep out
dirty secrets from the
corners of your mind.
Wise words have fallen on death
ears, words smothered by pride.
truth escaped lying eyes.
Ignoring what you saw and
twisting what was heard.
Tongues may bond
with imbeciles or angels
forming positive
or negative energy.
Be careful, mind your tongue
it is closest to your own ears
and will affect you first, rather
before the others hear.
Be not at the mercy of
an imbecilic tongue
read their eyes
and duck the darts
about to be thrown.
Do not despise the
a foreign tongue
for it is the aptitude
of the brain, the tunnel
to his bilingual, do not
expect the champions,
to cater to the dunce,
or those who can barely
master his own tongue.
In general, I have concluded
whether you live by the sword or
stand on principals, I had to
learn to manage my tongue
as I would a loaded gun.
I will not justify my tongue
when I use its power for the wrong
and neither hold my piece,
to placate the sword of the unjust.
The real power is in
the righteousness
of the speaking tongue.
For those who live by
the sharp and swarded tongue
and wield words as death
blows to the innocent,
or those who are silent,
while others suffer.
May also die
by the mighty tongue,
or by the holding of it.!
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014
1, 2, 3, 4, 5
[Soft Sultry female vocals]
[verse]
In the land of "If" somewhere this side of forgotten dreams
the world is very foggy and nothing is as it seems
There are no deadlines or plans
things just happen as they may
No new commitments made
nothing beyond today
The land of If is living in the moment
without working for your dreams
(nothing is as it seems)
[break]
[beat switch]
[bass drop]
Your dreams are somehow forgotten
among everyday ordinary things
And you have no firm goals
beyond the few day to day cares
You are in stasis
The daily grind seems to wear
Cause the land of if,
is for you to fill with your dreams
you only need to remember them
and put plans down to earn
(dreams, bucket list)
(plans to earn)
(check)
[break]
[beat switch]
[bass drop]
(nothing is as it seems)
[break]
For anything you can think of is possible too,
though the dates an times an persons may change
as things go along they are skewed.
(things can feel screwed)
[break]
But the intent it to reach nirvana
the things that will bring you to bliss
and to not live a life wondering what you did miss
[musical interlude]
Money, fame, power, unconditional love
are all available to anyone and are not a mystery above
We can get what we dream of
if we only make a plan. (make a plan)
And work it every day,
and on your principals
make a stand
(Make a stand in your home base)
(principals determine if the rest was just a waste)
[break]
[beat switch]
[bass drop]
So make your land of "IF"
a realization of your dreams
and life will never be the same again I promise you,
its as easy as it seems
(Gotta have your dreams!)
[break]
[Instrumental]
to make life worth living
you have to open that door
and dig down deep into your core
and if you realize that part of you
you will never want for more
[lyrics fade]
its the door
its the door
If
If
If
If
it will make a diff
If
[End]
Dear Graduates,
… Sometimes, a spring breeze softly blowing
whispers that a presence needn’t be seen to be felt …
… And sometimes, the people piling onto the benches
of packed bleachers sense that a sacred space
is simultaneously filling …
… And often, clustered families gleefully
crane to glimpse their cap-and-gown-clad graduate,
but once the band pipes up
and you triumphantly take the field,
you’ll know you’re in perfect view
of missed and remembered mentors rejoicing
up, up, up so high, so very high … in stadium seating …
… And usually, principals and presidents will proceed
to spawn perfunctory speeches … politely received …
by the assemblage patiently waiting …
… But always, always, count on this classic climax
creating an incredible crescendo:
Thunderous applause will
rumble through the bleachers,
rambling onto the field, and
rocket through the air,
rolling onto the heavens
as a sprinkling of caps rains
up, up, up so high, so very high
and … for a slice of a second …
before starting to tumble,
mortarboards are a sea of confetti
tipping their corners in displays of gratitude
to the angels smiling upon you … from
up, up, up so high, so very high … in stadium seating!
E. V. Wyler
Sun, moon, stars, and universe are captivations,
Scenes, sceneries, lands, landscapes are activations;
Like a child, at each lovely scene, I do wonder,
Today, to a certain concept, I surrender..!
=====
===
While third-degree punishments of severe beating,
Depriving prisoners - of food, drink; ill-treating:
With piercing needles betwixt nail and flesh and nose,
Electrocuting; What else? Who exactly knows…?
Indian prisons have become hells here on earth.
For killing and getting killed within, there's no dearth.
Poor imprisoned for the crimes of their rich masters,
Die and decay as though natural disasters...!
=====
===
Prisons of Norway are my captivation, hence.
Healing the criminals is in their moral sense;
Offenders are offended; why offend them again?
Pain is filling them; why, again, inflicting pain...?
It's another home for them though they are sinners,
Who’s not a sinner? Are all, outside, are winners...?
Environs and situations cause persons fall,
Isn't, yet, dignity given equal to all...?
Healthy food; clean shelter; reliving medicines;
Penances and atonements to get rid of their sins;
Training for the unfit to fit into this world;
Making them, in nature, like flowers to get furled...!
Dignity of women, like pearls and gems, preserved,
When needed, like remedies, protections reserved;
Male chauvinism, like cobras, when rises its hood,
Feminism too enters in and does what it should...!
=====
===
World that believes in cruelty to criminals,
Researches on these Norwegian principals;
Finds, Lo, herein, are criminal activities -
Lesser than other international cities...!
09 October 2022
Captivation Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
I was better off in my hammock, at the heart of the Amazon,
That rue Saint Marc, or rue Jules Guesde, without flames
My only enemies were mosquitoes and pirhanas,
Not the bakers, the students or the vanitous drunk,
I was better thinking of couroupitas or guaranas, (1)
In my hammock at the heart of the great Amazon, sleeping
I had seen the banana sellers, simple people like me,
Not journalists, principals or pretentious factors,
I was better in my hammock at the heart of the Amazon,
Everything was silent as in a transparent cathedral
Two or three friends were sleeping by my side in the jungle,
We could dream of black caracaras, aracaris blues,(2)
(1) these are plants from the Amazon
(2) these are birds from the Amazon
(A true story. In the year 1612, a young artist
named Artemisia Gentileschi, native of Rome,
was raped by one of her father's artist colleagues.
This is the tale of the subsequent criminal trial
and its impact on Artemisia's art.)
Prefatory Sonnet
My tale is of a rape. As plain as that.
In sixteen twelve or so, these things took place
in Rome. Her father’s friend (you smell a rat?)
surprised her in her home, that year of grace,
and robbed her of her innocence. His name
was Tassi. We’ll learn more of him anon.
Three painters are our principals, but claim
no immortality – well, maybe one.
The three were father, daughter, father’s friend,
and Artemisia (the best of all!)
She soon progressed from copy, grind and blend
and in Rospigliosi took a wall.
Today, collectors crave her canvas craft
so she laughs longest (having lastly laughed).