Long Producers Poems
Long Producers Poems. Below are the most popular long Producers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Producers poems by poem length and keyword.
WWII has been over for 66 years &
for some reason those responsible for the production of captain america: the first avenger
think that now is a good time to bring back a douche bag
who was originally called “super american”
by his creator, joe simon
(an obviously generic label amongst all the other “super” heroes that was even too much
for the morons at marvel to run with),
& so the captain was born
because
“there weren’t a lot of captains” in comics.
originally this super american punched
hitler in the face & sold almost a million
copies when that first march 1941 issue
hit the newsstands,
capitalizing on a war fervor that was
explosive in the US before pearl harbor had
even been attacked---
super american & his sidekick “bucky” went
on to fight more nazis & the japanese until
bucky died & was replace by “betsy ross,”
the super american’s fbi agent girlfriend---
modeled on the woman who is said to have
sewn the first american flag, betsy did not revive
the dying series,
mainly because the nationalism that was burning bright
during “the great war”
had burnt out during the cold war period &
so the captain & his flag sewing girlfriend ended up
ceasing after 75 issues,
by which time the whole fiasco had been retitled
captain america’s weird tales---
such justice doesn’t happen often,
it is a shame that it took 75 issues to bring it
about.
now that this new film is about to be release out into the world,
given the state of america’s wonderful reputation
(a bit different than in 1941) as the world’s policeman
who stops at nothing to rape this planet of its natural resources,
squeezing every last drop into its own mouth,
one might wonder how the producers of this film expected to
bring in a dime---
isn’t it bad enough that bombs, troops & drones are storming into
other countries?
now we have to throw it up on the silver screen as well?
it turns out that the film’s title is to be changed for release in
russia, south korea & the ukraine
to only the first avenger.
just what exactly is this super american avenging now?
it seems that now the big
bad
boogeyman
is
us & if there was anyone to be
avenged,
it would be
those that we have stomped on,
those that we continue to stomp on &
those
who we plan on stomping on in the future.
...Oliver had saved up the cash
to buy into his employer’s franchise,
bought his own store, aggressively courted
every rancher in the countryside.
Soon enough the cash flow was well in the black,
so Oliver and the bartender wed,
bought their own house and were soon expecting,
he cared nothing for what the people said.
Jack, still drinking, played the Hollywood scene,
was a fixture of the wild nightlife,
soon he was in the tabloids again
when he knocked up a girl he knew one night.
He managed to keep working in film,
supporting roles were the best he could get,
with alimony and child support
he found himself slipping into the red.
When he crashed his car into his front door
he was quickly shuffled off to rehab,
in what would be the first trip of many,
the addiction had a grip on him bad.
But still he managed to get some work,
and when folks saw his face on the air,
they’d look at Oliver, mumbling how,
“That brother never went anywhere.”
Now Hollywood is a hot-bed of rumors,
and a disturbing percentage are true,
soon tales spread of Jack’s early acting days,
and all the things a new actor has to do.
Rumors of giving favors to producers,
insinuations of oral sex,
some said that was why her drank so damn much,
and why relationships left him vexed.
Whatever the case, on the internet,
the rumors became an ongoing meme,
his reputation thrown in the toilet
by GIFs and infographics obscene.
Oliver, back in fair Nebraska,
really had no reason to complain,
he had three kids and sold big equipment
to half the ranchers on the Sand Hills range.
Nobody was making memes out of him,
no reporters were snooping through his trash,
tabloids were not undermining his marriage,
and he was making more than enough cash.
He had six stores and a seventh coming,
and a hundred acres tied to his home,
a life or both family and friends sincere,
the general public did leave him alone.
The only thing that could worry Oliver
was what would happen to his brother Jack?
How many stars had walked down that same road,
and how many of them had never come back?
Though Jack’s state would weight hard on his mind,
and hear feared to see him drowning in despair,
Oliver couldn’t help but laugh at the folk
who thought it was he who was going nowhere.
Designs we find democratically attractive
include designs for acquiring healthy trust powers
with all others to be positively infected
by our mutual discussion,
dialogue, respectful discernment,
our listening with silently authoritative skills
before responsibly speaking,
Democratic designs acquire cooperative consensual power
of a healthy
robust
resilient
care-giving super-majority,
Messiahs, economic and politically empowering actors,
producers of well-being,
empirical without imperialism,
without pietistic Raptures,
historical escape magic-hatches
removed from RealTime felt and thought integrity,
heart and mind synergy
Still actively listening for remaining white supremacists,
anti-democratic colonizing fundamentalists,
un-evangelicals too clear only about what we are against
while teaching Sunday School
and weekday extractive extorting capitalist competitions,
calling out fellow slum lords,
watching enviously while weapon sales
generously feed automated death lobbyists,
and mystify angry ecofeminists
about what we stand healthy for
Nondualistic, undividing natural health from spiritual wealth
responding to left-brain dominant designs
with monoculturing effects
disempowering into self-isolating fear
and anger
and bigotry,
lack of courageous curiosity
to empathize with anti-democratic intolerance.
This difference between democratic cooperative designs of attraction
and anti-democratic capitalist principles
of egotistical design,
incorporatistic
monoculturing extractions from MotherEarth refinements
Health care supported by all
who would replace aristocratically misshaped
distant patriarchal God the SunFather
with Gaia the Original AtHand EarthMother.
All who would replace left-brain dominant thinking
with left/right bicameral prominence
of win/win
faith/hope
thought/feelings
about ego health attracting eco-wealth
more than worrying too awfully either/or
win/lose much
about extracting ego wealth from everyday resident designers
eco-healthier
nondualistic SunGod/Gaia dialogue refiners
of romance
mythos
logos eco-habitat voices
with theo/democratic cooperative trust empowerment
enlightenment
enjoyment,
awesome sacred/secular wonder
revisiting lavishly holy/holonic designs.
The Useful Guru
Melanie heard of a remarkable man,
with a groundbreaking view on life,
millions of people watched his videos,
learned how to deal with daily strife.
She found herself in a bad place,
her career not going so well,
so she went to him on weekend,
her deep issues, she would tell.
She said,”It’s so hard as a woman,
to get anywhere in this world,
the glass ceiling keeps me down,
they’ll never respect us girls!
I need to know how I should go,
’cause I’m sick and tired of it!
How do I get my six figures?”
Said the guru,”Work hard, don’t quit.”
Jamal was a child of the projects,
no father, bad schools, and gangs,
he’d spent night in prison, more than once,
had been jumped, has his bell rang.
So he went in to find the guru,
to ask him for his advice,
he said,”Man, they’re all out to get me,
make me suffer, live by knife.
A guy like me cannot get ahead,
they don’t like my coal-dark skin,
The Man is determined to suppress me,
it's all over before I begin!
How do I get on out of this place,
I’m tired of the grime and grit.”
Guru said,”Nobody is ‘suppressing, you,
wanna leave? Work hard, don’t quit.”
Russel was born to put on a show,
a magnetic soul on the stage,
he pounded pavement, worked auditions,
but still very rarely was paid.
He found the guru hoping that he
could help him with his career.
He said,”I feel like it’s a circle,
and that I don’t get anywhere.
My friends say I should play ‘the game,’
that it’s how the industry works,
they say I can’t expect my merit
to impress these studio jerks.
But I’m not gonna get on my knees,
not for a part or a bit,
am I a fool just wasting my time?”
Said the guru,”Work hard, don’t quit.”
A reporter came seven years later,
he’d heard of guru many claims.
“Melanie Cox, the big C.E.O.
says you helped her get to fame.
And my buddy Jamal says that you
helped him leave the ghetto.
The actor, Russel Zane, credits you
with pushing him to bigger roles.
So many people are now swearing by
the things they hear you say,
my producers are interested to know
what exactly is you game?
How do you get such great results,
can you tell me your secret?
Guru said,”It’s no damn mystery.
Wanna win? Work hard, don’t quit.”
“Cause there ain’t no other way…”
The show must go on from evening till morn; the show must go on in the midst of the storm, get the manuscript and recuse that man from the pulpit, get the director, producer, crew members and actors and upgrade the show before the end of December. Find another pitch to postulate the truth and reveal the intricacy of my adolescence and youth.
The show must go on when resources are low, the show must go on if you have nowhere to go, and if your father is dead you have to let the dead bury the dead, and get on the stage to compete the mission before for it’s too late. Find another rhythm that everyone can dive in; find another tune that we can listen to at noon. And when the time is right we will roll out a new dice.
The show must go on so spread the manuscript on the grass, the show must go on even when the day is dark; the director must re-organize the set and position the actors for a new bet; producers’ must recruit new audience and sponsor the actors on the set, when the finance gets low the producer must revive the show and give all participants something to start with; and when the day is done you must all get together and have fun.
The show must go on when everyone except the star is dead; the moon will provide company and comfort you in your bed; and the universe will embrace you when rockets are flying over your head. The show must go on when fire engulfs your bed and visitors are moving out of the town, going Around and around, just to start right back from where they began.
The show must go on when faces are sad and smile is welled up in your stomach, and when the boss gets mad at you and you don’t know what to do, you have to know how to talk your way through, the show must go on when am not around, the show must go on when you want to frown, the show must go on until eternity, people will come and go and you just have to be part of the show.
The show is about seven generation and their family. Each one is selected to serve a pivotal role in a special time cycle. How did you enter the crew fighting for something that doesn’t belong to you, the new pm a no none a you; your generation is of a different clan and just one person is selected to lead the band so the show must go on. to bring blessing all over the land.
water weeps wildly
whilst washing away your
jesting foolery.
I saw the sun annihilated
Against backdrops of liturgy
Lethargic activity that earns
It’s title as the Earth’s endearing child
Against backdrops of monogamy,
Pedestrian thinking,
Accelerated usage,
Lapping up mentalities from bowls of pulled poultry,
Doing nothing for the Universe, Yet stealing all unities,
Dissention and green lights and babies birthed and apostrophes in time,
Influencing the way we work on thinking of ourselves as HUMANS, As people, not things.
Growths, from children to adults, the contortion of time, the peeling of fate, the sweet sugar coating like a scab on your life,
Bleeding out of your heart and seeing out of your eyes and feeling through your brain and feeling through your synapses.
Here are the producers of the broad way show of assimilation
Here are the problems, Here are the irregularities with the hole in the boat, But don’t worry everything is now under…
Black as a burn on white , yellow as a can of
Cream, not yellow at all.
Not nothing but irregularities we perceive as
Potential ingredients in life.
But in greed, is what we are, in need
Not so much, Thinking SO outside
Of the box, that the box has grown
Legs and walked away and has grown
A full beard and a full head of ideals.
And we are trapped outside of this fully
Matured matron of mystic answers.
And we are pleading to God to be let
back in...
But you know something, GOD IS IN THAT BOX TOO.
And you know something else, inside all of us
Is a little box opening when
It's ready to breed a plague of
Insatiable urges.
A quest for self.
A journey through self.
Black and blue benches where a man sits,
Breathing, he breathed.
Waiting for his anti-matter mother to annihilate him,
But less than he believes because anti-matter
Kills not what it touches, But what it needs to
Kill itself.
A piano, might be boxy and Brute-Like
But might mean more than piano
To you.
It might mean the 'end is nigh'
For music is the sound we hear to
feel forsworn,
to feel filthy inside of ourselves.
GOOD, GOOD
But remember, the Doctor is here
And he is watching from inside
The box, and he's sitting over a cup of tea,
With GOD,
In that BOX
In the lovely Dublin theater
where dreams are fulfilled
excited spectators hushed
In the silence of the night
with avid expectancy,
Bucks Fizz entered the stage
his music is a hidden gem
waiting to be performed
In a lovely breeze
a mellow silk thread was spun
akin to the moon's silky glow
I have hopeful dreams.
In the song 'Making Your Mind Up,'
they sang with clear voices
the audience leaned in
ready to hear
words have hidden meanings
with significant implications.
a galaxy of splendor
It's unlike ordinary life.
and are held captive
within its seductive embrace.
With voices that soar
they danced and whirled
with every movement
a lovely expression displayed
skirts swung
In utopian harmony
A glimpse into the future
they were whirling
every rotation brought free flowers
a touch of cosmic charm
a trail of delicate silver threads
from sparkling strands
Into the waiting hands below
voices burst with delight
they showed me their weary souls
while others can't consume
allow yourself to cry
whether from pure joy
evolved from a deep well of sadness.
weary spirits found rest
from exhaustion after a while
amid Eurovision magical lure
time stood still
the brine singer gaze
large and tender
someone uttered a song
that aimed to unify hearts
and whisk spirits away from here!
"This song was crafted for you, my beloved,"
she sang with a sense of urgency
then it accelerated
It's as graceful as a waltz
under the dancing stars.
twisting and falling from
skies above, to earth beneath
bystanders were enthralled
they left me behind, lost in a daze,
their devastated feelings
the beat captures my attention.
Where the tides of time glide
as the final note reached the air,
they were aware of this peculiar world
Under the stars
Bucks Fizz was presented
beyond just their vocals,
they weaved their magical gifts
similar to fabric producers
creating something fascinating
Their skirts pointed outward
akin to arrows
To faraway places
Where love and aspirations exist
Let us reflect on the Dublin scene
Where music meets magic
We have always danced together
During ephemeral times of skepticism
Let us revive the ageless ritual
Where skirts swirl.
Gaia continues running on a Health Platform,
healthy democracy
for wealthy economy
for healthy ecopolitics
for wealthy democratic energy.
The idea of free markets
as those embedded in democratic transactional service
to a local community
Is as old and conservative
as the idea of health
being embedded in a real
organic economic body
and political mind,
actually communicating
and playing nice
with each other.
The primal goal of old school markets,
in good weather times,
was to grow polycultural health,
investments as rich as diverse nutritional needs
of consuming and producing constituents.
So too, in bad climate times,
a depressed and fading market
was, and is, to survive Lose economic
and Lose environmental EarthTrends,
becoming more monoculturally played out,
exhausted,
Often picking up,
emigrating toward more promising lands
and fresh water,
more breathable air,
healthier opportunities for robust
democratic
fair
transparent
mutually vulnerable
win/win healthy-wealth transactions.
Robust markets are rich in co-passionate exchanges,
a flow between non-violent consumers and producers
rooted in healthy cooperative investments
in
and from
and of nutrition-sharing hearts
and minds
and voices,
thoughts with feelings still attached.
The right to free communicating markets
is a right of democratic access
and an ecological positive corollary right
of equal freedom from investing in poison,
imprisoning the competition,
waging war against those who terrify our megalomania
with their own autonomous hubris,
violent lies
hypocrisy
narcissism
egocentrism
anthropocentrism
xenophobia
patriarchalism
homophobia
win/lose evolutionary competitions,
runaway capital hoarding,
moral bankruptcy,
investment in ego-maniacal agendas,
hate,
elitism,
racism,
autonomous media and market control,
feelings of grandiose entitlement,
Jealous and zealous bad faith
sold out as spiritualized
and denatured
disembodied
unmarketable
unfree BadNews anti-truth.
Meanwhile,
Gaia continues running on a Health Platform,
healthy natural/spiritual democracy
for wealthy secular/sacred economy
for healthy left/right bicameral ecopolitics
for wealthy democratic free-market energy.
Spoken Word Poetry: A Groove Through Time
Man, you’re just a real gone cat/breaking the habit and diggin’ something new/
Your world spins fast with the beat/ your music collection—a limited edition on the Acid Side of the Jazzy beat/
a gold standard Acid jazz kaleidoscope of sound/
Acid Jazz LPs dance like shadows in the street/ so you are hip to Acid Jazz, a genre born in the night, Funk, soul, and hop intertwined/
a rhythm that pulses and ignites, elements of funk, soul, and hip-hop, as well as disco, started in London’s clubs/
it began to unwind with drugs sex, and the deep beat of percussion that flows from the spin tables and the DJ mix into subcultures, including rave, acid house, and jungle that flooded the superclubs like the river’s current,
Man, it was a nu British sound that had its own records shops, and music producers/
live performance, an electric embrace, a tapestry woven with the threads of the past, an anthem for a nu sound/
ain’t it cool, man, to swing and sway? Acid cool, with words that play, each note a story, every beat a fight, against the social and political realities of the day/
from the UK to the States in the ‘90s/
broken beats, deep funk, a hip new sound, born in clubs/ a deep history resurrected/
Hip hop producers diving deep in the trunk of
old town bump de bump funk/
Electric Rhodes, guitars that gleam, Jazz-funk—triple threat, the dream, steppin’ out to that new Acid Jazz sound, Brand New Heavies, where vibes abound. James Taylor Quartet, Jazz Hole, Jamiroquai, spinning out of control all deep into the show/
Eddie Piller, the architect, of Acid Jazz Records—music to reflect/
Disc jockeys, producers, crafting the groove, adding percussion, making the old move, sampling the past with a sleazy intent, Old Skool mentality, a love that won’t relent/
Lofi vibes ride the waves of the scene, A boost of spoken word slam jazz, a dream within a dream/
So dig on brother and let the music wrap you, let it break your square mold/
In this young history of Acid Jazz, let the stories be told/ step into the rhythm, and let your dancin’ feet fly/
In this world of sound, we’ll never say goodbye, for there is always someone to meet on this Acid Jazz ride/
*The Boy Who cried German*
Although Ikeh was as nervous as ever he still gathered a little guts to address those sluts. He always did walk around in a jumpsuit like that suitor who visits Bisi everyday. His Igbo accent flourished with pidgin diminishes his English when ever he spoke giving room for the linguist in our school to use as a case study when talking of mother tongue nonsense.
His fanta face and coca-cola leg mama Nkechi describes as a factory error of the producers of caro white. That bow leg of his Malam Audu mai shayi laughs at privately but still hails him as the next Ahmad Musa. Even the father of raggae Bob Marley would have given him an award if still breathing, he always allowed the brown village dust to cover it giving room for lace n dandruff. What of his lips? Forget about its tattered looks, the village girls gossip saying his girlfriend must be crazy to kiss those, its huge structure like the camels in the movie "The Mummy"
Yes! His girlfriend Franklin
Only God knows where she got that name from. By birth her mama n papa called her Omoshewa Ajoke Babatunde but ever since she visited the city on her arrival changing everything concerning her heritage but that fool forgot to remove her Yoruba tongue always putting a "H" in place of an "A" she loudly calls "Abigail" "Habigail" or "Again" as " Hegain"
A perfect with him.
Alas!
He dressed in an America suit trying to adjust the tie he never wore, his huge feet in a rubber sandals trying to have mutual understanding with the rough village sands using his handkerchief to wipe the excess dust the white men vehicles left behind. His nose like the back of papa Michael 190 showcasing his mighty nostrils like the twins well beside Adaobi's house. He waved at the passersby to show he just brushed his brown dirty teeth.
Now in the podium I sighted Ikeh talking with Albert the German. The microphone was now handed to him
"Oh Lord" I said closing my eyes because I know he will make a mess of the presentation bringing room to the downgrading of our village. Then in seconds my heart sank on hearing his German English. The crowd in amusement
*So Ikeh can speak English fluently?*