Long Product Poems
Long Product Poems. Below are the most popular long Product by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Product poems by poem length and keyword.
I can’t remember who I was,
before voices other than mine stepped in.
I think I wanted to be
a movie director, a script I read in kindergarten—
a line or two still hums when I dream.
I think I wanted to be
a fashion designer, my first sketches—
heels like daggers, dresses stitched with thunder.
I think I wanted to be
a writer, during math class in middle school—
a girl with powers, betrayed by her lover.
Now I tell people I want to be
a marketing executive, a product manager—
since when, I can’t remember.
Before voices other than mine stepped in,
I think, I think—
I wanted to be
the hand behind moving dreams.
______________
Note: Inspired by a line I saw on Pinterest 'Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?'
I AM A SON OF HERS
I am Royal
a KING, my first Father's Elohim
I am King I am one of my.
MOTHER'S SON
ROYALTY a product
-of Holy Love
I am a Son of Hers
1/08/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2024
A Uplifting poetic expression
Themes
Divine identity: "I am a Son of Hers, Royal, a KING"
Spiritual heritage: "My first Father's Elohim"
Maternal connection: "My MOTHER'S SON ROYALTY"
Holy love "A product of Holy Love"
Inspiring interpretations
The poem celebrates a deep sense of divine identity and royal heritage.
It acknowledges the importance of spiritual roots and connection to the divine.
The poem expresses gratitude for the love and nurturing received from the divine feminine.
Embrace your own divine identity and royal heritage.
Cultivate a deeper connection with your spiritual roots and the divine.
Celebrate the love and nurturing received from the divine feminine.
Scriptural reinforcement
Psalm 82:6: "I said, 'You are gods; you are all sons of the Most High.'"
Romans 8:14-17: "For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God...and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ."
Galatians 4:6-7: "And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, 'Abba! Father!'"
Is it just me
Or do you as well
Watch the commercials on T.V
And wonder exactly what on earth
it is they are actually trying to sell
Or are you like me somehow think
we have slipped into some kind of
alternate universe
Because I am sure I just seen the new
Lottery advert
And it was about a village green cricket
match with the team dressed in traditional
Whites
Then the Presenter comes on ready to
bat kitted out from top to toe in Red ,
Helmet , Bat , Pads , Glove's the full monty
Now as tenuous links and connections go
this is the best and only idea I could come
up with
Maybe at the initial meeting to thrash
out some concepts and ideas
The leader of the brain's trust was swinging
a bat around and accidentally hit everyone
in the head including himself
Causing mass amnesia and concussion
And when they all eventually came too
they forgot what product they were
supposed to be selling in the 1st place
And somehow thought it was a brilliant
fantastical idea
One of you will say to me: “Then why does God still blame us? For who is able to resist his will?” But who are you, a human being, to talk back to God? “Shall what is formed say to the one who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’ ” Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for special purposes and some for common use?
Romans 9:19?-?21 NIV
If the temperature is too low, the clay will crumble. But if it's too hot, the outside will fuse and burn before the centre of the clay is cooked through. While baking, the clay should cure evenly throughout and turn into a hard plastic.
From the dust we were formed
Like it or not it's not our creation
We are just here in this world
The clay cup in its blindness
Says ,why was I not the bowl
The bowl says why was I not a cup
It's the same clay for different purposes
But both are formed to hold water within
The potter is the master creator
With His hands molding one
Then placed in the fire to purify
Into a finished product
Only He can fill the cup or bowl
With His purified water
The main goal of both is
To allow the clean water
To clean the inside of it
In hope the cup or bowl
Is made acceptable for it's use
The cup or bowl can not
Make themselves useful by own works
They know not the source
But only through the process
Of the creator shall one be made acceptable
That He might put one up on His shelf
To remain in His kingdom
As a finished product of His purpose
Manifestation of métier write
finds yours truly sitting today
December 24th at 2:41 P.M. with slight
hunched over mien as edge of night
quite some hours away when height
of Santa Claus appearance bright
rosy cheeks glow insync with
Rudolph the reindeer red nose.
As an indie alt rock'n
tribe beck ha dishabille poet,
I view the challenge of writing analogous
to betting an heir or heiress
which includes gestation of an, emotion,
idea, sentiment,...unbeknownst
if outcome birthed to be fabulous
then however the whimsical notion spins
within thine cerebral centrifuge,
the imagination pregnant with fetus
of a fledgling concept feeling
with byte size sea legs,
not quite ready for
prime time and beak comb devious
though, as swollen
womb dar full expansive
lettered girth manifests and coalesces
into miniature Confucius
versatile baby (unless unexpected contusions
render exertion aborted effort, the proud
pro-creator bounteous
which success inspires this scrivener
to tackle another and fleeting thought
and sire by product with audacity.
Oft times the sacred seconds silenced
by stillness louder than "Big Ben"
ear splitting only to me - squirreled away
in this makeshift basement den
the dead quiet, a riot
with audio logical sonic boom decibel -
asper a water nymph sprung from a fen
or when a sneaky fiery fox
slips into the crowded house,
where the yolk cull doth roost
long fostering mass squawking
of manifold egg on eyes zing hen.
The end result metamorphoses into
a totally tubular unforeseen jumble
analogous to uglies that bump
of gibberish senseless wordy clump
aspiring to convey some essence of logic,
though best to take furlough than persist
to interpret dump
of discordantly strung English bits,
which intractable insistence
might spell f-o-r-c-e-d g-r-u-m-p
as the mood one may find them-self,
unless he/she can call
the literary mod squad
to resolve harrumph
and with any lucky trump
petting, the once amorphous lump
pen pro lit tarry hit might undergo
an amazing transformation -
a cherished poem plump
with juicy fruit
weighing down the boughs
as if limbs ready to slump.
They set to work upon our minds
To market sprays of many kinds
To give the world a different smell
More aerosols they then will sell
But first our minds they must corrupt
To pave the way for new product
So they begin the odour game
And make us feel a sense of shame
Because we have our own odour
Better we smell like a flower
Be gone the smell of pheromone
And other odorous hormone
With chemicals we spray each part
Perfumery becomes our art
We freshen air in every room
Spraying the synthetic perfume
Then carpets and curtains are sprayed
Along with towels and bedspread
And when this done we spray the dog
Now everywhere a perfumed fog
To market sprays of many kinds
They set to work upon our minds
Sea of Love
The ebb and flow that comes and goes
with ocean’s deep emotion shows
that hearts, like knaves, become her slaves
beneath the undulating waves.
Excitement grows as hearts expose
amid the tempting tide’s repose;
surf’s breaking roar laps on their shore;
hearts enter through her luring door.
The ocean knows, as passion grows,
the secrets that they don’t disclose;
these hearts on fire with wild desire,
waves pounding as their needs require.
The ebb and flow still comes and goes
while sea of love, these hearts, depose,
and lust’s decree will always be
a product of this stormy sea.
November 7, 2019
A Grandfather and Grandson
Together as a team
Preparation in the uplift
Wisdom expressed
Grandfather words, “LISTEN WELL TO MY TEACHINGS”
Commodity takes courage
Efforts and Talent that will follow
Elements of exploration
Believe in yourself and rule out can’t
Successful is an eventful moment
Endeavors ever after
Knowledge in wisdom wonder
Through the eyes of one’s observation
An Old Man teaching his Grandson an inspiring lesson
Can do principle
Attention given
Out of the mouth of Doubt came the revelation of assurance
This is a true story
My Grandfather has gone to glory
I am the Grandson
Commodity from his knowledge became my reality
Well trained and wonderfully prepared
I am my Grand Fathers product
Survival tool
Having understanding being no Fool
My Grandfathers last words, “You are going to remember this Old Man”
Good reason in never forget
His loss I regret
Lifelong sustaining life into the ever after.
A world in which we let ourselves get lost in, is one
Stripping purity away layer by layer, it is one we do not notice
Until we realize who and what we were is a product of past
Dreams and wishes. We let ourselves get turned into drones
In order to pay our bills which Is normally stacked upon by
Greed and self loathing, trying to improve yourself to the
Medias standards by stacking falseities causing you to
Drain what made you you, into something so fake that
You cant even tell its not you. We are told to vote for our
Next puppet to lead us, distracting the simple for upwards
Of 4 years into thinking they are making a difference by
Focusing on everything except ones self and their neighbours. We are lost. Including
Myself, wasting days and days upon social media reading
The same story of depression just with different names
On a day to day. Murder here murder there, while we turn
A blind eye to everyday enlightenment that constantly
Throws itself at us. This poem may not take the form of a rhyme
But its something on my mind all the time, so ill use this canvas
To alleviate the mind of a simpleton trying to remain pure
In this world of glass houses which we constantly cast stones
Upon. The sad part is, almost no one will notice until
We cast the last stone at the final glass wall and it comes shattering
Down with a generation of hate and discrimination.
I will not quit, I will try my hardest to become enlightened
And proceed onwards to enlighten. I will try my best to not
Waste each and every non guaranteed day. I will use these days
As a tool of attaining knowledge, and I refuse to fall
Into this day to day drone creating system.
I am me. I am different. I will be enlightened.
-The Downed Jester
My love was wrapped into gestures
Instead of words
Into concerns and nagging
Teasing and smiling
The sigh I gave in fondness
Whenever you pouted over something
When I remembered what mattered
Beyond days and nights
The favorite coffee, the way you slept
Not the product name
But I knew your soap smell
My love was wrapped into doing
Instead of saying
Leaving an extra blanket
An umbrella, a small question
Sparing a smile when I did not feel like
Pulling you tight, it will be alright
Patting your head in praise
Letting you stay or go
Whatever will let your rise
My love was wrapped bittersweet
Instead of angel like
You had to look to find
The sugary parts
Taste it thoroughly before
Leaving a mark
It carried a tinge that will last
Beyond the first touch
Like a faded mingle in future
Of a memorable past.