Long Programme Poems
Long Programme Poems. Below are the most popular long Programme by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Programme poems by poem length and keyword.
Whilst Jon-Allan was out Iraq to warfare ban,
In 2007 he sustained an injury, rocket attack,
So that doctors had to amputate his left arm,
But after rehab he continued the sport’s crack.
He’d been a weapons technician in the RAF,
At Basra airbase, and before that Afghanistan,
But he was now on a programme so to quaff,
Any idea that he wasn’t good at cycling’s pun.
He took the limelight at the London games,
When he won three silvers for para-cycling:
One for the C5 Individual Pursuit, sole aims,
One for the mixed team sprint very cunning,
And another silver for the C4-5 1km Time Trial!
Then 2016, and he won gold for the mixed team,
And also a silver medal for the C5 kilo Time Trial
In Montichiari, and so made the Rio GB Team.
When the doctor gave me his diagnosis,
He didn’t deliver a happy prognosis.
He told me I had just twelve months to go.
Not really the news I wanted to know.
Now almost a year has passed since that day.
I’ve just thirty-nine minutes to while away.
A final meal? Put the kettle on.
And I’ll boil an egg. That’s four minutes gone.
I’ll wash it down with a nice cup of tea
And, while I’m eating, I’ll watch T.V.
There’s a programme that lasts for thirty minutes
And, if I’m lucky, I’ll see all that’s in it.
It’s almost finished: just 2 minutes more.
But now I hear a knock at the door.
Ah, the credits are rolling; I’ve just survived.
My time is up. The Grim Reaper’s arrived.
Born into a privileged position
The Gracchi and Kennedys were on a mission
A violent end was to be their common fate
With vested interests full of rage and hate
Their new programmes threatened the status quo
And prompted the dealing of the killer blow
Centuries apart, they both wanted reform
Championing the poor brought to them great harm
If the Gracchi's progressive plans were to win the day
The senate felt its power would pass away
Land reform and franchise extension the ruling class could not tolerate
They feared the concilium plebis would carry too much weight
Allowing tribuni plebis to gain too much power
Crucial steps were needed by the senate at this critical hour
Violent deaths turned out to be the Gracchi's lot
The people lost what they had sought
History is oft claimed to be repetitive
The Kennedys' careers were closely imitative
A crackdown on crime and improving civil rights
Panicked those who opposed such fights
Where the Kennedys heralded an era of hope
Those under threat from this programme could not cope
Their death warrants were signed for what they stood
Both were gunned down vengefully in cold blood
In each instance when their hopes died
Politics rode roughshod over the people's pride
A brighter future for those in need of care
Was ended by vested interests' callous warfare
It was time, for my audition - a nice renditition,
I came armed, nothing too predictable, with ammunition;
this offered my chance for fame, only I was to blame
if I messed up, success meant I would never be the same again.
It was good, I knew by the smile on their faces,
now I waited, standing, while my heart really races;
I knew that one juror may give me a hard time,
playing to the gallery, a mountain I might climb.
The unnecessary hype, weirdly prolonged, was irritating,
I heard the voice: 'You know what . . . . ' , procrastinating,
why can"t he just say if he liked the bloody thing or not?
as though he was on another programme and forgot.
It was tiring, waiting for all their second-guesses,
I need not have worried because I got four yesses.
The telly fed me the propaganda. Of princesses and princes.
Damsels in distress. Knights in shining armour. That was
Love. It was always a man and a woman; perfect, no flaws.
In spring, blackbirds sing outside my window;
Males calling the females. But one blackbird remains silent.
It watches me. It doesn’t sing for a mate like all the other
Spring lovers; it sits in the tree and waits.
I watch a programme where two men kiss. The blackbird
Tells me this is wrong. I ask it why. It doesn’t respond.
It follows me to school. I think another girl is pretty;
My heart flutters when our hands brush. The blackbird
Trills loudly. I never look at her again.
When I see someone reading a book where two girls are
In love, I point to the blackbird and tell her this is wrong.
She asks me why I think this. I say I don’t really know.
I kiss a girl. It s me up. They don’t do this on the telly;
That’s not how the story is supposed to go.
I try to ignore her after, but I struggle to pull my eyes away.
The blackbird sits outside the window and dares me.
I kiss her again. I don’t feel so ed up this time.
She says we should be together. I look to the blackbird,
Who doesn’t say a word, and say yes. Sometimes,
Princesses don’t need princes; just another princess.
That night, the blackbird sings again
But, this time, I finally understand what it says.
It says my life matters, despite what the telly shows.
A TV star
He wanted to be a star on TV
He wanted his face to be seen
He knew it would be quite a challenge,
but he yearned to be living the dream.
The programme in question was not in dispute
He'd planned it for quite a long while
He'd start at the bottom and work his way up
by spending a morning on Jeremy Kyle.
The first thing to do was to get a tattoo
He'd planned it, it wasn't on speck
He'd soon learn to live with an arm that was blue
and 'Mother' scrawled over his neck.
The next thing to get was a girlfriend
He found him a beauty worth kissing
Between them their teeth were a dentist's delight
One black, one white, one missing.
They sat on the stage and went into a rage
the audience hurling abuse
the pair of them both started fighting
but then they had nothing to lose.
They caused so much trouble on stage
he asked them to leave by the back
but audience members were waiting
preparing to make an attack.
No way could they hide from the people outside
determined to point out their sins.
The crowd started throwing tomatoes,
unfortunately still in their tins.
But he was quite happy, he'd managed his goal
His fifteen minutes of fame
Celebrity Big Brother was waiting
They'd always remember his name.
Form:
I was interviewed on Manx Radio about my poetry journey and it was broadcast today - the whole clip is about 7 minutes long. By the way it is not me reading the snippets of poems.
The programme can be found on 'on demand' the show is called 'women today' and was dated 5th August
this is the link for you to paste into your browser
If you go to the black bar under the Manx Radio logo and scroll along to 14 minutes 45 seconds this is a good time to start listening to it
http://www.manxradio.com/radioplayer/od/1762/
I have also done this as a blog ... but as not everyone reads the blog page I posted it here too
Hugs Jan x
5th August 2015
Mein kampf synonymous as a blooper
Writer of these words,
a former Lower Providence inhabitant,
who dwelled within darkest depths
of Dante Alighieri's inferno
for most of his outlandish, impish,
and devilish growing up years
witnessed microscopic scrimmage,
where spermatozoan with most forcefulness
muscled itself handedly,
magnificently, and splendidly
envision unicellular olympic competition,
yours truly swimmingly
begot during the heat
of parents being passionately fruitful
courtesy diploid erogenous frisson
between my then searingly
robust virile father and fecund mother
~ late March/early April 1958
ushered seminal moment
post ova fertilization realization
courtesy male gamete
penetrating zona pellucida
a glycoprotein layer surrounding the oocyte
triggering cell bait multiplication
subsequently yielding male
gendered offspring and sole son
hashtagged as uber twittering, snapchatting,
shutterflying super duper
cute little boy with short strawberry blond hair,
whose solitudinarian nature
became quite evident when he displayed
acute social withdrawal
upon off fish shill commencement
getting schooled as a grouper
by mister Hooper,
who made his debut
appearance on Sesame Street
November 10, 1969
as storied and staple long time resident
on above named television show
until March 18, 1983,
beloved by adults and children alike
within make believe community
(a conglomerate of real and imaginary locales)
peopled with proprietary named characters
for any of a number of humorously grotesque
glove or rod puppets and marionettes,
chiefly representing animals,
first popularized, idolized,
dramatized, capitalized, and actualized
by the children's television programme
Sesame Street (1969-) and more recently
in The Muppet Show (1976-80).
Also: a toy made to resemble one of these
ingenious brainchild of Jim Maury Henson
an American puppeteer, animator, actor,
and filmmaker who achieved worldwide
notability as the creator of the Muppets
which series originated as two pilot episodes
produced by Henson for ABC in 1974 and 1975.
Henson's shocking, sudden death occurred on May 16, 1990 of organ failure resulting from streptococcal toxic shock syndrome. An emotional memorial service was held five days later at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City.
Things Fall Apart
The moon is not lighter
The day I saw the moon
The sun is not brighter
The time I saw the sun
Thee were not like this
The day I saw thee
Thee were not a lout as I saw thee before
The day I saw the tree
It's not fruitful
The day I saw thee
Thee were just a kid
But today I saw thee
Thee back an infant
But why I was not invited to thy marriage programme?
Don't tell! It's wed locked child
The I was born
The word isn't like this
But today we're
Moral has ran away
Respect has sank in an ocean
Father has flied away
Mother has mad along
Alas! Things has fallen apart
©®™™™™™ 8/10/2017... Junaid Abdul Wakeel... ™™™™Young Writer™™™™™p
O search not for a rare applause,
Beware, life is a thankless stage—
It's vain, a loud uproar to cause
On this voyage of pilgrimage,
A puppet you are, caught in cage.
Vain to think you’re a great actor,
You know the plot, nor script nor end,
Watch out, Fate’s a poor director,
As clown, no great role shall ye land,
As puppet, pulled by unknown hand.
________________________________
Musings | 05.09.2015| Quintain
Poet’s note: We might think we are great actors, while in truth we are no more than clowns in the eyes of a spoilsport called Fate, Fortune, or Destiny. Man is then no more than a clown who hopes to hear applause on life’s stage that proves a vague hope, a mirage. For, life offers no programme; the director of the stage-play gives no script; the destiny provides no prompt. And still, he must perform in hope for an applause that seldom materializes.