Long Prosecute Poems
Long Prosecute Poems. Below are the most popular long Prosecute by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prosecute poems by poem length and keyword.
Betsy was a saint
always there for her mother
she was selfless, giving her time and energy
Her sisters were selfish, never there for mom
my cousin’s side of the story
Betsy took over her mother’s finances
Her mother called me crying
Betsy had cleaned her out
She did not have any money left
Three bank accounts gone
my brother’s side of the story
Betsy’s sisters are horrible
They were mean to her at the funeral
She was so good to their mother
They must be jealous
I cannot remember who said this but someone did
Betsy’s sisters told her they would not prosecute or put her in prison
if she did not attend the funeral, so she did not show up
My brother’s wife threw this to me
Betsy was a saint; she did everything for her mother
I retire from the funeral glad I am not related to any of them
I’m cursed since I have a specialty that I can see,
X-ray vision is my power.
People often say one thing while doing another,
Preaching from their ivory tower.
“Man up!” we obeyed every command of our big English teacher,
The biggest introvert.
And he’d wear a bright red bra, invisible to all but me,
Under his blue striped business shirt.
“Live exactly by the bible in our great country”
Our priest would drill into us every Sunday.
And I could see his beautiful knickers he wore under his pants,
We all knew he was secretly gay.
And the local news anchor man loved to wear
His red garter belt beneath his black suit top.
I think it was the same brand my barber wore
When I got my hair cut at the local barber shop.
We all trust our local paramedic, saving our lives
When we are most in need of his care.
I can see he loves us dearly, loves to feel comfortable too,
With the silk stockings he chooses to wear.
And when we prosecute the deviates, whores, and filth
We entrust our judges in our courts.
Our local judge loves to prosecute wearing, beneath his gown,
Hot pink singlets and hot pink shorts.
And during his speeches, to our elected few,
About gays not marrying during his political reign.
He wears his G-string made of metal sequence,
The leader of our country looks sexy in chain.
I’m cursed since I have a special power I dare not tell anyone,
I have the power of x-ray vision.
It’s easy to see which men who say “don’t”, secretly “do”,
And which men need circumcision.
—Where Love Rewrites Distance—
I petitioned not solely for the blade, but tears—
for eyes which, having endured grief’s iron law,
still husband in their depths those ancient waters
by which the living heart maintains its blood;
and even those who rise against me, let
them come of houses tempered to honour war.
For I had dried my eyes beyond all speech;
yet from their saltless chambers blood arose
and crossed my face with such grave insistence
that grief itself seemed startled by its red;
then, past the frontier of what eyes could see,
the sea leaned towards the shore and whispered: Thirst.
The sun kept vigil; the moon withheld its sleep;
the stars remained within their ancient courts—
until your hand entered mine, and suddenly
the distances between their fires drew close,
without catastrophe, as though the dark
had waited all this while to witness it.
I am no leaf the bough may cast away
when autumn comes to prosecute its claim.
Let the wind rage; it has mistaken force
for sovereignty, and noise for rightful power.
There are roots whose subterranean allegiance
runs so deep the earth itself must break
before they learn the ancient word, release.
I have seen blood remember that it was water;
I have heard the ocean confess its thirst;
I have watched the heavens alter nothing
and yet become entirely other; and I know
that what the hand once inscribes upon the heart
survives the jurisdiction of time and distance.
So let the gale unsheathe its nameless sword;
let night discharge its black artillery; let stars
go blind above the earth, and every compass
forfeit the north to which it once submitted.
The hand withdrew; the universe resumed its ancient art—
yet found one law forever altered in the grammar of the heart.
A young man was arrested
And was locked up in a cell.
He never thought his life would turn
Into a living hell.
The San Diego D.E.A.
Forgot that he was there.
For four days in a barren cell,
He suffered in despair.
He had no food or water
Nor a toilet or a sink.
His urine was the only choice
When he was forced to drink.
His hands were cuffed behind his back
But still he kicked and screamed.
He contemplated suicide,
The only choice, it seemed.
When agents found him, four days late,
And saw his sorry shape,
They took him to the hospital,
His overdue “escape.”
Though he’ll survive, his lawyers say
They plan to file a suit.
I hope somebody’s found at fault
And that they’ll prosecute.
This level of incompetence
Is truly monumental.
The D.E.A.’s response was
It was simply “accidental.”
The callousness of that remark
Proves they don’t have a clue;
For nightmares such as this,
A simple “sorry” just won’t do.
Temperatures are sizzling;
Fires burn and spread.
Salad sales are fizzling.
(Eat grass-fed beef instead!)
Immigrants are terrified;
Deportations rise.
Flat-out lies are verified.
Drones invade the skies.
News reporters get the boot.
Algae grows and blooms.
Secret deals to prosecute
Are made in private rooms.
Institutions once revered
Are shuttered or debased.
Everything we’ve always feared
Has happened, in such haste
It’s almost inconceivable,
Yet somehow it is real.
We know that it’s believable,
For nothing can conceal
The way the world is crumbling
And only those in charge,
Despite their shameful bumbling
And greed are living large.
I do not see a way to fix
How bad things have become,
For nature’s tricks and politics
Have made me sad and numb.
I’ll always preside over right deeds
And will not be immoral over right deeds
My commitment will be my loyalty
And every fruit of it will be our royalty
I’ll be very powerful
And will condemn every unlawful
My service will not favor a criminal
I’ll be so different from today’s general
The law will come and create a path
For everyone to have a right to pass
I’ll prosecute the today’s criminals
Who have hands on death of several
Civil rights of my citizens will be restored
All books of these criminals will be stored
All cells will be full of today’s instigators
And will form not a group of investigators
The Law is not Above the Law
By Franklin Price
05/30/2020
The law is not above the law
Cops were never meant to be
Although their lives are on the line
While protecting you and me
Every stop or high speed chase
Could put them in the ground
The bad guys get the first shot
When the lawless are around
The drunk and drug addicted
And criminals by the score
Object when apprehended
And bring violence to the fore
Cops supposed to take it all
And never lose their cool
Not supposed to fight back
When assaulted by some fool
Not everyone can be a cop
Not those, who are inclined,
To assault those they're arresting
With deadly forces on their mind
God forbid they kill someone
This thoughtless one in blue
Or they are killed because of it
Because of how they view
No one is above the law
Not those from either way
The lawless, or the lawful,
Who violate the laws, must pay
Those who look the other way
Refuse to prosecute the law
Should also be accountable
To be the law is not a draw
You may have never heard of Clausewitz,
But you’ll hear of wars and rumors of wars
Via propaganda, gossip, and disinformation.
You’ll witness the struggle through a drinking straw.
Explosions will drown out the voice of truth.
Whispered atrocities spread fear out of context.
False flags cast suspicions meant to weaken morale.
Psyops sow confusion and mistrust of the media.
But modern technology and open-source intel
Can peer through the haze on the battlefield.
It counters misdirection and stiffens our spine
To prosecute our campaign against tyranny.
We have the capability of piercing the mist
Sufficient for encouraging our will to resist.
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
MATTHEW 24: 6 AND SYNTHETIC APERTURE RADAR
I would like to announce my candidacy,
and I would appreciate it if you would all vote for me.
I want to be Your President. Vote For ME.
If I were your president, do you know what I would do?
Protect each and every single one of you.
Vote For Me. Vote For Me.
I would not only share with all of you,
the very scary, very real truth,
about how a New World Order wants to enslave all of you.
I will not only protect all of you day and night,
I will go after those global bankers with all of my might,
For All Of You I Will Relentlessly Fight. Vote For Me.
All who have served under them, committing their crimes
against humanity and treason I will all hunt down in time.
I will hunt them all down and prosecute every single one of them.
Vote For Me. Make Me Your President.
I Promise All Of You I Will Bring Back Our Once Very Great Land.
or die trying should my life end by the hand of an assassin.
Vote For Me. Vote For Me.
I Want To Serve All Of You As Your President. Vote For Me.
If you aren't familiar with the original song for this parody,
the YouTube Web Address Below Will Bring You To It Directly.
Joe Walsh- Vote For Me
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iz77XHvlYEs
Whatever happened to all those cab drivers
in Madison, Wisconsin with PhD's back in the 1970's?
How are all the college kids doing who cut off a finger or toe
in order to avoid get drafted for the War in Vietnam?
How many domestic terrorists with blood on their hands
are leading respectable lives with forged identities?
Bernadine Dohrn, 'College Professor' - ex-Leader of
the 'Weather Underground'... Do you sleep at night?
Whatever became of all those long-hairs in the pictures
at Woodstock Music Festival in New York in 1969?
How about all those backpackers searching for Truth, who dived
deep into cults like Hari Krishna and the Moonies?
Wuddya say, Ginni Thomas?
Where have all the flowers gone? ... They've gone the way of
ANTIFA, of BLM, of Seattle, WA, of Portland, OR, of all the
'Sanctuary Cities' and George-Soros backed Prosecuting Attorneys
who refuse to prosecute, of CRT, of the 1619 Project, of endless
COVID lockdowns, of 'The Squad' and of 'wokeness'
But if you ask me, if America could survive the Cuban Missile Crisis,
Castro, Mao, Watergate, Sadam Hussein, Monica Lewinsky, Bin-Laden,
9/11, the Dotcom Bust, the ENRON and Arthur Anderson scandals,
the Great Recession, the Real Estate bubble, and Donald Trump and
Hilary Clinton, then I guess we can survive about anything