Long Pump Poems
Long Pump Poems. Below are the most popular long Pump by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pump poems by poem length and keyword.
Dylan Carston was a well-off young man,
thanks to a large and health trust fund,
his father was a true Wall Street ace
and had been quite generous to his sons.
Dylan had set himself up in Miami
after years spent getting his MBA,
he did consulting four days every week,
the other three he did like to play.
He’d partied with friends at all the bars,
and had his share of hot one-night stands,
not yet had he thought of a wife and kids,
he was enjoying the life of a young man.
One Saturday as he walked down the beach
to get exercise and breath the sea air,
he stumbled upon a frantic woman
calling for him to go over there.
As he drew near he saw down in the sand
a young woman who’s face had gone blue,
he could see no lifeguard near where they were,
but fortunately he knew what to do.
He found no pulse when he listened close,
and placed two hands high on her left breast,
with hard compression he began CPR,
pumping furiously at her chest.
Every so often he placed his mouth on hers
and forced oxygen deep into her lungs,
the other woman ran off to find more help
while Dylan continued the rhythmic pump.
Finally after three desperate minutes
a gurgled rasp echoed up from her throat,
life returned to her, the blue fading out,
though her eyes still knew not where to go.
Moments later he heard the rush of feat,
the lifeguard and the woman had returned,
Dylan gestured to where the girl lay,
“I brought her back, now I think it’s your turn.”
The lifeguard thanked him for taking action,
then knelt down slowly at the victim’s side,
ambulances came, reports were fill out,
when Dylan left three hours had gone by.
He felt good about saving the woman’s life,
it was a moment he would not forget,
congratulations came in, on top of that
the lifeguards sent him a certificate.
Three weeks went by and Dylan returned to
the safe routines of the everyday world,
and bit by bit his thoughts turned away
from the near death of that helpless girl.
So it was with a great deal of surprise
when a process server told him these words:
“Dylan Carston, you’re being sued for assault,
you can consider yourself dully served.”
Dylan’s mind whirled at the accusation,
he had no idea how this could be true?
Had some ex regretted their time and cried ‘rape,’
were they evil enough to go down that route?
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
He is cranking up the old rusty engine again, but all that work is in vain, sweat is running from his anxious face and grease is spilling all over the place. There he goes again with his tool bag and greasy overall lying flat on his back underneath the truck, pulling screw, by screw from the belly of the old truck.
Monday comes at a price, and he has to pay a painful sacrifice, fix it or dump it he has no choice but to squeeze Monday into his chest. The old truck is draining the life out of his pocket. It's just the other day he fixed it. He replaced the engine with a second hand one that he imported from Finland. It worked quite well for the first few days but soon it starts to die away.
He pulls down the whole thing and drain the oil out of it, the heaven doesn’t know what this man is about, thirty different parts staring in his face and the oil and water is dripping all over the place.
The Engine block, and the Cylinder Head has sucked out the pressure out of the living dead; the piston, crank shaft, camshaft, and Timing belt are not in place, and it causes the vehicle to wobble and shake. Examine the engine valves and combustion chamber carefully; there is a hole in the oil pan and a blunt on the connecting rod.
The intake manifold and Exhaust manifold has something in common and can heat up your face and plant bitterness into your grave. The spark plugs, piston ring and flywheels are out of place, and you have to tighten them, or you will end in an unpleasant place.
Look at the head gasket, cylinder liner and crank case, they are shifting around, and the distributor ring is hanging on the ground; the cylinder head cover, the rubber grommet and camshaft pulley are out of line, and you have got to replace the oil filter, water pump, and oil pan drain bolt.
The turbocharger and supercharger are defected, and you must replace the timing belt, drive pulley and the starter motor before the engine fail. You need a brand-new truck to satisfy the daughter she will never come back in that truck with you unless you do what you have to do.
The wind is blowing softly, and the trees are shaking violently, the weather is fine, but his emotion is out of line, the sun is peeping beyond the hill and nature is sending him a bunch of daffodils look carefully into the sky and you will see shades of Monday passing by.
Okay, here’s a shot at those lyrics, aiming for that Prince-meets-Brandy-ballad-with-a-Usher-hook vibe. I've opted for an AABB rhyme scheme with some internal rhymes to add to the flow.
Title: Cinnamon Skies (For Him)
(Intro - Soft synth pads, a low bass line, and a light drum machine beat – very 90s R&B)
(Verse 1 - Prince-esque vocals, slightly breathy and melodic)
Streetlights blur, a hazy gold, on my way to the pump
Thinking 'bout you, future unfolding, a gentle, subtle thump
He showed his fam, so soon, a shock, but felt like home, you see
Talkin' life, where we goin’, destiny, and you meant for me
(Pre-Chorus - Beat becomes a little more prominent, slight vocal harmonies come in)
He asked about my faith, my dreams, showed such soft respect
Never pressure, just intention, true love we connect
(Chorus - Usher-esque catchy hook, layered vocals, more emphasis on the beat)
Gotta get him, gotta get him, while the love’s so real and true
He's a keeper, trust the feelin', what he feelin’ for you
(Verse 2 - Vocals become slightly more spoken word, still melodic)
Cinnamon dad, a sweet embrace, a fleeting, stolen kiss
Fueling up, for that precious place and that love I can't dismiss
Values deep, he spoke with fire, a vision we both shared
Future plans, burning desire, a feeling, well, it's rare
(Pre-Chorus - Beat picks up again, harmonies a bit stronger)
He honored every line I drew, cherished every side of me
This ain't just a fling, it's true, the man I was meant to see
(Chorus - Usher-esque catchy hook, layered vocals, more emphasis on the beat)
Gotta get him, gotta get him, while the love’s so real and true
He's a keeper, trust the feelin', what he feelin’ for you
(Bridge - Ballad feel, vocal harmonies layered, beat drops to just a basic pulse)
Goddess Abundance, blessed this path, intertwined our fates
No doubt, no turning back, sealed by love, no debates
Early on, showing his clan, that I was meant to stay
A plan so grand, a holy span, now that future’s on display.
(Chorus - Usher-esque with a slight vocal run at the end, powerful and full)
Gotta get him, gotta get him, while the love’s so real and true
He's a keeper, trust the feelin', what he feelin’ for you, oh yeaaaaah!
(Outro - Synth pads and a soft bass fade out, with a final echo of “for you…”)
Human history is full of trouble because religion has duped the human race and creates a lot of doubles all over the place. If I could turn the clock back in time, I would not change anything, but I would get what is rightfully mine.
If I could go back in time, I would conquer the mountains and build a shopping center in the middle of the tobacco land; I would expand the livestock and plant a gigantic cane field in the back yard.
I would develop the cotton farm and plant a sunflower field on the Lawn and pump cooking oil out of the belly of the beast and drain the color out of the human race and let it cover the entire street.
The color is full of trouble, and it has cast a sticky pigment on the universe and make us believe that the human body is made up of dirt, the British created this religious narrative with Adam and Eve at the center of the stage and the Prophet Mohammed dominating the Muslim race.
The narrative is so strong that it brainwashes every human being upon the barren land; it started from the babe in the womb, and it came to life in the temple of doom.
The scientist explains it and the religion fanatics’ shout about it but have no evidence to prove it. They continue to live a living lie and cast their breads upon the water until the day they die.
The romans started it and the British perfected it and everyone was brainwashed by it and start to believe it. Thanks to the Americans and the new world that rescued the human race from it.
The British is bound in traditions, they have created much of the history books on the land; the color trouble runs through the pages and create conflict among the human races.
Some people never overcome it, they die and go to the grave with it and a new generation is born with the color trouble spread out all over their face.
The stigma is still around and it has dogged some people in the town, color on food, color on face, color on house, color mingling in the dirt, color running on the street, color disrupting my heart beat, you must mix the two troublesome colors and make they stay together and if you think that it is improper let the different conflicting colors meet and let the Devil prowl around the street.
I would never change my color if you gave me a billion dollars. Let my color run all over the street until you accept my heartbeat.
concerning Iran (a brief letter to the american voter)
dear miss or mister
still-believing-in-the-“dream”---
which face that you see being displayed on your
screens,
do you think will get us into a war with Iran
first?
will it be mr. hope & change,
whose translucent slogans were
transparent to many of us,
even prior to his ascendance,
whose own hands became bloodied/dirtied on
the way up,
and who now spends his time
twisting on the marionette stage
to the hand motions of the moneyed interests
who fueled his first campaign &
who have fueled his present one?
as the manipulators of mr. hope & change
make him continue to strangle Iran with sanctions,
pull funding from Palestine &
pump more & more money into
militarized & already nuclear
Israel,
will the region get any more peaceful?
will all the countries who showed their dissent with the
Arab Spring
then become the little slaves that the empire wants them to be
under mr. hope & change,
further gearing up hatred,
encouraging the next 9/11 on US soil
as a direct result?
hmmm.
will it be mr. romney, mr. santorum, mr. gingrich or
mr. perry, whose combined complete lack of concern for the
citizen of the empire & wanton militancy
will sacrifice everything to crush the last stronghold
left in the region
(who refuses to bend over the table for america
so that it can install another Shah &
rape it of its oil)
in the name of the war on “Islamic Fundamentalism,”
whose characteristics seem all too familiar
if you are watching the whole thing happen from a television in
the
“Evil Empire?”
hmmm.
will these iron-fisted capitalists
who make fun of the unrest within their own country
by blaming the unemployed for the occupation of wall st. etc.,
march into Iran
(like the christian caped crusaders that ya know they see themselves
as---finally getting to convert the infidels after all these years,
with the big american military *****)
like they marched into Iraq &
they marched into Afghanistan
only a few years ago,
to incinerate the country &
start building permanent bases there with money that
could have been spent on
universal healthcare for americans,
better education for american children,
new employment opportunities through making america
green &
paying off our own debt?
how many Iranian citizens are going to die because of
the american empire’s hegemony & hubris?
hmmm.
Here comes my father;
“Sheikh Al-Arab.”
My mother made him, also, tea with milk and “gargoosh.”
Now, time to fill “al-azyar” (water clay-containers);
They are under the two huge trees in front of our house.
Their waters are “sabeel,” for everyone passing by;
Might be going to, or coming from, Moslab’s boat.
Might be going to, or coming from, Dirar’s shop.
“Sheikh Al-Arab” fills “al-azyar” from the “toromba” (water-pump).
His children are glad to help;
Excited by the “toromba”:
Its handle makes a musical sound as it goes up and down.
Its water is clear.
And it beats brining water from the Nile.
---------
Here goes Abdul-Hameed;
Leaving to his farm.
Riding his old weak gray donkey;
Holding his lunch bag.
Probably bread and dates;
Probably hard-boiled eggs;
Probably leftover from last night dinner.
He already had breakfast;
His wife made him, also, tea with milk and “gargoosh.”
The donkey’s lunch will be grass from the field
The donkey’s lunch will be fresh.
---------
Here comes Nafeesa;
Leaving the “zareeba” (animals’ shelter).
Today, her goats were generous;
Lots of milk.
Her husband and children are waiting;
Time for tea with milk and “gargoosh.”
Her dog accompanied her to the “zareeba”;
And back from the “zareeba.”
But, no tea, no milk, and no “gargoosh”;
Probably an old bone.
Only when Nafeesa’s husband slaughters a lamb;
“Kibda” (kidney) for breakfast.
And lots of meat for everyone.
And for the dog.
And for other village’s dogs.
---------
Here comes Widad and her four children;
Carrying one, and three behind her.
They are going to “jiddo” (grandfather);
They will all have tea and milk and “gargoosh.”
“Jiddo” is waiting and it is getting late;
Widad will feed them all
They walk hurriedly in the dirt street;
Dust arises behind them.
Two children walk barefoot;
The lucky third has old slippers.
Two children wear few clothes;
The lucky third looks better.
“Jiddo” is waiting; more speed; more dust.
---------
Here comes Khadeeja;
The little thin girl, carrying a plate.
She is going to Zahra’s house;
Zahra makes “zalabiya” (fried dough balls).
There will be Zainab, Alawiya, and Fatima;
All sitting on the ground, around the “saj” (big wood-fire fry-pan).
All almost sleep;
All patiently waiting;
Zahra’s “zalabiya” is cooking.
---------
(to be continued) .....
It begins at home
even closer: it begins "I"nside
I have forgiven failures, failing in faith, inside me
Have you? Until you do, it is almost too hard
To forgive your imperfect parent, and therefore Father-in-Heaven
Lest it seems, I speak ordinary, old, old-fashioned sermon or speech
"Remember Mandela, South Africa, TRC? I was there!"
While billions only speak it, I have to live it
I did not want to; Mandela (OUR BELOVED MADIBA) made it policy
In the bad old South Africa, poisoned by a white Minority, 300 years
Still wanting NOT to share anything today; but we must for ourselves
And for Jesus (or for Mandela, or for Gandhi: both graced South Africa)
Yes, I have grown to love Forgiveness and Reconciliation in my heart
There it must begin, or it cannot come out into this bloody world
From the blood pump inside you, pure Jesus lineage can overflow
Once the mind and heart come into agreement, concord, one accord
(That's what happened at the Pentecost that birthed Christ's Church -
When the disciples, dreading death after Jesus's Crucifixion, locked doors
In the Upper Room, in Jerusalem, tarrying still: Fire in Holy Spirit fell!)
The Holy Spirit tells me to love like Jesus and Mother Theresa (now Saint)
Love till it hurts (and once hurt like that, NOTHING will ever hurt you & me)
I forgive because I see the forgiveness of Jesus (What does it mean? Sins?)
LOVE may begin in sin; but it flies with eagle wings, near the SON, forgiven
We reconcile with the Parent Above; who is really everywhere, doctrines do
not tell us all, only a start: God loved and offered reconciliation, but Truth
Demands we confess: I was a dirty, dastardly sinner, until He washed me
In the pure, precious blood of a Perfect Man, High-Priest after Melchizadek
So, dear brother and sister, I do not list sins to make you mad
That is only to assure YOU the Jesus way: Confess, Receive Grace, Live Free
TRC in RSA: TRUTH and Reconciliation (& Commission Under Archbishop Tutu)
Said anyone, white or black, who confessed their murders and sins
Would not be taken to court; only one was (Wouter Basson)
A whole nation forgave the white Minority under Mandela's mighty mandate
To Love and forgive like Jesus, for BIGGER things: like saving a country
From the kind of civil wars that rage on and on, fed by hate, all about US
Arthur was 16 when he entered the system
i could never ask him why
he was too old when i met him
he was on soo many pills
and not very pleasant to talk to
he heard voices
he would sometimes get up and punch someone
but who knows if they deserved it
or not
after being in a mental institute
from the age of 16 until the day you die
wouldn't you go crazy
the first real guinea pig
i met him
i never cried for him and his pain
but he always wanted to check my shave,
perhaps a victim from some sick war crime
I'll never know
Graham is not from our country
and I've written amnesty international concerning his welfare
they say its not any of their concern
as he wears shackles and chains on a daily basis
and goes to the bathroom in a diaper and eats cold food like sandwiches
because he hits people
mainly his doctor who lies to him
in my opinion
just like the doctor lied to my dad about me trying to bite him,
but i have no proof
just lucky I'm not in chains
going to the bathroom in a diaper
I know he committed a crime but two years locked in one room
alone with a window curtain opening and closing to spy on you
is enough psychological insanity to inspire mania if you ask me
Andrew was a crack head
and held up some convenience stores for some money
so he could get drugs
now hes been in the funny farm for like twelve years
still trying to get a hold of his next hit
watching his youth disappear
watching his life fade away
jumping through the hoops of a system that holds your freedom above you
that may or may not ever grant it
Andrew ran away
gave it all he got
saw people chained to the wall
people dieing there from the age of 16 for ridiculous crud
and knew they were toying with him
so he ran away
now he on a unit where god only knows
what mind hell they're putting him through
what rainbows hes swallowing down
Shelley was the meanest woman i had ever met
but it was always worth seeing her smile
don't know haven't figured out if the drugs really helped her
but she was in that place since she was seventeen
and died in a group home from some sickness
they claim wasn't related to her meds
I'm no fool, the stuff they pump us full of is deadly and toxic
i never made it to Shelly's funeral to see her murderers
there crying fake tears
for someone they would never really miss
Really? Is that all you are good for? Know your worth!
This is to bring awareness to outside relationships, cheaters, settlers, people who prefer to settle and have relations with someone who is in a relation with another. They do not respect nor care about the damages, affects, or consequences that can result from cheating or having an affair. Whether male or female, it applies to both cases.
If you are knowingly cheating with a married man, you are agreeing to contributing to being a person who administer “Roadside Assistance.” You are called upon when he is “Broke Down,” even if it’s just a minor breakdown. When he is broken, mad, sad, or had a lover’s spat with his wife, he runs to you for assistance and you accept the role as the mechanic. When he is having problems with his starter (yeah his wife), and his starter is acting up, he should make efforts to find out what the problem is and the solution to fix it. That does not mean to go out and get a new starter.
Understand this ladies, he doesn’t really want you, want you, he just needs a lil assistance to temporarily get his mind off the one he truly loves, the one he’ll never leave you for. So let’s say for instance he has a flat, yeah, he’s losing air, he’s got a slow leak, he’s running out of gas, he’s feeling down and he calls you cause he needs assistance. And what do you do when he needs assistance? You assist. You nurture, you cook, you listen, you sex, you pump him up, add fuel to his tank, fix his flat and then he drives home. Yes, home, home to his wife. Your house is not home. Did you think your house was home? Really?
Girl STOP! You are just somewhere he pulled over to the side to get a quick fix, a jump, an oil change, a tune-up…
STOP! JUST STOP! STOP, STOP, STOP!
Stop being on call providing 24 hour Roadside Assistance.
Shake that ssh... off and turn on them headlights, the ones that’s on inside your brain. Change your way of thinking and KNOW your worth!
You are not half of a woman that deserves half of a man. Don’t settle for a piece of man just to say you have a man. You are not no second string, no boo, no side piece, no shorty, no lil chick, no mistress, no fling, no bit..h, no whor$…
YOU ARE AMAZING, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL, YOU ARE A QUEEN and you should be treated as such. You are so much more worthy and deserving of better!
Deep ocean of azure blue
Overhead seagulls circling flew
In constant motion, heaving sides
The old merchant ship upon it rides
Rust scorched it's barnacled coat
Salt encrusted railings forever afloat
On the horizon's sinking sun's amber glow
Beckons enticingly along the flow
New moon appearing from out of the west
Silvery waves splintering against foamy crest
Figures emerging from the hold below
Peering skywards at the star studded show
Then into action to each their appointed task
Some heaving ropes, others mounting the mast
All working together to achieve one aim
To secure the sails aloft the bounteous main
A rumble of thunder and a flash lightening sound
Mountainous waves gather pace all around
Working in unison the crew now complete
All tasks meritorious as a well drilled fleet
A shout from the Captain, as the thunder roars
Urgently gesticulating "secure the oars"
Rain clashing as in sword play
Freeze drench they stand
As they see the top sail rend
Now all secured they disappear down
Below decks they ruminate
All worrying, no sound
Then vocal in assumptions from mate to mate
Until the Captain shouts "Silence no need for this din,
I shall calculate our bearings, now where to begin?"
Spreading out his charts he clears cups for a space
Each man concentrating, deep intent on each face
"Look Captain", one points "there's the Cape of Good Hope
enough time to manoeuvre and with luck stay afloat"
The temperature plummets and the crew mill around
No warmth except mittens and blankets draped around
The storm is abating and two bells is called
As each man takes turn to pump until hauled
Buckets of water overboard they keep on
Clearing sea water over gunnels, until all is gone
Ship breaking water all in it's wake
No matter the weather only headway to make
Dolphins leaping and diving below
Thoughts turn to seamen of long ago
Royal Navy Standards, a jolly jack tar
Plotting each course by the Northern Star
Pirate vessels hoisting their skull and crossbones
Biting winds moaning and pelting hailstones
Sailing ships with elaborate sails
Above the wind, sailors hearty hales
Anchorage sought and a comfortable berth
Homeward port reached and feet on the earth.