Long Quotas Poems
Long Quotas Poems. Below are the most popular long Quotas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Quotas poems by poem length and keyword.
I know that it struck me as strange
the moment I first felt the change,
a first inkling, it came to me
way back when I was twenty-three,
was my first summer out of school,
I met with my friend Jo Dankool,
he’d graduated two-years before,
I barely saw him anymore.
We met up for drinks one brisk night,
the way he moved didn’t seem right,
his energy seemed all but robbed,
I asked and he said,”It’s the job.
I like my work, please do not doubt,
but just got my taxes figured out.
I would be making eighty K,
but feds take so damn much away.
Annoyed to work sixty hours,
do all that is in my power,
only to lose a massive chunk,
two years back who would’ve thunk,
that I would look down on the poor
and wonder if they could do more…
For every one who really needs
it seems there are another three
who easily could be at work,
I point it out, they call me jerk.
to sit around while I toil
really gets the blood to boil,
why now has it become okay
to live off hand-outs all your days?”
I just let him rant and vent,
these words couldn’t be what he meant.
Then I got a job selling boats,
and learned just why that way he spoke,
when I sweated quotas every day
to bring down my own fifty K.
worked hard for it, but they’d declare
that I was ‘rich,’ money to space,
that I was just a greedy bloke
not to give it to poor folks.
So why work then? I wracked my brain,
felt the first stirrings of the change.
MY
PLACE IN THE SUN
a life without
giving is a life not
worth living in
truth my mother was
right,
but a life in a home
unsafe and alone was
all that was in my
sight.
upon considerable
reflection their
abuse and rejection
made absolutely no
sense,
but being a kid I
took it I did I was
too young to take
much offense.
alone in my room I
did contemplate doom
in the laboring
silence of night,
and hanged my head
with thoughts of
dread with no
glimmer no inkling
of light.
but I made my way
out although filled
with self-doubt I
was unable to face
the truth,
that I had been
changed by the onset
of shame and my
suffering for years
is my proof.
grown up in the dark
with no sense of my
heart lusting for
bells and whistles
galore,
with shoulds and
must haves and
quotas to mark life
left me empty and
longing for more.
in search for truth
throughout my youth
I found money and
power and fame,
I was distracted by
the lie of glitter
passing by all for
the sake of my name.
now I find myself
thinking on days of
my drinking and
years of chasing a
lie,
the cheating, the
fighting and
constant denying of
a self so consumed
by false pride.
I want to emerge
from the dark where
my hope ignites
spark and my mind is
no longer obtuse,
where the veil has
been lifted with
heart freed to love
and with mercy I
embrace my truth.
where speaking in
verses and walking
with purpose I could
shine brighter than
bobbles I hold,
under shadows of
trees with the earth
beneath my knees
where there’s
treasures for me to
behold.
I’d have no fear of
new faces and could
be in embraces
instead of the whirl
in my head,
and humbly ask
questions and wait
for the answers and
be free from the
pain that I shed.
with a new found
confidence from the
hand of providence I
could feel like I’d
finally won, a life
that is lived from
the inside out if I
could just find my
place in the sun.
For Patrice Lumumba
25-06-2025
When you gave back just a tooth
You didn’t even feel ashamed
At all though you knew the truth
You were never deeply blamed
For what you did to Patrice
Lumumba whom you tortured
Then chopped and chopped to pieces
Like an onion you nurtured
Your ego and turned our land
Into a profit death camp
Which fulfilled what you had planned
You took and took to revamp
Belgium thus exploited
All our raw material
Thinking you were anointed
By God to act imperial
No one was prosecuted
For what you put us through
Your deeds can’t be disputed
Even your own crew knows it’s true
When rubber quotas wasn’t met
You cut off my limbs with an axe
To make an example of me on set
Were you proud with all those stacks
And stacks of hands you displayed
Like medals on parade after a race
Were you aware of the game you played
Which was gory yet turned our face
Sad when blood gushed like water from
A hydrant still no remorse
While you just stood there numb
To the course you had to endorse
...And in that lies the irony
of this whole ‘social justice’ phrase,
it exists to excuse racism,
to put a nice name on mere hate.
You want to hate pale people or
attack any one that succeeds,
just claim that it’s ‘social justice,’
then you can go and make them bleed.
You want to say bigoted things
and not have to take flak for it?
Just claim that it’s ‘social justice,’
and that your group ‘cannot be racist.’
You want to put quotas in place,
and get jobs that you have no earned?
Then just cry out ‘social justice,’
and watched those wrong-colored folk burn.
You want to smash and loot your town,
but now have to do time in jail?
Just say that it’s ‘social justice,’
and they let you go without fail.
We really shouldn’t be surprised,
the left always divides by race,
from slavery down to Jim Crow…
of course they’d cheerlead this disgrace.
But there’s no need to buy into
a concept that’s so disgusting,
justice can never be social,
it’s an individual thing.
Always.
The System of Musical Chairs
" AI is of no use nor it helps anyone in this
Society ".
It repeats and is repetitive with no human
emotions to proceed to the next " Go".
Red Light? Does this System of Musical
Chairs seems like a game of charades ?
Backlogs, Deadlines, Quotas , Tracking
Numbers mazes of Red Tape.
Unlimited transfers pressing Numbers on
One's keypad just trying to reach a live
person.
Pointing fingers at team members in this System of the blame game on a monthly
basis.
What's the sense of Employees of the month?
When it creates disorganization.
The Islamists claim that their views
are the very words of God,
and when they try to make it real,
it just ends up in death and rot.
They can’t stop folks from drinking,
or bringing music to their ears,
can’t stone all the ‘adulteresses’
if they had one thousand years.
Yet they try and all that it brings
is widespread misery and death,
though they live in war, they haven’t learned
to embrace the chaos yet.
The Socialist thinks they are good
for the poor across the world,
but every time they live their thoughts
only genocide is unfurled.
The collectives miss their quotas,
basic supplies soon run short.
They solution? Need more power!
Always more and more and more…
To control human economies
is a foolish, unwise bet,
they seek control and haven’t learned
to embrace the chaos yet.
The Utopian wants to build
a world where it’s all worked out,
problems solved so none suffers,
no hate, no fear, and no doubts.
But what’s ideal for a single mind,
assuming it can even exist,
is anathema to most others,
who soon stand up and resist.
Do they abandon the great dream,
or do they turn to anger red?
Usually that later, they haven’t
embraced the sweet chaos yet.
The truth of it is that ideals
play a similar role to faith,
when one alone does rule the roost,
society slides into hate.
But when no one can rule it all,
when they must always compete,
they you have a state in which
men and women can live free.
Our Founders knew this long ago,
when they structured our county,
low-level chaos is no ill,
it’s a damn necessity!
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
(Read later stanzas for more of the humour part ; parody of politics)
I Can't think well of a democracy
if nepotism and false promises
are part and parcel of its idiosyncrasy
A system of governance can't appeal to me
if it forever stinks of the 'stinking' rich plutocracy.
The media the ravening wolves many times their puppets,
together they howl for our divided attention
With wily words to win the masses of marionnettes
The nation's welfare merely their scheme in pretension.
Wonder why political power has to be the monopoly
of ambitious, vainglorious affluent power moguls.
Why can't they simply choose leaders
from any sincere poor yet wise and humble individuals?
The promises of a better world by 'em' politicians
are simply the oratory tricks of slick tacticians.
Demagogues come in all shapes and sizes
They come in 'perfect' future leader disguises
Pulling you and me to polling booths, luring us the dumbstruck voters
To amass as much power and wealth as possible in their limited quotas.
No wonder poor presidents are turned or burned
in the form of their rude and crude effigy cartoons
Comic sarcastic politics I say, since a caricature
it purposely lampoons!
Then the demonstrations, remonstrations
but they only invite riots and tear bomb gas
So if yah can keep your rallies peaceful
maybe you won't be such an ass.
And if yah do go ahead ranting, panting, slogun chanting
No seeds of discord nor weeds of hate be sowing, planting
for a showdown with fleshy arms, no metal arms can still be prancing, advancing
With sloguns not shotguns be ye protesting and demanding.
Thus I really wonder if politicos politicking
really do make the world tick.
Or do they simply in many places cause
timebombs to parallel the clock's tick?
(ok cast d ballot n vote 4 me as funny presidential candidate
of no-man's land ;
The beating of the Mill,
we hear it down the hill.
It is the town's heartbeat.
No children on the street
already in the shop
to labor till they drop.
Sold to the upper class;
the mother needs the brass.
The father on the beer;
not working since last year.
The bosses own their soul,
their houses, so they toll;
boy, sister, young as four
stay bailiff from the door.
They; hardly off the teat,
meet quotas, or get beat.
Most dying all too young
from ailment of the lung
or bodies ripped apart.
No healthcare; caring heart
so poorer lose their health
while richer gain more wealth
on broken bodies, pain.
The workers take the strain.
Not distant, in the past
but present, and to last.
You think that things have changed,
you all must be deranged;
The Beating of the Mill
is calling us all still!
The Sweat Shop Poetry Contest placed 5th
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Date wrote: 15th February 2022
Oh, shudder at the tales they tell
of making bricks or weed;
they're made to work without reward.
their childhood's gone to seed.
They're selling drugs and stolen goods
from car to street to door;
and trading guns for merchandise
with quotas to get more.
Where is their hope devoid of God?
and who will share His name?
The law is broke; then who will stand
to rescue them from shame?
Young girls are made to turn a trick
and boys must live with sleaze
for food and shelter, clothes to wear -
just bare necessities.
Some run-aways, some throw-aways
they're humans dealt as slaves.
They need defense from threat of harm
to shield them from their graves.
Where is their hope devoid of God?
and who will share His name?
The law is broke; then who will stand
to rescue them from shame?
Blind Justice of Quotas
The gavel falls by decimal,
The judgement by percent.
The individual decreased to small,
A fraction of intent.
The scales she holds no longer weigh
The implication of the crime; They total up
The data-set to clear the queue of time.
Injudicious eyes are bound
To grids of black and white
Where no extenuating ground can alter
Wrong to right.
We trade the law for calculators, Truth for
targeted numbers.
Escaping fair adjudicators for anything that
computes.
She stands in stone, a blind sum capture to
A pie-chart, crown- a goddess turned outdated,
While column weigh her down.
A ledger filled, a ratio net, The target achieved
And clear;
While justice weeps inside the trap of a
Mathematical World.