Long Regulator Poems
Long Regulator Poems. Below are the most popular long Regulator by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Regulator poems by poem length and keyword.
MASTER DOCTOR
I got a cure for your aliment
His name…
JESUS
I got a cure for your pains
JESUS, JESUS
He got a plan, works better if your obedient;
He’s got a cure and remedy;
He’s my redeemer, my doctor of all you see
He’s my
Master
Master planner
Healer
Provider, doctor
He’s my Master Doctor
He’s my healer
Provider
Revealer
Subsider
He’s my lily of the Valley
He’s my all N all
Open up your hearts and let the healing waters flow;
Open up your minds let Him heal your souls
Open up your time and worship, worship
Open up your mind and let Him flourish, flourish
Let the healing waters flow
Let the healing waters go
Open up and let the healer man do His spill
Allow Him to free your ills
My heart fixer, my Lilly of the valley, my soul regulator, in the garden of Eden
On the Mount of Olives
Let Him cure what wrong with you;
Allow Him to cure you….
Let the healing waters flow
Let the healing waters go
Open up and let the healer man do His spill
Allow Him to free your ills
He’s my
Master
Master planner
Healer
Provider, doctor
He’s my Master Doctor
He’s my healer
Provider
Revealer
Subsider
He’s my lily of the Valley
He’s my all N all
He’s my, my, my, my…
Master Doctor
He’s my, my, my, my…
Master Doctor
He’s my, my, my, my…
Master Doctor
04/09/10
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2010, 2018
Arranged music by Innocent Nikiema
Diving deep, it was dark, cold and slimy.
Regulator dummy-splat gulps of air
flowing free into lungs, bubbling blabs out.
I struggled with the mud core collector,
to swiftly exit hole hundred feet down.
Just when the deed was all done and dusted,
I sucked for gasp - a spurt and then it stopped.
I reached up to turn reserve air tank on
but nothing, no surge of air, just fear flow.
No air, a hundred feet down, in despair!
I remembered my training - don't panic!
I tugged three times on safety line - again
No reply, so I faced a free ascent.
I dropped my weight belt, inflated the vest
pursed my lips and whistled, releasing air
in steady stream, fighting desire to stop,
to keep the precious gulp of air in lung.
Straining and kicking frantically up
at last I burst through the surface to gasp
gulps of fresh air, sucked in with great relief,
And then it happened, there was my dear mate
fiddling head down with tangled safety rope
oblivious to my plight - near death fight.
So relieved to be alive, all I said:
"Hey Mate, so nice to see you here again"
I plunge beneath the tide of the restless sea.
through corridors of green where shadows lunge at me;
the water’s pulse warps what I can see,
each beat a thrust towards my fate's mystery.
Silt now erupts, choking faded memories,
Shells lock shut, like vaults closed by ancient decrees;
I probe for grit wrapped tightly in silver coat's gleams,
With a silky smooth feel of much cherished hopes and dreams.
Light drifts down; it's not sunlight, it's rainbow,
driving spears deep into scared beds below;
ripping shards into the strangling cold,
making the search more strident, fierce, and bold.
I dive for oysters, for what someone called gold.
sewn deep within places that refuse to unfold.
I hear the air regulator hiss out my name.
Its voice in a shell I can never reclaim.
I can still taste the salt that scalds the air.
A glint half-formed as if it’s always been there.
I can still see the shimmering flare in my sleep.
A star blinking where foul currents stalk and creep.
All still, the ocean I love, tightens its claim.
Dragging me deeper for nacre's riches and fame.
The deep hums low; it calls my name.
Lungs burn hot; my heart's on flame.
I’m diving for nacre.
Locked in rough shell’s keep.
It's just out of reach …
just out of reach …
It's just out of reach …
We dived on coral reef, my buddy and I,
virtually tethered to stay paired.
He was obsessed with clown fish.
I kept dragging him away,
to see other things.
He kept poking hands at colorful
anemones waving tentacles in the current,
shooing the clown fish away, playing.
Unknowingly his hand slipped into
a giant clam, which clamped shut on his wrist.
We tried and tried to get the clam to release its grip,
to let his hand free, to let him go.
He and I stabbed with knives,
cutting and bashing as its soft insides.
All to no avail, the grip just got tighter and tighter.
The current had increased to a mighty surge underwater.
Leaving my buddy now, to go for help,
was out of the question.
Not enough time, not enough air.
How would I find my way back in the current.
Suddenly my buddy signalled with hand across his throat.
He was out of air!
Our training kicked in we started to buddy-breathe
with my regulator, one breath at a time, in turns.
I looked at my gauge, and was shocked to see
there was only 15 minutes of air left!
With two sucking in air, it would not last that long.
We both stared into each other's eyes.
We knew what we had to do.
I tied a rope tightly around the snared arm
above the wrist.
I drew my knife out of its scabbard.
I took an extra long deep breath.
As we be breathed,
I handed the regulator back to him,
and cut ...........
“Failure is an option, but fear is not.” —James Cameron
stuff into your wetsuit
strap on your BCD
from your regulator take two sips
excited you should be
we’re gonna scuba
in Aruba
(did you say Cuba?)
I said Aruba
stare at the horizon
big step into the fray
double fist tap o’er your head
shows them you’re ok
we’re gonna scuba
in Aruba
(did you say Cuba?) No!
I said Aruba
remember safety scuba
PADI rule of thirds a must
never hold your breath
or your lungs will surely bust
we’re gonna scuba (Yeah!)
in Aruba
(did you say Cuba?) No!
I said Aruba
finally we descend
enchantment ‘neath the waves
turtles, eels, stingrays, sharks
scenes that mankind craves
we’re gonna scuba (Yeah!)
in Aruba
(did you say Cuba?) No!
I said Aruba
we’re gonna scuba (Yeah!)
in Aruba
(did you say Cuba?) No!
I said Aruba. Yo!
.~.~.~
Final thoughts in quintuplet couplets:
Water’s calm with clear blue sky
Summertime is nigh
Be sure to check your regulator
You can always thank me later
No more time for any rhyme
Dive five meters to escape the skeeters
If your mortgage is underwater
Are you certified to dive?
Sea Hunt was a favorite show
It’s great to be alive
Gallimaufry of linkedin words appeal,
(particularly spoken by renown orator)
'cept when unnamed poetaster afflicted
with chatterbox syndrome,
nonetheless deliberate effected
muzzle restraint imposed
suppressing groundswell analogous
to swollen dam bursting at seams
tongue kickstarts controlled regulator
tripping baffling babbling brook,
sans (cheesy) mouth trap
conscious effort required
maintaining exhausting mental vigilance
attention oriented toward "active listening"
chiming into conversation
when casually addressed
quasi Uber tracking,
sustaining, rendering...
pondering dialogue deliberating,
mustering, aiming, firing...
apropos response adhering
to utmost strictures de rigor,
versus loosing (in the sky)
scattershot poppycock
offbase blatherskite, asper
topic under discussion
synchronicity satisfies peculiar
personal logical paradigm,
despite senseless compulsive predilection
condemning premature ejaculation
plus crosstalk as penultimate transgression
pertaining to papa blurting
asynchronous interjection
consigning tight lipped penance
penile solitude condoned
should predicated persistent plague
prevail attributing penuriousness
lame excuse pardoning yours truly
remote possibility, threatening
spurious spontaneous splendiferous
albeit ill timed unspeakable retort
with hot sealing wax - most wicked
verbal utterance arrogantly
perforating, piercing, protruding,
puckering... two lips
escaping out mouth
more rapid than witnessing
the quick brown fox
jumps over the lazy dog.
Looking inside out, I might not be so bad/
Because the world is going mad and I can't be sad/
I should really be motivated, to touch down better/
But this storm I'm trying to weather, I can't let up/
Looking inside out, I just wonder how I look/
Some people think I'm cool and don't see me as a crook/
But some do, they want to push their weight around/
So I stand my ground, they not dealing with a punk/
They dealing with a hound, I'm ride or die bound/
Turn a smile to a frown, so they try to laugh now/
If you do, you're guaranteed to cry later/
I'm a verbal assassin, as well as a regulator/
I can turn your real life into a scary movie/
I'm the light bearer, I'm the knowledge of truth/
And I can against the best like nothing to it/
When I got falsely accused, I would always ride for them/
Now, when I need a lift, nobody is riding for me/
They screaming ride or die but nobody dying for me/
Blind as can be, but I'm still trying to see/
They said no pun intended, but they punking on me/
Since I received the rock, they steady running to me/
I ran away, they chase me, trying to gun me down/
I ran a hundred miles, but still no touch downs/
I walk a lonely road, bag on my shoulders, just clothes/
On this yellow brick road, no friends, no girlfriends/
An antisocial optimist so give me the time/
There's no need to hate on me or make my life Hell/
Sometimes I feel insane, I be out of my mind/
But looking inside out, I will be just fine/
Sweat drips from little dust covered faces in the grim back-alley factories
No time for rites of passage other than fingers nimble enough to spin and
Balance wheel spool spin and stitch regulator to their master’s instruction
Anyana is not unique but one of the ‘fortunate’ ones
Gloved hands mop up droplets of perspiration from a lace veil and seduce
A myriad of lovers before she even enters an intricate parquet dance floor
Takes a cue from the orchestra and whirls on stilettos and rhapsodic flair
Chantelle did not purchase her dress at the charity shop
Their stories unite as neo-liberal gangsters spin a yard on wheels of fortune
While their procession fails to trickle down moderate glimpses of hope
Some stride on the cat walk of privilege and others are scavengers in rags
Exposed nipples are rather dissimilar but follow a different path
Anyana gathers her virtues and sends love across the boundary of despair
Her shoes bear no fairy tale stories when midnight strikes at the fashion
Of stolen passion from sweat shops for garments scented with perfume
Cause and effect cannot moderate nor gloss over amoral fabric
03rd November 2019
The antique mechanism
of the old clock had stopped.
The winding should have been
enough -- and yet, though the
pendulum swung back in forth
in perfect rhythm, no comforting
clicks emanated, as was usual,
the reassuring pulse of a consistent
heartbeat, regulator of a healthy
household.
The big hand had paused, 2 minutes
of. I thought, was this an angel, come
to my aid, or a devil, seething more
terror, personifying the foul deed
about to fully unfold? She would be
here, at nine. No doubt, her obsession
with punctuality. 2 minutes till, the
fiend had bound me to a chair. Assembled
the deadly charge, painstakingly attached to the
clock. Gagged as well I had no way of warning her.
2 minutes till...no, 1:58, 1:57, the clock's
now deadly hand had begun to again
advance. I heard her key in the door.
One minute to detonation. The door squeaked
on neglected hinges. "Cut! All right, 10 minute
break" the directed informed us, after shooting
for 4 hours non-stop.
Some dark-skinned people seek to lighten their skin colour
By applying skin creams to make themselves fairer
Most of these creams have some chemical matter
That can cause serious health problems later
Their use is common in countries like India
Where beauty and fair skin tone go together
Girls are encouraged to avoid too much exposure
To the sunshine which can make their skins darker
But some white-skinned people who are born fairer
Are not satisfied with their natural skin colour
And wilfully seek more sunlight exposure
To get a tan and make their skins darker
For them, a skin that is darkened looks better
And is more beautiful than their natural colour
Yet, for white people, sunlight overexposure
Can lead to a deadly form of skin cancer
Some animals like to wallow in muddy water
Which when dried can change their outer colour
But this serves as a temperature regulator
And keeps off skin pests of one form or another
Animals do not seek to change their skin colour
To consciously make themselves fairer or darker
Such weird action is purely human in nature
In this crazy world of people's skin colour