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.
Our current situation,
in the evolution of our species,
is one in which the ego has forgotten its true role in the psyche
and has usurped the role of central regulator. Carl Jung
Sometimes the best gift you can give yourself
is to forgive yourself
for not thinking and feeling and acting
like your healthiest self
on your best day.
Set yourself down in an empty therapy chair,
but keep your interdependent biosystem dancing,
choose your words to yourself kindly
with active curiosity
as your body reminds
rewinds
revisits
remembers
your listening empty-chaired mind
I'm exhausted by your confusion
about what you would actually need
to be healthy
and what you think you should want
to feel better about your lack of integrity
lack of compassion
lack of self-and-other-respect
lack of curiosity
and maybe something like
lack of reverence for life,
too much severance
from considering the probabilities
of a feeling-wealthy death.
I want to be free of your insatiable craving
to be appreciated
even by those you don't appreciate,
to be recognized
even by those you don't know,
and adored
despite your incapacity to feel adoration.
Why do you wander off
and leave me neglected
malnourished
dehydrated
bereft
uncared for
unappreciated
uncelebrated
unadored
neglected,
verbally abused?
So, please share with me,
what do you feel you personally need
as informed by your own past experience
on your best trauma-free day
doing your physical
and mental
and political
and economic
and social
and environmental
healthy
loving kindness best?
There’s an important meeting
on the upcoming shark calendar itinerary
A prospectus offer from a suitor company
demands an improper greeting
The boss lady wanna know
who’s gonna lead the negotiating envoy
Carry the corporate banner
for this back channel acquisition ploy
But remember,
this is a clandestine, off-the-books deal
Secret illegal, so keep your lips sealed
Tell the boss barracuda,
I reached down
to the bottom of the company food chain
And found the right chocolate patsy:
a real clueless, coconut office toy
Lick your fingers, boss lady,
‘cause he’s the yummy dummy almond joy
Without further ado, I present to you
the perfect scapegoat: code name, Gilly Roy
A gullible, low managerial level coffee boy
His stockroom qualifications
makes him the ideal inside trader regulator decoy
Get the shady deal done
without ever dirtying your hands
Have a human wet wipe
erase any evidence of this covert plan
No need to be shy,
no need to act coy
Send the rival Columbians
our very own coffee boy
It’s so Monopoly Machiavellian,
a deep-roasted Boardwalk blend
Send the coffee boy in ... it’s a win, win
If we get caught,
let the coffee boy take the percolated fall
As he drip, drip ... drip
decaffinated details, of which he really don’t know
much of anything at all
We do the poison pill hostile takeover swallow,
then deny any trace of a paper trail that might show
Boss, I betcha pure Peruvian sugar, three lumps to two,
when the Feds come calling ...
coffee boy is gonna squirt Ecuadoran tears in his brew
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/
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
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 ...........
How can there be despair when the entire
natural world unfolds with new life?
When the anhinga alights from the Nowhere
he was into the Somewhere you are, negotiating
his spectacular landing, spreading out his
Gulliver wingspan to warmth and healing on
the grassy knoll that rolls down to the lake--
manmade it may be, but the green-gold ducks
don't know that. They swim, they scan,
they disappear into its mysterious depths
for what nurturance is there.
How can there be sorrow when the male cardinal
darts across your line of vision with his red reality
twice in the same day into the Crape Myrtle
as it readies to burst its rooted heart? And, when
he comes again at dusk to rest on a budding
branch to sing a song you never heard before--
allows you to tell him how beautiful he is.
But when you ask him to stay, he darts away
because you are not the regulator.
How is there is no blessing when the stone
gray Buddha in his prayerful place on your porch
with his folded hands and bare feet reminds you
that the gods we respect do not always look like us.
When the Northern mockingbird who fell in love
with the South offers his limitless songbook
in the Laurel Oak, that wise grandfather, whose
leafy language writing the Braille of the senses
says Hold On, Hold on, and So, you do.
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 …
“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
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