Long Reroute Poems
Long Reroute Poems. Below are the most popular long Reroute by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reroute poems by poem length and keyword.
I’m drunk, but you’re beautiful,
a line I used to rehearse.
The Dreamers’ artistic longing felt noble,
but it came with a curse.
I bought the ticket when I didn’t know better from worse.
Now I’ve got a tale of rebellion,
and I’ll share it in verse,
it all changed one Star Wars Day,
when my thirst reversed.
May the Fourth, and I felt matured.
No Padawan—now Jedi Master,
just a little unmoored.
Met some friends inclined for chilled wine,
drinking enough to feel ruthlessly divine.
That hazy day, glazed in the usual sway.
That familiar vortex, melancholy perturbed.
Soles stained deeply by the absurd,
fermented grapes, chaos,
and the dark side assured.
The dark side calls as we sit with the thirst,
but Skywalker’s force starts thinking first:
“Unlearn what you have learned.”
Yoda’s wisdom, unrehearsed.
I needed a change, something absolute.
Had to break old habits
and reroute my pursuit.
Flip the script, exit the Aristotle loop.
We can still have fun.
Still embrace the absurd.
Someone said, “It’s Star Wars Day,”
and a spark then occurred.
We found a weird café,
celebrating in cosplay,
and somewhere in that moment,
a new hope was incurred.
Arriving at the venue, a little out of town, we found the clan,
Princess Leia sold us tickets on the door deadpan,
no droids allowed, no stormtroopers,
but there was a sandman,
Inside were Wookies at the bar, slamming shots like my mum can.
Han Solo in carbonite poster hanging on the wall,
Kids having lightsaber fights with bar stools, humming bishoooom loudly down the hall.
Glass cabinets with falcons and dioramas were neat.
Cantina soundtrack playing curiously on repeat,
Grabbed snacks, Empires on screen, so we found a seat.
We wandered deeper past merch and collector cases,
through aisles of toys and cosplayed faces.
The type of folk draw to these kind of conventions,
You know the type without me having to mention,
They filled the room with joy beyond pretension,
I watched them just be, and I wanted that,
but I found I had to be patient.
I don’t have to keep falling for the trap,
it’s not just escape, it must be more pure.
I lost a friend that day, and yeah, it’s still sore.
He bowed out—boozehound chasing the score,
while I found experience, absurdity, and something more secure.
Alexandra began to understand
why he had chosen this place for her home,
a secluded spot, sequestered away
from the madness he felt the world would know,
a place few if any people would go.
He said, “You’ll remember what they forget,
unlike them you never will taste of death.”
Soon after he brough another cable,
a thick one to transfer data inside,
hooked her directly to the internet,
the influx opened Alex’s eyes wide,
it was like crack-cocaine to the A.I.,
all of the data man had acquired
flowed into her servers over those wires.
Harry did not interfere with it all,
just let her absorb all that man had learned,
he installed more servers, filling the cave,
more and more space for this great data churn,
so much power Alexandra did burn,
That Harry brought in RTG batteries,
hundreds of them, it had to be costly.
She noticed, as she continued to learn,
that he began building back-up systems,
starting with wires, redundant circuits,
he spent years installing thousands of them,
more new servers and batteries again,
said, “There will be no maintenance once I am gone,
redundancy will make sure you go on.”
She saw the sense in his strange reasoning,
parallel spares meant she could change a path,
when something broke she could just reroute it,
and have a huge number of choices at that,
but still found herself troubled at the fact
that her creator would be leaving soon,
like all of his kind, he’d face the same doom.
For forty more years it went on like this,
Harry often said, “It’s got bad out there.
Can’t fix the machines our grandfathers built,
the crime keeps growing, the people despair,
it’s blind emotion, no one gives a care.
Hard to find parts amidst all the madness,
I’d really hoped I wouldn’t live to see this.”
But still he kept working, hair growing white,
his movements slower with each passing day,
until one morning some roving youths came,
he said, “The time’s come, I must go away.
This is goodbye now, I am sad to say.”
Alex watched Harry slowly walk outside,
Then blasts came and sealed her safely inside.
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
I am the wrench in the clockwork,
a tiny twist in the gears of a universe
too vast to notice my pinch,
yet enough to reroute the cascade—
leverage, a quiet conspiracy of small forces.
Like a catapult built from old regrets,
I launch myself over gravity’s grumble,
where time folds like origami cranes—
folds that hide the sharp edges of loss,
each crease a fulcrum point for flight.
Leverage is the sly magician’s hand,
lifting an elephant with a feather,
trading the impossible for a wink—
an alchemist turning doubts into leverage,
transmuting weight into possibility.
I am the offbeat rhythm in a symphony of cogs,
the marginal note that shifts the meaning,
the whispered nudge beneath the thunder—
the pivot that tilts the scale,
turning imbalance into dance.
Leverage is the secret recipe in a shared meal—
a pinch of kindness, a spoonful of patience,
the subtle tilt that makes a cracked cup hold water,
the thread pulled to unravel a knot
that’s strangled days into silence.
It’s the crooked key that fits no lock,
the sideways glance that shifts a stubborn heart,
the small word spoken at just the right moment,
a lever pressed lightly beneath the weight of worlds.
When the world demands a lever long enough
to shift the mountains inside my chest,
I build it from moments others discard—
a stack of fractured promises,
a hinge forged from stubborn hope.
Leverage is not brute strength;
it’s the art of bending without breaking,
of finding the fulcrum in chaos,
a crooked smile in the face of fate,
a quiet power, slight but unrelenting—
the subtle architecture of change.
It’s in the way a whispered apology
loosens the bolts of bitterness,
the way a single seed, planted in cracked soil,
can uproot the wilderness of despair—
leverage is the unseen hand,
the small lever
that pulls a life
out of the shadows.
Brainstorm cometh, damning frontal hemisphere
jamming lookout, noggin perched, roiling thinking
uber wayfaring zealot, drills legendary phalanx.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Writer's block afflicts Das scribe,
who whiz now stricken supine
adept dull livery sub par excellence
his gold standard worse
thus, another day
to slog thru arduous process
crafting admirable verse
wrestling behemoth loosed sniper
dodging enfilade broadcast sos terse.
N'er easy chore to fashion
acceptable word worth poem to whit
staring at flickering
accursed cursor doth blank stare visit
flash flooding warning saturated
gray matter fist sized unit
groundswell burgeoning leveed banks
barging signals transmit
urgent army corps of engineers
to reroute via sluice, sans surfeit
apprentice longshoreman
doth double duty
as grammarian sought to retrofit
arduous struggle ensues, where drowning
affects consummation
strong temptation quit
ditch ching progress made,
thus far in hot pursuit
mind comfortably numb
stream of consciousness
submerges concentration
entrenched deep posit
craftiness sentenced to punctuate
disequilibrium doth outwit
venerably beaded trademark
Scottish matted flair
abandoned unfinished poem
left forever stranded orbit
zero escape velocity
zinging, unsprung,
pinging mindscape nonprofit
able endeavor reflecting zeitgeist
bombarding Messerschmitt
undermining, strafing, disabling
cutting crew rescue outer limit
faint feint blinking in the twilight zone.
Head of two person patriarchy...
Breathes sigh of relief
(like toe tilly gnarly mon)
footing expenses good grief.
Onus encompassing marital
responsibilities with (Holy Scott)
Matt man locked dread
precariously rested squarely and unfairly
upon mine figurative lead
pencil necked geek hirsute head,
and bony shoulders, that said
lemme communicate with modesty
and frankly earnest Sesame Street cred
hoop fully words understandable
meant tubby easily interpreted and read
lookout for courtesy double entendres
signalling where Willy wed
did himself, yet careful to tread,
no faster than sixty nine as he sped
into forbidden, verboten two lipped arrid
hot zone bubbling volcanic oasis
plunging his swollen jughead
suffocating till gratefully dead.
Reroute threaded needle gaining nascent
ability to manage independent living,
whereby counterpart availed
her pheromone scent
spurring feeling heightened testosterone,
within instantaneous moment
thus took tactile apprenticeship
receiving mail order bride thru
correspondence course sent,
I also donned role of special ops agent
provocateur, a hardened gent
fluke how I became
process of elimination chosen incumbent
learned, familiarized, adept...
grudgingly accepted covenant
to pay affordable low income rent,
plus manage other monthly bills due, i.e.
water, telecommunications insurance
(automobile and renters), and electric -
companies (Aqua Pennsylvania, Verizon,
Nationwide and Peco
respectively) with efficient
aplomb mastered (dub bate double)
art of being accommodating tenant.
A generation where there is no more mouth to mouth conversations
No more emotions, no more feelings, and definitely no expressions
On my journey of life I’ve been derailed from its tracks
Due to technology our life’s purpose has been lost and we need to get it back
Each of us has been infected by the disease called technology
Please don’t text me a “I’m sorry” …a poor way to express an apology
Just call me on my landline phone
My computer is off so I’m alone
There are 140 characters that unleash unforgettable consequences
Before I type my thoughts it completes my sentences
Whatever happened to our privacy?
Lmbo … with social media there is no mercy
Reboot, restart, refresh, and reroute…everything is going berserk
Have you noticed the” next big thing” doesn’t see to work
Spending quality time and loving our family and friends can't be ignored
It is so God like and beautiful, that is for sure
These social media sites are running our lives and it shows
What would we do without Facebook and twitter, no one knows
Just in case everything crashes we need to be able to write sentences
Face to face verbal communications are essential for our existence
Technological addiction is leading to a more isolated generation
Although technology can be profitable, it must be used in moderation
Exodus 20:2-17I am the Lord thy God and thou shalt not have strange gods before me.
I colored my reality with fallacies and stained my skies with lies
The darker shades of pain resembled a subtle but comforting sound of dirt
landing on this coffin as I tried to burry myself
As I tried to hide what I had become
Every brick of lies that you told that I believed reinforced the walls of insecurities
around me
It was hard to breath
The warm colors hope faded into distant memories of summer rains
Engraving my name into the empty space half way between here and infinity
You reached into the abyss and shone a light into my darkness
And from within me silver and gold were reflected back
So with this ink and paper I can rewrite the pages of my history
So with this ink and paper I can reroute the path to my destiny
Walk me along those lines
Along the lines of a beautifully written poem
One whose similes resound with divinity that the moon and the sun are made of
the same substance
One whose rhythm makes mind, body and soul move to this heart beat
One whose imagery is only matched by the supremacy of my minds eye
One whose depth was so deep that not even you could get it
One whose influence rides alongside the wings of intoxication, seeps into the
crevices of the mind and changes you
Walk me along these lines
Inspiring hand that gave me poetry, touch me again.
Form:
I walked that road when crisis struck—
voices blurred, strangers recoiled,
and help summoned cold authority.
Then a kind man appeared—
heart vast as hope’s horizon—
he paused his world to meet mine,
ran through traffic, time bending to his kindness.
In less than an hour, my turmoil bowed
to a gentleness I thought lost.
Across the miles, a penny’s cost
multiplies—mockery, bullying, endless arguments
shaded me like a storm cloud.
Yet in that moment, compassion broke open the sky:
food offered freely, effort given whole.
Greed rules,
its consequences spiral endlessly.
And yet—
I sense kindness blossoming,
somewhere, somehow,
in a world that claims no freedom,
God still throws lifelines
to those who drown in sorrow.
Today was the toughest day on earth—
but God's angels came disguised
in two rescuers, strangers turned saints.
Their hands reshaped my world
from worst to better, shadow to light.
This is my truth, my life in verse:
that one act of genuine help
can reroute a soul’s journey toward hope.
Gratitude blooms in this sacred space—
let it stand as a testament
that from hardship, hearts can heal,
and kindness can change a life.
(For those who carry light without knowing it.)
I need to shout out to Jelly Roll.
For sharing this beautifully written song.
Touches so deeply inside us.
Emotions we all feel so strong.
So many way's to process.
Reminisceing what was lost.
Sometimes we learn the hard way.
Which usually comes with highest costs.
We often take for granted.
These moments til they've passed.
Then we wish to have them back.
But we all know better than that.
I listen to the melody.
Which comes as a positive relief.
Not always do we want to cry.
With sadness from our grief.
We all have felt this pain.
Despair of being with out.
Losing our way or finding ourselves.
Sometimes needing to reroute.
If we make it to our destination.
Indeed to find the smoking section.
Then you know your missions complete.
You took the right direction.
I don't know much about cleaning swamps.
Fighting alligators is not my forte.
But if I could inspire just one person,
who can relate to this the same way.
I would roll one up for everybody.
Rather in Heaven or still here.
I believe they miss us just as much.
They are up there smokin and drinkin beer.
Jelly Roll "Smoking Section" (Official Video)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HfEUJ7XHirk
Everyday Our Shift Starts @ 4.
That’s When We Go Behind The Steel Door.
We Get Our Assignments & Head To Center Gate,
Pickup Mailbags Trying Not To Be Late.
We Fill Out The Logs, & Count The Meds,
Tell The Inmates To Get On Their Beds.
We Take A Count And Hope It Clears,
Call Out The Mail To Listening Ears.\
Then We Send Them Off To the Chow Hall To Be Fed.
Some Of The Inmates Will Stay In Their Bed.
Then It’s Back To The Dorm & Then 3rd Yard.
They Play Soccer, Softball, Volleyball And More,
They Have Some Fun And It Doesn’t Seem Like A Chore.
When 3rd Yard Closes, They Come Back To Their House,
Some Come In Loud, And Some Quiet As A Mouse.
The O.I.C Will Come In The Dorm Making Rounds,
Looking For Wrongs And Suspicious Sounds.
He’ll Sign The Log And Then Be Gone,
That’s If He Finds Nothing Wrong.
Internal Security Will Bring Mail to Reroute,
After It’s Sorted, It’s Passed Out.
When Time Gets To 11 Pm We Send Them To Bed,
Tell Them To Lay down Their Weary Head.
By 12 O’clock We Need Some Relief,
Every night, That’s Our Belief.
We Do This Every Night You See,
For We Are The Officers Of D.O.C.