Long Resume Poems
Long Resume Poems. Below are the most popular long Resume by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Resume poems by poem length and keyword.
The people surrounding me keep asking “why are you going back and forth uneasily on the empty stage shedding crocodile tears, and telling the stories of negative effects on others, though you are not of a man of faculty who is even able to produce a theory comparable to 'Blind Will of Universe', one of worst hypothesizes a man can think of.
It’s because though,
when a worldly-minded snob shouts from a podium
“you should have a positive attitude,” while displaying
his resume proudly with the title that is little-to-do with his personality,
his limited academic background that barely conceals the lack of intelligence, and insignificant accomplishment with somewhat concocted experience hiding his real being and thought, he receives respect from the audience who fascinated by every movement the snob makes in the form of applaud with standing ovation, I was always treated badly from audience, fed only by unwelcome astringent fruits of rejection and drink bitter tasting water sprang from unwanted rotten roots to quench my desire…
And that’s why the course of my reasoning became negative,
and, as a natural consequence, no matter how often you may say
to the audience “you ought to be a person of positive attitude,”
since there are more negative aspects surrounding us than
the positive elements, and that’s why I was accepted by
others negatively. More importantly, I was treated negatively
from others simply because reality goes before me.
Although positive thinkers boast themselves as if their thoughts are
sound and healthy, by saying that the water in a cup is half full;
negative thinkers sigh with a defected air and say that a cup is
half empty. However, it doesn’t make any difference how you think,
men’s thoughts cannot surpass the physical phenomena
and, therefore, a half is a half, no more nor less than a half.
In the boundary and limit is as such, whether you like it or not,
men have to go on the path of their own destiny.
Then, why does everyone has to have a positive attitude? I suppose,
that is, not more than a writhe of the men who won’t admit reality
in desperate agony. That’s the self-gratification of men
who are not able to face the facts as they are.
[The irony is, nonetheless, man is able to bear and raise a baby
by an act of self-gratification. It’s amazing, the world is a place
full of wonders.]
In regard to human's such abject abyss and absurdity, we can't help questioning: can human still be indulgent in the virulent vainglory having shaped their pretentious and dangerous preconception of a human-centered and human-dominated cosmos? can human waywardly go on with their ecologic vandalism having already triggered the macrocosmic nature's wrath and punishment? In fact, all their perverted precepts and practices have spoilt or to a large extent countervailed the hard-earned results of their positive efforts. ( e.g. vaccine development, treatment of the infected)
As can be seen more often than not: Overloaded hospital wards and overwrought medical workers are outflanked by waves of overwhelming epidemic peaks, and the process of vaccination popularization outpaced by the viruses' variation and proliferation. Indeed, human's arrogance, ignorance and particularly conscience absence have estranged them from one informative sense: The best remedy is the due respect for the macrocosmic nature that nurtures the entire universe and the due reverence for her sovereign system that really dominates every being and everything living or working inside her domain; The best vaccine is the virtue of taking all harmless lives kindly and taking kindly to the nature's heartfelt call for every bio-community member's benign ecofriendly behavior.
Having ironed out the aforesaid reasoning and arguments and having made clear our firm attitude and stance, we hereby urge Spanish, Dutch butchers and especially the Dane banes:
Stop your criminal and cruel cull without delay, do not engage any more in any activity that may bring us extinction, mass toll and physical or psychological harm, let us resume enjoying our old habitat safe and calm.
We also want to extend our exhortation to all of the human being: Make a thorough stock-taking of the circumstances of correlated infection-prone species and overall epidemic aspect before renouncing your previous evil ways and recommitting to building a livable eco-environment and lovable bio-community. Only after the strict imposition of precautionary disciplines upon your daily behavior, would there be a promising future of fine faith and fair fortune for every existent being under the sun, of course including yourselves; In the bargain, would come genuinely effective epidemic-controlling & prevention mechanisms for yourselves.
If only I could ride upon the back of a dragonfly~
O', what journey I would behold...
I receive the wind's forced breath against my face-and revel in my locks rolling in the vibrant
sunlight.
We hover just above a splash of rainbow painted flowers,
that kiss my toes with open petals of joy.
The scent so pure,
shall decorate my skin forevermore.
We crest high into the ocean tinted sky.
Humbly greet birds which share in our gift,
and delight us in symphonies of angelic praise.
I close my eyes for a startled moment,
as we dance through a vineyard of bumble bees-
"Buzz,Buzz," They caution sternly to us, their unexpected visitors.
A smile imposes my lips at the thought of their disrupted task;
Only to pass them, look over my shoulder and witness their purpose resume within natural
elegance.
A shimmering mirror of water now lies underfoot.
I feel the warmth of the sun's reflection cast up under our joined form.
"Faster, faster!" I command my fairy-friend.
As I lay down flat and wrap my limbs snugly around to secure myself, our speed begins to
flourish.
With quick, steady, pace, we descend onto the water's surface.
Skips and twists- twirl into a tango of splashes,
which shower my face with each perfectly intentional bounce.
The tickle rises up from deep in my belly,
I laugh, a laugh full of true obliviation.
Dragonfly now lifts, higher and higher we go-
As I glide upon heavenly stilled wings.
We drift within utopian clouds,
they pass before our sights like vapored curtains before a theater of whimsy, unveiling a
masterpiece.
The presented gift, is that of majestic mountain tops that promise the scent of sweetly
perfumed evergreen.
This aroma leaves me breathless.
The aroma evokes childhood visions of wishing stars,
and kisses goodnight.
I inhale the memory for a moment longer,
cherishing the scent before I must once again grow older.
My friend I have been blessed to dance in the breeze with,
slows to a transcending idol.
We encircling the center of a noble rose.
We descend gently into the heart of the queen of flowers,
and land on her royal stage.
I delicately climb down, lay upon her silk;
and closed my eyes to dream.
Dreams which have atlas' transpired to become,
my long awaited reality.
If only I could ride upon the back of a dragonfly~
O', what journey I would behold...
Into the buoyant blue of a summer sky
I throw my fortune and my hopes.
With wings and wonder I survey
the world above and need some time
up there before descending back to earth.
Advancing throttle up I climb, rocket
like and plumb, to check the heights
of clouds and skill, rolling left, then
right as in a dance, light
with release from gravity.
Before my plane escapes my vision, too, I guide
it over a graceful arch, until fast approaching
ground is all I see, and while succumbing
to the appetite of earth for things detached,
roll again and again in defiance, cutting
facets from the burnished blue.
Pushing hard to inverted flight, I see things
from a different point of view. Pressure
on the stick reminds me that up is down, and
I must concentrate to follow a horizontal path.
The Extra was made for this, I tell myself,
and brace for more.
Throwing sticks to the corner I force a snap. In a burst
of energy my wings become a blur. Like a wayward
child nose and tail go off track and need correction.
The stress on joints and structure is immense, yet
my plane obeys with no complaint, rebelling
only at my command to return wings level.
Like a metronome ticking over the rhythmic pounding
of my heart I count my way through a hammerhead:
“Throttle up and push, and, wait, and… release!
1 and 2 and roll and roll, and
1 and 2 and throttle back… rudder!”
The plane pauses in mid-air – a sentry in the sky - then pivots
on a point. Opposite aileron keeps me in a geometric plane,
and earthward bound once more I resume the beat:
“1 and 2 and roll: to canopy, and belly!
1 and 2 and push!”
The lines and arcs I draw through weather fair and foul
are my signature, the salient points of aerobatic discourse,
a test of nerves and steel, the embrace of fear.
Breaking through that wall, I emerge
free to explore the boundaries of my craft.
I must look beyond the attitude of pitch, roll and yaw
to see the art that I’m creating there
from the power and pull of wings through air.
Holding a precise line against the force
of Indiana winds or the vagaries of a Midwest storm,
with sunburned lips, lack of sleep or
a thousand other faults...
ah, there is the rub.
It is no easy thing, and still I try
to reach perfection, to control the direction
I will fly in that endless summer sky.
I let your eyes to visualise a garden on a loom;
Bluebells and marigolds in sway and lavender in bloom;
And there to play in a luscious green two kittens wrestling;
Up high in chirping swallow's play are feathered friends a-singing.
A figure of a handsome man is settled on a chair;
And by his side a beauty pure strokes lovingly his hair;
The Witch, or so the story plays, is set to work a-stitching;
For everyday she works to lay the groundwork for her witching.
The "Loom of Dunkele" is dark and glistens as if new;
That which it forges is by spelling set to render true;
This vessel handed down through time where Witches are sure wed;
Commutes it powers to the offsprings through that marriage bed.
At 35 she must be bride and to a handsome beau;
For Dunkele demands that beauty seeps through row to row;
The Witch beholden to this pact must honour this or else;
The Dunkele will take her beauty for its very self.
Dunkele demands a beauty in it's natural mould;
The Witch must weave the magic seams without her vêtements;
As pure as a newborn should she display her nakedness;
For Dunkele gave a perfect body not to be redressed:
No blemish, painting, marking, piercing for her skin to bear;
No jewellery should adorn her parts no braids within her hair;
Should she ignore these rulings and would set about to loom;
The magic would reverse all workings never to resume.
Above the loom, portraits in rows, of Witches one and all;
Each face a picture of a beauty unimaginable;
Throughout all time the loom has served and must forever more;
Or else a terrible curse be laid upon each maiden's door:
Indeed, to pander verily to a Dragon's carnal needs;
The Witch must feed on blood and guts and do as Dragon pleads;
Forever trapped in a darkened lair, no view of sun or sea;
The Witch would disappear from sight, no trace or history.
For 20 years this loom she spins as was the bargain made;
And in this time her beauty shone, success and wealth her aid;
Now in an hour the carpet loomed but for a patch to fill;
A slip of hair should she prepare to weave into the mill.
Then once complete the spell to speak releasing her shalom;
To lead her to that wondrous place where there awaits Handsome;
This rite of passage like forebears would guarantee the Witch;
Leaves on the blood line of her ilk a rich continuous stitch.
"All animals are equal. But some animals are more equal than others."
—George Orwell
A dozen of chickens and a number of horses, a cat and a raven, a few cows and other hoofed ones—all of which are perfectly silent. Poor wolfie. He can't even find a voice to growl. "Your Honor, if I may request for a short recess," I whisper, humiliatingly like a dying dragon. But my timid voice is drowned by a sly-looking pig's pouring of whisky into Dis Honor's gilded cup.
"Have you no respect or have you no eyes?" Squealing, he deafeningly squeals. He reminds me of that scaled wyvern whose head now sits in my living room. It roared deafeningly loud but breathed no fire. "His Honor is having his brief period of refreshment at the moment!"
With eyes too dry to cry and throat too hoarse to howl, the defendant meekly weeps. But only I hear it; the jury listens to only the silence, loud as a baby serpent's inaudible hiss, of two semi-digested pigs in his gut.
Who on earth build houses with flimsy hays or sticks nowadays anyway? And was it my client's fault that the third genius Doctor Porkchop got killed when some stray earthquake crushed his oh-so-unshakable fort built brick by bloody brick? Just whose brilliant proposal is it again to have Napoleon presiding the trial of the so-called Big Bad Wolf? If only he was a dragon—a pig-dragon at least— I would fain put the beauty that is my sword into good use right now.
Countless charges of premeditated murder, culpable animalicide, et cetera. Of course, do sentence us all to another life. I turn to look at the audience right behind me: a mare, a goat, a donkey. A soft motherly neigh followed by an intelligent baa, then by an astute silence.
"Please, Your Honor," Ridiculous. This stupid courtesy reminds me of tiptoeing past a mother Couatl guarding her eggs. "Shall we resume—"
Slams of gavel.
"Objection! Objection! Objection!" Dis Honor oinks vehemently, his mouth reeking of poorly brewed whisky—and I thought Tiamat's droppings were bad. The way he repeats the slamming of his gavel with every disgustingly pronounced objection gives me a headache as if it was my head he keeps hammering on. For the first time, being hit by the Basilisk's tail doesn't sound so bad at all. "Here you call me 'Your Honor Napoleon' in full," Oh, believe me, the honor is fully mine.
#THIS DEDICATION SPEAKS TO A PARTICULAR INDICATION...
IT SPEAKS TOO...
SPECIFICALLY WHO???
ANYONE WHO STAYS...
UNDERNEATH
COVERS/SHIELDINGS AND YIELDINGS.
SIRENS IN HIGHEST DECIBELS GOING OFF, CONSTANTLY INSIDE, CAN'T TURN IT OFF YET!
WON'T TURN IT OFF YET???
DON'T FRET...IF YOU TRULY WANT TO, YOU CAN!
BRING IT DOWN TO ITS PROPER BALANCE!
PRIOR, THE VOLUME WAS DEAFENING,
WHAT A NEEDLESS SUFFERING!!!
"EVEN THE COVERS" COULDN'T PROVIDE BUFFERING!
"GLAD YOU CLIMBED FROM BENEATH THAT COVER!"
NOW, WHAT ABOUT THOSE SHIELDINGS...
ARE THEY COMFORTABLE,
ARE THEY COZY PERCEIVINGS?
LIKE CERTAIN FEELINGS, ARE THEY FLEETING?
LIKE A FLASH OR A MAD DASH, SHIELD'S OFF...
I'D REALLY LIKE TO KNOW...
WHAT'S BEING SAID, FED, TO YOUR HEAD?
DOES THIS SHIELDING PROVIDE ANY PROPER STRENGTH? WHAT'S YOUR INNER VOICE EXPRESSING TO YOU...
AT LENGTH?
I BET IT'S LOUDER THAN THUNDER!!!
"IT" IS YOUR GIFT!!! WHY SHIELD IT???
LET IT "ROAR! ROAR! ROAR!" AS YOUR REMINDER NOT TO SETTLE OR SHIELD IN SILENCE. SPEAK AT PEAK: NEVER MEEK!!!
DON'T "HUSH" YOUR OWN LIFE, AND SHIELD NOT...
ELEVATED INSIGHT! ALRIGHT :-)
AHH, SOFT AS A WHISPER'S WHISPER...
THIS IS THE VOICE THAT YOU HEAR AND YOU CAN'T TUNE IT OUT! YOUR SPIRITUAL TONE NEVER HAS TO SHOUT :-) THAT'S WHY IT HOLDS TRUE GLORIOUS CLOUT, AS WELL, CLARITY. IT ONLY BECOMES A RARITY TO TUNE IN...IF YOU OR I ARE "OUT OF TUNE"
ALLOWING "IT" NOT TO RESUME...
WITH IT'S URGENCE AND PRECIOUS RESURGENCE,
HOW ELSE IS ONE TO EMERGE & SURGE VICTORIOUSLY...DEFEATING THE "NOISE"
THAT MAY TAMPER/HAMPER FROM OUR OWN INNATE {SOLACE} "INTERFERENCE" OF SOUND SENSIBILITIES.
DAMN DISTRACTIONS WE LOOK FOR,
IN PLACE OF THE ACTIONS AND TRACTION
WE INSTEAD YEARN FOR...
CORE WHISPER'S WHISPER, "IS N E V E R ON MUTE..."
NO A.I. CAN COMPETE WITH T H I S COMPUTE!
THROUGHOUT LIFE...
WE'LL HAVE TO KICK THOSE COVERS!
STOP SHIELDING, "OURSELVES!"
CEASE YIELDING, BY CHOICE...
BECAUSE YOU'RE A L W A Y S BEING* "SPOKEN TO"
YOU CAN ADJUST YOUR LEVELS AND DECIBELS TO HIGH OR LOW...FAST OR SLOW.
BUT, YOUR {INNER SETTING} HAS ITS OWN LEVERAGING AND TRUST ME....
IF YOU'RE RECEPTIVE, PARTICULARLY PERCEPTIVE...
IT WILL B A L A N C E
YOU & I ACCORDINGLY...
{PERFECT PITCH}
~~~~~~~DIVINELY & ZERO GLITCH~~~~~~~
Renee D. Gross {GHPPR} SEPTEMBER 23, 2023#
Sophomore year’s clocked-up my free time. Last summer I made some core promises (to my mom) to go harder on the pre-med track. Perfect grades are ok, I’m told, but they’re underdog, alone. So, this year, my “spare” time is split between hospital volunteering and a (nominally) paid research project. The goal of all this hustle is to pad my resume up, as proffer, for a 2025 med school slot. I’ve never felt so observed, judged and weekend-less, but playas gotta play.
Last week, Peter (let’s call him my BF) was invited to some random alumni event. He wasn’t excited about it, but he thought, “Ooo, free meal.” Actors and doctoral students are all about free food. Then, after he signed onto it, they told him the group was going, by train to Washington DC, on an overnight trip (all expenses paid) where they’d visit the White House and meet the President.
They took the train through New York and down to DC arriving late at night and then they had to meet in the lobby, the following morning, at 7am to get COVID tested for the White House. He said the White House experience, and the meet-and-greet seemed surreal. While he didn’t get to meet Joe, he shook Jill Biden’s hand, and in a parting, fog-headed moment, suggested she “have a good one.” (Hopefully, she did.)
As an extra, on the way back, at union station in DC, they heard gunshots and there were a few tense moments where they saw people in the station (outside the train) running about in panic. Eventually, security pronounced everything safe. A man WAS shot in the foot but that passes for a calm night in DC. All-in-all the event and train travel made for an exhausting trip for poor Peter.
Bizz, BIZZ-BIZZ-BIZZ At first, the alarm sound seemed unreal and unimportant. I opened my eyes and through my three, open dorm windows, I could see stars still flickering busily, like light off of so much broken glass. “What?” I mumbled.
“I have to go,” Peter said drowsily, as he kissed my forehead, “it’s getting early.”
It seemed I blinked, and he was gone. After he left, I woke up several times. The silence seemed heavy, almost solid and it easily pressed me back into sleep.
.
slang:
clocked-up = busied-out
core promises = inescapable swears
underdog = expected to lose
Proffer: “present (something) for acceptance.”
weekends = a mythical time to catch up*
Whenever I am reorganizing and freeing up space in the garage, it's always just a matter of time before she'll come calling.
Or I'm on the computer writing or catching up on the news, it never fails that an urgent honey do was just about due.
She's been visiting relatives for the last two weeks. She's got two more weeks before she returns home to me.
More than expected, I felt her absence the very first week. Several times I have caught myself waiting to be interrupted.
Often I've had to readjust or reprogram my mind; "Home alone". I say to myself, "Oh wow, she's not here", and resume my activity.
In 45 years of marriage, we have never been separated this long. Realistically, for the first time, I am missing her in a whole new way.
In 45 years, I've never missed her this long, this much, this way. I'm niether bored nor lonely, because I always have plenty to do.
I have been gathering and eatting more tomatoes since she's been gone.
I suspect I'll be eatting crowder peas and zucchini before she gets home.
I wish she could have seen me gathering peaches and nectarines today.
I can't deny; I've eatten more ice cream than I should; but I'm not all bad.
Why, a couple of days ago, I made a very tasty peach/nectarine smoothie. I must confess; I just have to say; I kid you not; and believe me when I say.
I will welcome her return and not be sad when things return to normal. But I'm 'tickled pink' that since she's been gone, the phone hardly rings anymore!!
72717FBPS
Chorus x 2
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
1. A personality that is a well powered Agora
for affluence and power to trade
from collar to ankle, my long covering is embroidered
with stitches of laurels
as life’s willy, I stand against nature’s passive resistance
educated beyond satisfaction
as I neither drink the slurry of poverty
nor condemned in the scaffold of barbarism.
The depth of my influence
surpasses the borders of space
the slideshow of my worth stays not reclusive
as my path has gone beyond fate
to put fortune under no quandary to visiting me.
Chorus
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
2. There is no contest
to my flag standing highest and brightest
yet my blessings still feel reclusive
my known image will stand collateral for global peace.
Media houses even in the desert
roar in a moving tempest of my reputation
yet not half the needed depth is achieved.
My commanding drive and intimidating leadership
the first education to all newborns
I am a feather bed to all my networks
even in the grave, my decaying bones
will be worth more than the basilicas of ancient Europe.
Chorus
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
3. Stronger and continuously refined I am
as I stand on top
and drink the revile, like old wine
of those who wish to live in forgery of me
the air is tagged with my trademark
as communities mimic
from the chronicles and sweeteners of my exploits.
The sun rises from my past
to reiterate a future covered with curtains
of red silk and exotic flowers.
Down the stairs to a panhandler is stupid
but my pride can wear an Asian salwar
rather than an Italian blazer
yet, fully satisfied to cling
unto the appendages of God’s glory.
Chorus
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.