Long Seats Poems
Long Seats Poems. Below are the most popular long Seats by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seats poems by poem length and keyword.
The elegant thoughts of a precious mind the computational formula of a wicked demise.
Conceptual seires of theories a conspiracy to seduce persuasive succulent poetry.
Wicked mistress of promiscuous thoughts succulent dreams aromas of fresh gratuities a blurring of mixtures to blended abstracts.
Funnels draining the gravity of intellectual force to persuade a complete set of cycling ways to convey. The Amoure of flashing movies pictured all in the thought whispering speeds of domesticating breeds many ways a heart bleeds. Bundles of delightful Joys the taste of blissful, many ways eye's see to conceive the thought.
The almonds of joy roasted to enjoy conceptual way of a thinking blinking fast ways of thoughts. Orchestra's of notes orchestrated instruments of Beethoven's musical symphonies. Genie in a bottle unleashing the mysterious, unveiling imaginative ways of cultivating the seeded flower to bloom.
Enduring the elegants of an elite Romance rhythm of a Romans aroma's to inhale changing the taste of eloquence.
The artist works mending fears transducing hours to love live love with the sweat of fears8.
Rome's architectural wonder the protects precise sculpture of a wordsmiths glamour. Struts the catwalk with a book 2 premiere, lives on set, broadcasting his heart to revere.
Prince's of prancnig dressing rooms, Broadway St of dramatic dramas, elterically shocking emotions paints new moon phases, mixture of Picasso's colors a dramatization of pain seats the audience.
Photographer of a pictured humanity, colors rainbows of negativity with brilliant prisms.
A King to lion's spiritual pride brilliance of a star, rearrange the theater's of studed premieres, lives with sentiments of love's lifetime unconditionally the greatest of philosophy.
Unique elegance of sun setting romance blinding the artist of a premiering wedding, preaching the marriage of universal energy.
Rays of hope displaying poetry of wholehearted hearted beauty.
The statue of persuasive values premiering spiritually harmonies the elegance of mankind.. Energies of unleashed imaginations dreaming of pots of gold, loving the insecurities of the worlds diversity walks the testimony of £ove.
?U N I V € R S € ?
{INT€R CONN€T€D}
°O ? N S € £ F°
Pen's Broadcasting Brilliance
21st century's Poet
#WickedRomancer
?#poet #poetry #poem ?
In numerous locales countrywide, they hold sway
Pirouetting at intervals like ballerinas from Bolshoi
Beauteous, feline and very feminine
Slender to the point of emaciation, not quite
Cultivating the undernourished look on a frugal diet
Decidedly austere for a longer tenure in the limelight
Basking in the fleeting warmth of an adulatory audience
A gathering of the doting kindred and the upwardly mobile
Some dirty old men on the sly, dirty young men too
Glued to their seats craning for a better view
By and large captive by choice, a handful perforce
Sitting through to pen their weekly column
Giving those they fancy their due in the sun
Witnesses to a parade of demure eyed lasses
And a few with flashy looks walking tall on stilettos
Essentially female and contoured though not prominently so
At least not to a marked degree, yet with excellent muscle tone
Opulence, no longer deemed a career necessity
Once considered right stuff, now rejected as wrong size
An hour-glass shape belonging to an age bygone
But hardly so, from the viewers’ mind, in retrospect
Enchanting and alluring yet not overtly titillating
Each in a state of dress and undress
Willing tools of designers flaunting their creations
Sporting dresses and hats and shoes, and lingerie too
In black or white and loud or subdued hues
Displaying formal wear, casual wear, swimsuits and sleep suits
Some scanty and figure hugging, others flowing and loose
A bony look required for some, others fulsome
A voyeur’s paradise, to be sure
Indulging a fetish without stooping too low
Chilly weather was never reason enough to cancel a show
Heat of arc-lamps taking care of goose pimples
Or brandy taken neat infusing the needed heat
Harbingers of tomorrow’s fashion and pall-bearers of today’s
The strobe lit platform of the pageant
Serving to launch new faces or is it legs?
The leggy look personified by Twiggy of yore
Carried through in the interim and sustained by the new genre
Captivating without doubt, and thorough professionals
Displaying unruffled demeanour and tutored bearing of thoroughbreds
Exuding confidence with every graceful step they take
Cool as ice despite the harsh glare of stage lights
And callous catcalls from boorish males
Performing in a backdrop of future fashion trends
Money and fame finding some, eluding others
Be it centre stage or in the shadows
It is bread on the catwalk for all
How can we not have this conversation
where footprints of the poor vanish
beneath the boots of investors,
and the river sings only
to those who can afford its luxury?
In Chobe, the elephants roam free,
but people walk caged in poverty.
We call it coexistence
when tusks are protected,
but mothers bury their sons
gored near neglected kraals.
And no one comes
unless it's a game drive
and the victim is not black.
How can we not speak
when the lion's roar is louder
than a widow's cry for compensation?
When leopards eat goats
and ministries write reports not cheques?
Let's talk about the five-star smiles
that greet foreign tongues
while the Batswana mop floors, serve beer, and sleep on concrete after ten-hour shifts.
Let's talk about uniforms and pay slips
that smell like servitude,
contracts folded into silence
in offices lined with antelope heads.
And let's speak of the racism
how a Black woman was shot by a white woman
who said, "I thought it was a monkey."
As if her body was a silhouette of threat.
As if Blackness is always a blur
on the edge of someone else's comfort.
The river bore witness, but the law shrugged,
and headlines softened the bullet.
Let's talk of fishermen
banished from their birthright,
told their canoes spoil the view,
that their laughter scares the tourists,
that their presence is pollution.
Let's speak of lodge owners
who toss insults like breadcrumbs
to those who clean their sheets
lazy, slow, replaceable.
No chains, but contracts.
No slurs, just smiles
with knives beneath them.
We cannot be quiet
when the sun sets
behind lodges built on lies,
and the river is fenced
not for safety, but exclusion.
How can we not speak
of the politics of permits,
where land is leased
like livestock,
and council seats are auctioned
to the highest foreign bidder?
Corruption blooms like water hyacinth,
choking life from the roots
of communal trust.
The sand knows.
The baobabs know.
Even the crocodiles know
how long we've swallowed
our own tongues
to protect the myth of peace.
So let us talk.
Let us gather in the heat
of midday truth,
where no luxury air-con hums.
Let us speak until the sky listens,
until justice stalks this land
as fiercely as the wild.
Because silence, here,
is complicity.
And we have been quiet
for far too long.
Form:
I stand on the highway of hope getting ready for the train to go on a trip to the mountain sphere, the passengers are pouring in, the seats are filling up, and everyone is in a mad rush. What on earth is going on? The passengers have been here before the break of dawn and excitement is all over the lawn. The cities and towns are flooded with lights and everyone has made an early sacrifice, smiles and laughter are everywhere and the people have nothing to fear. The highway of hope is taking me to the show, you can get an all-inclusive ticket wherever you go; you have a ticket for the train ride, the theatre, restaurant, cinema, the football games or just to go jogging up the lane. You have tickets to go shopping or to work out at the gym; there is a bus and a train for everything and there is one reserved only for music, singing and dancing. You can ride the bus or train any time of the day and your mornings and evening will never waste away, every ticket you buy will contribute to the blue sky and your donations will not die. Meet me at the highway of hope and I will show you where to go, the mood has change and joy is spreading everywhere. If you have nothing to do, put some snack in a bag and join the picnic train, and view all the terrain. The goal is to make a million in an hour and leave the sorrows in the showers. You will have something formidable to look forward to at the end of the day and your burdens and stress will surely roll away. Come with me to the highway of hope and join, the campaign fundraising train .Every ticket you buy will raise my ambition; every train you ride will elevate you to the sky, the numbers are growing and the passengers are swelling and my life has just begun. I have five-dollar tickets, ten-dollar ticket, a thousand- dollar tickets and any money tickets. There is a bus and train for every price and someone to show you how to roll the dice. If you don’t want to ride the train, the bus will do the same; a hundred bus and a hundred train is parked up on the highway of hope in every state so buy your tickets and join the masquerade. The goal is to make a hundred and fifty million dollars a day in the all inclusive bus and train ride on the highway of hope in all the fifty states so join the fundraising effort before it's too late.
Meet me on the highway of hope anytime of the day and don't delay.
Loneliness
He sits at the table and watches the shoppers walk by
There aren’t many seats here, his half-hour limit’s long past
As one by one each worker chats with him; they know this guy
He offers them something for which they could never have asked
Is he all alone but for these times where these grocery carts
Roll blind past this spot where store patrons with sandwiches sit
How much does it matter: he touches the store workers’ hearts
As he in time opens his heart to them too, bit by bit
We need much more than loose companionship: each needs someone
Moment to moment – if you neglect this basic need
And find yourself lulled fast asleep in the Florida sun
The others who share the beach with you will pay you no heed
Your skin that was once yearning warmth having found itself burned
Though long you’d been caught in the thought that you hardly had much
Real need for another – your heart was blocked till you discerned
The pain forcing you to withdraw your own wound-healing touch
Loneliness thus begets loneliness through lack of flow
Leaving society toxic and cold, though aren’t we
Some of the most social creatures: you think we would know
Given the size of our brains that we’ll never be free
To live in our grand isolation – say is it not sad
That we who’ve accomplished so much remain cruelly alone
In safety behind our four walls or four doors, for we’ve had
So many a fear we may act like our hearts are of stone
Most folks are either religious or distant, I think
Though there sure is joy in connecting with someone untamed
If you can sell such on your pat ideas, you may well drink
One and all from the same cup; how could instinct be blamed
For scorn and exclusion of real individualists
Don’t we know strangers whose ways of life cause them to be
Left to themselves with their thoughts – why they’d hardly be missed
That’s why it’s trouble to live as a visionary
He sits at the table: what is he, a healer a saint
Or maybe Kieslowski’s calm witness of silent insight
Observing the Decalogue unfold without the least taint
Of any least judgment, since all of us know our own plight
If you would engage him in talk would you hear unique thoughts
Or would you yet cover him up in the news of the day
And squelch him clear out with a barrel of shoulds woulds and oughts
So leave him there lonely since he’ll never know you that way
~ Thanks Always Returns
in order to get back to Eden to live on top of the world
there are a few things from God which need to be heard
here in America in the democratic land of milk and honey
African-Americans are disproportionate when it comes to power and money
our healthcare is poorer, our finances worse, few of us in seats of power
at the bottom of most demographic indicators and our circumstances diminish by the hour
the most unemployed, the most discriminated, the first to be laid-off or dismissed
more of us in jail, a lot of us illiterate, there are too many problems for me to list
fewer marketable skills, fewest high school diplomas and don't mention college degrees
African-American men in America need to take off their blinders and see
to those who stand behind stained-glass windows and look down on those who have less
you need to take your brothers back to Eden and put an end to all this mess
you might not comprehend their reality but you should attempt to understand
that as true servants of God you should help your fellow man
if you consider yourself to be a true disciple of Christ
what have you done to enrich someone else's life?
who did you clothe? who did you feed?
who did you minister to in their time of need?
who did you mentor to on how to be a man?
who did you talk to or stretch out your hand?
there's a lot of work that needs to be done to get our brothers inspired
we need to help them build a relationship with God and do as Jesus aspired
in order to get back to Eden we need to start at the very beginning
with the basic instructions that God is recommending
to fellowship with your fellow man
to develop a trust opposite to slavery's plan
to communicate with positivity
to no longer promote negativity
to pull up your pants and walk like a man
to be productive and not destructive
to be supportive and not abortive
to act like someone's father and not like you're being bothered
to teach our brothers to put down the guns and take up the cross
so they will no longer act like thugs but to think like a boss
no longer will we be divided with jealous envy
now united as brothers under God's authority
getting back to Eden to be on top of the world
to living our lives according to God's Holy word
to get back to Eden and up from the basement of life
living on top of the world as brothers with our savior Jesus Christ
There once was a much-desired piece of real estate nearby the estate of a king.
The property was coveted by the king and owned by a subject in his domain.
The king offered the above mentioned landowner a fair price, but he promptly refused to sell.
The use of eminent domain laws is said to have originated in the early 1700’s;
but this story took place hundreds of years before Christ. It refers to an evil king of a Middle Eastern country.
In a democratic republic, many properties are often secured by eminent domain.
In the above mentioned kingdom, the citizens also had rights to be honored.
The king was known to be evil, but even he deferred to the citizen’s property rights.
Though a king may be evil, he need not seek to do everything evil. So the king went home very sad, because he sincerely wanted that property. He said it was close to his estate, and owning it would allow him to expand his garden.
Nevertheless, it was not to be. That is, until the king’s wife got word of it.
The queen soon noticed the dejected and disappointing demeanor of the king.
Upon learning about her husband’s dilemma, the queen promptly resolved the king’s problem without further questions. The queen devised a lying and evil plot, and in short order, she had the man killed. She then confiscated his property and handed it over to her husband the king. The property owner had bravely exercised his right to sell or not sell to the king; but it cost him his life. Yes, the king had a reputation for being evil; but his wife the queen was far more evil than the king.
The exercise of our rights can be costly, and may even demand the ultimate price. However, the pain is greater, and the wounds are deeper, whether inflicted by the state government or by people, if rights are ignored. The evils of a State, whether it be a kingdom or republic, can only persist if the good people of the state do nothing. When good people are silent, the state is at great risks of doing evil. But when good people are vocal and prayerful, the state does good and serves them, because they exercise their rights. ‘The Good’ can only be realized as good people rise from their seats of apathy. Good people can only see and combat evils as they raise their heads from the sands of indifference.
cj 07232015 PS
Prologue:
For whoever think story telling is that easy,
Would properly from this hilarious incident,
scene or whatever you might call it, would know is not.
*****************
Just some couple of months ago, I was invited
by a friend who knows me too well, back then in
school as a funny guy and story teller and so he taught this
night, that his grand pa (who is a famous story teller
of his village) had fall sick, I would be in a better position
to cover up for his father's so called responsibility
to his people. "For he (my friend's father, Williams) is a good story teller.
But what about me who has never faced
the ample crowd with my 'cripple' tale unless sharing it with friends?" I mumbled.
In the middle of this enigma, my friend, John called me to the hot seat
to tell my tale to the unbearable crowd of adolescence.
"God why am I here this day... But it shouldn't have been this day" I retorted.
The barbarian noise from the seats infront of me showed that truly I was
in the middle of something and not lost...
"Uncle tell us a story!... Brother tell us a story!" the crowd shouted.
This day, I needed a free moment but they couldn't let me be.
"Once upon a time" they heard me said and they all resited.
" I am sorry, I am sorry let me restart it all over again".
Now in old man's voice, I told my tale before them:
"Once upon a time,
In our mothers' womb, when she
Ate, we ate. Goodnight!"
They all cannot but burst to laughter while I stood and walked to the room with my
shame.
*****************
Anything after good night means nothing more till the next day.
Maybe I escaped the night by dissatisfying the emotions of those children,
in that scene, what about my friend?
"Have I not brought shame to John's family? Did I do the
right thing that full moon night?". My heart beats!
*****************
Epilogue:
Not even do the audience remember or care to ask me: (In kid's voice)
"What if my mother do not eat while in my pregnancy, what will happen to her?" or
probably care to tell me: (Back to old man's voice) "What lesson they have derived from
the tale before their departure... Oh! No sorry, my bashful departure from their sight."
Note: The tale: "Once upon....Goodnight!" is a Haiku form of poetry.
My friends are among the stars
Clearest of crystals, each of them a pearl,
Like drop of dew on the lotus leaf in sunshine:
You came into my life, filled it with joys unique
And just as suddenly left me and went away.
Abandoned me to face the crises of life alone
Unaided by the wisecracks, the pranks , the mischief,
The unprintable titles you gave to our adversaries!
I look for you in the stars, perhaps you are there
I am not sure. I ask you why, why did you make me
Feel so special and helped me rise above self pity
And entertain dreams when we were all just a bunch
Of spoiled brats who couldn’t make it to the heights
In an atmosphere unfriendly and hostile to all.
Why, why did you have to go away and drop out
Of the rat race and leave me struggling with angst
And fighting misfortune. With you, I felt so secure.
None would tear down the sand castles we built
Nor remind us we were nuts. You gave us the vision
And the opposition always marched past with respect.
Like the vainglorious king who was made to wear
The ‘precious royal robe’ that none but he could see.
But the Truthful children found out it was a fraud
To shame the tyrant who was a terror to his subjects
But an easy victim to the crafty guys who preyed
On his craving for fame and made him appear nude
To his subjects and humbled him as an imbecile.
A joke today says humanityis in three big groups
The cheats, the vainglorious and the donothings.
Is it true and if so the world moves on the idlers,
Cracks jokes at them and says they are unfortunate!
We made life worth living. And we lived like real kings
Fought to preserve our piece of earth, our self esteem.
I should be grateful to have lived so long
But I feel the pain of separation: the longing
For the past that is, without mercy, gone.
Maybe you’re lucky, you left and got the best seats.
I may linger some more and try some more and keep
Wishing you were here with me and assure me the end is not yet,
That before the day is gone a golden chariot come
And bear me to empyrean heights never seen before;
I pray for you that is all I do for the help You gave me.
Enjoy the peace in the best of heavens,
You’re the real Stars of my life,
I’ll never be far or away from you.
I shall always love you and honor you,
Friendship is for ever, life immaterial.
Call me not a child,
Treat me with adult words,
Eyes that scan the essence,
And see the centuries I have lived.
Ancient soul though young flesh,
Half my heart remains in an older existence.
I wish to feel the gentle,
The tenderness that comes with love,
Finger tips soft and feather like.
I yearn to feel the rough,
The firm grip of a lover,
Hands grasping hips in a fury of need.
Lips rubbing together in absence of a kiss.
I need to speak of higher things,
realms that others fear to not believe,
And visions that we both have seen.
Lie with me in clover beds,
Stars sparkling bright above our heads,
Birds swooping to deliver prey to young,
Eyes filled with awe at the world's cruel beauty.
Lie with me in open thought,
Minds roaming over hills and sea,
Connecting to the world.
Releasing raw unadulterated energy,
Through just a simple touch,
Conscious spreading to the sky,
To flit like hummingbirds.
Call me not a child,
For the things I have seen,
The memories I hold within,
Through one life to the next.
Falling, falling, down to the sea,
Bright sky, rolling green,
sharp waves black, crash against the rocks,
Awaiting our meeting of fatality.
Flowers high in weeds,
Grow up to itchy gowns,
And crunch beneath slipper-ed feet.
Corsets pulled tight,
Tight enough that I forget to breathe,
When in the presence of a man.
Blame the corset for my lack of breathe,
Though he steal it from my honeyed lips,
With not even a brushing kiss.
And a wedding band surprised,
Beneath a weeping willow,
With barely family enough to witness the event.
Four wheeled Slow rolling machine,
In comparison to today's technologies,
To ride a get away in sun lit heat.
Black with shinning seats and room for four,
Or even five if they would squeeze.
Two women, a daughter and a son,
A life of running, identity hidden,
Bolstered weapons for protection,
And an unending flow of cash.
Life seemed easy - at least when not being shot at.
So call me not a child,
For I have seen many years,
Felt the touch of lovers hands,
The cool of friends tears,
Felt the crashing waves,
As another life came to an end,
Spoke of many things,
And made otherworldly friends.
Kiss my lips with fierceness,
When I have yet again died,
I fear not the otherworldly,
So tell them not to cry.