Long Selling Poems
Long Selling Poems. Below are the most popular long Selling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Selling poems by poem length and keyword.
Moving on is what they all want to do,
But the victims can't because they are too traumatised,
Or their bodies too damaged,
Maybe even worse, with all contact in this world severed.
The parents of both victim and perpetrator too desensitised,
With too many questions unanswered,
And lack of sleep leaving them broken and demoralised.
The perpetrators may seem pleased,
With no consequences formalised,
But with no help for getting over what materialised,
While taking drugs and alcohol unsupervised,
There is little hope of them being satisfied,
When, if they have not overdosed,
Or spun out while driving disqualified,
They find they have reached an age that makes them terrified,
That jail will be specified.
The police are mortified,
That the rules prohibit any solutions being applied,
Which means no one involved,
Is able to move to a place where sleep is uninterrupted.
Meanwhile those selling the drugs that the waters muddied,
And those who see no harm in shifting the focus to health related,
With no thought being debated,
About the fact that those selling the drugs are not interested,
In their health being bettered,
As they make a killing out of lives being shattered,
Are moving us all to an even darker place, that is more blood splattered.
Are we that unimaginative,
That we cannot find a way to use our initiative,
And find ways more positive,
So, more of us can live,
Without taking drugs more prescriptive,
For our sleep to be less disruptive.
Today I embrace my wearing wires pregnant for the fbi buying weapons and drugs from corrupt junk sick officers working for gang leader as hitmen and security guards selling drugs to pregnant mothers today I'm reminded of going into hostage situations face to face with gunmen right across from three school forced to look through an assault rifle pointed at special agent Paula brand head panic fear I swallowed today I'm reminded Neal middle school Novak king elementary and North Chicago high school letting out the first day of school my four kids were ride along seated with the fbi supervisor special agent Leroy Heimbach I never trusted leaving them in school while i went into hostage situations keeping them safe I would hear them singing my girl with special agent Leroy Heimbach oddly from the corrupt officers walkie talkies actually alerted the gang leaders murderers that an fbi informant was inside corrupt officers were selling trading weapons providing the gang leaders with riot gear to stand off with fbi agents apparently the fbi alerted the department they were doing investigations unaware of the severity of the corruption willing to harm innocent lives by putting weapons in the wrong hands with my pregnant body inside with my four children singing my girl looking through an assault rifle three major crowded schools parents teachers crossing guards my heart racing as the killer demanding I tell him who special agent Paula brand was my heart pounding louder his eyes locked with mine he knew I knew her quickly I said she's not fbi she's my daughters teacher my eyes said please don't shoot today is just school conference day he didn't hesitate to place a 44 magnum in my mouth I still taste the blood in the corner of my mouth where the chrome cut my lip today I'm reminded how many lives were saved my wearing wires pregnant for the fbi buying weapons and drugs prevented large amounts of weapons from being in the wrong hands the key to ending gun violence making sures guns are not in the wrong hands today my prayers are with the many victims of gun violence school shooting including the 15 year old shooter my prayers are with the American family may we all embrace healing comfort and peace this advent season
Remember long ago they sinned
when God moved out
And strangers moved in
Remember it was other gods
They claimed existed
And that made them odd
Remember when by prophets told
When they were wrong
By selling their soul
Some see the same thing today
The worship of gods
Another way
Some that wonder why they kill
After much of their own blood
Was spilled
Some wonder why today
The world would hate them
The same old way
Why has it come to living this way
While the world see's
The End of days
Why has something became because
When it was clear
These are the Laws
Why must men destroy the world
And the death of children
Go ignored
When will God take back His throne
From those men
That wish they owned
When will men see the Wrath Of God
The destruction of the world
For it's evil plots
When will this time be made for loss
and the words "Too late"
The bridge we cross
You can hear the whisper of rain in the breeze
feel it in your bones, taste it on your lips
feel it on your skin, Please Dear God hear a prayer for rain...
The parch earth thirst for rain
the cracks have baked away into layers of fine dust
A child's toes squeeze that dust, soft and dry.
The ponds and streams have long dried
The lakes and rivers are getting low
Dryer than the Dust Bowl
and the Sooners are average this year
Crops have shrivel in fields
salvage what you can for hay
Farmers losing crops, ranchers selling herds
Bulldozing deep into the ponds bed
hoping there is water
18 months with hardly a drop, a few sprinkles now and than
The small country church is full
The men and boys with hats removed
The preacher prays for rain
Every head bowed every heart true.
Decades ago small towns would pay Native Americans
to perform rain dances and open up the skies
Maybe we should try...
The southwest prairie sky red with the dust of red clay
Fingers of crimson scrawl across the early dusk sky
The glorious sun melts into the horizon.
Forecast for rain have been wanting
Autumn waltzes in on a morning breeze
A few sprinkles here but not there.
In the distant darkness embraces
as thunder crackles with arrows of lightning
That night the thunder overhead, droplets of rain surge into a shower
Sunday morning and the rain gauge shows 3 and 1/2 inches
The little country church overflows, prayers of thanks and continue rain
Forecast promises more, a prayer for rain answered.
This is my dearest home,
You can make it your own,
It has a perfect dome,
And is strong, built with stone;
Here is your rose garden,
Do you like my roses?
This is the paved yard in
which dog statue poses;
Enter your living room,
Here you can sit and rest,
watching your TV boom,
when you are overstressed;
Behold your dining room,
It's large, spacious, isn't it?
Where relationships bloom,
Here you'll eat, share and sit;
Behind this, your kitchen,
You can bake, cook and more,
If you wish to pitch in,
you can grill meat and s'more;
Let's climb these stairs, shall we?
Don't you love this handrail?
Purely made of oak tree,
These steps, it helps to scale;
This room, I used for pray'r,
It is peaceful and calm,
You can spend long hours there,
Singing, reading a psalm;
Let's head to the next room,
This is the room largest
with an attached bathroom,
Sleep here when it's darkest;
Let's go to where the guests
will take time to relax,
be entertained and rest,
and use this to the max;
Of course, there's the attic,
where you can store your things,
The deck where you can click
pics is out there with swings;
Now, I've shown you my house,
Hope you love it to buy!
If you like what you browsed,
I'll say to my house 'bye'.
There's no Poetry that doesn't reach
I told a literature student
In a writing workshop
Offering him some suppositories
That contained
Verses from The Book of Good Love
La Celestina, Don Quixote, and my own
To insert through his anus
As minstrels used to do
Selling or giving them away
To the common people and kings
Through the streets, squares, and courtyards
Poetically exposing themselves
By inserting one through the anus.
Since it was a proven truth
It was natural that its main source
Was experience.
Devoted to the Poetry suppositories
The student carried them in his anus
Full of meaning and beauty
For if he entered the writing workshop
Without knowing how to make an "O" with a Straw.
Now, thanks to the effect of the suppositories
He already wanted to trade his verses
Having to go through
One or more of my modifications.
As a consequence
Of the two fundamental properties
Of poetic suppositories:
Permanence and generality
This apprentice writer and poet
Begged me, saying:
-I'm starved for fine literature
Even though it's so beautiful.
Now I want you to offer me, professor
Suppositories from the Romancero
From popular couplets
From Latin proverbs
From the Bible, from fables and tales.
Moved, I promised him that I would
That I would do it
But that he should also know
That to versify and write
It's not enough to insert a suppository
But rather the Anus
Because it's the fruit of popular wisdom
And of language
Needs oral or penile transmission
Because it's a living organism
And, as such, it is born, grows
Reproduces and dies
Like the poem or brilliant writing
Modified to hanging eggs
That, with time, change
Are modified or lose their relevance.
In closing, I would like to mention
That this author
Submitted his works to the Planeta and Nobel Prize
Admiring their juries for
His conciseness and power
The symmetrical division of his texts
His meter and rhyme.
I sell people's body parts after I kidnap them.
My business is immoral, what I do is very grim.
I get a hundred grand for a kidney and a quarter of a million for a heart.
There's a whole lot of money to be made by selling people's body parts.
I get two hundred grand for a pair of eyes.
If I said what I do is good, it would be a lie.
Last month a man paid me three hundred grand for a new liver.
You don't want to work for a man like me, it would make you quiver.
I save people's lives by killing others, I'd like to think that I'm a healer.
But in reality, I'm nothing more than an evil and cold blooded killer.
(This is a fictional poem)
I'll remember the museums
And the fine historic homes.
There's been mention of both music
And parade within my poems.
But it really is the people
That will stick inside my brain,
For connections, even brief ones,
Are the gems that I'll retain:
Chuck the artist, born in Kansas,
And his very lovely wife.
If we settled in Savannah,
They'd be friends of ours for life.
Southern Cecil, full of knowledge
Of his charming, tree-lined town,
Gave a walking tour quite wonderful,
While putting "Yankees" down.
Two young salesclerks selling honey
And a waitress from the west;
A museum guide in Clarksdale,
Whose collection so impressed.
John and Eileen from Virginia,
On the rooftop bar called Rocks
And the docent who directed us
To bagels and to lox!
Tim the piano man and Judy,
She a member of my tribe;
John the concierge, exuding
Such a quirky Southern vibe.
I could keep this up forever
But I'll tie it up, quite neat -
Yes, the greatest part of travel
Is the people that you meet.
Born in Lyme Regis Dorset
a palaeontologist fossil collector
in the English Channel marine bed cliffs
and a coprolites (faeces) detector
who at only twelve years old
found the first two skeletons plesiosaur
and outside Germany
that of a pterosaur
yet as a woman who did not
always receive full credit
for her scientific contributions
and ineligible to join to their discredit
the Geological Society of London
while struggling financially
for her it was no shell game
to make ends meet as circumstantially
when selling shells by the seashore
the seashore shells she sold
were her start of the first shell company
by the Natural History Museum in London I was told
Where and when I find a commitment
to capitalism
to buying and selling Earth
to patriarchalism
to racism
to Western SWM LeftHemisphere cultural dominance
to win/lose global economic politics,
I do NOT find
a commitment to compassion,
to love,
to non-violence,
to cooperative ownership and management,
to a healthy democratic win/win economic empowerment system,
to left with right hemisphere neuro-psychological resonance,
to secular/sacred EarthTribe resilience.
When and where I embody our healthy commitment
to lavish
boundless
radical compassion,
to nonviolent communication experience
to nonviolent philosophical
ecological
theological theory,
however hypothetically
and cooperatively held, owned, managed,
I can no longer passively tolerate
monopolitistic win/lose capitalism,
buying and selling of Earth
and sacred EarthTribe residents,
monotheistic patriarchalism,
monoculturing colonization,
systemic and left-brain rationalized racism,
monocratic left-hemisphere overwhelming aggression
against win/win dipolarity
co-arising emergent multi-contextual intelligence,
Polyphonic right-brained,
polycultural left-brained,
polynomial geo-metrics = not(not) bilaterally polypathic ego/eco-logic
Sacred reasons
stimuli
causes
inductions
inhalations
impressions
invitations,
predicting healthy
nutritional seasons
And less
bicameral debate,
unitarian v universalism,
7th principle v 1st principle,
yin-terdependent eco-flow v yang ego-strength,
about conflicting commitments.