Long Stints Poems
Long Stints Poems. Below are the most popular long Stints by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stints poems by poem length and keyword.
Once "City of Big Shoulders,"
Stockyards and industrial concerns:
A man's self-worth measured
By muscle and energy burned.
Today the stockyards are shuttered,
The Face of Livelihoods changed;
From Meat-packing and Manufacturing---
To Financial Services and Video Games.
Serving loyally with blind dedication,
Following only a high school education,
Lifetime stints at one factory or plant,
Today simply ain't where it's at:
Mere shards of memory
Of what life was before
Everyone had a college degree,
And sought work in a plush office indoors,
As opposed to lifting heavy two-by-fours.
Looking back at Chicago's history
Over the last century,
Our task is this simple question to ask:
Have we moved ahead and progressed?
Are our lives any better?
Or have we reversed and regressed---
Spending the prime of our lives studying letters?
It's easy to end a poem on such a note,
Leave the reader to cast his or her vote;
But I'll not finish off with a nod a wink,
I'll let you know what I actually think:
Chicago was rough, Chicago was tough,
Her denizens coarse and gruff;
Not much for culture or fashion,
Artists and poets she was constantly bashin.'
Workingmen reveled in their muscles,
Frequently engaging in tussles
With their bosses over hours and wages,
Oft-ending in fisticuffed rages---
And the workers sentenced to 6' x 8' cages.
Gangsters like Capone and Dillinger flourished,
By slimy politicos encouraged
To extort and shake down
Workingmen all over town,
At deserted sites with nary a copper around.
Sometimes we look back and forget how it was,
When education and the arts were slighted,
And even good neighborhoods were blighted:
Where an ugly picture emerges
Of exploitation and funeral dirges.
So let us be grateful for what we have in some precincts today,
And hope that Chicago's future points to an even brighter day.
The breast of this dada heaves
with remorseful painful ache
as if...the insides of my body
into a bajillion pieces break
though anniversary of birth,
I intended to write, but... did rake
akin to hot coals, an overwhelming agony
wrought urgent compulsion to slake
expunging sudden onset, shook me awake,
how this papa brought years of heartache,
upon an innocent newborn,
oh no...definitely "not fake,"
and her elder protective sibling Eden
(understandable not to forgive), - who lake
(like) an "uber quasi mother"
did welcome thee with a fair shake
(twenty Earth orbitz ago February 4th, 2019)
metamorphosed into such an adoring, giving,
and loving lass unbeknownst, when she did make
her debut (passing the
Apgar test with flying colors) for goodness sake
cuz, I betcha you studied while in utero,
thus said standard assessment involving intake
and outflow of breath
as seconds old infant piece of cake,
and unexpected eruption of despair,
thus found me sinking into melancholy air
and compounded as "mother",
and I became aware
how cognitive skills
(additionally low body weight) clear
lee delayed triggering screaming
bouts from thee dear
special Punim, and
oft times this papa flare
with frustration and volley with
reciprocated enraged voice
imbecile and juvenile antics of mine clear
lee heard outside 1148 Greentree Lane
neighbors possibly a grizzly bear
broke loose from the zoo,
or other beast escaped their lair,
thus prompting me to post a sign beware
of the ferocious father, and dare
to enter at your own risk,
and do not forget to mutter a prayer
lest ye be swallowed in one fell swoop,
and nobody would hear
from that person again
cannibalized by Matthew
Scott mailer daemon,
whose surly mood embittered by rare
stints of employment, otherwise we lived
dirt poor surviving on diet of worms, I swear
to be totally "FAKE",
but hyperbole to lyft shaky spear
writs.
Though sapient vision limps short,
And digs no eye into nirvana's fort;
Albeit most vivid dream’s flips stop,
Instinct excels where iffy triers flop.
And that sharper divining seer tells
Sweeter tales no deft lyricist's bells
Ever rung a one bereft of Love's ting,
Who jilts fine gold to hear a bird sing.
He needs no fumbling eye to behold
What yet lies beyond horizons’ fraud,
Nor flimsy ear's wit to sweetly divine
Blisses and nectarous lickings mine.
His are all-espying orbs steeled in hope;
Netting honeyed things before here pop
Tangible sights for showy ears and eyes
To grab and boast and stir belated sighs.
Known to him are times of lost rest
From lonely stints icily cold at best,
Thrills discerned many days before
They stir faint ears and eyes below.
The greatest disappointment from broken promises in life I have endured
were the promises I often made to me
Smoking just one example for several years I vowed to refrain
regular three month stints of abstinence once eighteen months
FINALLY! At age of twenty six from this nicotine addiction I had broken free
From thereon, gained strength and now have have conviction
any vow to myself I could confidently keep
I had gained self love and self respect
searched within my soul whilst delving deep
I cannot a recall a broken promise
from any family or friend
Business deals yes. Most promises broken political pre-election
once elected that's where these empty promises all end
For this reason I have abstained from voting
which is compulsory in this country where I dwell
Never had much faith in government oppressors
or the propaganda messages they sell
Have I always kept a promise to all I've come to know?
Probably not. Too many years of living I am unable to recall
I now have conviction arising from self love
to assist others in need, follow through give my very all
She is a story topper.
If your eye is quivering, hers has dropped out and slid under the couch.
If you think you are having a heart attack, she has had sixteen stints.
She is a story topper.
If you have broken your foot, she has broken her arm, leg, and neck.
If your refrigerator has black mold, two of her houses have burned to the ground.
She is a story topper.
If your man left you for another woman, hers left her for a horse.
If you got left at the altar, she got left in the middle of hell.
She is a story topper.
My husband knows better than to try to complain.
Because she is me.
But Freud could not vouch
For one lying on his couch
It’s God, our mind’s He unlocks
To wrestle with this paradox
This ambivalence
For the world fixes stints
For lungs that need air
For a heart needs repair
This is what we’re left with
No life, just a death kiss
At atheistic insistence
And with ambivalent resistance
There’s prejudicial conjecture
There’s personal conjecture
But no absolute or objective truth
You don’t need to be a sleuth
With subjectivity solicited
Two intellectual sins committed
Arbitrariness and inconsistency
Condition critical insistency
Circumspectly we point this out
Without a doubt, we don’t flout
Compare two worldviews
(as atheist’s hit the snooze)
We share the Gospel with the hostel
With no subterfuge or solipsism
No false religion’s systems or schisms
The 2nd Coming will be the loudest day
The trumpet sounds, the saintly strain
Will w/Jesus comeback with no foray
The final stop for the Gospel train
...In the capital a great feast was thrown
to welcome Larren back from the frontier.
Minstrels sang songs of his victories,
while they ate venison and drank beer,
the whole city thronged with good cheer.
But Larren was subdued in the feasting hall,
his betrothed sat across from him, haughty and tall.
Her name was Berice, a princess of the south,
quiet pretty but not the kindest around.
Her tongue was sharp, her manner aloof,
both in bed chambers and tournament grounds,
Sse saw this marriage as a great step down.
But Larren had a duty, and they were wed,
and went, cold and distant, to the marital bed.
Though the king praised this noble pairing,
and so did his great heir, the crown prince,
Larren found his wife a drain on his soul,
and hard to bear, ever for short stints,
of true affection, she showed not a hint.
She took to his bed only at fertile times,
to bear him an heir, with no love in her eyes.
To make matters worse, by the first month’s end
Great King Rael was beginning to flag.
A fever set in, yellow came to his eyes,
and his breath in great rasps did drag,
Larren spent weeks by the bedside of his dad.
When he passed on, Crown Prince Duhran rose,
he made Larren chief general, the bane of his foes.
Five months passed, and Larren’s misery grew,
no accolades or awards could assuage
the loneliness he felt, the true lack of love
sometimes drove him quite close to rage,
he began to look older than his age.
His brother, the king, said,”Take a mistress,”
Larren couldn’t say he’d already had the best…
Then a new foe arose in the far west,
encouraged by the death of King Rael.
They besieged the citadel Larren had held,
and committed crimes that were beyond the pale,
rape and slavery were their grisly tales.
Duhran sent Larren with all of the troops
to smash the heathen invaders for good.
Larren arrived, somewhat glad to be gone,
back doing something he knew quite well.
Gladder still was her to be free of his wife,
Though to others this truth would not tell,
not when battle raged at the citadel.
Once on the scene her surveyed the siege,
then lined up his troops, and charged to their relief…
CONTINUES IN PART III
Jump Start My Heart
The pulse is barely detectable growing weaker every second
Oxygen, breath of life so thin the moment he went through the glass
Emergency, emergency, code red means critical care needed
Emergency, emergency more time the monitors have pleaded
Through double hissed air lock doors the gurney comes to rest
Only if time gave a little bit more to save these eyes from death
Emergency, emergency critical DOA arrival for the morgue to receive
Emergency, emergency donor card active what organs can we retrieve
Systematic checks and tests to match up with lists of lives who bleed
Cross referenced and graphed a positive match for a heart in need
Emergency, emergency redirect the gurney into operation room 9
Emergency, emergency start to finish we only have a few hours time
The DOA lays bared, incisions everywhere, the largest in mid chest
The helicopter awaits, a panic state, flying a cooler way out west
Emergency, emergency clinging to life left with little chance
Emergency, emergency the EKG is flat as death gets a transplant
Life anew stitched in, arteries in stints, preparing to revive a heart
All plugged in, wired skin, electrical pulses give life a jump start
Emergency, emergency failed revival on the first three tries
Emergency, emergency on the fourth life beats to opening eyes
Written for contest: "Wake Up My Heart" 11/04/17
WON 1ST PLACE IN CONTEST RESULTS
I don’t understand you any better anymore
reaching under floorboards of my father’s pickup truck
lost inside imagination
left with haunting resignation
I don’t understand you any better anymore
after spilling words
clawing through the growing weeds
walking backwards over needs
swimming upstream in
yesterday’s pea soup
gone cold
I don’t understand you any better anymore
sights and sounds, paintings and prints
long vows, short stints
Phil and Oprah, Charlie Rose
this and that and these and those
each day ends with bloody nose
I don’t understand you any better anymore
tried not trying, walking out
running back to your attack
stealing moments peeled from bottoms deck
carved or pared or shouting what the heck
I don’t understand you any better anymore
so easy merging
two chameleons sharing light
now dark, sandpaper rough
surprise, the look inside each other’s eyes
slips of tips of fingers
we’ve forgotten
I don’t understand you any better anymore
walking through the door I’m gone
no longer there to care for cures that kill
I miss what I’m no longer longing for
had my fill
I don’t understand you any better anymore
it doesn’t fit like it used to do
un-curved limbs branching through
a love no more than chance
different moves to someone’s different dance
leases in release of hope
currents, eddies, moving through
to meet the day somehow I may
understand you better than I knew
Lyricism of wisteria ruses…peacocking muses gushing tomes
Classicism flocking..roams & woos homes not garden gnomes
Colourful creepers cruising..schmoozing with boisterously blushing bricks
Spring exudes mysticism..oozes oodles of bamboozling serendipity flushing
Cherished fingers rushing freely..delivers..unctuous ravishingly rambunctious
Relished slivers lavishly lingers..embellished..proudly protrudes
Inspires rhyming platitudes about gratitude...fires fresh
Attitudes across a range of altitudes & latitudes
Sprinkling wryly of vintner's drily sparkle...ends strange debacle...
Skint stints of wily skinflint winter’s splinters..with hints of now..Spring sprints
But also somehow.. if one squints..get an inkling of change..
Glints of summer's tints slyly twinkling