Long Studied Poems
Long Studied Poems. Below are the most popular long Studied by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Studied poems by poem length and keyword.
Neil is a para-cyclist who has often paired up with,
One of two people, either Sarah Storey’s husband,
Or Craig MacLean to pedal to gold, it’s his smith,
Having been a track sprinter, built up his hand.
Barney Storey has Type 1 diabetes from childhood,
And the pair took gold in the World Championships,
In 2009, both in the kilo and the sprint, both good,
At the kilo where they set a new WR, took strips.
Then in 2011 in the Italian Para-Cycling Track Worlds,
Him and Craig won gold in both events, new WR,
Then in LA with Barney again he won silver cords,
And in London they won gold with another new WR.
In 2014 Neil teamed up with Pete Mitchell in Mexico,
Where they won gold in the 1 km tandem time trial,
But he reunited with Craig for the games in Glasgow,
Where they won gold for sprint and time trial, double.
Neil is an MBE from 2013 and comes from Aberdeen,
Was born with an eye condition, retinitis pigmentosa,
He studied physics at the University of Aberdeen, lean,
And was born on the 12th of March in 1984, a goer.
Twenty-two
and our School Boards
are hoppin
Madly divided
'bout race
and white saving face
in-between fashion shoppin.
Dear Red and Blue
School Board Candidates,
Regarding Critical Race Theory
that ignores our own lack
of multiculturing experience,
Perhaps a primally significant reason
we have issues
discussing racial divisions
throughout historical seasons
of revision
Textbooking Straight White Patriarchal treasons
against EarthTribe's polycultural humanity,
Sacred celebrating multicultural divinity
once felt as synergetic
universal Beauty,
Continues to divide
and conquer
our best LeftBrain schooled dominions,
Is because rich violent red
patriotic bloodshed
is difficult to own
within our own fascist
unmatriarchal histories
Of capitalized ownership
and encultured Earth corrupting
supremely anthro-worshiping
lack of healthy eco/theological
green stewardship
through co-empathically felt
relationship.
Red candidates predict
Critical Race Theory
becomes a cynical prescription
for an inevitable future
of win/lose
zero-sum unfolding
Continuing Business As Usual
White versus Black
reverses White,
While Blue candidates refocus
on Critical Race personal experiences
of historical individuals
investing in divested
separated
divided communities,
privileged versus unprivileged
polarized nations,
degenerate climates
of active distrust
in our apartheid studied past,
Not to prescribe an inevitable future
of rightwing supported hate,
but to describe our win/lose racist past
To inform a therapeutic win/win potential future
humanely balanced,
multiculturally healthy
for our democratic
planetary future.
Twenty-two
and our School Boards
are hoppin
Mad
divided 'bout race
and white saving face
in-between fashion shoppin.
Well, your Mama Eartha's rich
and your Papa's Sun
shines bright enlightenin,
So, hush co-despisin,
don't you,
won't you try?
HEY STROKE IM STILL HERE
RobertBenThoughts.blogspot.com
06/01/2019
You thought you had me on that
Hazy, hot, humid Houston day.
August 11, 2015 was a peaceful
Tuesday till you came.
I had paid for some technical training
Class was going well.
HEY STROKE I’M STILL HERE!
First you made me feel sluggish
But I studied through that night.
The next morning you took my speech
Then I knew what you were.
It was about 10:00 AM.
To hospital I headed in a strange city.
HEY STROKE I’M STILL HERE!
Two hours latter I’m admitted
And then you start taking
My left arm and leg
That was a bit much.
Make him so he can’t speak, walk or write.
The challenge was set.
HEY STROKE I’M STILL HERE!
That left only thing for you.
Humiliate me in front of wife,
And the hospital staff.
One night turned into nine.
I kept my humor and my soul
In fact they got stronger
HEY STROKE I’M STILL HERE!
Then you showed me you
Would be around for awhile.
Oh yeah trying to catch a flight
With that storm and the delays.
Finally the plane dragging my left leg
Down 19 rows as everyone watched.
HEY STROKE I’M STILL HERE!
Once rehab started you were an afterthought.
At this point you were done.
But the Evil One took over.
You were bad attacking my flesh.
But the Evil One wanted my soul.
What a joke that was.
HEY EVIL ONE I’M STILL HERE!
Evil One tried to get my wife.
But our relationship became stronger.
My flesh learned to walk again.
My flesh learned to climb steps again.
I learned to shower again.
Then I could write again, messy as before.
HEY EVIL ONE I’M STILL HERE!
The Evil One tried to
Come between me and God
Oops that stopped immediately
As that spot was taken by Christ.
Plus I now have more time.
To read and appreciate The Word.
HEY EVIL ONE I’M STILL HERE!
Oh the flesh has a little weakness
It will come since you have gone.
Fatigue, nothing a good nap can’t fix.
Now I do new things
Replacing the old.
I enjoy life and appreciate the simple
HEY STROKE AND THE EVIL ONE
I’M STILL HERE!
You studied and learned all that you could
The exams that you passed
the knowledge you have stored.
You talked to your students.
You asked them to listen and learn.
Then politics beckoned
you made speeches sent leaflets
and promised the earth.
You said you would listen and learn.
You would back up the people
be there voice in the house.
You collected the x's
piled up the votes .
You won the election by 47 votes.
the green benches they beckoned
the promise’s you broke
I’m a member of parliament
I will vote on what I want.
Well I’m an elector don’t forget me
I will teach you a lesson
All About loyalty.
It is a fine day to laze in the grass
And to think about that beautiful lass.
Her pretty eyes are lit with laughing fire
And she fills me with impassioned desire.
Alas, in this green field I cannot stay.
I must rise and go and be on my way.
Hardships behind and many to the fore.
How far must I go to settle the score?
It may be long and long ere I get home,
For far and far life has lead me to roam.
Time and time I have studied to go there
And day and day drink in familiar air.
I stand and pick up my gun and my pack,
Setting my feet to the long winding track.
Will she be there when I am home again?
Or, will I have to find another, then?
A man is not a man when he observes
His nation attacked and himself reserves.
He must make a strong stand against evil,
Or see all destroyed in the upheaval.
I may lose too much as an absentee,
But this is for those who come after me
I want their future to be free from fear
And have the kind of life I hold so dear.
A steady blanket of funereal rain fell for days,
From the wintry heaven, onto the ground.
And by about three in the morning I was woken by
A screaming pleading sort of sound.
I had clumsy boots and akubra, and a blood scratched Drizabone
To walk me towards this holler.
And then I found her on her side, in labour,
Rolling with defiant mud amongst the squalor.
This wasn’t good, no time for medical expertise,
Or people who have studied what to do.
She had dystocia, she hadn’t dilated enough,
Her baby was too large to break through.
She’d stopped trying, but on my knees I could see
The feet of her baby were out hanging still.
“She’s lost her baby. She’d given up hope. She mustn’t die.”
I needing all of my skill.
Immediately handy was the wire fence strainer,
That could be used to ease out her beautiful infant.
My hands were cut, my lungs were full,
She wailed but I remained focussed and persistent.
First its head, then its body,
A purge of everything else soon followed all over my feet.
And I leapt to its mouth to try and shock it to life,
And it breathed a breath sounding so sweet.
Within fifteen minutes the cow and the calf were standing,
Drenched in the mud and the rain.
And I returned to the house, cooked a billy of tea,
On my coat just another blood stain.
In the nineteen sixties, growing up,
ideas filled my overflowing cup.
The future then was hopeful and bright.
It took eight minutes for golden light
to shine to the earth down from the sun,
traveling through space to land upon
a boy who was one year less than ten,
who worshipped the astronaut, John Glenn.
Do you recall, old friend, you and me,
how those rays missed us, 'neath shaded tree?
We studied feats of exploration,
learning all about our proud nation,
not knowing, in our days of wonder,
that we tore native lands asunder.
The planets would be our next frontier.
We'd be like Daniel Boone, the pioneer.
My excitement grew - I knew that soon
Neil Armstrong would land upon the moon.
One day, I'd fly space age technology
and create a Martian colony.
Time flies, and how I wish I could say,
the fire of stars still burns in me today.
Once, ideas filled a child's starry eyes,
and mind, a fruitful site to colonize.
Far back in the ages of the old
The dark magicians came bold
They attempted to steal our magic
By showing us ways it was evil
All while against us they were deceitful
Beyond the stones and buried bones
Myths were created to cover the moans
The secrets were not all they stole
It began by killing the story keepers
Taking their language along with the reapers
They hid in places of secret truths
Their lies began to grow roots
Within the same hallways they hid
Behind their indoctrinated books
Slaughtering more as people gave looks
Few were left of these horrendous crimes
Into hiding they went for many lifetimes
They buried as much as they could
In hopes they would find their way home
Through their bloodlines they were left to roam
Perpetuating the madness on every shore
Destroying things way down deep to the core
Mixing the dark ones amongst the light
In hopes that ancestral roots would be muddied
Along with everything left to be studied
History was changed through the written word
Until you couldn't even trust what was heard
Focus fell away from simple to complex
Reading between the lines is not easy for most
As to why behind many were left as a ghost
The Man Who Pushed Himself
There I was
a boy with bars in his mouth
and rhythm in his bones.
They laughed.
“You’re not good enough,” they said.
“You’ll never make it.”
But I stepped into the battles anyway.
Sweat on the floor,
lights in my eyes,
and the crowd roaring like thunder.
And somehow
I won.
Before that I was dancing,
always the worst in the room,
always surrounded by people better than me.
So I stayed.
I studied their steps.
I sharpened mine.
Not because someone believed in me
but because I forced myself to.
Then came the army.
More voices.
More doubt.
“You won’t last.”
Yet there I stood again,
boots in the dirt,
proving them wrong
one more time.
I came back,
shaking cocktails behind the bar,
learning mixology like an art form.
Still the same whispers
still the same disbelief.
So I worked harder.
Another push.
Another climb.
Music called again.
Tracks with friends,
late nights,
beats in the dark.
Then life turned rough.
The wrong roads.
The wrong crowds.
To survive among sharks
I became one.
Sharp aim.
Cold lessons.
A man learning the world
the hard way.
Still
no cheering crowd behind me.
No partner saying “keep going.”
Just me.
Pushing me.
So I learned guitar.
Then piano.
Drums already in my blood.
Push.
Push.
Push.
I stepped into my uncle’s worship band,
wrote songs for love,
even when my voice cracked
trying to find harmony.
Push again.
Then university.
Then betrayal.
A knife from someone
who was meant to be my best friend.
That broke something in me.
A man I used to be
disappeared that day.
What’s left
is a shadow
learning how to walk again.
But even shadows
move forward.
So I write.
I build worlds.
I make music.
My first real track
under the name Treesar Greene.
No applause.
No great support system.
Just the same truth
I’ve always known:
Every week of my life
I had to push myself.
And maybe that’s my curse.
Maybe that’s my power.
Because I will keep learning.
Keep creating.
Keep rising.
But I pray
my sons and my daughter
never have to walk this road alone.
Because a life with no support
is a heavy road to carry.
Still
I rise.
Still
I create.
Still
I push forward.
And one day
the world will look back and say,
He never stopped.
My life, what a waste,
It didn’t start until it was too late,
Not much of a childhood, not much of a fate.
Never notice, never seen,
All them years, stuck on automatic, a machine.
The anger, the anguish of things I should have done
The fun, the laughs, what? There wasn’t none.
Strict parents who ruled with an iron fist
The berating the beatings, you get the gist
Being brought up like this I became a recluse
Not point arguing or talking back, there wasn’t any use
So I became a prisoner of my own quietness and shyness
I watched from within, with silent sadness ….
Staying at home from morning to night, just me alone
Never having friends over, just me on my own
Never going out, just me and my books,
Became frightened of people and their judgmental looks
My confidence was beaten and battered
What little courage there might have been, was shattered
Wasted time, and wasted years
Locked away in my room, trapped with my fears
Then I went to college and things all changed
The chains suddenly slackened, it felt a bit strange
To suddenly be free and to do as I desired
Suddenly I had so many mates, I felt inspired
Though I put my head down and studied hard in class
Afterwards I chilled, cruised, and had bare laughs
I lived everyday to the full, as if it was my last
Clubbing and partying and having a blast
Chatting up girls, and sessioning till late
Not knowing what day it was, never mind the date
I lost my way a bit, the straight path I finally managed to find
Now that I’m older I remember those days fondly in my mind
I haven’t lived many years, but definitely lived those two
All those lost years crammed into so few…