Long Supervision Poems
Long Supervision Poems. Below are the most popular long Supervision by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Supervision poems by poem length and keyword.
The fear
In here ..
The chair
"Don't care "..
Sore gum
Lip numb..
" MUST DRILL
THEN FILL " ..
" Less speed
I'll bleed " ..
Preserve
Your nerve ..
"I've bled"
Jaw dead ..
" RINSE PLEASE"
Weak knees ..
The bill
Plus pill ..
Can't eat
No teeth ..
Unchewed
Soft food ..
Can't talk
Slow walk
Perchance
Soiled pants ?..
Mistake
Toothache !!.....
footle-note ..
The author would like to confirm that no deaths occured , during the creation of this piece. All
suffering was kept to a minimum,as the surgery was sound-proofed .Pain and suffering ,
caused to waiting patients , was due to being forced to read 3yr old mags. Seemingly the
news was less dire back then.All enamel&blood stained swabs were dumped in the
appropriate utensils,as per Geneva Convention(section ix, site xxxiv).The cleansing of soiled
underwear took place ,under supervision, with enviroment friendly detrgents & all offending
materials disposed of , in accordance with the KyotoAgreement(section mlx11).
Must dash !! , as I have to visit that other sadist, the vet ,with our cat.He is due for the snips!
( the cat , not the vet ).. Here Tom..Pshhhwshhh ..
Stuff your rock stars, your heros, your christs,
your anti-christs and anarchiests.
Stuff your false idols up your ****.
Stuff your regenerative ramblings;
the spiel of a million others
spilt in diluted misunderstanding.
The generic rhetoric of another blank generation.
Born under the yoke of fashion not fascism
we walk a happy middle ground smiling contentedly.
Raised, sightless, in the sickly glow
of TV screens and neon lights.
Suckled by the fast food empires
and the bloodied abattoir's's carcasses.
Supping the milk of human blindness
with the blood of fallen beasts.
Schooled in paranoia and conformity
through magazines and film.
Body over brain! Body over brain!
Don't feed either if you want to fit in
to society or size sixteen jeans.
Passive skeletal expectancies rule over all.
We are over-looked and yet watched over;
Monitored through cameras and stolen information,
watched on screens by perverts and bigots
watched for signs of difference and dissent:
word gets around and gets arrested.
Incarcerated. Gone inside. Turned inside out.
I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers.
Spayed to the point of mental impotence:
no longer threatening. Hope is dead.
Driven as slaves into factories, offices, banks,
working to gain enough to "buy" what is already ours:
ownership as proof of existence.
I consume therefore I am.
Ownership of possessions and of people.
Taught to repress desire, to plough the rut of our parents.
Mate Spawn and Die.
Breeders laugh in mock pleasure behind picket fences.
There is safety for us all in our collective clichés.
The pursuit of pleasure becomes confused
through labour and labour saving devices
then drowned in alcohol and soap.
Happiness becomes vague comfort and escape:
Ignorance is bliss and bliss is easy.
Pre-packaged rebellion under state supervision
rattling shackles and throwing toys from prams.
Socilalists singing sweet songs of false hopes
an alternative repressive ownership,
punks so bereft of individuality repeat to infinity
even the intelligent ones just want to be another dick.
All grow old and sick together
having furthered the species and the empire,
return to the organic matter from whence we came
or perhaps ground up and fed to the pork and beef
down at Old (Ronald) McDonald's farm that we all love so much........stuffed
Form:
:)
What kids are watching on telly
are crimes and crimes in all variety!
Crimes of hate
crimes of passion
acting it out at shocking rate
thinking in some wild fashion
then ending up cell mates!
When kids watch their movie heroes
shoot down people with the gun
they are incited to do the same
to achieve some thrill and fun.
When they see their very film star
slash someone's throat in a fit of anger
they think well of crimes of rage
and plunge everybody else into danger.
The tendency to portray the violent scene
luridly and shockingly on the Big Screen
Ah even for the small screen, tis the gory
that makes for the dark and thrilling story.
Now that technology's long opened this pandora's box
the dispersal of amplified social ills ain't no hoax
The rowdy hoodlums and reckless gangsters
are simply by-products of Tv influences
The world watches the thriving of the bully-boy pranksters
passively in helpless terror of their offences.
It's all portrayal of the vulgar, the obscene
by that devious Silver Screen
And the horror movie
though it may seem groovy
begets the horrendous
and drills evil thoughts subliminally
into the subconscious!
It's an unrestrained dark faking
of real life reality exaggerating
Whether it's Bollywood in the East
or it's Hollywood in the West
they don't merely impart tactics of defence
but rather those of aggressive offence
Viewing those gruesome swashbuckling films
gives rise to morbid sadistic whims
Flipping through the TV channels
just ponder if the telly's the perfect channel
of information is it a proper panel?
Dad always tells me, 'fear ye the roaches' flicking antennae?
While you oughtta fear the influence
of 'em' flickering images by dish antennae'.
Then a mere single merit that I dug
as I drank cappucino in my mug
that atleast one couldn't live in a bubble
daily watching the bubblebug.
Ah but then tougher gun laws couldn't halt
even underage shooting sprees
Rather it's stringent scanning of Tv content
that might make it all cease
Parental supervision too tis gravely essential
Should've been of parental code quintessential
So the next time you catch your teen
absorbed and engrossed while glued to the screen
Just sleuth a bit just to make sure
that for the x-rated he's not too keen!
We sat in a room.
A bedroom, a messy one.
One with a mixture of clothes, garbage and drugs scattered everywhere. There
was random writing on the walls, like grafitti, and the paint was chipping. We sat
mostly in silence, we knew what was going to happen that night. When he arrived
we got into the van and he introduced us to his stash.
We got to the highschool commons. It was a giant building with tall ceilings,
giant pillars, and big glass windows, and it had no supervision inside. Before
going inside we smoked some hash outside. There had to be at least 400
people there. The room had flashing lights, loud music, and teenage wreckage
everywhere. The people were forming a kind of mosh; their arms flinging and
they screamed to see if they could out-roar the music.
The effect was deafening. Nearly all the stash-ridden tables were smashed to
the floor, so we hurried to the only stnading one left. He dumped his stash on the
table.
The lights plus the music plus the emotion made you want to dig into the stash
and join the mosh. That's what we did, but we didn't join the mosh right away. We
sat around the table and watched the masacre, finding it overly amusing. We
laughed at mearly everything as the acid took it's effect. I finally got up to mosh.
Everything wanted your body in, and it had already stolen your voice, for you
couldn't hear yourself scream. Before I could get my feet off the ground, I couldn't
help but notice that there were people making out everywhere, as they moshed. I
laughed at them, but was jelous.
I started kissing someone, unsure of whether or not it was a guy or girl. We
stripped off our clothes until we were nearly naked, but then he/she backed away.
They rejoined the mosh.
I stood still, and the mosh parted before me leading me to the glass wall. I
walked, barefoot, to where it stood surprisingly clean. I took the object in my hand
and smashed the gleaming wall, screaming with the music. The crowd cheered
and roared until my ears were ringing and I was nearly deaf. I moshed into the
middle of the mosh and everyone jumped to my rhythm. I felt hundreds of eyes
watching me, so I closed my eyes and let my body go. He/she found me again,
and kissed me again, and the masacre disappeared. Eventually so did whoever I
was kissing.
What would it be like to start all over again,
I mean isn’t that the reason, so many of us pen,
It just opens up every unknown possibility,
Some beautiful some dark, others downright ugly,
But alas the truth is, we’ll probably never know,
Unless I endeavor to reverse time’s flow,
Oh here we go again, he’s still living in the past,
Well actually I’m not, it’s more a forecast,
Picturing the future, not as hard as it seems,
We do it every night, yeah but only in dreams,
Still have to wake up, and face tomorrow,
Make ends meet, work, pay back what we borrow,
Now this is the bit where I go quite insane,
Stand back as I cast off these holding chains,
Oh Christ! he’s just done another line of cocaine,
No I’m clean and sober, or so I maintain,
Gonna get hypnotized by this shrink I know,
Put in a permanent stupor, my life I’ll forego,
Wander this planet, with my head in the clouds,
On every continent have a fabulous house,
Leave behind the rat race, start a new religion,
Where there’s no big brother, and no supervision,
Do all this by surrogate, from my own living room,
Embedded forever in this simulated womb,
Will make time go slowly, say one minute a year,
So a day is a Millennium, time will almost disappear,
When I make love will last, the whole century long,
The agony of ecstasy, oh my will is so strong,
Passion will be bliss, happiness put on tap,
No death, gonna rid my world of all this crap,
Write beautiful poetry, til the cows come home,
Muse about Italy, Venice, Naples and Rome,
Oh god I’m flying high, soaring unchained,
Not an ache in my body, slight twinge or pain,
A demigod of nature, gladiator fighting to be free,
come on join in, spend a moment here with me,
All the haters, you’ll be expelled to hell,
Liars and time wasters, yeah you as well,
I will not stop, gonna raise the dead,
Well only the good ones, under my bed?
Boy that was great, was it good for you too,
And for a moment, I was really there, it’s true,
No need to get drunk, wasted out of my mind,
Open up your imagination, it’s simply sublime.
85 billion neurons, in the average human brain,
Stars in the Milky Way, more or less the same,
Please listen when I tell you, never be restrained,
Reality of truth’s alive, not to find it is a shame.
By
David Kavanagh
Maybe it’s unacceptable
Live a life capable of a true fable
True friends never end
But take you back to where it all began
But hey misery gave us something to believe in
Stress became a greater award as we achieved sin
What could I say? Our savior died on a cross tough as pig skin
Never once cried over the loss
Forbidden fruit, Eden garden
Excuse me, my lord, I beg your pardon
And so what if these medics carry life in a carton
But I ain’t trippin
Simply because this is me until my dying day
Please stop crying, you know I can’t stay
I’m going to be the same until my dying day
Over in that casket is where I’m trying to lay
That’s right until my dying day
True lost souls from the dark side
Forever, we as mortals ride
Peace is nothing, I fend for quiet time
Rebels in riot lines
Previous high school graduates
Symbols of an adjective running toward fate
True personality suffer the privilege of inmates
How could you hesitate to ask
There’s no stranger under this mask
Lonely and unholy, who’s there to console me?
I want to get away, forever restless
You can see my similarities with the ocean
I’m stress less
Because this is me until my dying day
Please stop crying, you know I can’t stay
I’m going to be the same until my dying day
Over in that casket is where I’m trying to lay
My son, my friend
We are but pieces of eternity
Mesh on, mesh off
Even at our best times we’re soft
Who’s to say I’d regret my decision
To lead a sinners life without God’s supervision
On a one man mission
And I know I don’t come around much
Got my palms in reality
Searching for something softer to touch
Whisper in my ear, death makes me blush
And Hell only flatters me
One and one, through matter the winds scatter me
I ain’t trippin, baby girl get off your knees
You’re in the arms of a future me
And I can’t see heaven from a distance
Fire me over clouds like a piston
Marching through blood
But it’s all mud and water to Darkhouse
Stand still let me mark my spouse
Live my life as an outcast
How could you even picture me at my last?
Dear lord show some mercy on my followers
Bless those that swallow dust to follow us
No need to borrow sympathy
Unforgiving sorrow made my enemies envy me
Songbird, play me a tune.
What would you like to hear?
Tell me how you grace a worm.
Well, seeing as you have no fun,
in that which you do not run from;
afraid to leave a job undone,
leaving without supervision:
You're melancholy, so to speak:
from your head, down to your feet.
When innocence is bold to me,
I comply egregiously.
My name is not nefarious,
nor spiteful, proud, or pixidust.
Your type is rare, so be aware
of beauty here, for you to bear.
You think in perfect harmony,
as product of adversity.
You know no grief or floating leaf.
You know no animosity.
Your not as beautiful as me-
you walking, talking, dictionary.
Here's some truth you do not need.
But maybe you can now believe;
in colors glorious of gold,
avenues to now be told.
There's treasured life found from above, which witnessed god in you as love.
Those floating wings of servitude,
Are angels watching over you.
There's no preclude in what to do.
Just know the sky is always blue.
As for the worms, we start by prying
there to greet us when arriving.
Just to be clear, we dont mind minding,
finding there what God has hiding.
Nature really does describe,
as giving way to nice surprise.
We do not try to compromise
in things that lend out in disguise.
We're animals of God's green Earth,
since introduction. Hence pure birth.
Were pretty different, you and I.
This? Our way of saying hi.
You wondered what I'd have to say,
believing in simplicity
And things unlike what you hold dear,
Are nature's bliss from far and near.
Just like the trees survive in breeze:
Our nature is but what you see.
A part of life, when thunder sounds:
showing us a place to ground,
Among our trees, we plot with ease.
In green like all things,
as we've seen.
And godli creatures, in their strife,
demonstrate this sacred ease.
They're indisputable in life,
from which they never will concede.
So who am I to disagree,
with everlasting things i see.
I love them as i'll always be,
in between amounts of green.
Your answer does come naturally-
Perception of our tendency;
To just agree and aim to please,
for that which comes so naturally!
Form:
I hesitated
And the world collapsed under my supervision
Some people rip open scars for romance
But I'm sweating like a sprinkler head at the chance
Is it time to wear a cape and save the day?
Or are the only images I could conjure, the TV waves?
Besides, watching someone be a hero is almost as good as actually being one
I'm a walking tape recorder of flirty whispers you used to shower me with
But what happened to it?
You left your smiles under abandoned highways
If not all who wander are lost,
Then what does that make you?
Lost in the ability to wander through ambivalent feelings
For a rapacious man of many clandestine manic lines I call poetry
Pick up a pen and map a trail of ink through a lost art
and you'll see what I mean
Am I the teacher if I'm proctoring a test?
Or am I the student cause I haven't mastered this yet?
But where did it go?
You tied a rope around those words and left them hung
The verbal sequencing of dripping roses off the tongue
Your sockets went wide like alligator eyes
And did you think I wouldn't notice the crackling of your voice when you said goodbye?
Like the sound of burning wood
Are you made of stone?
Your voice traveled fields, but still you stood
Am I made of glass?
because my aching bones, you see right through
You left your smiles under abandoned highways
That are more overgrown than my sense of responsibility to protect you
But why did it change so subtly?
And if not meticulously,
Then why did it falter so innocently?
The crusade of romantic fiction that flutters off your willing tongue
That's meant for me
I want it back
I want it back
Let's write a book of your best quotes
and make it nonfiction
You poked the bear
And so it’s growl swam the sea of trees
and shattered winds
You left your heart on the chopping block but you let the axe swing
I want it back
I want it back!
You're a gem,
And I'm ready to surrender and kiss the ring
I want it back
I’m muddled at the way it ever had to leave
The day you stop trying to appease me
Is the moment when my badge of hypersensitivity
Breaks from my chest and flies away from me
November 3 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Romans 15-16
Key Verse – Romans 15:16 That I should be the minister of Jesus Christ to the Gentiles, ministering the gospel of God, that the offering up of the Gentiles might be acceptable, being sanctified by the Holy Ghost.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY MINISTRY SANCTIFIER
Lord God, You are my ministry Sanctifier by Your edifying goodness
Thank You for freeing me from reproaches’ heaviness
While comforting my soul through Your Scriptures’ faithfulness
That I may learn from Your patience and kindness.
Lord God, You are my ministry Sanctifier by Your ministering confirmation
Thank You for bringing me to Your mercy’s consolation
While forgiving my sins I admit with repentant profession confession
That I may rejoice in Your reigning supervision.
Lord God, You are my ministry Sanctifier by Your peace-filling hope
Thank You for enclosing me around Your grace-scope
While teaching my compliance to hold on to obedience-rope
That I may glory in Your light; never in darkness to grope.
Lord God, You are my ministry Sanctifier by Your Gospel light
Thank You for hindering me toward worldly journey-flight
While leading my steps to walk along truth and right
That I may strive in prayerful service of stewardship-might.
Lord God, You are my ministry Sanctifier by Your commending assistance
Thank You for supporting me with Your succouring appearance
While exhorting my devotion to continue by Your assurance
That I may labour in Your church ministry without arrogance.
Lord God, You are my ministry Sanctifier by Your saluting cheer
Thank You for reaching-out to me so to You I draw near
While approving my work with Your favour so gladly dear
That I may choose to please You with sincerity’s gear.
Lord God, You are my ministry Sanctifier by Your beseeching glow
Thank You for correcting me for holiness’ radiant show
While transforming my behavior against iniquities’ woe
That I may learn well while spiritually grow.
November 3, 2023
All the others row the boat slow while I crank up the motor....
Here we go let's start the show, I'm the show boater.
The entrance of the eminent,
with ability that's evident.
Poo fills your pants
as you now know you haven't a chance.
I've had it with those who flow with a transparent talent,
the thumpy clumpy rhyme and rhythm of an elephant,
regardless of their age they should think about retirement,
as a skill that's transparent is a skill that they haven't.
I'm the standard setter and I lack compassion,
my skills unmeasured and better than the competition.
Your rhymes are rotten,
that's why they're forgotten,
you're not the dogs bollocks
you're just the dogs bottom.
I rhyme with a rhythm representing Great Britain,
you rhyme like you've been bitten and are disease ridden.
My hyperactive mind will leave you behind,
I am not being unkind but simple minds,
can't even begin to find the words to bind,
people like you often tend to stumble blind
over the simple single syllable rhyme.
I started writing and I'm unstoppable, it's easy it's natural,
you're a hangover fart that lingers like a holocaust chemical.
I am the only poetic superhuman that's causing confusion,
it's amusing how you need the supervision to point out you're losin'.
You need to train your face to look HUMBLE when defeated,
if you feed what it needs your brain won't crumble depleated.
I'm on a mission to book first place, so when I'm awarded,
I must be applauded, stand and clap don't remain seated.
You need to accept it and expect it,
or quit while you have time to forefeit.
You will blunder under the sound of my THUNDER that goes round,
but if it's misheard,
I've got a box of frost to start biting,
but if that's squandered
and you carry on like a fighter,
I'll strike you with lightning,
one way or another you will not win top writer.
Respect the perspective that my rhyme is perfected,
and to conclude your rhymes are rejected.
Not to be rude but your seat's to be ejected,
it's not that you're bad it's that I am majestic.