Long Tool Poems
Long Tool Poems. Below are the most popular long Tool by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tool poems by poem length and keyword.
Now the public library in our town contains the knowledge for mankind,
and there’s not much happening ‘round the world, that I cannot find.
I can think of any subject that I like and tell Jenny what I’m after,
and she can find a stack of books that darn near touch the rafter.
The library’s helped me countless times from days when I’m at school,
and I’ve become a handy man with books my back up tool,
but aside from books on lifestyle needs, on fiction some are geared,
and some authors write for little kids, and some write on the weird.
I’ve hired books about our history and read about some shocking wars.
Our garden is designed from books, and I’m obsessed with reading ‘Jaws’.
But crime became my new desire with cases filed from years gone by,
where Capital Punishment was handed down and why some had to die.
Description of the victims sent a chill right through my bones,
right to the guilty on death row with all their over-tones.
I read about their last few weeks, with how and why and where,
before they took their final walk to the electric chair.
One story written by a Warder based in a Southern US gaol,
is penned about a chilling case that for you I will unveil …
Leroy murdered seven folk; the warder wrote down in this book.
For twenty years appeals were held then Leroy’s goose was cooked.
When you’re with someone for twenty years, no matter what they’ve done,
you can form a slight attachment even if a fragile one.
So one week before that final stroll Leroy was asked by Warder Black,
if there’s something special that he’d like, and Leroy answered back.
“There is something I do desire - but it must involve me faithful wife.
“My wish is” Leroy grinned. “Is to eat her meatloaf now for life”.
Well Leroy’s wish was granted and for three meals every day,
he ate the meatloaf that he begged for while the hours ticked away.
On the eve of Leroy’s execution there was tension being shown.
The corridors were creepy now with a ghostly eerie tone.
Forgotten were the seven victims - in the morning there’s one more.
Leroy must face ‘old sparky’ waiting down that corridor.
His final meal of meatloaf was brought before him on a plate.
Said Warder Black with teary eyes “You don’t look worried mate!”
Leroy laughed “I’m not my friend, that chair won’t kill me man.
If this meatloaf couldn’t do me in - I know that nothing can!”
Its not a Religion it’s a Life style
Its not a Religion it’s a Life style Don’t be Blind by your belief. Or too blind to see that if you
are not For Christ there is something that you do believe. No such thing as a non
Believer. In life we are all receivers of something or shall I say someone.
So don’t think for once you are operating under your own mind. There’s nothing
comical about the truth the light the things the vision of Christ.
He’s not a celebrity Superstar so don’t get it twisted. More to say is he is the star who
created existence which none of us can Shine without his light. No you may not need a
Sunday Television. But you do need That divine intervention. Where he can come into your
life and you can accept him as Your Christ Lord and Savior. Of all things please don’t
quench the Holy Spirit as the old Folks use to say don’t make jokes of the Holy Ghost.
If you think you don’t need time for Prayer or any of the other things. When you down to
the lowest low I guarantee you will call Upon his name. Oh you say that for you its never
been hard. Well the word say every knee Shall bow and every tongue will confess that
Jesus Christ is Lord. If you don’t want a place Up there maybe you will be the first to be
comfortable in hell. Just because you think your Head is alright a fool do too. No scientific
tool can be use when you meet him face to face. Don’t let your logical man get in the way
of what your spirit man is trying to show you.
The Devil is good at deceiving a liar that can never speak the truth. But try Jesus he will
never fail You. You come in asking for a miraculous vision. When the gift of Life was a
miraculous decision. To be living in someone else and live in this world and not accept that
Jesus plays a Hugh role in your Life. So the style you living let it be for Christ. But I can see
why when you have so many false lies of Super heroes and other people want God job.
But don’t let your spirit be rob. Confessing the truth can Put the enemy so far behind you.
Things that you think you have to fight with, God he will make it right. Line up in his word
speak it everyday so you can be heard. Not be heard by people but by that thing that’s
trying to keep you mental. Mentally distracted from the real. Confess the Word to be
healed. Don gamble your life. Don’t gamble your life.
LUNAR MADNESS
His thought; desire; that driving dream he knew;
so real within his heart and living soul;
the thing he took and fed until it grew,
into the part of life that made him whole;
by doing things that people seldom do
to make it real, and reach his cherished goal!
For who but fools, whose minds are now in tune,
would take a thought, and bounce it off the moon?
If given wings; by one who's gone insane
with lunar madness, loose in universe;
his wish for life would search each hidden plane,
and seek more levels where he might immerse
in pools of knowledge, cleansing every stain,
bleached on his mind by times eternal curse!
And damp with truth, before his mind can rust,
he dries in clouds of flowing cosmic dust!
His world is silent, everywhere he goes,
and dreams he holds so dear, stare silently,
at passersby, who greet him, but he shows,
no recognition to the ones who'd be
some of the ones to take the truth he knows,
and bring him back from where he's flying free!
But don't know how to reach this paranoid,
nor find the things that make his feelings void.
It's plain for them to see, he's not all there,
but lunar madness doesn't cross their minds,
and ships of soul, don't take them anywhere;
perhaps too busy with their daily grinds
to think of flying free form any care,
and seeking many worlds of other kinds!
That he has found by leaving body still,
protected by his knowing mind, and will.
He'll watch the pouring rain, and snowflakes fall,
and bolts that light the sky, in summer storm,
to see the wisdom theree within them all,
as puzzles come together and to form
a tool to shatter down his prison wall,
that's kept him from a life that's soft and warm!
But as he sees the things before his eyes,
the other part of him still seeks, and flies
so free of chains that bind him far below;
the part behind, that's waiting for the end;
or waiting for the wisdom he will know,
return of one, his kind and loving friend;
that once set free, would only come and go,
far from the one who let it first ascend!
Not knowing once he set their powers free,
that lunar madness plagues him, constantly.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
I lay in my bed.
Thoughts come in waves.
When will it end?
The Dragon slain.
No amount of time.
No person, no thing.
Can change the fate,
That the needle brings.
Sights of Orange,
Delight my eyes.
I pick up a crystal,
And to no surprise.
I crush it down.
In that damn orange cup.
I’m so overwhelmed.
The sinking feeling abrupt.
I carefully decide,
The amount to pour.
Then mix it with water.
And dissolve once more.
I take off the cap,
To reveal the shine.
Of that needle so enticing.
That it blows my mind.
I feel so small.
As I stare at that point.
My body quivers.
I can’t disappoint.
Thoughts of guilt.
Invade my brain.
But my body keeps saying,
This will soon end the pain.
So I draw the solution,
Into the stem.
Then flick it twice.
Let the bubbles settle in.
I slowly push the air out.
That’s collected on top.
And wonder to myself,
If I will ever stop.
But I shrug it away.
And again think of pain.
Then tie on my tourniquet.
And say “ it” again.
The veins start to pop.
And spread on my skin.
They bulge and prod,
And trickle within.
Sometimes this takes hours.
Sometimes days of my life.
I get so frustrated.
But search on with strife.
I stab myself over and over again.
Until the blood flows red into my syringe.
Seeing the blood,
Makes my whole body weak.
But I surrender with ease.
No more words can I speak.
I push the plunger forward,
Till she entires my veins.
Down to the last drop.
Empty and insane.
I wait just a second.
Pull the needle out.
My body turns to fire.
This is what it’s all about.
From my toes to my head,
Her venom spreads.
Ecstasy at last.
No more feelings of dread.
Then the fire fades,
Just as quickly as it came.
And then there’s just calm.
A final break from the shame.
I’ve given my life to this process,
So many times.
The bigger the shot.
The bigger the crimes.
When I’m in this state,
The dragon has one.
My mind and my heart,
Become unspun.
I do terrible things,
To all of my friends.
My family, my children.
But she always wins.
I always think I can only do one.
But that’s never the case.
The cycles just begun.
“The devils tool” I’ve heard it said.
Takes every ounce of life.
And leaves you for dead.
But you rise up and start
The process once more.
A zombie. Tortured chaos.
I don’t know anymore.
O God! Will you answer my prayers?
O Lord! Will you take away my tears?
O Divine! I am so worried about my fears
We pray, but don't know the meaning of our prayers
Of course, most of the world does pray
Not many of us know the meaning of what we say
We just fold our hands and close our eyes
And call out to the one who we think is above the skies
If we pray, but don't understand what we say
Then we don't pray, at best we bray!
It's time to stop and find out the truth
What is prayer? Get to the bottom of the root
Who is God and where is He?
Aren't our prayers for God meant to be?
If we don't know God, but still we pray
Then who is listening to what we say?
We pray because we have some desire
Or because of problems that consume us like fire
Isn't there a reason we go to God?
Or just for fun do we pray to our Lord?
Some people pray because they truly love God
There are others who pray out of fear of the Lord
A very few pray to express their thanks
They evolve in life's journey and cross to God's banks
Prayer has a purpose, to God we do talk
Some stop to listen, they don't just walk
Prayer that works is a two-way communication
A tool that leads to ultimate liberation
There are rituals and superstitions in every religion
They make us get confused and cloud our vision
We are so controlled by what our scriptures say
That we just blindly follow, day after day
Is prayer all about mumbling something to God?
Is it about praying, not knowing who is our Lord?
Unless we first know who God truly is
We may say many prayers, but the main point we miss
Therefore, in quest of God, we must go
We must ask questions until we ultimately know
God is not someone made of bone and skin
He is a Power that lives within
How do we know that God is a Power?
When will we stop praying at some religious tower?
If we must realize the truth about God
First know, who is the one that's praying to the Lord
Self-realization marks the beginning of our quest
It asks questions putting every belief to test
Then we realize that we are not ego, body, and mind
We are the Divine Soul, this truth we find
What is the Soul? Is it different in you and me?
The Soul is a Power, different it cannot be
It is one Power that gives life to everything on earth
It goes when we die and it comes at birth
...It was from an old colleague of mine,
in southern Russian working a new dig,
of Proto Indo-European tribes,
he believed it would be something big.
Wanted me to come out and take a look
at the artifacts they had found there,
claimed they had found religious writings,
the pictures he sent of it made me swear.
Writing should not exist that far back in time,
but the etched stones that they found proved it did!
A text speaking of a long-lost religion…
was so excited I bounced like a kid.
A week later I was flying out there,
my assistant Tommy Bains at my side,
we flew to Moscow then rented a car
for a very long and exhausting drive.
The site was out in empty countryside,
there were more cattle and sheep them men,
we expected to see bustling workers,
but we approached and saw no sign of them.
It looked as if they’d just abandoned it,
all of their gear and machines left behind,
there was no note, and we could see no cause,
I felt nervous, unsure what I would find.
After looking around for thirty minutes,
I came across a large plastic case,
it had the word ‘Artifact’ printed on it,
like so many others left in this place.
I did not know why, but I felt I had to
open the box to see what it held,
what I saw in there haunts me to this day,
you’re the first people that I’ve dared to tell.
It was a stone tablet covered in a script
that I’d never seen, all alien and strange,
and then, before my astonished eyes,
the letters all seemed to just rearrange?!
It now was many rows of English text,
what I saw broke all natural laws,
the first line I read, sit imply said:
‘All who read this, these are words from your god…’
My mind did reel, as anyone’s would,
but I felt no disbelief, and no doubt,
as if some power confirmed it was true,
and there was no time for messing about.
My eyes just could not be pulled away,
I could hear a deep voice within, and it said:
‘I left these words so you’d know why you’re here,
and what awaits us all going ahead.
‘You see evolution is the only tool
that can do this in the time left to me,
I’m dying and have but a billion years
to give rise to the next deity.
‘This may seem utterly strange to your mind,
the mere thought that an almighty can die,
but I’m not the first god that there has been,
I was much like you, way back in time...
CONTINUES IN PART III.
"Saddo...Saddo...",she kept calling me,
Yeah,I was sad,
So I was named Saddo,
Flowers fell from highest branches,
Fruits fell from tall branches,
My days were full of worries and mess,
Series of bad occurrence,
Many that laughed with me,
Same see me and mock about what I've lost,
The blame is to be,
Toes stiffed in wet shoes distort,
I'm not pitied,
People to whom I exercised religiosity to,doesn't account me as to be tricked,
Mortgage at last have all my belongings outside the road,"Disgrace...disgrace...what a disgrace",
No one want to see the shadow of a race,
'Tom the finest',your end is someone's beginning,
Gone are the days when they use to call me a balloon,
I lacked nothing,...my name was a tool,
Is it a spell they've used on me?
"Join my fraternity,and you'll stand tall again",
Proposal comes in from friends and sympathisers vain,
Even my wife want me to avail myself to that,
Who is on my side to caution in fact,
Hope and trust in God is not allowing me to give up on gust,
Situations of life is ridiculing fast,
Which road should I pass?
A billionaire is now an outcast,
Every night I count the stars,
I see so many falling,
Who saw my star fall?
Who is ready to tell me everything?
People wowed only seeing me in bad condition,
Others to wonder of how this perdition came to being,
Hands are at a speed to raise sanction,
And based on the tenet They've written to me,
I prefer being down,
Dad died leaving me not even a pen,
Advice he gave,is shielding four whole men,
"Everything has its moment",so this agony is now demonstrating a fact,
Moving through a formless cloud,vainly does fowls in the air matters act,
Like an iceberg on fire,Slowly is the torment fading,
Hard work admitted me to chamber of wealth,
A short while,I'm outside here fenced by poverty belt,
"Funny...funny,clearly this story is funny",
Will my children also be left without a sheet of paper?
"If so will present the case,it maybe notched to grandpa,
A lineage",said softly to my youngest daughter,
Replies to me"Don't assume",
Words were lost inside room,
"Your consolation to me is not palliative",
Made that point fairly to a comparative,
One step that took me to thousand miles drown,
The same number of step left me down,
Closing myself in the coffin,
"Vanity is satisfying,but baseless",the mourner sobered in.
Many a poet I know a fool
acting like they know-it-all
many a poet I know a tool
acting like "Mr Poet-all"
unknowingly showing me
their knowledge of poetry
has boundaries surrounding
ideas rebounding around
their impounded grounds
only seeing the same repeatedly
nothing new unfortunately
forever under lock and key
belittling anything new they see.
As a poet I'm not especially traditional
more so "special" writing additional
my raw and new to poetry style
unlike those into poetry awhile
so can I now pick the thoughts
of a traditional poet know-it-all
I believe to be caught in restriction walls
appearing to parrot what taught in schools
see if I perceive conviction in their cause
or robotic perspective their memory stores
too Inspect credentials for signs set in stone
content or unambitious toward the unknown
should I see respect or a moody moan
for new styles outside their own zone
Seemingly their priority is to teach all to try to be
writing unoriginally prevent the mind think free
in a strictly stricken view I see crippling you
never trying new or seeking something else to do
you have regulations on how creativity is written
preventing inspiration thus so negatively driven
speculating with unchallenged repetition
as though been tutored to a limit
you're now failing to ascend merited
having starved all but within it.
So please respect my detected inclination at play
but poetry is a creative artform not set in its ways
and those paved paths you pace and wear thin
were once unpaved before their now adored placing
so shouldn't a creative artform progress and not stay there
wouldn't it go on new quests paving unpaved or
invent realise and find in amaze ways new spaces
not be assigned a confined station like railways
instead seek to new roads or train to fly the skies
cus a closed off mind concealed in a cocoon
denies the butterfly wings the room
like a inverted narrow mind blinds clues
let's preserve and branch from the lay of the track
if poetry stays then poetry slacks but if adapts
poetry won't wear weak crumble and crack
recycling the same will only sink in to the black
I don't want to conform to the common or normal
because I see it as a creative short fall.
So why refuse new styles when you could embrace all poetry?
are you a poet or are you a phoney?
He is cranking up the old rusty engine again, but all that work is in vain, sweat is running from his anxious face and grease is spilling all over the place. There he goes again with his tool bag and greasy overall lying flat on his back underneath the truck, pulling screw, by screw from the belly of the old truck.
Monday comes at a price, and he has to pay a painful sacrifice, fix it or dump it he has no choice but to squeeze Monday into his chest. The old truck is draining the life out of his pocket. It's just the other day he fixed it. He replaced the engine with a second hand one that he imported from Finland. It worked quite well for the first few days but soon it starts to die away.
He pulls down the whole thing and drain the oil out of it, the heaven doesn’t know what this man is about, thirty different parts staring in his face and the oil and water is dripping all over the place.
The Engine block, and the Cylinder Head has sucked out the pressure out of the living dead; the piston, crank shaft, camshaft, and Timing belt are not in place, and it causes the vehicle to wobble and shake. Examine the engine valves and combustion chamber carefully; there is a hole in the oil pan and a blunt on the connecting rod.
The intake manifold and Exhaust manifold has something in common and can heat up your face and plant bitterness into your grave. The spark plugs, piston ring and flywheels are out of place, and you have to tighten them, or you will end in an unpleasant place.
Look at the head gasket, cylinder liner and crank case, they are shifting around, and the distributor ring is hanging on the ground; the cylinder head cover, the rubber grommet and camshaft pulley are out of line, and you have got to replace the oil filter, water pump, and oil pan drain bolt.
The turbocharger and supercharger are defected, and you must replace the timing belt, drive pulley and the starter motor before the engine fail. You need a brand-new truck to satisfy the daughter she will never come back in that truck with you unless you do what you have to do.
The wind is blowing softly, and the trees are shaking violently, the weather is fine, but his emotion is out of line, the sun is peeping beyond the hill and nature is sending him a bunch of daffodils look carefully into the sky and you will see shades of Monday passing by.
3 strikes…you’re out!
I’ve given you way too many chances…
Do you expect more?
You left me empty-handed… your insufficiency advances…
3 strikes…you’ve ran out of chances
But I’m kind enough to buy you some more
Or maybe I have some in store
You’ve pushed it to the limits
I’M TELLIN’ YOU TO QUIT IT
When you throw your tantrums… your foolish fits
I’m tellin’ you to lay off of me…
You treated me like dirt and grime
You have only one last chance…
Will you stop acting irrationally?
Don’t screw it up this time…
3 strikes…GET out of my sight
Get out of my life – there’s the front door
You’re killin’ me with your insanity
3 strikes… don’t pout!
Could you JUST leave me alone tonight?
I’ve given you a bunch of options,
But you were heedless of my vanity…
You’ve tortured me with your profanity
You’ve punctured me with your
lies and your brutality
You’ve defeated me with your
nightmarish reality
Why do you hunger for my agony?
3 strikes…there’s no way out
Of your devious trap…
You’re blaming me for your downfalls
3 strikes…good riddance…get out!
You’ve never answered my calls,
So just desert me…
Let me escort you to the front door
Leave me alone…I don’t love you anymore
You’ve really tried my patience
I’m tellin’ you to leave me be…
You still don’t listen to me – I want you to flee
I want you to be set free
Get out of heart…
Get out of my house…
Get out of my head…
Get out of my life!
You’re the magnet of strife
You’ve invited corruption in my life
It strangles me like a thick rope around my neck
It stabbed me like a butchering knife…
You’re so heartless and pathetic…you’re a wreck
I’m tellin’ you to bother someone else, you lunatic
You have lost your only chance,
You repulsive prick
3 strikes…you’ve got no luck
I’ve given you escape routes and you weren’t grateful –
You don’t even say, “Thank you” for all of the things I do for you
3 strikes…
YOU SNOOZE. . . YOU LOSE. . .
Are you still a ruthless soul?
You’re hanging by a thread – and you haven’t got a clue
Go ahead!
Leave my presence,
YOU nuisance!
You're trying my patience...
I would leave if I were you...
I loathe your ignorance...
But, you just stand there like a fool!
You're taking advantage of me...
Throwing me out in the dumpster like a futile tool
--(Screw)-- you... Please leave me...
You have added to my anxiety
You have done enough
damage as it is...