Long Trained Poems
Long Trained Poems. Below are the most popular long Trained by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trained poems by poem length and keyword.
HUMAN
Humans
possess
basic
instinct
to feel
hunger
and to
survive
and to
produce.
Offsprings
descend.
Sprouting
feelings,
as love,
kindness,
caring,
sharing,
passion,
amour,
greed and
malice.
Which to
apply
or to
control,
to be
trained by
brain, mind
and soul.
Is war coming? Are we headed for another crazy cataclysm?
My sons, draft age. Only now can I appreciate the pain
so sharp it drains the color from one's eyes, your reason
for living gone in a spasm of violence to be forgotten
never by survivors. This fear could become real as no movie
is surreal enough to distract attention from the certainty
you did not do enough to deflect man's trajectory.
All could be well in the end but history portends
a periodic bloodletting followed by a quietus
without mercy. What's the best that can be said:
he died beside his friends and buddies. Steady
on to your own inquest and rest. A perfect rest
that improves upon the inadequacy of your efforts.
What solace can be found in the remains of marriage.
So you better fight back now even if that means
war comes sooner. At least you're fighting back, but how?
Take a minute to meditate on purpose. Science
cannot save you, neither can religion. Abstaining
from violence with love, letting prisoners go, detaining
no one at the border, inviting Chinese and Russian
scientists to our shores, defusing your own anger before it detonates,
none may be enough to save your sons.
A war president needs war, whatever. A trained
and deadly warfighter. You become what history wants
you to become. You survive if you're lucky, if not
so what, your old parents will be alive only briefly to mourn.
Then they too go to their good graves and the pain dies down.
In the meantime a new generation builds a new space station.
Since the vortex will be sucking up the poor,
let's not let the rich escape untouched. All go down
together, no one hoards gold or gets away with fiction.
If we have to fight let's make sure we fight as one,
the sons of the rich side by side with the poor's sons
and their daughters. You want slaughter? Then
let every city and back road know the new order.
I would rather watch Lalaland ten times over than have
to write this poem. I can leave home and live
in a tent or bunkhouse, eat dinner out of a tin cup
and drink water from a wooden bowl, give up
music and most of my memories to save my sons,
to save the world and avoid this war.
But that rarely happens. One is lost and found in what happens.
Christians are being persecuted
how sad their life's and families being destroyed
scenes of poor souls starving in the desert
classed as worthless objects lower than an animal
my gentle mother tears in her eyes said to me
were is the faith in love in this awful world
I agreed saying your so right soldiers protecting oilfields
liquid gold the objects of greed in nations none of this is right
its our planet now I speak the voice of a christian and proud also proud
I am of the blessed cross, baptism seals fate in his holy name, I would heed the call
if called to battle, I would be proud to serve in your name Lord, hear our prayers
If and when the calling all I ask of you father
forgive me my sins because in the heart I have offended thee in the past
please kneeling before your cross guilty having sinned and taken the Lord's
name
The pope has spoken out to our world with a plea
voice of love father our understanding
this is not right bowing my head in prayer at this earth's shame
saying now what has,
anyone been doing to resolve this
as when our holy father from the rock he speaks
A situation in desperate times a crusade is what we need
soldiers will die with honor at his command we kneel servants of the Lord
to protect these innocent people
love and loving God's children make this world revolve
houses of worship have been destroyed vile acts
desecration of the holy cross grail of life and loves sanctuary
They show no compassion as they spit in our faces
these suffering children of god die for us in our sins
turning a blind eye to the truth who our redeemer is
will none of us even governments take on the sacrifice
to protect these people
innocent women and little children
To see the face of the devil himself at work
because I do
in a calling I would sacrifice my life
in our Lord's holy name
I would join the crusade in a heartbeat
to protect and I am a trained soldier rusty
Available anytime for what is right
just for the sake of peace I pray to God
that he gives the answers to the world
we should do what is morally right
as we will all answer to the Father and Son
in the end with the holy spirits
we seek his redemption at the gates of heaven
Hedloper the Roman was sent back to guard the books of Itheius.
They were kept in a library in the province of Mellifluethius.
He had never been here but he was a Roman, soldier-trained.
So here he stands guard daily, watching, as it was ingrained.
The people of this century are the strangest he has ever met.
He did not think the world could get any sillier, but it is goofy-set.
The questions he gets asked are so dull, boring and bane.
He is shocked that the planet still exists in this world so insane.
He cannot wait until the year 2026, for that is the year he can return.
To his life, guarding the Roman arena, a place where Christians burn.
New world is full of tiny talking tablets which are such a waste of time.
He cannot wait to get back to his true life, because he is in his prime.
Back home, he had a lovely wench as beautiful as he had ever seen.
Being here for his commission was frankly, pretty ridiculous and mean.
His father invented the time machine, so they made him use his son.
He only has to remain in this time for five more years, as this is 2021.
Bay Area Nigh December
A tryst on a San Francisco trolley
that exhibits penchant amidst a glance,
for 'tis wintry time launch all, too jolly
save two turtledoves, culled cooed romance
left in steep devotion, neglects folly.
Atone solemn occasions ere chapel
doors left open, soul worshippers pass stained
glass multicolored figurines, dapple
its windows amidst Christmasy lights, trained
eyes in wonder, gulp an adam's apple.
Snowflakes patterned distinctly, blankets bare
grounds painstakingly, changing verdant green
to an achromatic dressed whitewash wear,
rotating perspective picturesque scene
consistent seasons shift that we now fare.
The Golden Gate bridge, waning its glit of
citrus rising, squirting into blind eyes
forced to shades, now visibly shone 'twas love
delicate trace of your countenance guise
as it chalks a blackboard wrote from above.
2020 November 14
*8th Place*
Quintain-Sicilian
~~Emile Pinet
My chair is rated for eight hours of sitting,
optimal lumbar support, adjustable armrests,
as if comfort could compensate
for the slow calcification of dreams.
I've organised my inbox into folders:
Urgent, Important, Someday, Never.
Someday is where ambition goes to die
in increments too small to mourn.
The metrics are always watching:
response time, productivity score,
the gamification of my worth
reduced to numbers on a dashboard.
My coworker brings her lunch in containers.
Sunday's labor portioned into Tuesday's sustenance.
We are all preparing for a future
that looks exactly like today.
The motivational poster says
"You don't have to be great to start,
but you have to start to be great."
I've been starting for thirty-five years.
In meetings, we discuss synergy,
leverage, bandwidth, moving the needle.
These words mean nothing and everything,
a liturgy for the Department of staying employed.
I dream in spreadsheets now.
Columns of tasks that multiply like cells,
each one dividing into subtasks,
an infinite regression of doing.
The retirement calculator says
I can stop working at sixty
if the market cooperates,
if I don't get sick,
if the world doesn't end first.
But here's what they don't tell you
about trading time for money:
you can always make more money.
Time, once sold, is gone forever.
I close my laptop at 6.45pm
One hour fifteen minutes of unpaid overtime,
a tithe to the god of looking busy,
of being seen as dedicated.
Outside, the sun is setting
on a day I barely noticed.
Somewhere, people are living lives
that don't fit into outlook calendars.
Tomorrow I'll come back.
Log in, stand up, sync up, circle back.
The chair will remember the shape of my surrender.
The screen will glow its welcome.
And I will perform productivity
like a trained animal who's forgotten
there was ever any other way
to justify taking up space on earth.
Examinations is like a blain –
It is like a teacher with a cane;
Rules and decrees do clearly lain
To discourage us purpose main.
We are made scared and wane
Many a times makes us insane
Brain is trained by it to strain.
Exams are, for students, like sprain
In which they are controlled by rein.
But, few say exams make us crane
Which make us see out future pane.
Those suffered with zero only complain
That they had been disfavoured cocaine.
To get through it we need good arcane
Which many failures ready to abstain.
Can students have a nice campaign
To refer the exams a challenge plain?
Let’s use it as a tool success to attain
And not complain against it again.
The Killing of Floyd
So, the policeman who Killed Floyd by pressing his
knee on his neck, the sentence was murder, but was it?
The police officer accidentally killed Floyd as he was trained to do.
The why police are learning their dubious craft has to come
into focus, the whole police department has to be scrutinized,
and the new “servants” of the people must be accentuated.
To concentrate on one man who is insensitive and stupid does
Not solve the problem of the American police.
First of all, the poorly trained officer must understand a gun
It is not for shooting people who are fleeing, but the weapon is a defence
Only used when attacked directly.
I cannot understand why a single police officer has to bear
The burden of guilt that is pervasive in the American society
is by its nature, overly fascistic and too dependent on the GUN.
The victory (political) can be a pyrrhic one if some people can disregard
Law and order.
Here in this village standing schools three like a stove,teaching free.Boys and girls on their backs bag load of books to carry.Many walk on foot,some taking up and down routes.Teachers from this village most learned from same village.Some trained,some gained degrees and few in between.Pupils smart in bodies but studies.Many drop on the
way,some carry in hope of a shining day.All schools in a mess beyond any body’s guess.Principal and teachers like cats and dogs.Divisions peeping over the unity walls when the core thing falling day by day.Innocent these pupils in joy unknowing who and who are their real woes.Teachers doing home work at schools forgetting school work at their homes.Pass rates at schools falling fast in
days pass.Many failing exams at O’level others A’level as schools are not in the right levels.Teachers in pay rolls even pupils not reaching their goals.Destructions curtained by construction of mere walls.Schools aimed to closing jails here schools like jails
baring pupils right to reaching knowledge.When it rains there get wet all.I have a fear in me for some reasons,whether I myself in the hit list of God to punish for not making use of my hand first,my tongue next against and for not hating this by heart at least!
Walking,
Strolling through,
Rolling hills,
Cliffs Keep Arising.
Diving in,
Climbing In the end,
To be better than my will.
A higher mentality,
Hiding in side of me.
So I can see the Truth,
Surrounding Duality.
Abiding within society,
Driving the Crazy,
Becoming Lazy,
The path Growing hazy.
Complacency has blatantly,
Robbed us of Energy.
The will to be,
As we Endlessly,
Repeat our history.
Can you See?
The Patterns,
Fallacies,
Created,
Keeping us Happy,
Entertained,
And Distracted.
Our youth being trained,
Framed forms,
Flowing to a Norm,
Attracted like a swarm,
To all the Usual STUFF.
Things cluttering The Place,
Crowding Personal space.
Erasing the Connection,
To Your Grace and Affection.
The Role you play,
When they have your attention.
Chasing away all who seek change,
So things remain the same,
To repeat this Game.
Let's Redirect our intellect,
And walk into change.