Long Transactions Poems
Long Transactions Poems. Below are the most popular long Transactions by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Transactions poems by poem length and keyword.
I'm not writing another
All the words have since been said
Besides, it's dark and it's cosy
As I lie alone in bed
I'll magic up a subject..
Let the words just tumble out
Be proactively cathartic
A poetic layabout
Not intentionally lazy
Let me just be clear
I know you read my title
So, while I've got you here..
Not another soliloquy
No balcony or lyre
But love is still our destiny
The rest place for desire
As humans we are wired
Chasing all that burns within
I hope to keep you reading
Don't just drop me in the bin
Love is more than just ethereal,
Elusive and aloof
We need to take a journey
And I'll offer you some proof..
So jump right in and join me
Or paddle round the edge
My words will gently lull you
I'll be honest; is my pledge
Close your eyes just for a second
Take a breath and drift away..
Let the troubles of the world subside
Leave the worries of your day
Find that quiet space within you
Like the centre of a storm
There's a chair with your name on it
And a blanket, so you're warm
As we all do this together
Feel the lesson that we learn
There's a love so deep within us
That we do not have to earn
We can give and take, it's easy
Cheap transactions see us through
Yet, internal love more precious
This is heaven's gift to you
As the debris swirls and clatters
Feel the wind across your face
At the centre of existence
Love reserves for you a place.
So, I'm done. The worst is over.
You've endured my 'nonsense' rhyme
But just sit a while here with me
Our only enemy is time
Let's secure these precious moments
That equip us for the test
Let that purest love within you
Be the well-spring for the rest
Jinjagoliath
18th November 2023
Changes
If I could change the world in more ways than presently,
Computers would not crash; nor could they ever be hacked. If competition does not increase in both NBA Conferences,
Playoff spots in the NBA would be reduced to 6 from 8.
In the automobile industry, Buyer Beware Rules would be changed,
affording buyers a fighting chance of getting a good car at a fair price.
No dictatorships in Asia or Africa.
No drugs from Middle East or South America.
Political parties would be discouraged in the US of America.
Terror would cease; and nations would study war no more.
Absolutely no one would pay attention to political polls.
The entire planet would be neither too hot, nor too cold.
Every person would live for ever, and never grow old.
The streets in every city would be paved with gold.
And there would be no pot holes on the road.
No nation would be aggressive toward another nation.
Every nation would humanely govern itself as it chooses.
There would exist the purest form of Sovereignty among nations.
Peace will reign from East to West and from North to South Poles.
All transactions would be fair, and nothing would be deceitfully sold.
There would be fair trades between people everywhere around the globe.
Plenty of clean water for everyone, even the birds and the bees.
Medicines would be minimized, and healing would come from trees.
Children would play without fear of pedophiles.
No human would be bartered or bought.
No child abuse or women misused;
No abortions and no rapes;
No cruelties to any animal,
Including elephants and whales.
04112016 PS Contest, If You Could Change The World, Dan Kearley
Suddenly there was a cold draft
It was chilly reminiscent of a wintry shower bath
Making the body freeze
With a tundra tease
It came from up there
Screaming icy air
Was it a duct?
Where the warmth got stuck?
Like a refrigerator open door
Luring a bear into making an easy score
Dressed in the appropriate hibernation muffle
Before escaping doing a planned shuffle
Closing the door
Than crossing the frigid floor
The draft did stop
And soon it got very hot
Suddenly there was a cold draft
Apparently one or two countries had a wrath
Notice came in the mail
Failure to respond meant going to jail
Reporting to camp
With a form signed by a rubber stamp
Boots on the ground
Glory and honor it did sound
As copter blades twirled
And butch haircuts curled
Things went down
Hopefully the bodies would be found
Closing the casket
Family wearing black veils to mask it
The draft did stop
And bonding financial transactions started to get hot
Suddenly there was a cold draft
Foaming an artistic craft
Not a bad deal for a first round that was picked
A social prop soothing the issue that made them ticked
Corona was its name
Perfect for the conversation game
Debating with a laugh
Communicating about the calculating national debt math
Not using any sharp words as spears
Just a nice talk over a few beers
Going down like a saintly breeze
Unlike a French wine next to cheese
Closing the tab
Before calling a cab
The draft did stop
Making the bar flies bug out cheerful not angry and hot
FEAST OF BEAUTY
I thought humans don't eat humans
and bands don't break bands
But your beauty is eating me up - Cannibalism.
Sheer barbarism and "taboolism",
Not empathic and absolutely no sympathy,
Emotions running high for your posh of beauty
As my own desires are feasting on me - Autocannibalism
Just like a person being consumed by or**sm.
Miss Farhana Sait,
Your charm is a bait
That lures mankind into your paradise gate.
Set me in confinement,
multiplying multiple enjoyment;
Cocooned in your milky endowment.
If beauty were transactions and sold in zillions,
Yours would be priceless and raise common opinions.
Tiger doesn't eat Tiger when famish
Yet your looks feast on this Tiger in ambush.
All these models do is slay, slay & slay
But with the fangs of beauty & your outlay
You feast, feast & feast on your prey.
To survive your allure, this I pray.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhyme.
Copyright © October 1st, 2020.
#OnTheSpotPoetry #inspiredbyFarhana
#inspiredbybeauty
#beautyappreciation
#feastoftheeyes #feastofbeauty
12 a.m I remove the mask
and take the night.
With open eyes and ears
I take in nights delight.
Second story high,
window shadow puppets stir.
With gestures of fists locked in a loving embrace
to the amateur.
Up above, the whirley-birds
shine their lights.
A perp to peep. A monster to catch.
A search now that’s taken flight.
Smells of diapers
and empty liquor bottles of cope.
Trash lined the streets
where one leaves their dreams and hope.
In the exchange corridor
transactions are being made.
The amount of ones happiness
dependent on the bens being paid.
A late bus appears, leaving one behind
to make her way
To several children left crying. Alone,
to fend through their day.
There’s a kinship to the night
and those who are in it
No judgement from shadows.
No confessions to submit
Just slip away as
dawn makes its way.
Begin the day,
along with its own fray.
Sixty years have passed.
No one knew how to spell its name.
No one knew when it first opened.
It was forever, like the infernal summer heat.
It stands indelible at the end of my street,
at the end of my episodic hippocampus.
Everyone congregated at this cozy corner store,
this neighborhood fount for stories, jokes,
convenient food and cheap toys.
There were only a few shoplifters,
usually snarky boys slightly older than me.
They were never caught.
The guy behind the counter
never caught anything he didn’t want to see.
Perhaps the store’s namesake,
he worked slavishly, anxiously alone.
One frantic day, he spotted vomit on the floor.
Bolting into the backroom,
He returned with mop and pail
only to find the mess entirely missing.
Snickering, snarky boys hid their latex toy.
A harmless prank, some would say.
But somehow, in my tenth year
I felt sorrow for the overworked man.
Nothing ever changed.
It all lingered like the infernal summer heat,
the gripping stillness of eternal summer.
This neurotransmitter of neighborly connections,
This hub of gab and gossip,
Home to my first financial transactions,
Home to penny candy, bubblegum cards, and Mars bars.
Home to grape soda, Twinkies, and Wonder Bread.
No one knew how to spell its name.
No one knew when it permanently closed.
But the potent sugar-coated flashbacks
have lengthened my life.
PEDDLING HOPE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a small pill, solace in a blister pack
legally dispensed by a white coat
promises relief, a cure, a return to normalcy,
a life unburdened from pain and disease.
the ache returns, however, louder and more insistent
another pill, then two
the dosage creeping like a vine.
a pressed white powder, a crystal shard
illegally peddled in a dark alley
promises escape, temporary reprieve, abnormality,
a life numbed from pain.
the craving returns, however, the gnawing need
the body screams,
desperately clawing for the next fix.
addiction cares not about legality~
the hungry monster gnaws the same
whether fed by doctor’s script or dealer’s promise.
Big Pharma, a sanitized name
cartels in suits and white lab coats
pushing their product with glossy ads.
the cartel’s hand, a brutal fist
deals death blows and ruin,
pushing their product in seedy places and backstreet alleys.
one wears a suit, funds politicians,
smiles on commercials, promises relief from disease.
the other whispers in shadows
creates transactions based on desperation and fear.
Big Pharma’s towers gleam, untouchable
built on prescriptions, on the fine print no one reads.
cartels hide, their dens and caves obscured
built on blood, dead bodies, and broken dreams.
how many lives line the pockets of pharmaceutical giants,
legal drug pushers in suits peddling hope in blister packs?
how many lives line the pockets of backstreet cartels,
illegal drug pushers in hoodies peddling hope in powder?
Wait! don’t tell me about regulations, about quality control
when the end result is the same:
bodies chained; minds enslaved
lives bartered for fleeting highs and ephemeral repose.
In metro hum, where steel and stone preside,
A bard steps forth, though not with lyre in hand,
But crowbar wielded, forceful, strong, and prying wide,
Parting the jaws of my rigid thoughts was unplanned
What you see is what you get, no veil to lift,
No masks to don, no illusions to uphold,
The truth, raw and unfiltered, cuts like a rift,
And what you get is what you saw, a tale not often told
A poet in half, not here to wield words that start a plague
But they are weapons, and the heart is the target,
My lines are a dance of light, darkness, and vague
Reflecting the chaos where my soul is traded at market
These transactions are enough to make Prozac laugh,
Though not bound to disaster’s path, I’ve had my half,
In the depths of sorrow, there’s a twisted jest,
And in the wake of suffering, I’ve found my best
I’ve got a throwback craft, that’s sharpened by time,
And though the world may rush my words; I mean to linger,
My smile could kill the suns shine, with just a single finger,
For in its cracks and creases, hope and despair draw a line
On it I stand, this bard that modern-day has not undone,
With a crowbar in hand and verses in my heart,
In breaking wide open, the pain of healing has begun,
And in the fragments left; lies the best of my art
A sudden feeeling comes over me as vast as a dark cloud
Introspection, a plubic view of inside myself
An outcry, a protest of fear, a proclaimation of Faith
A deep emotion, A spell so strong
That she casts over me with her eyes
Resist the evil that many men have desired in their hearts
Look beyond the faults
Love endures and never fails
It has never blinded me in any way
Consider the new hope I have now
Even though the night is dark and deathly
despite all my enemies, i am still prepared for war
At times of peace I thank my fellow peers lost in the struggle
I cant blame or call names or deny the truth Think about it
I'm all painful memories and hoping that I rise out of doubts
Speechless exceptionally graced with communication skills
Data stretches it suffers a tiny sense of well being
it strengthens the message it gives it life
Information highways and souls transmitting updates
And reformers who can't grasp the transactions
Bottoming out scraping the danger to the point of destruction
Restored by The Almighty God who is understanding of our inner struggles
As the droplets of blood wash my sin away
And dread flees as the shadow does from the light
I know the battles are a small thing for us to overcome in God's eyes
A glass of vodka on the table,
A chocolate joint between the fingers,
A Tokarev in the bag,
The brain infused with adrenaline.
Misery, a nightmare,
Being poor, a curse,
Forced to drown in illicit transactions.
Survival: a necessity to exist,
Bound to poverty since the placenta.
Murder scenes as the only spectacle,
From the watchtower, the horizon is mortiferous.
Reality proclaims its sentence with a firm voice,
The cruelty of the street teaches raw lessons to worn-out heels.
Gagged souls count the dirty money that corrodes their future,
A pact of survival sealed between greasy fingers and clenched fists.
The heart hardens to feed a hungry mouth,
Prayer turns into calculation, cash becomes language.
Yellow smiles are sold, worn-out allegiances are bought,
Eyes assess, tongues negotiate the unforgivable.
A shiver of metal recalls the origin of the debts.
No respite, the market demands its tribute without mercy.
A verse carved inside lacerated fists,
Ultimate testament of a centuries-old ordeal.