Long Unemployed Poems
Long Unemployed Poems. Below are the most popular long Unemployed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unemployed poems by poem length and keyword.
For crying out loud America!.
Because of you I'm unemployed!
I can no longer threaten you with violence..
And I'm really very annoyed.
It's my job to make you fearful..
I'm an extremist and political threat..
But you are shooting each other in mass numbers..
And that was my job.. or did you forget?
How can I now be a Martyr?
You've stolen the World nightly news!
Another mass shooting in America!
Someones bad temper has blown a fuse!
You no longer fear the terrorist..
I'm no threat to the way you live..
However.. you fear thy neighbour..
You'd rather shoot and kill instead of forgive.
It feels like hell to be stuck!
It feels overwhelmingly annoying not to know when to break out of the cage, when captured like a beast against your will.
Set loose the chains of poverty, inferiority , mediocrity l am saying change is the key , can't you see?
It feels like to be a parasite stagnantly sucking the air out of their pockets and nosh out of their pantries , now left with no panties, what a shame , such a low point!
It feels like winter in my heart , mind and soul, so cold my thoughts , actions and emotions just turned stone cold. Being broke and unemployed takes a man 's esteem.
It felt like Heaven, when the door got opened. I became what l had always dreamt about. A platform to be a blessing from the Paraclete .
It feels like sunshine in California.
Feet in the beach, smiling at the sun.
Dark days behind me ,
Starving days behind me,
Strong and ready to break free,
It felt wonderful when l wrestled fiends , friends and poverty inorder to conquer and make the world a better place with nouns and verbs.
It feels glorious to be sancro- sanctified .
Successful, prosperous like a wise man more like David .
Giving back , growing and inspiring the masses
I feel truly graced .
Good news, is spreading around the world,
country's that where once committing genocide,
have now realised, that, their people can be assets.
Where once they had a million, mouths to feed and no money
now they have employees, waiting for the creation of jobs.
America and the Muslim's have realised, that they can create
a symbiotic relationship, where the product's of one county
can be sold, to enhance the growth of both.
People have realised, that by having only two children
per family they can build a world of peace, where those
children will live to enjoy their live's.
The world is growing up, instead of looking to a future
full of dread, instead of waiting on the end of the world,
people are working together, to build a better life, now.
People are investing in new technology's, sustainable
technology's, that will enhance our needs for energy.
Desalination plants are being created, reclaiming land for
agricultural purposes, insuring that the world's population
will be well feed.
The world is being turned into a garden paradise, where our
children will learn and love, to enjoy.
Religion is coming together with the state, realising that idle hands
are the devils play ground, ministers are behind a world wide effort,
to create employment, for the unemployed.
Educational institutions, are creating the brains behind the organisation,
working with statistic's they are using the maths, to work out how many
farms, the world require's, and what products to grow.
People are changing to new technology's, that will repair the Ozone layer,
the future is looking brighter, than it ever has before.
The streets are filled with crying men,
filling the gutters up with tears.
As we walk from our final shift,
that’s fed us for a hundred years.
Eleven hundred jobs vanished,
like a leaf caught upon the wind.
And Canton North Carolina,
will never be the same again.
What’s in store for us tomorrow,
no one can ever really know.
When your faith is already gone,
and any hope is next to go.
There’s no money left to buy things,
that it will take just to survive.
Wondering if it’d be better,
if I would just lay down and die.
They tell me these are better days,
than how it always used to be.
They sure got a long way to go,
before they can prove it to me.
Because I still don’t have a job,
or any money left to spend.
So please don’t give me any bull,
how this country is on the mend.
Even the drunks on the corner,
are gone but it’s not what you think.
They all have to get sober now,
because they can’t afford to drink.
'While stranded high and dry
unemployed skippers ate a lot of kippers'
which smacks of a red herring to me
is a tale told when we were but nippers
altho' with neither fowl nor feline
in a beautiful pea-green boat
the motley crew who put to sea
were assuredly safe and sound when afloat
but then as ocean water rose within
thereby a somewhat large hole revealing
the now woeful matelots felt dreadfully unhappy
as they smelt a strange yet serious sinking feeling
for sadly a rather bad leak had sprang in the bilge below
and their ship went down like the proverbial stone
so the jobless captains fared far better
as landlubbers secure ashore home on their own
I always had this sense of pity for those thinking of ending their lives,
Those unemployed, struggling youths & those who left this world before their wives.
I always thought it is an act of bravery to hold those blades and knives.
Their hands, once strong, now tremble with fear,
As they grasp the blade, or the pills draw near,
Did they needed someone to hear?
Their hearts, once full of hope, now heavy with pain,
Their minds, a maze of darkness, with no escape to gain.
Those bruises and words may had left a deep strain,
I always wondered what makes someone thinks to hang them?
When they knew the world would condemn,
Still how one could even think of ending such a valuable gem?
Who expects their life to be shamble?
Okay, life is bitter to handle,
But what's the respect of a frame and a lit candle?
Why sleep forever with those pills?
Those to jump from heights and hills,
Just to free themselves of loans and bills?
Why blades on wrists?
When everyone's life is containing some mist,
Why not faiths and sacred thread on wrists?
Why they want themselves to be dead?
Pain? "It's all in the head"
Why to feel sorrow for what someone had said?
When you can die happily at an old age on your deathbed.
- Agastya Bahuguna
My wife and I both worked at a video game store.
They closed and we're not working there anymore.
They closed their doors because of this damn Coronavirus.
We're unemployed and no other businesses are willing to hire us.
We got our twelve hundred bucks from the Government but we had to pay a hospital bill.
We're in a sinking boat and it's going down fast, I wish that the Coronavirus wasn't real.
Our families and friends can't help us and we need cash.
I'm so desperate that I'm about to do something that's rash.
I need money because I'm out of a job.
I'm in a liquor store that I intend to rob.
I just pulled my gun on the owner and he has grabbed his gun as well.
He just shot me in the chest and in a moment, I'll be sent straight to Hell.
My wife will get my life insurance money because I'm going to cease to live.
Please talk to my wife on my behalf, please beg her to forgive.
I came across a tale one day
about a hatchet on display
a crowd be had an oddity
I see no man but only me
mind pays less, its tales interest
as time goes fast like growing grass
the tailor comes and sits right down
the storyteller's not around
then, frightfully in front of me
fate dealt a blow, the hatchet be
from whence it came I know not where
as if it fell out of thin air
from behind me, a voice I heard
a manly voice in every word
said please excuse me buttercup
was meant for me I stood right up
to see who made that teasing sound
and while I stood I turned around
I could not see a single man
except, a lady with a fan
who held it upright to her face
are you dear sir in the right place
my presence here I came to hear
about that hatchet over there
what of that caused your purviews
about its tale, it spreads like news
there's no such tale, they only lied
our harm in jail, they tried to hide
that tale began in Wilson's years
we tried and tried but no one cares
since there's no tale what is the point
nothing to write or to exploit
you're a writer ... and unemployed
mayhaps unlike, poor Anne Boleyn
I like the way you made that sound
I need a bit of your background
start with your name it's Alice Paul
let's spread the news at DC Mall.
Eldest daughter – I Praise
Twenty two years ago
December twenty second,
two thousand eighteen
"star student" born
this papa (and most
likely thee birth mother)
initially felt ecstatic,
dramatic (yes frenetic),
and careworn
as freshly minted parents,
but gifted with a daughter,
whose existence far
more precious
than any Earthborn
rare widgets, gewgaws,
gems, et cetera, despite
evoking unsolicited,
unpleasant, and
unmanageable forlorn
communication "dirt poor"
living (at least ten years
of wretchedness at 1148
Greentree Lane) unable
to toot your horn,
cuz unbearable, undesirable,
unforgettable, et cetera,
and manifold challenged ,
when beloved Shana
Punim evinced inborn
developmental delay,
(which severe electric
koolaid acid test
patience of this father),
much more difficult
than playing krummhorn,
now after tendering the trials
and tribulations, an
amalgamation of
poignant affects,
whereat your
permanent presence...
(must never NOT precede mine),
cuz..., I would definitely mourn,
your absence, thus felt the timely
opportunity to dash off
a birthday poem to you
in tandem with sharing,
(while comfortably numb
and figuratively licking war
torn psychological wombs) - torn
and ripped, queued,
peppered natty psyche
pockmarked with scorn
from self, (and those lives,
this dada immediately
impacted) particularly
your person roar'n
with cumulative anger toward
this insightful fellow,
(who claims to know
what thee feel toward me),
especially when ****
hours of valuable
time, now caught
(say, eh...approximately, fraught
upon the half life of rare Earth
element Eden), not
just strictly naught
heard thru the grapevine,
but forcing Math (hew)
analysis, via meditation, poetry
writing therapy, et cetera.
Hence...I apologize,
asper unasked for pain wrought
thee, sans being unemployed,
demeaning "mother Abby,"
bumbling, horrid house
keeper (Hagrid himself,
would turn down invitation),
plus Facebook fiasco,
imbroglio, and locomotive -
complicit in behavior
comparable to pedophile,
yet please let me conclude
by admitting total lack
of wherewithal.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR DAUGHTER!
Brown the color of the passive ground Autumn I'm falling leaves horizontal the waist by product the leaves leave me Brown blooms with the bloom of unemployed in clouds Grands made from scratch chocolate cake taste the golden tan Brown pancake taste like hot coffee and cocoa yum I'm in pecan much and crunch right on mushroom potato soup delicious feels like synonym of dressing being in down Brown a cloud of pollution Brown the face and skin the many races Brown is a color nurturing ingrown it's the color of Mother Earth Brown so Earthly neutral Brown colors filled and pumping iron serious down-to-earth stable bility protection and supported sense of Duty and responsibilities 5th and the listing of last names I'll be around must be own wit
BROWN
10/29/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr