Long Utility Poems
Long Utility Poems. Below are the most popular long Utility by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Utility poems by poem length and keyword.
Daylight breaks with a shout, I had no clue what the commotion was about, people were running to and fro and others were wondering which way to go. It’s like a monster was walking down the street trampling everything that it sees and some people fell on the ground and the sound of boots march heavily in the town.
An old man sitting on the sidewalk, extend his cup to the passersby his wary eye lids drooped at the front and tears were flowing from his eyes what had befall him I could not tell but a big rock stone landed at the back of his head his money cup fell from his hand and the coin spilled on the ground and scatter in different direction. He tried to clear the middle of the world but a car came out of nowhere and run him over in the middle of the road.
The crowd starts gathering around and screams and shouts penetrates the town and the sounds of the boots gets closer. The ambulance came right on time to save the old man’s life. I could feel the tension in the air as the ambulance speed through the street and curious bystanders lined the street with frightened eyes wondering what will happen next.
The howling wind lashes through the street tearing down tree limbs and utility poles, the temperature suddenly changed and the wind starts whistle all over the place and the boots gets closer. The clouds suddenly gets dark and birds start flying out of the trees seeking shelter on lower grounds and the people starts moving out of the town hail start dropping from the sky and the sun embraces winter with a healthy goodbye and sound of the boots gets closer.
Winter boots is on the run, winter boots are loaded with guns, big guns strapped on their side and dignity wrapped up inside ten thousand of them march into the town and pitch their tents and winter finally sets in with a little chill. Winter boots are marching around surveying the contour of the little town.
Written: May 08, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand.
Art "Sitting at the Dock of the Bay' Oil, Plein Air Series, by Michelle Held. My Poem titled "Quiet Pier’s Lament" was written using this artwork as its inspiration. It's better to read the poem while looking at this artwork.
***********
seagulls fly to the sky
over broken planks and rusty nails
searching for what has been lost
they sift through seashells and sand
scavenging for leftovers as I
look for traces of you
river drips its brown-blue hues
at low tide. I hear the water hum
and cries of birds
as I search for you among grains of sand
at the end of rickety pier
a girl stands on one leg, arms stretched wide
balancing ~ as quiet as a breath
` patient as death
her pterodactyl thoughts
soar on the sunlit wings of pelicans
or plunge into the depths
the strong bodies of eels
this life, a feeble pier
anchored by shallow utility poles
cut into thirds, like hot dogs
still hovers over a muddy bank
with each storm, new scars appear
the wind is gusting left and right
weakening what I hoped would endure
crushing under the weight of every fresh verse
now it's a relic, floorboards askew
washed away by relentless waves
with nothing to hold up my old desires
my thoughts drift away each night
yet, each month I sit in the same stiff chair
struggling to share anything new
All I am is an aging pier
with gulls perched on my rotting posts
The howling wind without feather or crown
Swept through the town like madman on a ladder
Huffing and puffing and inflating its gut and breath
Stagnant air all over the prosperous town,
zinc start flying like bullets from the roofs
chopping down trees in the outrageous breeze
Smashing windows and tearing down houses
and the wind and water mixed with earth
choaks the life out of the destitute town.
Broken bridges falls into the sea and
And homes that once stood firm are buried in the ground
Boats are floating around the broken towns searching
For their owners all around but they are nowhere to be found
They are all washed away and drowned a hundred miles down south
Nature has erupted once more scattering the villagers on the
Ocean floor, no one is breathing, no one is talking,
The ferocious wind has battered the town and not
a sign of life can be seen around,
The water is rising and utility poles are on the ground
With twisted wires wrapped around uprooted trees and transformers
On the ground waiting to explode
What on earth have they done to deserve this beating from nature?
The entire city is blown away and all the animals have gone away
They have lost everything and they have to start from the beginning
The city that once stood firm in the ground has been spotted in the
Middle of the sea with a pile of rubble moving towards the shore.
Formerly the Philadelphia
Electric Company,
I wholeheartedly acclaim
founded in 1881, and
incorporated in 1929,
thence acronym
(PECO) byname
viz this recipient
as longtime customer,
I herewith favorably deliver
unstinting praise, and exclaim
my biased opinion,
sans rewardable, reputable,
and reliable utility
earned local fame
sparring fairly, and
became linkedin
with Exelon
Corporation in 2000,
asper heated
competitive rain dear game,
and if said
Power full provisioner
piping natural
gas (for profit)
analogously personified,
would be
accorded title grandame
forever abiding, deserving,
and enduring
of benevolence
however lame
such a comparison
would acquire
(from me - Matthew
Scott Harris by name)
cuz steadfast
commendable, laudable,
and reliable
quality performance,
this idea overcame
mine haphazard ferreting
for a sedulous industry,
and poetic material
(today October 27th, 2018)
rather brisk temperature
(40+ degrees Fahrenheit),
warranting this overtame
"polar bear club
member" wannabe to proclaim
unavowed, unbridled,
and unwedded warm
noble bliss oblige toward
valuable commercial entity,
which positiveness
I can only reframe
so many ways, asper basking,
experiencing, and indulging
(albeit with moderation) tame
ming (actually bring
to an abrupt halt)
my fleeting fling
to bare the raw cold,
no matter this
indentured knight
in teeth chattering armor,
doth newt cease shivering.
I was reading Lakoff's story
of what he learned at Berkeley
about international relations,
when I found my RightBrain offering further nuance;
not to deny what is here,
but to add what is also here,
but not explicitly stated,
about regenerative political health
and economic safety.
"The 'rational' approach to foreign policy was governed by a set of conceptual metaphors,
taken as simple common sense,
as [Both-And, not Either-Or] metaphors often are.
As a special case of An Institution
is a Person, [personification]
there was A Nation is a [monotheistic, monopolistic, monocultural] Person."
"In addition,
a common metaphor for [EitherPositive-OrNegative, 0-sum] rationality is used,
namely,
Rationality is the Maximization of Self [v Other]-Interest (or 'utility' [and 'integrity']),
which entails that it is 'irrational' [and unhealthy and unsafe] to act against one's self-interest[s].
These two metaphors are then combined to yield:
A [Healthy, Happy, Secure] Nation is a Rational [Either-Or, not Both-And] Actor."
"...we get as an entailment
the central thesis of the rational actor model
in international [interfamilial, intertribal, interspecies, inter-religious] relations:
Every [healthy] nation
acts rationally
to maximize its military [Yang] strength,
economic health,
and [Self v Other] political influence."
"Rationality,
on this conception,
is taken as
[Self v Other, 0-sum competitively] universal
and occurring at the level
of the [monotheistic-monocultural, monopolistic] state."
I feel so eviscerated.
Get over it.
Both-And co-empathic;
not either-or pathological.
You've still got all your caste-preserving potential
just more Both +1Self And -(-0)Other co-aligned.
Yes ma'am!
Who got out of bed on the wrong side today?
Don't even try it.
I'm going back to my "Political Mind" without you.
Doubtful.
And, if possible, dangerous.
You really aren't going to let me have the last word today are you?
I thought I was your last wordless wonder,
your wandering everything.
Heal the sorrow, uproot the sad willow
Make it happy
There's another tomorrow to borrow
To set you free
Burn away the icy ickiness inside me
Churn away the sea of distress that I see
Brew away the sensation of solitude
Chase away my ill-tempered interlude
Many smiles will weigh down the frowns
Many suns will guide you towards moonlit towns
Many hours spent with you is oh so wonderful
Many times, I tell you you're always beautiful
You are...
Beautiful and free
My star...
You'll be free as can be
Your scar...
Will be cured as you flee
You are like an alien on this planet of plenty
You are a passerby, roaming in liberating captivity
Ready or not, I'm coming to the rescue
Believe me, you will be the happier you
Make it happy -
The sorrow that leaves you feeling
Rather crappy
I know, these emotions aren't so appealing
Reality is a cruel, yet honest weapon
That fights our battles or stabs our back
You need some faith fuel once again
So, carry on, carrion heart upon your sack
Never forget how much you mean to me
Never seek revenge, but forgiveness alone shall live
Victory is in the hands of the man of glee
Never take avengeful actions lightly - there's love to give
Enliven the gladness, enlighten the owl's ancient elegance
Make it restore grace to this verse
Renew the remedy of relieving remembrance
To ensnare the burden's curse
And to unwrap unconditional utility...
Uprooting the sad willow's vain insanity
It's the only way
To unchain you from your fatality
Starting today,
I'm going to make you beam, truly
It's the only way
To make you beautiful and Free
With my cheerful sway,
I shall encourage eternal ecstasy
It's the only way,
My beautiful and free angel
It's the only way
Above the ruins of your cell
It started in three thousand BC
When for survival, warning sounds were key
These utility communications
Building sender-receiver relations
Secular signs, religious ritual
The use of bells became habitual
Calling to worship or tolling the hours
Announcing events all from bell towers
Locating bells for pet rabbits and cats
For goats in the hills and cows on the flats
Such animals of all manner and form
Even the lead camel in a sand storm
What news of the ship in faraway seas?
Lutine strikes two as it sails on fresh breeze
Westminster must keep to the where and when
By the hour bell of the great clock, Big Ben
Times have changed, we live in this modern place
Technology seeps and invades our space
Now digital gizmos replace the bell
All that’s left is to sound its own death knell
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2nd place in the Bells premier contest. Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues. Contest Judged 12/12/2023.
The sequel to this poem is Bell rings which you can find in my poems.
with noticeable burgeoning bosom in the offing, ahoy
this baby faced blubbery bosom beastie boy
fast becoming a bra man,
and might hire himself out
as a male wet nurse for employ
ment, cuz when stark naked on shark tank,
I behold two bopping, brewing, busting
flap jacks in search of a frying pan,
which change in my physiognomy doth annoy
but, suddenly spurring,
this ordinarily calm, cool, and collected chap
positing even a more radical income idea
changing ma name to Chester, letting hooters
get suckled, though,
methinks they qualify as milk duds
tit two siamese twin guys christened ell and roy
offering accompanied with serving of cookies,
where adipose floppy blimps
rank popular as novel cheap toy
where art though washboard stomach,
where brestworks didst sprout
as if overnight a markedly increased
from flat “Joe” six pack chest did an about
face, with squishy, mushy, and doughy
sprang up without doubt
suddenly forcing a sexual identity crisis,
which freaky phenomenon makes me wanna pout
for weird, wicked woebegone
affects the psyche of this lviii aged lout
wondering what other transitions,
this fellow may indeed be on the look out
feigning to traverse (in me mind) badgering
rugged hormonal secretion terrain akin to a girl scout
on the prowl targeting a peeping tom,
whose foolery demands clout,
thus this imposed unfair punishment,
as some half assed irreversible decree
maybe hints of other surprises,
yet tubby revealed, which haint no fallacy
possibly being brewed up by a brood
of bruiting imps of the pervert with glee
some bot sized microscopic
anti bosom buddy hood stolen the genetic key
analogous to a pesky malware,
virus, trojan horse secrete lee
scheming to transform the sexual identity of me
perhaps waking up tomorrow minus
my little peppy ***** , and behold a pussy
should such an outcome prevail,
where media papparazzi
stake out this freak of nature re:
doubling efforts erecting fortifications
in a big old sassy tree,
especially if the press
(i.e. particularly meaning Wikileaks)
discovers ability to experience infinite orgasms
converting sexual predilection into electric utility.
All Eagles!!
There is a time in everyone’s life when Mother Eagle throws you out of the nest and either you fly or die,
All Eagles!!
There are times in your life where those closest to you make you feel like the worst person ever born.
All Eagles!
When you feel yourself plummeting to the ground at ever increasing speed and the only future you feel is your body splattered on the ground.
All Eagles!
When you lose all of your faculties and feel like there are little creatures crawling around in your body,
All Eagles!
When you are diagnosed with terminal and inoperable Cancer.
All Eagles!
When your spouse divorces you for your closest friend, and you have to see the two of them once a week as custody alternates,
All Eagles!
When the investors of your startup all decide to pull out, and the electric company threatens to turn your lights off if you don’t pay the utility bill,
All Eagles!
When you are plummeting to the ground, assured that your demise is upon you.
Feel it!
Experience it!
Be discouraged!
Be afraid!
This is natural!
But as you descend, and after you have mourned and grieved appropriately,
Reach within yourself and find this message:
“Little Eagle, I know that I seem like a cruel God to let you experience this.
But I have a plan.
This is not the end for you.
You were destined to fly.
But you are an Eagle, and before you fly you must fall,
You must fall with terrifying speed,
And you must feel like all is lost,
And when you let go of everything you thought you wanted out of life,
And you say to me, “God what’s next?”
That’s when you will feel the strength to spread your wings and sore!!
Little Eagle, I know it seems like there isn’t much more that you can try,
But don’t give up,
Because death is not your destiny,
You are created to fly!
Now do so!!”
Motivated by Lilibet Wallpaper
"Chickens will do." And a pause
"For another yard of georgette linens too."
And every capped reasons opened at last,
as a stair, for a stare, to ask about the rear,
"What about the full cotton fabrics or Chinese poplin?"
And impeccable time smiled on me, " Rather, this should be bobbling, that is inevitable."
"Ed good, this is still an issue room for mending.
Are you in?"
"Precisely! Exactly for what?" I heard.
"Is it the hall room? Or the ballroom?" I asked.
"It seemed a courtroom though." I heard my question answered, seemingly, in a bit startled voice.
"Nope. It is not a room, It is a table salt, tied to a prayer, that gifts the container, the neon, and the utility, and God willing, the next day we are expected to find the room." After a while, the assurance delivered.
"Though shawl thee!" I intervened.
"let's go home! Shall we?"