Short Bureaucratic Poems
Short Bureaucratic Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Bureaucratic by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Bureaucratic by length and keyword.
The catastrophe of living,
Pragmatic power-lust,
Why must I be,
Your bureaucratic baby,
Reduced to fuel,
and dust?
I'm not yours.
In the middle
In the midst
Of this bureaucratic
Heart
Pumping
Paper
Ideas
The pulse
Of this great nation
In the middle
In the midst
Of me
~Senator Foghorn~ (Diamante)
Statesman
honest, visionary
working, serving, caring
principled, dutiful, pragmatic, bureaucratic
wheeling, dealing, conniving
wonkish, corrupt
Politician
I counted the spoons before the verdict of morning.
One was missing, like a word I refused to say.
The kettle rehearsed its thin confession.
Light moved across the floor with bureaucratic patience.
I signed my name beneath the steam.
The day accepted it without witnesses.
Inside/Outside
Maze of life, Mirror of thought
Brain symbiosis on bureaucratic
Check the bank
The recognition dizzied, paralyzed
Come thunder to break the ice
Come harpoon to cut control
Bring spirit underground
Where echoed sounds still resound
Love reigns in wet drops
Love conquers all shields
Form:
In the middle
In the midst
Of this bureaucratic
Heart
Pumping
Paper
Ideas
The pulse
Of this great nation
In the middle
In the midst
Of me
Circa 2005
Ottawa born and raised. I was a bicycle courier here for twenty years, developing a very special affinity for my city, my community, and my country.
. such
bureaucratic sticky
red
tape
let
my go
peeplez
with uh warning
panniez
optional skorts
with
or
sarong
O short-snouted slouth
with your quivering stamp-fangs,
you thud-thump my soul with procedural sludge;
the cosmos groans in beige.
By decree of Sub-Section
Twelve-and-a-Half-Point-Nine,
I must submit my shoelaces in quadruplicate,
signed by three witnesses and a mildly confused turnip.
O mighty Desk of Doom,
why must your flobber-forms that
cling to my sanity like damp bureaucratic algae?
Our world leaders bar none
(vultures each and every one)
are no more than hypocrites
if their talks are doves of peace
(they say it's purely politics)
why let fly the hawks of war
dropping bombs from drones
reducing towns to rubble
people blood and bones
bringing in the carrion crow
when will it ever end
who's to gauge assuage or know
as that (coal mine) canary
died oh so long ago
Your treat, Monsieur de Honoré,
a sundae, hot fudge,
an iced cream dream
sans bureaucratic nightmares,
those trance-like states
of oh, so good men;
the static office-men
who barely skimmed life's
sweetness--that hot fudge sundae
nestled deep in the heart of all.
Time to eat up.
"Look! Monsieur de Balzac has already finished his!"
The inspiration for this poem came after reading
Monsieur Honoré de Balzac's novel, The Bureaucrats.
Love is a creature of the night,
silent at daylight. Only at sunset
after the bureaucratic fatigue,
we immerse in ceremony of love.
Desire radiates the moon. undressing the sky.
The doors locked, curtains down, the fire erupts,
our naked bodies transforming the room.
The flames wash off the fatigue, harmonize
the flesh bathed in sinfulness, our
nocturnal ritual a brilliant affair.
Breathless lovemaking the supreme being-in-time
never rants about itself, or its accomplishment.