Long Manual Poems
Long Manual Poems. Below are the most popular long Manual by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Manual poems by poem length and keyword.
A handheld hardware is a manual mouse
Used to position or place a cursor
On a computer screen or flat surface
To be the user's item selector.
The pointing device performs an action
By clicking chosen function on display;
Allowing user to do the purpose
With much precision all throughout the day.
Cursor controller can move and pick text,
The icons, folders, and files are managed;
It walks in a pad or in a smooth desk,
Filled with wide wisdom, insight and knowledge.
An optical mouse works in distinct way,
Shining a bright light down onto your desk;
The effulgent glow comes from L-E-D,
As computer's view is quite picturesque.
The different types of the mighty mouse
Include optical, trackball, and laser;
Mechanical, ball, wireless, and others
Are a marvelous fine handheld hardware.
Thanks to Henry Ford living six hundred years before,
here is a brave new world John the Savage would explore:
The Hatching and Conditioning Center is the source
where community and stability stay on course.
A team of scientists pre-determined each life’s path;
each fetus in an in-vitro amniotic bath.
They live as an Alpha at the highest echelon,
or a mindless manual-laboring Epsilon,
or as a Beta, Gamma, or Delta in between.
Their final decision was what remained to be seen.
Did anyone seem to care about their final fates,
while frolicking with numerous promiscuous mates?
No worries about depression or what brought them down;
daily rations of Soma obviated their frown.
For John the Savage, it didn’t take him very long
to determine his presence in this place was all wrong.
He would soon be inundated with consternation
regretting when he departed the reservation.
Based on the novel "Brave New World" by the late Aldous Huxley
As I watch my expressional means apprehended, when my attention getting off, hastily from myself, through a ladder of mesmerization, to a near distance where you stood, illuminated by your extraordinary human frame. Safety measures being of no care.
Startled in my own intrigue, shaking my head with disbelief, they don't make it like you anymore. So calm and collected, fear for your fragility in my care. I look around, nothing in my capacity capable enough to care for your caliber, fear I would burn myself constantly while trying to honour you with my hospitality,
so innocent and pure in your undisturbed presence, I at danger when I have to safeguard every word before leaving my mouth to you, so to not bruise nor trample your untrampled innocence. Pray a distinct prayer, pleading to my creator for your user manual.
A request and wish to be a better person, better for you, at least enough to embrace you comfortable as it can ever be, a better half, your better half.
Obligated by your God time taken features, to revisit my roots, so to learn ways of my grandfather's, manner of handling and treating woman, learn to love better, respect better and be a man of hounor, maybe a better father and husband, your life companion, all this measures for you, maRadebe
#Poetic_Ink
CHEERS FOR THE JANITOR
I suppose I may be found in cluttered closets
Or in empty rooms after hours I’m prowling
Cleaning up so many unmentionable deposits
That’s partly why they say I’m often scowling
My job is neither management nor education
Just all the manual tasks that others do reject
It’s hardly reflected in my low remuneration
So my grumpiness is not that hard to detect
But truly and in secret, I become superman
I have higher degrees coming out of my ears
A champion in jumping over a lengthy span
But I prefer modesty to all the empty cheers
Now, with no more talents nor skills to hone
I am serene and reflective, satisfied and alone
Warehouse workers are needed right away.
Dishwashers are wanted in the kitchen today.
They need laborers who are in a transition.
Openings exist for many a position.
They need someone new to fry chickpeas.
There is an opening in a deli to slice cheese.
More help is needed to bus a table.
Wanted are applicants who are quite able.
New personnel are desired to sweep floors.
There are other openings for manual chores.
These are jobs for workers who are unskilled.
Why are these positions not being filled?
The reason for these vacancies does not make sense.
Employers only want people with experience.
Well, starting from the principle that poetry is meaning and form, not just ... When reading, for example, the instruction manual of an appliance ... Poetry does not explain itself ... it joins the writing with interpretation ...
So you can read poetry and not understand poetry ... for a better understanding, you need to be a poet!
Those looking for a concrete answer, read manuals ...
To make poetry is to gather words that were not known
or that they are adversaries, or that they are friends, but that they do not always speak ... to plug us in the wrong socket and to wait for the explosion. or not ... this is poetry ... something else is something else ... prose, self-help, words in the wind, instruction manual, pamphlet ... even there can be poetry,
but you need to be a poet!
Hold guns like bibles in both hands
Aim them in the air in any direction
For fun at parties invite them along
Polish off a bottle of whiskey first
Keep ammo in mayonnaise jars
For freshness cradle them like babies
If you must take guns to bed with you
Never feed them bullets after dark
Make sure they are warm and comfy
And bring their own blankets and pillows
To cover loud noises
To avoid indigestion
Remember guns kill
Keep them away from pickles in the fridge
And from children for their own protection
Read the directions on the box
Throw the manual in the fire place
Not the gun because that is dangerous
Gun control is like mind control
You must first have one to use it
Both come with sensitive triggers
With no warranties or returns to life
No money back guarantees
Speaking out
Do you ever want to scream and be loud?
Do you just want someone to reach out?
So, you try and try, but all you can make is a pipsqueak sound
Cause your gone, gone far away
No one could hear, there is absolutely no way
Yet you try and try, just to be heard, only for those tiny sounds to be sounded absurd
You yell and yell, and fight and fight
All that happens is your voice is numb by the time come night
“Save me, save me, someone, oh please!”
But through your voice comes no sound
Cause you aren’t really yelling through your mouth
It's all in the inside, you're not speaking out
For all you need to say, what would people think?
What would they say if they knew truly that you are not okay
Would they laugh or cry or try to reach out?
Would they plainly ignore the fact that you need help?
Cause you can’t speak out, you keep it bottled in
This shouldn’t happen to you, you're really just a little kid
But the truth is your growing and talking is more crucial
I think you need an instruction manual labeled, “How to talk to people”
Cause you can’t speak instead you bury it deep
Maybe someday you will finally feel cheerful
But for now, you’ll have to pretend it’s not there
While the demons inside you tell you not to share
And they convince and tell you that it’s okay, cause life just isn't fair
They promised us a world full of gold
When even the optimists were downtrodden
There was a glorious glamor to their words
Or perhaps the glory was simply imagined
For we were naive in our youthful belief
But we were young back then and full of *****
Perhaps we thought we knew it all
But thrust into the shoes of the adults
We're little more than bewildered children
Wondering where the manual for life is
But this is an unwritten chapter
One which our lives will fill the pages
Their promises were simply words
Feeding fodder for the uneducated masses
Who desperately needed something to hold on to
For division is the harbinger of the dark times
Mothers cast aside their sons, fathers cast aside their daughters
Family unity is nothing before the black pillar
And survival matters most
We always sought relief in the unchanging tide
Always hoping to find something new
Hoping those promises could unlock a golden destiny
And revitalize a broken world
Some would question how we never knew
But perhaps deep down we always knew this was the result
As we plead with a silent God to save us from ourselves
We simply needed something to hold onto
So we gave in to false idols who assured us
That everything was going to be OK
They promised us a world full of gold
When even the optimists were downtrodden
There was a glorious glamor to their words
Or perhaps the glory was simply imagined
But we weren't naive, we were simply ignorant
Maybe they don't know, my pen
We've been crafting before my age of ten.
We've been friends for quite a long time
You and Ayinde- Partners in crime;
Together We've written about love and hate,
About true inspirations, and ideas we contemplate.
Koda, we wrote about life and it's tribulations
And it's manual that has no stipulations;
We wrote about cool, falling springs
About imaginary eden with roses and swings.
We wrote about the eclipse that just reoccured,
We're so gifted even Shakespeare concurred;
We did write 'bout an okin from Offaland,
And only those in the bloopers will understand.
We wrote about oppression and corruption,
And about a land of plenty, with no'ing for consumption;
Thousands of poems, performed in the African Hall,
With you and I, gracing the geography laboratory hall.
We are inseparable my dear bamboo pen,
Who made me an oracle amongst men.