Best Out To Lunch Poems
I can't recall exactly when
Life swung and hit me on my chin
I"m ashamed to say, it knocked me cold
When I came to, I woke up old
While I was out, I had a dream
Of juggling on a balance beam
While jumping hoops, upon one leg
And one wrong move, cost one nest egg
Was it yesterday or the day before
I had it all but wanted more
When days were long and fears were short
Carouse by day, at night cavort
Yesterday, less was more
It must have been the day before
I wish I'd seen life's sucker punch
'cause now my memory's out to lunch
by Daniel Turner
So you call yourself a rhymer,
you’re nothing but a social climber.
I got better rhymes than you in my sleep.
If you come my way accept your defeat.
I will challenge any male or female.
You're wearing the title belt now,
but look at your opponents.
Step up to me and I will knock you out,
haven't you heard about me I got clout.
I got verses and rhymes that will make your head spin,
step in the ring with me, I know for a fact that I'll win.
I ain't what you call no chump,
you’ll fall on your rump.
Listen up you brag to much,
and I got the Midas touch.
I’m the modern day Shakespeare,
someone that you just fear.
I pack a mean punch,
I’ll send you out to lunch.
Just call me Laila Ali
“I be stinging”
And zzzz’s is what you’ll
be singing.
Seems as if I have waited
In line or on hold on the phone
Where blatant disrespect is shown
No longer fast service to show
courteous appreciation
Just wait, wait, wait
Without consideration
Take a number
Life is what this is
Waiting for something
Or anything
Or nothing
Waiting for the other shoe to drop
Waiting to see
Waiting to hear
No longer is waiting a past time
Waiting is all the time
Take a number
Do not have a seat
Just wait
Stress high
I no longer know what
I am waiting for
In this waiting game
When I get to the front of the line
The well has run dry
Or there’s a sign on the desk
Saying OUT to Lunch
My life is a take a number life
I have no reason to wait anymore
There is no wait left in me
The other shoe has fallen
The line is much too long
Time is up, the building closed
And now my time has come
I get on the line to talk with God
He asked me what I did while here
I waited, I exclaimed
I waited
I waited to be born
I waited in line to die
But most of all I waited...
On Christmas every year
Hello we are transferring your call ....
Hello, someone will be with you shortly
All of our representatives
are busy helping other customers
Your wait time should be
approximately twenty minutes
Hello, God
Can you hear me?
I waited..
I was next hello; Buzzzzzz..
This happens when you have no extra time-
There you stand in the queue
Patiently, you wait
There’re two ahead of you--
You’re so close to the gate
You watch as time runs out
Tick tock…., you’re in a crunch
Up goes the sign, “Out to Lunch”
Now, your face wears this pout
Oh! What a snafu!
~*~
He waited
Under fluorescent lighting
The kind that highlighted
His salt and pepper hair
It was almost 5:30
Quitting time
But he didn’t have to worry about that anymore
Today was his last day
The people in the office took him out to lunch
Had a round of drinks
Opened a few cards
Hugged one of the secretaries
Felt pretty good about himself
But what next?
Adjusting his glasses he looked straight ahead
The tools on his workbench
Grimy
Cold metal
After twenty years still usable and dependable
Pliers, screwdrivers
Lined up in front just the way he organized them
Some lost
Some borrowed but eventually all returned
He wondered if he would miss holding the hefty hammer
The one with the smooth maple handle?
There was nothing more to do
Would he bring his tools home?
Or come back for them later?
Rubbing his hands
To keep his fingers moving
He lingered at his bench
Until it was time to leave
A day’s pay for a day’s work
That what his father told him
Back when.
Put off the final decision
To retire as long as he could
When he signed the papers
It felt like somebody lifted him up
And put him in another life
Careful with money
Saved all these years
With Social Security
He and his wife hoped it would be enough
To see them through.
Enough thinking
It was time to leave
Waving to a few co-workers
He walked out
The shop door closing behind him
Brick building
Casting its large shadow behind him
Outside it was the usual scene
Busy streets
Crowded coffee shop
Sounds of buses and traffic
In a hurry to get somewhere.
This time it was different
A cold chill of exhilaration
Gripped him in a vise of uncertainty
He couldn’t believe he
Was walking away
From decades of
What was once familiar
And part of him.
The man was a legend.
So farewell, Cassius Clay, Ali
You knocked out a bit of poetry
That butterfly one sure packed a sting
And well done on the boxing thing
Mohammed, man, you’re counted out
You gave the boxing thing a shout
Wrote rhyme to make a grown man cry
And dodged the draft like a butterfly
Ali, you’ve packed your final punch
Man, you took boxing out to lunch
Men say that you are God today
Who made Mohammed out of Clay
© Gail Foster
Inundated Not Liberated
AT 15 Is your mind closed for the season-
Or are you just "OUT TO LUNCH"
IF YOU BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU'VE
HEARD you HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO LEARN..
Then a child you shall remain.
AT 30 Is your mind closed for the season-
Or are you just " taking a vacation from reality"?
IF YOU BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU'VE
HEARD you HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO LEARN..
What's the point in your living on.
At 45 Is your mind closed for the season-
Or are you just "BRAIN DEAD"
If you believe everything you've been
contrived to know, then you
HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO LEARN-
what are you living for?
.
If you understanding nothing at 60
concluding no solutions
And still wait for another nation
to save you,
While they rob
and replace you
waste you
debase you.
We are doomed..
There is "No fool like an old fool"
Truer words were never said-
Better off to die young.
Than go to your grave,
as a closed minded slave.
A First Date
They met at church and chatted for a while,
and the next day, he told her on the phone,
"I'd like to take you out to lunch in style
at that quaint restaurant that's so well-known."
Her first date since her darling hubby passed,
she almost told him no; but happily,
she said she'd be delighted. Then he asked
if she could meet him, and she did agree.
She showed up timely, with her minivan,
then waited at the table for an hour.
He went and waited too...a let-down man.
No show...he knew this first date had gone sour.
'Well-known and quaint'...the same place not for each!
Hearts eager...but their lunch date...out of reach!
Sandra M. Haight
~7th Place~
Premiere Contest: A First Date
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
Judged: 02/14/2018
Theme: A first date and the most awkward time had...
not funny then, but so amusing!
I wonder why...
I must sit still and wait
for the Doctor to come in
when I got here so late.
If I'd been on time,
would I have see him at once,
Or would he have just gone out to lunch?
Early or late- on time or slow,
It really doesn't matter what time I go
to the doctor's office I wait...
My mommy has elmos laugh.
She is a part of the riverside staff.
My mother is really short.
Baketball is her favorite sport.
Peanut is my mothers nickname.
In basketball she brought her a-game.
She loves me a whole bunch.
She always takes me out to lunch.
My love for her will never die.
This is truly NOT a lie.
This poem is finally over.
Now she knows i love her.
By: Cherica Eckiwaudah
this chick i met at the store one day trying to sell me a jar or raspberry jam.
She said i looked familar.I said she looked familiar to
Elementary school.Third grade.Mrs brown was are teacher.
This girl always sat alone during lunch and at reccess .
Never had i realized how pretty she was so i asked her out to lunch.
When she said yes then trouble started spewing.
She hasnt stopped cutting her meat and shes putting splenda in her sprite drink.
When she speaks shes telling me all the names of her exs in alphabetical order and how it was always them and never her.I seriously doubt this ecspecially when she askes if id like to have a threesome with her sister.
I dont know how this psycho chick got me on date two.Shes pretty and all but thats all shes got too.
Sex is ackward.She insist her dog be in the room.She laughs hysterically the whole time and sleeps through the rest.
On date three i let her go gently.She said shed never forgive me and that i was by far the worst ex she ever had.I thought thank goodness for that.
On friday she called me and said all was forgiven.I asked her how she got my number?she said your mother gave it to me.By the way her name is smidgen isnt it.
I told her it was over.My temper started rising.
she said she didnt mind as her fifth ex was taking her back.I said good luck with that.
Never saw her again but that psycho chick still talks to my mother who says i should have proposed.I tell my mom if only you knew what that psycho chick put me through.
The eerie thing is
The day of your dying
Will be a normal day
You may need to clear your head
You step out, saying bye to your wife
And just like that.
Or maybe you're travelling back to your mom
And the car in front of you losing a tyre
Killing you and others
Having a normal day so far
Or maybe you will be used to the cancer
Because till then, it was always a normal day of pain
Or maybe you go out to lunch
And you swallow wrong on a date
Or maybe you are old and expecting
But it still catches you off guard.
Or maybe you planned it all
But still, you will lack the faith
We all die the same deaths suddenly
At least to our perspective
There is nothing wrong with Jessica
I don't know any Jessica
If I did she would be smart and smell like flowers
You know, the living ones with pink petals
Her hair would change color at the beauty shop
She could be bald but I think not
People would love her just the way she is if she were
I like the name so much I would have a bunch
I will name my next ten children Jessica
And take them out to lunch if they exist
What's in a name
Jessica
Authors note: It is true. The author does not know a Jessica. He apologizes for any negative connotation or inference the reader might have or construe from the title for instance and to any one who, by chance, might be called Jessica. Please look beyond that and enjoy the poem.
“Knock, knock” “Who’s there?” I haven’t a clue
What day is it? Who’s at my door?
“Here is some breakfast I made just for you”
Says some stranger who slept on my floor
The sight of the eggs and the bacon and tea
Turns my stomach inside upside down
Migraine’s the price that I’ve paid for the glee
Of a banging night out on the town
“‘Ere, it’s New Year, do you fancy a beer?”
“No thanks, mate, I’m feeling quite rough”
I may have blacked out after midnight I fear
But now I’m…remembering…Stuff
Slowly but surely it’s coming to mind
As glimpses emerge from the fog
Of a twist and a twerk and a bump and a grind
And my new Christmas phone down the bog
I thought I was hot but in retrospect not
In the morning light nowt could be plainer
And that I remember I like not a jot
My naked and drunk Macarena
Oh me and my mates, we do get in a state
And last year we gave it some welly
But if anyone had not enough on their plate
We’d do onesies and pizza and telly
My mates are my life, we’re a pretty tight bunch
They’re alright, mate, they’re really all right
But last night I must have been well out to lunch
For I reckon I started a fight…
It was something to do with a girl I once knew
And a joke that she did stuff for money
And a fine upper cut in the queue for the loo
Well, I thought the punch line was funny
Oh, what’s in my pockets, this isn’t my coat
As I’m clearly not Super or Dry
And what are the words that are writ on this note
‘Bell me, baby, you’re totally fly’
And I’m going commando, hilarious bants
Will be had in regards to my loss
Much mirth to be had from the sight of my pants
On the top of the Market Cross
It’s not looking good, and tucked in to my hood
Are two gherkins all wrapped in a bra
Half a kebab and a squashed Christmas pud
And a wing mirror nicked from a car
I think I’m experiencing chemical guilt
And at some point I’ll have to atone
But right now I’m going to hide under my quilt
Crying blubbery tears for my phone
by Gail
I went out with some guys for lunch
we ate all we could find.
We ate like we were starving
and I must have lost my mind;
I had a salad with bleu cheese
and ordered extra fries,
I ate a plate with extra beans,
I must have had big eyes.
The waiter asked if we would like
some sweet things for dessert,
I ordered up a slice of pie
and spilled some on my shirt.
We drove back to the office
which is when I think it hit;
my stomach started growling
and was throwing quite a fit...
I figured it would go away
and ran to join a meet,
I soon learned just how wrong I was
when I sat in my seat...
I loosened up my belt a bit
to take the pressure off,
and when my stomach growled too loud
I hid it with a cough.
The pressure kept on building
as the meeting went on long,
and that is when I realized
that this could all go wrong.
I stood and said "excuse me"
'cause by then I had to go,
I tightened all my muscles then,
and hoped it wouldn't show.
I waddled to the conference door
and quickly stepped outside,
I knew I had mere seconds left
to find a place to hide.
With privacy just out of reach
and pressure far too great,
I had to let a little out
before it was too late.
I took a step to get relief,
relaxed and let 'er rip,
but then I couldn't help myself
and felt the whole thing slip.
The sound I made was deafening,
it shook the office walls,
but that was not the worst of it,
as smell filled up the halls.
I couldn't hold it in no more
my body lost control,
I had to make a break for it
before it took it's toll.
Perhaps too late I made a break
and finally found a door,
I pushed on through and found fresh air
and let loose with some more.
I found my car and got inside,
and drove fast as I could,
It wasn't long before I found
I let more than I should.
My day was done, my time was lost
and so my dignity,
the moral of this story
should be more than plain to see:
go out to lunch and take a break
but don't eat the whole cart,
'cause you might find that if you do
you may do more than fart.
.
.
.
Poem Info:
1. Written: 12.25.18
2. Written for the "Let 'Er Rip" poetry contest on PoetrySoup.com sponsored by John lawless.