Best Queue Poems
Smelly people in the queue,
Wafting B O from each shoe,
And from their bodies, both unwashed,
Then to cap it all, both are sloshed,
Swaying back and forth as they,
Wait their stinky turns to pay,
And I am right behind them too!
What's the best thing I can do?
Should I just hold my breath?
That may well lead to my death,
'Cos this queue really is very long,
And their odour is really strong,
And holding my nose will not do,
The powerful pong still seeps through,
As through my mouth I'm forced to breathe,
From this position I have to leave,
Before my retching makes me spew,
I'm heading for the back of the queue!
Tom Higgins 05/08/2012
Categories:
queue, funny, life, people,
Form:
Rhyme
Happiness looks so natural upon you,
when your eloquent face beams forth
as you intricately attempt to converse
with everyone that surrounds you.
So many expressions tuning into your
wavelength, eyes, lips that surrender to
You’re every sound.
Oh! Yes retarded lady, how content you
look in your world of simplicity, even
though I know not your name, I do care
and share in your moments of triumph,
when each word is tactically manoeuvered
after ensnaring yourself, enabling
mentally my will to aid your predicament,
knowing I’ll feel a fulfillment with
every effort you make.
And yet I still sense some animosity
towards you, indifferent folk trying to
climb into their safe world of self-
righteousness, while your impending
oration, reverberates against the walls
for all to hear.
© Harry J Horsman 1989
Categories:
queue, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
I wear the gifts of friendship wreathed about my face
all the gifts of friendship, I try to wear with grace
I'm not adorned with gold, no idols fill my space,
just the blessed gifts of friends are all that I embrace.
Their love is held in trinkets small, old cards still displayed,
held within my memory or on the printed page.
Bits of their love dangle on chains about my shades,
all these cherished winsome tokens show me love conveyed.
I am blessed and without want for my world is full
of friends from here, friends from there, even Timbuktu
On each continent I'm bound lured by friendships pull
if you wish to live without want make a friend or two!
*Dedicated to all my friends on Poetry Soup
new and old!
Categories:
queue, friendship, love,
Form:
Quatrain
Rhyme
is not
the be-all
and the end-all –
the cadence supersedes, mellifluous.
Counting syllables, as superfluous
as the vowels
contained in
the word
queue.
Sounds
in chants
we danced to
before writing –
morae have primacy over meaning.
Rhythm takes precedence, despite your leaning.
And forced rhymes jar:
him and dim
do not
rhyme!
Rules
are made
to askew
and be broken:
double dactyl*:- flib-ber-ti-gib-bet-ing
Defending contests fiercely --- gibbeting.
Breaking your head
to conform
to design,
rhyme.
Puns,
blasé
efforts, but
double entendres,
sexual innuendo in your face.
As some scribbling can at times be quite base,
persecution
should never
stymie
flow.
*a double dactyl: /**|/**
flibbertigibbet: (n) a frivolous, flighty, or excessively talkative person.
__________________________________________________________
FUN FACT
Euclid of Alexandria (Mid-4th century BC—Mid-3rd century BC), the great Classical mathematician, believed that the numbers 1, 2, 3 & 4 must have some mystical significance because their sum total is 10—ten was thought to be a number of power. He called this relationship a tetractys.
Ray Stebbing based his poetic form, Tetractys, on this. No spaces between each stanza and the poem is presented in line with the left-hand margin (or it might be centred) - either way, it would visually give the design of a triangle.
Categories:
queue, poetry,
Form:
Tetractys
Standing near the front of the queue
The boy rehearses his lines
"Just three or four pints"
Over and over again in his head
Focussing on every step
That takes him to the inquisitor
Stray too far to the left or right
And there's no way back
Behind him, the underage drinker
Tries his best to blend in
Three years underage but
Looking sharp in his best togs
"Play it cool," he says to himself
But the doubts creep in
As butterflies mingle with
The Merrydown in his gut
Further back, a girl peers
Into her make-up mirror
As she tries to remove the traces of vomit
From that alleyway spew
The icy wind drags its nails
Through her ample bare skin
But it fails to break her concentration
There's drinking to be had
The guy behind can't help but admire
As she bends over to dab
Chilli sauce off her high heels
With a Johnson's baby wipe
With girls like this around
He will surely add another
Notch to his bedpost
By the breaking of the light
A more miserable night beckons
For the punter round the corner
As a half-empty bottle of beer
Smashes full in his face
As the perpetrator takes flight
With an impressive turn of pace
His victim crashes to the ground
And awaits the siren's call
Categories:
queue, people
Form:
Verse
Siezed
It seems
Don't lout, next
Juncture might be
You
Categories:
queue, betrayal, deep, philosophy,
Form:
Lanterne
There was an old lady who stood in a queue
Where the queue led to I hadn’t a clue
So I don’t know why she was stood in the queue
And if I don’t know, then neither do you
The queue started moving one step now and then
Once in a while it would move ahead ten
I still don’t know why she was stood in the queue
And if I don’t know, then neither do you
It turns out that this was a charity queue
Intended to help the impoverished few
But why would an old lady stand in this queue
I truly don't know, so neither do you
I’m not an intrusive, inquisitive guy
She’s licking her lips and I want to know why
The old lady’s now near the front of the queue
If I don’t know why, then neither do you
I needed to know what the lady’s about
She might be confused and I had to find out
I joined her as she crept along with the queue
The old lady spoke, and I suddenly knew…
“I’m not so old; eighty years and a few,
and Sonny, I feel a lot younger than you.
I’m told there are men at the head of this queue,
It’s a dollar a kiss, and I’m having two.”
Categories:
queue, nursery rhyme,
Form:
Rhyme
QUEUE!
-Dharga Nagar Safa
Q married to U,
To keep,
U,
In,
Q!
Categories:
queue, evil, funny, marriage,
Form:
Free verse
Excuse me
She said
And squeezed into the spot before me
At the check-out line
I squeezed her breasts in return
She fully accepted
But later called the police
When her husband
Was looking for her bra
I feel like a thief
Categories:
queue, funny
Form:
The sheer art of peeling a snail is akin to rubbing moth balls in one's eyes. To feel and sense with such ambidextrous wisdom is often not that wise. And of course plain hazardous. One's mental sanity can best be preserved by nodding in agreement thus not allowing any turmoil to exist. In a floating membrane there can be many colours so paints must be rearranged alphabetically to not cause confusion. It us the will of a cloth to clout dust. And trust is often stagnant when placed in rows. Documents arriving to call time on a neglected front. Good. The mere prowess of a supernatural wallaby is derived from the simplest of string bows. Whilst rabbis often enjoy racing in sand dunes. It is to be ascertained at this moment in this era that a spun yarn is tarnished and onions jumping from ships are best left in dingys to float alone. On and on an up and up. Down and down and round and round. A voluminous cake in high heels causing a sensation in a tree lined street. Bickering horses pass over the tableaux and all is motioned with the booming cluck from a forty foot chicken. A congested area can seal many secrets of secretion for the antics of an ant man and a silver fox woman can and will be baked in a line of sugar coated biscuits. So chant then. Sing then. Dance around. Annihilate the frogspawn leaking from a house. In a nice posh voice ask Mr Speaker to run around with his many legs and forty foot antennae. This will be applauded by the global fish faces. Great. Gobi then. Oval Office occurring on oceans. Xxxxx milk bottle calling xxxxx trepidation table xxxxx zoological Z paleonticalogical p y q
Categories:
queue, autumn, beach,
Form:
With massive boobs in bra of Saphire blue
She is indeed voluptuous to view
To feel her seductive love
And make her their hottie dove
Men vie with each other standing in queue
Categories:
queue, addiction, girl, sexy,
Form:
Limerick
The ladies stood in a long queue
The mayor thought they might sue
With their knees together
In all kinds of weather
They await their turn in the loo
Categories:
queue, culture, discrimination, gender, health,
Form:
Limerick
This week is bleak, the birds don’t sing
No sun, no rains, but greyness
Even the churchbells didn’t ring
Have they become atheists
The bellman and the bearded dean
And all the congregation?
In times like this to breathe is sin
No promise of salvation
Can take away the truth it fakes
And like a stubborn stem
Grows through the slab, the truth condemns
The order of the damned
So atheism’s a way to go
Believe in politicians
They must continue this old show
Which you can call fictitious
But wasn’t it meant to be as such?
Just ask the God, if you
Don’t think he is disturbed too much
With millions in the queue
That stretches out through centuries
Dead people want to know
What were their lives about, if this
Was meant to be a show
Beware the Ides of March, in case
The warning comes in time
If there is still a time to waste
You doubt it? So do I.
Categories:
queue, allegory, destiny, mystery, natural
Form:
Rhyme
How happy the dogs are to find a tree.
Raising one leg, what fun it is to pee.
They look a disciplined crew.
All are lined up in a queue.
When all are done, a flowing stream you’ll see!
Categories:
queue, animal, dog, fun,
Form:
Limerick
Am I dead? I woke up in purgatory like the dmv waiting for my number to come up
The numbness in my mind hurts almost as bad as the tingling in my a**.
My legs tap out the morse code of the waiting and perpetually alone.
From somewhere in the back my minds eye slaps me and tells me to sit still but my inner child flys the finger at it because sitting still might actually kill me, I might actually explode or implode or some other "plode" word that I know exists but I can't remember because my brain is sending back my inquiries return to sender.
They balance on my tongue like the breath of last nights bender,
I'm rendered speechless by the open chasm of mundane boredom, inane insane monotony openinf it's vast yawning maw to swallow me.
My hearbeat is like Chinese water torture drip drip thrump thump.
Everything is grey everything taste like beige dust, the murmuring around me is at once deafening and inarticulate.
I wait in queues because thats what I'm conditioned to do; pavlovs dog drooling over each number that brings me closer to what has now become my identity in black ink on a tiny white square.
The closer I get to the holy numeric grail, the more I feel alive, the more anticipation in my skin the shuddering tingle in my bladder....and then...ding...my number...my alias...my mask...my let down.
I stand up like I'm programmed when the number on the screen matches the ticket in my sweaty hand, and open the door to a new queue.
Categories:
queue, absence,
Form:
Rhyme