Liters Poems | Examples

In Raising Children

                    Parents raise children:
                               a thousand sleepless night
                               a thousand liters of sweats and tears
                               a thousand words of advices
                               a thousand hugs and kisses
                               a thousand hundreds of money for education
                               a thousand hardship and few success.

So I Write A Poem

Ten after four in the AM. I wait for
my daughter’s death with a cup of coffee
at the kitchen table, thinking maybe
tonight’s the night.
She hasn’t been breathing well at all,
all day and tonight I fear just might be
her time.

Her oxygen concentrator is set at ten liters
the highest it’ll go.
Bringing oxygen up the staircase to her bedroom
through a tube to a nasal cannula in her nose.
Now and then it makes a funny squeaking sound
sort-of like a mouse crying out stuck on a glue trap.

I’d much rather write one more poem about those tattoos
she came home with all those years ago that pissed me off
to no end, but.

This is my life now, and like a true democrat, this poet
embraces.
Never let a good crisis go to waste, so I write this poem.

If I Had Whale Lungs

I would take in liters of air of 
confidence and honesty,
after that, I would dive 
in the deepest parts of the 
political ocean
to hunt politically apathetic, callous
dishonest squids

Fluffier Now

I used to diet.
Wrote down every crumb I put into my mouth.
Drank twelve glasses of water a day.
Wrote them down too.
Exercised an hour a day at Curves.
Got buff.
Found muscles I did not know I had.
Looked like a coach in my legs.
Barely remember any of that now.
As I reach for my chips and dip
after sucking down three Hershey bars
and drinking two liters of cream soda.
Happier now
fluffier too

One Who Repents Oneself Repaints

Try to picture one who repents.
It's like one who oneself repaints
Ten liters of paint is lot of money
Try to price it: It's not funny.
While good and bad paint cost a lot
What God just wants is "What we've got."

For those who finally repent
Your big house lost to a tent;
You return all the money lent:
Not just like that, voice of a gent,
For each new sin your fine robes rent,
Your guilty head readily bent.

Blue Eyes

Your eyes have more depth then the oceans have liters
My affection for you is larger then outer space is in meters
For you my sweet I would fly to close to the sun
Just so I could spend eternity drowning in your ocean
Blue eyes like sapphires that shimmer and glisten
The sound of your voice my ears could forever listen 
For Icarus was over come with giddiness too
Just as I am at the mere site of you
With you & I the story is just at its beginning
But in meeting each other I find we are both winning!

Swimming a Pond

I know I shan’t try it, again:
Plunging into water of any sort
For the thrills by the crazy sought:
The Obviously Robbed of True Gain!
The last time I did
Drank two liters I didn’t need,
The pond ever holding out an opened lid!

The fullest pints of untreated water,
Daring me to a single word mutter
Or even a mere syllable utter;
The beats of my heart, a wild flutter!

What a plot
To have one in water rot,
The press serving the headline, very hot
About the Brought to a Naught
By greenish water, 200 pm on the dot
All too soon frantic legs kicking
And chaotic thoughts fanning,
As death continues its presence asserting.
It is less of redemptive energy
And more of a loser’s lethargy
Oxygen-withholding waters vouchsafing no apology.

So, I should be readying for the longest sleep:
For a bed in the mortifying deep;
What shall my Loved |Ones cause to weep
And many hearers their skin creep.

A Promising Fellow

I once knew a fellow from Pensacola
Who drank liters of fizzy Coca-Cola 
He peed in the street
And on his bare feet
Now I think he is enrolled at Loyola.

written June 27, 2021

I Was the Truth

To worship God Shiva linga hundreds of kilo-liters of milk being wasted
Imagine how many hundred of proletarian child could have been served with nutritious food in such quantities of milk
for some days.
Please hang me as a heretic
Such as Copernicus who was killed by the fanatic
But know that I was
the truth.

(Shivratri is one of the ritual of the Hindus. 
In this day lakhs of woman pour a lot of milk upon an idol called shivlinga in the temple)

Soldier Side

He carries his life with himself,
And bullets to fill, once he’s done,
Water is measured in gulps rather than liters,
He witnesses his own friends’ burn.
He is sleep deprived,
Physically and mentally tired,
He fights with himself to save his life,
He finds;
Killing is the only key to survive.
He dunks down, rolls around,
Is bruised and tattered,
His meaning about life, all shattered,
But his eyes know where his enemies can be found.
He aims with his one eye closed,
Finger ready to pull the trigger,
With one pull, one falls,
The count keeps on growing bigger.
He cannot afford to relax,
He knows about the price,
Death can come from any direction,
And he’ll not know until his flesh is sliced.
That’s the ultimate thing,
The ultimate price,
Heroic is how his death will be described,
Twenty one guns to the sky,
Takes him high, high above,
But what about his family?
What about his love?
					
-	Avee Hang

For Premium Members

Premium members
can read the words below that
you see as three x's

There once was a French
girl named Nanc who set sail from
the west coast of ***

Seven sisters swam
in a race, but only one
finished in first ***

Cym went to the store
to buy shoes—but instead bought
two liters of ***

I saw her today
at the reception, waiting
for her ***

Drey was driving her
Lexus when she saw the sign,
"Don't mess with ***!"

Rhonda was riding
in a Caddy driven by
her Sugar ***

Industrious

Who would have thought
that so much money could be made
from humans killing humans

And how ingenuity could be harnessed to
the industrious fabrication of weapons

The unconscionable necessities of profit
design the shrapnels politics

Who would have thought
that so much luxury could be bought
from humans killing humans

Pitiful deluded patriots of weaponry
so worship the anti-life money

But in the festoon of lacerated death
target genocide on the innocent

Bitter salt to those so easily encouraged
filling bank accounts with their marching corpses

Count the coins by bloodied liters
weapons dealers are never soldiers

And who would have thought
that so many humans could be brought
to serve the armories of weapons industries

Colonoscopies

Colonoscopies aren't all that tough
though ONE is one MORE than enough!
And besides all the sh&t, 
here's the worst part of it:
Guzzling liters of salty gross stuff!

NOTE: Truly the drinking a gallon of the "drink" the night before was the only hard part. And THIS thanksgiving, I am very grateful that the results of my test were PERFECT!!!

Restless Crowd

At thirty-five imperial gallons
Or one hundred fifty-nine liters
Match a barrel of crude
Which every day, millions you export
To the disappointment of all others
Fellow citizens, to whom your gluttony assaults

Still, to Mother Nature
We should be grateful
Despite much energy resource
With which they generate poverty
And all sorts of mistreatment

Each and every corner I turn
In this concrete jungle
I face myself with a sad panorama
Where the crowd
Restless, complains
Of the public treasure, that old rogues
Without fear fleeces

O flabbergasted, but indifferent
How many of you
In the restless crowd review yourselves?

Adventures of the Wee Three

They drank too much at a watering hole
Three gals lost their wits, went out of control
     Men ogled and flirted
     Desires so perverted
The girls checked out before meeting each troll

But three liters of wine quickly passed through
So their journey home went a bit askew
     Their kidneys had been filled
     An urgency instilled
They needed release, but there was no loo

As they coasted up the seaside highway
All three were suffering in much dismay
     They had to park the car
     Alongside a “wet bar”
On a rock jetty the trio did stray

They complained how easy it was for men
Jan wished she was a rooster, not a hen
     With their backs to the sea
     Pants down, they took a pee
Before they got home, they did it again




* Based on a college experience and written May 11, 2014

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