Long Air conditioned Poems
Long Air conditioned Poems. Below are the most popular long Air conditioned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Air conditioned poems by poem length and keyword.
The heat haze from the fire
was joining that of the sweltering day
as the man added another item to the fire
from his late father's detritus.
Stuff left over
that even the Charity shops had rejected.
He opened an old cigar box
and there they lay
a hundred paper gollies
collected from the marmalade his father ate;
the only thing, and brand,
Robertson's,
he ever took for breakfast.
A gust of wind
suddenly caught the paper tokens
carrying them high in the air
dispersing them far afield.
The man thought
it was enough his neighbors would be
complaining about the smoke.
Now, there will be little mementos
of bygone attitudes
landing
in their flower beds,
on their conservatory windows,
floating in their ornamental ponds.
He looked down at his daughter
one had landed, stuck to her dew sweat arm.
A tennis player wielding a racket
his black smiling face
a Grand Slam winner!
She looked at it, and her father
with equal disdain
tore off the golly
turned her back
walked away
to wait with her mother
in the air-conditioned car.
There’s not much to love in the land of
72 ounce steaks
Air-conditioned grace droning over
AR-15 soaked Saturdays
Remembering is not the problem these days
Rather it is forgetting that
Children can have new names
If they pick them up with their own hands
The bootstraps have all but worn off
these snakeskin boots
And I am tired of something I can’t put my mind to yet
But I never thought I would love
Bird feces soliloquies
Thanksgiving apart from family
Humidity on top of humidity
Or evenings that never turn to nights
So I’ll just hold my own name
Firmly in soiled hands until I can
Plant it back in the ground
Where it belongs, beside a cool swift stream
Shaded by a bigleaf maple
At the Oakland Airport Hilton Inn, I was working the evening shift, from 3 to 11 p.m.
behind the front desk on a Saturday at 8 p.m. Three Canadian boys, one younger
than the other two, shared a Junior Suite that connects to two bedrooms on either side,
each with two queen beds. Two Canadian Undercover Secret Servicemen were in the
other connecting bedroom, as the younger boy was the son of the Canadian Prime Minister,
Pierre Trudeau, 10-year-old Justin Trudeau, who’ll be the future Prime Minister of Canada.
He is on our VIP list, and now he has gone and stood at the Cashier Stand at the opposite
side of the front desk counter, where I went to assist him. He asked me, “Do you accept this
Canadian five-dollar bill for American quarters?” The Canadian dollar is one of several foreign
currencies for which we have an exchange rate of seventy-three cents to the Canadian dollar.
Although it didn’t break even, I gave it to him at seventy-five cents instead. I personally
covered the difference, a loss of a few pennies, of which I had notified the young Justin of
my neighborly gesture.
The three boys were attending The Day on the Green Concert—an event where various bands
perform nearby at the Oakland Coliseum. The boys were hoping to bump into Michael Jackson,
who performed there, but he took a side entrance, bypassing the lobby altogether. The boys
were taking turns playing Galaga and Asteroids on the gaming tables that were set up in the
lobby. I had notified the Canadian secret servicemen who shortly joined us in the lobby. They
sat at a nearby table, busted out a deck of cards, and began playing among themselves. The
lobby gift shop was closing, nearing 8:30 p.m. Young Justin came with cash from his friends,
asking for more quarters. After some time had passed, the boys called it a night, and they all
left, leaving the comfortably air-conditioned lobby to me.
Buster had traveled the rodeo circuit fer nigh on twenty years,
Bull ridin', bareback ridin' and ropin' them frisky steers!
He wuz a lanky feller wearin' chaps, jeans slung low on his hips,
With a Bull Durham roll-yer-own a-danglin' frum his lips.
He drove his battered pickup towin' an air conditioned van,
In which traveled in style his cuttin' hoss, old faithful Dan.
This wuz to be his final rodeo, his final cross-country trip,
Vyin' once agin fer a few bucks and a national championship.
In the bull ridin' event he straddled a brute called Dynamite.
That old cuss did all kinds uv gyrations to the crowd's delight!
But Buster hung on as Dynamite tried to unseat him frum his back.
He'd rode him before and knew he wouldn't cut him any slack!
In the bareback ridin' contest he drew a bronc called Killer.
He twisted ever' which way - that ride shore was a thriller!
Buster and old Dan wuz amazin' when it come to ropin' steers.
They broke the standin' record, a-bestin' all their peers!
Buster'd had more'n his share uv broken bones and sprawls,
And uv dust, mud and the mind numbin' overnight hauls.
He retired to a little spread in Colorady to enjoy his leisure.
Old Dan was retired as well to frolic in the pasture!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
I turned ten two days ago,
I blew out the candles with a heavy sigh.
You were born today,
Still.
Your lips inherited
The reddest hue of cardinal feathers,
Your rice paper skin
Pale and soft, fresh as silken snow.
I never knew what your eyes looked like
They never opened
Infinite iris colors
Never to be discovered
When I held you in my arms,
The guiding hand of God
drifted away
I gave the coldest of shoulders I suppose.
I looked outside the hospital window,
A frigid breeze made
The trees sway with unease
But all the leaves stayed in place.
A confetti of dust drifted
In the air conditioned hospital room
And time yet stood still
On my brother's only birthday.
Live up to your highest potential
Live for the future
Now is your time to shine
Hoping hopelessly for you to be mine…
But…
I’m hesitant…unmovable air…
Leaves us in this despicable despair
Keep it down in there
Just a hair…
Let us love birds sing with each other
In harmony…or in one marvelous melody…
I have some good connections with my elderly companions…
But, most of them stink like rotting onions…
Sorry to say…moreover, they are just downright dirty…
I am the only one in this institution that keeps himself clean
I may be the flirty type (if I do say so myself), but I’m lugubrious and languorous
I am lethargic and doleful
My mug is half empty and it’s mighty pitiful
Foolish and wise I have come to be
So please, don’t leave me…
I do love you, fair lady
You’re not bias and you’re so rational
I’m such the opposite…I think too irrational
But, you…your pale skin…your silky, graying hair…
It sways in the air-conditioned dormitories…
I wish, when I am retired, that we are at the beach
Hoping to see, with these weary, silver eyes, your gentle, gracious hair blow vibrantly with the breeze…
You are the one that I yearn for…but, you’re out of reach
Because you left me for another weirdo that sat next to me…
My so-called buddy once upon a time…
Now, he stares at the television
I am bold,
Though old...
He drove up to the Triple "T" Ranch in his brand new Cadillac!
In his air-conditioned trailer wuz his Arabian steed an' the finest tack!
He'd dreamed uv bein' a real workin' cowboy since he wuz a tad,
So he fitted hisself out with the latest fashions there wuz to be had!
On his Tony Lama alligator boots he wore a pair uv silver-plated spurs.
Over his Calvin Klein jeans he wore deerskin chaps to stave off the burrs.
He wore a hundred dollar Stetson hat an' fancy vest uv top-grade suede,
An' slung low on his hip wuz a 44 in a leather holster uv the finest grade!
His git-tar wuz slung on his back - across his shoulder wuz a coiled rope.
The grizzled cowpokes chawin' their terbaccy saw in this feller little hope!
They wuz loungin' 'round the corral railin' not believin' whut they saw!
He strolled their way remindin' them uv rhinestone cowboys on Hee-Haw!
First thing he said wuz, "When do we dine and I prefer silk sheets on my bed!"
An ol' cowpoke in scruffy boots an' jeans asked, "Whut wuz 'at you said?"
(The thoughts crossin' them cowpuncher's minds had best be left unsaid!)
"Son, you'll sleep in the top bunk tonight an' beans an' bacon you'll be fed!"
The ranch foreman trotted over to see whut the hullabaloo wuz all about.
"You fellers let me handle this! Ya'all git back to work!" he said with a shout!
He sized the lad up sayin', "Son, I ain't impressed with all them fancy lables!
Begin yer career with this here manure fork!" an' he sent him to the stables!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Scoops of gold powder flapping sunny flame
melts into scalding months of humid June.
Shade of ablaze sky, fiery clouds won't tame
soaking sunshine an untrimmed afternoon.
Makeup tinged complexion in denim dress
berries and melons succulent sorbet.
A swim in pool with pineapple drink fresh
hot or cool, doesn't matter anyway.
Wages in lease, forever temperate
eternal possession of bad luck dregs.
Sweltering skin in heat of blood and sweat
toil endless labour, aching hands and legs.
Some buds wither in tar of asphalt gloom
Some color heaven in air conditioned room.
9th August 2019
Sponsor Michelle Faulkner
Contest Name A Summer's Day Redo
The entrance ramp to the interstate is closed.
No problem. It is a great day. The sun is out. I am comfortable in my air conditioned truck.
I travel to another interstate ramp. Red and blue lights again.
Another closure. No problem. But my thoughts go to drama.
A police chase? A sniper? A freeway pile up? An Amber alert?
No problem. I can get to another entrance ramp. I am surprised that it is closed,
Not expecting this three times in a row. This must be something serious.
Then I see the helicopter.
Suddenly I am glad I am not on the interstate.
In my mind’s eye convicts are running amok trying to open car doors.
Two more entrance ramps are closed, guarded by police cars.
I circle back to my starting point, exhausted now.
And more than a little bit peeved.
The time I have spent trying to get on a ramp is double the time it usually takes to return home.
I call my husband. “What is going on?”
“The President is in town,” he tells me. “Every interstate ramp from downtown to
The airport is closed, so he can get to the airport safely.” This is forty miles of interstate ramps,
How many police cars and police officers are being paid and used for this ridiculousness?
Our entire town is inconvenienced for a couple of hours, so the czar can get
To his airplane?
I did not think I could dislike the man any more than I already did.
I was wrong.
We owe it to our doctors
We owe it to our doctors…
The ones who took it to be part of Sun Pharma’s greater mission;
To prevent disease rather cure
Cure and control if that happens at all;
Defying comforts of air conditioned hospitals,
confronting heats and chills
of seasonal tones while sitting in villages;
A zeal to serve those in pain
having set besides the monitory gain;
A cavalcade of patients all round the day
Intense work, putting impatience at bay;
Educate and listen to endless woes
Mental, social apart from somatic;
What poverty jostled them into
have no means to seek medical care;
We doctors being the sole healers...
We do what we do;
Not for money, not for name
responsibility is an assorted game ;
Had everyone taken to hospitals
and been part of corporates that work for profit;
And Ignored distress of rural and slums
humanity would have scrounged to bums.
Words fail to say what we take back ;
The smallest salving touch
that makes the tender souls smile;
The tranquil looks of the patient
that soothes us deep down the heart;
A good night’s sleep
and utmost content above all,
Limitless goodwill, enormous blessings ;
No mathematics can compute,
no callipers could measure ;
Beyond the prowess we go ...
Meeting people to explore what more we could do
Take them to specialists, to the institutions;
Make them aware about Govt schemes
Involve volunteers from within the community;
Bridging the gap, reaching the unreached
Citing the logic, what cannot be preached ;
Although a tiny drop in vast ocean
but very tender and precious ;
However small the team we maybe,
We proffer colour to the sky
Imbue the aroma of empathy far and wide;
We can move mountains with a solo touch
and change course of feral winds;
With our staunch determination;
and incessant efforts;
Combating disease and ailment
Countering the social taboos;
We do what we do
and will continue doing so.
We doctors are warriors braving the front
Have our families accompanying in this battle;
We owe it to our nurses and drivers as well;
We owe it to our doctors !
Written Sept 24, 2020
© Dr Upma A. Sharma