Long Attendant Poems
Long Attendant Poems. Below are the most popular long Attendant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Attendant poems by poem length and keyword.
he was sick of the racing stripes on his automobiles
a modern-day Buddha in his garage full of himself
and vintage cars of classical acclaim and chrome
had become nauseous at the mere site of his Lotus
decided to live like the monk who sold his Ferrari
ascetic instead he would attempt to move mountains
traded his bicycle for begging bowl and orange robe
roamed the streets like a vagrant off his or her trolley
eventually sold his puncture kit for a can full of petrol
and considered his enlightenment by self-immolation
the service station attendant had other plans however
a beautiful woman with olive tanned skin and a bindi
‘you don’t have to emulate Siddhartha to find the path of
the third way between all or nothing greed and starvation’
she whispered and gave him a lotus flower from her heart
29th December 2020
Nelumbo nucifera is the botanical name of the lotus
The only movie on this flight that's shown
is an episode of The Twilight Zone.
That's what my flight attendant said,
staring strangely at my head.
My brain thread's still mostly on the spool,
so why look at me like I'm a fool.
My eagle eye saw the wind dislodge
a key piece of the fuselage.
That's the lynch pin, says I.
Without it, we can no longer fly.
The cabin's leaking oxygen and air.
Clueless passengers sit and stare
as I see my hand become a claw
to stop the destruction I foresaw.
The flight attendant meant to do me harm.
She stuck a needle in my arm.
I was on that accursed flight, inbound.
Now, I'm sleeping safe and sound.
We pull into a Winding Station,
Hand the Attendant our key,
Head into the Station Inn
For a snack and Earl Grey Tea.
In less than an hour,
Our machine being oiled
The tension being adjusted
And our spring tightly coiled,
I slip the motor into gear
And we are off on our way
To the next Winding Station
One hundred miles away.
At Fifty miles an hour,
A once undreamed of rate,
Along the new Travel Road
Such a joy to navigate.
We pass Steam Waggons
Pulling their heavy loads
Along the mostly parallel
Heavy goods roads.
With canals and railways
The country is connected
And once long journeys
Take far less than expected.
The Waggoner with his lad
Pulled by their great Shire
Makes the local deliveries
Always there for hire.
Can this world be bettered
Clockwork coal and steam
Let us travel at speeds that
Were once but a dream.
GP
She ran away when
She was 13 years old
Nobody filed a
Missing person report
Got in with a driver
All the things that he did
Made her convict uncle
Look like a picnic
She thought someone
Would rescue her
She thought the world would care
But they just took advantage
Like they do everywhere
GP you’re a goddess
You’re an angel so fare
A beautiful flower
So delicate and rare
I’ve seen you blossom
After all you’ve be through
There’ll never be another girl
I love like you
She did an interview
When she was eighteen
A documentary
About runaway teens
Thought they agreed
Not to show her face
But she was exposed
To the whole human race
Pimps and police
Could find her now
So she tried to go
Hospital didn't tell her
What she didn't want to know
GP you’re a goddess
You’re an angel so fare
You are a flower
So delicate and rare
I’ve seen you blossom
After all you’ve been through
Never be another girl
I love like you
She now had a baby
Growing inside her womb
Last thing she wanted
Baby strung out too
She kicked cold turkey
She never looked back
Left the windy city
Sold a ton of land
She made her millions
Just couldn't make it stay
Hard to hold on when you
Keep running away
GP you’re a goddess
You’re an angel so fare
You are a flower
So delicate and rare
I’ve seen you blossom
After all you’ve been through
Never be another girl
I love like you
An airline attendant,
A cruise ship host,
Funeral director,
She doesn’t boast
Just try'n to live a life
Be happy somehow
Baby is all she has
All she needs for now
One day she'll find the one
Who's meant to be
Who understands everything
And sets her soul free
GP you’re a goddess
You’re an angel so fare
A beautiful flower
So delicate and rare
I’ve seen you blossom
After all you’ve been through
Never be another girl
I love like you
Once upon a time, this obstinate beastie boy
(i.e. yours truly, or none other than me)
fought tooth and nail,
(hence the reason I wear dentures)
against maturation, and sought
self starvation as modus operandi.
Adept at balking,
plus delaying, stunting and thwarting
transitioning toward adulthood
(mine spindle shank legs
to show and tell as proof positive),
yours truly fell short
(and stymied physical growth
regarding lame rascal
with size nine little feet to boot)
never to attain requisite
emotional, financial,
and spiritual independence.
When mysterious processes
courtesy puberty foisted
one garden state variety
(think generic) *****sapiens
transformed puny young slip of a lad
into adolescent long haired
pencil necked geek,
the genetic blueprint
already sabotaged prospect
for musculoskeletal framework
to attain maximum potential.
As an extremely shy,
(nay socially withdrawn prepubescent person)
strong aversion awoke toward segueing
from docile average non prodigal son
into grownup with
attendant responsibilities thereof.
Fast forward decades later
namely July fourteenth two thousand twenty,
when self condemnation
laments forsaking positive growth processes
(ordinary run of the mill bodily changes)
indeed nsync with linkedin social development.
Saturday Shopping - In the Day
By Franklin Price
05/13/2020
My mother never drove a car
She said, “That's not for me”
She tried it once, when she was young,
And ran into a tree.
So Saturday, when dad was off,
He drove mom to the market.
She had to go to all around
He would drive to each and park it
I remember first, the A&P
And the Piggly Wiggly store
Winn Dixie came a little later
Now there are so many more
Each one had some special foods
She could not live without
She had to have her bon bons
There was never any doubt
For the twenty dollar budget
Paper bags filled up the boot
Then to a service station
Pulled to the pump, and gave a toot
The attendant who was working
Came to the driver's side
Asked if he could fill it up
For pumping gas, was qualified
He filled the tank for under four
Cleaned the windshield and the lights
Checked the oil and the water
These were the driver's rights
When the gas was paid for,
And with all the windows down,
With four forty AC working well
They headed home and out of town.
Foregone is my freedom
My future and it's conclusion
My most detached relationship
To myself now subject
To scathing privately
In installments with you.
Now I confided
“He tends a garden”
How was I to express
Without existential anguish
This irrational leap of faith?
Subjugated or subsidized
It bankrupted my reason
So far-gone was my longing
I was invited to a task.
My lesson was to refute life.
Something I had
Already accomplished.
So I confided.
“He tends a flower”
Half-witless or absent minded
I felt no connection
To your thankless doctrines
And I waited patiently at the end
Of whatever road I had taken
For my choice attendant.
And I confided
“He tends to Petunia”
On these arid roasting plains, a virtual frying pan
For beasts to live they must survive on anything they can
Another bug collecting dung, enjoying foetid goodness
May perhaps have much to teach my fellow starving man
Often poop quickly rots so tastes uniquely vile
It must be freshly dropped and not lay there for a while
But when the grass is history and rain becomes a mystery
The king of beast himself would eat a rancid crocodile
But every year the rain on which we’re helplessly dependent
Shall fill the empty river bed where hippos are attendant
Herds of antelope come out where lush green grass again shall sprout
Lions muster now on plains: quietly resplendent
But there a shortage everywhere of places we can live
Property developers do things we can’t forgive
And builders can’t deny encouraging financial gain
They can sell their houses here, if it doesn't rain
4 August 2021
For: Alpha Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Vladimir oh Vladimir,
Thanks for the hack
Put me in front and Hillary back
I owe you my amazing win
For you I’ll do anything
Vladimir oh Vladimir,
you pull my strings
For you I can do so many things
You have something on me, yes its true
Lets keep it a secret between me and you
Vladimir oh Vladimir,
Be my best friend
Bffs to the bitter end
I won bigly with you, so all my thanks
Now teach me how to roll the tanks
Vladimir oh Vladimir,
So strong and powerful, you’re my kind of guy
Your enemies all seem to mysteriously die
You and I don’t have to fight
We both know that might makes right
Vladimir oh Vladimir,
Teach me how you silence opposition
so I can do it from my White House position
crybaby losers, my boot on their head
I’ll mock them by twitter as I crush them dead
Vladimir oh Vladimir,
how many journalists did you kill
that would give me such a thrill
Send bannon out as my murderous attendant
Bury them all with their first amendment
Vladimir oh Vladimir,
come real close
but don’t poison me with a lethal dose
like that guy from the KGB
You put plutonium in his tea
Vladimir oh Vladimir,
so-called judges might tell me no
then checks and balances got to go
Congress might stop me with laws they pass
They’ll burn like the Reichstag, to a heap of ash
Vladimir oh Vladimir,
We’re like-minded brothers
Leading a world of like-minded others
We’re leaders in the global fight
with our global army that fight for the white
This thick mucous essentially
the defense mechanism of a healthy
body electric to restore biz zee nose
as usual, which for this mild mannered
liberal leitmotif from the chronicle of one
matted nattering nabob of nativity attests
congested mob functioning like
a well lubricated machine, yet
for the life of me, nary a handy dandy
blues clues evident as per, how
the human entity empowered
to steamroll over
any reasonably annoying bugaboo.
Ah, now if only a similar innate
defense mechanism arose
within the mental health,
that would be a supreme testament
to thine atheistic tasty mints of miracles
minus the attendant pharmacopeia
of this, that or some other drug to aright
skewered psyche (of this contemplative,
emotive and intuitive literate outlier),
whose sixty two plus eight shades
of gray matter went awry and skewed
toward tipping point (to cope with ordinary
cares and concerns of an uncertain
whirled wide web) found the bulk
of his life riddled with a joe king,
gun slinging tub back ha chew win,
bard **** wordsmith,
who doth newt like to utter any
cryptographic crossword.