Long Blue collar Poems
Long Blue collar Poems. Below are the most popular long Blue collar by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blue collar poems by poem length and keyword.
When I was young, I took a tin can to the lip.
Courtesy of my best friend.
I ran away crying to my mother.
(This was my first set of(flesh) stitches).
My cat(blue) had a fetish for crapping in the bathtub.
Dad got sick of the cat shenanigans.
So, I never saw that color of that blue cat again.
My second set was (broken spirit stitches).
It was past bedtime I was busy finishing up a war.
With a jar of plastic army men.
Dad warned me a half dozen times to pack it in.
He was blue-collar tired and took a heavy hand to my hide.
His guilt was just as heavy (a set of forever stitches for him).
One early morning I snuck out of our humble house.
Made my way to the farmer's field and freed up all of his cows.
As punishment, the farmer wrapped a dead corn snake around my neck.
There were no stitches, but it put an end to my cow-rustling events.
Brother and I once had an infamous butter war.
Tossing and smearing it all over walls and kitchen floor.
The fun and hijinks were well worth the licking.
My third set of stitches were deep in the belly from laughing.
Rachel was both babysitter and childhood phantom.
Details are scumbled, mixed, and quite unclear.
I think I acquired a few stitches made purely out of fear,
One night, Mother was screaming, blood smears on the sheets.
Brother and a couple of crow men were present, I think.
The crow men were doing unthinkable things.
Then everything went completely blank, thankfully.
I never saw Mother's pretty face again.
(My fourth set of stitches was of the mental type).
Sitting deep in the black of the mind.
The kind that stays with you for your entire life.
The leaves are starting to change color
The door opens, to bring a new season
My dog runs with his blue collar
He's dancing in the field without a reason
It's cloudy, but it's a quiet day
The signs of Autumn bring peace
My dog reminds me to be free, to play
I will hold a stop sign at stress increase
It's a blessing, more time this is
to live, to love, to give, to be
As i share some of what is his,
I praise vision for all that I see
The purple flowers look at me
with wide open blossoms, like eyes
Then, I notice the buzzing bee
reminding me time doesn't stop, it flies
Heidi Sands
9/17/26
(C)opyright
Panning in frigid water for a nugget called freedom.
The seed of the dream sprouts in the mind.
Deserts are brimming with icy coyote eyes
The mountains, though lovely, grow higher.
Barely alive, the hopeful lies battered
Dust devil dreamers - roses tossed into the fire.
The worthwhile journey never has an ending.
Tough miles gather like sparrows on broken fences.
Cartels and sex barons thin out the flanks.
Hope waning-wailing-chalk hearts in the rain.
For the worthy, lady liberty patiently awaits.
Those with clean nails and fine fancy homes.
Shove barbed wire agendas down blue-collar throats.
Buzzards hover above, dreaming only of dead meat.
Anarchists and pretend patriots bloody the streets.
Front page nuggets whittled down to fine print.
Only rattlers and God know where dead dreamers lie.
The masses become immune to imminent death.
Dust devil dreamers and roses tossed into the fire.
im in the train station
of the city that i love
my city
they call it the second city
but it is second to none
it is the city of big shoulders indeed
big shoulders
fat shoulders
skinny shoulders
white shoulders
black shoulders
hispanic shoulders
asian shoulders
middle eastern shoulders
all kinds of shoulders
but above all
strong shoulders
shoulders strong enough to carry the heart of america
shoulders strong enough to carry the message of working class america
to the rest of the world
destiny
its where babe ruth pointed
its who sinatra sang about
its fundamentally blue collar
and down to earth
it is from the heart
because it is the heart
i love you
chicago.
When it rains it definitely pours with me.
Either I have way too much time on my hands for months literally,
or I'm so busy without any free time at all for months for anybody,
but more unfortunately, absolutely no free time for yours truly.
Yes, when it rains it truly does pour when it comes to me.
I guess I should feel thankful most sincerely
during times of "way too much time on my hands for months literally,"
because I'm often unemployed during those periods regularly,
but apparently, that still has not yet hurt me financially,
but I'm NOT rich by any stretch of the imagination,
so don't even think of trying to get a loan out of me.
I'm just your everyday hard working blue collar stiff,
who just happens to know how to manage his money.
She was called Jules, nickname for Julie
She had flaming red hair and eyes
of emerald green
Every time she walked into a room,
just her presence caused quite
an electric scene,
She made her living writing songs
& acting on the silver screen
Meanwhile the guy she Loved was
a simple blue collar man,
Gave her everything he could
Just wanted her to have all the good,
Said, "I'll support you anyway I can"
The world would never know his name,
He never sought fortune or fame,
But at day's end, they were each other's
Biggest fans
By: J.N.R Dutton
In my child’s mind a gumshoe sleuth detective
that would be me.
Nancy Drew or Ms. Marple, invented by Agatha Christie.
Trixie Belden and Honey too,
there were so many choices you see.
I spent many an hour reading these books,
training for the detective in me.
How many job choices along the way could there
possibly be?
Lots of common blue collar jobs before I finally
got a degree.
If I am honest, I might have to tell you a total
of around thirty-three.
There was no book-reading in those days,
except the boring texts assigned to me.
I am a Gemini oozing with flexible thinking, it is
my main and only true-blue decree.
In my thinking, a gum shoe sleuth detective
is what being a guidance counselor has
made of me.
Let me get this straight,
You demand everything be free
and have no intention of assimilating.
I said we need to tighten up the borders a bit.
To screen who's coming in.
Know you called me a racist.
Said I wanted children placed in cages.
You pulled the "phobia card". Again
From your magic hat of political correctness.
Truth is, those children are being clothed and well fed.
Entertained and educated.
Have a roof over their heads
Free medical attention...
Unlike some of our own children
and countless homeless vets.
My views have nothing to do with religion
or the color of your skin.
It has everything to do with
separating roses from the weeds...
You know the thing called vetting with common sense.
Remember you often said you wanted to kill us.
While demanding all that free stuff...
"That my blue-collar butt actually pays for.
In sweat and blood"...
Now you want me to lay out a welcome mat
and shut my trap.
Well, that's never going to happen, Jack.
I'm the type that doesn't mind speaking my mind.
Having a little tussle in the political muck.
Walking down the throat of a gun...
So, get in line like the millions before you.
Bring those baskets filled with good intentions.
Leave those thorns of hate behind.
Don't cut in line
Maybe someday we can toast to assimilation and democracy...
Share a hectare of Mexican gold
from the torch of Lady Liberty's soul
and inhale the sweetness of freedom.
Together
The wealthy seek company with your ten-acre heart and half-acre mind.
Groupies swarm beneath your haloed window even on rainy nights.
Tapping tambourines and triangles to poultice out those nuggets of life.
You slowly walk away from the frame and tiredly kiss them goodnight.
You try to temper pace, but the takers ripped the sundial from you.
Swarming like locusts- toting manuscripts, a photo shoot or two.
Who knew babysitting the universe could be so damn exhausting.
Impossible to escape from the talons of a new-age paparazzi.
All that you loved and lived for has long ago withered and died.
You barricade yourself from the gaze of a billion jagged green eyes.
Another golden chessboard gifted to you from an aging king.
Yet another bribe to pry from your palm the secret of eternity.
It all became too much; you've become the world's origami freak.
Folding and unfolding to appease the whirling maelstrom of greed.
You realize (too late) that the elixir is no blessing but a cutting curse.
You've been committed to an asylum called the song of dead birds.
You're 6006 years old, playing endless chess with moonbeams and ghosts.
Dimming lights-drawing shades to drown out the mirror and the smoke.
You try explaining to Dr. Narcotic that you're not a goblin, God, nor prophet.
Just a blue-collar pawn who stumbled upon an elixir of misery and rot.
I start my uncertain day with coffee, reading both The New York Post and the Daily News;
sharing this destiny with most of Mankind: struggling and paying with sweat my dues!
After a good night sleep, I jump into the shower,
while the freshest coffee is brewing on the counter;
my favorite newspapers have declared the new elect US President,
and I am very glad to hear that, and begin writing with a renewed zest...
to start my uncertain day with coffee,
which invigorates me with the creation of poetry!
I start my uncertain day with coffee, reading both the New York Post and the Daily News;
sharing this destiny with most of Mankind: struggling and paying with sweat my dues!
The USA Drug Administration states that
moderate amounts are healthy, and I sip it
with a spirit that's really exuberant;
without coffee I am inactive, lousy and distant,
and all who say that's an addiction that can cause much harm...
I can prove them entirely wrong by an opinion that's solid in form!
I start my uncertain day with coffee, reading both the New York Post and the Daily News;
sharing this destiny with most of Mankind: struggling and paying with sweat my dues!
How do you think I have gotten to be such a prolific writer:
by working hard at a blue-collar job, or dreaming of a million dollars...
when I finally become a published author?
Think again, nobody gets very far
without persistence and sacrifice!
Try to visualize me, I wouldn't be a hypocritical liar!
I start my uncertain day with coffe, reading both the New York Post andthe Daily News;
sharing this destiny with most of Mankind: struggling and paying with sweat my dues!
During my coffee-break and lunch-hour,
I sit thinking, in my green Honda, how it all can be changed:
to embrace another life-style by glimpsing into that glamorous, literary world;
every door seems closed, and each hope so sour,
and if by merit and luck, my published book became a best-seller in days...
what would be more gratifying: satisfaction or monetary gains?
I start my uncertain day with coffee...reading both The New York Post and the Daily News;
sharing this destiny with most of Mankind: struggling and paying with sweat my dues!