Long Boss Poems
Long Boss Poems. Below are the most popular long Boss by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Boss poems by poem length and keyword.
(tales from the viral lock-down)
Brice (my brother) is cutting through what smells like a stack of cinnamon french toast.
My stomach growls at the aroma like a hunting cat.
I jump out of bed, grab my robe and rush excitedly to the kitchen.
I see the pan in the sink.
gasp “You didn’t MAKE me any!!?” I accuse, in indignant shock.
Brice, looking up, “JESUS, get on some clothes!”
He waves his arms like he's fighting a flock of birds.
I look down, “GOD, I AM wearing clothes, you PERV! - and a bathrobe”
"Who says THAT’S a bathrobe??” He says, sarcastically.
Me: “Kiki Montparnasse!”, I say, indignantly.
My mom enters to fill her coffee cup.
Brice: “Will you please tell YOUR DAUGHTER to get on some clothes?”
My mom inspects me and I twirl for my audience.
“That IS a little sheer”, she pronounces.
“ARGH!, FINE,” I say, before stomping off to change.
I start to fume."HE CAN GO ALL OVER IN BOXER SHORTS BUT I CAN'T WEAR A BATHROBE?!!"
“And HE didn’t make EXTRA TOAST”, I yell back in pointed accusation.
“Get to work,” (on more toast) I hear her tell him, just before I slam my door.
another day…
My brother Brice is fighting with his girl-friend on the phone.
Of course, I'm only hearing 1/2 the conversation - but he sounds like a jerk.
Me: "apologize," I silently, slowly, exaggeratedly mouth
Brice: "drop dead," he mouths back, silently
Me: "I'm your sister," I say, "I get to boss you around, besides, I KNOW what’s BEST"
A minute later - He actually apologizes!!! And they make up.
(I dance around the room like Rocky)
Love is a powerful notion. A conviction born within.
a lucid filled intoxication... that claims the lives of men.
It's found in her sweet soft eyes, as it was with mine.
and stops your heart without remorse..every single time.
She smiles and your heart is her's, soon you smile too.
you stumble on words like a fool, as men most often do.
Your flirtations make her laugh, there's magic in the sound
As your wits go for a walk and wish not to be found.
You laugh along and here you're stuck, sinking in quicksand.
oh of all the days to bravely choose to try and be a man.
Friends and family gather close, there talking of their loss.
of the lass who kissed your lips and stole you like a boss.
This siren has you in her spell. I'm sorry for your luck.
But this happens to us men who find ourselves love struck.
On the bed, my ginger cat settles
onto a pile of clean laundry, dryer warm
Feline steady stare, resolute
a strategy of possession
she relaxes the way prayer soothes
"Off!" I command. My cat an unwelcome bedded guest.
she whines, "Surely, he's bluffing!"
solidified
empowered
swollen in the pride of "I'm not moving!"
meows spewed like an anthem of resistance
I lift her from the pile,
my underwear dangles from cat claws
like cheap tinsel on a tree
she exits, her short lived reign
sulks into howls of whining
till dinner softens her rebuff
till wherever curiosity and comfort take her,
anew
My hope of co-habitation:
to calm the little woes of daily chores
to reduce cat prestige from shedded hair
to shrink feline non-compliance to a
manageable scale
Our social contract - a trade off
to reaffirm my status
to maintain the charade of "boss"
an unsteady footing
in the crushed aspiration of rule
Poem composed February 7/2022
Rain befall and sun scourge me
I am left without shade to protect me
Amidst thousands yet lonely
Death pierces my heart and sized my right kidney
Half death yet living
Million tear fall on grieved soul
How I wish she stay with me
Accident took her away unaware
My soul craved for her presence
Eyes shine bright at midnight
Spontaneous flow of heartfelt expression awaken memory
I am king whom am I without a queen
I am a king whom am I without a crown
I am a king whom am I without a throne
My kingdom shall forever reign in her heart
A million kisses fall on our lips yet hunger for more
Her lips is as succulent as honeycomb
Tastes of her lips keep me awake
Her hugs warm my heart more than black coffee
To hell with sleep
Her boo clap to the rhythms of my heart
The sounds keep me dancing all night
After all was said and done bed turned rumpled
Its 8a.m
Call hopped in from boss
Gust what happen?
You’re fired
I awake unto reality
Then I realized how much I missed my girl as it was all dream
Matthew O' Harris Ease A "FAKE" Irishman
Saint Patrick's Day, or
Feast of Saint Patrick
Lá Fhéile Pádraig
invoke even non Irish to proclaim
Éirinn go Brách
translated as "Ireland Forever."
Though semitic thru and thru
yours truly (me) dons guise of being Irish
trumpeting hoople linked with
the folklore and culture of Emerald Isle
juiced tin he nuff tame afore
thee 2024 Saint Patrick's Day,
(hens this faux written accent
donned to sail hub berate won big todo
fur those peep pull
o' Eire rush deuce cent)
aye pretend, and thence make oop
duff fallow wing vary minor event
harkening back e'er sins this generic gent,
hooped tubby imp poet hint wannabe,
(who hapt tubby absent
without leave from Brogue kin home
since a lil whippersnapper, and accident
boot tappin), when me note holler than
garden variety leprechaun, advertisement
tuff hind miss elf, no major ailment -
good red ants tomb ma late mum,
which fair re: creatures, no argument
booth us, iz moar rare than
finding far leaf clover,
and eek will coz fur astonishment
eef hoodlum (caw zing
bedlam) sought atonement
Yukon bull heave or no,
how life on the lamb
as a Dublin street urchin met belligerent
scruffy geezers old looking and bent
till kind ole soul named C. Clement
took yaws truly as apprenticed
Baron without complaint,
though kept ma lidded concealment
secret til search abandoned confident
gnome hissing pipsqueak,
would be sorely missed
giving fresh start with help to coinvent
patois, and be comb real estate magnet
ne'er no wing want oof
basic needs - yea content
in due time making pile
moan hee tall as Taj Mahal
kicking back during Lent
gerrymandering convalescent
old age spinning yarns
for modest copayment
total tubular tales with
nary a Harris Boss Tweed
stitch of truth.
They hit the road before the break of dawn kicking down doors rattling gates and slamming car doors. “The computer people a goh kill the woman ova there so, we a goh murder her!” threat come echoing from behind the wall saturating fear through the modern roof.
The commotion continues throughout the wee hours of the morning and the turbulence shows no sign of stopping, the shouts and the threat continues and when I could not bear to listen to it anymore; I took a walk out door to examine what was on the floor and the excitement speed off about seventy miles per hour up the road, and a woman’s voice shouted, “A mi alone in a the car now” It didn’t sound logical but I could analyze its meaning.
I continued my work in the early morning and the traffic keeps coming and going and suddenly I heard a screaming, the cops come rushing down the hill and parked on the other side of the street and a woman emerge from the car and descended into the yard.
Domestic violence it seems has derails someone’s dream and the little man with the taxi came rushing in was part of the bubble; there was going to be real trouble. He parked in front of the cop's head on and puts on the white light signal and pretends as if he was the boss
He went underneath the big apple three on the other side of the street and the domestic upheaval intensified. I watched from the side and listened for a while then I zoom them out. It is the nonsense mixing with common sense that didn’t make sense.
The brawl continues into broad-day light with the cops and the neighbors arguing about I don’t know what, the woman was issuing murder threat in front of the cops, and on the other side of the big church the lawn mower man was cutting grass and digging up earth drowning out the domestic confusion.
And so the morning faded away with the cops, the computer people and the PM people running around the town without shoes and crown, with the minstrel and the drums sounding behind them.
I could not hear them anymore even when I walked through the door; the morning suddenly became still and just the warm heat and slight breeze, I could feel blowing over my feet and the stage was set for a brand-new journey.
I once thought
we would leave Brooklyn
and travel across America
in a chariot.
An awesome, red,
'67 Lincoln convertible,
with suicide doors.
Radio blasting Jefferson Airplane.
Hair blowing in the wind.
Soaking up the sunshine.
Breathing freedom.
No watches, jobs or boss.
Stopping at Howard Johnson's.
Eating all 28 ice cream flavors,
one stop at a time and
fried clams by the bushel.
We were San Francisco dreaming.
'67 brought
responsibility, stability,
Timex watch,
Volkswagen,
subways, overtime,
a baby, diapers,
larger Brooklyn apartment
and reality
but...
1967
was a very
good year.
a baby, diapers,larger Brooklyn apartmentand realitybut... 1967 was a verygood year.
I like to laugh on Tuesday's.The music says That's Cool. No fooling, I do magic. I disappear on cue. You got reason for your witness. The stands not best at night. It's heavy and they're hurting. Yes, people cry, That's Right. No sight, you'll see me Silly. It's line, past times So fine. It's ticking for a Reason. With heart's that beat like mine. Do the math, it’s easy. The wrongs line up so fast. But you and me are sneezy. So, don’t ever laugh in class. My ass, this sling ain’t Slinky. It's down to curbs and cost. The lost all here before us. The must is not ‘Who's Boss’. “Oh Dear”, the end is scary. Yet Heaven and Hell just stare. It's up and us already. Then Friday says “We're There!” I like my Sunday Funnies. Yet Monday's not a treat. My French ain't good on Tuesday. My Fries are good to eat. Then Thursday says “We're Coming, the wear with Where Will We Meet? My Point the Way has Arrows. Go green, it's still a No. The show me up ain’t funny. Your nose is runny, so. Let's play “Hide the Heartache!”. My tooth is very dear. Yet Take Me Out has tethered talks not very clear. So please excuse my pastime. My rhymes has Pass Me "Bye".The Sunday Funny’s are here to share. You have no reason to cry.
Sent from Mail for Wi ndows
Do you remember Helen Keller?
She was a really awesome speller
Who couldn't hear nor see nor speak,
So to communicate
She would ges-tic-u-late.
Marcel Marceau spoke perfect French,
But he was helpless in a pinch
Because a mime does not converse,
Or even curse, such is his fate,
He must ges-tic-u-late.
Polynesian girls who hula
Often dance for poi or moola.
They rake in tips with swaying hips
As their grass skirts gyrate,
And they ges-tic-u-late.
Magicians cause a great sensation
With their prestidigitation,
They make assistants disappear,
And even levitate,
When they ges-tic-u-late.
Upon the mound, a pitcher scans
The fingers of the catcher's hand.
To show how curved, or fast, or slow
The ball should go across the plate,
He will ges-tic-u-late.
When good ideas you hit upon them,
Use your hands, don't sit upon them,
Get your point 'cross to your boss,
Let me reiterate.
Conversation's more impressive
If animatedly expressive
And your vocabulary's rich and up-to-date.
So when you talk stop dilly dallyin'
And be more like an Italian,
Give your reticence a rest
And just ges-tic-u-late.
Author's note: Dear reader, if I may paraphrase Nancy Sinatra...These hands were made for talkin'.
"Well Captain how we working this one."" umm; so Billy is this your first Winter Rescue?"
"Yep" "All right you're with me" "I thought I was going to be with Tom" " Hey kid your
better off with Harry. Rick and I have been partners many times before." " Ok guys keep
your spikes on until we hit the top of the avalanch floe. that's a good 5 or 600 feet down
Stay away from uprooted trees, it takes less than 5 pounds to send the whole tree down the mountain, possibly causing the floe to become the base.Rick, Tom there's a goat trail 60 meters to the west follow that and we will meet at Nesting Rocks. Every 2 minutes flick your Amber lamp 3 times each in our direction. Keep your radios on but I'll be the only one talking; unless YOU find a Save. Flash us in 5 minutes when your in position" "See You at the snowline boss."" Harry. Why do they call you captain and boss
"Senority, I been on the Squad for 18 years. Let me know if you get any numbness in or
tingling feelings in your hands,arms,or legs." What about my ears?" In a couple of hours
your ears will be burning, which is good, they'll help keep your face warm." How, Why?"
"I don't know, I didn't event ears, I just know that they do. There's the signal, Let's get started. Be sure to tug the tether with each movement you make. I signaled them in two minutes I want you to signal them in amber." " Why amber?" Yellow light can be seen farther away than white light."
To be cont.