Long Bucketful Poems
Long Bucketful Poems. Below are the most popular long Bucketful by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bucketful poems by poem length and keyword.
In February I started a wonderful diet
It’s on poetry soup – I urge you to try it
A pinch of humour and a bucketful of laughs
Poems by the thousand – they don’t do things by halves
Romantic verses and limericks too
Poetry soup may be the diet for you
Wonderful friends I have made on this site
I could sit and write poems from morning till night
I cannot guarantee this diet will help you lose weight
I have to be honest I’m here quite by fate
My husband’s illness started me on here
It’s been my salvation I hold it so dear
So dig out your pens and get on with writing
Receiving soup comments is always exciting
I am learning so much here every day
On the poetry soup diet I will always stay
Jan Allison
20th March 2014
Salvation Blues
You don't miss your papa
Until he is slamming the gate
You don't weep for your mama
Until she lying in the grave
You don't stop drinking whiskey
Until the funds have all gone
You don't pray to Jesus
Until there's something to be won
You don't laugh
Until you fall on to your face
And all of God's children
Carry a sack of chains
You don't sing,
Until your full to the brim
You don't feel free
Until your tied to a chair
In the county jail
You can't dream
Unless you sleep
On a bed of nails
O God what have you done
To the girl that kept me sane
Lost in some town
Sticking needles in her veins
O lord can I swap my barrel of sorrows
For a bucketful of woes
And all Gods children say amen
Sinking feeling springs eternal...
courtesy sucker punched by vehicular travails
Truckload of banshees muffled
as more'n yours truly wails
he feels wheely tired
as one after another
significant snafu devilish
troublesome impish of the
poe pervert car -
tell driver unveils
scarier than Stephen
King's macabre tales
one illusory monster with
(by Scott) matted pointy scales,
who infuriatingly rants and rails
against dependence on
unstable, unpredictable, and
unmentionable car rear,
where his ruffled quilted wings,
stand on edge quiver and quails
analogous to how Jack
and Jill arduously lugged pails
splashing water to and fro
hither and yon some
drips drops long as nine inch nails,
actually pleasant sensation
though futile schlepping,
sloshing, and spilling bucketful
after bucketful eternal
rhyming task without reason
synonymous with Sisyphus,
but lo and behold
agony no longer assails
only fleeting ecstasy, think
Bos taurus came back
to animal farm -
carting... yup countless hay bales
(sh....) stolen goods,
under the whinny some nose
of neighboring Equus
at Clyde on dales,
one Mister Ed, a horse -
laugh he exhales,
said bovine won't be cowed,
cuz fodder knows beast,
that charity never fails.