Long Butler Poems
Long Butler Poems. Below are the most popular long Butler by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Butler poems by poem length and keyword.
"Breaking the Lonely Rewind"
Hysteria ensues a small death
on a funeral pyre pushed
into a sealed and soiled
heart shaped box sunk
to swallow stone tears
reversing reflections
in the coldest mirrors
Tsunami waves flood
all that was green
On the breaking shores
there the Lonely Rewind
is floating amidst The Shallows
resurfaced, cracked open and laid bare
her black treasures
boiling over inky interior
spilt darkly the soul
now sharp and split in two
a gift from the damned
walking out into the blistery wind
where sourness all around
whispers a soft war
of unclaimed, unwanted
forgotten voices,
The Lost and Lonely,
way past the end of their world,
where heartbreak is spurned
resurrect into burning birds
from the cold veined inferno,
The Silent Ocean of Reprieve
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"When I Was Older"/Billie Eilish
https://youtu.be/HSCREQjxPHE
Lyrics:
https://genius.com/Billie-eilish-when-i-was-older-lyrics
"In order to rise from its own ashes, a phoenix first must burn." Butler
"She told me she’d be a phoenix.” The image of the mythical creature rising from the ashes glitters in my mind. “They don’t really exist.” “She said that depends on whether or not there’s someone who can see them." Picoult
"One does not need to be against womens suffrage," the London Times editorialized in 1908, "to see that some of the more violent partisans of that cause are suffering from hysteria. We use the word not with any scientific precision, but because it is the name most commonly given to a kind of enthusiasm that has degenerated into habitual nervous excitement."' Gilman
"Lady Lazarus", Plath
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49000/lady-lazarus
I thought I was a Shepherd
but I couldn’t count my sheep
So instead I became a banker
to stack money I wanted to keep
I lost track of what I was doing
by drifting off to sleep
The silent alarm didn’t wake me
My slumber was too deep
Next I tried to be a cobbler
people’s soles for me to save
After that I became a barber
Perhaps you would like a shave
I gave it a go as a butler
but I felt like I was a slave
My boss knew my name was Rick
Still he insisted on calling me Dave
In the end I gave my notice
to become a lifeguard on the beach
The problem was I couldn’t swim
so the swimmers were out of reach
Besides I was afraid of the water
I might get attached to a leech
If only on water I could walk
swimming lessons I could teach
I still wonder who I am
I know I’m not the things I do
I am truly similar to myself
I’m most likely not like you
Although I’m undiscovered
unsure of what things I should do
My spirits are quite buoyant
for me each day is fresh and new!
For Caren Krutsinger’s “Who do you think you are” contest.
Gone now is all reason,
as if she needed any more
A princess awakens lonely,
just like in days of yore
Her prince left much earlier,
through a gargoyled secret door,
Its passage led to lower levels,
walls curved round toward
Gone now is all reason,
as if she needed any more
The stable lad followed him,
and came back covered in straw
No idea how he got there,
she turned to face the floor
And as her gait grew longer,
ghostly figures start to show
Gone now is all reason,
as if she needed any more,
The kids lay in bed ailing,
red faces appeared galore
Instead of firing the embers,
she powdered up her nose
Children rolled on hills outside,
taking turns as well as goes
Gone now is all reason,
as if she needed any more
The butler cried silently,
for he knew each of their flaws
As the princess regained her poise,
the prince came out all gay
Reading the paper smiling,
“I see war’s declared today”
In the end there is no reason,
makes more sense anyway
Fresh eggs taste best for breakfast,
when the rooster’s on a tray
They all sat down and mimed,
no one dared give the game away
When masquerades seem over,
charades are simpler to play
'Twas a dark and stormy night", the whodunit book began!
I reckon that is music to the ears of an avid mystery fan.
To curl up with a book by the fire on a dark and stormy night,
With the lights dimmed low, it sets the mood perfectly right!
The corpus was found by the maid sprawled upon the floor,
And nigh him lay an elephant gun with a fifty caliber bore!
It appeared fairly obvious as to how the feller met his doom.
However, in such criminal cases, 'tis best not to presume!
Enter now the debonair detective, a pipe-smoking chap,
Wearing a suit of tweed, sporting a deer stalkers cap.
In a practiced pose he mused with his chin in his hand,
Pondering what miscreant brought this feller to his end!
Could it have been the butler who did the dastardly deed,
Or the ne'er-do-well brother-in-law in a pique of greed?
Perhaps it was the work of a jealous, jilted lover.
He searched for every clue as over the body he did hover.
Aha! The astute constable noted there was no bullet hole or gore,
But nearby lay an empty bottle shattered about the floor!
Alas, dear reader, what did him in was no foe or friend.
'Twas that deadly, demon rum that brought him to "THE END!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
oh what it must be like
to have a name like Devonshire
a name so Royal
belonging to empires
chisslied in stone
in swanky neighborhoods
streets with large gates
or statues stood
the name of the restaurant
or the name on the deed
so high up in the building
somewhere having tea
a heavily Britished accent
with eyes half way closed
a chin lifted up
wearing butler clothes
they really do wear ascots
like they do on t.v.
but we'll never see them
there to high to see
away in their clubs
or on the golf course
watching the symphony
or getting divorced
you might catch a glimpse
of them if you travel abroad
sunning topless on beaches
or bottle popping at night
their such a restless little crowd
to them the world is small
they wrestle with there empires
and try to take it all
i hope i didn't offend anyone
by using their name
i sat down to write this poem
and this is what came
any similarities
to persons we know
is purely coincidental
it's just part of a show
There was no finer detective than Inspector Thaddeus Tweede of Scotland yard!
He was most astute in solving crimes and could easily detect a feeble canard!
He joined the force as a 'bobby' working himself to the peak of his profession.
You daren't pull the wool over his eyes when he was seeking a confession!
Ah! He could have been cast in a movie since he was a detective's prototype,
In his tweed suit, tweed cape, tweed deerstalker's cap and ever-present pipe!
When investigating a crime scene he'd mull the facts with his chin in his hand,
Puffing his pipe making copious notes should he be called to the witness stand!
The highlight of his career was solving the case of Prime Minister Percival Hoar,
Who was found by his maid one dark and stormy night sprawled upon the floor!
There was no evidence of forceful entry nor anyone breaking through the door,
Nor was there any sign of a struggle, bullet holes or oozing, bloody gore!
Who could have done this dastardly deed that brought the minister to his doom?
He took prints, photos and noticed a strange odor as he moved about the room.
Thaddeus called on all his experience and training to solve this mysterious case,
Muttering to himself and doing a lot of 'hmmming' as to and fro he did pace!
Eureka! He noted a bulge in the prime minister's jacket he hadn't seen before!
Gingerly lifting a bottle from the pocket, he deduced he needn't search anymore.
'Twasn't a gun, the butler, a political enemy, jilted lover or envious friend
Who did the terrible deed - 'twas demon rum that brought the minister to his end!
As a very young man, his career went far.
On television, Jay was a popular child star.
Success as "Dennis the Menace" could not be denied.
Dennis was a constant thorn in Mr. Wilson's side.
As Henry and Alice Mitchell's bundle of joy,
Dennis was quite a funny, but mischievous boy.
Despite his immense world-wide popularity,
he had to deal with much clandestine cruelty.
Almost nobody knew about it, until recently.
Time marched on as the years went by.
Jay endured pain that would make anyone cry.
His amazing life began in Los Angeles, California.
Everything came to an end in Lake Butler, Florida.
Jay North
(1951-2025)
I thank both wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and IMDb.com for information I obtained to write this poem.
For him quirky incidents are not very new,
Being adept seasoned butler for years a few;
Dead fly in the chicken curry they bluntly cry,
While gladly consume entire pork and mutton fry...!
My ballet missing! A lousy one loudly yells,
Must be the butler, the other so firmly tells;
All hell breaks out; like high hills, heap many a doubt,
Hullabaloo! In his air-bag they find it out!
Salt more for one; less for other; butler is called,
He separates the dishes; Hassle over-hauled;
Sizzler or cool cucumber; grievance goes the same,
Harassing the butler has been the supreme aim...!
It's, now, the duke's wife's fallen-tower-like collapse,
Food poison! Call the butler! Scrutinize the lapse!
Depressed wife, they found, had taken sedative-dose,
Butler's life, thus, often in doubts, turns grave jocose...!
22 July 2022
"Every story I create, creates me. I write to create myself."
~ Octovia E. Butler
____________________________
since young I have been writing . . .
I felt like a child in a concrete garden
frozen and forlorn, alone
but words like kisses set me free
in writing I could create a new truth
create whatever I wished_
words changed the blanket of my memory
that river that flows endlessly . . . .
I can now create beauty from teardrops
from those tattered curtains that stir old pain
and I dream silent verse and rhymes that glide
for words and writing heal the scars
on the roadmap of my soul
and though my life is weather-stained with years
I can create beauty from the decay
and create the story of my path
therefore, I go forward with hope and fear
into the wintry forest of life
to create words that reflect myself
on that road less taken by poets . . . .
to tell the life of a writer born
_________________________
October 10, 2020
Poetry/Free Verse/A Writer Born to Create
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1294-064-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Quotable
sponsor, Regina McIntosh
First Place
Suspicion always finds the poor butler.
This time, he was carrying a large box.
I think I saw her fingers--if not her
perhaps it was her sister's golden locks.
People say that she slapped his lovely face.
Not one to pass stories loosely, mind you,
but a grain of truth may favor this case:
She loved him, but I hear, he wasn't true.
I've only heard these things, and, yet it's true:
his was an evil look I saw that night.
Passing judgment, I'm not accustomed to,
(he could have done it when far out of sight.)
At last this story is wrapped in a glove.
The Butler's name, by the way, is Daniel.
The box contained a gift for Daniel's love:
A golden, freckled-nose cocker spaniel!
July 20, 2022
Theme: #2, Suspicion Fell on the Butler
One in Five 2 poetry contest
by Joseph May ~ First Place!