Long Canisters Poems
Long Canisters Poems. Below are the most popular long Canisters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Canisters poems by poem length and keyword.
Twas a dark knight,
whence there came a pawn the hushed crowded movie house
A phantom of horror sprung out of the rookery that wrought deadly havoc
Renting asunder innocent audience members
Anticipating Batman annihilate evil within Manichean eternal duel
Extant within imaginary world of Gotham portrayed on the silver screen
When out of the black curtained theater tear gas canisters got hurled pell mell
Accompanied by a fusillade of heavy machine gun fire
Sheering many lives
Many in the prime ascent sans parabola of adulthood
The youngest, a six-year-old girl transformed into an ashen colored corpse
Which death yet revealed to her young mother
Critically wounded, and clamoring for said daughter
While teetering on the brink of mortality
Oblivious to stricken offspring
While family, friends, relatives and anonymous prayers
And this heartfelt genuine communiqué
From me – a self styled nonestablishmentarian
Gung-ho to invoke a mandate that high powered fire-arms
Must be much less accessible
I.e. bulletproof laws need implementation pronto
So inhabitants of these United States do not fear for their lives
Nor feel akin to a potential prey sighted in the crosshairs
Wantonly gunned down from some grinning joker
Slaking glee from mass killing as to appease unquenchable thirst
To avenge some psychotic nemesis gloating to slay
With a vengeance and contrived vendetta
Promulgating pandemonium and grisly bloody aftermath
Yet despite such horrific heinous atrocity
Bravery and sacrifice witnessed and extolled
From heroic instinctual motive to offer themselves as human shield
So that carnage less devastating than toll on madman’s hit list
Now in solitary confinement and even if executed
Would be a Pyrrhic salve to those forever deprived of loved ones
Burning with an eternal sorrow no matter
Generosity of cyber sympathizers across World Wide Web
Plus the president of these United States
Reach out showering kindness analogous to Borealis raiment!
Form:
Five-and-Dime Store
by Odin Roark
Maybe I remember ‘cause…
Everyday was a holiday
At Woolworth’s Five-and-Dime store.
Colored things were floor-to-ceiling,
Holding fast the lingering scents of popcorn,
American grilled cheese sandwiches,
Salt Water Taffy and fudge squares,
Clashing with parakeet and hamster living.
They were in the back where the little kids’ zoo was.
Maybe ‘cause…
Life-size cardboard Hopalong Cassidy
And Gene Autry cutouts hung from fishing lines,
Wrapped round roof nails.
Five and Dime treasures dangling over
Kid literature my dad called them
Five cent comic books right next to
Licorice and malt-ball canisters.
And just up the aisle,
Grandma’s favorite counter
Where she’d always buy her special envelopes--
Light blue par avion with printed airplanes.
I’d lift my chin up to the edge,
Stare at those airplanes
And dream. Wow, how I dreamed.
Maybe I was collectin’ make believe
for when…
Oh, how Mom and Dad, Grandpa and Grandma
Loved to drive the Model A into town,
Saunter up to the Five and Dime counter,
Order a turkey dinner,
Or liver and onions,
And then stare so long…
So long they’d stare into
Their empty coffee cups,
While I slurped my root beer.
I could make a root beer last forever
You know?
Mama bought a lampshade once,
The crimped accordion-kind,
Along with those lacy see-through curtains.
“Par-cale” I think she called them.
Never did understand their purpose.
What good’s a curtain you can see through?
And home,
When they were hung,
They’d lift and float straight out
When the windows were open.
Our cows and chickens would chorus up
Join me to laugh and the dancing curtains.
See-through-lift-up curtains.
Made no sense.
Maybe…
Maybe that’s how they all
Wanted to be remembered
Mama, Dad, Grandma and Grandpa.
I don’t know.
Now I sit in my new Lexus
Gaze across the street
Where the twenty-story
Glass and steel office building.
Erected where the old Five and Dime
Held so many good times.
Maybe I drove here ‘cause…
I needed to finger some nickels and dimes
In the pant pocket of my Armani suit
Gaze and remember the sweet smells and jelly bean colors.
When gettin’ happy and stayin’ happy was so easy.
Back then.
If you fly with an African airline, start praying
This is a true story, you will know what I’m saying
It happened in Kenya in the town Kisumu
Forty-four passengers in a plane with nothing to do
Just when the pilot got the all clear to fly
The passengers hear the engines die
Apparently, the pilot had spotted an flat tyre
And the flight to Berlin has to expire
The technical staff looked here and there
In the whole airport there was no spare
Nitrogen canisters were empty, no air
Passengers complained that it was unfair
Passengers suggested to take it to a petrol station
However, it seemed the jack went on vacation
So no jack, no air
And no bloody spare
(Here’s the science bit)
The engineers gathered around the wheel met a stump
They heroically attempted to inflate it with a bicycle pump
The pilot pushed them away and without a doubt
Thought he could blow in the valve till he passed out
The air line manager was angry as passenger laughed out loud
He said these men are heroic and you should be proud.
A technical hitch like this can happen any where
As he gave the passengers an evil glare
He said my country is beautiful take in the lovely sight
Before the next aeroplane arrives within a fortnight
All inhabitants of the world are immigrants
We came with nothing and we will leave with nothing
We are all passing by for a few happy or sad moments
We don’t get it: we are nothing and we own nothing.
When the bells ring, tell me what are you taking with you
When the roosters sing, which flotilla will protect you
The streets are full of dirty snow and clear ice, and the residents
Are protesting against injustice, hatred and countless rodents.
Trash bags cans are served as barricades, the streets are dirty and filthy
The corners and boulevards are on fire, gas canisters are smoking hot
The crowds are cursing and running back and forth. The melting pot
Is on fire. We dream of more peaceful days and nights in the country.
We probably belong to the first, second or third generation of a country
Yet, we forget that we are all immigrants of this world which nobody
Owns. We still don’t get it: we are nothing and we own nothing
Yet, we can make something out of nothing to be somebody or something.
Copyright © January 2026 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
when Democrats outliers gnashed
teeth, and nonestablishmentarian outlaws
pistol whipped and hashed
tagged traitors who roared America
went bankrupt at sold at fire sale price slashed
when Donald Trump ran the country
into the ground evidenced by Molotov Cocktails residue
in concert with the sulfuric odor of hand grenades trashed
like some sorority or fraternity house
left the sanctified righteous West Wing
with powder puffs sans canisters
of pepper spray, whereby
most docile, humble, and liberal took a page
from playbook of Pandora, and took an aimless swing
at the root cause of melee by hurling objet’s d’art
at the pompous trump ping
Septuagenarian, whose platoons of goons
rent asunder peoples against their king
the donnybrook heathen, whose remarks
against libertarian rubric that made America great
wantonly soup peer egg go whist tickly
reviving prejudices declared dead
from yesteryear and his attempt to bring
back the glory days, when Whistler Blowers
getting water boarded and aching
deigning to implement dictatorship
of the Proletariat as a capital idée fix
weaving together, the salient strengths
viz founding fathers credo gave licks
to King George, and now in an ironic
twist and shout of fate through eclectic mix
basket of deplorables further shamed
by being routed by the New York Nicks
sewed jaws, heads of state, and dignitaries
with limping bodies spent like derricks
Oil used up and no place to go except
to keep Alice in Chains and
Alice Cooper Company with toys in the attics.
“Lynching”
Black man floating in space
Knotted rope about his face
Crosses burning
White sheets chanting
Black man squirming
Blue knee choking
Buildings burning
Dark nights looming
A noose from a tree
A boot and a knee
A black man dead
No one lead
Gutters vomiting
Jesus faltering
Canisters of tears
Scattering fears
Memories from the past
Recall the last
Nothing changed
Our nation estranged
Horrible brutality
Watching reality
A hang man’s stage
Millions enraged
Dusty roads
A hang man’s noose
Burning streets
A black man pleading
So much the same
It just insane
Equal justice
No longer trusted
Civil unrest
A nation stressed
Yet we care
When tempers flare
Doing it right
With all our might
We all must listen
As rattlesnakes hissen
It begins in the mind
You learn to be kind
We are all blood inside
Where love resides
It is not right
That I am white
And am not black
But my soul is cracked
I FEEL YOUR PAIN....
As George was slain
I watched it all
His terrible fall
Again and Again
Again and Again
A henchman calling
A nation bleeding
Again and Again
Again and Again
Crosses burning
Mindsets never learning
It was a lynching
Lon 6/1/2020
We moved house today
This house lacks warmth and heart
Everything in disarray
We don't know where to start
Things in packing cases
Others in a box
A pile of dirty laundry
Underwear and socks
Old toys that the children
Refuse to throw away
Looks like that pile of books
Are also here to stay
Useful gadgets bought and never used
I wanted to be rid of them my husband refused
Furniture that doesn't fit in places as before
Why have we kept that old panelled door?
Pictures, mirrors and photos of the kids
Vases, jars and canisters some without their lids
Shovels, rakes, old garden hat
Propped along the fence
Husband shouting out "We forgot the cat"
How could we be that dense
The children start to complain
"When are we having lunch"
How could I have given birth
To such a selfish bunch?
The dog started barking, the parrot to squawk
I put on my coat and went out for a walk
He was the only one from the house of the dead at the cemetery
and he scared the living daylight out of other guests at the funeral
shuffled in rigor mortis and reaped a few condescending remarks
How dare he wield the scythe in his sick hand as if he was real
All the other mourners were dressed in white clothes and offered
eulogies so distorted that none recognized the deceased woman
who hence appeared to be an apparition hallucination and phantom
but he stood tall a few yards away from the expensive marble tomb
Wreathed and writhing she convulsed in her gold-plated coffin
tore the silk and satin lining in post mortal agony and disapproval
Those greedy bigots are shameful to pretend sorrowful everlasting love
they never took me seriously when I rejected their anger and wrath
I cannot breathe with such onslaught of hellfire and false tears
thought I had got rid of their dishonesty and dispassionate lies
Finally I could rest in peace and savour kindness and solitude
and then they spoil this moment and desecrate my final transition
Fortunately the ghost was for real and dispersed the demonstration
of counterfeit sadness cast a spell on the congregation had arranged
for water cannons tear gas and slurry and wielded jolly good canisters
of pepper spray to give them comeuppance and something to cry about
They did not know yet what she had decreed in her last testimony
made them wait for after the burial to prolong avarice and suspense
and delayed the opening of her will until one of them killed off the rest
Call it assisted and advanced suicide in the name of seeking the truth
18th February 2021
like some sorority or fraternity house
left the sanctified righteous West Wing
with powder puffs sans canisters
of pepper spray, whereby
most docile, humble, and liberal took a page
from playbook of Pandora, and took an aimless swing
at the root cause of melee by hurling objet’s d’art
at the pompous trump ping
Septuagenarian, whose platoons of goons
rent asunder peoples against their king
the donnybrook heathen, whose remarks
against libertarian rubric that made America great
wantonly reviving prejudices declared dead
from yesteryear and his attempt to bring
back the glory days, when Whistler Blowers
getting water boarded and aching
deigning to implement dictatorship
of the Proletariat as a capital idée fix
weaving together, the salient strengths
viz founding fathers credo gave licks
to King George, and now in an ironic
twist and shout of fate through eclectic mix
basket of deplorables further shamed
by being routed by the New York Nicks
sewed jaws, heads of state, and dignitaries
with limping bodies spent like derricks
Oil used up and no place to go except
to keep Alice Cooper Company with toys in the attics.
Form:
Rats in the cellar, squirrels in the tree,
things aren't the same as they used to be.
When I left for school with my li'l lunch pail,
I didn't expect a penguin to swallow a whale.
Such an injustice, I've never seen,
a cantaloupe falsely imprisoned a bean.
It's unheeded screams, uncontrolled laughter,
when it's trolls that live happily ever after.
Doors off their hinges, pancakes are stacked,
biscuits are burning, windows are cracked.
Termites in the baseboards, rabbits that fly,
pigs that regularly take to the sky.
Voices that whisper, mad dogs that bite,
winds that go howling and look for a fight.
Wrapped in cellophane, mixed in a blender,
taped up in cardboard and returned to sender.
Rainbows and ravens, kaleidoscope dreams,
leafless branches, gallows lit by moonbeams.
Music boxes, pink ribbons and bows,
tags come on packages; tags come on toes.
Curtains lifted, sick, unsavory scenes,
gear wheels in gear wheels run strange machines.
Dissected, disowned and double-downsized,
unaided, unacknowledged and unrecognized.
Puzzles, conundrums that cannot be solved,
water plus turpentine make witches dissolve.
Pimentos are diced, harsh words are spoken,
nightmares are jumbled; eggshells are broken.
Lost in the doldrums, eyeballs protrude,
walking on blisters, a horse latitude.
Spineless jellyfish, lackeys and flunkies,
silver tongued vultures, branch swinging monkeys.
Experts and pundits, paid authorities,
Kool-Aid in canisters, down on your knees.
Bishops take pawns, the fat lady sings,
fires ablaze on black nights with kings.
Shattered stars, fragmented stones,
shining splinters, bleak, burning bones.
Songs without meaning, songs without words,
sung by unseen phantoms and silent birds.
Refrigerators with pictures nobody knows,
eyes staring back, no answers disclose.
Spiders and spinning bicycle wheels,
buffalos, bandits, and slippery seals.
Electric toothbrushes, electric chairs,
lethal injections, pushed down the stairs.
Pieces on the floor, a sad state of disarray,
the gift you've left me is insanity's bouquet.
You stole my cookies, pilfered my cat,
laughed at me roundly and turned me down flat.
Mice it in the attic go chitter chatter,
have I lost my wits or gone mad as a hatter?