Long Carpenters Poems
Long Carpenters Poems. Below are the most popular long Carpenters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Carpenters poems by poem length and keyword.
planning
The other day Anna created a Pinterest board of wedding ideas (Cheesy, she knows). “It’s time to hop on the bandwagon,” she said. She insists every other girl she’s aware of - except her weird Yale roommates - has one.
We think her girls back home (in Oregon) - who didn’t go to college, are matching up with the Larrys and Gregs who stayed home to become auto mechanics and carpenters - and are now serially getting married. This trend seems to be exerting an odd, psychological pressure on Anna.
“You may be jumping the gun,” Sophie observes.
Anna’s never even had a long-term boyfriend before, but she wishes she had one now. A part time BF anyway, because who has time for more? Anna is self-proclaimed awkward with guys, especially cute ones.
She created a tinder account and uses it to see how many matches she can get - but she refuses to meet any guys there because she says she’s not “desperate.” She thinks everything about tinder screams awkward, unless people are just hooking up there - and that idea, in her mind, is absolutely disgusting.
saving the planet
Late last Friday night, a graduate friend of Peter’s threw a party at his house - far from campus. The house was packed with people and the music was thumping, the crowded rooms jumping - practically humping - in time to a Sacramento horror punk band called “The cramps" that was playing on loop.
I made it through the living room mob to the kitchen, which was oddly empty and well lit. There was a disheveled girl gripping the island bar with one hand, like we’re on a rocking ship, while trying to light a cigarette with the other. I gently wangled the lighter from her - so she didn’t set her hair on fire - and gave her a light.
Afterwards, I slipped the lighter into her skirt pocket, and noticed half the island had coke spilled all over it. “I gave it a drink,” she said, slurring and wavering on her feet, “it looked thirsty.”
That’s when I noticed her now-empty rum and coke cup next to a soaking wet little cactus plant, two ice cubes now lodged in its dirt. I reassured her as I helped her onto a chair, “you were saving the planet.”
(Lesley Ann Down was an actress in
the Golden Age of live TV drama.)
We live in an age of midgets.
There are no seers now, only lookers,
no values left, apart from digits.
Cash is the hook, and we’re all hookers,
no Carmen Joneses, only Bridgets.
Did you have to learn the equation
(“have to”? – what an odd suggestion!)
which represents acceleration?
It’s printed now, beside the question.
No gravity, just gravitation.
Subtitle writers, now, can’t spell,
and language teachers know no grammar.
When banks are hiring tellers, well,
in Alabaster, Alabama,
they sing aloud, “You Never Can Tell”.
Let’s get somewhat more sarcastic.
Our carpenters just never get wood.
Today our craftsmen just squirt mastic,
then, as any moron could,
they clip on bits of precut plastic.
We’ve got police (I like this best!)
who, far from being Texas Rangers,
have never passed exams or tests,
and can’t, by law, face any dangers,
or run rash risks, like make arrests.
No Richard Rodgers, Buddy Holly,
no more Stoller (as in Lieber),
but ‘tis the season to be jolly –
after all, there’s Justin Bieber!
Hence, loathéd melancholy!
“What Does It Take to Win Your Love for Me?”
A golden oldie’s lyrics—soulful, sad—
blend with my thoughts on love I thought we had,
but I saw only what I wished to see.
(Jr. Walker and the All Stars, 1969)
The brokenhearted~~what becomes of them?
They’ve lost their happiness and peace of mind.
They trudge through each day, praying they will find
true love. Till then their outlook will be dim.
(“What Becomes of the Brokenhearted,” Jimmy Ruffin, 1966)
To “Everybody Plays the Fool Some Time,”
I think of how good-byes can be quite cruel.
A special skill not taught at any school
is how to find a love sure and sublime.
(by the Main Ingredient, 1972)
“Love Hurts”~~words aptly chosen and so strong.
When romance fails, hearts break and hot tears flow
like nonstop rain. Recovery is slow.
The lyrics resonate on nights so long.
(“Love Hurts,” Everly Brothers, 1960; Nazareth, 1975)
“It’s Gonna Take Some Time” I’m hearing now.
Perhaps, when I’ve recovered from this pain,
I’ll find my search for love was not in vain.
Then loneliness will take its final bow.
(by the Carpenters, 1972)
The Grass Roots’ lyrics in a sixties song
say “love is gonna get” me. I’ll just wait
and see. Perhaps confessions of a date
with romance might be real before too long!
(“Sooner or Later,” 1971; “Midnight Confessions,” 1968)
The spirit of love was flowing in the air but all of a sudden it disappeared when the birds sitting on the fence spread filth on the cars parked in the garage. They say that it’s a symbol of luck for those that believe in miracle spewing out of the environment gut.
The wind is blowing and it is carrying a nasty stench within; the wind is blowing and the farm animals are murmuring. The donkeys are carrying a heavy load, they are climbing up the mountain with their backs laden with gold, the markets are not gold friendly and so they have to convert it to pound, shilling and pence in a hurry.
When the prices are right you, can get a gold ring for the price of a diamond and a ruby. Those boxes on the donkey’s back are worth twenty billion, the price of two houses, a shoe, a new frock and a cake with mixed icing on top.
A stench is moving around in the air and it is boiling with the spirit of fear, it not the stench you want smell when you are stuck in the lion’s den. You have got to formulate a better plan to get the cubs off the land; some people can be ambassadors, construction workers business entrepreneurs and dress makers.
Others can be carpenters, news reporters; naysayer and deal breakers can take on an assignment in different parts of the world and make their spirit bold. You can get them out of the lion’s den with money, ink, paper and a chartered air plane before the end of December.
The writer’s and the cinematography, news presenters, directors, producers, actors and the cameramen have much in common and can explore the universe and find new meaning with different verse.
The garbage is sitting on the street side and the flies are gathering around, circulating a deplorable stench throughput the town.
It is Wednesday for heaven's sake; the meeting is on so don’t be late. Get your notes together, for the members are already inside, the tiger is sitting at the front you have much in common so give a subtle smile to break the ice, the bear must be feared they will dilute the stench in the open air.
There is an awful stench in the air and it is coming from the cesspool.
sernetta was strange I thought, an oddball.
born with a caul I heard, born with a caul.
on the afternoon of the Omaha Squall.
she made a date with her cousin squirrely Paul.
frankly I think this took tremendous gall.
paul came to the date wearing a pink wig and shawl.
maybe this crazy pair is a matched set after all.
sernetta arrived dragging a worm-infested U-haul.
during this first date, they started a flat out brawl.
sernetta called paul a crawling bawling doll.
paul yelled that sernetta was abnormally tall.
I heard this all while cowering in a restaurant bathroom stall.
hearing these shouts echoing down the hall.
i tried not to hear it, my ears next to the wall.
oddly enough, they got married today in Carpenters Hall.
so, am I right that sernetta is a real oddball?
Line of enquiry:
Instrumentalising mind, I rested thought
employing it only when needed
shifting to heart, I became self-taught
gentling touch, voice of conscience heeded.
Intellect and intuition are like a sword and shield.
One cuts through darkness to bring clarity,
the other is an internal compass protecting the lost.
Both are formed polished, vigorous and gallant,
but through the struggles of each battle,
become ineffective when not revived.
My mind plays like a piano
and I am its pianist.
When I sit upon the cliffs of doubt,
it seems to be sleepwalking into a
chaotic jungle of consciousness,
where the symphony ignores the song sheet.
I don't want my words to be forgotten.
There is no reality in this reverie,
so the soul yearns to be free,
like a seagull soaring above stormy seas,
towards a sapphire and ivory skyline.
Sometimes skies can resemble fire,
where flames appear too strong,
so my internal wings seek refuge.
To heal from the noise, I lose myself
in the stillness of solitude.
In my loneliness, ego screams,
so I escape from this echo chamber,
by starving it from unworthy self praise
but if I do not love myself,
who will love me?
When dwelling upon the mountain of overthinking,
my spirit is unable to adapt to the flutes of fate,
but I ignore the provocation of poison.
I listen to the musicality of my heart,
releasing the strings of attachment.
I burn myself to light up the blackness,
composing lyrics from adversity's lessons.
I am a metaphor for a star,
touching the divine horizons,
sparkling, but still learning from the
'see saw' emotions of my heart and mind.
We are all carpenters in life,
with different tools to master our minds,
trying to control the outlook of our emotions.
As rivers of wisdom integrate smoother,
when we build bridges of compassion over them.
"On the day that you were born the angels got together and
decided to create a dream come true So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue" - from Carpenters' "Close to You".
Oh, here he comes. Breathless am I
to see that young man near the door.
Oh, heart be calm when he walks by.
Instead you pound and start to soar!
I shake inside. What can I do?
Oh, here he comes. Breathless am I
each time that he comes into view.
I need to do more than just sigh.
His eyes are color of the sky.
His hair is golden like the sun.
Oh, here he comes. Breathless am I.
For me, he is the only one.
What’s wrong with me? I want to scream.
I must take action, for that guy
needs to become more than my dream.
Oh, here he comes. Breathless am I!
Jan. 30, 2023
for Writing Challenge - B Word Poetry Contest (Breathless is word chosen)
Sponsor: Constance La France
As years have passed and I’ve amassed
More tools than I know I need,
I have to stress that I’m impressed with
The roles and goals they fulfill.
I love the hours with power tools
And hand-held ones are grand!
Each one is fun but some essential
Some so technical; all respectable.
But what I’ve learned as time has turned
Some tools matter more than others.
It takes a chisel to carve a whistle
And drills fill things with holes.
It takes a hammer to drive a matter
And a tape measure is a treasure.
I like to draw all kinds of saws
And cut up boards and cupboards.
Screwdrivers are my “McGyvers”
To loosen and tighten, lower or heighten
This one is fun for all ages!
Count on seeing a lot, in every toolbox.
I have dozens of wrenches, strewn over benches
And clamps and vises for when I can’t clench it,
I find the right tool and the job becomes cool
And I look like a pro, cuz my tools say so!
I have found it foundational, absolutely essential
To revel in the power of the level!
If the base is not true, your work off the “bubble”
Everything else from there is in trouble.
Good carpenters care what is true and square
And lay good foundations to build upon there.
Don’t be deceived, your projects reveal it;
Time always tells if your work’s “on the level.”
Mingled with the rural soil of Nazareth, he laboured
He played with the rustics, who were quarrelsome yet loving.
Farmers, carpenters, ironsmiths, weavers, and the shepherd
These were teachers from whom wisdom, like clear streams, flowed, gushing
He pondered along the coast of the Sea of Galilee.
Where the breeze amalgamated with saline sea scent blew
Where fishermen's strife had been a daily reality
In him, the friendliness of the sea folks, day by day, grew.
He found the philosophies and theologies of books
Put into practice by the Rustics in thoughts, words, and deeds
The affluent, on the other hand, seemed cunning and crooks.
Nature held them all in equipollence, mending their creeds.
Each herb, shrub, plant, tree, bloom, fruit, and weed imparted him wisdom.
He drew, by his love, each creature towards Abba's kingdom.
I am my own confidant
I breathe with my own lungs
I learn with my own mind
I chose a partner with my own heart
Although I still depend on other necessities
Food and rice are cultivated by farmers
Clothing is fashioned by tailors
Vehicles are produced by manufacturers
Houses are constructed by carpenters
Medicine is prepared by doctors
Even the restroom is provided by others
People from all nations and religions
Create meaningful things to share
Support and love one another
Only a few leaders are cruel and selfish
They view themselves as superior to others
They do not prioritize living in peace
Embrace immorality and wage brutal wars