Long Ceramics Poems
Long Ceramics Poems. Below are the most popular long Ceramics by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ceramics poems by poem length and keyword.
It’s Marilyn’s birthday; in previous years
We’d go out to dinner, at least.
We’d each have an entrée and share a dessert,
The closest, for us, to a feast.
We didn’t trade gifts, but on “big ones” we would –
Maybe bracelets, ceramics, or bags
And we’d talk of the turns of our different lives –
The triumphs and also the snags.
But Marilyn’s gone now; just four years ago
I saw her on that hospital bed,
With her arms wrapped around a stuffed monkey, a pose
She would never have made if not dead.
I miss my dear friend and am sad she’s not here.
For her birthday, I’ll offer a toast
To the memory of all the time that we had
Before, sadly, she gave up the ghost.
I've tied my shoes, as I fold my hands to the completeness;
Of the common area, walking on coals of fire;
I combed my hair with every desire to refresh myself
And as I fix the flat tire;
Whose gonna mop the kitchen floor;
While locking the basement door;
Keeping out the old fish, who's cooking out of old ceramics;
I apologize as I wonder whose gonna dry my eyes as I cry;
I washed my feet with gasoline,
While the police officer treating me mean;
Wasted collard greens, someone place my silk handkerchief
in the washing machine ;
Watching the new today what am I to believe, how shall we receive;
Whose gonna mop the kitchen floor;
While locking the basement door;
Keeping out the old trout, as the elderly shout;
saying the youth the young today don't know what it's all about;
There is nothing more than two pair, nothing more than two doubles;
Add each scenario together and you have the number
4
Want more, one plus one plus one plus one is
4
so just relax, your limited max out don't pout
Want more, ten fingers minus two thumbs and fold the
remaining four fingers you show the remainder is
4
So you still want more then I suggest you go to,
the golf coarse place the ball on the ground prior to you hitting it holler;
4
Dusting the floor,
my broom wrestles
with the cobwebs lingering
from yesterday's sales,
all around the ceramics
the threads poke
in all directions,
I kick the dustpan
and the dirt crystalizes
in midair,
for a moment, it was beautiful.
Sirius, bright as always but
Canopus, closely behind.
The vacant moment
stabilizes,
attuning gravity
for the slightest
second.
The image painted its portrait
onto the walls just as
Starry Night captured Van Gogh.
Unlike brilliant masterminds,
the stars fall as gravity remembers
its role.
The glittering dots flake
over my feet blending
back into the ground,
the straws weak grip lifts
the dirt kicking it back
outside, yet again it forms
high up in the skies blending
with nature as it hides,
slowly it vanishes
as its memory remains
within the dirt, stars form.
Let me tell you what had happened
When two children's day had darkened
Home alone, fed up with Communism
They decided on some Spiritism.
Naughty brother and his sister
Started chanting a tongue twister
Shaking, dancing,twirling a spatula
Air head kids called evil Dracula
Goose bumps and a lot of laughter
Ended session... Guess What after ?...
As night descended on the "counting sheep"
Fate decided to take a strange, big Leap:
Radio and TV turned on
Sleep, peace and quiet all but gone
Colorful ceramics smashed into sand
Only my brother and I knew that's Grand.
Sunshine erased the real nightmare
But next night I lived in despair
A man stopped in front of my balcony
Raised his hat, saluted me politely
Do you wonder what's so creepy
And why I became so weepy?
I am a poet and I'm not a bore
But all of us lived on the thirteenth floor...
A lot of years have passed since then
Thank God for this contest and pen
If questions would arise please don't be shy
I'm willing to respond ...and laugh... and cry.
Written for the contest on Paranormal
They made mammon somethng measurable, mighty, & magnificent,
everywhere that labor, exchange, & entertainment exist monuments
to money, large and small,
the genesis was excess manufacture
such as grain, gold, textiles & ceramics,
animals & people,
purveyors were born like corn on the cobb,
like mist in morning,
buearruacracies of religion & government emerged from the basic business
of buy & sell, structure was supplied by law & covetuousness,
the greed of need,
people enticed to sell their Spirit in the form of toil for products,
eventually for fiat currencies, profit took the place of contribution,
slavery evolved into serfdom,
from the plantation to the factory unproductive owners needed managers,
individuals with minimal compassion & maximum ambition, essence extractors,
the whip replaced by the 'write up' and tacit threat of poverty,
the iron chain supplanted by hopelessness of ignorance in limited training,dependency,
management believed in synergy,the kind that rewarded the few
at the expense of the many,
the river of Life tore into the irrigation of wealth for selected heredity,
bussinessmen want employees & citizens with low self esteem, shallow interests & passions,
economy as cosmos, profits as pieties, workers as sinners,
edicts of 'minimum wage' and requirements for age are simply Market stabilizers
implemented to ensure profit,
taxes a financial plan of slave paid for regulation,
the management caste, the sociological strata designed to keep laborors feeling underachieving,
crows squawking against crows so that dragons fly free -
J.A.B.
She’s a switchblade, blackjack,
Knuckle-duster dame.
Got the proper block and tackle,
Lash your rigging to the frame.
She put the drill press to your taproot
And the grindstone to your saber.
Good for sharpening your senses,
Keeps you on your best behavior.
She’s like a purgatory tourist on a Devil’s Island cruise.
She always likes to go commando when ashore.
She’ll buy a souvenir machete and a half-kilo brick.
She’s like the princess of the jungle.
She’s a hot yoga chick.
She’s a crooked fencepost notice;
Points the way to no return.
She’s gonna hammer your ceramics,
Twist your plot until it burn.
She’ll take your breath away at dinner
When she wears her cheese cloth gown.
And when yer chokin’ on a chicken bone,
She let her Heimlich slide on down.
She caught a splendid little fever in a splendid little war
And led the rebels on a chase in Cuban heels.
She had to bargain with the General, but she turned a cute trick;
She charged the soldiers for their bullets.
She’s a hot yoga chick.
Then, when Miss Lady Lotus Blossom
Choose to let her spandex slip,
She make you drop the jailhouse soap
And stack you like a poker chip.
But she’ll spring you on a night
The sheriff’s chasing wilding geese.
She’ll lead you to the Rosebud Room;
Reach for the sky and find release.
She orders top-shelf utkatasana
With an anjali mudra twist.
She’ll have you bending over backwards.
She’s a hot yoga chick.
She's like to cauterize your ego.
She's....
It's a final sale, no exchanges, no refund; grab anything that you like...
all items sell for a dollar or less, even grandfather's four-wheel bike.
Over forty two years I have collected transistor radios, vinyl records, ceramics dolls
and plates with famous faces on them...oh, Debbie from The Wizard of Oz enthralls!
I am making room for new furniture, and must get rid of them...
it's sad to give them away when they offered much excitement!
In those boxes and crates, you'll find many commodities...
soap bars, bathing towels, curtains shower and perfumes.
Take a look at some funny clothes that I wore in my teens: tight blue jeans,
wool sweaters, cowboy's shirts, boots and hats, trying to look like sexy Elvis!
Browse and find that item you couldn't afford...is it Marylin Monroe's furry shawl?
If the final sale is not complete by early evening, I will draw a winner to take it all!
How I love this time of year
When Christmas markets beckon!
All major cities have them
And some small towns, too, I reckon.
The festive booths display their wares,
A lot of them hand-crafted,
Their quality assuring you
That no, you won’t get shafted.
From jewelry (my favorite)
To ceramics, hats and leather,
The dealers ply their products
In whatever kind of weather.
For now’s the time that people buy –
The ornaments and mittens
And toys and t-shirts, socks and mugs
Adorned with pups or kittens.
Of course, there’s hot mulled cider
Paired with donuts, for such offers
Keep shoppers warm and cozy,
Tempting them to fill the coffers.
Today I splurged on earrings
Though I’m often quite contented
To just browse and see what’s out there,
All so very well-presented!
By profession I’m an artist
In ceramics and in paint
Where with talent, flair, devotion
I create modern and quaint.
Some time back I was invited
To exhibit in Milan
So I worked in clay and managed
A good abstract, with elàn.
Finished touches to perfection
Could not be more right than this
[that’s unless it needs comparing
With pronounced marital bliss!]
My ‘Blue Nude’ was done and ready
Fast approached the special day
When my work of art would proudly
Be presented on display.
On the eve my phone starts ringing
It’s an urgent call for me
So with haste and trepidation
To the “Arte d’Italy”*
I go straight in yellow taxi
And rush in to see what’s wrong:
There, more abstract than true abstract
[to cut short a story long]
Lay my masterpiece in ruins
Many pieces, broken parts
On the floor deprived of beauty
A disgrace to all the arts.
I let out a cry of anguish
And my friend curator came
With big smile of satisfaction
Said: “You’re welcome to the game!
Just a little joke, amico,
Now at last we’ll call it quits
I’ve been waiting to get even
Pay-back time:) I’m thrilled to bits!
I planned this to every detail
And then got you to come round;
Your ‘Blue Nude’ is in that corner
As you see, it’s safe and sound.”
[* to be pronounced: ar-te-dee-ta-lee]
--------------------------------------------------
Author: Paul Callus ~ 29th March 2014
Contest: I Was Right
Sponsor: Verlena S. Walker
Placing: 1st
It was the last room, that she laid in;
Warm to the touch, in that instant;
In within the blink of an eye;
she did flown, fled flied flown;
unto the bosom of Our Lord;
Room full of ceramics, porcelain;
Colored dry walled olden wood laminated floor;
laying down rested, blessed look like she was sleeping;
Like in a family reunion house full of children;
Yet non breath, vessel full of stillness;
It was the last room, that she laid in;
Spirit has left her she has flown;
Cool to the touch now she's been gone;
In within the blink of an eye;
she did flown, fled flied flown;
unto the bosom of Our Lord;
It was the last room, that she laid in;
vessel body flesh dead, body laid still on the floor;
Yet her truest self gone on to be with the Lord;
Cool to the touch now she's been gone;
In within the blink of an eye;
she did flown, fled flied flown;
fly soul fly spirited freed to the sweet by N by;
In within the blink of an eye;
dead to the world, yet alive in spirit;
It was the last room, that she laid in;
laid on the hard wooden vinyl floor body dead;
It was the last room, that she laid in;
It was the last room, that she laid in;
5/1/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©