Long Chalet Poems
Long Chalet Poems. Below are the most popular long Chalet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chalet poems by poem length and keyword.
Please do not define me by the house I’m living in.
You don’t know where I’m going; you don’t know where I’ve been.
Just because my house is not a mansion or chalet,
Doesn’t mean I can’t be just as happy where I stay.
The circumstances of our lives can change from time to time.
It seems to me that this time, a change will soon be mine.
I’m not sure I am ready to face this task again.
I’m longing for the days of youth and happy times back then.
No matter where I hang my hat, my heart is still the same.
Four walls alone won’t make a home when filled with doubt or shame.
A house is made of bricks or wood, but this I must confide…
A house is not a home unless true love resides inside.
A home should be a place that reaches out its arms to you,
Some rocking chairs on your front porch, where you enjoy the view.
As soon as you set foot inside the door you know you’re home,
Where Home Sweet Home is always best, no matter where you roam.
The welcome mat, it does just that…it makes you feel secure.
It doesn’t matter where you’re at, or if you’re rich or poor.
I think a home can know if you are feeling sad or blue,
And in its way, will do its best to take good care of you.
To me, there's nothing sadder than a house no one lives in.
No family to call its own, and empty rooms within.
Its windows are the eyes that blankly stare, as if to say,
“Won’t you come inside and take my loneliness away?”
The houses where I’ve lived before were happy ones, you see.
I loved each one in different ways and I know they loved me.
I left my mark on each of them in one way or another,
Especially the one I shared with Daddy and my Mother.
This home won’t be as nice as some I’ve lived in, in the past.
Financial strain can dwindle down a bank account so fast.
I have to do what’s right for me, and not for any other.
If you don’t like the place I live, I can’t go buy another.
I hope I won’t be judged by where I live, because you see
Your circumstances, too could change; you may live next to me.
Tornado Magnet, Trailer Trash…call me what you will.
The only thing that matters is the sweet relief I’ll feel.
Although it’s sad to leave this home, I never understood,
The heavy burden of my debt would soon be gone for good.
So if you want to tease me now, I’m sure you will agree,
This “almost” Trailer Trash is very soon to be debt-free!
It’s great to be a member of the global elite,
The bean poles in my garden are standing proud and neat.
Organic veg is thriving thanks to ample bags of peat.
I never hear a siren roaming down my street.
I’m fairly relaxed when an airline goes under.
Got a business proposition? Let me find you a funder.
“When will I fix their boilers?” my tenants do wonder.
I’ll soon find a scapegoat, if I should make a blunder.
A product of a public school, the pride of Shrewsbury,
Forcibly convinced that you would rather be me.
The reality is I’m at the top of the tree
So every branch manager is looking up to me!
My diary is dependent on the diligent Katrina,
She runs the show like clockwork, you’ll find nobody keener.
She cuts through all the jargon so the minutes are much leaner
And can text me at the golf club or on my yacht in the marina.
I’m awfully busy, cannot give you an appointment.
Upbeat copywriters - you can find a place in my tent.
Relatively shielded from the risks of disappointment,
You’ll never find a fly in my ointment!
If the radiators splutter, I call my handyman,
If my money’s on a racehorse, then I hope it runs to plan,
On the promenade at Paignton I’m a suave and sandy man,
To a certain travel agent, I’m her “neat and dandy man.”
My doctor comes a-running if I ever get a cough.
Your trusted friends will recognise when you’re a toff.
I flutter like a butterfly high above your moth
So the sprinklers on my lawn are rarely turned off.
Sundays see me mulling over crossword clues
While my weekend valet cleans my outdoor shoes,
Got to keep my name out of the news.
Remember buddy: heads I win and tails you lose.
Now most of my investments are quite discreet,
There’s a chalet in Antigua and a villa in Crete.
Want some carrot cake while you’re thinking on your feet?
Then you’d better not quibble with the global elite.
This poem first appeared in the P.U.W. Anthology "In the Name of Democracy - Poetic Voices" on 22nd May 2021.
November 1968: The Hunted
Got divorced couple years ago, second time
At first, I mirror myself as a low-life loser
Jack without Jill, McGee without Molly
Ossie without Harriot, Adam absent Eve
No fourth finger, gold band of respectability
Instead wagging digits of family and friends
Then discover a stimulating, singles society
Connect at cocktail lounges and corner bars
dating services, social clubs, work cafeterias
commuting club cars, once at a church social
Mindlessly, I transform into a blissful bachelor
‘til a Swedish mermaid magically materializes
Attend a Singles, Saturday eve swim fest. Stand
in shoulder deep water, arms rest on side of pool
Envision my later-this-evening date with Debbie
a waitress, Embers Dinner Club; off at midnight
Suddenly, a splash surges up from the surface
Engaging eyes and a sparkling smile follow
A melodic voice sings out of a beautiful face,
body, “Hi, my name’s JoAnne, what’s yours?”
I stutter, stumble, finally mumble, “Uh, ah, Joe.”
Captivating conversation tightens a growing knot
A troubling thought thunders through my mind
“It is already too late. This one will do you in”
In three months, JoAnne re-arranges my world
I vacate my bachelor pad, move into her house
Say good-bye to Myrtle, Julie, Cindy, Debbie
Say hello to Jo’s folks: Alice, stepfather Nolan
Marry short time thereafter in their Swiss chalet
Introduce Jo to my folks during our honeymoon
Meet endless number of new Swedish relatives:
Norman, Sigurd, Don, Jim, Dorothy, Ruth, Violet
Stop wearing same smelly shirt around house
Go back to church. Take up tennis and skiing
Change jobs from Motorola, a manufacturer
to Deloitte, bigtime professional services firm
Spend entire summer scraping, painting
JoAnne’s weathered, all-wooden house
Wonder with each scrape, stroke from a
perilous ladder position; what happened
Stunned by my supersonic-speed surrender
Today, fifty years later, my head still spins
Hands folded prayer like to beseech thee
to abduct me with no cause to up braid
natural temptation found temptation commanding
from divine dada disobeyed
Earthbound Olympian of love,
now dwells amidst mossy secluded glade
a natural bed of soft earthy, downy
canopied bridal awaiting to lovers to get laid
and maybe nine months later,
a baby will resemble thee dear milkmaid
then whence we return to our Land O’ Lakes chalet
homage will be paid
in which human guise paramour
doles secrets of amorous Lumineers trade
into dreamland such desire does in vade.
Victuals to satiate pleasures of flesh
especially erogenous zones
administered by this imaginary mistress
sin seductive tones
thru this private line, but no other phones
triggering mine little rolling stones
to generate primal sounds vis a vis moans
inducing groin seams of pants extreme groans
toward pocket sixty-nine without lovely bones.
A copious amount of adoration suffuses entire body of this man
her, whose gentle and kind embrace promises to be eternal plan
as made mention in the Bible, Quran, or Torah millennia ago rattan
whose healthy libido will probably outlive me life span.
Royal carpet treatment awaits me each and every day
as the differences between myself and august dweller on high
establish a bounty and glory of compassion to roll in the hay
atop bodacious, delicious, felicitous fantasy asks me to lie
imbibing succulent atmosphere akin to an eternal month o may
taking spirit soaring thousands of miles of feet in the sky.
Upon hearing sweet nothings nobody else can hear
affecting heavy breathing indicated by nostril
that imperceptibly flare
a sheer grin of joy lights up countenance ear to ear
despite impish quarks of this divine being so dear
as journey to inxs of nirvana induced ejaculated whispered clear
from being buck-naked bare.
"snowflakes were falling winter frosty wonderland and we said I do"
We fell in love and were to be married in February,
So we planned a winter theme wedding for that sweet day;
Oh, it was so beautiful with snow gently falling down on us,
Every time I see a delicate, snowflake I recall our wedding.
The ceremony was performed outside in nature,
Under a clear tent with amazing decorations placed;
We embraced the scenery and each other and said I do,
Bells rang out and we drank champagne to cheers.
The reception room was full of frosted branches,
And icy blue lighting created a dreamy, gorgeous quality;
We truly embraced the season with garlands of green,
Icicle like crystals, pinecones, and candles on the tables.
We looked into each others eyes, this love was ever,
No two, it seemed could love each other more:
And is anything more romantic than a blanket of snow,
Our wedding pictures a memory, oh my flowers were lovely.
My dress was so pretty, I will keep it forever,
At the reception we served frosty cocktails to suit the season;
And to eat we had all types of comfort food to try,
Music was a band and when we had our dance, I was a princess.
Our wedding night was spent in a winter chalet,
With a fireplace crackling we held each other with love;
The honeymoon, however, was a tropical escape in warmth,
We truly were a couple in love, and created memories forever.
___________________________________
February 21, 2016
Poetry/Verse with Monoku/Winter Wedding
Copyright Protected, ID 16-760-184-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, My Wedding Day Is Special Because
Sponsor, James Andrew Fraser and Olive Eloisa Guillermo
Third Place
"snowflakes were falling winter frosty wonderland and we said I do"
We fell in love and were to be married in February,
So we planned a winter theme wedding for that sweet day;
Oh, it was so beautiful with snow gently falling down on us,
Every time I see a delicate, snowflake I recall our wedding.
The ceremony was performed outside in nature,
Under a clear tent with amazing decorations placed;
We embraced the scenery and each other and said I do,
Bells rang out and we drank champagne to cheers.
The reception room was full of frosted branches,
And icy blue lighting created a dreamy, gorgeous quality;
We truly embraced the season with garlands of green,
Icicle like crystals, pine cones, and candles on the tables.
We looked into each others eyes, this love was ever,
No two, it seemed could love each other more:
And is anything more romantic than a blanket of snow,
Our wedding pictures a memory, oh my flowers were lovely.
My dress was so pretty, I will keep it forever,
At the reception we served frosty cocktails to suit the season;
And to eat we had all types of comfort food to try,
Music was a band and when we had our dance, I was a princess.
Our wedding night was spent in a winter chalet,
With a fireplace crackling we held each other with love;
The honeymoon, however, was a tropical escape in warmth,
We truly were a couple in love, and created memories forever.
___________________________________
February 21, 2016
Poetry/verse/'Wedding Song'
Copyright Protected ID, 16-1189-483-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted into FTI Blog Series 1 - Romance
Brian Strand
Podium Place 3
I am from my daddy's drunken heart, beating so fast as though flung from a
furious circle of women who are welcoming the men back from the hunt.
I am from my mother's matted eyes. My mother, a lil' orphan girl who often was
told, "Step back, black! You too po." My mother, who cried out, " I have my sisters
to love." My mother, who beat up the world to protect me.
I am from my cousin Cora's womb, which wasted away, but only after seven
babies grew into children who lived in a ditch to escape the streets and ate out of
garbage cans.
I am from the son of God, the Mother Hen of the world. Careening down a dark
alley, I run into myself, leopard legs, little streaks.
I am from the Yoakum Chaparral Chalet, covered in chicken grease and bathing
in a washtub.
I am from Jasper, Texas, grasping my knuckles into the cement as I am dragged
to death.
I am from music, Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" and Ellington's "Catch the A Train."
I am from gardens, honeysuckled and herbed, growing health and healing.
I am from nerves, stressed, tired and tangled.
I am from the hospital today where I watch my dad's eyes grow big and his body
shrink. I watch my mother skate into the room nodding and dreaming.
I am from the bottom of the Atlantic, screaming Holocaust, millions of dead
bones chilled and cried out, "Murderer, thief, betrayer."
I am from the eighteen hundred block of Isabella in Houston's Third Ward where
Mr. Evans used to sit on his porch and nod and Mrs. Turner used to sit on her
porch and talk, and everybody said, "Hey Baby, how ya been doin'?"
The number seven carries me away
Where imagination and numerology have a stay.
Dreams live celebrating each new day
Free from realities and evil’s prey.
Seven years of praying brought marriage my way.
But that was only one life’s foreplay.
Seven years later, a dreadful fray.
Divorcement angered ended love’s array.
Forgive seven times seven at hurts’ buffet.
Swallowing pain in self’s causeway.
Asking God for a happier ray –
Still hiding hope in a lonely chalet.
The number seven also served Yahweh.
Six days to create, then, came rest day.
The Book of Revelations is smitten by “the seven” foray.
Saints who know their sevens might reach Heaven someday.
Does the number seven govern my life? Nay!
I calculated my destiny number this way:
Using the name I was given on my birth-day,
I assigned numbers to letters as charts outlay.
{[(4+1+5+5) and (1+5+5) and (3+9+1+5+6+6+9+4)]
= {(15) and (11) and (43)}
= [(1+5=6) and (1+1=2) and (4+3=7)]
= [6+2+7=15] = [1+5] = 6} LOL! Number six! Hurray!!!
Destiny number six says I will be happy and gay
While living life with a humanitarian inlay.
Artistic endeavors through my life sashay.
Creating beauty, by providence, my life’s mainstay.
But over to destiny number seven I stray.
Sharing findings and seeking knowledge, I daresay.
Two attributes that stayed with me along life’s runway.
Numbers six and seven blesses me…at least half way!
© July 13, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
LINKS of INTEREST:
http://www.angelfire.com/az/rainbowbridge/seven.html
http://www.aboutnumerology.com/destinymeanings.php
Into the woods on a bright summers day
With a basket of food for her Grandma
But before she arrived she would pick a bouquet
A gift for her Grandma on this her birthday
She noticed the gamekeeper passing her by
So called out his name as she waved him goodbye
Normally friendly, but today Wolf looked down
As she saw on his face an embarrassing frown
She decided to check if her Granny was up
So she got out her mobile to call and checkup
She heard a strange voice but the signal was poor
Grandma’s voice was too deep, said she wanted to sleep
Maybe visit tomorrow for today she felt weak
This made her suspicious she started to shake
For her dear sweet Grandma should be baking a cake
She decided to call on her friend PC Blake
For her instinct was telling her something was wrong
as she called him to ask could he please come along
So together they wended their way through the wood
Nearing Grandma’s chalet, she removed her red hood
As they reached her front door, heard a voice shout for more
So perplexed and alarmed they went in fully armed
But imagine their shock, not believing their eyes
For Grandma was getting a birthday surprise
Grandma and Wolf stark-naked on the floor
Cavorting and frolicking, they were making amour
So discreetly they left, gently closing Grandma’s door…
8th January 2019
Competition: Into The Woods
Sponsor: Silent One
2nd placement
A different take on this ancient fairy tale...
Contest BRIAN STRAND YOU CHOOSE
Sponsor Brian Strand
Cowboyin' seems so romantical as seen in th' pitcher shows.
Ain't a lick uv truth in that as ever' workin' cowpoke knows.
Movie stars is paid big bucks with a fancy saddle fer thar horse,
An' always ride off into th' sunset with a purty gal, uv course!
Real cowpokes don't wear designer jeans er fancy rhinestone suits.
You can tell a real buckaroo by th' looks uv his scruffy boots!
He's rousted out uv his bunk at th' break uv day;
(Seems it wuz jes' an hour er so ago, since he'd hit th' hay!)
He ain't got no time to strum a git'tar an' croon to a purty gal.
You'll usually find him ropin' an' a-sweatin' in a hot corral.
More'n likely them big stars lunch on caviar at th' country club,
While a cowpuncher eats beans an' bacon fer his daily grub!
In them western movies, handsome dudes ride tall in th' saddle.
A cowpoke has bowlegs frum years ridin' his cayuse astraddle.
Stunt men are handy to take th' falls fer fragile movie stars,
But a cowboy has to rough it an' can prove it by his scars!
When day is done th' movie cowboy goes home to his plush chalet.
A workin' cowboy goes to his humble bunkhouse at th' end uv day.
Cowpokes wonder why they cowboy - it shore ain't fer th' pay,
But they'll keep on a-ropin' and a-ridin' til they're old an' gray!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)