Long Clamps Poems
Long Clamps Poems. Below are the most popular long Clamps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clamps poems by poem length and keyword.
Paul suffered a stroke at the young age of ten,
He was born 3rd October 1985 in Swansea,
He had been a keen footballer, it was his den,
So was introduced to table tennis for his tee.
At the age of sixteen he was selected for GB,
For the Paralympic team which goes everywhere,
And immediately won team bronze, dexterity,
At the European Championships, he had dare.
He took part in the Beijing and London Paras,
But was tots disappointed at his performance,
But in 2013 Paul collected very many medals,
In the Hungary, Slovenia and Slovak dance.
So in the land of Italy at the European Champs,
Paul picked up a bronze with mate Will Bayley,
Won the US Open in San Diego with clamps,
So that in 2014’s China Worlds, a bronze relay.
Vejle in Denmark, 2015, and Paul won silver,
At the Euro Champs in the team competition,
And he also won in the singles a bronze feather,
‘Cos his opponent had home crowd adulation.
At the Lignano Master Open in Italy in 2016,
He proudly won team silver and singles bronze,
Which selected him for Rio but he was beaten,
In the group matches. Born with energy, eons.
As I watch the rain coming down in measured bursts onto the dark waters of the vast bayou.
My mind notes the watery circles and bubbles that trace alligators asleep in the slough.
I check my lines as the sun goes down. The wind fights me at every turn, causing my boat to rock.
I've got three dead gators in the skiff. For cash, I'll trade them when my boat shimmies up to the dock.
I snooze and wake to find that my boat has drifted to the bank where a bait line is stretched taut.
Thrashing sounds in the water let me know this one's big. Grabbing my gun, I aim for a sure shot.
It happens not. The muscular creature slips under the boat, then tugs on the line till he's free.
He crawls to land! I jump from the boat! Etched in my mind is, 'It must be Big Mel. This one's for me.'
I track him through sodden grasses, cracked twigs, fetid mud, until at the end, his swath disappears.
It's getting dark and I must return. Getting lost in a woods full of gators stokes my fears.
I arrive at the skiff, stepping carefully over gators and sad at losing Big Mel's gain.
Suddenly, Big Mel lunges from hiding and clamps down on my leg. At first, I can't feel the pain.
In the brisk of a minute, pain shoots through my body. My leg, as if on fire, feels burning hot.
Thank God for my rifle. Though trembling, I grab it and aim, bringing down Mel in a single shot.
One dead gator and one almost dead man! My mangled leg gushes blood as I get to the pier.
"Big Mel got me" , I yell, as I'm pulled from the boat. Willie gives me first aid, but is the end near?
Willie is my friend through and through, and he drives me to the hospital in his new seafood van.
The guys on the dock take care of my gators. In fact, Big Mel ended up in a gumbo pan.
The years have gone by as I retell this story. "Grandpa, tell it again" my grandkids still beg.
But the last time that I told it, the youngest one said, "Grandpa, Is that how you lost your left leg?"
A dull-looking scuffed up ebony toolbox full of pure happiness,
Sat in the back of Charley’s old green Chevy pick-up truck,
Waiting for him to drink his three cups of coffee.
“Another adventure!” the wrench said to the clamps.
The tools knew that Charley would be using them today for sure.
He had thrown a tarp, some paint cans, and his can of nails in last night.
They were eager to get started, happy to see what they would be building.
“Here he comes!” the hammer said. “Silence!” There was instant compliance.
The tools shook with exuberance, feeling today’s adventure.
Would they be building a window seat, porch, deck? Someone’s park bench?
“SHHHH!” the pliers cautioned them. “He is getting in!”
Charley had no idea they were aware he was lifting souls
One project at a time. A simple carpenter, with a good soul…
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.”
A gentle hush fell over the pond
The crickets ceased their evening song
Many jewel-toned feathers circled and flew
And perched as tonight's "Idol" audience grew
Poor little bird looks out from his tree top place
His voice must enthrall them in the "Idol" race!!
He must choose the right song, and be a hit,
Just one more chance is all he gets!
Oh My! He sees Jennifer Lovebird, soft feathered, and fair
And Steven Tucan, in the judging chair!!
Ol’ Randy Jaybird with his ‘Hot Dog’ hoots!
Oh dear, this poor little songbird, is shaking in his boots!
With stage fright, he fears his chance is bleak
He opens up his tiny beak
With not even one tender note, so sweet
All he can muster, is one awful squeak!!
Quickly, Ryan Redbrest flaps his wings....hops to the branch
And clamps him shut, without a glance!
Poor little bird,....! He's lost his chance!
To sing among the tallest trees,
To win the prize, with songs to please...
Or be a part of history! :(
So off he flies, into the breeze....!
-------------------------------------------------------------------
For Francine Roberts Contest "Enough!"
Dan's on the mezzanine
asking where the mayor lives
I'm on the dole line,
wondrin bout conservatives
The man with the leg cramps
boot camps wheel clamps
says they cut his food stamps.
Look out son,
he’s packin a gun:
God knows why
Pat Boone, full moon
someone's gonna die soon.
Del's on welfare,
Donald Trump is real pissed:
give 'em all health care?
What are we? Socialists?
Thinks I'm Harry Lime:
street crime, sub-prime,
now you're working part-time.
Look out boy,
you're only a goy:
don't revere teachers,
don't obey no preachers.
Jen's on Fox News
talkin bout the bank crash
wanna get some real views?
What about the trailer trash?
Read about Goldilocks
Botox bobbysocks
modelled by Amanda Knox.
Look out, Joe,
you're spoiling the show.
Don't watch features,
don't dance in the bleachers.
Get hired, get fired,
get rich, get stitched,
get tired, get wired,
get hitched, get ditched.
They got the cops at backstop,
Al Gore keeping score
'tween the Poors
and Dirt-Poors,
'tween the Haves
and Have-Mores.
John Wayne's vanished.
He's off to learn Spanish.
We are going to see a lot of changes, happen in the days to come
A time of serious reflection, into the many places we come from
As we are faced with challenges, we will stay united and strong
Everything good is worth restoring and we resist what is wrong
Patience is worthy, while truth and justice have a way to prevail
The time for celebration will make its way to soon set sail
We will live life to the fullest, breathe each gifted breath of air
Clipping clamps from our wings, fly above holdings of despair
And as we fly like eagles through the open sky, thanking Lord
We will know, the American Dream is not lost, but restored!
Heidi Sands
10/12/19
FLORIDA NATURE
Sky-high beech trees tower my head; big parasol to earthly grounds
Sun smiles gold drenching blue skies; warm breeze whish swaying luscious leaves
Nature tickles round brown eyes, blushing rose hugs Eden
Mistrels' tweet beckon ears to hear; classy stork flap it's wings to fly
River running slow, clear as crystals, rumble soft: hush and gush. . .
Bubbly creations, when will you know, our globe a heaven's rest?
Salad fishes darting across~~ watchful fellow shows haunting moves
Jolly chin-up catching around, tumbles along, giggles clang
Hopping squirrel, biting teeth clamps on fish, poor fellow screams!
Yellow blossoms blow fragrant smell; tall green bushes whispered groans and moans
brushing life atop dullness-- left to right then fast and slow
amidst this wild, how will I possess, some innocent eyes?
_______________________________________________________________
***Inspired by Robert Butler's painting: WILD SYMPHONY
3:35 pm, March 05, 2015
It is hard to write
About Dad.
I feared him
As long as he lived,
Still do.
It’s sixty-two years since he died.
He’s still alive in my dreams,
A little shorter,
Just as bald,
Never a smile.
Dad expired when I was nineteen.
His disdain for me outlived him by four.
My fear has abated little,
Terror is a trap that clamps tight—
If you amputate
That part of you dies too.
Failure, anger, and resentment
Not all setbacks make us sour.
You’ve had your share no doubt—
I hear you keep your cheer.
Dad hired on as the church gravedigger
(a job that suited him).
First holiday I came home from boarding school,
He asked me to help dig a grave
For Uncle Joe, his brother-in-law.
Watching me peck away at the ground
Frozen four feet down
He seemed, for the first time, content.
Next time I saw him look
Satisfied was at his wake
The priest mumbling prayers,
Mother wailing, tears in my eyes,
One hundred fifty at his side.
I saw a twinkle in his eye,
Someone else had dug the hole for him.
Thumb crush caterpillar fuzz follicle woven wire bent
Pipe cleaner indetectibly clamps fluttery paper crepe
Tiny tear splinter injury etched on crinkled parchment
Puncture forms an institute to forthwith contemplate
Together classified as flower, louloudia beauty flaunt
Plumage lurid thrives beside finite petal flop contrast
Tactical iron hand velvet glove primes formal contort
Proclamations crafted after careful strategy prefaced
Ruffled rogue construct erects its garish occupation
Origami hegemony laughs at limp stemmed genuine
Traditional rotted rose heavy heads rely on hydration
Pointed silver skewer stamen expands phenomenon
Sixteenth February
- Pseudo Society -