Long Close out Poems
Long Close out Poems. Below are the most popular long Close out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Close out poems by poem length and keyword.
Happy Endings
A long day in the office is just a prelude
to the kaleidoscopic formations
gathered beneath store front close out sales
and pigeon feathers as I head for the station,
the five o’clock hopefully on time
Strolling down the naked street,
I follow brick facades and paint chipped doorways,
listening to music from open windows above,
static to the sleeping trios
with silenced violins in cases of quarters
Whiskey bottle wind chimes
tinkle on the curb in high pitched sonatas
floating on waters from washed dogs and cars,
denting front lawns in tread mark stupidity
as the city pulls out the stops
Sirens join in the festivities,
out of tune with hopes for happiness,
but running red lights just the same
as envious teenagers fall from death metal
logo’d skateboards, tearing already torn jeans
And as I wonder why no one smiles anymore,
a yellow cab stops, the back window rolls down
“Need a lift buddy?” and before I can answer
I see her as she pats the seat next to her
and motions me in
As the car pulls away I ask, “Where we headed?”
“To the sunset, I hear it’s beautiful this time of day”
she giggles then leans over and kisses me
“How was your day handsome?” she asks like a song
“Perfect now, I just love happy endings”
Memorial tribute to my pup Cale 17 October 2014 to 5 June 2015
The scar that’s cut inside of me, sucks the living life from me. Just one more moment spent with you, that’s all I’m living for.
I know that it can never be, but hope I do and hope is free. Just one more moment spent with you, that’s all I’m living for.
My constant yearn to have you close, out of all I’ve lost, I miss you most. An unmet wish for one last kiss, that’s all I’m longing for.
What gifts you gave in your short life, unconditional love, pure and true, helped me through much trouble and strife. Just one more moment spent with you, that’s all I’m living for.
Form:
Finally got home in the dead of a cold night
With the Gators starting to pull away in this holiday fight
It seems like this is the end to the day full of games
That featured college students who are establishing their names
Big plays abound during the time when tourists are doing the South Florida town.
Granted the suits behind the desks talked California roses
Which could see many professional gridiron proposes
But that was not all since the halftime gave Gavin De Graw the call
To play his keys during the halftime festivities
With dancers on the ground the crowd must have loved the sound
As the second half is ready to take place it seems like the track meet is ready for the OB race.
It slowed down a bit
As the score seemed to be very fit
Despite not being in the swamp the Gators seemed to get what they want
But the VA stood tall despite their backs to the wall
But soon during a nice drive Jefferson would see his memorial when the Gator stole one in the same way if they snatched an Oriole.
You see the Gator had a run knowing they needed to close out the spread to be told they were done
But TJ defense stood tight in this money fight
He wasn’t going down in the battle for green
From these players who just a few years ago were teens.
With one swift kick everyone saw the spread was not a trick
But TJ had one more try to steal the treasure from the line ole English man William Hill did measure.
With the numbers that were posted
The over should have been played for those cooking the New Year’s Eve Roasted
And TJ walked away not feeling mean but pocketing the green
With a nice grin since he knows the school, he built had the win.
The days now, cold and gray
December passed with less happiness in the fray
while the quiet and solemn memory of Christmas slips away.
How long we prayed, hoped, and waited
excited, anticipating, and debated
the arrival of that joyous day fated.
Christmas carols on the radio stations played
long before the coming of the happy day
on Thanksgiving in the rush of living in the virus fray.
Children made lists, precise and intense
knowing most parents would not spare any expense
while less fortunate, could only think about their meals and rent.
The age of the 2020 year brought more sadness and tears
and as the New Year hung in the distant churn of fears
some found themselves lost in the cold denial of their peers.
Covid-19 and pandemic blues touched every me and you,
placing a depression on those of us who surely knew,
it was no hoax, not God's cruel joke, but men in their world view.
Now we close out the Christmas season
hoping for more common sense and reason
and 2021 slips in, with the light, wisdom, and blessed believings.
Butters Drippin’ From My Ears
Summer’s mostly over
I’ve not once mentioned Iowa corn.
It’s the symbol of the state
In which this rhymer’s born.
There are other places
That grows passable “sweet” corn.
I’ve eaten several others
But my druthers always torn.
In dead of winters dreary days
And it’s all the markets got
That “shipped in” product
May pacify the corn longing spot.
But when Iowa summer’s here
Weathers so hot & steamy.
There’s nothing like fresh corn
With melted butter. . . so creamy.
I’ve always thought eatin’ corn
Was the most sensible fashion reason
Hot butter drippin’ off my elbow
Makes short sleeves so now in season
We start dreaming of its coming
As soon as local gardening starts
Sweet corn & vine ripe tomatoes
Are close to this old couples hearts.
There are various spots to buy it
Lots of small, road side venders.
There are local “farmers markets”
Even “organic” stores for heavy spenders.
But my wife has a favorite seller
So weeks early we start spying.
To find that special farm fell'er
Many years his ears has been buying.
When she says, going out the door
”I’m going to see the little man”
I know I’m in for a real corn treat.
She’ll soon return with ears in hand.
It’s always cool and fresh picked
The husks are tight, the color bright.
The ears are chuck full of kernels
And almost never a bug in sight.
We get them all shucked
The waters now boiling
But the season is short
Soon there will be no more toiling.
We close out the season
Cut a few ears for the freezer.
Soon we’ll be saying “Good-by”
To this special taste “pleaser”.
Written by oldbuck after another
wonderful home cooked meal that
included “Iowa” corn on the cob.
Gus got all of those who were allowed to attend
and "available" settled in around his big oak table.
He even put in an extra leaf to accomodate,
so there was enough space to keep from
slap fights and infighting of kin. He handed out
charmingly and diplomatically, the swami hats each containing an indian feather and a bedazzle kit- stone standard. He didn't have time to personalize
a moniker, this would have to do in a pinch.
Speaking of pinching weiners, Gus had to go to the bathroom, and was potty dancing and squinching,
this whole seance thing and having the floor for
everyone's attention was getting him excited.
On his way to the bathroom, he noticed Silky had
already fashioned his into a pimp hat,
cocked to the side as he slapped Penney for good measure to help break the hat in.
Penney fashioned hers into a pirate hat and shot Silky a look of smug mutiny. Kenny was too busy dealing
Vatican 2 pedopriest some product to personalize his for the moment. Gus pulled the hat from LizPiggo's
mouth and made his way, forgetting he locked
Nancy and Chuck in there and took a two story wiz
out the window. What a story! they were embarking
on indeed, was all he could think about,
except for the fact that he couldn't use the kitchen
sink because he couldn't find his step stool and
the arc of his stream no matter how proficient his trajectory would go all over the floor on re entry
unless he jumped toward the sink in the final throes.
He remembered what happened last time.
Wet floors and jumping were a wicked mix.
After he heard the voices seemingly coming from somewhere close "out there", he shook
the distraction off
and resolved to get back in there and get this seance underway. The spirits needed him !...
Form:
An old house proudly on top of a hill
Shutters open letting in the winter chill
A big wide bay window lets in the light
Bright Red Curtains can close out the night
Inside the window there is a seat so as to sit and stare
And gaze out at the view that’s available there
She sits there daily till the Postman passes
A stout young man who wears horned rimmed glasses
Who always waves and gives her a smile
As he wends his way for many a mile
She’s waiting for news of her true loves fate
The one that waved good bye at the Garden Gate
As he went off to war for King and country
Disappearing from view as he passed the old Plum Tree
To fight in a war so far very away
Will he ever return she thinks to herself every day
The thought of him having left her all alone makes her sad
Now she feels that she may lose everything they had
They are so much in love and now to be separated like this
All she has are memories of their last kiss
So that’s why she sits in her Window Seat
Looking so pretty in her dress so neat
Awaiting the words that will bring her joy
That he’s coming home to her and their little boy
Tommy is only five years old
And only knows what he has been told
That his daddy has gone off to war far away
But hopefully he will return some day
His mother Alice tries her best
To raise him right shield him from all the rest
Now she sits for today’s post
Until it arrives she does the most
To keep Tommy amused and off to school each day
And has done so each and every day
Suddenly she sees the postman approaching near
Suddenly her heart is filled with fear
Will he bring news of her love so dear
He hands her a letter marked confidential from the war department
And inside is news of her one true love that makes her feel content
Her one true love is coming home in a few days
The war is over he has survived the letter says
The postman realizes it must be good news at last
Now all her troubles may now be in the past
He has a wide smile and bids her goodbye
And travels on his merry way with a lasting sigh
Whistling a tune as he goes out of sight
Alice is back in her window seat the future looking bright
All well that ends well but she appreciates how lucky she is
They will be together again free to live in bliss
Imagine for a second
that the entire Afghanistan affair
were a baseball game between two archrivals.
The United States Rainbow Eagles and the Taliban Death Stars
The Eagles start the game with their ace pitcher
who is pitching a no-hitter for 8 2/3 innings.
But as it were, he blows his arm out and can't finish the game.
Their coach, Joe "the sniffer" Biden (a Likeable but well past his prime sort of fellow)
despite having a great relief pitcher in the bullpen
decides to go with an untested rookie
to close out the one-sided game.
To nobody's surprise (but Coach Sniffer), the Taliban Death Stars rally
getting hit after hit and run after run
and close the gap rapidly.
Much to everyone's amazement
Coach Sniffer sticks with the rattled rookie
and the Taliban Death Stars surge
ahead for a stunning victory.
After the game, Coach Sniffer bleats "c'mon man!" to no one in particular...
Then dips his silver head and takes his battered team out for a consolation ice cream cone.
With plenty of crushed nuts to go around.
DIS AH SO IT GO
Yeah. I me! Teacher!
Me’ah soon go where
Me Papa, long time go.
So, inna English, me’a
Teach and tell ya dis:
The oppressor tried,
But, could not extinguish us.
So they mentally castrated
Our spirit and righteousness
And psychologically injected us
With their Oppressor Syndrome:-
Now we engage in self-eradication,
Leaving the oppressors relaxing
And enjoying themselves on beaches,
As we engage in doing their eradicating,
Oppressive, labors of hate for them:-
Listen, we can continue to do and be
The children of the devil, or forever be
The blessed children of almighty Jah.
Our ancestors–with less–in labors of love
And Jah’s navigation did so much
In the battle for justice and liberation
That we, with more, would have less to do.
Why then, out of many, we who are one people,
Can be so devoted to reducing ourselves to zero
For the wicked ones who desiccated the fertile womb
Of our ancestral Motherland, and now seek
To do likewise in our adopted homeland?
Indeed, it is what it is, but it does not have to be so,
And should, in no way, be allowed to be so.
Thus, I close out this awareness lesson with reference
To the greatest “textbook” ever written for us:
“Finally, brethren…[and sisters]...whatsoever things are honest,
Whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are lovely,
Whatsoever things are of good report: if there be any virtue,
And if there be any praise, think on these things.”
Ah So It Go: In the onderful
Oneness of the onement
Of Jah, Peaceandlove.
:
HOSTAGE OF ONE NIGHT
what is his name she asks
but i refuse to tax my mind
though the memory of him
hovers, the one who stole
my virginity, caused my shame
what is his name she asks
for in the beginning i did not tell
sheltered in my deepest mind
divulged when a loved one died
what is his name, will it pop up tonight
in my dreams...i’ve long ago closed the door
but now this monstrous thing hovers
closing in once more...i almost see him
and his sister too and the darkest night
wants to preside in the daylight
through fog and wandering nerves
i still remember clearly...where,
when, what, why. there’s no goodbye
clothing ruthlessly thrown on stairs,
stained, a yellow bodice unsnapped
the scintilla of a window open
my eyes close out the “no” i screamed
in the end i remember
and can’t forget
afterall
9/29/2018