Long Couches Poems
Long Couches Poems. Below are the most popular long Couches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Couches poems by poem length and keyword.
Why Our Days Are Barren
The churches are bone empty, but sports bars are chock full!
Wal-Mart, practically a religion now and Costco, too.
With customers kneeling, adoring packed shelves
People acting like lunatic, materialistic elves.
Some do still contribute to ministries,
But prefer to spend thousands on expensive cosmetic dentistry.
We stand before mirrors and adore our bodies.
With women,cosmetics are worth each useless penny.
We attend sporting events, like any good addict does.
Or cannot leave our couches, we must see each game.
The Torah, the New Testament? Buried deep in cabinets,
As if God's word meant nothing?
We really believe Google, is the source of truth?
That has as much meaning as an old phone booth.
We each have to find our path to God,
And stop believing man is the source of peace and serenity ~how
Patheticallly odd!
Panagiota Romios
4/14/2019
If I had a semi
I would fill it with cushions and couches
I would paint Party Uber on her outsides
I would put a refrigerator in her
And a fire pit with roasting tongs
There would always be a supply of marshmallows
Graham crackers and Hershey bars always replenished
Hotdogs and fresh buns too
It would be a slumber party semi
A birthday party semi
A Super Bowl party semi
So of course, the TV set would be huge
And there would be a hostess
She would make sure your party is exactly as planned
Yes this is what I would create
I would drive my party vehicle state to state
If I had a semi
I make things with material and thread.
To show you I care.
Beautiful pillows for you to lay your head,
Colorful quilts and bedspreads
That you can take anywhere.
I make things with material and thread
For you to decorate your homestead.
I love your expression as I share
Beautiful pillows for you to lay your head.
Some are done in pink and red
The kittens are a pair.
I make things with material and thread
To some this seems out dated, but it isn't
Dead.
In this day and time these things are rare.
Beautiful pillows for you to lay your head
As well as to fit on your couches, chairs,
And trundlebeds.
One thing is for sure these things I make
Aren't found anywhere.
I make things with material and thread
Beautiful pillows for you to lay your head.
We are both bruised and beaten
Thanks to our new puppy, cone dog
He was neutered five days ago
He cannot get through the giant doggie door
We have to leave the front door propped open
Raccoons and opossums are living in here with us now
Cone Dog pushes us around from room to room
We have sharp red cone marks on our buttocks and our legs
My screaming husband was pushed into the office a second ago by Cone Dog.
I cringe as I watch the cone flinging couches out of the dog's path.
Our dog, Buddy, is using his enormous cone like a giant cow catcher
The raccoons and opossums are tired of it too.
I watch them sneak out the door, and I yell "Wait for me!"
She drags them in
She drags them out
She wears some once,
Others are never worn at all.
She is a clothes horse
A fashionista, a diva.
She has two walk in closets,
And converts a bedroom into another one.
Are all of these clothes for her?
Where will she put all of these shoes?
Bam. She makes another bedroom into a shoe closet.
Pretty soon we have to dine there in between shoes and boots.
Amazon boxes are arriving daily.
Her house is pregnant with them, about to burst.
She has run out of room. Will she buy a new house?
Will she throw something out? She begins to stack couches
For she likes buying furniture too.
When will she have enough?
Or will she just die there, trying to punch her way out?
There’s a world under all that snow
a world I’d like to get to know
Lots of bug-type critters, I imagine
sporting faces dark and ashen
No, no – that won’t do
winter must be positive too
Perhaps they’re playing hearts or bridge
downing cold drinks from the fridge
Or watching ‘Bug-TV’ from makeshift couches
of leaves, twigs or damp grass with their spouses
Every Spring I promise myself to ask them what gives underground
Maybe this is the year when that question I propound
Mrs. C and Mrs. H. had a little competition
They did not call it that, but their husbands knew.
It was a baking challenge, not featured on TV.
and their men benefited big time from it.
Mrs. C. held a coffee at her house on Tuesdays.
She served scrumptious desserts with whipped cream.
One time there was a pastry with oozing blueberries.
Today her concoction was stacked high with pancakes.
Mrs. H. would ooh and ahh and comment, but secretly seethe.
Her coffees were on Thursdays, and it was difficult to top Mrs. C’s pastries.
The husbands begged to come along, knowing what treat was in store.
On Thursday Mrs. H. served a quintessential peach cobbler.
They have done it again! The men retired to their couches for naps.
The women congratulated each other.
That is two days a week we can do what we want, they agreed.
Loving that they had put their husbands into a diabetic trance of sorts.
While looking for a bridge
to cross over tonight
Connecting time honored values
to internet blight
I thought and I pondered,
as I surfed on the net
But the things that it offered
were sadly abject
Where is the laughter,
the thrill of the chase
Through forest and meadow,
with all of your mates
Gone is the connection,
looking eye into eye
Replaced with an I-pad,
and virtual lies
The children are programmed,
their bits and their bytes
With screens the new playgrounds,
their couches—their life
Where all of this leads,
I’m fearful to know
As I look for that bridge,
where our youth can still go
To return from the chaos,
to a welcoming time
Where friendships were made,
in a tree you just climbed
But the harder I search,
the dimmer it gets
Quicksand reinvented,
their minds it besets
Though cards stack against me,
I remain on my quest
The young are still worth it
—and hope never rests
(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2017)
We sat in clusters, on couches, giggling at the antics of the wild ones, the PP’s.
Aka popular peers, who were dancing with self confidence that oozed into the walls.
The PP’s were gyrating to folksongs, flinging each other over furniture, laughing also.
Their laughs made our laughs sound muted and staid until we had a bit more liquor.
Suddenly we were up dancing, part of the PP’s. No, better than the PP’s because….
Our extrovert-ism had dissipated; we were now glib and extravagant, glitzy and glamorous.
My best girls were kicking their feet into the air with a natural loss of inhibition.
I was the highest kicker of all, felt like a Rockette at Music Hall, only prettier.
Some guy laughed and pointed to our group of dancing Barbies. I smiled big time.
Flashing him my best “who gives a cranium” look, for my cranium was now dancing.
I had turned fluid, my appendages were flipping and flopping. I was unleashed.
A wild fox in the middle of a barely lit cavern of wild foxes. There had never been such a party.
Best party I ever attended, someone said in my ear. It was my friend Sadie.
She was totally utterly unabashedly in the world of Alice; and this was the tea party.
The mad hatter was the next person to catch my eye. I threw back my head like a pony.
Dancing so hard, that my heels made the clopping sounds of a seventeen hand high stallion.
If I never attended another party as long as I lived, it would be okay now.
For I was fifteen, and this party of all parties, made me feel joyful and pretty.
These feelings were terrific. This party gave me enough enthusiasm to last for the rest of my life.
A Cheshire cat was grinning at me from the couch. I gave him a flippant happy wave.
Written 12-6-2020
Contest: Party Folk Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
I must have had a wild time last night.
I don't remember it all, or any of it actually.
But there are cookies in my right-hand over
the shoulder bolder holder container.
Chocolate chip.
Quite tasty, too.
Homemade.
And my shoes are on the roof again.
Okay, one shoe, one boot. I'm assuming
their matches have slid down onto the other side.
Which means off the roof, and they have landed in the koi pond again.
The dog is asleep on her back with her tongue hanging out.
The cat is furious, because it's eleven seconds past her
"Better-give-me-my-food this minute time.
The milk is in the oven, and there are wet
clothes slung on every couch and chair
in the house, and we've got 5 couches
and 19 chairs, there being two of us
living here and all.
Yes, I must have had a wild time last night.