Long Crockery Poems
Long Crockery Poems. Below are the most popular long Crockery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crockery poems by poem length and keyword.
If Christ in his triumph and glory
Decides to unravel a new chapter and story
By returning from whence he departed,
He shall in stupefaction be started,
To find out this wanton era
Has indeed, bested Sodom and Gomorrah.
He shall stagger to behold
A frail and lackadaisical Bi Mvondo on hold,
Exorcising with his magical wand
For still more dominion over the land.
He shall in horror watch
Men courting men as women watch,
Holding hands and darting pecks,
wantonly on chests and necks.
He shall the Levites behold in dismay
Roaming Inns both home and away,
Presiding over unclad bodies with an exposed scrotum,
A duty, absent on their holy curriculum.
He shall wince at the sight of the brewery,
And gape at the sight of the Levites' golden crockery.
For which the masses residing in carnage
Have been plundered and pillaged.
Shuddering, He shall run back to His Father
And on his way, pen an apology letter, to Sodom and Gomorrah.
© Temajung Michael T.
I saw it there and stopped for a while,
perched dainty at the top of the pile
of crockery, grubby, crazed and old
at the yard sale, waiting to be sold.
A teacup; white dots on baby blue;
the same my mother would sip her brew
of pale Earl Grey, in her Sunday best,
though only on days we had a guest;
usually her mother, my gran.
On matching plate, a strawberry flan
they ate, poured more tea, smoked cigarettes
talked about their woes and rising debts.
Other times, the cups were put away
in a glass cabinet, on display.
My sister and I would take them out
pour pretend tea from the teapot’s spout.
We always thought our mother didn’t know
she did; we found out a while ago.
“How much for the old blue cup,” I say
“ten cents,” he said, took it right away.”
April and the clocks forward spring,
our cricket practice gets in full swing.
Nets to untangle from their poles,
players to call and enrol.
Gang mowers to grease and oil,
the team kit-bag to disembroil.
Green stained pads to whiten bright,
fixture lists to expedite.
Mend the sight screen's rickety panels,
coax another season from my flannels.
Wash and iron the umpire's coats,
the score-box to creosote.
Tea urns to scour,crockery to rinse and clean..
a team captain's tasks routine,and unseen.
Cricketers good,indifferent,unsung,
across this land in a timeless sport played for fun.
It's considered bad manners if you pickup your food
with the fingers that extend out from your paws
So many traditions surround
these inane culinary laws
Some days ago I watched a kookaburra
prepare a piece of meat
So unlike a human who need
a knife and fork for everything they eat
First he/she took it in his beak, thumped it on the turf
did it several times until a piece broke off
Then he opened up his beak, tilted back his head
downed this mini morsel with a mighty scoff
Humans are the only species that maintains a large variety of utensils
to prepare their food and then do dine
Followed up with crockery
to scull a glass of wine
Set the table, put cutlery in its place
add a clean white napkin on which you wipe your face
Me I prefer to be like the laughing kookaburra
Pick my fruit and park myself beneath a spreading shady tree
to dine in peace and eat my fare, much more naturally
you have it together
you clear up all my bad weather
without you i am crockery
many hath made such a mockery
however here i am
there you are....one who doth giveth a damn
i am loving being One with you
for one like me there but a few
one day i just looked up and there you were
all that was my past was suddenly a perfect shade of blur
you started shaping a New Future, and i had not the vision
you began the task of opening my closed eyes, which turned out to be quite the mission
i admit i was living in my own cess pool of lies
you exposed me for what i really was, a blind fool in deep disguise
you are now my custom made three piece suit Blessing
if i would not have looked up that Fate-Full Day, i would still be simply existing and still guessing
It's a wonder young children still turn out all right
With the stuff that gets crammed in their heads every night.
Things like visions of sugar plum fairies and sprites,
Or a thousand tales of Arabian delights,
A frog who turns prince with a kiss from a lass,
A girl who goes dancing in slippers of glass,
A cow that gets high and jumps over the moon,
A crockery dish that elopes with a spoon,
A boy who can fly but refuses to grow,
A difficult girl who plants maids in a row,
A magician who wants to trade old lamps for new,
A woman so poor she must live in a shoe,
A waif who sells matches out in the cold,
A king who can touch things and turn them to gold,
A dog, an old woman, a cupboard that's bare,
A girl locked in a tower, a ladder of hair,
A magical wheel that spins gold out of straw,
A guy helps a lion with a thorn in its paw,
A girl wearing red visits grandma who's resting,
Finds a wolf in her nightdress and Granny digesting,
Three kids and a wardrobe, three men share a tub,
A brave tailor kills seven mean flies with a club,
An archer makes merry with men in the woods
While relieving the rich of their money and goods,
Kind huntsman, fair princess, a vain evil queen,
Seven dwarves, and a prince who gets caught in between,
Hateful fairy, a baby, a hundred-year snit
'cause her name's accidentally left off a guest list,
A piper who lures out of town rodent varmints,
An emperor with new but invisible garments,
A farmer's wife butchers three handicapped mice,
A house drops on top of a witch who's not nice,
While another with gingerbread children seduces
Then gets baked by some twins in her own savory juices,
A giant and a beanstalk, a cat who wears boots,
A wolf who's outfoxed by three pigs in cahoots,
A bad little boy who sticks fingers in pies,
And another of wood whose nose grows when he lies.
There are others, of course, far too many to mention,
But I hope these will serve to excite some attention.
With stories like these knocking 'round in their heads,
It's no wonder if kids toss and turn in their beds.
Yet throughout countless ages these stories survive,
Kids listen, and dream them, and still wake up alive,
No worse for having been charmed or affrighted,
Imaginations are stoked, little minds are ignited,
And continue to hold them in dear veneration
As they pass them along to the next generation.
Everything I buy to touch or taste
is made in China, made in China
leave alone my china set, even my toothpaste
is made in China, made in China.
From my pencils to my stencils
to the golden locks on my stylish lockers
all bore labels of 'made in China' in block capitals
and that explains thriving doorbell hawkers.
And for 'economical' me, stuff made in China
does hold a lot of frugal charm
Comes all the way from China, my granny's parka
About 'made in China' I've never had any qualms.
And because I don't intend to fritter away
hard-earned savings on any frippery
for 'made in china' alone shall my purse'n' pocket pay
and don't they play their part perfectly,
both my 'made in China' stereo and frisbee?
And all that 'made in China cutlery and crockery
is just as fragile and breakable as any other
All my life I've stuck to made in China stationery
and their costs haven't been any exorbitant so far.
L
I have seen latest High quality samsung Chinese cellphones
My TV a longlasting decade old, yes chinese Hitachi brand
You can wisely avoid debts and loans
purchasing brand new grand stuff from
the Chinese land
And then to my surprise I discovered
that many people both here and abroad
tended to buy things made in the land of the Great Wall
for similar reasons: esp they're easier to afford.
Ah, I don't like the idea of squandering away
or thoughtless wasting of wealth
No one could ever make a spendthrift out of me
For that would be unhealthy for budget health!
To refrain from prodigality and unfeeling extravagancy
'made in China' seems to me the solution
Let millionnaires make-believe that only the costly has quality
for I ain't gonna buy that pricey notion!
Oh, how we are poisoned!
The Yonega, the Wasichu,
a new creature,
different from us in more than just their
white skin and sunflower hair.
They come to our people with gifts of death.
Their ulcers wrapped in calico cloth.
Their fevers traded to us for our good food.
Baskets of evil spirits in jars of glass
and crockery made by hands not their own.
Pouring toxins, shame and sloth,
into our proud warriors.
Our people are blinded by their shiny metals
and made deaf to the ancient beat of our ancestors drums.
We weave their stories into the braids of our youth
who forget the stories of our people.
Oseronni eyes of blue and green
cannot see the wind that moves the land,
shaping it and making the soil sing.
Sunlight steals their sight.
Mother Earth and Father Sky, and Brother River
nourishes the Three Sisters who sustain us
with their corn, squash, and beans.
They are offended and leave us to our folly.
The white man teaches us dishonesty and sloth,
making of our backs the bow
that draws the arrows
that break our hearts.
The bone in our back bends our faces to mother earth.
The only color left to us is
the crimson in each salty tear that falls.
Oh, how we are poisoned!
The CRUNCHING of tyres on the gravelly driveway
The CLANG of the garden gate sharply closing
The CLICK of the key in the lock
The old door CREAKING open on its hinges
The SNAP of the light switch to brighten the house
The SWISH of the curtains being drawn
The CLATTER of crockery being laid on the table
The GUSH of water from the tap into the kettle
The WHISPER ,HISS and SPLUTTER of the boiling kettle
The annoying SLURP of a GULP of tea
The CHORTLE of laughter around the table
The SCRAPING of chairs being drawn back
The CRACKLE of the open fire in the sitting room
The SCRATCH of a match to light the pipe
The comfort of being indoors at the first CLAP of thunder
The even more comforting CLINK of glasses for a safe homecoming
i treasure each moment i am alone with you
time stands still until it becomes a nothing but vapor
a gentle breeze blessing add decorum to the lovely vibe
we kick our old lonelinesses in the head completely reconstruct our respective minds
waves of spectacular splendor consumes us like ocean breeze massages under starry island skies
infedelity and dishonesty are in the landfills of the past
broken promises and unexpected discoveries are in the closed case files of our respective minds
we are where we wanna be under the auspices of a Perfect Simplicity
i admire you as my Benevolent Angel on this smooth flowing cruise of Felicity
God is the Ultimate Magician....for only He can turn a depressed, compressed crockery into a sublime, refined form of Gold