Long Cupboards Poems
Long Cupboards Poems. Below are the most popular long Cupboards by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cupboards poems by poem length and keyword.
Friday night's here at last ...lets have a blast.
Teenagers dash to discos ...ready to dance
to throbbing beats and combo drums
rythm and blues....kicked off shoes
as rock and roll pours out the heat..
Swaying along... couples dance and sing
swinging to the beat ...that's everything.
reggae to hip hop....... rap and soul
stir up emotions but take its toll.
Kissing and necking .....lips close around bottle necks
draining the draft.....drowning the thought of dreary days gone by
no thought of days to come...or care about outcome.
Older women start weekend cleaning.
Scouring cupboards, doing laundry,
dusting tops... flying mops
vacuming carpets...putting out garbage
no end in sight for the chores to be done
till the night is come and work is done
they slog and clean... till everything gleams.
Old men hurry to the corner bars
for a drink, a chat and a meeting with pals
to watch the wrestling match.....on the TV screen.
Till mignight they stay.. drinking their way through
bottles of beer, whiskey and rum
till their eyes water...and tongues grow numb.
Home to their wives they weave a crooked path
can't even see their way in the dark
Cursing themselves for drinking too much
now sitting ducks for thugs on the watch.
They wake up next morning asleep on the couch
shoes in their pockets ......stale breath in their mouths.
Money's gone...so too are wife and sons.
yet never has there been a house so clean.
Have they learnt a lesson...we shall never know
for the habits continue every Friday night
No one seems to get it right
Enjoy your weekends....but maintain self - repect
for when that is lost...what comes next.?
In summer re: I haint getting undressed!
Hence donning entire wardrobe,
Saint Nick outfit including,
while trumpeting think spring
argh only about four plus months away
lest some big bird willingly
takes me under their wing
undiscovered since I won't be peaking,
nor quacking duck like
prompts yours truly xing
to tropical rainforest
playing Tarzan and swing
from a vine, while Jane and Cheetah
(sometimes billed as
Cheetah, Cheta, and Chita)
spend hours shopping
upon returning home stock
pantry and house zing
cupboards stacked chock full of
goodies fit for average king doubling
up as Santa Claus gaining
weight courtesy snack foods like
Yodels, Little Debbies, Ring Ding...
thence outsize tummy doth happily sing
Christmas Carols practicing
all year round, especially
hoe hoe hoe wing
nsync with crops germinating
bending, stooping, watering... weeding
abiding techniques organic farming
naturally whenever possible mission avoiding
distributing, generating, impacting
ecological damage, viz carbon footprint
cheerily, humorously proselytizing
landlubbers (land lovers with lisp)
courtesy sweat of one's brow reaping
robust healthy crops - only allowing
enabling, and employing...
eco-friendly deterrents
bajillion green thumbs up
approved by Greta Thunberg
greenlighting her inspiration
to awaken global warming
hence first dibs when harvesting
season this after she subtly,
nonchalantly, enviously... seen eyeing
analogous vis a vis
hungry critters salivating
(think Pavlov's dog)
to savor NON GMO eye watering
delectable, honorable, laudable...
yumzook produce bespeaking
please help yourself
fast forward months later finding
das overly dressed mistir shivering
despite heavily bundled
nature's vegetarian smorgasbord
brutal coldspell faintly recalling
pitch perfect weather eventually returning.
Winter is approaching.
I feel it in my floorboards; in my baseboards;
in every nook and cranny.
I wait to be filled again at this time of Thanksgiving, and
As I wait, sounds of the past linger in my consciousness:
The excited moans of the men and of the women (some of whose
first introduction to me came from being carried across my threshold)
as they lay close together in their bed late at night;
The strange incessant wailing of babies that later arrived -
wailing that later changed, more often than not, into squeals of glee.
Some of the families I sheltered engulfed me with heaviness.
In those years, I was assaulted by loud shouting,
much like the barking of dogs from outside.
Those shouts were often met by shrill hysterical screams
or even by the sad sobs of children.
One sound stays with me like a ghost: the quiet weeping
of one lone occupant who held a gun to his head.
In an instant I felt his blood splatter against my walls.
I prefer to remember the touch of the children:
their small smudged fingers exploring my kitchen cupboards;
their tiny warm bodies scooting across my tiles.
On one unusual occasion, a child scribbled happily
on my bathroom walls with bright Crayola colors.
After the explosion of his mother’s angry words,
the bathroom was transformed, and with magic paper
a small part of me was wearing the figures of gold and purple fish.
Forty times or more I’ve been left; then re-inhabited.
Several times I’ve been overhauled: my carpet torn out, a new one laid;
my doors and my fixtures changed for modern ones;
my furnace and my pipes (even once a ceiling) - all replaced.
But lately, I’ve felt so weary, and even renovated, I’m feeling out of place.
Just last month as I was emptied and cleaned for the umpteenth time,
I heard the newest landlord tell his wife:
We won’t have to put up with this crap anymore -
not after we get the offer from those guys who want to build a mall.
I wonder what he meant. My heat and water both have been cut off for so long.
Usually a couple is here by now. But only silence echoes through my halls,
and I’m growing so very cold.
Has anyone lived long enough,
To finish cleaning out the garage.
Has anyone lived long enough,
To see leftover room in kitchen cupboards.
Has anyone lived long enough,
To bear witness to a man who sees no need for anymore tools,
Or a woman who has no need for more shoes.
Has anyone lived long enough,
To find parents who are not living among wall-to-wall toys.
Has anyone lived long enough,
Not to be given pets as companions,
That eat better than you.
Has anyone lived long enough,
For outgoing rubbish to weigh more than what comes in.
Has anyone lived long enough,
To be taking care of only what they have accumulated.
Has anyone lived long enough,
Not to dread the words "Is this of any use to you"
When your partner is within earshot.
Has anyone lived long enough,
To say no to a plate full of Cholesterol from the well meaning neighbor,
Or the friend or partner who knows your needs better than you.
Has anyone lived long enough,
For a sticky lollipop not to end up stuck to your new suit pants.
Has anyone live long enough,
To see their children, clean up their own mess,
Before they start on yours.
I live in hope that I will be the first to do so,
And they will write poems and sing ballads in my honor,
With an invitation to write a textbook on "how to beat the odds"
For use in all schools.
My life would have been so much easier,
If someone had written one fore me
To read when I was three,
As I swear it is true,
People were sharing stuff I had no use for,
By the time I was four.
I guess some of us are just stuck with a magnetic personality,
For life.
Saturday garage sale- moving to an old heritage apartment,
Years of collecting, but lots must go, even things of contentment.
Two china cabinets, one from Mom, one Grandma, they bring a smile,
Perhaps, I can somehow keep them in wall to wall old china cabinet style.
As I go through my many things and stuff, I say why did I ever get that,
Clothing gothic, retro and vintage lace, shoes, handbags, jewelry and hats.
A broken and battered filing cabinet- it holds poetry written from my heart,
Need a new filing system for sure, should I sell, NO we can never be apart.
Vases and vases, colorful and quite dusty in my window, quite useless,
Porcelain dishes in my cupboards for years, lost in forgetfulness.
Old VHS movies, watched, outdated music and just loads, tons of stuff,
How does one say goodbye, garage sale Saturday, oh this will be so rough.
I think, I should hang on sign on myself, reading broken heart, for sale,
well suck it up as Grandma used to say and lets have a grand old garage sale.
_________________________
September 8, 2012
Poetry/Couplet/Broken Heart, For Sale
Copyright Protected, ID 09-419-262-09
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, A Poet's Garage Sale
sponsor, A Skat, Judged 10/23/2012
Ninth Place
Submitted to the Standard contest, Any Couplet You Wish II
sponsor, Laura Loo, Judged
First Place
I heard cries
saw swarms of fist
crack heavens walls
I knew at a ripped age, how
and how not to be.
Nights, I held these ears closed
in hopes to drown this house
that shook like an earthquake.
I learned to pick up clouds of
body parts that lingered from
stormy rains
I wiped mirrors clean with bleeding
hearts, stuck in sunken repeat.
Thorns pricked these tiny fingers
as I placed mishaps of I Love Yous
in glass jars.
I saw my mothers pinched face in a
constant contortion of why's, masked
by pleasing smiles to ease the thunderstorm
I was nine picking up shattered formalities
calling dysfunction normal
I remained quiet, hid in cupboards that
were dollhouses
But, the floods that consumed her washed ashore
and these ears were now home to roars that once
echoed in her room
Our cupboards are full of junk no one would ever eat.
My husband has this little buy-too-many groceries problem.
Especially if they are on sale.
"I'm saving you money,' says he.
Sure.
He saved me money on 9 $1 jugs of tea I took to school and the
teachers poured out in the sink.
Teachers!
The biggest scavengers on the face of the planet.
The ones who will eat or drink anything.
Usually.
I discovered two cans of a unique off-brand dog food in the
cupboard yesterday when I was in manic mood and cleaning
after 11 years of naught.
"Why didn't we give this to Sophie?" I asked.
"I tried," he admitted. "She stuck up her nose."
I saw our little pet opossum out there a few minutes later,
so I ran out and put down the off-brand dog food.
The opossum ran off,so I followed her.
Pushing the off-brand dog food closer to her lair.
At 3:30 in the afternoon it was still there,
in a giant lump. Uneaten. Untasted.
Yes, you are certainly saving me money
when even the opossum puts up her nose.
If we’d known where to look we would have seen it coming.
It was out there in the distance growing closer all the time.
Relentlessly approaching, there is no use in running.
Eventually it catches up… It happens all the time.
Crazy world is here!
Crazy world is here!
Lift your glass to sanity,
It’s all but disappeared!
Crazy world is here!
If we’d made a different turn, like right at Albuquerque,
Could it have been avoided? I guess we’ll never know.
There’s no use complaining we are just where we must be.
So, stand your ground, my brothers! There’s nowhere else to go!
Crazy world is here!
Crazy world is here!
Count out all the reasons
That we should fret and fear.
Crazy world is here!
Burn your map, it’s now outdated.
All the lines are re-arranged.
Ancient prophets claim it’s fated.
Everything was going to change…
Everything was going to change…
If you’ve not made preparations I don’t know what to tell you.
There isn’t much that you can do. The cupboards are all bare.
Just a matter of survival, now. Got to do what you must do.
Because the walls are crumbling and you can’t just stand there scared.
Crazy world is here!
Crazy world is here!
Raise your voices, sound the horns
To the new frontier!
Crazy world is here!
I'm Like a genie on a budget
you say you want a bit of your favourite cake
and BOOM I have made one.
You cannot find your favourite perfume
BOOM, One is in the post, Amazon to the rescue
Feeling tired you don’t want to cook
BOOM, A takeaway is on the way
you need a lift to go up town
BOOM, I'm your chauffeur for the day
Cupboards looking rather bare
BOOM, A bag of shopping sits outside your door
When times are hard will I lend an ear
BOOM, I have two and would love to listen
I may not own a flash motor car
Or mansion in the Caribbean
But I've got you, and that’s enough
I'm a genie on a budget
WINTER TIME GRIEF…
The long hot summer has disappeared over the horizon,
Yielding to the arrival of the cooling Fall.
Despite their approaching fate---the annual leaves’ excision,
the tower trees proudly stand firm and tall.
The steamy sticky sweaty nights have all gone
giving way to the cool ebony breeze;
horny crickets and frogs no longer sing their eerie mating song;
squirrels organize their cupboards in the hollows of the trees;
and mushrooms grow on the graves of the Fall’s fallen leaves.
In the early evens’ mist, sun of change ushered in the close of day
leaving flickering shadows hovering over time’s footprints.
Birds---angels of the sky, have spread their wings and flown away;
leaving behind empty nests to catch the winter’s coming events.
Strange, how nature’s circadian rhythms bring about change;
but in the winter season of humanity, so much remain the same.
Even in the winter cold, sable blood flows from the rape of justice:
No matter the season, the blind goddess remains a scheming mistress.