Long Deliveries Poems
Long Deliveries Poems. Below are the most popular long Deliveries by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deliveries poems by poem length and keyword.
2025.05.13
Today, not as any other days,
When I always was the first arrived at this place,
Waiting for the piano to be available,
For me to clean and press on the keyboard,
To break the sound of silence
Of the well lighted open space.
Not far away, there was a chimney
Covered under a huge cone,
They were the centre place's icons.
Some of the personnel of this Centre,
Like the security guards, the cleaner,
The maintenance workers, the new train station constructors,
The goods deliveries staff and the train commuters,
They rushed and walked pass me.
Few stopped to pay me compliments.
Lately, I could not play the piano well.
There was one other reason
But I preferred not to mention.
Have I cheesed off with the piano?
Or was I fed up with the same old songs,
Played in the last 10 months.
Lately, my memory failed me badly,
I could not play new songs at all.
Normally, I was able to remember
How the music went
After listening to them over and over again,
But, now I could not do that any more.
My emotional pain supposed to settle by now,
But some how, it flared up again
When I saw him on the Mothers' day evening.
I was sure why he was there,
What a painful excuse for him.
Once a year to show your appreciation to a person,
Who carried you inside her womb,
Especially in his case,
A single mother to raise four young children.
Also according to his descriptions,
His mother was the slowest person in the world
When learning and understanding new things.
It hurt me when hearing those words.
The way he perceived his mother,
As a person who has low IQ and not intelligent.
To me, he appeared to be a very handsome,
Fit, strong and wise mature person.
Then why he remained being unattached.
After three decades of adulthood.
Well, it was because he was too picky.
I was not suitable for him, not even as a friend,
After all, I met only 66.66% of his requirements.
We had same level of intelligent,
Shared lot of common interest,
Strongly believed in healthiness,
Had 90% of the same passion
And point of view in life.
If that was not good enough in friendship
Then I had no idea what it should be.
Good luck to him in soul mates searching,
Good luck to him in finding a soul mate with chemistry,
Last but not, in finding a partner in life and having a family.
People of sacred Cornucopias
found ourselves politically alone
competing to survive
in Earth's choking climates
of totally domesticated and over-run despair,
then neglect,
then more actively terrorizing abuses.
Corn People,
PolyCultural Planners,
greeting Yang-behaving bean bodies
growing up and into our digestive tracks
and tracts,
our speaking parts,
to sing like tassels
our Divine Corn and humane Yang-beanish ego-rising lines
of harmony
co-arising nondual Earth anthems
of graceful GreatSpirit incarnation.
Domesticating corn people
finally also meet Yin's squashed voices
flowing bilaterally out
well-grounded cooperative incorporations
intending divine corn
and Yang-bean
and Yin-squash
mutually braiding
weaving up and out
trimesters of rich
and deep
nutritional development,
with winter dormancy in-between
summerish diastasis.
Corn and Bean and Squash diversity
during August pre-birth deliveries
reduce competitive domesticating relationships
to favor cooperative democratizing trinities,
of Spirit and Body and Bilateral Flowing UnSquashed Minds.
These corny holonic domesticating resources
enjoy differentiated cultural climates,
Diverse partners prevailing
through multicultural nutritional landscapes
up and out,
down-rooting and inward feeding feeling
as outward bleeding
into each Other's Common-Space
and side-by-side solidarity reforesting times.
People of the Corn
and beans and squash,
co-domesticating temporal WinWin differentiations,
preoccupying Earth's global climate
in different times of day and night,
months and years,
transgenerational eras and stages
of mutual democratization
into trust
bean-sprouting
within interdependent pumpkin patches.
People of the Corn
invite diverse beanish vertical needs
and polypathic squashy tendril outputs
in different revolving stages
of our mutual domestication,
integrity empowered
through deep nutritional gardens
and forests of time,
like climates of Earth,
organically democratizing solidarity.
People of sacred wild Cornucopias
found ourselves politically atoned
through competing to survive
in Earth's stroking strumming climates
of globally democratizing,
healthy wealth,
Original PolyCultural Intention.
This is a letter to good children everywhere. Ho, Ho, Ho, It will soon be Christmas I wonder if mother or father can read this to the young children who might not yet be able to read.
Ho, ho, ho!
Oh my, it is very cold here today.
Because it is the first day!
I have to test this year’s Christmas sleigh.
0h, ho, ho!
Last year. I really went too far.
Sleigh was faster than a shooting star.
My hat fell off and next day.
Mother Christmas told me off, she did I say.
Ho, Ho, Ho!
This year I’ll fix my hat on tight.
Tell Rudolph we’ll go slowly tonight.
So if you’re looking up in the sky.
That shooting star will not be I.
Well, it might be, ho, ho, ho!
Ho, ho, ho!
I hope you have been good this year.
I’m sure you have, as your address is here.
I’m sure your presents our wrapped you know.
We still have such a lot to go.
Ho, ho, ho!
My elves are busy most of the year.
They work so hard, they all say here.
All are happy with their play and pay.
Which is just as well I say.
Ho, ho, ho!
I’ve many helpers in big stores.
Although none are the real me of course!
Although you know I think this year.
I will pop down and somewhere appear,
Ho, Ho, Ho!
When or where I will go!
I really cannot tell you know.
It all depends where Rudolph does go.
As where he stops, that’s where I will show.
Ho, ho, ho!
I really cannot write any more.
I’ve presents to wrap by the score.
I have to help my elves you know.
Before more of them off sick do go.
Ho, Ho, Ho!
Signed by The Christmas Fairy, for Father Christmas.
Counter-signed by Santa Clause himself.
Father Christmas.
Once more a letter mysteriously appeared on my desk, and I had left the window open. Having no children at home myself I did make a couple of photo copies and deliver them to two nearby house where I know children live. Well you know what Elf deliveries are like, mistakes can easily be made. And just in case you have young children, this could have been meant for you. Well it could, I do not mind you reading it to your children as that's no doubt what Santa intended. I personally hope you all have a nice peaceful Christmas, of course that might not be possible if you have excited children. lol
Form:
Meetings part one....A moon is neither a plant nor a weapon so never sit in a washing basket at ninety eight degrees. And a tick tocking plant is available for hop scotch games. Timed over frontiers and available to view in a slip stream. Hang gliding sparrows then. They dive to skies unseen. Whilst horses in cars kick out no fumes as fumes belong to plates of rotting peas in a disorganised kitchen. Speeches from a rhino make the bees tap dance. But when trapping an ant one must place a teaspoon to entice. Moonlit menagerie many monsters moving. *** armament aflame. *** antacid alter *** clandestine cinemas *** luminous .... Meetings part two....Circular wisdom robotic wisdom of a once well fed leaf. Orangutans race across the well placed floors of a once dusty landscapes when acrid moons sip a passing juice of sea bud. The flares from a dome can be found in worldwide chains. But never let it be said that upon mastery of sun chiming the turning flame could alter even the most dormant of chasm. Thus releasing the glows. Ejecting powerfully with great force. In a constant ever increasing united wave. Fathom not a thread. It is to be of great peril. As balance and footsteps are very carefully counted by a nine metre sea slug who buries items if antiquity on a beach. Often during a sandstorm. A reason unsaid is a goblin ghost. Woo woo nightshade collapse. So go paint a plant then. Several sheets of toilet paper are often akin to paperwork in print. Circulating a very stale air. All pop. Yogurt pots are empty. Please do fill yet no film is of the fodder of the diet of royals. And royalties are only marginally accepted by crafting a large diagram of a field to delay deliveries. Justice delivered in a strawberry jam. Strawberries are the wisest fruit. Dance with a heifer, a snake, and a very wise stripy frog. Erogenously placed power porks pickling places potently. When a free bird cackles. As a bud erupts. Volcanic arts in a sky. Xx radiation xx branches *** during dinner dance do *** culminated clapping clam xx and healing hippos plus 48% of a dangling dandelion in a sarong. Xx fashionable. *** dutiful deity. *** horsemen hounds. *** tea sedation *** representation *** oink oink oink b 4 q
Form:
Meetings part one....A moon is neither a plant nor a weapon so never sit in a washing basket at ninety eight degrees. And a tick tocking plant is available for hop scotch games. Timed over frontiers and available to view in a slip stream. Hang gliding sparrows then. They dive to skies unseen. Whilst horses in cars kick out no fumes as fumes belong to plates of rotting peas in a disorganised kitchen. Speeches from a rhino make the bees tap dance. But when trapping an ant one must place a teaspoon to entice. Moonlit menagerie many monsters moving. *** armament aflame. *** antacid alter *** clandestine cinemas *** luminous .... Meetings part two....Circular wisdom robotic wisdom of a once well fed leaf. Orangutans race across the well placed floors of a once dusty landscapes when acrid moons sip a passing juice of sea bud. The flares from a dome can be found in worldwide chains. But never let it be said that upon mastery of sun chiming the turning flame could alter even the most dormant of chasm. Thus releasing the glows. Ejecting powerfully with great force. In a constant ever increasing united wave. Fathom not a thread. It is to be of great peril. As balance and footsteps are very carefully counted by a nine metre sea slug who buries items if antiquity on a beach. Often during a sandstorm. A reason unsaid is a goblin ghost. Woo woo nightshade collapse. So go paint a plant then. Several sheets of toilet paper are often akin to paperwork in print. Circulating a very stale air. All pop. Yogurt pots are empty. Please do fill yet no film is of the fodder of the diet of royals. And royalties are only marginally accepted by crafting a large diagram of a field to delay deliveries. Justice delivered in a strawberry jam. Strawberries are the wisest fruit. Dance with a heifer, a snake, and a very wise stripy frog. Erogenously placed power porks pickling places potently. When a free bird cackles. As a bud erupts. Volcanic arts in a sky. Xx radiation xx branches *** during dinner dance do *** culminated clapping clam xx and healing hippos plus 48% of a dangling dandelion in a sarong. Xx fashionable. *** dutiful deity. *** horsemen hounds. *** tea sedation *** representation *** oink oink oink b 4 q
Form:
There was a lady in her late thirties
She loved juicy gossip and kitty parties
Kids were two, an older boy and a younger girl
Naughty devils but the lady’s whole world
The lady was always in makeup from morning to night
Spending money on cosmetics you can imagine the lesser half’s plight
That never deterred her from buying new things in the markets
Every day there would be deliveries in boxes and baskets
One day the lady went to a wedding party with her little daughter
The daughter was so happy and enjoyed the party till the wee hour
While returning, it started to rain heavily and not a soul on the road
There was no cab to take them home nor transport of any mode
It rained and rained until their dresses were fully stained
With patches of dirt that clung, their bodies tired and strained
The waterproof makeup was no match for the heavy downpour
And washed away the grease from face in six minutes and four
The little girl was horrified to see a stranger holding her tiny arm
In a stuttering voice, she asked “Aunty where is my pretty mom?
Why are you holding my arm and where are you taking me?
I want my mom, you witch, don’t think you’ll have me for free”
With that, the little girl began shouting and shrieking
In no time a sizeable crowd gathered from nothing
They enquired about the reason for the commotion
The lady replied quivering with fear and emotion
That the makeup had washed away leading to confusion
The little girl did not recognize her mother due to misconclusion
The heavy rain had washed away all remnants of vanity
And she now stood before her child like a criminal, about to lose her sanity
That day she understood the importance of looking at her original self
And to never wear makeup to confuse the child and fake herself
The little girl, all grown up and beautiful whenever goes down memory lane
She laughs out loud but neither the mother nor she wore makeup again
On the corner of Short con and Long play
sits the neighborhood ponies man
in his pickup van,
waiting to take parlay list deliveries
Feeling leisurely ... not wanting to bounce
on a Cadillac roll,
Trickbaby is out on a stroll
He's looking for a grifter tip
on a hot streak filly,
who runs fast spurred by a mean buggy whip
He takes his numbered ticket buy,
puts it in his lucky left side pocket,
as he holds a rolled, sacred racing form scroll
in his superstitious, money-itching right hand
Trickbaby continues on his daily walk
heading to the hoop chain ballers park
Once there, he takes a spectator bench asphalt view,
and watch some opening moves
of the ghetto grandmaster’s playing
on their custom made chessboards
Long retired from the rat-race corporate game,
Trickbaby got laid back, lounging angles
and always charismatic, well-rehearsed dangles
He observes the walking nylon nets
concrete flash bait some guppy fishes,
and he rises to go where he knows
some quick currency streams are gon flow
Trickbaby captain finger signs the seedy hotel scout door man,
who in turn gives him the proper respect nod of his soldier head
Trickbaby is dressed in his natty, blue-grey pork pie hat,
neon black, sharkskin zoot suit
And patent leather penguin spats —
proper old-school playa shoes
He greets the tall, exotic Illustrated woman at the door,
who extends her psychotropic inked hand
and pierced diamond-studded tongue
Receiving the news of the working crews,
Trickbaby goes up to his penthouse room to rest
for another night rendezvous,
at the corner of Long con and Short play
King Gotham bat gon meet some joker night crawlers;
crack open some new grifter plans,
and watch those wannabe trickbabies get the dreamy eyes ...
Seeing visions of tropical beach sands
Trickbaby true knows that a fake trickbaby
only gon start to ghetto grow up one day,
when you take their milk bottle money away
The elves had been loading Santa’s sleigh for the night.
The reindeer were all prancing about, with delight.
With Santa aboard, a loud, “Ho-Ho”, did ring;
on the crispy, cold air, as the sleigh left with a “zing”.
Their forms, they were lit, by the nightlight moon;
old Santa would be delivering soon.
At the first house, he came down the chimney just right;
“Clearly”, he said, “this will be a good night”!
The cookies and milk, so refreshing, they’d be;
as he gobbled them down, with such hearty glee.
On and on, he continued; delivering his gifts.
The sleigh a bit lighter, the reindeer, did lift.
As an airliner so swiftly, came crossing their path;
The faces inside, took a big, second glance.
Santa waved, they waved back; from up above the trees.
The trees seemed to bow, as he passed, with a breeze.
With each reindeer, he shared, his cookies, you see;
the fuel for his journey, would always be free.
Round the world, he did travel and all in one night.
Every creature on earth was thrilled by the sight.
To the squirrels, he brought nuts and cheese to the mice.
Koala’s got eucalyptus and horses, blankets, so nice.
Not one soul, did he miss; though he dodged a few drones.
Santa made his deliveries and then headed home.
Mrs. Claus had hot cider; a warm meal, at the ready.
Santa arrived with a yawn; his eyelids, so heavy.
Unhitching his sleigh, the elves bid him, good-night and
the reindeer, bedded down, in the barn, for the night.
Santa ate well and slept a very deep sleep;
Tomorrow would bring many orders, you see…
For the next big delivery, would take a full year;
each Christmas, came faster, it seemed, than his reindeer.
For a man in his hundreds, old Santa was spry.
To please every child, in the world, he would try.
As the elves took the orders, for the next Christmas season;
the Clauses vacationed, in the warm Caribbean.
The elves had been loading Santa’s sleigh for the night.
The reindeer were all prancing about, with delight.
With Santa aboard, a loud, “Ho-Ho”, did ring; on the crispy,
cold air, as the sleigh left with a “zing”.
Their forms, they were lit, by the light of the moon;
old Santa would be delivering soon.
At the first house, he came down the chimney just right;
“Clearly”, he said, “this will be a good night”!
The cookies and milk, so refreshing, they’d be;
as he gobbled them down, with such hearty glee.
On and on, he continued; delivering his gifts.
The sleigh a bit lighter, the reindeer, did lift.
As an airliner so swiftly, came crossing their path;
The faces inside, took a big, second glance.
Santa waved, they waved back; up high above the trees.
The trees seemed to bow, as he passed, with a breeze.
With each reindeer, he shared, his cookies, you see;
the fuel for his journey, would always be free.
Round the world, he did travel and all in one night.
Every creature on earth, was thrilled by the sight.
To the squirrels, he brought nuts and cheese to the mice.
Koala’s got eucalyptus and horses, warm blankets, so nice.
Not one soul, did he miss; though he dodged a few drones.
Santa made his deliveries and then headed home.
Mrs. Claus had hot cider; a warm meal, at the ready.
Santa arrived with a yawn; his eyelids, so heavy.
Unhitching his sleigh, the elves bid him, good-night and
the reindeer, bedded down, in the barn, just so right.
Santa ate well and slept a very deep sleep;
Tomorrow would bring many orders, you see…
For the next big delivery, would take a full year;
each Christmas, came faster, it seemed, than his reindeer.
For a man in his hundreds, old Santa was spry.
To please every child, in the world, he would try.
As the elves took the orders, for the next Christmas season;
the Clauses, vacationed, in the warm Caribbean.
Thirty-one packs of chewing gum,
Clutter up my drawer,
And thirty-one times thereafter,
I forgot thirty-one times more,
And bought thirty-one times yet again
Seems somehow I found
Thirty-one more times,
I had thirty-one more such a yen...
This went on for thirty-one more months,
Till thirty-one drawers were jammed
Tried to open them thirty-one times apiece,
And thirty-one times closed they slammed
Not only thirty-one drawers overpacked,
But thirty one over heated summer days,
Made thirty-one globs,
Of thirty-one pounds of sticky glaze
With thirty one times prying
With thirty-one different sized crow bars...
Thirty-one hours of trying....
Could have far easier
Gone thirty one times to Mars....
But now thirty-one stringly spidery strands
Of thirty one thousand gummy stringy drawer glands
My kitchen is inaccessible
I've tried thirty one hundred times
With thirty-one ever increasing sized
Machetes, and thirty one ever
More dificult rhymes
So I sent away for thirty one extra large
Gummy-Bears,
Thinking for sure thirty-one ways they knew,
How to fight their way with thirty one set of claws,
And make way for me or you
But what I found out after thirty-one deliveries
Of thirty-one huge Gummy Bears,
Each Thirty-one dollars and
Thirty-one sets of change
And thirty-one shipping and handling
Charges, and this was really strange
My thirty -one huge Gummy Bears
Each melted in the kitchen too
Making thirty one more tons of
Thirty-one sticky gobs of goo
So I sealed off my kitchen
with thirty-one tons of bricks,
In honor of Mr. Poe,
And just to get my kicks,
I placed a Cask of Amontillado
It's seepage made me lick my lips...
Now I Barbeque on the patio,
In the heat, or in the snow...
Scrambled eggs a bit tricky,
But better than that sticky
Thirty-one varieties
Of thirty one tons
Of sticky goo
Gettin' all over my thirty-one
Inch "buns".