Long Duffel Poems
Long Duffel Poems. Below are the most popular long Duffel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Duffel poems by poem length and keyword.
He was my sun, my one and only son,
attired as a cowboy for the day.
And so I handed him a little gun
of fastened random sticks, for him to shoot and play.
Attired as a cowboy for the day
he searched for foes (with bows and arrows made
of fastened random sticks for them) to shoot, and play
the part of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade.
He searched for foes (with bows and arrows made)
well written in his story books before he left for school.
The parts of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.
Well writ in history books before he left from school,
the tales (retold of victories that we’d won)
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.
The flow of paint was not to staunch when once begun.
From tales retold of victories that we’d won,
he learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the flow of pain, ’twas not to staunch when once begun
and bane to both sides (as he’d later come to know).
He learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the wounds of war were kept unseen (while nigh)
and bane to both sides (as we’d later come to know);
but still he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye.
The wounds of war were kept unseen. While nigh,
the hours boomed, the clock struck 12 at last, his time to leave.
But, still, he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye
to those who’d stay and even those who wouldn’t grieve.
The hours boomed, the clock struck 12 - alas, his time to leave.
They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died
to those who’d stayed. And even those who wouldn’t grieve
with tears were stiff and masked like wooden boxes meant to hide.
They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died;
his boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud.
With tears, the stiff were masked in wooden boxes meant to hide
our children from the spilling of their blood.
His boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud;
they said they’d needed him to help defend
our children from the spilling of their blood.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
They said they’d needed him to help defend,
and so they handed him a little gun.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
He was my sun, my one and only son.
**A Travel East**
We pass the Grand Mesa cruising like lightening at 95mph,
I feel like a passenger on a toy train.
A mountain 11,000 feet above the ground,
auburn colored, rock faced cliffs, complimented
by a spectacular baby blue sky.
Clouds scatter, trying unsuccessfully to cover
the rapid sunrise.
Blue,
Indian orange,
and red mix together well
with the beauty of the cliff face.
Along the base,
the Colorado river
races.
Not quite a rapid,
yet swift enough to scare rafters,
and small animals.
Miniature icebergs travel through a small channel
created in the ice of the once wide river.
A family of coyotes gather on a patch of solid ice.
The young playfully roam,
while the adults relax, lick themselves and watch.
Deer prance across the terrain,
chasing the train.
Detained,
inside a fence,
cattle graze in a group of one hundred or so.
A cottage rests along the perimeter
where children play.
Bundled from head to toe,
Snow,
thick and heavy.
Frosty is created!!
Homeward bound!!
The ride semi-pleasant,
better than the first.
The lavatory still with that distinctive
musky urine scent.
The passenger car seems bigger this time,
more spacious.
Room for my long legs,
and wide enough to accommodate my beer gut.
I hear the rantings of an old married couple
as they bicker about what time dinner should be reserved for.
Beside me,
laying awkwardly,
an old man snores.
Shallow breaths in between,
I can hear his heartbeat.
Pounding like
a heavy percussion solo,
his feet propped on his duffel bag below.
The lobby car when first entered
looked barren.
A few passengers sit with books and laptops,
others watch as the fast moving terrain passes
through the tinted double glass.
My cell phone lost battery life and I
needed the accommodation of electricity.
Occupied,
I wait for my turn.
From my peripheral I saw her,
I could sense her aura.
Smell her aroma of Vanilla Musk.
Dirty blond hair with red highlights,
short but not to short,
with a friendly disposition.
So,
I sparked a conversation,
that helped better this expedition.
Jared Pickett
3/7/08
Asavvy1
Lili Marlene
In times of war, love can subdue cynical adversaries
(Men separated from their vocation, now filled with hatred)
And quell the beast inside their misdirected hearts,
And free their consciences, to allow sorrows’ comfort.
A noisy silence pervades the barracks’ atmosphere,
Where soldiers stir, stuffing duffel bags and miscellaneous,
While others reminisce, writing letters; maybe their last.
And await further orders for Western and Eastern Fronts, or Africa.
From Belgrade, a woman’s voice over the airwaves is transmitted,
Allowing a moment of silence and reflection for those listening
Alone; spiritually uplifted in memories of better times,
Who seek a reason to justify this madness of sacrifice.
“My Dearest Marlene,” the pen begins when all hell breaks out.
By bomb flashes bright bloody hands write, then the pen stops;
“Until we meet again underneath the corner light,
Like we used to do, my Lili Marlene.”
***
Note:
'Lili Marlene' is a German love poem set to music by Norbert Schultze (1911-2002) in 1938 based on the poem 'The Song of a Young Soldier On Watch. written by Hans Leip (1893-1963) in 1915 during World War I. The song was first recorded by Lala Andersen (1905-1972) in 1939 under the title 'The Girl Under the Lamps”' which became popular during World War II (1939-1945) among the Axis and Allied troops. The song was first broadcasted by the German Radio Belgrade station throughout Europe and North Africa, following the Nazi occupation of Belgrade in 1941.
Marlene Dietrich (1901–1992) was the daughter of a Prussian officer. She refused to work in Nazi Germany, and was branded a traitor by Nazi supporters when she became an American citizen in 1937. She made over 500 performances entertaining Allied troops from 1943 to 1946. Marlene Dietrich recorded the song in 1944 under the Decca Records (US) and Brunswick Records (UK), which was later released in 1945.
What is the purpose of your visit young man?
I heard that you have the best marmalade in the world
Well we do import oranges but you look a bit foreign to us
I am a seasoned voyager look at the stickers on my case
That is what we are worried about just making sure you are not a friend of Islam
Just a travelling tourist Sir and I am not a criminal communist either
The usual hassle ensued at the border post and the police enjoyed its authority
It gave them power and a reason to be with nothing better than a bit of control
Made Britain great again and ruling over waves of incomers called for respect
Open your bag we can sniff drugs and destruction because your skin is so dark
It is called mixed complexion blame the Spanish because I am from Peru
I can offer you some tales from my journeys to take home for the kids
Bribery won’t work and now trap your dirty snout while we consider your entry
You must be trafficking something and have come here to infest and destroy us
Don’t like your sort and you are too big for your camouflage Wellington boots
But my papers are in order please look at the stamp in my passport
I have been to the world back and beyond and now you give me grief
If you don’t keep your gob shut we must send you straight back to the jungle
Not before we blessed your pigmented pelt with a firm handout from true justice
I may look a tad scruffy to you but people come in all shapes and sizes
Small I may be and yet I can fill hearts with joy and kind exotic delight
He pleaded with the dignity of a stranger which was an alien concept to them
Diversity had died very long ago and the Empire had suffered a solar eclipse
The guard’s hearts had sclerosed from an onslaught of ignorance and regulation
Luckily Paddington had a duffel coat and hat to keep him warm while detained
17th November 2019
Home invaders
Climbed the fence;
Huffed,
Puffed,
And blew the windows in,
Suddenly, they're inside a mansion.
They came prepared
With large duffel bags.
They grabbed all they could -
A family heirloom,
Jewelry,
Knickknacks, etc.
Then one walks out to the balcony
And a caged parrot locks eyes
With the stranger,
Bows its head, thinking -
"Please, don't take me, too! I don't want to part with Mr. Tyson!"
"Matthew? It's time to go!" a voice calls out
.
"There's a parrot out here, Cam!"
"Nope, you heard Cam! You guys go now. Leave me be!"
thought the parrot.
Cam peeks out to the balcony.
"What do we need a bird for?" he asks.
Shouldn't we take it with us? Parrots talk, right? It could give us up." replies Matthew.
Cam thinks for a moment,
So does the parrot.
"Great, just great! I'm about to be stolen!"
"What about we kill it?" suggests Matthew.
Frantic thoughts: "Oh, hell no! You'll do no such thing, boy! Horrible idea! Cam? Help me?"
"No, we don't need the damn bird. Let's go, now!" Cam says, emphatically
"Whew! Thank God!" thought the parrot, breathing a sigh of relief.
The cat burglars made a clean getaway,
Or so they thought.
They made one fatal flaw.
They should've taken
Mr. Tyson's beautiful talking pet.
The parrot began spilling tea
Upon its owner's return -
"Matthew, we gotta go!"
"There's a parrot out here, Cam!"
"Matt, let's go, now!"
"Damn, I can't find my phone!"
"Back door! Back door! He's pulling in the driveway!"
Personification- Pets Talking Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
06/08/2022
His small red car, a dent on the left rear side,
is parked in our driveway, all loaded, a full tank of gas.
His duffel is crammed with rock-band t-shirts, faded torn jeans,
new underwear and socks, (that I insisted we buy),
and that ratty old jacket with the hole in the elbow.
Guitar, books, sports equipment, and cardboard boxes
filling the back seat of his little sedan.
On the passenger seat in front,
is a battered old shoe box tied with string.
Those are private letters from girlfriend, Cindy.
Oh yes!...The same box, that his sister found one day,
which she tucked under her arm and ran from him laughing.
His long legs chased her through the house, screaming, ...
"You're going to die for that!!!!"
But...that was on another fall day.... A day that now seems forever ago....
While today was silently sleeping...
On this sunny, autumn day, his sister is quiet, she is not laughing.
He and his father share a hug and an affectionate pat on the back.
I stand back, watching them, on that dreaded, concrete driveway.
The trees rustle, and someone's lawnmower is humming
A neighbor is driving by, as if it's just another ordinary day.
I give him the care box I made...laundry soap, toothpaste,
candy, energy bars, his favorite home made oatmeal cookies.
Hugs, extra tight. One more, and then another.....
(Hold it in!....Hold it in!....I can do this!....)
"Be sure to call when you get there. Drive carefully. Love you."
Love you
__________________________________________
Goodbye Contest: Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron
The young lad left his Mother's hearth when he was seventeen.
There was adventure beyond the far horizon, so much to be seen.
Her only son to distant realms and o'er the seas did roam;
Now he wearily trudged along the moonlit country road to home.
From afar he saw a candle in the window casting its mellow glow.
It beckoned him to the humble cottage he had left so long ago.
'Twas Home! Home!, the most beautiful mansion in the world!
He paused and mused as about him precious memories swirled.
He dropped his duffel and leaned upon the sagging fence,
To capture the moment and his random thoughts condense.
There, framed in the window was Mother with hair of snowy white,
Reading her dog-eared Bible by the flickering candlelight.
He recalled her parting words, "God go with you son;
I'll light a candle to guide you home when your bourne is done."
As he gazed upon her so serene, o'er him many emotions swept;
Recalling her tender love, his shoulders shook as he quietly wept.
He swept his frail Mother in his arms as he reached the door,
Saying, "Your wayward son is home, Mom, a-roaming never more!"
All roads lead somewhere, but the happiest road of all,
Is that which leads to home, be it mansion great or cottage small.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Placed No. 8 in Linda-Marie's "Razzle Dazzle" Contest - April 2011
The colors of our flag
Do not stand for freedom
Anymore.
Red shall not be to honor the blood spilled by our troops
But rather the blood
Spilled by those who wake up every day in fear
Of half the country
And the man propped up by millions of hateful minds
It shall be the color of that phantom blood that gushes from
The piercing pain of the what ifs?
Red shall not be the courage of our country
But rather the color of destruction soon to come
Red skies
Blazing fire
Pre-apocalyptic dust settles over
Us.
White shall not be the color of the absence of evil
But rather,
It's new hue.
And the elephants can stampede us to the ground,
Remind us,
As they kick mud around our bodies,
That our first black president
Is handing over the White House to a man
Endorsed by the KKK
The resurgence of white supremacy
Brings us back to World War II
Yet no one heeds the warning.
Blue shall not be the color of patriotism and loyalty
But rather the tears shed
By many in some lands,
By few in others.
Tears that fall on
The rainbow flag,
The hijab,
The ragged piece of paper with #blacklivesmatter scrawled on it in ink
The dusty duffel bag packed
In order to cross the border
Packed by those we dub “aliens”
Though inside their organs are identical to ours
Red,
White,
And blue.
A divided country that is
Dividing each and every one of us
In half.
The uniform was issued to him during the Second World War.
Tho' at first it was somewhat ill-fitting, it he proudly wore.
He was a mere lad of eighteen when his Army career began,
But as that savage conflict raged on, he rapidly became a man!
He considered it an honor to wear the uniform of his nation.
Little brother and sis idolized their hero with great admiration.
His sweetheart was so proud to be escorted upon his arm.
Mom and Dad were also proud and prayed he'd meet no harm.
He wore his uniform on their wedding day, she a bit misty-eyed,
As she saw her handsome soldier when he took her as his bride.
Tho' they faced uncertainty in a world that had gone awry,
They vowed love and faithfulness as they said their sad goodbye.
He stowed his uniform in his duffel and donned his battle dress,
Slogging thro' Pacific jungle isles as forward he did press.
Among the many medals and other laurels that he did achieve,
He was honored with sergeants stripes sewn upon each sleeve!
After the war, tho' a bit snug, he wore his uniform with pride,
In many patriotic parades as he marched with resolute stride!
For his final roll call he wore the uniform as his funereal shroud.
God greeted him saying, "Son you sure have made Me proud!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
It was now September there was a smell of autumn in the air autumn fires burned,
On a bleak night lying on a cold wet floor the night chilled all that were out,
The naked earth was cold hard, in the distance leaves went brown and fell down,
As autumn steals upon us and steals the warm dry days the winter waits to pounce.
Sitting on a park bench drinking sherry from a bottle a lonely man feels blighted,
He has a stained duffel bag by his side full of pickings from a good days begging,
Five bottles of sherry lay in his bag it made him feel good it made him feel safe,
Each time he took a swig the sweet thick sickly liquid made him feel warm inside.
Sitting like a king on a throne with his bag of goodies he had it all a happy man,
With one hand on his duffel bag he could feel hard rounded bottles heavy and full,
At this moment he would not change life with anyone having all he needed and more,
He did not even fear the wretched hangover in the morning he could drink it away.
Finishing one bottle he felt good he gave a happy sigh and threw it across the park,
Flushed with complete happiness he pulled out another bottle and gave it a huge kiss,
He twisted the top off and put it to one side and chugged great big draughts of joy,
He sat with legs out straight getting comfortable this was a night away from sadness.