Long Dustpan Poems
Long Dustpan Poems. Below are the most popular long Dustpan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dustpan poems by poem length and keyword.
Recepticle: One of a kind
It was a thoughtful gift
in the shape of her heart
Symbolic inscription-
"Love's Everlasting Hopes"
kept next to the front door
In shadow, in half-light.
She kept her car keys there.
Small change, new receipts
pins and paperclips, pens
lipstick, bangles, spare things...
Simple concave, convex
Moulded mind-heart shape
Porcelain pale shadow
Clear intent left it there
Till the time came when smirk smile
black hate eyes stepped inside
sleight of hand side-swipe flick
despise, devalue, discard
done with splitting, slitting
pound of flesh sacrifice-
So easy to replace,
no end to his supplies
She only had One Heart
for him, no Big Surprise,
a common vessel trade
for his communal use
Belly feels deep pity
for its now shattered state,
She drops to hands and knees
Picks up each fragile piece
bright blood drips from fresh cuts
thin red lines smear love read,
Torn vessel spills plasma
tears, love is precious life
Dustpan holds bits and pieces...
Impulse to throw away
Hesitation- thoughtful
ancient wisdom whispers,
revalue all for gain
Again, a gain, again
She knows what she can do...
Fix it with liquid gold
Now it gleams in the dark.
A Receptacle Poem: One of a kind
Aqua Marine Poems.
Restructured from my original poem posted in 2016.
Marta’s other pets were jealous and sore
They had been replaced by one she did adore
A stupid pig! Groused the myna bird.
The dragon was angry, but said not a word.
yellow cat waited for her chance to annoy the pig, named Pooh.
She tore up the kitchen and tried to blame him too.
Marta saw through it and gave the cat a dustpan and broom.
You will clean this up and also the dining and living room.
Now the cat was irritated, and tried to complain to the dragon.
He knew better than to get involved, he rode away in a wagon.
His last owner had also fallen in love with a large pink pig.
He decided to live with a new family, Mr. and Mrs. Dig.
*Image of Danny folk's Boo by YC.
A Black Cat Tale Souvenir
One Saturday morning,
fourteen-year-old Danny,
my neighbor's kid who lives down the road,
would come over to do the lawn
and some simple house chores,
for extra spending money.
Sometimes,
their American Long Haired black cat named, "Boo",
would tag along.
The lawn was okay just weeding,
he swept, mopped, vacuumed,
then brought in some wood
from my wood cord outside,
and filled the wood bin,
then he swept out
the fireplace.
He then takes the flip-top dustpan outside,
pour its contents into a plastic bag,
tie it close and put it into
one of two trash bins
with plastic flip tops.
Boo, sometimes lounges
on my lanai (porch),
or on one of those
trash bins.
That day,
Danny decided to play.
He tosses the bag up into the air,
then have it drop right into the flipped-top trash bin.
Albeit, the bag got snagged
by the metal latch on the bins cover,
it ripped open, causing black soot
to shroud nearby Boo.
While I was outside checking to see
if Danny covered the wood cord,
the event unfolded before me.
Boo's reaction was as anticipated,
there was black soot trailing a flying leap
that scampered down my driveway
and out onto the opened road,
... gone, gone, gone.
Laughing in pursuit
was Danny who tells me that
he will be back for the money
after he hoses down, "Blackie".
Ha, ha, ha, goes Danny whose clueless
as to the memory he had just made for his future.
Leaving nature to clear the mess, closes I a cover, grinning in the silence.
2022 April 02
*1st Place*
Black Cat
~~Robert James Liguori: Judged 2022 April 03
THE BIRD OF FREEDOM
THE BIRD OF FREEDOM
There are those who are so selfish wanting to keep me all to themselves
Forever keeping me hidden; between, their own unreadable bookshelves
Never really knowing, that they were destroying the very thing they love
Force me from a bird of beauty, to no more than an unwanted rock dove
Come home only to open all the pages, and then read of their own abuse
To satisfy their own sadden inner insecurities until I no longer have a use
No longer able to fulfill your selfish unrestrained unwanted unbridled lust
Abandoned and forgotten the pages slowly crumbled; they turn into dust
Dustpan and brush in hand, you then cast me to the open carrying winds
Not really knowing it is the bird of freedom that in the very end who wins
Indiana Shaw . . .
They swept me in a dustpan, not realizing it was me.
That I was sort of missing was noted quickly, by all three,
My mother, who was psychic picked carefully all through the lint,
But I had been so minus-sized, I was covered in debris.
Daddy sensed that I was in there, my body, black and blue.
Because as you have now guessed, he was a little psychic too.
They poured the lint in a plastic bag, with a pin-hole so I could breathe.
If it had not been for my grandma, I would have never been retrieved.
But she woke up in the middle of the night, and began to eat the lint bag,
Thinking it was cotton candy, which frankly always makes me gag,
Listening to Grandma Jo’s powerful dentures chomped me awake,
Gave me the incentive to disentangle myself and make my giant break.
Grandma smiled as she watched me, drag myself out of that white plastic bag.
I too dislike cotton candy, she told me and this batch, truly makes me gag!
The buffet was spread liberally,
All across the floor,
As usual my dogs only want more!
Spoiled animals that they are,
They are dearly loved,
But not too far!
Normally a feast would be,
Turkey, Chicken, canned food,
Or all three!
But as luck would have it,
The food did not end up in a bowl.
But in a heap taller than a tree!
Lift a bag of dog food,
The bottom gave out,
The pups have been cavorting about!
While I with broom and dustpan,
Scoop up the mess,
Bring the buffet to an end!
They scoop me up, I smell so good. Others come, and stand in line. People shifting, impatiently.
They pay money, as cash registers sing happily. Wide pleasing smiles appear when they reach for us.
One starts eating me before she returns to her seat. She sets me on the ground in a stall for a bit.
Picks me up, washes her hands, and dives in again. Her hands are cooler now, but I do not care.
It feels wonderful to be appreciated. My smell has permeated the theater now. Others are running
Toward the cash registers, eager to give their money, so they can begin diving into my relatives.
I hear my brothers and sisters laughing as they happily crack and pop. My dad smells so tasty!
My mother is smacking in delight as someone gulps her down. Ugh! A kernel one says.
I watch him spit my kernel cousin Jake onto the carpet. I feel sad as I watch a dustpan get him.
It would feel terrible, rejected like that. My family is a proud bunch. We are excited that
We are more popular than the stars and shows that brought this crowd here in the first place.
A bore hole of fantasy once you dig deep in your mind
Ennui converts into Feng Shui
All you need is a dustpan and brush to sift through your pain
Some archaeological DIY tools
Become a geologist and mine your very own thoughts
Explore tedium and lassitude malaise and confusion
Search for gold dust among the ruins of weariness
Forage for contentment meaning and reason
Beware of alchemy and doomed prophets hanging from false ceilings above
Precious ink from your fountain needs time to sink in
Loneliness bears the potential for solitude and completion
Side effects are intended results
Submerge yourself in an ocean of unlimited reflection
Dive carefully but you must take the plunge
Hold your breath when you reach the sediment of your emotions
But decompress your melancholy sorrows
The anchor of hope awaits the mariner draped in sea weed and love
An octopus guides to an eight fold noble path
I am not drowning but waving in private resolve gratitude and peace
At times upside down but buoyant as a kite in the sky
03rd March 2020
Lamentation for what you are losing.
A situation not of your choosing.
Powerless in its execution.
Watching from the shadows as
the scene unfolds before you.
A bag of broken promises
standing in the corner - waiting
for recycling or incineration -
no-one knows, but gone for ever
in the familiar form you knew.
Your heart lies broken in the dustpan.
A few fragments scattered on the floor.
She tries to sweep them up, but carelessly
drops the container in transit and curses
as it leaves a dust trail to the door.
How cold she looks. Her face fixed in
resolution. Determined to get the rooms
of her life scrubbed clean and free from
memories of you. Reminders of you two
as you were, happy once, laughing, loving.
Out to the trash wagon goes your world.
With no knowledge of the significance,
it is tipped in ignorance into the swirling,
churning lumber of the neighbourhood,
and ground to meaningless pulp.
She stops on the way to retrieve a minute
piece of hope deposited on her shoe -
stuck like gum and adhering to the pavement
as she walks. A good tug and it is gone, but
she tuts as it leaves stickiness on her fingers.
Back in the sanitized emptiness
she pauses to view her clean slate.
Still icy in her survey, she doesn't notice broken you,
forgotten in the cupboard - heart ripped out,
memory mutilated, living only in the shadows.
The door creaks and she is alerted,
she quickly runs to close it - crisis averted.
Must get a lock for that door
and throw away the key -
the heart can't grieve if the eye can't see.
*Image of Dr Mikhail Tyaglyy
AUDIO version for the vision impaired.
Dr Mikhail Tyaglyy
Go, young man,
and conciliate cravings,
menacing palls the cherished
realm. Shelves are left barren
for frantic looks, as aisles
reload a virtuous plunge of
cobwebbed books, decaying
prints accolades of vice barren
save one issue ...
record stamped BUNKER.
Youths immersed
in causality and confidence,
protest keeps step as discord
spreads outward.
Mein Kampf now theirs,
whimsical misfits and loose
ends, melee erupts as age and
gender are trivial.
Young Romanis heed,
while zeal enlivens heels
as a body passes by,
in lieu of a gurney --
a wheelbarrow suffices.
Cadaverous festers,
for the emboldened few,
dare pierce opacity,
glimmers flit defiant palls,
as capricious spells
law books are easily tainted,
usurpers once blind,
struggles timorously
in their judicial robes.
If e'er survivors
from off the streets,
perchance a hearing,
they'll hear an echoing
in the silent courtroom,
'tis the calm ere the
storm, calamity on
trial, as justice for the
dead is made more dead
than death itself.
50s long gone bigotry kept
Santayana periods of disorder
a bedlam of societies rise
aphoristically said,
"Those who cannot remember
the past,
is condemned to repeat it".
~~a floor lies hope, shift ends, dustpan waits a couple more years.
2022 July 29
*1st Place*
Dr. Mikhail Tyaglyy
~~Joe Maverick: Judged 2022 July 31