Long Duty free Poems
Long Duty free Poems. Below are the most popular long Duty free by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Duty free poems by poem length and keyword.
My dearest Yolanda
Sending you warm thought and many blessings
you no longer need to fear thee arson
murderer of nine nor the terrorists
threats on license plates remember
your safe place you no longer have to go into
hostage situations working with the FBI
wearing wires on your unborn children
you are safe dear you are home
breathe breathe breathe breathe
you're doing great breathe no more
abuse you're past that no more threats
From Ciro Gargano you are home safe
you are good enough find your joy hold it
breathe out that's it calm calm sh sh sh sh sh
Safe USA
I step onto my departure from the dock
to embark on a voyage of the amygdala.
Here lies a treasure trove of motion.
The gangway moves slowly,
no suitcases or fare stubs,
only our passports—
those little books of identity
that grant us entry.
Then we all separate into the chambers
of the left and right atriums.
We check in at the front desk
like a queue of traffic.
Murmurs from fellow passengers drown out
the gratuities,
as our steward paces the hallway
with a duty-free smile.
At last, we reach the bridge,
suspended between the bow and stern.
All my ‘what ifs’ and ‘buts’
rising up and thrown overboard
like drifting flotsam.
Sometimes music
takes you away
a few bars of Sebelius
cuts through the clutter of
school lunch preparation.
and I'm in the fiords
the soul home
I've never seen.
I know little of Finland
and first met Matti
at a meeting in Dallas
where he a two day visitor
argued with the cabby
over the best way downtown.
When we arrived,
he gave an excellent tour
of the corner
where JFK ended.
Later, another meeting.
this time in Wisconsin
as we shared our duty free.
he spoke of his son's summer job
folk dancing on a ferry
crossing the Gulf of Bothnia.
Running the next morning
in the cold spring air
I realized
the big flat winged raptor
high overhead
was an eagle.
Chatting with our four year-old
he explains
that although Godzilla
is a boy's name
she laid eggs
one remains
and do I know
what attack means?
A crisp, cold morning in Hyde Park,
and he is waiting for his date.
As joggers jog and poodles bark,
the girl's unconscionably late.
He paces London's crocused heart,
as traffic booms in Piccadilly:
he's practicing that English art
of seeming calm, while feeling silly.
One final tryst beside the lake,
in front of the Eternal Boy:
a parting kiss, for old times' sake ...
she's stood him up? Or playing coy?
The hotel clerk purrs sympathy
when summoned on the mobile phone.
By now, she'll be in Duty Free.
Well, there it is. This Bird Has Flown.
He tries to feign the jaunty airs
of a striped suit on a sandwich sortie,
but doing drily debonaire's
not easy when you're fat and forty.
He tramps the lonely, flat green mile
to Green Park Tube's unlovely portal,
but perks up with a cheeky smile -
well, for a week he was immortal!
I don’t sense that God keeps score --
my guess, believing He already
has enough pollsters and priests for that,
man’s predisposed world of numbers and
profitable confessions,
ballot slips and extra altar sips,
less Jung and more Freudian
myself reasoning that, Lover and
Judge are not compatible, the best
leaving their robes at the courthouse,
their own dwellings Duty Free
For sure, by now, have learned my ideas
often not mainstream, avoiding prescribed
social templates, ducking Bibles, my heart and head
a record of lumps
attempting to understand and follow Christ
not always a Sunday picnic, the devil in
the weather, and “keep off the grass” --
A chilly early 1987 morning, 7th March,
five booze cruise boys crammed in a car.
From overnight ferry, just disembarked
when told of the Zebrugge ferry disaster.
Hands freeze on the steering wheel,
as the driver recalls what we now all see.
In a queue, a last minute change he did feel.
All had agreed to travel on The Herald of Free.
"Let's go from Dover for a change", I suggest
All agreed they wanted to see Zebrugge
In the travel shop, our driver felt his unrest
"Portsmouth is a shorter drive back" thought the daft bugger.
And so yet again to Le Havre we went.
Oh on the trip, he got some stick all right.
But in the car I pat him on the back, "mate, you were heaven sent,
we all should have died last night!"
Reflections for Contest
hungover, in car tinkling with duty free bottles. It didn't really sink in (pun intended). Had he stuck to the plan we would have been on the Herald of Free Enterprise departing Zebrugge on the night of March 6, 1987.
His later recollection was that in queuing in the travel agent shop, (no internet or smartphones back then) he visualised extra driving from Dover, instead of Portsmouth, back to Taunton. And so "sod them, I've got to put up with these piss artists, so they'll have to put up with Le Havre again."
We never really appreciated the significance at the time, nor did the friendships last as we drifted apart thereafter.
A crisp, cold morning in Hyde Park,
and he is waiting for his date.
As joggers jog and poodles bark,
the girl's unconscionably late.
He paces London's crocused heart,
as traffic booms in Piccadilly:
he's practicing that English art
of seeming calm, while feeling silly.
One final tryst beside the lake,
in front of the Eternal Boy:
a parting kiss, for old times' sake ...
she's stood him up? Or playing coy?
The hotel clerk purrs sympathy
when summoned on the mobile phone.
By now, she'll be in Duty Free.
Well, there it is. This Bird Has Flown.
He tries to feign the jaunty airs
of a striped suit on a sandwich sortie,
but doing drily debonaire's
not easy when you're fat and forty.
He tramps the lonely, flat green mile
to Green Park Tube's unlovely portal,
but perks up with a cheeky smile -
well, for a week he was immortal!
To say I have less lived...
and more written is not being entirely
fair. Poets breathe soul life into every
lyric statement.
Not merely metaphorically
speaking. Word-painted-skies, on closer
analysis are precisely inked examples of intensely
hyperbolic, ethereal-like possessed oxidation! (Try
to say that 10x’s fast!)
A writer’s penned pictures meant to float above
common trite integers of merely surface showy delight --
All my canvases their nature by
design are birthed to be never-settling (deathless)
evolving metaphysical transcending primers (talk about elevated ego!) --
While sub-strait substances are
compounded impenetrable dark also evident are
silvery streaks of transversal light --
My feeling contributions remain
and have always been creative world enough for me…
Though often contrary and border-less defined
for that same reason have kept me duty free from man
only subject to God! --
Therefore, when I die,
please hang my works on some moving wall --
No matter, museum or brothel:
A novel idea, perhaps throw them to the foot
of a purging water fall:
To be rushingly transported off to more saturating sea,
My suggestion not a mere medium of briny salt for addicted fishes
but moved on to fondly wished adventure residing aloft flow,
reunited with the many dearly departed extended composing
family of sometimes overly spicy, but always Creatively tasty
forever loved poetic Soupy Dishers now contributing to Heaven’s
pot of Party Soupy Literary Favors~ never-ending, never canned, organic
original Soupy Flavors. Buon Appetito!
on auto pilot in slow motion
my conveyor belt keeps moving
on a creaky carousel
aroused in boredom
suspended in apathy
a jester on weary shoulders keeps mocking
teasing and picking at scabs
thorny wounds from too much baggage
have abandoned rose petals
in the wilderness of making
I wonder whether I should pick up the luggage
or claim compensation for lost property
yet hesitation sets in
as it is not clear what to do with the proceeds
sometimes I would give a penny for thoughts
of joyful anticipation but fear that the truth
would be unreal
amongst the lonely passage of time
there is hope however
because these days airports never close
flights of fancy can be delusional
dereliction of duty-free travel is a scam
only I can choose purpose and destination
before eventually my ashes end up in a Teddy bear
for care free travelling
Hop onboard overthinkers
A warm Welcome aboard the overthinker to all our guests,
Especially Mr insomnia, and Mrs overthinker, both frequent flyers and our VIP guests
I'll be your minds captain for this flight, through awake all damn night,
And then on to good mornings beaming bright resort in daylight,
We have no nap-overs or drifting-offs scheduled this is a long-ass-haul, direct flight,
Emergency exits are located in the right and left ear, emergency lights,
Are located along the optic nerve in case of loss of power,
We can also deploy an emergency slide down the nostrils should we encounter,
An emergency landing over the cerebrospinal sea,
Otherwise please fasten your seatbelts and enjoy tormenting this mind with me,
Dear passengers this is your captain speaking,
we are experiencing some frustration turbulence,
And some drowsiness daydreaming,
this is Likely to continue until 4am so please remain seated,
As our head is hitting head on, stormy pillow clouds, and alas
A tossing and turning tornado has formed in our flight path,
Forcing us to go around the temporal lobe which will mean a delay to our arrival,
Passengers you can now lift up your eyelids once the kettles foggy fog,
Has cleared you'll be able to see the sacred sea of coffee,
And as we loop around the kitchen island there shines a good mornings sunrise,
Passengers we have arrived at our destination, good morning,
Upon the irises horizon is the sunrise dawning,
Here the local time is 5am and the current temperature is about 36 degrees,
Welcome to our new guests and a warm welcome back to our 2 VIPs,
We hope you enjoy your stay here at the daytime resort,
Oh don't forget to checkout our duty free thoughts
On your way out, I've been your mind's captain
Remember time flies when you're having fun aboard this mental contraption
So hop aboard this mind if you are to an overthinker,