Long Elsie Poems
Long Elsie Poems. Below are the most popular long Elsie by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Elsie poems by poem length and keyword.
What if the sun was the moon
And the moon could shine at noon?
What if the earth was the heaven
And everything we ask for could be given?
What if God was Satan
And everything could change its pattern?
What if a long the way you lose hope
And the 'good' Satan gives you the rope?
What if I could be born again
And when born rich I call it a gain?
What if the sky ceases to be blue
And Elmer dislikes glue?
What if the drying of oceans is our fear
And we can fill it with our tears?
What if our hearts are heavy
And our minds are wavy?
What if everyday I meet kissy little girls
And with their hair in curls?
What if I make a lot of fun
And way they run?
What if I broadly smile
And they all go wild?
What if Maangi loves Fred
And Maingi bread?
What if I blindly love Elsie
And everyone else sees?
What if everything I've said is true
And you don't have the slightest clue?
John Lenda (Poetic World,2022)
It can be quite amazing
to an older mind that's stretching back.
Do these memories tell the truth?
Or are they somewhat distorted?
But three times in a few minutes?
In that bathroom at Aunty Elsie's house?
Sometimes I grasp my right hand with my left.
I seem to be saying, Cease, quit! Stop that at once!
Do not wriggle or jiggle with temptation,
to hold that private part of me.
I seem to be pondering on those times,
wondering what this hand wishes to achieve.
Why did she have such an interesting son,
that older cousin David, in those teeshirts and sneakers,
showing me how to climb trees
and hide in leaves, and do things?
Amazing, yes, as thoughts reach back
to so many years ago.
Did I really do that in Aunty Elsie's bathroom?
Three times in a few minutes?
(27 Dec 2023)
(Elsie appears in two other poems: "A Rubbing of Hands" and "Coronation for a King")
Obituary of DAVID FRED JONES-
Here we gather today to pay homage of a lost brother whom lived and died
We honor him with are presents as we mourn his lost of live in this plane and time.. Today we celebrate the life of he whom we know and loved..
Obituary
Name: David Fred Jones
Nicknames: Dave/Too Tall Tavid
Date of birth: Thursday 11th January 1979 (Age 40)
Star sign: Capricorn
Nationality: British
Ethnicity: Mixed
Social class: Middle class
Religion:Agnostic
Sexuality: Straight
Education: PhD Business and Political science College graduate
Political views: Left
Relationship status: in a relationship with Wade Emma Dean(engaged)
Probable age if death 62
Probably cause of death killed during an extreme ironing competition
Coinciding with chronic lower respiratory disease heart disease from falling off a cliff
Funeral noteworthy attendees...
Wade Emma Dean, aged 70 girlfriend
Weston Herb Norton 62 friend
Elsie Israel Jones (nee Craig) aged 92 mother
Maximus Sonny Jones 67 brother
Kelly Ashton Shannon ex girl friend
Rest
In
Peace
DAVID FRED JONES
~1/11/79-5/12/19~
5/12/19
Hip hip hurray it’s our Christmas soirée
With Georgia and Mark and Hugh and Ray
This is the only time we meet
To kiss and hug and meet and greet
There’s Sam and Maureen and Fred and Doreen
And not forgetting our Great Aunt Flora
She’s unattached and lives alone
A favourite Aunt, the kids adore her
And then of course there’s Uncle Michael
Arriving on his brand new cycle
Not forgetting Freya and Joyce
Travelling in style in their vintage Rolls Royce
Of course our dearest Grandma Elsie
Who travels down to us from Chelsea
Boarding the train at Victoria Station
With a hamper of goodies from Fortnum & Mason
Dear Auntie Edna and Uncle Howard
Last year, too much food they devoured
They sat in the corner both turning bright green
With bulging great tummies ~ a sight to be seen
But for Phyllis and Jim who are both rather thin
We baked them a cake all scrumptious within
With sugars and spices and all things nices
They have now become vegans eating all things rices
My niece and my nephew Rosie and Jim
Were totally legless ~ what a state they were in
Whilst Jim with a grin drank a bottle gin
Rosie got merry with my bottle of sherry
Dora and Flora second cousins once removed
Are extremely outrageous even borderline rude
They talk about everyone else in the room
Like a coven of witches flying off on their broom
Flirtations ~ Frustrations ~ even Hospitalizations
all welcome to attend our Christmas celebrations…
Written 7th November 2018
Contest COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE 35
Sponsor Brian Strand
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Sponsor Constance La France
HONORABLE MENTION
Hopefully, not our future..
OK, Ok, Stop pounding on my door.
Sheesh!
Here's my guns, free speech and
children, too.
Ya, ya, I have no power!
Just that dang windmill
Driving me nuts hour by hour.
I am clear all belongs to you.
Take my car,my CRV, Comrade.
There is no evil gas anymore.
What the heck, my like a wreck!
My cow's in the back.
Yep, told old Elsie she must go.
Her smelly gas..
Pollutes the air.and so....
Can't own anything no more.
I did lbuilt a box car, it's so rad!
May take me four hours
To get to work, but what the heck!
I burnt my flag!
Panagiota Romios
3/15/2019
Borden’s milk had a gorgeous sidekick cartoon cow, Elsie.
In the Midwest we had Elsie dolls, Elsie curtains, Elsie pins.
I wanted Borden’s milk more than anything in the world.
My cousin had it, because her parents bought it.
My parents bought another brand of milk.
Because it was two cents a year cheaper.
I could tell the difference.
I would not drink our cheap milk.
I had been to my cousin’s house
My aunt was evil and she made me drink their milk.
It was tasty. I told my mother I would drink Borden’s.
She insisted I could not tell the difference.
She gave me a taste test.
She told me I had chosen the cheap milk.
I knew this was a lie.
Thirty years later she told me I had chosen Borden’s.
But they had to save that two cents.
Listen to the roar of the noble beast,
The King needs no introduction.
Whether lazing about or hunting a feast,
He puts on quite a production!
His thunderous roar is his lion’s song,
He is Lord of the African Plaines.
Clever, handsome, sleek, and strong,
You know him by reputation and name.
He sports a great mane, his most prominent feature,
And he wears a fine coat of golden brown.
He’s a mammal and a carnivore by nature,
And when he roars, he’s heard from miles around!
If you were a zebra or antelope or elk,
On a hot sunny day out grazing the grass,
You’d have to beware and look out for yourself,
For a day you spend playing might just be your last!
There’s one King of the Cats, who may be known to you,
He’s a little bit milder, but still wild and not tame.
He lives with his mate Elsie in his home at the zoo,
And if your lucky, you’ll hear him roar, “Webster’s My Name!”
My pal, Elsie has the biggest plans, grandiose almost, fantastically fun to hear about.
She is a complete delight to be around, and the clothes, hats, and shoes she wears really shout.
She keeps me in stitches for days on end when she flies in with her long-suffering earl.
She is going to start a blog, paint a best-selling canvas, write a novel, and paint a city mural.
Her terrific thoughts, her enormous dreams, her extraordinary plans somewhat set and well-laid.
Hilarity jumps forth when she comes around, to regale us with stories of her latest escapade.
I cannot wait to see her, to find out what she has actually completed this year, all done.
Although it has been rather tough for her to implement or start a project, she is always great fun.
What about your award-winning sculptures I ask her and your paintings, how are they coming along?
I traded those things in for calligraphy, she informed me, but I am writing a terrific love song.
What about your fantasy novel, are there a few completed chapters that perhaps I could read?
Then she throws back her head, laughing prettily from Accomplishment, her well-decorated white steed.
We wave goodbye, knowing we will have this delightful almost identical conversation next year.
It never ceases to amaze me how close to getting started dear Elsie has almost been near.
Her muse and mine hug tightly, because when we were young girls, they were exceedingly close and tight.
Her enthusiasm is exciting, I admire her determination to make her creations perfectly right.
I am not ready, she tells me. Creating a masterpiece is something that takes time.
Maybe next year, she confides because my productions and creations must be awesomely sublime.
Years of incessant planning have not helped Elsie put pen to paper or get started, it is true.
Three husbands, a two hour a week job and a couple of children have prevented her from a glorious follow- through.
Georgie
His was a pudgy boyish countenance,
With rounded river eyes and an Alfalfa smile.
He wheezed like a sick tern with repeated asthma attacks,
Playing hard at the various outdoor games and chases,
Of our fleeting childhood years in the inhaling sun.
He perspired profusely in 1964 as he sat with beads of sweat which
Gathered like a water pox above his lips, all in a wheezing row.
Bespectacled Georgie was the curlicued, black-haired boy
who lived two houses up from ours; the one with the green hedge.
He wore converse sneakers, a white tee and blue denim, with
Thick black-framed glasses astride his chubby white face.
His was a temper not sought by anyone, including Elsie his mother.
Georgie was her little boy, but when angered, baseball bats went flying.
Curse words were screamed loudly with one’s birth name questioned intensely.
Stones and large rocks were heaved at innocent windows and nearby statuary.
Baseballs were hurled at the heads of other little boys, with misses near and far.
Toy darts were skipped across baking sidewalks to the bare feet of his playmates,
Producing more loud voices shrieking in pain when the darts impaled their feet.
Oranges and lemons were rabidly picked for the purpose of pummeling one’s nose;
But gentle mother Elsie loved her little Georgie, and his little blue inhaler.
Years and decades sailed by like lost boats in a starless harbor.
Little Georgie grew into a pudgy man with nothing changed except, the drugs.
Marijuana odors hovered like invisible swarms of masticating locusts,
Lurking above the silent brick houses of our street, with old Georgie lighting up.
With a pipe and a baggie in his pocket, my old friend gave up on his life.
He decided not to work, but to take aimless walks down deserted avenues;
Day after empty day he took his drifting strolls into a personal oblivion.
We subsequently lost contact in the ensuing decades, and I forgot about him.
Until recently… I found out…
Georgie’s funeral took place 25 years ago at Rose Hills Cemetery.
Rest in piece old friend, old tormentor, with your little blue inhaler.
(Charles Philip Arthur George - b. 14 November 1948)
I had a cousin called Charles, said Aunty Olive.
Nice young man. That's him on our TV.
That's not cousin: it's King, said Aunty Lucy. It's King Charles.
Now watch it all on this TV. It's a TV, Olive, a TV.
It's nineteen fifty-three, isn't it? asked Aunty Olive.
I remember Victoria. There she is.
She's dead, said Aunty Lucy. And you meant Elizabeth. She's gone, too.
Now look at those oils. They're from the Mount of Olives.
Very posh, said Aunty Elsie. Olives.
Nothing to do with Aunty Olive though - she's here, right here. Ha-ha!
Do be quiet, said Aunty Olive. We're all different olives. Ha-ha!
And this boy is Prince Charles. Prince Charles.
Prince Harry, Olive, Aunty Elsie corrected. Not Charles.
Harry's the King's second son. That red-headed one.
Now, said Aunty Lucy, you must have heard of this chrism oil on this TV?
Oils of sesame, rose, jasmine, cinnamon.
Oh, yes, said Aunty Elsie. I've heard of them.
Neroli, too, and that benzoin, amber and orange blossom.
Oh, you do show off, our Elsie, said Aunty Olive.
We're not that Mr Shakespeare's three witches, you know!
But look who's here, Aunty Olive added:
That Prince What's His Name chap, that Princess royal.
Yes, said Aunty Elsie: Duke of Gloucester, Viscount Linley,
Prince George - that nice boy - and Princess Charlotte, it never stops.
And nor will this TV show, said Aunty Olive.
So let's watch this King George, er, Frederick, er . . .
Charles! Aunty Lucy bellowed.
Charles! Charles! Charles! Charles! Charles!
(6 May 2003)
(You may wish to see also "Trooping the Colour" of June 2022 and "Obsequies for a Queen" of September 2022; and Elsie appears also in "Aunty Elsie's Bathroom" and "A Rubbing of Hands")