Long Filing Poems
Long Filing Poems. Below are the most popular long Filing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Filing poems by poem length and keyword.
The ice-cream parlor
is just across the road
from a small white clapper-board church.
I sit in a window seat,
watching the little town
and the sidewalk
as it moves people around,
thought-reading their directions,
as they go to, or come away
from predictable starts and arrivals.
Now the congregation is filing-out
of the narrow church door.
The pastor, has somehow
teleported himself,
to get up in front of them,
he shakes hands and pats backs,
knowing them all,
perhaps knowing too much
about some of them.
Kids are corralled quickly,
strapped into booster seats,
or marshaled across to this store
for ice-cream treats.
It's just a little township,
on a side-road to nowhere special.
The ice-cream is homemade and delicious.
I could trash-talk this hamlet,
these people, these families,
I am naturally cynical by nature,
but I am in love with them all,
and the ice-crem is always so good.
I accidentally burned my breakfast toast.
I gave a thirty minute monologue
on this heinous crime.
To what’s left of the crust,
I stared, then cursed, then laughed
so hard the room shivered
and in the echoes—
Surprise!
I found the voice I choked
for being ‘inappropriate’—
—Time to toast.
I was startled by my cracked laughter,
as the cat groomed herself
indifferently witnessing
my twenties
spent trashing a toaster.
I announced, to the stinging smell of embers,
“We’re filing a complaint
to whoever put us
in this world where you can’t trust a toaster…”
But we all know,
in a week,
I'll likely trust it again.
Form:
I really was going to write something last night.
But then it became something stronger.
I really like when a pebble grows all on its own.
Like a bedroom grows with a strong gust of wind.
I really was going to write something last night.
The raspy feeling is everything.
Grows into a magic whisper.
Teeters around like the first thing you can think of.
Then I woke up.
Again, I have things I need to share and also let fall into disrepair.
Just as well.
Then it became a puddle again.
I could have written the best thing.
I fell asleep so fast though,
It was the fastest thing.
Took me away from it all.
I was going to go and write a world famous song.
Leaping and crawling all at once.
Musical horror shows.
Yet, as nice as that old dresser in the corner.
Filled filing cabinets.
Live in the puddle.
My brain is like a-
Raspy thing.
I really was going to.
That's what depression is.
You were, but you weren’t, but things are things.
So I didn’t write a thing for a month after that.
Then it became something stronger.
Leaping and crawling all at once.
Fall into disrepair.
Like the filing cabinet.
So I didn’t write a thing.
I think I hate it after all.
I remember Grandpa…when our family gathered at his house…as our joy and laughter filled the air…we would always find him smiling…sitting in his favorite chair.
I remember how he’d smile…listening to new stories…or stories we retold…when I was young I figured that’s what Grandpas do when Grandpas get that old.
Sometimes he would add to a story…Oh! How his stories could beguile…but most of the time he was content to sit…to listen...to watch…and smile.
I know now what Grandpa was doing…it wasn’t because he was old…or weird…he was capturing memories as they surfaced…before they disappeared.
He was gathering up new memories…ones he hadn’t heard before and filing them away in his heart…in the place where memories are stored.
As he listened to us retell old stories…stories of family and friends…he was recalling his own memories and seeing how they blend.
He was reveling in the moment…knowing moments like those only last a little while….awash in all those memories…he could not help but smile.
I know this because when our family gathers at our house…as joy and laughter fill the air…I am now that Grandpa smiling…sitting in my favorite chair.
Capturing as many memories as I can…new memories and old ones I hold dear…smiling…trying to enjoy every moment…before those moments disappear.
Hoping every memory I’m a part of…over time…in my family will appear and reappear…and just like memories of my grandpa
will bring a smile to their faces…
when I’m no longer here.
She hands me a wad of receipts
and says “Here, hold these”
I’m sitting, watching her
fumble through her purse.
She’s trying to put her wallet away.
all the while talking to herself.
“It used to fit. I’ve got too
much in here.
What am I going to do with it?
Oh well, it’s all good.
I don’t want a bigger purse.
But I could get a smaller wallet.
No that wouldn’t work either.”
She is oblivious to me
and everything around her.
She’s pushing, pulling, removing,
stuffing all at once.
It’s called organizing
and a glimpse into how she thinks.
Adding, subtracting, mentally filing and discarding.
I wondered what I was, in her life
am i the wallet, holding the
few, most important items
items if lost could seriously disrupt
and make life miserable for a long time
but ultimately could be replaced.
Was i one the receipts that help balance
the checkbook, let her know where the money goes
not that it mattered much
if lost or tossed,
would soon be forgotten
was I the purse that held it all together
not organized, but a safe harbor
sometimes i think i’m the shoes
important enough to be trusted to
carry the load and protect her sole
all the while being
stepped on and stepping on things that
she would never touch with her hands
after a while, worn out and
as with the receipts,
forgotten about and discarded
Saturday yard sale (moving to a heritage apartment)
years of collecting and lots must go even things of contentment
two china cabinets, one from mom, one grandma, that still bring a smile
perhaps, I can somehow keep them changing them into book shelve style
as I go through my many things and stuff I say why did I ever get that
gothic clothes, retro and vintage lace, shoes, handbags, jewelry and hat
a broken and battered filing cabinet that holds poetry written from my heart
NO, NO, this old cabinet and me can never, ever, never be apart
vases and vases, colorful, quite dusty and useless
dozens of porcelain cups kept for years and lost in forgetfulness
movies watched, outdated music, just loads and tons of stuff
how can I survive this yard sale Saturday because this will be rough
I should hang a sign on me reading ... broken heart for sale
well, suck it up as grandma used to say and lets have a sale
________________________
April 27, 2023
Poetry/Couplet/Yard Sale
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1543-134-27
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, Brian Strand Standard, No. 1212
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 04/30/2023
Honorable Mention
What’s really going on during this “Shutdown?”
Well, this is an idea of what is possibly going on.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Who is Humpty Dumpty? (It begins with T and rhymes with Dump. Now put them together and you get Dump T…)
Lil Jack Horner sat in a corner (Waiting on the Epstein files to be released)
Jack and Jill went up the hill (Capital Hill to protest)
Lil Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet (Minding her business)
Hickory Dickory Dock, the mouse ran up the clock (Time is ticking. When will this shutdown end?)
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jumped over the candlestick (You gotta be quick to avoid deportation)
Lil Sally Walker sitting in a saucer (Filing for unemployment)
This Lil Piggy went to the market (But the high cost of groceries sent her right back home)
Mary, Mary quite contrary (Yall already know who is the most arrogant, contrary, male version of Mary)
Lil Bo Peep lost her sheep (And her job due to mass firings related to this government shutdown)
Wee Willie Winkle runs through the town (Running away from ICE)
There was an old lady who lived in a shoe (Because affordable housing is not so affordable)
The wheels on the bus goes round and round (Just like this government with all the finger pointing and name blaming)
A sailor went to sea, sea, sea (Away from the Ugly BBB)
London Bridge is falling down (This country)
Rock-a-bye baby on a tree top (Poor baby, just trying to sleep in peace)
Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard (And because her snap benefits were cut, it was bare)
Hush lil baby, don’t say a word (Sounds like a Republican)
If you happy and you know it clap your hands (Don’t think nobody clapping right about now)
It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring (That old man tired, he been so stressed worrying about his social security benefits)
Take me out to the ball game (For a much needed distraction from all this chaos and dysfunction), I’m over it!
Today’s September 2d,
but Sam the squirrel is not impressed~
no brisk air, no acorns dropping,
just heat he can’t digest.
He squints up at the cloudless, furnace sky,
tail drooping in sweaty defeat:
“Where’s pumpkin spice and sweater weather?
Why is Texas still a heat-wave cheat?”
Beside him stands an armadillo,
cool as a desert stone.
He shrugs beneath his armored shell:
“Buddy, this is Texas. We own the heat zone.”
The squirrel fans his face with a wilted leaf,
dramatic as dramatic can be:
“I’m filing a fall-weather complaint!”
The armadillo sighs, “File one for me.”
Nothing drains me faster than housework
Unless it is filing
Or paperwork
Facing a day of drudgery
Takes the oomph out of my dendrite field
We crawl out of bed
We meaning me and Reluctance
Reluctance is stubborn and keeps track
We didn’t like it last year
We are not going to like it this year
Procrastination is waiting in the hallway
As we crawl past
We HATE paperwork! She screams
All of my energy gone now,
I can barely lift myself up to the toilet.
After I wash my hands I crawl back to bed
And call in sick.
Weirdly enough, Energy and Fun kick in immediately.
We run out to the art studio and play all day
I feel like the Energizer Bunny!
I Hear He’s A Loser
I am from the USA
Where it’s okay to be gay
Not that I am, but if they say
That I am, it’s hearsay
Appointed first LGBT
NY third district officially
Congressman George Santos
United for Trump, how he boasts
Serving out his term as Lawmaker
Donations, a big taker
Republican, his shameless fabulism
Denies all fabrication, all criticism
Felonies up to his neck
In without a background check
How did he slip through the cracks?
Finally caught dead in his tracks
He made his own situation dire,
liar liar pants on fire.
I Hear He’s A Winner!
Ron DeSantis is
Florida’s governor and his
Plans for filing with the FEC
To beat Trump for presidency
On May twenty-fifth, he’ll give his rattle
On his intense running battle
Once you are known for lying
Then everything you say is trying
If not, and he wins, we’ll be crying
Let’s see if he passes the loser test
I give him all my best!
DeSantis is known to surprise even his closest allies with last-minute changes. #5
Trump frequently accused DeSantis of neglecting his job as governor -#1
"A really bad politician," Trump said. "Enjoy the trip, Ron!"
To qualify as a loser:
1. He doesn’t have a job or career goals -CHECK
2. He lies about everything - CHECK
3. He uses excuses instead of solutions when something goes wrong - CHECK
4. He has nothing to talk about -CHECK
5. He doesn’t have any friends or family who like him -CHECK
May 10, 2023 · US congressman George Santos, who ran for office on an embellished biography, has been charged with a wide range of felonies including fraud. The 34-year-old LAWMAKER, who has admitted to being...UPDATE Sixth congressman ever to be expelled in the nation's history on 12/1/23.