Long Fittings Poems
Long Fittings Poems. Below are the most popular long Fittings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fittings poems by poem length and keyword.
The camera inside the picture
concertina's time-lines into exclamation points.
Antique tripods brace themselves,
their quaint brass fittings
help minds to adjust.
Some turn a grooved infinity sprocket.
Some cave paint on the arching
bones of elk heads.
If we are to discover what is out there
we must board a ghost train,
plot a milky way over a whiteboard -
orientate to relate.
Spirit, that invisible violin
in a trio of appearance,
is a lone lover.
The third lover arrives at night
walking across fingertips,
while a pale moonlight
moves hands around
a clock of want.
The other elements
of frequency modulation
are the sex machines
that transmits power to pressure,
they are small devices
that molest moments into prayer.
Lastly there is
the whistling tinker man.
The rattle of pots and kettles
behind his moving caravan
enchants all we children
of much lesser gods.
The engine: Long and black
And sleek as she could be
She shook the earth in her approach
As her heraldry.
An atmosphere of steam and smoke
Expanding in her wake
The Queen-of-the-Rails speeds on
An arrival soon to make.
Massive is her presence
Enormity her design
Power is her excess
This Queen is so refined
Once she ruled with majesty
When o’er the rails she flew
But … now, this one last time,
The railway bids: “Adieu”.
Slowly when she comes to stop
We see she’s thoroughbred
When water, steel and hard, black coal
Within her there are wed.
Her regal-ness resplendent
In fittings’ shining bright
Commanding our respect
O’er the rails of her last flight.
Now sitting at the siding
She’s puffing rhythmic breath
The museum’s destination
Of her life commits its’ theft.
Photographs will mimic
Her image of today
But missing from those photos:
Glories of Yesterday
When o’er the steel she thundered
Demanding from all who saw
Respect for Her grand power
Which held them all in awe.
But Glory, she found, was fleeting
When “progress” came to call
Her future then was set in stone
In the writing on the wall.
Now we hear the brake release …
Her throttle then is moved …
She inches down the shiny track
Where the land with steel is grooved
Then as she gains her speed
And whistles out her “yell”
An announcement for all to hear:
“I know I’ve served you well!”
She’s journeyed through the ages
And a boy – an old man now -
Watches as she fades away -
He waves, then shouts out: “Ciao!”
But in his mind is yesteryear
With his dog there by his side
Watching near the railroad tracks
Where the Queen-of-the-Rails did ride.
And long from now whenever
He says: “Remember when …”
In those times of reverie,
She’ll come alive … again.
The bride intends to trash her dress,
The why is anybody´s guess.
Apparently, today it´s hip
But I say - sweetheart, get a grip!
That gown is gorgeous, made of magic,
Harming it would just be tragic.
Swirls of fabric, sparkly belt,
Down the aisle, hearts did melt.
Think of all that time you spent
´Til, to you, ´twas evident
That this would be the one you´d wear,
A bridal gown beyond compare.
All those fittings, all that cost,
In one minute, will be lost.
Though you´ll never wear it hence,
Trashing it just makes no sense.
I beseech you, blushing bride,
Do not by this trend abide.
Wearing it brought so much joy,
Trashing it - I´ll just say Oy!
If we are to discover what is out there
we must board the Holy Ghost,
cleave the winds of time
into gods and tridents,
count the star clusters within us.
Under seeking skulls: those white domes,
antique tripods brace themselves,
their quaint brass fittings
helping us to adjust
to the future.
Some seekers turn a grooved infinity sprocket,
some paint cave paintings on the arching
bones of craniums.
Spirit (that invisible violin),
is the prime element
in these spiritual machines,
some of which gaze into darkness,
some that can push behind the past
into a freely radical moment
unmolested by thought.
The secondary element
is the whistling tinker man
or any god we choose to name.
The tertiary element
is the rattle of his pots and kettles
upon his moving caravan.
We hear those tympanic chords,
then like hermit crabs
we leave our shells
and burst out into travelling music.
'Tis 60 years now come and gone
Since first we took our Pledge
To be true, one to another,
To take a step beyond the sharp edge
That marks the bounds of Mine or Thine,
Embracing, the more nobly, in its stead
This larger life of Two made One,
Sharing our travels 'round the Sun.
Through Fortune's forges
Together we've passed,
Shared its givings and takings,
First to last.
We've sojourned together the whole of the way,
To pull into safe harbor at the end of the day.
To safe harbor at sunset we come,
Our treasure in tow;
All the diamonds we've gathered
From the things we now know:
That the Having is more when the Taking is less,
That the Wealth is more than the simple show
Of whatever fine fittings upon this fair ship,
Between us the diamonds flash and spark,
All carved from whisperings in the dark.
So thanks for the diamonds,
My Beloved, My Dear
That shine with the light
Of each cherished year -
Stronger than time, deeper than death,
Those treasures we build, while yet we draw breath.
I was once misfortuned with being called a tool
by a man who believed I was most often the fool.
By a soul who only ever acted on his own behalf
I was told that I'm often used, simply do the math.
I played along with his insult as it was meant to be
by showing mock indignation at this thing he said to me.
I gave him then a ponderous look, and then I dully said...
"yes, but am I a useful tool? or am I broken then instead?"
He huffed and gave me a look, "you know what I meant"
Responded I, "I bet I'm new. not broken, worn or bent!"
He ignored me for the moment, his annoyance was clear.
"maybe I'm a cracker for nuts! A bottle opener for beer!?"
"Or yes! a wrench used for nuts, bolts, pipe fittings or more..."
He glared at my next words, "hopefully not from a dollar store"
I nudged him then, smiled some, "oh don't get all mud stuck"
"Hey! what if I'm chains or a tow-rope.. pull you out with any luck."
In his impatience, he yelled, "STOP!" He was looking rather mad.
I left it alone, got tight lipped, but oh what fun I just had.
Stop myself? "Ha!" I blurted then "I'm wily in my crafts"
"If I'm a tool then so are you, I'm using you for laughs"
Potatoes And Mushrooms
Fries are not only deep-fried sticks to which nothing permanent connects
But also, what happens when a person makes some serious mistakes.
And a way to eat however many potatoes a person wants to in one sitting
Even after a couple of inconvenient but needed fittings
Steaks are better for people than snakes especially at lakes regardless of who bakes but sometimes more fat than meat -although maybe not in sweet old Crete Maybe that doesn't bother a Pete or a Skeeter - however it does bother me even without bees.
The hatred of mushrooms is sometimes based on uncorrected misconceptions but they make poor brooms for bedrooms and awful grooms-not to mention bad brides but they are pretty good stuffed, as are potatoes!
You might have blisters on your hands from all your manual toil.
You may be climbing up a pole with an electrical coil.
Could be a produce vendor shucking husks from the cob.
It’s just a job.
You might have permanent employment, or only work from time to time.
You may have ring around the collar from industrial grime.
Could be working in a hotel kitchen spearing kebabs.
It’s just a job.
You might regard it a profession, a career, or a chore.
You may be forced to punch a time clock when you pass through the door.
Could be an undercover agent, or a thug with the mob.
It’s just a job
You might be laboring like Sisyphus for minimum wage.
You may possess a golden parachute for late middle age.
Could be widgeting the fittings on a thingamabob.
It’s just a job.
You might be entry level ready for the corporate sphere.
You may be hoping to retire in by the end of the year.
Could be cleaning up a crime scene where the vic was a slob.
It’s just a job
You might be licensed by the state to practice criminal law.
You may be framing out a condo with a circular saw.
We all need to make a living, even trash-talking snobs.
It’s just a job.
The tweet on the pipe called the muster fall-in
The cadets all fell in with nary a din
For now they’d be grouped for “Hands to Cleanship”
To dress up the ship afore the Old Man's pip-pip
Well-trained, the cadets set to their work
The Bo ‘suns and POGIs made sure they didn’t shirk.
The awnings were tautened with the Shark's Mouth agape
The ropes in the grommets brought all into shape
The hydrants and fittings were brassoed and shined
The scuppers were cleaned where muck was confined
Running rigging was secured with belaying pins
All loose gear were neatly stacked in their bins
Hawsers and towropes were carefully coiled
Wire ropes ‘spiked, unkinked and oiled.
The decks were all cleaned with the broom and the brush
Fenders and pontoons secured so sides wouldn’t crush
With hammers the cable was chipped off of rust
The shackles were oiled after cleaning the dust.
The bitters on the bits were tethered on tight
With the bitter ends belayed and tucked out of sight.
The QD was holystoned with water and sand
(All set for the do with the Naval Band)
The Old Lady was painted in her customary gray
Her waists all shaped up for the rest of the day
The guns were all covered for the incoming squall
Even before the “cover guns” call
The Inglefields were mustered, the pennants and flags
Strung for’ard to stern without any sags
And thus was the ship all dressed to the tee
As shipshape and dandy as she rightly ought to be.
Their tasks all done, the cadets did secure
But the day was not done, there was more to endure!
Simple short phrases
Taken from the grayest clouds,
charcoal mist collecting my thoughts
Entwining my heart with pointed sorrow
as my stupidity takes center stage to a sold out show
Weakened at the knees, disjointed disappointments,
assumptions falter my eyes
Blinded by the sight of one more
licking the seasoned wounds of past regrets
Channeling frustrations with a remote, the mute button not working
Shoe fittings find my mouth, at least in silent words
Crying inside and outside too,
rivers of lost dreams stored in a mason jar…its lid rusted shut
Wrenching my fingers, twisted knots,
lacing fears that are merely a mirage
yet still flourish in desert dreamscapes fluctuating
as camels drink from my oasis on Wednesdays
Then, as if a window opens, words are heard
simple short phrases
tiny syllables counted
in Haiku fashion
and in an instant my heart spins in circular motions
A smile of winged happiness adorns my face,
sun pours through and zephyrs unfurl their sweet aromas,
dancing from flower to flower…to my heart
It is amazing how words can affect us
when all it takes is a whisper of affection,
from you to me, to make this moment,
this day, this world…the perfect place