Long Folders Poems
Long Folders Poems. Below are the most popular long Folders by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Folders poems by poem length and keyword.
I OPEN HER OLD DUSTY BOXES
FILLED WITH HER MEMORIES
PICTURES OF FAMILY, FRIENDS AND LOVED ONES
MANY OF THE SAME PEOPLE AND SOME NEW ONES, ONLY CHANGING CLOTHS. HAIRSTYLES AND POSITIONS
OVER THE YEARS IN VARIOUS HOUSES, ROOMS AND LANDSCAPES
AND THEIR PLACES IN THE STACK OF PHOTOGRAPHS
THEY POSE, THEY PLAY, THEY PARTY
FROM BIRTH TO BIRTH
THE WEDDING, BABY AND SCHOOL CLASSROOM PHOTOGRAPHS
WERE ALL KEPT NEATLY IN CARDBOARD FOLDERS WITH CUTOUT FRAMES EXPOSING THEM TO HER
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PILE BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOGRAPHS
AND THE COLORED ONES
NEXT TO THE MARRIAGE, BIRTH, AND GRADUATION CERTIFICATES
ARE DEATH CERTIFICATES AND MASS CARDS
GIVING US THEIR NAMES
ALONG SIDE PICTURES OF SAINTS
MANY OF THE EARLY BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOGRAPH OF HER PARENTS, BROTHERS AND SISTERS USED TO BE KEPT TOGETHER IN TATTERED MANILLA ENVELOPES TOWARD THE BOTTOM OF THE PILE
AT THE TOP OF HER MEMORIES
A FEW OF THOSE MEMORIES
VERY SPECIAL TO HER
USED TO BE KEPT IN SIMPLE VICTORIAN FRAMES
ON HER BEDROOM BUREAU
ALONG WITH EARLY PICTURES OF ME, MY BROTHERS AND OUR DAD
THE LATER FAMILY PICTURES OF BLACK AND WHITE AND COLOR WERE KEPT IN TACKY ALBUMS
THAT AGED WITH US OVER TIME
AS THE PEOPLE PASSED ON
NEW ONES TOOK THEIR PLACE
ALONG WITH THE NEW MASS CARDS
GIVING US THEIR NAMES
ALONG SIDE PICTURES OF SAINTS
THE NEW WEDDING, BABY AND SCHOOL CLASSROOM PHOTOGRAPHS
WERE ALL KEPT NEATLY IN CARDBOARD FOLDERS WITH CUTOUT FRAMES EXPOSING THEM TO US
I DO NOT RECOGNIZE MANY OF THOSE IN HER EARLY PHOTOGRAPHS
BUT THERE IS NO ONE LEFT TO ASK AS TO WHO THEY WERE
THE DIARIES, SCHOOL AUTOGRAPH ALBUMS AND PERSONAL PHONE BOOKS IN HER WRITING
THAT I HAVE FOUND IN THE BOXES
WILL GIVE LITTLE CLUE AS TO THE REAL PAST
THEY, LIKE THE POSED PHOTOGRAPHS
WILL GIVE TO THOSE WHO WERE NOT THERE
ONLY THE VAGUENESS INDICATION OF SPECIFIC SNAPSHOTS IN THEIR TIME
WITHOUT ANY OF THE CONNECTING TISSUES.
PART OF THE MEMORIES FOUND IN THE SMALL BOXES WERE THE PERFUMES, JEWELRY AND PILLS THAT SHE WORE
THAT GOT HER FROM ONE EVENT TO THE NEXT.
THE MEMORIES THAT WERE IN THESE BOXES
ARE ALL GONE
OUT INTO THE WORLD
AND ALL THAT REMAINS
ARE THE PAPERS AND THINGS THAT ONCE WERE
LAYING IN THE BOXES IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER COLLECTING DUST
AND WAITING FOR SOMEONE
SOMEDAY
TO PICK THEM UP
AND WONDER WHAT AND WHO THEY WERE.
Tis quite a beast of burden to bear atlas (shrug off not allowed)
Atlas shrugged an impossibility
tantamount to skinny dipping in the lock nest lagoon
Tantamount to shrugging Atlas off mine bony,
ill suited, widower wizened shoulders,
would take naked fat chance in Fountain Head of virgin waters,
eddy fied with huge boulders
which preliminary sketches to maintain pristine
(pure as Snow White's booty) kept in folders
when collaborative effort called, the fore mid able,
trio, sans state of the artists
(within their respective trades as writer
fictional hero, and architect)
Ayn Rand, John Galt, and Howard Roark,
who undertook resplendent measures
affected resilient as omnipotent cable
tub ring plenti kickstarting linkedin gatecrashers
to a snapchatting halt
instagramming, crowdsourcing, crowdfunding,
held at equivalent asper Bay of Pigs
viz Pay of Bigs
(in this context identified as
(vudu trained stalwarts, petsmart outlook,
incorporating literary, metaphorical,
nautical staff comprising fable
sea Crete cure metamorphoses abilities, as failsafe method –
i.e., physically, instantaneously, architecturally rendering
modus operandi capacity asper quick as blazing saddles
(ponied up by young Frankenstein)
kept in fireproof stable,
where at dextrous fingers ala hocus-pocus prestidigitation
which chiefly buoyantly ardently, and hardily drafted imp pier re: hull
rock hull impediment for shore also cast evil spells should
any foolish soul, who dared
to maneuver past the near blinding pier sing redoubt
to access blue lagoon like watery oasis
shielded via reeking poor Island
(where an atomic rooster gargoyle shrouded parapet)
buffeted the crashing waves against
the lock smooth as a glass table
whose wooden sea legs solidly affixed
to hip, hip hooray three chairs
inviting two story book heroes plus the author,
unfurling parchment scriptural roles invited ad lib flairs
since threat of category five hurricane
manifested took writer by surprise,
thus requiring her to utilize cognitive gears
which necessitated modification of original plot,
now bumped credos with religion
vis a vis engendering prayers.
Something was so terribly wrong, the room seemed upside down, the furniture was out of
place, the scent of flowers all around.
She wandered from the corridor, into the main living room, so many people gathered here, a
black atmosphere seemed to loom.
Her mother sat upon the chair, crying in her tea, "whatever's wrong"? she asked her mom,
"please won't you confide in me?"
Her Mother gave no answer, as she sat and looked so sad, "maybe I will get answer if I go
and speak to dad"
Her father had a solemn look, his face was tired and drawn, he almost gave the impression
that his heart in two was torn.
"Father tell me what is wrong, why are these people here, you're really filling me dread,
an awfully frightening fear"
Once more she had no answers, her father never spoke, the torment was too painful, her
father's heart was broke.
A knock came upon the door, and everyone then froze, and from the chair where her mother
sat, to her feet she rose.
"Let me do this" her Father said, "please everyone just wait, there bringing home my
daughter, in a coffin through our gate"
Bewildered and confused the girl went to the door, there she saw a funeral hearse, with
wreaths upon the floor,
"Ok I must be dreaming, cause there is no way that I am dead, maybe It's concussion, No
wait, when did I bang my head?"
The Undertakers slowley walked, with the Coffin held on their shoulders, the Chief mourner
entered in the house, with funeral rites in folders.
"I am very sorry for your loss, we took good care with her, would you like the casket
opened up? we could do that for you Sir"
Her father nodded in response, he had to see her face, one last time before she leaves, to
her final resting place.
The Family began to gather, to give their last respects, one by one they passed by,
followed by their guests.
Who is in that coffin? she had no idea what to expect, but she would soon discover, it
was her turn in line next.
Nervously she stepped forward, as she bowed her head to see, "My God this can't be
happening, there's no way that corpse is me"
To be continued.... see part 2
FabelFiftyTwo
FabelFiftyTwo
ENTITY
CharlaXFabels
01010100110100101010101010100101010101010101011010
“GASP” how dare you children use this site
1 Corinthians 13:12
Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.
Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
Computor has a foul sense of humor today.
It remembers searches and keeps items stored in folders and when asked to
perform a function it can do scores of stores and images and almost anything it
even saves my voice on tape and transmits mee to mye babay in a email
paperclipped thing. The image at photo bucket was just the fuehrer Hitler seems
to have gotten on some bizarre security list. Error messages are the most bizarro
fun. Word Document is silly if you want to make a word like bizzaro after you have
typed bizarre then yew have to tell the document just to ignore it after all.
Here is the example one eye happen just to love.
Temporary Error (502) We're sorry, but your Gmail account is currently
experiencing errors. You won't be able to log in while these errors last, but don't
worry, your account data and messages are safe. Our engineers are working to
resolve this issue.
Please try logging in to your account again in a few minutes.
This one gives me fits and giggles try fits and fits if you get my drift if you can
savvy my meaning if you can fathom my twain. Not to mention all the times the
thing locks up and has to be restart eye like to log off to save my stuff but then it
falters and it hems and it falls off and then restarts as if the eye was never there
the thinking of the robot in the case near my left arm is so bizarre the bizarro
refrain of the missing memory case. This was in my Evidence folder in YAHOO.
They do it too the errors what eye meant. the computor REMEMBERS what you
do
HAHAHA
its just a FUNCTION
it KNOES what ewe have DONE
and it saves the INFOmation
and then it seems like it knoes what ewe have done or what ewe aer doing
The Picture Converter
Eye was working and making copies of my poems to preserve the text and the
pictures do not come with the words to rest in folders where eye place the text so
the very first thing that eye want all the newly wedded student graduates to do is
make me an internet picture converter that works. Make the picture into the text
the ED NOTE it was the symbols
The Picture Converter
http://storypen.com/cgi-bin/index.pl?
poemnumber=381095&sitename=charlax&password=&poemoffset=0&displayp
oem=t&item=story
The Picture Converter
The Picture Converter
Eye was working and making copies of my poems to preserve the text and the
pictures do not come with the words to rest in folders where eye place the text so
the very first thing that eye want all the newly wedded student graduates to do is
make me an internet picture converter that works. Make the picture into the text
the
OH wow this would not work until eye deleted the symbols in the word document
The Picture Converter
Eye was working and making copies of my poems to preserve the text and the
pictures do not come with the words to rest in folders where eye place the text so
the very first thing that eye want all the newly wedded student graduates to do is
make me an internet picture converter that works. Make the picture into the text
the hay ref and the IMG thing that works so well in all my forums and lay it on the
right page margin next to all the poem words that eye must save and then when
eye copy and past this thing again let it emerge as pictures once again to rule the
poetry page to come back to image land to actually be a picture once again to
make the poem bleed the picture converter will have an icon of its own please
feel free to use the charlax one my image is still free eye love the poetry and the
pictures and the banners just add so much to all the words a little story place a
little story made a little story gold when poems rule the world only poets will be
old.
One step closer to finishing the project,
The deadline is fast approaching,
and it has to be perfect.
Working hours after hours not to fall behind,
The family is eating dinner—another night without Mom, no need to remind.
Keeping an eye on the clock, eight o’clock is approaching;
The boss demands a tête-à-tête.
The pounding in your head makes you fret,
Another migraine and the aura of a halo.
Punching out won’t be before 11 p.m.—you just know.
You pull up a chair and place the folders on the table,
Your stomach grumbles, and your mind is on the stale bagel
In the fridge, in a brown paper bag.
Working for the almighty dollar is the price tag,
Leaving the house, leaving your family behind,
Desperately trying to keep your nose to the grind.
Full speed ahead, feeling like a hamster on the spinning wheel;
You should be at home bathing your babies, but instead, you feel like a heel.
Running as fast as you can,
Leaving your world behind as you go over the plan.
The boss lady reminds you that many have fallen behind,
No job is secure—it can be transferred and assigned
To the younger crowd climbing the ladder,
Not trying to make you feel sadder.
The clock of time falls behind each year,
Just be happy if you make it another year.
Full speed ahead or fall behind—
Just those two options, no peace of mind.
The years sped by, and the seasons come and go,
The family is all grown now, and your gait is slow.
So many regrets swirl through your head;
The deadlines of yesterday were not here to stay.
If I could snap my fingers, my life would have been full of delays.
I would have fallen behind while bathing my babies,
I would have fallen behind enjoying the daisies,
I would have fallen behind when I had a full house.
Now, the days are long as you gaze at your spouse;
The irony of what we think is important
No longer matters as you spread Ben Gay—it’s the most absorbent.
The aches and pains are a constant reminder
As you make your way to your favourite recliner.
I’m not an athlete although I love tennis,
I’ve flirted with fitness for most of my life,
Found rewards of a life that’s quite active are
Counterproductive to quality midlife.
The first problem is you’ve an imbecile’s view,
Little chance that you know the real consequence
Actions may have or the risks you are taking,
With doubt that your motives have logic or sense.
You should think of your body as delicate -
Injuries cured, still scars carried a lifetime,
While trophies you won are just yesterday’s news,
This is battle that needs shift of paradigm.
Bodies aren’t cars and spare parts aren’t de rigueur
And obvious thinking can still be untrue.
Though a high flying seed seems so beckoning
Don’t be seduced by dreams never thought through.
Approaching old age brought some bad health resolves
When I thought of new muscle as healthy points,
Simple decisions, to not run on pavement,
To swim in the future, thus saving my joints.
These half-truths cost me dearly as “fitness” led
Me by the nose, wrecking both aging shoulders,
With six months of quite painful rehab for each.
Is this something you want in your health folders?
Caution is frequently thrown to the wind when
We place too much faith in our most naive view,
I felt certain that swimming was gentle but
Life may have truths that we all undervalue.
Success is addictive and that did me in,
There is joy when your choice seems a blest affair,
Joints of a senior are not what my youth had
And rotator cuffs soon cried out for repair.
Moderation I guess is the sense shared here,
Foolish to count on the smile of just pure luck
For pride sets the stage for the mighty to fall
Unless you’re flattened first by a circus truck!
Long Tooth
June 12, 2016
One30four
One30four
CharlaXFabels
YahooEmailsplitter.com
Los Angeles California dateline Wed. April 9, 2008
“Just in over the wire”
Flash: Yahoo.com just unveiled the newest discovery
made in the laboratory the Emailsplitter.
Due to secrecy the news just leaked out of the California offices
the Head of Yahoo Constance Dean was talking to the press only moments ago.
IN a very nasally voice this is Dean talking “We have to credit CharlaX for this
discovery he sent us an emale to ask us to split the infinitive email to make them
become two three or four copies at the same time so that when you folder email
you can put one email into several different folders at the same time”. There is no
need to be so excited we have been working on very similar things for a very long
boredom so when that brilliant fabulist sent to us his wants we only filled them”.
The product report is filed in the Government Documents and hidden from the
public eye. Eye went to the yahoo email and signed in the thing is there the link is
all it was so strange a thing to see just above the inbox beside compose it just
says splitme on the button when you have a message to be foldered into more
than one folder just hit the purple button. Then go down and click on the folders
to enable them the boxes look just like the ones on contacts it must have been
hard to add the software good job yahoo for a job well done. “Hats off to ewe” and
waving my middle finger as well that's a gesture of respected glee the yahoo
company keep making our free email better. Thank you YAHOO for the
emailsplitter. Just go now mye gentle reader ewe to YahooEmailsplitter.com to
get the updated version.
A poem based on relationship…”A girl in her own dreams”
wrote by Mrs.Madhavi :)
DREAMS - An Iota of HOPE
“Waked up 7 :00 am in the morning..
saw my beauteous dreams transforming..
ohh yeah..with a drowsiness yawning..
Suddenly I found myself refreshing.
Excitedly Gone near by emblazoned window..
Fearfully Viewed a gloomy shadow..
Suddenly he smiled at me through haze of smoke..
Like a fantastic sizzling coke..
Soothing music on its full swing ..
Like a glittering diamond in the ring..
He ought to give me red rose..
On his bended knees he bows..
He tickled on my pierced nose..
With which I got glaciatedly froze..
Like a tempting dark fantasy chocolate melting in the mouth..
We strongly decided and took a royalistic oath..
He Embraced his hand on my shoulders..
Which Got intact like file and folders…
Like the moon shines in the sparkling night..
Enduringly felt to hug him so tight..
Dazzling Eyes immersed in each other..
Tuned together like a romantic lover..
Every nerve of us conjoined together..
Because the love lasted forever..forever…
Suddenly a glimpse of sun came and shattered all my zestful dreams..
“”Ohhhh.. ohhhh No..Not again. Not again. No more illustrations. No one can dwell my heart like you. Please come back. No more dreams please..””
.
Yep this feeling arised at once and will be still till our last breathe. Lasting forever. Just forever..
We trapped in each other’s heart and now no one dare to break our love-life’s part.. Apart..
Love is the essence of life and it is measured not by the count of breathe we take..but by the moments we share together till our last breathe..
By,
Madhavi
for George
"You always said you had little invisible friends,"
He wrote in a Christmas card one year, and Yes,
funny he would remember that. I called them Shovel,
Hoe, and BicaBacaBoca, all of indeterminate gender,
like Arial in "A Midsummer Night's Dream," beautiful
like that, and mysterious. Like the Bard, I now
consign them to the page. Reborn again.
My Navy hero, he sent us letters in brown V-
Mail folders, wartime paper and postage efficient,
and in one for our pianist stepmom, the lyrics
and music to "Lili Marlene." As for pin-ups,
he never owned up to Betty Grable's fabled legs,
her teasing over-the-shoulder glance, aimed toward
GI's everywhere, though there was the obligatory
tattoo he could never erase after sailor days, bluing
like Popeye's down the inside of his right arm.
Pacific time brought reward, some misfortune:
a bout with tuberculosis in Bizarte, Tunisia:
a year of recovery in a Naval hospital at home,
painting by the numbers, waiting out the time.
But, there was a hero's commendation from his
commanding officer for "aid in evacuation
of the wounded, and bringing the vessel into
port after torpedoing."
The ship, LST-3, earned two battle stars
for World War II service. Decommissioned
and struck from the Naval Register, it was sold
for scrapping, 10 September, 1947 - the year
I graduated from high school.
He was not sold for scrap metal, nor sustained
any. He came home to his sweetheart, and his kid
sister -- you know the one. That's her in a middle
row of the Ritz movie house, the one crying
while "Anchors Aweigh" plays after the War Bonds
trailer to the image of a warship, plunging
valiantly on a faraway sea