Long Furniture Poems
Long Furniture Poems. Below are the most popular long Furniture by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Furniture poems by poem length and keyword.
We love to paint, my muse and I.
It does not matter what – walls, doors, furniture, bricks.
Canvas painting is especially satisfying.
Drawing weird stuff is relaxing and pleasant, but here is where it gets freaky fun.
Adding the colors. We LOVE adding color, the brighter and bolder the better.
Our happy, cheerful color play puts us over the edge of intense happiness.
Yesterday I thought I was painting a blonde girl, I had blonde in my head for hours.
Pouf! I reached for the orange, and she ended up becoming a vibrant redhead, and it felt perfect.
I was as surprised as the painting; it is always a jolt of joy and expectation when I add the color.
As I throw paints together on a canvas, I watch an amazing unfolding of unbridled creativity.
I am instantly and thoroughly delighted and honored by my artistic muse’s artistic art play.
She throws odd things like gears, sawdust, pebbles, crunched up leaves, and glitter onto my canvases.
Oftentimes items get thrown onto the canvas and glued before I realize what she is doing.
An artist friend of mine once asked me, “Is that sawdust on the pirate ship?”
I admitted that it was.
How did that happen? He asked, genuinely surprised.
Easy, I told him. We were
Walking through the garage, and we saw it,
Grabbed a jar, collected it, and later glued it onto the
Canvas when we needed that color.
Samantha, my whacky, zany muse, is one sassy and confident artist.
I readily follow her lead.
"Somethings become part of our existence, never dispensing them however old or cracked they are...! May not be out of any special fondness or attachment, but simply so, defying all rationale."- By Poet
The syllable count-10, 7, 7, 10 is followed in all the three limericks.
I owned my house many many years back.
Changed my furniture, even kitchen rack.
But there is a rusted sink. 10,
It is tilted at the brink
Fear if it will come off the hinge and crack
Now my sink looks a worn out contraption.
My wife's upset, has a hot reaction.
All its former glamor, gone.
In my wife's eyes, it's a thorn.
Still hold it to my strange satisfaction!
Though a washbasin, looks a urinal.
Water keeps flowing as through a canal.
In lower pipe, there's a kink.
Anytime my sink may sink.
Why I keep it, I have no rationale!
The blue coloured walls
with a roof and a floor ,
i call it a home .
A large peepal tree
covers it and provides shade,
a nest on tree does not let its beauty fade.
A small verandah with railings ,
where my kids keep on playing ,
dark brown doors and windows
will remind me of my vows.
A buddha painted on the wall
will add to the peace and luxury overall.
HOME a place where i can go
and would want my children to grow.
The light brow wooden furniture and yellow plush sofas
will remind you all of a big stuffed samosas.
The texture on the walls
and an cupboard for all my handmade shawls,
will cover the bedroom hall.
The shin steel utensils
light up the dull kitchen drawers.
The tiles on the wall
will remind you of a waterfall.
then comes the children's room, my favorite one.
When you will enter and sit on the chairs, so very fluffy
you are surely gonna dose off in a jiffy.
The trophies and medals
decorate the pale white shelves.
The toughened glass cupboard
will surely be adored.
Alexa fills the room with melody all over,
as artificial intelligence can not ignored.
Security will be priority
so the corners will have cameras in warranty.
My drawings cover each and every room with focus light,
the frames will have all the pictures of people that i care about.
All this will give my house a concrete shape ,
where memories is what i will create.
This is my home miles away from rome,
where the doors will always be open for you,
thank you
The wide porch with
its green wicker furniture
looks out on the little park
that splits the street.
Great gnarled oak trees
stand guard over
the weathered benches
scattered here and there.
Veterans these oaks are,
many with amputated limbs
after untold years of
nor’easters and hurricanes,
but still standing tall.
A new generation of squirrels
plays tag up and down
the trunks and branches.
I pretend I am on my old porch
(just a few blocks away),
sitting on the blue and white
striped cushions of my glider,
looking out at the park
with its great oaks that
split that street in two.
Now I am a visitor; I refuse
to say I am a tourist.
I am still an islander,
though I now live far away.
(3/3/12)
We was an accident - like two cars in a crash
Our lives were tossed, turned upside down, trashed
We were the remains of life s destructive path.
We no longer had value or worth
And it seemed like it was that way since birth
We was like old pieces of furniture
Used, abused, and broken in two
What more could we do.
All the people saw was the outer frame
But could not see what the inside contained
They could not see the strength and beauty
That lied within- and the outer beauty
That once had been.
Their eyes only saw what their minds perceived
It to be -and did not see the reality.
They could not see the hurt or pain
That we held so deep inside
To the point that we would cry.
Like the oceans that hide their mysteries
There is so much that you do not see.
We have treasures buried in our soul
That once it’s shown - you want to hold.
We are the inner you that has longed to be free
But was chained up deep inside
Cowering in dark corners where you would hide.
Now you are free to explore the inner soul
And find that your life you can control.
Break the chains that have bound you for so long
And let your heart sing and rejoice in your new found self
For in this world there’s no one else
With our move into the country…simplifying is what it’s all about
We look critically at those things we need…and those we can do without.
From furniture and household items to clothes we find at the bottom of a drawer
So many items we’ve discovered we don’t use or wear them anymore.
So we’ve been piling and stacking these items on our porch
since in our life we no longer choose them…
to be given away, hopefully, to other families who will use them.
Well, word must have spread on the mountain…
because this morning what did we see
rummaging through these items but a raccoon family.
A mommy and her three babies…easy to spot by their distinctive masks and tails
Testing out our goods…like shoppers at a rummage sale.
Normally they come for food…looking to see if we’ve left them a surprise…
but this morning it was the items on the porch that caught those raccoon eyes.
I greeted them from the window…and when Mom looked up at me…
I told her to take whatever she wanted…that everything was free.
I said you’re welcome to the Dirt Devil…if it would fit into the hollow of your tree…
She smile saying, Thanks, but It’s much too big…and we have no electricity.
I tried to interest her in some pots and pans…She said raccoons don’t cook…
If’ it’s okay with you, she said…I think the children just want to look.
So I eased off the sales pitch…allowing them browse…as the night turned into dawn.
and the next time I looked out…the raccoon family was gone.
I’m not sure if they took anything…because in their life there is nothing that they lack
But by the way she lusted over that Dirt Devil…I imagine this evening…they’ll be back.
?
"I wish the world was a better place," "I dream."
Some people have fast cars, some wear thongs.
Do look up to view tall buildings, pretty houses, and
a nice pool, with a backyard and patio furniture too.
People walking around with very nice looking jewels.
And yet, where are all the brotherly love tools?
“I wish the world was a better place."
Technologies, luxuries, theater shows, games,
amazing views and pleasures for you and me to feel.
Yet, the earth these days is in a very tight squeeze.
“I wish the world was a better place."
Foods that fulfill your appetite; books that gratify and
medical advancement for the blind. Yet, note this:
if at times when we talk rightly, we may get maligned.
“I wish the world was a better place."
People suffering, starving, crying,
bleeding, dying, fighting, trying, finding.
"I wish the world was a better place."
Yet, we can be a candle light addition to this place.
Written in the "Bible" it speaks of that "Better Place."
In the book of "Revelation" it has revealed it!
The College Caravan
Last night we loaded the minivan with her
suitcases, Rubbermaid vats, and chest of plastic drawers
stuffed with clothing, toiletries, school supplies, and posters.
While our vehicle is tightly packed, her room stands hollow;
drained of stuff and spirit, except for the furniture she left behind
like the last icicle melting unnoticed in the spring thaw.
Morning’s excitement, today’s foreseen guest, found her passkey
so early, she displaced the alarm clock, announcing her presence.
On the verge of adventure, our cramped van vacates the driveway,
eager to meet the other jammed vehicles joining our journey.
Sporadic chatter splinters moments of spurned monotony,
spanning the miles amassing in our rearview mirror until …
A hatchback hauling a heavy load leads our line exiting for the rest
stop, where the parking lot hosts vehicle after vehicle stuffed with
suitcases, Rubbermaid vats, and chests of plastic drawers …
Our re-entry acceleration runs smoothly, courtesy of a
clamshell-covered car graciously slowing to permit our advance.
From sedans to SUV’s, the right lane is flush with fenders and
families, forming a cohesive chain whose links approach “The Exit”
signaling for the deceleration lane. The college caravan, flowing
onto the exit ramp and through the green light, turns and winds
along Main Street. As the minivans, hatchbacks, clamshell-covered
cars, and SUV’s pour onto college campus USA, they’re carrying
suitcases, Rubbermaid vats, chests of plastic drawers,
and, of course, the proud, nervous parents …
escorting the Freshman Class of 2018!
E. V. Wyler
I am the dreamt of the Dreamer
knowing no more what matters
can be acknowledged, are you still
sleeping oh thou I perhaps have called
God in my younger years of sleep
imbued with the sense of aloneness
never to be seen no more than a
rock stillness persists despite all of
the advancement which is simply running
on the tracks of time, over and over
again we disappear into machines
angry hearts forgetting the restfulness
of silence...oh Dreamer of a billion years
where have you gone...do you remember
why you began this dream? Were you
lonely or merely alone in your creation
of imagination? What if you could
animate the furniture of your mind?
what if you could awaken to playmates
playing back with you, just as in chess
my turn, your turn, and so on
until it was time to put the dream to
snooze alarm hit –more time required?
bordering on the mundane I think you
have forgotten what you began...are we
alone now?
T h e S a l e
Near the end of a lonely road
A home where an old man did reside
Traffic parked all around the house
Contents "For Sale", - the sign implied
"He'd lived there as long as he could, -
Ninety four years", I heard someone say
Immediate family, now passed on
At last, now he has moved away
For decades, this had been his home
How sad, he had to go
Feeble hands, prevented tasks
And steps were getting slow
Furniture, battered, worn and aged
Old radios, fans, and silverware
Used garden tools, and books galore
Some ordinary, but others rare
So many items, inside and out
In their time, each held their place
Now little more than a cast-a-way
His new address, had little space
I'm sure within his memory bank
Many younger days he recalled
A telephone, - - the first TV,
Or when a furnace, was installed
Only a few items, now adorn
The place he now abides
A bed, a chair,and one small table
A few special pictures, are his pride
There to live out his final days
Lonely hours, seem to have no end
A highlight that would mean the most,
Is a visit from family, - or a friend
Colan L Hiatt = 09-24-13
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