Long Garage Poems
Long Garage Poems. Below are the most popular long Garage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Garage poems by poem length and keyword.
Reporters swarmed, the rabid jackals,
around my house they made a big crowd,
even harassed my poor old mother
to the point she could barely go out.
I growled loud at more than a few,
got one locked up for trespassing,
thankfully they found other nonsense
and the frenzy wasn’t long-lasting.
But the damage had truly been done,
the internet will never forget,
I was practically a murderer,
commenters publicly wished me dead.
My love life soon faded to nothing,
barely went on two dates in three years,
more than one time, I'm ashamed to say,
I wondered why I remained here?
With people just judging by the group,
and my ‘group’ was my family ties,
condemned for things that I never did,
forever doomed to be despised.
Until one spring day this Christian girl
saw my profile and then swiped right.
I didn’t have high expectations,
but decided to go out that night.
Her name was Ester, when I saw her
I decided then on a new play,
told her about me, all right upfront,
then waited for what she would say.
She just smiled back, a knowing grin,
said,”I knew who you were from the start.
Had worries at first, then I recalled
the memories that plague my own heart.
“You see my father is a bad man,
used his fists and caused me to despair,
beat up my mother so very bad
she is forever bound to a chair.
“He is in jail now, for forty years,
but I am not to blame for his sins.
So who was I to disparage you?
I have no idea what lies within.
“No one should ever be held to blame
for something that's beyond their control.
I’m not my dad, and you’re no tyrant,
what you are I’d like to get to know.”
For the first time in so many months
I felt new hope spring up in my mind.
I’m Ester’s husband, seven years on,
no finer woman can you find.
We have two kids, a suburban house,
a big one with a three-car garage,
when media comes, I let her loose,
they go scurrying from the barrage.
I no longer worry all that much
about what other people say,
I am no killer, just a father,
so let the useless talking heads bray.
They all just see my evil grandpa,
and never truly will understand,
maybe I was born son of tyrants,
but I myself am a good man.
…and they will not take that from me.
she never threw anything out
the driveway is filled
clothes hang on racks
hers on the left,
a few of his on the right
tables of her shoes
kitchenware, pots, pans
knickknacks, tchachka’s
souvenirs from long ago trips
some of the furniture
will go..there’s no need
for all of it now
the most valuable,
jewelry, some paintings
are in the garage
the money isn’t important
at this point
it doesn’t matter….
how can he put a price
on what’s been taken
his memories aren’t of
a particular dress or
pair of earrings she wore
he won’t look at a painting
or photograph of a trip
and think of her
he misses her smile,
the touch of her hand on his face
the look in her eyes,
how she curled up inside him
in bed at night, stealing his warmth
… when she spoke his name
I was looking out the window and saw my neighbor across the street on a ladder, putting up an American flag. Both he and his wife are school teachers.
I took that moment to go over and tease him. I asked if he was putting the flag up to honor my husband.
I have been living here for ten years, and they had never tried to be friendly, except when they needed something. They have two sons and two golden labs. They all-stay locked up in the house with the curtains drawn. If, someone comes and knocks on their door, they are greeted by two frantic and not-so-friendly sounding barks, that bump on the glass window, but their owners won’t answer the door.
They have a motion sensor light over the middle of the garage door. I told him that the flapping of the flag was going to set off the light all the time. He laughed; he hadn't thought about it. I purposely went over to tell him that my husband had passed away four months ago. He was shocked. He apologized and said he didn't know.
With tears, I turned and walked away. When I'd gotten to the edge of the driveway, the tip off my left sandal caught on the edge of the asphalt. The sandal stayed; my arms started flapping, like a young bird in its nest trying to fly. Flapping, flapping, I kept leaning forward, like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Trying to righten myself, half-way to the other side, my other sandal flew off. I suppose I might have looked pretty funny, running to the other side, bending over like I was trying to catch a hat that had blown off my head. My arms still flapping, waiting for a landing, face first on the asphalt and the gravel under my feet. All I could think and see was the blackest tar and gravel rising to meet me, how painful it was going to be when my face kissed that dirty tar.
However, by some miracle, I had gotten to the other side of the road and caught my balance. With my heart pounding, my neck and back aching, and the bottoms of my feet sore, I survived not kissing the dirty tar and gravel. It was like God's angel spread its wings and wrapped them around me, and straighten me out. I should have had a very serious relationship with the first kiss, but not that day.
Thank you, Lord.
Thank you, Lord.
12/29/2018
--BlossomMonyei--
"Invisible for a day"
Invisible for a day
Who knows the worse he will commit
Satisfying his greedy flesh in every way
Invading places he'll profit.
He entered the bank
He entered a restaurant
He entered a Boutique
All he held also vanished
He took a car
Went to the bar
Took Alot of drinks
Zoomed of towards his house.
He left the car in his garage
"What a day" he sigh with a smile
He had his dinner
And he went to bed.
Morning came
He went to check the things he'd took
They were gone
The car, the clothes, the drinks he'd brought.
He then decided to sleep again
For in his dreams he had it to himself
But for real life it was otherwise
Invisibility potion are fairy tales
#blossommonyei
#liberiapoetry
#WeeklyContest
Liberia Poetry Association.
Voice of Liberia-VOL
Mother,
I meant to finish college and
go get my Master’s degree,
to become and engineer
and built great things in our cities.
I meant to show you my new house
with a suite above the garage,
so you could leave that damn ghetto
and have a safe placed to lodge.
I meant to tell you of my Marie,
how she’s all wrapped around my heart,
let her tell you how excited
she is for the family we’ll start.
I meant to show you your grandkids,
two boys and a little girl,
so you could spoil them rotten,
show them off to all the world.
I meant to thank you in a speech
when I got that big award,
then be ushered off the big stage
before the audience got bored.
I meant to help you with the bills
when your health began to fail,
to rant and rave at the doctors
if you continued to ail.
I meant to make the Holidays
a joyous time for family,
to invite them all down here
and throw a truly righteous feast.
I meant to do so many things,
to love, strive, achieve and give,
but mostly mom, to be honest,
I think I most wanted to live.
But in an inner-city clinic
they stuck a vacuum in my head,
barely made it half-way out,
you meant for me to be dead.
ADVERTISEMENT
Saturday, Rain or Shine, 8 AM - 4 PM
GARAGE SALE
Knicknacks and whatnots, furniture, books, clothing
jewelry, movies, music, books and so much more !
Refreshments
Come one and all!
____________________________
Moving, so years of collecting must go today
even things, that I still love
two china cabinets (one was grandma's)
almost antique but not quite
I am selling some lovely vintage clothing
shoes, handbags and hats
and some retro too
there will be some very nice jewelry
you collecting gals will adore
vases and dishes
dusty and forgotten
but still beautiful to behold
old VHS movies great in their day
music and books and books just collecting space
oh, I should hang a sign on me
broken heart for sale
because moving from this Victorian building
and getting rid of my stuff
is crushing me
but as grandma used to say
suck it up
so I will
and have a great garage sale today
______________________
February 28, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/Advertisement: Garage Sale
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1000-057-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Entered in the contest, Advertisement: Sell Something
Make us want it, sponsor, Lewis Raynes
Fifth Place *****
Mother called her children 'round
and said I really hate to bother
but I have some rather sorry news,
I think I've lost your father.
He was in the garage a month ago
and the attic sometime before.
He could be in the basement now
but I really can't be sure.
It seems I've lost all track of him
and I haven't got a clue,
I need you kids to search him out,
won't you help me see this through.
Now I'm the eldest of her brood
and I felt some obligation,
so it seemed only right of me
to head up the investigation.
We were somewhat mystified
because dear old dad was dead,
so I had to ask the question
that was on everybody’s head.
Now dad had been cremated
after we held the wake,
some of him was buried
and the rest went to the lake.
So I looked at mom and softly said,
Are you sure you're not mistaken?
Because to the lake and to the grave
is where his remains were taken.
She said that wasn't completely true
and it turned quiet as a mouse.
She'd kept back an extra bit
so he could be around the house.
She never really liked the lake
and graveyards were unappealing
so she could visit him at home
if she ever got the feeling.
With all that said we got to work,
we searched both high and low.
The urn we sought was never found
but that's just the way it goes.
Day by day the years went by
and it was mother's time for dying.
She asked us to keep looking
and to never give up trying.
It wasn't too long after that
as I was clearing out some books
that I found the ashes she had sought
in a place where no one looked.
We took them both to their garden,
mixed with roses, most appealing.
Now she gets to visit him
whenever she gets the feeling.
The authors
blink only when looked at,
they recall for you
a story, perhaps a tale half-read.
One book lifted,
pages fly between thoughts,
a few scrapes of knowledge
peck and preen again.
Phrases return
demanding still to be displayed
though rarely used.
There are mystic scriptures
that hover between
fiction and non-fiction.
I imagine temple beasts
still guarding them.
I overreach,
shake this collected tree of knowledge.
Books fall, some like stone,
some like fluttering birds.
I am ankle deep
in the printed word and its aftermath.
Some will go to the thrift shop,
some to the garage,
a few will stay between bookends
surviving these winds of change.
Today I have time to admire
the dance of sunlight on bare walls,
the transpiring poetry
of blameless space.
Shrunken sweaters, dusty ball caps
Tarnished silver, and hedge clippers
Pointed hat pins, gaudy jewelry
Faded jeans and worn out slippers
Greasy fry pan, wobbly table
Crates of dog-eared musty books
Tattered doilies, ragged Barbies
One brown old crock pot that still cooks
Rusty shovel, dented buckets
Ma's old apron, broken dishes
Dated calendar, crooked lampshade
Chipped glass bowl for all your fishes
Ugly painting, candle holders
One old bike for exercising
Broken TV, toaster oven
Doesn't work....it's not surprising!
What's the point?" our husbands mutter
While we fill the garage with clutter
I explain to him..."She buys mine, and I buy hers"
"What's the point of shopping stores??!"
"Now...don't you know the grass is greener?"
"OH GOOD!" "She's bought my vacuum cleaner!"
Just then I point across the street!!
Another yard sale.....and we both shriek!!
He points at me and shakes his fist
But I'll just ignore and toss a kiss
And side by side I'm in a race...
Who gets there first will buy that vase!!
Whoopee!!! I spy a broken chair...well, I can glue it!
Just hope she doesn't beat me to it!
Another point about my purchase
Perhaps I can use it for another purpose
Oh No!!...he's found old tool collections!!
And points at them with great affection!!
The point I'm making is simply this
Another's person's trash or junk, may soon become your bliss!
Once upon a time I could change the oil and give the car a lube,
Tune the timing, change the plugs and patch an inner tube.
In days of yore I'd do simple jobs beneath the old elm tree.
Nowadays, I daren't twist a wrench without an engineer's degree!
In olden days things were simple to work on beneath the hood.
Stuff crammed under the hoods today is not at all understood!
Why! You must pull the doggone engine to fix a simple leak,
And everything is diagnosed by a smart-alecky computer geek!
Now I can't even locate the spark plugs, I must humbly confess,
And where the life-sustaining battery reposes is anybody's guess!
I must even contact the local garage to get the radiator filled.
'Tis plain to see that all is governed by the national mechanic's guild!
In simpler times the way to detect an errant rod and piston knock,
Was to put a screwdriver to your ear and listen through the block.
Nowadays, technicians lounge about with computers in their paws,
And in a trice can flesh out your automobile's ailing flaws!
Back then, I could replace brake linings and distributor caps,
Change a fan belt or replace a gasket or two perhaps.
But all these fancy gadgets are beyond me - I can't figure them out.
So I'll gnash my teeth and sit beneath the spreading elm and pout!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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