Long Grocery Poems
Long Grocery Poems. Below are the most popular long Grocery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grocery poems by poem length and keyword.
Stroll through the Illest Empire
So much heat feeling like we’re living in the fire
But we’re living under fire
Tell me how many shots must it take before my loved ones are crying at my own wake
Its time for a break from sad eyes I’ve seen grown men cry
It hurts to tell a loved one good-bye
It’s the same reason why they died
Hearts just too full of pride
Mothers praying their young’n wont be a victim of a homicide
Too many drive-bys blood shed for a block you really can’t call mine
Wishing we could turn back time
High off of nickels’ and dimes
Making moves to boost your grind looking for hope
But the hustle got us in a head choke
Don’t blame me for acting crazy cause this how the streets made me and you
To watch our back and throw bows and cuss
Cause you got to be tough when times are rough
I know your asking when will enough be enough
And truth is I don’t know but this is how it goes down
But if I make it out will you smile for me now
So many families struggling with poverty
I don’t judge cause that use to be me
Watching mom come home late
Barley any food on our plate
So young and life we already hate
Praying God bring us something great
My clothes were cheap imitates and kids called you on them for being fake
Knowing mom bust her ass to provide
But all your knock offs you begin to hide
Ashamed of what you own
I know how you feel I been there too
I see mothers walking there kids to school
And the walk is far when you cant afford a car
Mom hoping one day you’ll be a star
I know about being next to poor
Your local neighborhood liquor market is your grocery store
Wishing you didn’t have to go through that living off of food stamps
Cube the neighborhood is a trap but we’ll all be free
So smile for you and me
Even 2pac said smile for me
This isn’t how its always going to be unless you let it be
In our different way we’re all a G
Cause we’re trying to make it straight legit
Whatever your hustle never quit but don’t lose yourself in it
Cause you still got a long ways to go
Still got a long time to grow
Use what you know to get by or you wont survive
Remember to always keep your dreams alive
Whatever it is just do it and never try
The limit is the sky so keep your heads held high
And when you come to a hard road just always know nothing can keep you down
You’ll be able to come back around
So give yourself a chance
And I’ll smile for you now
JUNE ‘06
B.K.M.jr
ARE U READY?
What if the LORD raptured His Bride today?
Would you be ready?
Do you have all your spiritual ducks in a row?
Are you repentant?
You could be standing in line at the grocery store or asleep from working last night.
You could be driving in your car or sitting in a church pew.
Are you ready?
What if the LORD raptured His Bride today?
Would you be completely distraught?
Would you be left standing beside a loved one who suddenly disappeared?
You screamed out in despair, “Why not me, LORD!!?”
Shock and disbelief overtook you and suddenly the room started spinning.
What if the LORD raptured His Bride today?
What if the playgrounds were empty and the saints were carried away?
What would be your next move now that the Antichrist can have things his way?
The point I am trying to say is this…
Seek the Holy Spirit while He can be found.
Worship the Lord in truth and spirit so you are not left sitting on the ground crying out in agony, “ Why me, LORD? Why did You leave me behind?”
Prepare for rapture.
Prepare now.
Seek to be filled with the Holy Spirit while He can still be found.
Gwendolen Rix
5-31-15
For my new friend Adam who I met on the way home from work this morning. You got this, brother!
2 Thessalonians 2:1-9
2 Now we beseech you, brethren, by the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, and by our gathering together unto him,
2 That ye be not soon shaken in mind, or be troubled, neither by spirit, nor by word, nor by letter as from us, as that the day of Christ is at hand.
3 Let no man deceive you by any means: for that day shall not come, except there come a falling away first, and that man of sin be revealed, the son of perdition;
4 Who opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God, or that is worshipped; so that he as God sitteth in the temple of God, shewing himself that he is God.
5 Remember ye not, that, when I was yet with you, I told you these things?
6 And now ye know what withholdeth that he might be revealed in his time.
7 For the mystery of iniquity doth already work: only he who now letteth will let, until he be taken out of the way.
8 And then shall that Wicked be revealed, whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of his mouth, and shall destroy with the brightness of his coming:
9 Even him, whose coming is after the working of Satan with all power and signs and lying wonders,
Loneliness
He sits at the table and watches the shoppers walk by
There aren’t many seats here, his half-hour limit’s long past
As one by one each worker chats with him; they know this guy
He offers them something for which they could never have asked
Is he all alone but for these times where these grocery carts
Roll blind past this spot where store patrons with sandwiches sit
How much does it matter: he touches the store workers’ hearts
As he in time opens his heart to them too, bit by bit
We need much more than loose companionship: each needs someone
Moment to moment – if you neglect this basic need
And find yourself lulled fast asleep in the Florida sun
The others who share the beach with you will pay you no heed
Your skin that was once yearning warmth having found itself burned
Though long you’d been caught in the thought that you hardly had much
Real need for another – your heart was blocked till you discerned
The pain forcing you to withdraw your own wound-healing touch
Loneliness thus begets loneliness through lack of flow
Leaving society toxic and cold, though aren’t we
Some of the most social creatures: you think we would know
Given the size of our brains that we’ll never be free
To live in our grand isolation – say is it not sad
That we who’ve accomplished so much remain cruelly alone
In safety behind our four walls or four doors, for we’ve had
So many a fear we may act like our hearts are of stone
Most folks are either religious or distant, I think
Though there sure is joy in connecting with someone untamed
If you can sell such on your pat ideas, you may well drink
One and all from the same cup; how could instinct be blamed
For scorn and exclusion of real individualists
Don’t we know strangers whose ways of life cause them to be
Left to themselves with their thoughts – why they’d hardly be missed
That’s why it’s trouble to live as a visionary
He sits at the table: what is he, a healer a saint
Or maybe Kieslowski’s calm witness of silent insight
Observing the Decalogue unfold without the least taint
Of any least judgment, since all of us know our own plight
If you would engage him in talk would you hear unique thoughts
Or would you yet cover him up in the news of the day
And squelch him clear out with a barrel of shoulds woulds and oughts
So leave him there lonely since he’ll never know you that way
~ Thanks Always Returns
Lickety-split, I sit up and look at the clickety clock,
oh my gosh, why am I lollygagging in this cozy bed;
I am going to be so late for dance class, I better skedaddle,
so I canoodle my cats (hugs and kiss that is);
and like a flash I am out of bed!
Oh dear, what a rigmarole of unnecessary complexity,
I run to the kitchen and open a tin of, oh so stinky fish;
for the fur balls, (no accounting for taste,) my tummy rumbles,
I dress in my pink dance pants, brush my teeth;
I look in the mirror, holy macaroni!
I was going to wash the mop last night but didn't,
oh well, the flat iron turns me into a Cleopatra star;
then, I look outside, snow, lots of snow, blast I need boots,
oh yes under the bed where I flung them;
what a stupid kerfuffle!
Walking to dance, a bus sprays with me with slush,
darn nincompoop, I am thinking to myself and then;
a loud honk, and a car roars pass me, I almost have a stroke,
I finally make it and the receptionist says- cancelled,
cancelled, oh la-di-la, that's great!
I am walking back home when I step into a deep puddle,
and my feet are now soaking wet, I am just exhausted;
I will crawl back into my bed for a snoozle I say to me self,
but I am waylaid by my old fuddy-duddy neighbor;
dearie,(she whips out a grocery list)!
You know, I cannot walk in the snow, meantime her cat,
a fat Persian rubs my legs and I have fur from knees down;
but what can a girlie do, I turn around and hocus-pocus its done,
finally, I am standing in my bedroom all tatterdemalion,
like a child in rags, I feel like weeping!
And then I notice the collywobbles in my tummy,
like butterflies swirling, and then a great rumbling;
oh, damnation, I need something to eat, so I gongoozle,
stare that is, into the refrigerator, close the door, slam;
and grab a handful of cockamamie cookies!
_________________________
January 26, 2017
Poetry/Narrative/Lickety-Split
Copyright Protected, ID 17-8691-18-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest , Any Poem Written in January 2017
Sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
You took off for Christmas and New Years Eve, and you came back high and chirpy with a rosy face looking like daisy blended with charming lips and an attitude that could pull me off the cliff. I saw you sitting there, acting as if you don’t care, you are so obsessed with the show and I have no other place to go but to sit and watch you and try to get a sensible clue from you. But the hours slip by quickly and the show ended in a jiffy leaving me high and dry with a new ambition waving in the sky.
Suddenly everything around me become obsolete but hopes catapult me to my feet, there was nothing to hold to and a sudden emptiness that I have been fighting for weeks captivate my body. I took a walk up the street hoping to find someone to lay it on, but no one was there, but the cars driving along the street they were just few but they appears to be many.
I walked into the grocery store and stood behind the door so as not to distract the customers, the shopkeeper saw me and wave to me. She forced a smile and went around the back and left me standing there looking in despair as the harshness of life has taken its tolls in the environment and everyone was paying the price.
I felt the tears springing up in my eye and suddenly I started to cry. I tried desperately to hold back the tears so as not to embarrass myself on the spot and so I suppressed the emotion. My body took on a different figure and I could feel all my joints getting stiff and so I clenched my fist and stood silently behind the door and I could hear my own heart beat racing towards the shore and my body moving to an unfamiliar rhythm. The customers come and go staring at me with budging eyes, some had no purpose there they only wanted to look at me.
I kept squeezing the tears inside hoping someone could understand how I feel and touch the pain in me. But my spirit kept draining and my heart continue to ache. I bid the shopkeeper goodbye and venture out the door stumbling on the brumby side walk until I was able to hold my grounds. I walked slowly along the path and each step that I take I could hear your voice shaking and telling me to go. I like watching the show because that’s the only time I can be with you. My hands are stiff my heart is pounding and my soul is waiting for you. Just one more day and I will board the plane and go away from this wretched place.
Dear Sprouting Rhymers,
To me, modern poetry could be most simply put as “everything”,
everything that you see, experience or feel put into words.
Everything written to evoke thought and feeling in others can be poetry.
A most basic example could be a tear, one lonely teardrop.
What is the journey of a tear, what feelings caused it to emerge?
What meaning does it convey? What does it say to you
and what do you want others to see or feel?
The possibilities are endless.
Should I be able to share anything of value to others would be
very gratifying from my humbled perspective, so I will
offer the following.
The best poems stem from truth, your truth.
When you are in the mood to write, do not hesitate. Times
will come when you wish you were inspired.
Ideas come at the oddest times, at concerts, at dinners,
at the grocery store, in dreams. Record them.
Write about what you see.
Let your passion guide you.
Don’t be afraid to take chances. Risks are worth it even
If you fail. Growth is sometimes painful.
Respect rules and learn from those you admire.
Study and attempt all forms of poetry. There is so much
more to poetry than rhyming
Do not be afraid to ask for help.
Have fun!
Having started writing later in life, I can only say that I wish I
had done so much earlier. I have enjoyed enormous satisfaction
in discovering that I could contribute something of beauty to the world.
I love to write about romance and summer and sunsets
and things that are silly.
Favorite reference sources are Poetrysoup and Wordhippo,
My favorites of the poems that I have written are:
My Blue Valentine
One can speak of Sunset
The Writes of Romance
If You Weren’t Such a Nut Meg
Confessions of a Renoir
Needles in the Snow
The Forgotten One
A Concrete Heart
Hot Summer Ecstasy
Golden Torture Looms
My literary background is purely that of an amateur. From
as far back as I can remember, I always liked to write and tell
stories. It wasn’t until I experienced a personal tragedy, a few years
ago, that I felt the need to put my feelings into writing as a way
of healing. Since then, I have not stopped and I write nearly every day.
A suggestion for title: There’s a Poet in Everyone
(A Guide for Beginners)
Good Luck!
It is amazing how many super important people there are in my hometown!
At almost any intersection, I will be eclipsed by at least 2-3 individuals who are cooler
Than I could ever aspire to think to become.
Lately I see them everywhere!
They look just like the people on the covers of those high quality magazines I see
In line at the grocery store when I am buying my crate of ramen noodles, and
The 4 for $5 Bar-S brand hot dogs.
I can't help but to think, "WOW! Why haven't I seen any of these people on t.v. yet?"
My adulation for people like Newton, the Incas, Brahmms, Klimt has been misplaced!
Just when I felt like a wart infested slug for my lack of awareness,
A gracious miracle occurred:
This girl/woman/tranny pulled up next to me at a long traffic light.
She wore those wonderful Jackie-o knock offs that almost cover the entire face,
Making her nose look like this teensy-weensy little button!
The a.c. blew her hair around like she was in a photo shoot, and
After removing the cell phone that had neurally implanted itself to her head,
She stared straight ahead, as if in a trance.
I was sure that she was probably in deep thought concerning ways to feed starving babies,
Or contemplating the lines for her next secret audition that only she knows about.
Once the light turned chartreuse, she accelerated like a photon;
This is when I noticed the scintillating rims that resembled the UFO that I communicated with
Down by irrigation ditch the day before.
This was a sign... I had to catch up with her and share this knowledge!
I followed her the length of the city until she finally pulled
Her behemoth into some swanky day spa that had no airs of pretentiousness whatsoever.
It was weird because as I approached her vehicle, I began to sputter and stammer
All of my words; I even began to inexplicably lurch as I walked towards her.
When she saw me her eyes widened to the size of coffee saucers, and
The next thing I knew was there were these wires attached to my chest!
Suddenly I was dreaming of the time I ate mushrooms and touched a frayed cord
On an alarm clock.
When I awoke on the hot asphalt, my seraph had vanished into a mid afternoon haze.
I had to give a toothy smile though- I knew that my body just couldn't handle the intensity
Of her heavenly nimbus!
Friends Cattle farmers in the Netherlands are being TOLD to reduce by 50 percent their livestock farms, because of the Nitrogen gases the Cattle produce. There is 78 percent Nitrogen levels in the world, it is what the world is made up of, so why are these Politicians forcing the farmers to cut the livestock farms by 50%? Tens of thousands of farmers are Protesting. They are driving their tractors and blocking roads, and Grocery stores. They are tired of this New World Order CONTROL, of being told what to do with their Crops and Cattle farms. The Farmers have finally had enough and it has gotten so bad that Grocery store shelves in some areas are Empty! The Farmers and the People in the Netherlands are aware of what these Globalist are trying to do in creating food shortages by demanding the farmers to reduce by 50% their cattle farms The News in America have been Silent. Ask yourself why that is. Obviously they dont want us to know here in the States that people are standing up to their Orchestrated Agendas for fear of Americans doing the same. Ask yourself What is going on in the World we live in. What are they trying to do to our food, especially beef supplies. Friends Please start realizing what is happening around you, by these Global Elites. Understand that they control the Media and they arent reporting all the devastation they are creating all over the world and here in the states. They have destroyed 95 food processing plants within six months. If you search the lying fact check that they control, it will tell you it is not true. Please be diligent in verifying everything, and be a critical thinker always checking and verifying what you hear from the Main stream Media. Get your houses in Order and start stocking up on Food. God bless you all... PS another corrupt Politician resigns. Boris Johnson, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. These are the World leaders people Trusted. Friends he resigned because he got caught. Dont put faith in your Leaders, most of them are corrupt, put your faith in Jesus, for he is the only Truthful One to Trust. God bless you all. Have hope and don't trust but Verify...
They have shut down A Call For An Uprising on YouTube He has a new Channel.
The Prepared Homestead on YouTube is another great Channel to get the Truth.
Ethel Hurst
1889 – 1918
I saw the town rise up
Like a single blade of grass after a spring rain.
I played a multitude of hop-scotch games
With my best friend Hannah on Penn Street.
And sipped a hundred ice cream sodas in the Mercantile at sunset.
My mother took me to Jacob’s Grocery every Monday
And it was I who picked the plump oranges
From the big rickety crate.
On Saturdays we worked the fields at Strong’s Ranch,
Harvesting the pampas in the walnut fields.
And on Halloween I was the girl in the moon-face costume for five straight years.
When Christmas brought its luminous lights to the town,
Mother dressed me in red with a bell on my bonnet.
And father sang the carols with a guitar and a tambourine.
I graduated from the big high school in 1907
And in celebration,
Rode my bicycle to Bassett
Still in my starched graduation petticoats.
Jesse Forbes,
He being five years younger than I,
Was the love of my brief stay on this earth.
But when he ventured to steal a kiss that day in Black Canyon,
I used my calloused hand to convey my stern disagreement.
But what wild regrets I’ve entertained since Jesse drowned that day.
In the wild currents by Pio Pico’s crumbling Adobe,
His body bobbing like a sea bird
In the punishing plume of that old deep river.
Beyond the muddy banks and the wild flowers,
Jesse Forbes left this life with a surprised frozen grin.
Why Jesse? Why?
You never knew the truth, my love.
You never really understood what I meant
When I said nothing.
I said No to you when I said nothing that day in Black Canyon,
But I really meant Yes.
The influenza incinerated my heart and soul
With a 106 temperature in the winter of 1918.
Twenty nine years I dare say
Is nothing in terms of eternal life!
I had so much more to do!
I had so much more to dream about!
I walked and talked on the streets of my town,
And on the funeral-dark avenues of my innocent days.
And I planned and I schemed
And all for nothing!.
Indeed, I felt the pulse of fleeting time
And the never-ending,
Ever-turning circle of endless days.
But now I rest here in Clark Cemetery… a virgin corpse
Flirting shamelessly with the bow-tie worms,
Still wild with regrets.
And forever haunted in reverse
By the same recurring memory
Of Jesse Forbes holding a rose.
Under the old oak tree in Black Canyon..
An abode you can drive down a road is a trip,
but the learning curve’s steep. It’s a help to be rich,
strong, and good with your hands (for things often go wrong
that you will not expect). All support’s a trip too:
fun can stop for repairs - your transmission goes out
at some watering hole where you’re barely a guest.
A rebuilt one located takes days to arrive.
You’re hung out on a limb with relationships cash-
based, though credit cards help. With a vaporware smile
and some luck, a motel has a room you can wait.
At some point, you’ll be glad a towed car’s on your plate
for just parking a motor home can take a while.
Overnights on the streets of a city are rash,
but a grocery store parking lot helps one survive
for a night in a pinch. Cops uncalled, let you rest.
If you buy some supplies, it will give you more clout.
I am happy I bought mine though big trips were few.
A gas engine, no slide-outs, I stole for a song
in year slide-outs and diesel were salesmen’s fresh pitch.
But low tag fees, no property tax floats my ship!
Farms have Quonsets to soften Dakota through time,
hide from hail, sun, and blizzards, a part of the year.
Coach revives, as my residence, when I am there
with the usual hookups, propane, and TV.
But one April, the snow where it parks saw a drift
that eclipsed a man’s height more than corn grows (rains bless).
Weeks would pass till it melted, ground firmed, spring wheat drilled!
But the highways kept clear, a spot found I could park
where Missouri’s clear waters reflected cloud’s path,
and fish leaped as they struck hard and tasted hook’s bait.
I’m a poet who frequents cast lines till they rhyme
and replace my lost bait with a new thought as dear.
Souls and poems will bloom that we offer our care
though we see droughts occur and earth’s water’s not chi.
May some readers drift with me when words are a gift,
have a color they own that eclipses their dress.
Bait rejected? God bless! If you chow down, I’m thrilled.
Who would want to burn rubber alone in the dark?
With a transparent purpose, I don’t fear God’s wrath.
Pray rhymed sojourns bring respite, share love, and not hate.
Brian Johnston
12th of September in 2021
Poet’s Note:
A new metered poem that uses what I call ‘distant rhyme.’