Long Hazmat Poems
Long Hazmat Poems. Below are the most popular long Hazmat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hazmat poems by poem length and keyword.
on the room of my hospital door there was yellow and black tape
Warning! No one enters without a mask and booties
Highly contagious!
People came in wearing hazmat suits
For two days
On day three an older lady with a big smile came running in
No suit
No booties
no mask
She was wearing a nun’s habit and a cross
I put my hands out to stop her
“Didn’t you see the door?” I asked her. “You have to suit up.”
She looked to be ninety years young.
Her blue eyes glistened. She took my bare hands.
She was not wearing gloves.
“I am protected,” she told me. “I came here to pray with you.”
She was the only bit of comfort I had had in three days.
they suit up in hazmat suits
the door bursts open.
They pop me into a bubble and
whisk me to the sixteenth floor
I did not know this hospital had a sixteenth floor, I say
For three days people come to poke and prod me.
They take blood and wake me up at midnight
To say “I am your nurse”.
The sign on my door says not to enter without
full protection – a suit, goggles, footies, etcetera.
No one tells me what I have.
No one seems to know.
Whatever it is, it has left in three days.
They blindfold me and take me back to my car.
I think it is weird I am released at midnight
until I watch them load onto a spaceship and take off.
the initial purport
this literary effort delivered atchew
to reed constitutes hazmat tocks sin
within White House blew
per, viz thee president be
getting a Hollywood love story
with "Stormy Williams" despite brew
haha murmur, now dapper Don in deep doo doo
thus, this garrulous married pro LIX prone papa flew
off (like a bat out of hell)
to his Macbook Pro laptop presenting myself
implicating Trump as po' faux guise Mister McGoo
affiliated, confused, and explained
being on par with Winnie the Pooh
especially stuck right tub bear arms in grr...
Rabbit's House, now he doth stew
nsync, nonetheless this path a logical
rhyme stir on the straight and true
composeing grist sill for ye to view
now, nar hating, hit ting
private links provide attention turned toward
two thousand twenty presidential election campaign
no Iron nee, anno putter opportunity,
how he diplomatically strived, and nearly scored
to boast asthma, overt braggart, stalwart
asper ideal consistency of cement poured
affiliation, aggregation, and attestation moored
prevails ma (Jack booted - magical) lord
rolling back to Timbuktu progressive liberal
Democratic initiatives star Apprentice
sans ("NO LIES") being linkedin, he almost ignored
with voluble chattering class hud hoard
hobnobbing (with the likes of Missus Muir's ghost,
who resort to Matthew Scott's turf brand),
reconstituted, recycled, and repurposed, gourd
nonetheless Trumping protocol necessitates me bing bored
predictable feigned "FAKE" non accord.
Silence is deafening
Like a dungeon dark hallway.
Door after close door of bounding
Moans and groans, and painful
Yelling gasping for air.
I sit in this cold
Dark cell shivering with my
Blacken thoughts.
Am I the only sane one?
Am I the only healthy one?
They come in and out
At all hours to poke and prob.
I, a human, a pin cushion
Ready for use.
Trying someplace else to delve
Madden hunger for More pain.
In isolation with no touch for comfort.
They in hazmat suits
Because they cannot breathe my breath
Or touch my tainted skin.
Claustrophobic in these four walls
Lord, please save me
From this darkness and pain;
Meet my exhausted lids to rest.
All I see are the haunting eyes
Of the ghost that had passed
Veiled in fear white sheets of snow.
12/15/2020
the upshot constituted a figurative straw
that broke the virtual camels back
where yours truly fingered as scape goat,
who meekly, passively, and subserviently
felt the stinging crack
of wooden, smooth,
and oblong paddle and stands pat,
asper innocence, though now
(myself more than two score years
orbitz around sun) remains more defiant
for purportedly causing Roberta -
not her real name flack
and clears that blot (now a composite
of petrified spitballs) as a hack
writer of poetry, feels jilted like Jack
donning many major protagonistic ruffian knack
nursery rhyme roles, which fables never didst lack
for upstart precocious, kickstarters impish grin,
as if he just wolfed down a swiped Bic Mac
and goose that laid more than one golden egg
McMuffin running from the Giant,
with spindle shank for each leg,
and sliding down the beanstalk, which didst peg
world wide web Marathon record
suddenly the envy of Queequeg,
which way word ness
far off course from the theme of this work,
hence hold tight
to hazmat bag of poop pin jay dreck,
while poetic license allows me to twerk
intended story aye (captain...
oh captain) moost not shirk,
lemme reel yar attention
back to the classroom of missus Labosh,
hood didst whistle and perk
unbeknownst to me, my scrawny derriere
unaware what quaint, hence danger didst lurk
for letting passivity
find me singled out as the bona fide jerk
wishing Moby Dick could swallow
hook, line and sinker
with a slight even Steven crane
of his neck, every mother plucking bird brain classmate
deemed Scott free, and Chutzpah didst gain
while this smart ass wannabe took a crash course,
sans weltanschauung "Artful Dodging
Spitball Shooting Maven" in the main
quite heavy on Physics and Trigonometry as became plane.
The town fathers
are long neglected by scavenging vultures,
locked up as they are,
in the wood cabin, we call the town museum.
Inside the shack, there are old tintypes, sepia
photographs and the usual rural relics.
Outside, a small patch of lawn
divides the past from a main road,
one that bridges our hamlet
between two swelling and brawling cities.
Those cities also have their metropolitan relics,
grand achievements forever displayed
for groups of bored schoolchildren.
Outside, vultures are shood away
by men in HazMat suits.
Our community fathers are black-suited
grim featured farmers and church dignitaries,
even the mayors that are still alive
look out from their portraits
as if wishing for the odd vulture or two.
Nothing else around here bothers
enough to matter much.
Fields are pushed back beyond backyards.
We killed off all the rattlesnakes years ago.
Oh to the whoa, Honey, today I saw a trio of funny!
Walking the street, my blink did many times repeat,
mercy be, I did see three furry cats wearing hats.
One cat was quite curvy, two chunky, but sturdy.
Curvy was all a-curtsy in a flat, wacked, black hat
that on top popped a nervy, floppy drunk skunk.
I don't think nervy knew or gave skunk any thunk.
One of the chunky cats was pure funky to look at
for his hat seemed to have been picked at
like a muskrat laid splayed on a slat from train splat.
The third in the herd on that quirky street journey
was quite the brat-cat, a tweet putting on a show.
On this cat’s head sat, to my dread, a wee placemat
that was threaded in a somewhat hazmat format.
So, my honey-bunny, not for love or for money
could I scat catalog three felines in asinine hats,
but I worked at chit-chat with the quirky cats
and was agog to learn through our dialogue
that their names were Dog, Frog and Hog!
Now, let's go eat fishes to stretch our britches.
We bear bunnies must avoid tight pant glitches..
the elves built a new workshop and yes there’s a but
they didn’t use one-call and their phone lines got cut
isolated up north poor Santa missed some calls
he lost the warranty on his sleigh and an order of soccer balls
he missed the call about Rona and the mandate for a mask
Santa had no P.P.E. just some schnapps in a flask
there was a global pandemic much to his surprise
he was stopped on a rooftop and could only see eyes
he was greeted by a cop in a hazmat suit
Santa was drunk without a mask and had to reroute
they took Rudolph to the Zoo and impounded his sleigh
now Santa is under quarantine for the next fourteen days
He’s a great guy, a leader, loyal true blue.
All I can say to that malarkey is pooh.
The feelings are total love or total hate.
Finding middle ground in nobody’s fate.
The virus is a hoax. I will not wear a mask.
Yes this is a Hazmat suit. Why do you ask?
Black lives matter. I would like to join in.
Are you crazy? You have the wrong color skin!
All the Democrats, all the Republicans, all the Liberals.
I hear the beginning of these sentences and I roll my eyes.
I have never met two identical Republicans, Liberals or Democrats.
Generalizing any group is small-minded, not based on facts.
My friends, an article has been published by a gentleman by the name of Guy Crittenden titled "That mask is giving you lung cancer" Please google and read the article. Why is this important? Well because the gentleman that wrote the article spent 25 years as editor to the Trade Journal HazMat Management, Which incidentally is an award winning magazine. This was posted on Facebook. This is specifically the typical blue mask. This information was also given in the edition of Dell Bigtree's program, The Highwire. When two OSHA experts explain the dangers of wearing a mask. Mask were never design to be worn for long periods of time. When worn for lengthy periods they are very harmful. The Blue mask contains Teflon, and other harmful chemicals. He claims that the mask are Sterilized with Ethylene Oxide, a known carcinogen. Many teachers in various school boards have been experiencing significant symptoms. PTFE when added to the mask can lead to lung cancer. Dont agree, argue with the experts at OSHA. Also he claims wearing a mask all day, will, he claims, cause brain damage. Surgeons wear mask in operating rooms, but those rooms are oxygenated, because of them wearing mask. He is concern for the students and all wearing a mask for extended periods of time. Please google Guy Crittenden " That Mask Is Causing You Lung Cancer. Also be advised that the Powers that be will try to discredit him and lie about the facts and the Truth.
Stay well my friends, be Vigilant and May the good Lord watch over you... Please tell others...