Long Heaters Poems
Long Heaters Poems. Below are the most popular long Heaters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Heaters poems by poem length and keyword.
That part, gotta follow your own heart.
Living in the blind.
Living in the dark.
Looking for a fresh start.
Avoiding the narcs,
And them punk ass marks,
That's got, no heart.
Coming like a turd,
Better yet a fart.
Sprinkle the pepper by the door
For the dogs,
Coming with the barks.
Grab the gat,
Toast that ass, like some Pop tarts.
No mercy, no gravity, for bringing the salt.
One man down, then two, it's not my fault.
No time to think twice
Like a fish in a net, get caught.
Your lost.
Bitches trying to bring it.
I got something for them chickas,
Way sweeter.
Never follow the crowd,
Always been a leader.
Stepping into these hands,
*****, I'm coming with some heaters.
You gone think your nigga beat yah!
Write, erase then read yah!
"Got the salt by the door,
To keep them demons from coming in"!
"Keep them demons from coming in".
"Keep them demons from coming in".
Pepper on stand by,
"To keep them dog's from sniffing"!
"Keep them dog's from sniffing"!
"Them dog's from sniffing".
The younger crowd will not believe this bit of lore I fear,
But operating vehicles was more complicated in yesteryear!
For example, to signal turns you hung your arm out the door,
And to dim the lights there was a dimmer switch mounted on the floor!
If, alas, you punctured a tire, you repaired it with an inner tube.
You parked your car over a pit at the garage for an oil change and lube.
The gearshift lever was on the floor and it was always in the way,
'Specially when with your sweetie you tried to make a little hay!
To start the engine on some cars you used a knuckle bustin' crank!
To open a convertible top, you had to give it a humongous yank!
Heaters operated sporadically and in the winter you froze your tush!
Air conditioning was the passing breeze sans cooler buttons to push!
Dogs and chickens were shooed away with an oogah-oogah horn.
Shock absorbers were rare - jouncing, squeaky springs kept cars airborne
Lots of chrome and rumble seats were available for the more audacious.
Folks huddled close together since seating wasn't all that spacious!
There was a clutch to fool with and you depended on mechanical brakes.
A long trip over two-lane roads was certain to give you pains and aches!
About the only good thing about cars back then is when you filled the tank.
You needn't seek a usurious loan (as you do today) from the local bank!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Merry music from the radio, informing us that it's the season to be jolly;
Dad is out and about, making plans for next year's crops;
Mom is distributing chores to us 'rug rats', before we scatter;
The fragrance of bakery flows throughout the little block house;
Smoke from coal or wood is bursting out of the chimney top;
The two well-spaced butane-fed space heaters are also blasting.
It was often cold outside this time of year, but there's warmth inside.
Warmth provided by adequate heating as well as our grateful hearts.
Enchanting moments, treasured, memorable revisits, and forever cherished.
Such magic-like moments have come and gone, nevermore to return. But
Oh, the magic of memories, taking me back to early childhood Decembers.
So many of my December yesterdays were priceless, and made of these.
No cotton pickers, combines, big trucks, or trailers; the tractors are silenced.
The crops are all gathered, and every direction you look provides pure-blooded quiet. It may or may not snow, and the roads could get very icy, but we always had fun sliding.
In just a few more days, we would be happily out of school for our annual Christmas break. December. No work; No school; lots of play, and Christmas is not far away. What childhood heaven! Oh, Childhood. Where did you go?
113020PSCtest,Un-Rhy-Me Poetry, Brian Strand
Most days they never stopped, but we always felt the vibration On the GROUND. I was never bothered by the noise from their engines
Nor their horn SOUND. But every winter, a train would switch tracts and Stop in our little TOWN. They stopped to unload coal to keep us warm Through the WINTERS. I tell you, that coal was a God send
Designed to burn in our HEATERS.
For us kids, I must SAY, those trains were not all work and no PLAY.
Several decades ago, there was a football field of SPACE
Separating that trainline from my birth PLACE.
We spent hours and hours walking its TRACKS.
Along its embankment was a blackberry PATCH.
We played, worked, ate, and slept at the sound of TRAINS.
Between the switching tracks, we played our ball GAMES.
We played balancing games on the railroad tracks for FUN.
We kept watch for the trains, and when they blew, we would RUN.
It's funny how sometimes life seems determined to give us that
Childhood FEEL. Time has no seal, and it's amazing what the passage Of trains and time REVEAL. It occurred to me several days ago that The space of a football FIELD currently separates our home from
The tracks of a very busy train LINE. Most things in life CHANGE. A few REMAIN the SAME with the passage of TIME.
101021PSCtest, Railroads, A Historical Glance, BJ Legros Kelly.3P
Throughout the land, in every home,
Thanksgiving is approaching
But this time other issues
Sadly seem to be encroaching.
To those outside the bubble
There’ll be faces framed on Zoom
And all will then pretend
That they’re together in the room.
Some gatherings will be outdoors
With heaters put together
To stave off what is typical
For late November weather.
Unfortunately, many
Will now celebrate alone,
For some, the only solitary
T-Day they have known.
It’s really just another day -
If that’s the way we view it
Then somehow we can take a breath
And manage to get through it.
I wouldn’t call what we do ‘blogging,’ would you?
I’m somewhat conversant with blogging and it would be like:
‘December 14th, I realized I was out of dental floss, so I called 112 (France’s 911) and they yelled at me.”
A poet might say:
The morning was pale and judgmental, the light didn’t illuminate, as much as accuse me of oversleeping. I’d just spit-out the last of my bubblegum toothpaste, when I tugged the dental floss only to be rewarded with a two-inch fragment.
The sink gurgled like a drowning swimmer as I rummaged through the medicine cabinet and then the linen closet - where we store spare soaps, shampoos, mouthwashes and the other detritus of modern hygiene -
but no floss.
I’d started the shower minutes ago, expecting a quick entry and now the bathroom had become sauna-like. French bathrooms have these box-like, ‘on demand’ water heaters, like 2 gallon coffee percolators, that dispense hot-as--holy-hell water, the mist of which, falling on the chilled, white, underfoot tiles, created a ceramic slippery-slide. I even searched Peter and my travel toiletry bags! Alas and again, no floss.
The ticking clock, that merciless, bureaucratic tool, mocked the undoing of my morning schedule.
In a moment of clarity, born of despair, I picked up my iPhone and demanded “Siri, call One-one-two!”
The French telephone system returns a higher-pitched, single-tone ring with longer pauses in between.
Three rings later I got an answer, “This is an emergency.” I announced (‘C'est une urgence’).
“What is the nature of your emergency,” a calm, dispassionate A.I.-voice asked.
“I’ve run out of floss.” I blurted.
There was a long pause where I could almost hear the A.I. dispatcher glitching.
“Mademoiselle,” it finally said, “calling 112 is not a joke.”
“Neither is plaque!” I replied - thinking of how proud my dental hygienist would be of me.
“Yet here we are,” I added, before the line went dead.
.
.
A song for this:
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_21.mp3
Winter is hiding around the bend and forcing its way towards the center, it is carrying a hundred thousand shovels in a boat and generators pile up to its throat.
Hundreds of snow boots, gloves and battery made heaters lay flat on top, snow blowers galore and insulators to line the floor. Hundreds of wheel barrows and bags of barbecue coal to heat the house and everything you need for winter was on the boat.
It is docked around the corner with an elephant standing guard waiting on the signal to move.
The weather pattern is not right; you have got to roll the dice to get the weather pattern back on track to ripen the fruits and furnish the ingredients for the one pot soup.
You must go back to the international space station and check the angle of the moon and position the weather spoon, before the sun rises, then place a snow bait on top of the gate, before day break.
Something has shifted up there and is causing chaos down here, you must find it and repair it before noon. Observe where the rain is falling and where the fire is burning. Place a tag over it and mend it with your spit.
The year is coming to a close, and you have got to tie up the loose ends and get everyone back in line to cooperate with the divine. You have to examine all the countries on the list and make an offer that they cannot resist.
Once the list is clear and everyone must draw near, those who refuse to join will be cut out off permanently from the divine. You will recall your ambassador and cut off all international flight that go to their land and cancel all foreign aid, trade and business transaction.
And withdraw the multitude from their land the multitude will leave before dawn.
The one pot soup is easier to cook; the one pot soup is in my playbook, read it carefully and gathers the ingredients from every culture on the list and combine them together and give everyone a bowl to partake of the one pot soup.
Coming to an End
On the terrace this morning, it is warm,
sun has not
switched on the heaters yet, and wonders if the postie
His brother was sending him chewing tobacco rolled
up in newspapers as this type of tobacco was prohibited
under the EU law.
A cur on the road barks up at him and ignores the dog, but it sits down and waits, sure the man will relent and feed
The dog that had ended up homeless since his owner became ill and returned to Britain
since 1945, when the World War 2 ended, the USA,
Britain and France have been meddling in Africa,
countries and the Middle East
Claiming they want the best for the people if they throw off tyrannical regimes, elect democratic leaders, and join
the happy family of the West and denounce Russia
The people have, belatedly, woken up to the truth, it is
not peace they seek, but minerals and oil.
Russia, Russia Russia has always been hated by the West, even
now the rime is socially conservative, the republican party has more in common with Russia than the Woke Party
the Democrats.
NATO, do not mention that cursed organization looking
for a war on the behest of the USA
luckily, they are not so clever
losing against the Russians in Ukraine, which they have allowed to become a dictatorship on their watch.
There is more to this than we know from newspapers
the people with two passports work at all levels While, in the USA and Europe, mentally disturbed female
have yet to wake up and call for help
The “two passport” people say what is good for us is
good for Israel.
The Ghost
I tend to wake up at three in the morning
So, I woke up in acold bedroom we can’t afford
To keep any electric heaters on at night
I sensed I was not alone, the someone was watching me
I used to be fearful of this none person thought it was someone, perhaps a woman who I had loved and left, but since women had left me
Not the other way around, it must be something else
I decided it was my old dog Bami she was out
Of habit back to see if I was safe
I spoke softly to her called her darling thanked
Her for the thirteen years we were together
At ease now she left I got up walked on an icy floor to the kitchen, drank water and thought
What if the presence was not my dog but
Something sinister that would let me sleep
Guiltless in my bed
Front door brings in nippy chill,
You step onto the frosty path,
No pleasant air for you to initial,
Only a gut fight with the waft.
But friends are warm and bright,
Neighbours smile by their cars,
Old friends get in touch, write,
The hairdresser chats n’ chars.
What to give is a nice problem,
What to write on xmas cards,
Why not to give, there’s a hum,
Of distance, you only give cards.
Relative’s personalities summed,
Cousins hobbies are understood,
Relations interests taken, gummed,
And friends activities are all good.
Jumpers are purchased for mum,
Plus teapot, hand cream, soap,
Quality Street purple is a chum,
Candles jars are given in hope.
Sporadic robins brighten and light,
Kids build a roly snowman, just,
Dogs walk in cosy jackets tight,
And by-passers stop for a gust.
Families welcome drivers’ eyes,
When they look in the windows,
With flashing lights, mixed dyes,
In patterns, pictures, pure glows.
The atmosphere at restaurants,
Beckons xmas truth and tale,
When others also have nuance,
For special kin who chat, sail.
No negatives divide and split,
No text to state what to say,
Greetings are heartfelt and lit,
Your chat can be any old way.
Church is optional, a possibility,
But fires and heaters gaily blast,
Radios aptly inform about activity,
When Santa will visit stores vast.
Decorations furnish, fill stores,
Giant Christmas trees stand, line,
Large baubles hang on all floors,
Huge stockings see shoppers dine.
There is a righteous business,
In the air, filtering, at xmas time,
It’s friendship and happiness,
That's engineered, the told sign.
The central focus is a snug meal,
A slot saved and made for chat,
Where for each person the deal,
Is to converse, discuss and bat.
All are welcome, all can have,
Everyone can enjoy, participate,
Each one can find peace, shove,
Xmas with you does coaguate.
Whatever the question, give,
Everyone is part of Christmas,
A smile, joke, a chat, a forgive,
You can even restrain for a bash.