Long Hosing Poems
Long Hosing Poems. Below are the most popular long Hosing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hosing poems by poem length and keyword.
I smell hamburgers on the grill
their sizzle sounds scrumpdillyicious.
And I can't wait to sink my teeth
into a rare barbeque treat.
At my favorite picnic spot
I smell hamburgers on the grill.
And my skin gets tanned by the sun
as I walk shirtless on the beach.
The flowers are all in full bloom
spiking the air with summer scents.
I smell hamburgers on the grill
and my mouth begins to water.
My children are playing baseball
and my wife is hosing them down.
But, I'm off in my own world...for
I smell hamburgers on the grill.
(Quatern)
June 14, 2018
Summer Fun Poetry Contest
Nayda Ivette Negron
I walk in the shadow
I shore up my doubt, behind a loosely bound hope
Which in turn is propped up without foundation
Cynical of a life, at the mercy of luck
Collateral damage feeds my reservation
I shore up tomorrow with what I see today
Without conspiracy or investigation
I place trust in all that’s completely unfettered
For fear, I’m left to this present resignation
I shore up my life with whatever came before
Not hindsight or academic education
The oblivion traversed until I was born
Strings along primal echoes of information
I shore up my conscious with bliss and ignorance
Interspersed with indifference on occasion
It’s not I don’t care about suffering and death
Rather, I’m desensitised by their pervasion
I shore up my denial with an open mind
Which is nothing except raw interpretation
This planet spins correctly, even though tilted
Not by wishful thinking, but strange gravitation
I shore up my boredom, trying to fall asleep
When really tired, will attempt hibernation
Anything to forget this human condition
After remembering, I’m long past salvation
I shore up my heaven, by creating a hell
Balance looks more appealing, in an equation
Gaze upon purgatory, and share what I see
Not because I’m kind, it’s more my destination
I shore up my poem by claiming it’s my own
But in truth, it’s an open collaboration
I conspire with the musings of all that’s unclear
They dwell inside me, in flawless aberration
- - - - - - -
Horrid little raindrops
Hopping upon the ground
Hosing down my windows
Hoarding inside the clouds
Hanging around my head
Holding my spirit down
Haul your ass off elsewhere
Sing to the tune of Jingle Bell Rock:
Summertime, summertime, summer time rocks.
Summertime comes and kids yell hurrah.
Bikin’ and swimmin’ at some park’s big pool;
in the summertime, no more school!
Summertime, summertime, summertime rocks.
Summertime’s fun when school is all done.
Playin’ and stayin’ in summer time’s mood,
good times are pursued!
Barbecue time is a great time
with family outdoors.
Barbecue time is the best time
to roast hot dogs and to have s’mores!
Oh what fun – here it comes – Fourth of July -
summer time’s big event.
Picnics, parades, and then watchin’ the sky
for the fireworks’ ascent.
Summertime, summertime, summertime rocks.
Summertime comes and kids yell hurrah.
Bikin’ and swimmin’ at some park’s big pool;
in the summertime, no more school!
Summertime, summertime, summertime rocks.
Summertime’s fun when school is all done.
Playin’ and stayin’ in summer time’s mood,
good times are pursued!
Disneyland or the beach – fun times for all.
Hosing down, lose those socks!
Baseball and snow cones and havin’ a ball.
That’s 'cause summertime,
that’s 'cause summertime,
that’s 'cause summertime rocks!
Picking berries on grandpa’s farm;
watching him milk cows in the barn.
Getting chased once by swarms of bees.
Oodles of childhood memories.
Books that I read with so much to gain.
Walking down that long country lane;
Hiding behind and climbing up trees.
Oodles of childhood momories.
We had albums; one Disney song
Snow White sang and we’d sing along.
That dear pink bear I loved to squeeze.
Oodles of childhood memories.
Happy as heck, let out of school;
walking miles to the public pool.
Firefly nights with a cooling breeze.
Oodles of childhood memories.
Kickball, volleyball, so much fun
Hosing each other down in the sun.
My siblings and I so easy to please.
Oodles of childhood memories.
A pogo stick and bikes to share.
My troll dolls with their goofy hair.
Hoppity Hop I did with ease.
Oodles of childhood memories.
“Bonanza” time – popcorn our treat.
All the food I ever did eat.
Being the oldest and the tease.
Oodles of childhood memories.
Our vacations, Halloween and
Christmas parties that were so grand.
Sledding and skating; oh the freeze!
Oodles of childhood memories.
Slumber parties; each lovely friend.
Sisters, though, are friends to the end.
The four I’ve got make better these
oodles of childhood memores.
July 10, 2019 (Happy Birthday to my baby sister!)
For Julia Ward's 'Favourite Poem in Rhyme from July 2019' Poetry Contest
I’m a ‘bar-back’, I stack,
I pull up the crates, unpack and rack.
I hump boxes of glasses in,
then I hump them out again.
I roll barrels into a hand-cranked elevator,
then roll the empties into the club cellar
where they now lay stinking.
The dude who’s supposed to hose them out,
has skipped. In this town
a citizen was chopped up,
and left in a pub barrel;
folks are naturally a bit sensitive
to beer related cleanliness. I’m fired.
Hours later I’m washing dishes
at the Canton Buffet…
the perpetually angry manager
starts yelling at me in Cantonese.
There’s a phone call from the guy
who is supposed to be hosing down
the aluminum beer barrels.
He’s in a motel
shacked up with the redhead bartender
from the ‘Gentleman’s Club.’
She’s a skank,
but I see where he might have been tempted.
The buffet manager is standing next to me
by the wall-phone,
his arms are folded, he’s
impatiently tapping his toes,
while this guy (who I hardly knew),
is yapping to me like we are best buds.
I can hear the ‘skank’ giggling loudly in the
background, the ‘hose guy’ is snickering also,
he’s obviously jacked-up on snow.
Later, I am fired by the manager
of the ‘Cantonese Buffett’.
It’s then that I decide to get a real job,
and maybe write a little poetry -
should have known that was B.S.
I find a job,
but I’m still hunched over a splatter of words
that should have first been hosed down,
and despite the choices I could have made,
I’ve got to move on to
the next unpredictable shift
with that redheaded skank
I call my Muse.
I’m a ‘bar-back’, I stack,
I pull up the crates, unpack and rack.
I hump boxes of glasses in,
then I hump them out again.
I roll barrels into a hand-cranked elevator,
then roll the empties into the club cellar
where they now lay stinking.
The dude who’s supposed to hose them out,
has skipped. In this town
a citizen was chopped up,
and left in a bar beer barrel;
folks are naturally a little sensitive.
I’m fired.
Days later I’m washing dishes
at the Canton Buffet,
the perpetually angry manager
starts yelling at me in Cantonese.
There’s a phone call from the guy
who is supposed to be hosing down
the aluminum beer barrels.
He’s in a motel
shacked up with the redhead bartender
from the ‘Gentleman’s Club.’
She’s a skank,
but I see where he might have been tempted.
The buffet manager is standing next to me
by the wall-phone,
his arms are folded.
He's impatiently tapping his toes,
while this guy (who I hardly knew),
is yapping to me like we are best buds.
I can hear the ‘skank’ giggling loudly in the
background, the ‘hose guy’ is snickering also,
he’s obviously jacked-up on snow.
I'm fired.
I decide to get a real job,
and maybe write a little poetry -
should have known that was bull.
I find a job,
another gig that pays for my sweat.
I’m still hunched over a splatter of words
that should have first been hosed down,
and despite the choices I could have made,
I'm stuck with that redheaded skank
I call my Muse.
The Fifties were really and truly not all that square
Though that dullard Dwight D. sat in the Executive Chair
And his frumpy wife Mamie had really bad hair
Matching those dowdy, plain dresses she'd wear ...
While husbands toiled in obscurity for large corporations
The "Ugly Americans," reviled by most other nations
Their stay-at-home wives feeling mostly frustration
Downing "happing pills" daily instead of real medication
Their sons sporting letter sweaters, obedient jocks,
Their daughters in plaid skirts and white bobby socks
Penny loafers and saddle shoes were in for ten years
Along with white levis and coca-cola -- never rum, never beer
Yet how about Krushchev's dust-ups with Tricky Dick Nixon
What about Sputnik 1 and the panic it put us in
And remember George Wallace and old Lester Maddux
Hosing down *******, echoes of Crispus Attucks ...
The rise of brutal pro football threatened apple pie and baseball
Heralding the next decade's premiere spectator sport, i.e., 'spaceball'
Joe McCarthy dug up the dirt of a "red scare's" nitty gritty
In the work of the House un-American Activities Committee
Then there was Rosa Parks refusing to sit in the back of the bus
Championing the yearning for justice in so many of us
And the music, the music, so outrageously wild
Chuck Berry, Richie Valens, the Big Bopper -- that overgrown child
Yes, the Fifties were really and truly not all that square
Though we shan't heed the call of those who'd return us to there
In the mornings, building staff,
Equipped with long green hoses,
Wash sidewalks down, attentive to
What lurks beneath their noses.
Most often, it’s what’s left behind
By dogs which poo or piddle,
With owners who, despite the law,
Obey it very little.
Though yesterday, a homeless man
Sprawled on the sidewalk, sleeping.
Though he was dry, surrounding him,
Was proof of clean-up keeping.
Aside from where he lay, the street
Was wet from recent hosing,
A kindness from the worker,
Or at least what I’m supposing.
I’ve sometimes gotten spritzed a bit,
An accidental spraying,
But I was touched to see this dose
Of empathy displaying.
MUSIC TO MY EARS
a tear drop instrumental
nature’s collage
gluing breeze blown leaves
to each other
to trees
to my toyota
o the sweet tinkling
against garbage cans
against gutters
hosing down the pavement
like a mama spitting upon her apron
and wiping down her children’s brows
removing debris and dirt
removing streaks from their glassy eyes
mama takes that same wet apron
stomps out the aching forest fires
sweeps the ash
sends her children
scurrying
back to bed
replacing nightmares
with happy drip drop dreams
nature’s drum of love
i smile at God’s grace
Unique things we've lost over the years,
Near to our concerns all the time.
Rewinding the time is not possible.
Eager conquers our existence
Chosing one thing that is gone.
One piece of our life difficult to get again.
Valuable love with no condition I would choose.
Especially you, the one I can't take from that box.
Really mum, I would like to.
Above the rainbow you send me inspiration everyday.
Balance tries to be recovered after you were gone.
Lights are bright, and you are the main star.
Excellent as you were, I would spend my life looking for you