Long Hutch Poems
Long Hutch Poems. Below are the most popular long Hutch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hutch poems by poem length and keyword.
The wrapes of Grath adorn the path that slammer klingks had tread
when turning spades in everglades to flosticate the dead.
Along the way the snorbels bay at freebled sprutelned
that boogeymen had once again uphove above the shed.
The buildings tall that housed the krawl are pictured carved in stone
and all that’s left is now bereft of wrapes that might atone
for scabs that feed our wrinkled breed, distraught and lying prone.
Yes, flonk replaces merpeled traces deep inside, alone.
There’s no retreat from incomplete, so durbies never dared,
but streaped instead beneath their bed with franjent fangs unbeared;
they knew the past could never last although the trumpets blared,
for doogies, stripped, were ill equipped, no longer bald or haired.
Like cavaliers with gougejent spears, well triggered for a tiff,
slank vankulures with silver spurs embussed for grimp and griff
(no question why, for “we can’t die”, the oft regleated riff);
with little fuss the blunder bus krunged glimpfly off the cliff
and fetid breet of grim defeat gave Grath its final whiff;
the catapult had one result, all life lay lazelled stiff.
The plastic waves that washed the graves, now homeland for the rutch,
though faring worse when quenching thirst with warples in the hutch
were nonetheless, as frunks confess, so pleasant to the touch
exturbing sinks that watered wynx and onetime life as such.
Like burning blotters slurping waters, skindles sipped their fill
from koozing cracks between the tracks inhumed beneath the hill,
then spawned the spores of Grathic wars that profit from the kill;
their victory tales, like crimson crails, reside in dung and dill.
Those scrilly clouds that cowed the crowds neath radiation snapes
left little less than watercress beneath their coffin’s drapes;
yes, those unborn cannot adorn the pallor of the prapes
so scrundlemun tinge bibberun, we ones who reap the wrapes.
Yes, now-abandoned hetzelspan were once in time embroiled
with merikained that firps extained until the weather roiled.
What more, perchance, can happenstance inflict upon the koiled
when pendlesnips are in eclipse and wrapes of Grath are soiled?
I’d mowed me lawn and chopped the wood, I’d even done some weeding,
And when I told the ‘missus’, she said, “Oh gosh my heart is bleeding”.
‘Okay then’ I sort of thought, her smart remark needs a reply,
So I grabbed a dozen stubbies and didn’t even say goodbye.
I didn’t really feel like drinking, down at the river on me own,
So I pondered as I drove around, who might be home alone,
Well ‘round and ‘round the town I went, trying to contrive,
On who might need a morning beer. Next thing I’m in Beechey’s drive!
I’d just caught ‘Bee’ in fact for he was walking out his door,
But when I held up a stubby, where ‘Bee’s’ going he’s not sure,
For he’s got a choice of knocking down a half a dozen beers,
Or surrender to his loving wife, whose been drumming in his ears.
‘Bee’ said if he took the top off one he won’t know when to stop,
And he had to get some birdseed for his budgies at the pet shop,
So I put the stubbies in the fridge, and joined ‘Bee’ for company,
While we went to get his bird seed, and satisfy his Mrs. ‘Bee’.
We walked amongst the parrots and zebra finches in their cages,
Hearing red canaries whistle that I hadn’t heard for ages,
Guinea Pigs were hiding in the straw; mice tumbled on a wheel.
‘Bee’ shook hands with the owner, who was his mate I feel.
‘Bee’ didn’t have to ask for seed, the bloke knew its budgie food,
So they started telling dirty yarns and some of them were crude.
All the while they made me laugh, then the owner said to ’Bee’,
“I’ve got to duck down to the bank, can you watch the shop for me!”
A little girl of maybe five made her entrance through the door,
And she carried in a shoebox that she placed upon the floor,
Then with the sweetest little voice that only angels could address,
She asked ‘Bee’ if he kept rabbits, and of course the answers yes.
‘Bee’ led the girl down to the hutch, to find a ‘bunny’ now for her.
Was it a pretty brown one? Or a cuddly white angora!
Or would she like a ginger one, or one white and black and buff.
The little girl just gave a shrug “My python couldn’t give a stuff”.
©2002 Lindsay Laurie
I am sitting here alone,
I look around and I see:
The couches you wanted to be here,
Brown leather, brownish auburn leather,
Couches made of a football dream,
Shattered, or a football dream
Imagined;
I see a misplaced shelf,
Once towering over my desk and a dream of togetherness.
I look some more and I see the bar stools by the kitchen counter,
Empty;
No children to sit in them, a family dismissed.
I see a light oak kitchen table placed by the
Dark cherry hutch.
Once a set,
Now two individual pieces that quietly state,
Their will to not belong.
I listen to the sounds and I hear:
I can hear my heart beating as it always has.
I listen closer and I can hear the baby breathing.
The breath of new life, hopeful and unaware,
An existence allowed by chance.
I breathe in the air of this small apartment
And I smell:
I smell the candles burning;
Please keep burning as you might be able to burn
The cells that cause me to remember.
I smell sadness,
I smell an unkempt apartment and an unkempt union.
I close my eyes and I try to feel and sense:
I sense your presence still lingering here.
I dial your number, the number meant to be my answer,
…no answer.
My call has been transferred to an automated voice mail system,
My call has been transferred to the dismissal of emotions.
I sit still and listen some more:
I listen to the me that is left, telling me to stop holding on.
Please let go of your embrace.
I will go taking the best of you with me as
You accidentally gave yourself a chance to start over.
I will replace your sweet lies with the loyal truth.
I will never seek happiness in a glass or in a white line.
I will never seek happiness amongst people that live
as drums beating to the sound of emptiness.
I will walk sober, and will embrace
Life and death intoxicated only by images of happiness
That will be earned.
We walk different paths for a reason. I can’t follow you because
I will elude myself along the path that you have chosen.
I refuse to be a ghost before my time has come;
Your freedom to not be will be my freedom to become.
FAST EDDIE SPEAKS OUT IN THE RABBIT CAGE
Say, pass me that half-carrot, Guido, before I fall asleep with boredom.
Those lettuce leaves are tasty but, oh boy,
It would take a thousand to fill me, Guido my man.
OK, ears down, boys : here’s that dog again -
Don’t move or he’ll stay all morning.
Give him the old glassy-eyed stupid stare.
Hold still, hold the line, stay with me, stay with me ,
If we hold together we have a chance of survival. . . . . .
Aw, Eddie, you’ve been watchin’ too many re-runs of “Gladiator”
You’re startin’ to sound like Russell Crowe, ha ha ha. . . . . . . . .
Good, that four-legged urine-sniffer has gone after the cat.
Wow! Look at the fur-shine on that new doe.
Man, she gets my whiskers twitching all right.
Listen, Fast Eddie, you can look at the goods but don’t touch.
She’s new in the hutch and Minnesota Fats has his eye on her.
He’s one big buck to handle.
Yeah, well I ain’t scared, I coulda been a contender. . . . .
Eddie, you gotta stop watchin’ those movie re-runs.
That doe? Remember how old Black Legs and Pretty Boy with the grey eyes
Ended up as pies and sausage after “accidentally” falling into
The hot soup pan when Minnesota was nearby,
And that was just because they laughed at his nose-twitch.
Listen Guido, I can take him I tell ya, and then I’ll be the man,
Then all the dough will belong to this big buck. . . . .
Don’t you get it, Guido, “dough” and “doe”. . . . ?
Fast Eddie, the only “Doh” I’m gonna hear is the Homer “Doh”
Cos here comes Minnesota now. Quick, offer him your carrot.
Mornin’ Fat Man, wanna chew my carrot? Go ahead, make my day, ha ha
Man your fur sure is shiny, Minnesota, wish I could get mine like that.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for Miranda Lambert's Contest BEHIND BARS BLUES
I see ya got sum papers today
We could smoke a li'l sum, on da way
You ever been wit a black gurl or r'ya gay?
Well I know a few, that'll suck for a buck
They do something strange, for some change, when ya suck
Went to a former co-worker's house to smoke da dope, after work
His patio furniture was in the backyard, for us to sit on, I felt like a jerk
There was a rusty, seat-less and underworked exercise bike
An old wooden dining room chair, that I kinda like
Even a leaking, 5 gallon Home-Depot bucket, purchased by li'l Mike
I'm not some closet psychopath
I've got a job, you know
i'm a backyard dentist
An artist of sorts
At least for da mob
The money's good, if you know your math
Everybody's acting like gangs are a new phenomenon
Almost everyone in the USA is affiliated in some way, with an ancient gang from Babylon
We've got the FBI, ATF and the LA bashful police department, that were all illegally installed
Far out Religious groups, Democrats, Republicans, barbering da same old bull, just to keep us enthralled
Everybody's obliged to and got to, have their own little clique
Friggin’ always gang-banging, in their own subtle way, it makes me sick
For the record, about all those so called crimes
I was convicted on two counts, of sexual abuse
In the first degree, for offensive touching, without consent, no excuse
I've been shot at, more than five or six times
By some dudes who were nervously hanging about
You know, just like a Starsky & Hutch comedy stake-out
But my God is great, he sure has the knack
He let me come straight back, wid out no flack
So, I've been selling crack, at the high school gate
Since i was in about, i'd say,"ninth or tenth grade"
I don't know where this journey will end, maybe way before it's due date
So, i've already started digging my grave, with an old rusty, but trusty spade.
Form:
Top notch legal scholar Erin Go Braw
(less concerned about being fair versus
abominable, irrevocable, and execrable
unforgivable oversight most holy "M" & nonce)
cabinet of high priests,
sans spelling chieftains ready to claw
your person to bits,
and they presage remote clemency
which decision told, when Jeff Sessions
decides final punishment to draw
now, (see excerpted lines
visited with glaring flaw
"Benediction For Lord Apple Macintosh"
where ...bot sized wetbacks, setbacks,
and drawbacks, required a secret char),...
intimates a "hee haw"
and rock'm n sock'm pull no punches
square at yar triangular jaw
YES, on account misspelling,
whence Grammarian Jude Law
at the least aims (to topple a prospective
title of eminence grise), banning access
to such undeserved
catbird seat, sans Rhetorical perch
laughing while ja plaintively call for maw
darn Oxford English Dictionary - but naw
can do, and hence paw
mister trumpeting
"FAKE" wordsmith raw
flesh will turn into....
unreadable print until closing text
that elaborates how holiness felt vexed.
To ye (a freshly minted scalawag),
these 20/20 eyes bulged agog
while steaming with invective
at what attempted
to pass as sacred poetic blog
when thee (Matthew Scott Harris),
now pronounced, an illiterate,
immoderate, and inveterate å!@#$%?
with a severe cerebral clog
(meaning prefrontal lobotomy
not out of the question),
you m~r mangy whelp of a she dog
(my humble apologies to canines),
less deserving than being
whipped near death's doorstep flog
after henchmen (strongly
resembling Alaskan BullWorms
guarding this royal hutch,
herein Cupertino, California.
Donkeys are never carried
Hens never miscarry
Cows don’t hutch
Pointing fingers, the norm
A person killed by his persona
My ego shadows my vision
My fault lines… eyelided by ignorance
Ego contesting with my vision
Mission straying from vission
Literaly a juvenilled dead man walking
Unconsciously delayed my blessings
Forgot my bridal vows
To dine in my fathers house
Thinner and thinner I grow everyday
‘’Forgot’’ to eat the daily bread
Been full of boos and roasted meat
The last time I remember
I Turned down a date with Christ
Our wedding has no guests
He said its my failure to invite guests
Our home will be boring
No value no guests no music
Forgot time in his house,
Met a new lover
He showed me how to spend
How to pass time
Apparently the ten commandments
Just cock block fun
Even Drunk dad knew the church
Mama cries every day in prayer
Used to feel the pain…
Soul Numbness been imminent
With time I lost his number
When I needed him
He was not on my phone book
My new boyfriend Lucifer
Well let’s say he left with everything he brought
Just got a message that he was passing by
My friend batimayo called loudly
So will I
I will bow down and remind him
Of how beautiful I was
I will do my lashes for him
He took lashes for me
Manicure pedicure tone my face in foundation
He is the firm foundation
Prepare a meal for him
Not bread a surprise meal
I know he will come with the daily bread
Invite some guests over
I know they need to see him
Wait for him
I know he will pass by
I mean He can’t forget us
Our smiles our miracles
Our fellowships
How we used to blend perfectly
I know him he is soft hearted
He will restore me
I know
He can’t just pass two people gathered in his fellowship
He promised me that
Looking for it
Checked the cabinet under the sink, the drawer with miscellaneous tools; even checked the hutch at the bottom of the stove/ it wasn’t in the kitchen. Checked behind the couch in the living room, entertainment cabinet thought maybe if I vacuumed/ it may get caught up in the suction not sucked up/ looked in the book case behind books/dusted off the frame that holds our picture/Still looking for it.
Can’t believe the carelessness/ How in the hell did I lose it? /Still looking for it.
The dining room was no help at all/ the table and chairs can’t hide much/ but I did look under the rug just to see if maybe just maybe it rolled under there/ Why—can’t—I find it? / If I have to tear this house down, I’m going to find it because it means so much to us/ Apologies baby/ caught in a moment and lost it/ still looking for it.
Can’t believe the carelessness/How in the hell did I lose it? / Still looking for it.
The guest room was dusty/ I gotta find it/ checked under the bed in the closet/lifted the bottom of the curtains/ I gotta find it/You’ll be home soon so I have to find it/How do you misplace something so rare special & beautiful?/ how do you lose something so valuable?/
Checked the bathrooms/looked in the toilet/ Lord I hope I didn’t flush it/ looked behind the shower curtain/ medicine cabinet even/ where—Is— it? /went in our bedroom sat on the bed/ let me re-group here/ take a breath/ inhale/ exhale/ Still looking for it/ our bedroom is filled with you’s and me’s components of our lives intertwined/ so many memories/this house reeks of we/ each and every room/ a part of us is resumed/like now as your key turns the lock to our home/ I smile/that moment it clicked/ “it” was never flushed, lost, or misplaced/ you were just gone.
Waking up, in a light gray four poster bed.
With flowers and ribbons, painted
on the ceiling above my head.
.
Satin slippers and a robe, so soft.
A young girl, I feel when I do recall......
Those decades ago, those tender memories
that are never lost!
.
The walk down the soft, rose-colored,
carpeted stairs,
I honestly felt as a princess belonging to a
great monarchy somewhere.
Each time I glided down those circular stairs,
so rare!
.
I ate in the breakfast nook, on the most elegant
ivory wood table, I ever saw.
With a maple hutch with priceless nic nacs
and family photographs.
.
The milk was delivered to the back door.
In glass! No wax, faux de raul.
The tablecloth was always clean.
And heavenly pressed. Mom had fresh
flowers on it, or seasonal decor.
Outside, the grass was soft like God's
carpet, so green,so summer fresh!
I loved my bare feet, running through it.
An gigantic umbrella, was there in a table
of course.
Bright golden yellow outside, inside of it a
veritable bevy of flowers.
That table so outstandingly white~
It so reflected the innocence of my very
blessed days and full starlit nights.
I did my homework in the dining room
on a polished mahogany dining room table.
Above me a sparkling crystal chandelier.
Below me, i rested on dark, thick,green
velvet cushions.
Yes, life was more than good to me.
To recall these young girlish days
with you, ah!
I do so quite happily, through a
poetic lens of time.
With you, my beloved, new poetry
family.
January 21, 2020
6:30am PST
Special acknowledgement to Robert Lindley, who
had the kindness to inform me by Soupmail of
typo errors, I had missed! Gratefully, PR xx
Three of my chickens are dead and they have left a hole in my heart,
I want to mark their passing, prove that they were alive and very much loved by me,
They were real, breathing and full of life from the start,
Oh they made me laugh, so hilarious and quirky; such fun hidden away on our allotment,
They did no great deeds, were not famous and hardly anyone knew they were there,
Alert and trusting, they followed my steps, looked at me with their heads to one side, wondering and seeing,
They slept in my arms and closed their tiny eyes when I stroked under their beaks,
Laid eggs and loved wholemeal bread, sometimes combining the two in to a healthy treat in their run, pecking and pinching whatever they could,
Stood on my spade when I was trying to dig, and ate the biggest worms I ever did see,
Had me running in circles to catch them, jumped out of the hutch when I thought I’d put them in,
Kicked over their food tin so I’d give them more and always hid in the shed,
Rearranged their sleeping compartments when I had just cleaned them out, kicking the neat straw all over,
Ate all of my winter cabbages and nibbled at my sprouts, sat on the compost heap and looked around, Queens of the allotment!
Were brave in the face of danger, survived against the odds,
When poorly, they slept cozily in my basement, and understood when it was time to die,
They may have only been chickens to most, but to me they were my friends,
Always pleased to see me, they needed me, and greeted me loudly every day,
Three lives have been taken, but I will not forget them,
I will look back and smile, and talk kindly of Muriel, Edith and Ethel,
For they were the three hens that taught me that all life is precious, no matter how unnoticeable and small.