Long Icebox Poems
Long Icebox Poems. Below are the most popular long Icebox by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Icebox poems by poem length and keyword.
Mawmaw's icebox fruitcake sliced
Expose those colorful candied fruits
coarsely diced and smell so very nice
Sweetened condensed milk doesn't dilute
Chopped pecans and raisins~tasters recruit
How about you?
Recipe:
I box Graham Crackers crushed
Add three cups chopped dried candied fruits(different colors)
Add 3/4 cup raisins
Add 1 1/2 cups of chopped nuts your choice
One cup of miniture Marshallows
1 can of sweetened condensed milk poured over all
Stir until all is moist..If not quite enough add either
Marachino Cherry liquid or sweet milk
It needs to be a little sticky
Keep the Graham Cracker box and cut the top wide part on three sides
to make a flap, line the box with wax paper
Press the mixture into the box and seal up with cling wrap
Keep refrigerated until ready to serve..
This is a very good fruit cake, moist and very rich
A very small slice is all needed with some milk or coffee
When
A seething summer morning in the oil boom trailer park
Oral Roberts on the radio with the gospel told by Mark
The reek of raw petroleum is everywhere around
We little oil trash urchins play marbles on the ground
He drives out here most every day around the hour of nine
Checking all the trailer windows for a little cardboard sign
He parks the canvas-covered truck and dons his leather vest
Throws a tow sack o'er his back and shows his Sunday best
Down the drive comes Danny, on his mighty motor bike
Hanging on the handlebars, his bigger brother Mike
The engine makes a ton of noise, a dandy double stroke
Two baseball cards and clothespins, hitting every spoke
Our ragamuffin gang was gathered, just waiting for the time
To contrive our evil strategy and carry out our crime
“The iceman, the iceman!”, I hear my sisters say
“Y'all be quiet!”, I hiss to them,” You'll give us all away!”
The iceman sidles round the truck and casts the canvas back
Scores a hundred-pounder block and cleaves it with a whack
Tongs the icy burden to his back and laughs at what is left
Chunks and chips of frozen jewels, the targets of our theft
We want so hard to play it cool and act like we don't care
All our mouths fill up with drool and it's tricky not to stare
The iceman winks his eye at me and hides a little grin
Then walks up to the trailer door where mother lets him in
The moment that the door slams shut, the bandits make their play
With eyes lit up, we whoop and shout like kids on holiday
We suck up all the chunks and chips and with our bellies iced
We swagger off to brag about our frosty jewelry heist
It's true we didn't have a lot, perhaps enough to just scrape by
But the visit from the iceman was like Christmas in July
And when I pass through oilfield country, it never ceases to amaze
How the scent of raw petroleum brings back those icebox days
January 30, 2013
MY SIBLINGS' FATHER
JUDGE BURDON
other children feared monsters under their bed
i feared the one living under our roof.
his hair was nimbus black
with a storm's thunder in his voice.
his fists were freight train brown
ball bearing knuckles
frostbite blue was his touch
with empty icebox eyes
his smile untrusted
growling words spoken like tangled spaghetti
he was my mother's husband
my siblings' father
a childhood of baseballs never thrown
bruises and shattered bones medicated with lies
happiness diluted with tears
in a house with screams undetected
when asked what i wanted to be
i testified "far from here"
now, fiber optic home front news
faceless words
cancer eating away at your life
with the fury of a piranha
your disease now my champion
fighting with the courage i was unable to muster
your epitaph written in my adolescence
while plotting your midnight homicide
again you leave
unaccountable for your actions
i'm left to wrestle with the demons
not the strenght to forgive
my memory too scarred to forget
i'll keep the battle lines drawn
your monument
let the puzzle piece fall where it may
good bye old man
you'll be missed like a pit vipers bite
your pain can no longer touch me
from the grave.
~
Winter breathes in sepia tones along a lonely two lane street
divided amongst the sweeping frozen dunes
now forced into shouldered amnesty
Street lights shiver in snowcapped bonnets
while sidewalks sleep ‘neath blankets of flittering flakes
The air, frigidly crisp…moves of tiny chiffon sparkles dancing
Rooftops, plump and soft, show off their frosted padding
as evergreens find alabaster fingers tickling their branches
in chilled teasings and frozen dustings
Footprints, once there are gone, covered and recovered again
all evidence of life is erased beneath pearl clouded skies
and faint outlines of distant thoughts
White on black stripes drape in glacial wanderings
spanning the slush of asphalt weavings
in straight line piercings across the wintry landscape
January reigns brutal, subzero ponderings swirl
from high above the icebox wasteland, once brimming with color
now opaque in its arctic seasoned disguise…
~
Written from memory…no winter here. : )
THE WINTER CEMETERY
Awaken my nightmare!
Cold, wrinkled skin, eye circles beyond care.
Tears of beautiful snow.
O depths to which they go!
A horse and carriage show.
The gate — a cliff of iron bars, mine heir.
The creak of springs, the box —
ornate, carries my frozen heart, on blocks
of ice — my pretty niece.
Oh shroud of snow, I cease
to live - i have no peace!
O that cancerous gong of Winter clocks!
Wrapped in woolen fetters,
I boldly stare at these money-getters.
The doc misdiagnosed,
and the nurse overdosed.
In an icebox — her ghost.
This cemetery shivers with debtors.
She’ll be buried next to
you, beloved son, youth taken by flu.
I lean on the hard chest.
Winter blooms on my breast.
Dear son, I’ll never rest!
Cold stones, for bounty, as my flames accrue.
12/20/2017
Rhyme Me A Poem Contest
Broken Wings - Sponsor
Ambling thro' the museum today an object caught my eye,
Inviting me to pause and reminisce about a time gone by.
'Twas an old oaken icebox standing there on display.
That ancient relic served as the family refrigerator in its day.
I recollected that we had one like it when I was a tyke,
Growing up on the Hoosier farm on fabled Farmer's Pike.
It cooled the milk and cream and butter that Mom made,
To spread on fresh-baked bread with a tad of marmalade!
What a refreshing sight on a sweltering summer's day,
To see the iceman's truck slowly meandering our way,
Along Farmer's Pike, crystal-clear ice stacked on the truck,
And anticipating a sliver of ice to chomp on and suck!
Mom put a card in the window to show the amount of ice required.
The iceman took note of this and delivered the ice desired.
He'd carry a hundred-pound block of ice on his burly back,
As nonchalantly as if toting feathers in a gunny sack!
Iceboxes served their purpose and in museums they now repose.
Once in awhile you'll find them at flea-markets and antique shows.
Fancy refrigerators now cool the grub and make the ice.
The iceman's logo I yet recall, "Iceman's Ice Is Twice As Nice!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
**The Country Kind of Love**
In the beginning, there was a love that blossomed in the heart of the countryside. We would lie in an old hammock, sheltered by the sycamore trees, feeling the cool breeze brush against our skin. Those moments were a glimpse of the joys of country living: a large pitcher of lemonade cold in the icebox and Nana’s freshly washed laundry dancing in the wind. Everything felt so pure and carefree back then. My friend and I were soaring on a natural high, our laughter echoing through the air, shifting from giggles to hearty guffaws. Our joy mingled with the barking dogs and the chaotic clucking of chickens all around us. We held each other close, lost in our world until the stars emerged, twinkling overhead. Suddenly, Granddad called out, “Small Point! It’s time to come inside.”
I still remember you hiding under the shed, trying to prolong those magical moments. In the beginning, there was love, and now, twenty years later, we celebrate the beautiful gift of five children.
The child was getting tired of being teased
Words flowed from her brother's mouth unfiltered
Had he more vocabulary he'd spew.
She didn't care on that morning if she pleased
She went to the icebox unbewildered
milk threw
We all stood in shock, except her brother
Drenched to the degree of being drowned, whew!
But equal to his cruel out of kilter
words. He's thinking there's ways other to
stir stew
Here in the south sometimes we say of a person that they are stirrer of trouble and we used some different terminology(vocabulary) sometimes.
I used icebox instead because refrigerator would not fit, so going back to my youth when some people still had an icebox.
My understanding of this form is 11 lines. Ten syllables per line except for the 6th line and the 11th line which are suppose to be two one syllable words or a one two syllable word which both syllables are pronounced equally. Really don't understand stressed and unstressed. LOL
Rhyme scheme is : a,b,c,a,b,c d,c,b,d,c
In the beginning
There was love,
the countryside kind of loving
where we laid out in an old hammocks
under the shadow of the sycamores tree,
feeling that cool breeze on our face
it was just a little taste
of the country living;
a large pitcher of lemonade in the icebox
Nana’s laundry blowing in the wind
Everything back then seem so innocent and benign
my friend and I were on a natural high
we giggle, guffaws, from chuckles to cackles
as we lean our head back: and our laughter
were as loud as the dogs barks;
while the whole flock of chickens cackle loudly
in a disorderly manner;
However, we held each other so tight
Until the stars came out and whinge about us
Suddenly, granddad yelled,
“Small Point!
It’s time to come inside”
I remember you hid under the shed
In the beginning
There was love and twenty years later
Five children.
The Poem have its own vernacular?
however, do enjoy the read.
Icebox Disaster
Only living son
Home from steamy jungles of New Guinea
Wearing strips of a Master Sergeant
Tales recounted from Australia – Sydney R & R –
In spear points and javelins;
Malaria still traced upon
A war tanned face;
No more holding breath -
Four years of halting steps -
Reaching for the mail –
Cringing at the doorbell’s
Unexpected
Shrill screams,
No blue star hangs upon a window,
Relief sighs
So grateful for hugs held
Extra seconds
In reunion
Though shocked eyes hide
To see a frame so thin -
Hoping darkness covers memories
Reappearing uninvited;
House filled with booming debates
And scents of apple pie,
An icebox crammed with every good thing,
Not seen for years,
From harvest and from garden,
Visited so often
One morning screams of pain resound
As the icebox door crashes to the floor
Breaking a mother’s foot -
With no regrets
Only gratitude for family
Together again.
When my mother's oldest brother returned from war, he went to the refrigerator so often he weakened the door. One morning the door fell off right onto his mother's foot!