Long Kansas Poems
Long Kansas Poems. Below are the most popular long Kansas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kansas poems by poem length and keyword.
Their grinning heads cover the fields for acres
A sea of happy mini suns, welcoming us to Kansas.
We stare, amazed, having no idea this was possible.
There are photo moments and we take them all.
A gift shop sports stuffed dogs and cats,
With sunflower headbands and kerchiefs.
Everywhere we look a plate, cup, tumbler,
letter opener, Christmas ornament with a sunflower
This is sunflower hell my husband observes, so I send him to the car.
He can wait for me. I pile sunflower notepads and pens into a basket.
A lady wearing a sunflower apron, hat and socks smiles at me.
She gets closer and whispers. “Be sure and look in the bathroom.
Of course, I do and am not disappointed. Everything fancy.
Sunflower rug, sunflower chair, sunflower faucets.
I have to admit I was very disappointed by the plain white toilets.
Until I saw the sunflower toilet paper.
A woman carrying a child wearing a sunflower bib walks past.
“Where did you get it?” I ask her. She points.
Good! Sale rack! A manager comes over and offers to hold my basket.
When I get home with the bib I remember my youngest grandchild is five.
This poem was written on May 3, 2022,
When I heard the alerts for the next few days.
From 4-6 May 2022, 8-10 Tornadoes,
Hit Oklahoma, Texas and Kansas.
There's the siren that sounds,
That sends fear thru our veins and,
Has us running to hide and cover.
We watch the skies and listen to the TV,
For these falling funnel clouds,
That throw massive buildings and cars,
Like they're tonka trucks and Lego's.
They can level a town like Moore, Oklahoma.
Once in 1999,
Then again in 2013,
Both F-5's , being the most violent.
Yes Oklahoma is Tornado Alley,
But it's no joke.
We don't sit in our front yard,
Waiting for tornadoes,
If we did they would end of life.
We protect life and limb because,
These monsters are unpredictable and evil.
The only thing you wanna do is,
Run, cover and hide and pray,
You make it thru the night.
Madeline Cole worked over the basin,
Washing clothes for her, and her man,
In the wilds of Kansas, 1878,
Where grass, between horizons, did span.
A pretty young woman, a brand new wife
She’d yet to fall heavy with child,
But she hoped and she prayed, whenever she could
That her dreams would wait only a short while.
When on the ridge three forms appeared,
Mounted proud, riding tall on horseback.
Madeline had seen them before this day,
The whole county had felt their attacks.
The Anderlin brother, that was their name,
The scourge of this part of the west,
Rustlers, thieves, killers, and back-shooters,
No lawman rode that they could not bet.
They approached the house, leers on their faces,
The oldest a brigand names Joe.
Madeline grabbed her and rifle and went out the door,
No further would she let the filth go.
Joe he just smiled, and shook his head
Saying ‘Darling, now you listen here!
I mean to have you, one way or the other,
Play nice and there’s no need to fear.’
‘But girl if you push me, I’ll tell your plain
I’ll put six bullets into that chest.
I think you’ll agree, it would be a sin
To put six bloody holes in those breasts.’
But Madeline stood and refused to budge,
Joe’s weathered face grew more ugly and cruel.
He said,’You can’t kill us all, not today.
Be smart here, don’t be a damned fool.’
‘You’ll like what we give you, I guarantee
You’ll be moaning when you are under
The body of a real man, not some green husband
Who likes to play at being a puncher...’
CONTINUES IN PART II.
From Des Moines to Kansas City wind tunnel sideways
sixty-two miles per hour in a straight line always
a fierce super tornado that roars down Interstate thirty-five
throwing farms up in the air, livestock no longer alive
a quintessential tornado, dreaded and rare, a derecho
there truly was no way to hide, no places to shelter or go
a memory of terror that would last three states forever
many torn up families returning to home, never
a deadly derecho is what many do not survive
a terrifying experience up Interstate thirty-five
affecting Missouri, Kansas, and Iowa that day
the horrors of that creature forever here to stay
Okay guys, here's a tricky little riddle
Name the states with only four letters?
Careful now, it's a tricky one
Don't want to ruffle any feathers!
The real obvious ones are as follows...
There's Ohio, Iowa, and Utah
Believe me, there's actually seven more
I'll bet you think it's a flaw!
Trust me there's actually seven others
Don't you look at the bottom notes
Till you've given it your very best shot
No one's going to call you a dope!
© Jack Ellison 2013
(Scroll down)
Here's the other seven
Alabama – a,l,b,m
Mississippi – m,i,s,p
Kansas – k,a,n,s
Hawaii – h,a,w,i
Indiana – i,n,d,a
Tennessee – t,e,n,s
Alaska – a,l,s,k
I told you it was tricky!!!
She tells me it’s hopeless
She just won’t come down
Circles are shaded
Boundaries are built to cross
Highways are fortuned
And nothing seems important
I should call her
Or I should drive my way
Are we all just kind of doing whatever
Until something real comes along
Or are we all in limbo
Just sharing our songs in doubt
So what’s your purpose
And I don’t get it all myself
And I learned from Stoppard
That life’s a gamble at terrible odds
Holding closely, to what she said
Tragedians at our finest
And the real world's
Coming for our heads
Are we all just kind of doing whatever
Until something real comes along
Or are we all in limbo
Just sharing our songs of wrong
And she just wont calm down
She says she’s been about
And around this sound
She says it’s not worth it
It’s all just a hopeless
Little realm that we live in
And I couldn’t change her mind
Even if I wanted to
So I just sat next to her
On this bus ride to Kansas city
Beautifully broken
She touched my hand and said
Oklahoma’s great
But you’re going to love this town
It was high noon in Dodge City, Kansas on that hot and sultry day.
The sheriff was makin' his leisurely rounds on Old Dan, his faithful bay.
Rowdy cowpokes was wettin' their gullets tossin' whiskey down.
That mornin' they'd herded their steers to the railhead jes' east of town!
After bein' on the trail fer weeks they was ready to go on a drunken toot!
The sheriff had been through this before and was ready to settle any dispute!
He was lanky with a leathered face and wore a .44 slung low on each hip.
He was fast on the draw as shown by a dozen notches on each grip!
The cowboys convened at the Long Branch Saloon when an uproar was heard!
They was settlin' an issue with Slick, the resident gambler, that had occured!!
They was yellin' and cussin' tryin' to git their paws on that miserable cheat!
A brawl erupted and shots was fired - the fight spilled out into the street!
The sheriff arrived on the scene and expertly drew his blazin' guns!
After the smoke had settled, three fellers was sprawled upon their buns!
Their pals, havin' seen the odds, hopped on their hosses and took to hoof!
The gallant sheriff triumphed once agin and thus ended the daily spoof!
When the swirlin' dust had settled and the billowin' smoke had dissipated,
The tourists who saw this excitin' event cheered those who had participated!
I reckon you thought a bit of history was bein' played out in old Dodge City!
(If I "steered" you in that direction with this bull, what a doggone pity!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
All Chevy drivers are dangerous; they cannot drive.
I search for a few minutes, finding the Chevy emblem.
Watch stealthily, sure enough he cuts in front of me.
Proving my theory.
Now I change my truth to all Missouri drivers are crazy.
I watch one do a crazy U-turn and add it to my schemata.
Drive a few more minutes. Decide all black cars have unfriendly drivers.
Must change this theory when I remember I am driving a black car.
Listen the radio a few minutes. Here an old person on there complaining.
Grouch. Grouch. Grouch. Gripe. Gripe. Grouch. Grouch. Grouch.
She has some kind of a weird accent.
My truth is now all people with accents are complainers.
My schemata is adding ideas all the time, sometimes adjusting.
A car cuts in front of me, almost causing me to wreck.@#%&*@#$#@@#$$%%
That must be a Chevy driver.
I race after him, honking and giving him the finger.
He looks back and returns the favor.
His car is a Ford.
Oh.
I slow down, drop back. Ford drivers are okay.
This must have been a one-time accident.
Meanwhile he has added this truth to his truth box.
Old ladies wearing red Kansas City Chiefs shirts are crazy.
The vaccine is no trouble my relatives and ex-friends say so thick.
They live in Iowa, a state that had Covid-19 shots right away.
Just go to the Hy-Vee store and they stick you quick.
Oh, how I wished then that I once again lived in Iow-ay.
The vaccine? Oh, sure, I’ve had mine she says.
Government employee. They just told her appointment time.
There were eight of us sent to Timber Taz.
We knew each other, and did not have to stand in line.
The vaccine? Oh, sure. It came to us a month ago or so.
Someone came door to door and said give me your arm.
We didn’t find out until later it was college kids though.
None of us died, so I guess there ain’t no harm.
I thought I was the only person on earth who could not get it.
Six hours on the phone, and sixteen begging emails didn’t help me.
Kansas vaccinated all teachers but me, because I did not fit.
I work across the river in Kansas City, Missouri, you see.
Assigned to two grade schools, I deal with 912 students each week.
I felt like I had fallen into a hole down a storm drain under a thicket.
Still the rivaling states could not help me; did not care I was getting weak.
When I finally got this shot, I knew I had gotten the “golden ticket”.
Renegade trees are popping up all over my yard.
Reminding me that I am the interloper; it is their turf.
This is a forest, wild and well-guarded by giant oaks and cottonwoods.
Soldiers who will be here hundreds of years after we are gone.
I sit in the middle of the forest, in the meadow where my gardens are.
Marveling at my red knock out roses, which are a vivid hot pink.
A tiny stick of an elm tree has popped through in this garden.
I am nurturing it, like a mother nurtures her baby,
This is Kansas where tens of thousands of elms were murdered
By an elm disease.
There has not been an elm tree here for twelve years.
Miraculously, this might be the only elm in Kansas for all I know.
This baby elm is proof that we do not own the land.
She will be here, giving shade hundreds of years after I am gone.