Long Kirby Poems
Long Kirby Poems. Below are the most popular long Kirby by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kirby poems by poem length and keyword.
The vac cleaner's union
had an annual meet
Electrolux and Oreck,
and a Bissell and such
And invited one old Kirby
for a rare vacuum treat:
To talk, (tho' they really
didn't like him much) ...
That rusty old Kirby
had a lesson to teach
To all the new vacuum
cleaners on the line
But he wasn't sure he
had the air to reach
The shiny-nice Dysons,
that looked so fine ...
He sputtered and choked
and spun his tires
And his worn HEPA filter
had started to sag ...
They mocked his pace
and his twisted wires
And laughed at his grip
and his wrinkled bag ...
Yet he stood up tall like
a good Kirby should
And cleaning his way
up that ramp to speak
Worried his message
might not be very good
For his worn, limp hose
had a sad, sorry leak ...
Still ...
The old vacuum cleaner
then addressed his own
Battered and beaten,
and down on his luck
“I'm headed to that rug
in the great unknown ...
So please carry on -
'cuz you really do suck!"
“Only girls cry!…Boo hoo!”
"Look at you" he taunted me, (as big brothers often do)
Making a mockery. He kept teasing me, heckling me,
as I whined, and cried, and planned revenge
Neither of us would have won a prize, for being Mom's angelic pride,
of Kirby street that hot July...
“You Thug!”..I cried,…a laughing stock...his mocking me,
and worst of all, our bitter brawl played out for all the world to see.
No recourse, no remorse..(poor me!!)… As the butt of his demeaning jokes
By then my temper had been stoked, he had poked me once too often!
So HUGE, was my disdain for his smug, big thug, that grinning face,
in retaliation, for my humilation, (as an enraged little sister might do..)
I grabbed one of his model airplanes….and threw……THREW HARD...
It broke into shards, big shrapnel pieces…I dashed for cover...
Hovering behind the hedge…waiting for his own revenge!…
Instead it left a gash, a bloody angry wound, I was aghast....!
Well, of course our Mother got involved.. .
It was resolved by iodine and bandages
And a tongue lashing...
“You could have put out his eye!! ….and then we cried, …the two of us
Well we would repent, and spent the day becoming friends...
The afternoon out in the yard….
One sudden, unguarded moment ….
there was a car,.... came ‘round the bend
and as our game was 'bout to end....his dog, (his mongrel friend) was hit
....and then....
all time suspended........
My brother’s sweet dog, who slept on his bed, was gone
The next hours painfully hung…and long is the memory that still weighs a ton….
Ending with me alone in my bed..
Mute with grief ….remembering his words….”Only girls cry”….
Hearing his sobs……all through the night..
And my parent's cooed comfort, the soundtrack to this tragic movie
That still plays in my darkest theater….all these years later
I shudder still, have a lump in my throat…how that faint little scar, can still emote…
such feelings of tenderness I felt on that day.
Over the years…we have shared many tears…
we have leaned on each other, me and my brother
Big girls will cry, just as little girls do…and big boys can cry,
..and hey,..that’s okay, too
Mr David Oglesby, my esteemed friend,
Almost brought these rambling to an end
Kirby Grindalythe was his suggestion
Causing a temporary mental congestion.
Its only real claim to fame,
The Norse origin of the name,
Which the years have changed, so,
For a bated breath waiting nation
Kirby Grindalythe roughly means
In it’s modern day translation,
Village with church on the slope
Of the Valley with the Cranes.
Ancient settlement founded by
Those once marauding Danes,
At Sledmere Hall, Sir Tatton Sykes
In his sustained cultural drive
Finished restoring the old church,
Eighteen hundred and seventy five
The latest available Census
Of two thousand and eleven
Records a population of just
Two Hundred and ninety seven.
Of commercial services
There were no traces
No shops, no pubs but just
Ninety two dwelling places
It’s only just an eight mile hop
Into Malton for a weekly shop.
The Great Wold Valley is
Where this hamlet is hiding
Within the county boundaries of
The historic Old East Riding
A winterbourne stream, The Gypsey Race
Still gently flows through the place.
So, Ive tried to do my bounden duty,
To record this place of rural beauty.
Though I may have failed Mr Osgerby’s test
I’ve so tried, Dear Reader, to do my very best.
.
I grew up in Bath in the nineteen nineties
wearing short shorts over tighty whities,
while Bath were champions of English Rugby,
a beautiful city farfetched from ugly.
We played on Stilts and had Yo-Yo's,
skateboards with logo's,
Tamagotchi's, Slinkys and Pogo Sticks,
a string tied to sticks for Diablo tricks.
A lot wobbled, we played Wall Ball,
Smarties packets caused trouble.
Political Correctness didn't exist yet,
we wore Reebok, Fila or Hi-Tec.
We had Roller Skates, later Roller Blades,
out on the concrete in the streets we played,
as there were always lots of parking spaces,
space we used for running races.
We played Bulldogs Charge on repeat,
never stopping for the rain or sleet.
We played Wembley, or Heads, Volleys and Beats,
playing in the street our daily treat.
We played Kirby because kirbs were free,
40 40 in, also called Alien,
front gardens were a great WWF ring,
or we'd hit tennis balls tied to string.
Jumpers for goalposts,
or one and a lamppost,
cheated as we'd peek
playing Hide And Seek.
We played Knock Knock Ginger with its hiding,
or we'd get out our bikes and go riding.
We went Garden Hopping, never stopping,
played in the dark after the suns dropping.
We had Master Systems, Mega Drives or Nintendo's,
but were not reliant on technology inside,
we built Lego stadiums, played Subbuteo,
we collected sticker books, Pog's and trading cards with pride.
There was a fuzziness to Radio and TV,
we'd always sneak a peek at Page 3,
we watched films on VHS, played Cassettes or CD's,
or Conkers when they dropped from trees.
We only had four television channels to be flicking,
Saturday mornings were for Live and Kicking.
Bodger and Badger, The Chuckle Brothers, Rosie and Jim,
but you couldn't beata, bit of Blue Peter,
to Neighbours and Home and Away we tuned in.
When home alone emptied living rooms,
played football inside, 2-a-side,
cleaned up damage with brooms,
when parents got home we lied.
I'm proud I grew up in the nineties in Bath,
we had so much fun, so many laughs.
From no other time and place I'd rather be,
so here's to the nineties in the West Country.
Baseball cards and hula hoops
Baloney sandwich, Campbell’s soup
Howdy Doody and Mickey Mouse
Mamie and Ike in the White House
American Bandstand, Rock 'n Roll
Elvis the Pelvis, Nat King Cole
Pez Dispensers and Kool-Aid
Bedtime for Bonzo, Panty Raids
Oscar Mayer’s Wienermobile
Superman was the ‘Man of Steel’
Archie & Veronica, Mad Magazine
Skirts and Bobby-Sox, Jukebox Scenes
The Roadrunner, Tom and Jerry
Durward Kirby and a Moore named Gary
The Price is Right, Let’s Make a Deal
Hostess Twinkies – b & w newsreels
A Dog named Lassie and Rin Tin Tin
Yankees and Celtics always win
Mickey Mantle, Ernie Banks
Whitey Ford, Hammerin' Hank
Joe McCarthy and the Red Scare
Semi-Crewcuts or Slicked-back hair
The 1950’s weren’t built to last
Still and all ~ quite a cast!
A withered and separated flower lay squashed in bent stature.The wind silently erodes the remaining petals sequentially, with each pulse of the air.
A distant nightmare, tangibly manifested, the echoing warning from the past.
A trapped piece of newspaper married to a low-lying hedge branch, concealed from notice, dead from purpose.
An hourglass society, scuttling around in organized vice and engineered hypocrisy with time to dictate and money to distract.
A plague of opinions in this boundless possibility never reaching bedrock. A gash made upon the earth, a slow
puncture untreated in our hourglass existence we believe isn’t moving.
Rather Galesburg Joliet
Terrehaute Florence Colorado
to the shores of Bogotá
flushing heroin fentanyl
through the gates behind bars
thee corrupt prison ran
by gang leaders paying
off prison guards you can
ask yourself what brand
to buy into Hoover vacuum’s
are reliable American made
while Kirby Brands offers
negligence falsifying death
row inmates finally hangman’s
curse while the hoover
vacuum continues to crawl
over the paisley patterns in
the federal building breaking
even on Lasalle and Van Burean
where Gargano once controlled
most of the revenue trading fenced
with osh gosh severe terrorist
threats released only when corrupt
prison guards do exactly what
he says attack who he says attack
while Kirby vacuum holding twenty
convictions drugs violence victim
intimidation battery hit and run
corrupt family members controlling
Wisconsin prison system looking to
transfer power back to Joliet upon
Hoover stamp of approval which
might cross over interfering with
the free Hoover movement this
certainty opens the flood gates
for Gambino early release programs
for death row inmates just can’t
have all power to the people without
including all prison across America
not to exclude Gitmo with the
boarders rise in Islamic crossing
over Lore Mannino territories all
corruption throughout prison systems
changes hands through Gambino rackets
funnelling crime throughout abuse
of power corruption evenly distributed
meanwhile power is being tampered
with 40 years of dirt swept under
the rugs until the Hoover vacuum
is plugged back in all bets are off
ask yourself what’s your Brand
Hoover trustees or unreliable Kirby
designed to malfunction fictitious
score boards chips blood everywhere
devouring the structure of all power
terrorising FBI confidential human sources
during an election where corruption sinks
fast folding swiftly better get a broom
No fear of terrorist threats from
violent offenders gang leaders
corrupt prison guards organised
corruption abuse of power intimidation
of an FBI confidential human source
FBI informants CLEAN IT UP
Yashi rolled her eye at her sister’s playful antics.
Kirby did not take life seriously at all, carefree, with no worries.
What was that? Someone in the yard? Yashi’s radar went out.
She began to bark in earnest, eager to save the family.
Kirby rolled over and played with her stuffed fish.
Was that a chewy stick? She ran, slid and pounced.
Come play! She barked to Yashi.
Yashi did not even hear her; she was scaring a burglar.
Would he be coming in the window or the doggie door?
Yashi barked loudly, hoping to rouse the family next door.
That old lady was a spy if she ever saw one.
She would have the F.B.I. here in minutes if she heard.
Calm down! Kirby said to her sister. Take a look at this duck!
The mallard was cuddly and soft, with a silly looking rolling eye.
Where is the other eye? Yashi asked, repulsed. He was obsessive compulsive.
He liked all of is things in order, and strangers eliminated from the yard.
Captain America . . . a superhero created by
cartoonist Joe Simon and Jack Kirby
first appeared in 1941 in Marvel Comics
he was a patriotic super soldier
who fought in WW11
interest in him waned after the war
and his character was put in suspended animation
to be revived in 1964 and is still popular today
his attire has always resembled an American flag
and he carries a nearly indestructible shield
Captain America is the alter ego of Steve Rogers
a frail young artist ... who joins the military
and gets enhanced to be human perfection
with an experimental super soldier serum
there are plastic figures, gear, outfits and lunch boxes
and so much more available for kids
over the years
in his hundreds and hundreds of comic
adventures he has been killed off
he has fought all the other superhumans, won
and sometimes died, only to be revived over and over
because no one can defeat
Captain America ....
I like the Avenger series the best of all
and there is no end to his adventures
in comic books and movies
in this modern age when we need heroes ...
_____________________
May 29, 2022
Poetry/Bio/Captain America, A Brief History
Copyright Protected, ID 05-1460-392-29
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Captain America
sponsor, Robert James Liguori, Judged 06/05/2022
First Place
In the dark corners of their minds,
lies hidden secrets and falsetto, falsety
and masquerade blind.
Humming to transcendental humanistic deities.
Beating you down to the beat
of their own drum of a 4th kind.
Ghettos are their subsidiary and
the streets their nativity scene.
A dividend of stolen funds and collusion
with demons and seared consciousness therein -
that covenant reach.
Oh their promises that quickly shrink from the miscroscopes light of scrutiny, questions,
denied with impunity.
Receipts on disappearing ink,
fine runed campaigns built on illusions grand,
deniability,
shrink-wrapped for the next time -
we forget the silver tongue of Giliead.
Their foundations yet to be crumbling mountains
-to lie like shifting sand.
Liquefaction of
delusions wrapped in pretty lies,
made by inhuman hands-
masking truths they can't forever disguise.
But in the quiet, in the still, when we're all alone,
we sense their hollow, empty thrill.
For behind the glitter and the pomp,
lies a void, unseen,
the Collusionary Web Inc, Corporate funnel Banks, spidering links.
Hourglass of a Red Hour Production,
l E_MP's of speech,
Teleprompter Coups over the elderly impeached.
This Cabal, a Government Brotherhood, that follows General Hayden not Millie,
Baker, not Kirby.
Oh the sad wings of manifest destiny, and hypocrisy,
evil deeds of virus enhancing laboratory, Black Eyed Children seeds.
No deposit, no return, no admittance of emittance
of lying testimony-, something stinks in the Foundations overriding the Constitutionary, the emerging system,
the Beast.