Long Linoleum Poems
Long Linoleum Poems. Below are the most popular long Linoleum by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Linoleum poems by poem length and keyword.
Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
“Clocks”
Seconds bleed
your stories for a child
played for numbers
by an imbecile
with dedication
to ripping hearts to shreds
to replace their vacant
hours alone in bed
your life
sold for time
numbers
on a
treadmill
trolls begin
addicted to their
asinine mission
lacking gifts
and lacking vision
this is how they
spend
their time
counting numbers
counting lines
"Good morning
did you sleep well?"
They don't know you,
but they're counting
numbers
stealing your precious time
Paper thin
you’re torn
Cancer blooms
like mould it forms
Poetry in lines
inhaled, injected
and sworn
The hospital linoleum
Nurses shoes
make no noise
your life
sold for time
safe
politics
fey smile sublime
clocks
swinging doors
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
“If”/Killing Eve
https://youtu.be/2R4JP5bR734
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Each morning I count his breaths,
then the pills, then grocery lists,
then hypotheticals~
mornings brittle as eggshells
in a too-empty carton.
His breath, a slow tidal~
my lighthouse flickers nightly.
What shore waits for me
when the waves recede elsewhere,
barefoot on cold linoleum?
My skin is like tracing paper,
each crease a story no one reads~
who'll turn my frail pages
when my hands forget their alphabet?
Our pills rattle like dice
in the ceramic bowl.
I count his ribs through
the thinning cotton~
his breathing
the only clock I trust.
We planted oaks once~
roots deep, outlasting our bones.
Now their shade stretches,
but who will sit under them
when our names are just leaves?
Wintertime: snow fills the entry way.
Neighbors salt their own first.
I should've had sons~
or daughters who'd remember
how ice clings to old bones longest.
I imagine a future in which
the nurse’s smile stings.
Just ring if you need help, dear~
as if the button’s reach
isn’t the whole aching distance
between pride and the floor.
I vented the wooden nickel, racing down the highway going to fat couldn't pack;
Eating linoleum flavoured kitchen tea towels cat ridden rodents just got carjacked;
The anchor washed the clothes of the drummer in beat;
While nasty peroxide infinite infiltration spread across the heavens
Also back on them streets
For air aged wooded bleachers and plastic tic-tocks;
How often do the sheep sleep in caves;
Master Rhymer must be rhyming;
Cause! Factor factions decision made divided by bald headed lambs;
Can cottonwood be more than a tree;
As the flights of the washing machine;
Irons out the wrinkled mountain;
The way of flabbergasted ??
I heard loud screams coming from a quaint
decapitated building as I approached
the entrance way I could see the image
of a woman standing near the window
there were others screaming also
I hurried inside only to be overcome
by thick black smoke the woman continued
calling to me as I made it pass the chard door
as two men laid in the hallway the woman wailed
I tried desperately to save her apon entering
her apartment filled with flames her hair melted
to her face her slippers melted to the tarry linoleum
I panicked at this horrid sight this woman still alive
reaching for me with one hand the other hand
was melting against the vinyl drapes
my mind wondered how to save this dying woman
her nylons began to ignite her legs and apron string
I was clearly distraught as sirens could be heard
from a distance away the woman reached out again
as I reached for her hand oddly she was wearing
my ring given to me by my grandmother years ago
I glanced in the mirror of this woman's suffering
there was so much smoke i could hardly see
but to my surprise this dying woman was me
In the middle of the night
With sleep still in my eyes
I stepped into my kitchen
And received quite a surprise
As I reached out my hand
And flicked the light on
There were balloons, confetti, party hats
With a banner that read -WELCOME HOME-
I'd caught thousands of roaches
In the middle of song
They all turned and looked at me strange
As if I'd done something wrong
I heard a scream from the crowd
A foreign language to me
The next thing I know
I'm knocked down to my knees
As I'm being dragged
Across the linoleum floor
I see a little red button
That opens up a trap door
I started getting real nervous
The deeper we went
If I was a cat with nine lives
I think eight I just spent
They took me before the king
King Ralph Roach was his name
I only knew that
Cause that's what his name tag displayed
I was assigned a public defender
But that did me no good
He spoke Roach, I spoke Human
Each other we never quite understood
"GUILTY!" Came the verdict
I hollered what was my crime!
"Interrupting a roach in the middle of having a good time"
Came the judges reply
Squishing to be my death
The day after tomorrows last night
I said that doesn't make any sense?!
Hey, we're roaches....we're not known for our timely insight
So here I sit in my cell
Wishing I could take it all back
If I had just not gotten up
For that late midnight snack
Wait....is that a tap, tap, tap
(You didn't think this was the end did you?)
As my hours getting late
A roach we'll call Chester
For anonymity sake
Told me to stop all that blubbering
I've come to break you out of here
I stood and we hugged
Which would be strange if it wasn't so weird
We slipped past room after room
With all kinds of parties inside
One thing you can say about roaches
They know how to have a good time
When we reached the surface
All I saw was blessed heavenly light
I went straight in and packed my bags
And gave the house to my Ex-Wife
(Okay, now it's the end!)
I pride myself on my deep poetic insight..
His soul weeps
while it's held in the arms of shadows
they cry too
feeling the teardrops of innocence
form a dark reflecting pool of pain
that lingers as a suffocating memory
burned into his soul
When a Father's cold angry hateful hand
held a razor strap and struck his flesh
young flesh, a child's flesh
as he laid balled up on a torn floor of linoleum
pain unmeasurable...trust lost forever
No way to comprehend what was stolen
from a young soul
never to return...never given back
His soul weeps
for the turbulent years of broken emotions
never trusting, never committing...to love
finding love empty
cursing the black-heart that laid his skin bare
to leave a hole in his soul no one could fill
His soul weeps
for the cruel memory
of a child crawling across a barren floor
spilling tears, trying to get away from the pain
leaving a trail of stains
His soul weeps
and will
until the shadows let his hands slowly fall
to leave him finally at peace
upon his final breath
Soulful...expressing or appearing to express a deep and often sorrowful feeling
10/30/21
contest " S " New Poems " Soulful "
sponsor Constance La France
I. Noise in an empty hallway:
My old leather shoes protest as I hurry down the linoleum tiles
Like I'm wearing a little piece of history older than I am.
II. Headlights on a dark road:
Speeding down narrow country roads
windows rolled down and Autumn wind rushing through the car
Ripping my hair from its tie
My arm stretching out the window, numb in the night air.
III. Ephemeral beauty:
For a moment, life is endless and incredibly brief
Stretching before me like a dusty trail at sunset
Disappearing into the trees.
IV. Origin of life:
There is this vague, unnamable incomprehension in my chest
Like euphemisms, that is the easy way out
This is the hard way: I am alive, alive, alive
When one cell became thirty trillion, I gained consciousness.
V. I am not the sum of my parts:
I don't have the faith to believe
That all my thirty trillion cells are a fluke of nature
VI. Evidence:
I am the proof of divinity's existence
A signpost shouting "I am alive" thirty trillion times with all the power of my lungs
Designed for miracles
VII. Rene Descartes:
It is not
I think; therefore, I am
It is
I think; therefore, He is.
Over eighty years ago, my father
made a miniature Model T Ford
from scratch to scale out of
paper, paint, cardboard, wire and glue.
He could cradle it in his palm
the size of a small teapot,
half globe used like a cake cover,
glossy black chassis, red trim,
a circular base of green felt.
Posing like a shiny eight ball
waiting to be struck by
our pent up kid hands.
We pined to push it across
the basement linoleum floor.
But never could.
Keeping us back was the glassy globe
and Grandmother Lil's wary warning,
"Children, look but don't touch".
Same stern voice our mother heard
many times growing up,
we knew she meant business.
So when arriving at Grandmother's,
we'd march to its stately shelf
in parochial school procession
fascinated with this classic in glass.
As little more than toddlers,
we knew nothing of the "Tin Lizzie" saga.
So impressionable was I in the 1950s,
could there be a secret world in there?
I wanted to go in. But never could.
Didn't lift that glass till my mid-forties.
By then, the model was too fragile to touch.
Like an old, dried leaf ready to crumble.
It reminded me of those snowflake globes,
if turned upside down, snow scatters.
The wonderment of my dad's deft hands,
his piercing blue eyes focused on crafting -
bending, cutting, painting, gluing each part.
Thinking of what he was thinking then.
Concentrating more, I feel his essence -
his scent, his voice, his humor, his breath.
Today, when I recall the car in the globe,
I see a tiny cosmos, a bubble much like
the one I create to protect my privilege now.
Grasping for solace in other worlds is
a childish ambition only achieved in delusion.
Through the globe, my father still speaks.
Sometimes my eyes get glassy to think of it.
2/27/20 written
A Tender Moment From Childhood
Sponsor: Malaika Ray Choudhury
The magic of a grandfather, pulling a quarter from your ear.
He tells a scary story,With a soothing sort of fear.
Elation fills the childs' heart as Grampa opens up the door.
Gingerly,the brother skip across the cold linoleum floor.
Righteously, He pick us up, one in each strong arm.
Alternating kissing cheeks; His touch would keep us warm.
Majestically he puts us down; and strokes his long grey beard.
Paternally: he kisses Moms' forehead; boys think that that is weird.
Again his aura shines our way: ' Who wants Ice Cream.
I will always love my Grampa, in life and death and dream.
Satisfied He loved us, as much as we loved him.
Tomorrows' tomorrows our love will never Dim.
Idolize your Grampa as long as he's around.
Live your life as He did, goodness shall abound.
Learn the love of generations as Grampas' have always done.
Life goes on day after day: with Grampa having fun.
Obeisance to GRAMPA MARTIN and those before and after.
Values given to grandchildren: Love, Joy, and Laughter.
Eternally.