Long Local Poems
Long Local Poems. Below are the most popular long Local by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Local poems by poem length and keyword.
Taking my old Town-Car out for a little spin,
never suffer through rush hour traffic again.
Now we have time to see all those places we’ve never been,
baby I can’t wait for retirement to begin.
Me and my baby going for a Sunday drive,
only doing thirty-four in a fifty-five.
Slurping a raspberry malt from the local ice cream dive,
I can hardly wait for retirement to arrive.
Hitting Walmart on a Tuesday morning at eight,
going to bed when I want and getting up late.
Taking my sweetie out for a four o’clock dinner date,
man oh man, retirement is going to be great.
Just sitting by the pool letting it all hang out,
white socks and sandals is what it is all about.
Drinking daiquiris and working on my movie star tan,
now that is what I call “A Good Retirement Plan”.
All lathered up with a quarter inch of Ben-Gay,
you can smell me coming from a half-mile away.
As long as I am home before the sky starts to turn gray,
that’s the way I’m gonna live my retirement day.
You've seen me at the circus
In front of adoring fans
With plates on top of pointy sticks
I spin them with my hands.
I have a whole row of them
Up to sixteen at a time
I even wear a blindfold
You've seen nothing of the kind.
I'm not really a performer
In the circus or the stage
But I perform at your local court house
Where my kid's future is being played.
We all have our parts to play
In this strange game of charades
But fathers have to work twice as hard
For their image to be maintained.
"Children need their mothers
She knows what's best", they say
But fathers have to prove their worth
Every step of the way.
Sometimes there is justice
Sometimes the judges see
That the best interest of the child
Goes beyond you and me.
Children are so vulnerable
In this dancing tug of war
So fathers keep your wits about you
Don't fight to settle a score.
Your children truly need you
In this time of change and strife
Remember you're their father
No one can take away that right.
So spin your plates if you must
And keep your anger in
Play their little games for a while
Pray that your children win.
Pray that your children win.
I'm from a town called Misery
Just north of the state Complicity
Now I have no value in self-worth
Aroused in my sorrows my hurts
That was the old me
Changed my mindset now I see
Man's religion was blinding me
I really give I really give I freely give
Now no how must live
Until I met this person
Who originally was not from Earth
For you see He settled in my heart, my heart my soul
Now I don't know, just want to tell the world
What's the reason is on why the way that I feel, feel this way
This is a testimony of faith
of something that I must face
Used to be bound to religiousity
Now unbound now I am free
No longer worship denominations nor demons or prideful men
Those naysayers those pacifist counterfeit religious hypocrites
Who preach fire and brimstone I'll be in garnish trapped in their financial profit
Now I only see
Only move I to the voice of the Lamb
The mighty Lamb, I now know who's I am
I am of The ONLY I AM Yahweh
Now I found the real
it's not a feel it's More Than A Feeling now I know myself Wow!
Worth wasn't just the curse
I know who I am and whose I am, how
I am the Son of the All I am
I am of The I AI know who I am
This fallacy
No more daunting me
Now I am finally freed
There's no more complicity
I live in the Spirit of Liberty
I'm freed I'm free I'm the Son of the King
And He knows my name, He knows my name
I 've moved out of the town of Misery
Now I live freely, again freely I give, freely again I live
I live in Him now
I live in Him
In a new local I am His child
Now I walk on this Ole earth
Heavenly places after seeing the double rainbow
I am His now packed up my furniture
Move on to a town name FREEDOM
7/26/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2022
CHRISTOPHER, BLAIR AND CLAIRE
Young Blair was a shy boy,
Somewhat a nerd,
He just simply could not make a friend,
The nursery school teacher,
Who was my mum,
Enjoyed her job so,
She was never glum.
Christopher was the lively one in the class,
There was a seesaw and jungle gym
On the grass,
Teacher told Christopher to please
Play with Blair,
Christopher asked, may I also bring Claire?
Claire was Christopher’s imaginary friend,
She was real to Christopher,
He didn’t pretend!
Break time, teacher and helpers were about,
As two dozen screaming children ran out!
Christopher very mischievous,
Thought of a plan
Quite excited, he said to himself, I’ll do it
Tomorrow if I can!
The next day,
He took something out of his school case
Put it in his pocket and showed a bland face.
Break time was very soon
Christopher thought,
And hid behind his back what
He had brought!
He whispered all, to imaginary Claire,
Don’t be afraid silly,
You sound too goody, goody and frilly!
He went up to Blair,
And put out his hand,
Do you really want to be my friend?
Then eat this, Blair desperately wanted
To be his friend,
So took a very big bite and went quite red
Blair spluttered and cried,
And gave everyone, a huge fright.
Teacher ran to the scene and found a
Half bitten chilli
Lying on the ground,
But Christopher was nowhere around,
He couldn’t be found!
I’m on fire teacher, the poor
Young boy said,
As his nose also bled!
Teacher had already phoned
The local doctor,
Christopher was now hiding, the little actor
Blair was asthmatic, which was another
Contributing factor!
Plump Doctor Dawson, said Blair
Would be fine,
Teacher did a headcount as the
Children fell into line,
She had a lost child, was about to
Call the police,
When Christopher appeared,
He wanted to make peace!
I’m sorry teacher he said, but girls
Are really naughty,
Claire made me do this terrible deed,
Which was grotty!
Christopher then offered Blair a hand,
Covered in grease,
The two boys wanted their cold war
To cease!
Being yet a child, and still with innocence,
Christopher said to imaginary Claire,
Come over here, and play
With me and Blair!
This is a true Story
The first of Earth's life support systems
to go
was crude oil
Then natural-spiritual gas
Then easily accessible commercial-grade
and scale
coal.
Then wood
for crude construction.
Then electric grid energy
MiddleEastern
then Western
then Eastern colonizing infrastructures
pathologically cascaded
down
into local-cooperative democracy scale.
While internally cooperative infrastructures
of active love
beauty and grace of
and gratitude for
PositivEnergy Democracy
expanded exponentially,
driven by both Positive cooperative investments
and Negative loss divestments
of WinNow to LoseLater
long-term self disempowering deficit,
rather than WinWin co-redeeming,
options.
Then clean drinking water
pathologically cascaded
away from where it was needed
and toward where seaside communities
entire coast lines
were redrawn,
and boundary issues
of dry nations
and barren refugee states
faded away
from multi-mediated view.
While internally WinWin
cooperative infrastructures
swept revolutionarily in,
like a grateful sacred tsunami,
economic and political cascade,
social and psychological and historical reweaving,
theological and ecological co-regenerative,
reaching toward livable climate needs
within
as without
For health
as abundant multicultural EarthWealth
With Permaculture Design
ego-ecotherapeutic ZeroZone centering practices,
Psychological PositiveEnergy ReStorations,
GoldenRule Therapeutic Justice,
NonViolent, local through global, Peace
WinLose LeftBrain Either/Or
Nature/Spirit dualistic fundamentalism
cascading toward WinWin Both/And eco/theological gratitude,
Positive LeftRight ProLife GreenEnergy STEAM Systems,
gratitude for trust and beauty attitudes.
BadNews closed doors chosen first
are GoodNews open doors
cooperatively chosen WinWin last
yet healthy best.
III.
Scott bought the farm and some dairy cows,
and set about building himself up.
He soon made a name for quality milk,
local wholesalers could not get enough!
One summer day he took to the plow,
preparing and old field to grow hay.
The plow hit something, twisting it hard,
just badly enough to ruin his day.
He grumbled loud, went back to look,
and saw there, to his great surprise,
a hole in the ground, empty and long.
A new cavern there before his eyes!
Now caves were quite common where he lived,
several were open to tourists for show.
The thought of building up just such a place
made the dollar signs in his head grow.
The next day he returned with lanterns and lines,
carefully descending into the dim.
When he touched bottom and lighted it up,
what he saw laying close by shocked him.
Two skeletons lay just five feet away,
it was a miracle he hadn’t crushed one.
Both looked human and one of the dead
lay with the moldering remains of a gun.
The other was huge, at least eight feet,
and the bones too thick, impossibly large.
The skull was giant, the teeth oversized,
Scott found the sight of it quite bizarre.
In the middle of the great ribs did lay
two balls, the kind from old muskets.
And near the spine was the rusty head
of an aged and battered hatchet.
Turning to the other, Scott Bairns saw
they were the bones of a normal man.
The ribs were broken, every one,
so were both of the man’s hands.
And on the stock of the old gun,
Scott found an old, tin name plate.
He bent down low to read it clearly,
‘Amos Bairns’ in the metal was scraped!
Scott flinched back, remembering tales
told in childhood long, long ago,
Campfire stories of bigfoots run wild,
to his mind they all started to flow.
And now when he stared at either of them,
both the large and the small skeletons,
he realized the truth behind all the myths,
he was staring down onto his kin!
Scott hurried out, and filled in the hole,
then gave the field over to brambles and berries.
He never plowed there, or spoke of it at all,
for some truths are better left buried...
Local favorite Brian Swinehart
Covington, Ohio's kind heart
does comedy at a cozy coffee shop
with Philippine food in the backdrop
The barista pours out the coffee
her daughter sits out the toffee
as Brian don's a smile
bringing people in for miles
His latest guest (Nicholas De Santo)
an Italian on a quest
from London he came
hoping we can remember his name
+Brian is a friend of mine that does comedy and I do the poetry every third Saturday of the month at our favorite coffee shop North Star coffee station in Piqua, Ohio. He is a traveling comedian that has lived in California and was a backup actor.
The old parson ministered to his flock where'er they might dwell,
In his well-traveled buggy drawn by his faithful horse, Old Nell.
Nell and he had weathered snow, rain and stinging gale,
Sharing the Master's Good News throughout rural hill and vale.
A humble country parson was all he ever aspired to be,
Knowing the material rewards would be scarce for his family,
But he had a fire in his soul that transcended all worldly goals.
He dedicated his life to serving humankind and saving languid souls!
The white-maned parson served his far-flung fold with dedication.
He was welcomed by saint and sinner alike with love and admiration!
Whether it be in the local saloon or Victorian parlor, it mattered not,
He put folks at their ease always proffering a pertinent mot!
He encouraged hapless souls stranded upon life's treacherous shoals,
Counseling them, helping to redirect their individual goals.
His congregation sat rapt, hearing his sermons so germane,
Simple messages about the remission of sin for which Christ was slain!
He performed baptisms, weddings and funerals for many generations,
Sharing with folks their sorrows, tears and joyous celebrations!
At the end of his earthly quest, God bestowed upon his brow a crown,
Saying, "Parson, you have served Me and My flock with great renown!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Let me tell you a story of my night journey;
After a hazardous trip from a far off state
With drooping spirits and waning energy
I alighted at the station to catch the night train
My heart besieged by memories of my home, left behind
Like a drop in the ocean
I quickly merged with the buzzing crowd
In the blinking light of platform lamps
I saw a huge crowd- the young and the old
With baggage heaped on baggage, patiently on wait
Time slouched on at snail’s pace….
At last hearing a long drawn whistle from far
I looked out and saw the train coming, snorting noisily
And halting with a screeching sound
The real ordeal begins as one lifts his suitcase
And pushes his way along with all strength,
Between bags and boxes and people,
And the porters running after you to carry the cargo
Finally I got into the train and occupied my seat among strangers
My mind plagued with fears of thieves and molesters
It was my first journey alone at night
I don’t know when I fell into a deep slumber
It was with the sound of * ‘chai…chai’ that I woke up
The inviting aroma of brewed tea entered my nostrils
At last I have reached my native soil!
I am heading home, every step and every inch
Drawing me closer and closer to my sweet haven
My heart began to pump quicker
I felt like a marooned mariner
Suddenly cast ashore by a rescue boat!
__________________________________
*‘Chai’is a local term in our language for tea !
April. 19. 2022
Form N- Narrative New Poetryy Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
Topic- Journey
Twice a day, the jackdaws gather in their thousands, in that same old tree
It is as if they only gather for a good old group meet and a bit of repartee
Standing in the garden you see them flying in their groups from overhead
As in their thousands and all the late comers who have just got out of bed
The last ones in make me laugh, squawking as if to so say don't forget me
Then silence descends, just what is going on within there I just cannot see
It's as inside that tree the chief Jackdaws have a gathering of all the clans
Discussing all the local farmers, then talk about the rest of the day’s plans
Then no more than an hour you will get to see them all flying off in groups
Then it’s all over “till dusk when again they are all back in massive swoops
I really admire their kith and kinship; it's far greater than ours can ever be
But it never stops me wondering just what the ‘eck is going on in that tree
Indiana Shaw . . . ; )