Long Lock up Poems
Long Lock up Poems. Below are the most popular long Lock up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lock up poems by poem length and keyword.
O’ dear look-
the garden of lilac
and cheery is
alive
But- butterfly is dead
bees are flying
distractedly
Lover and beloved
on opposite doors
of garden
News are fractured
in fractional
lands
You’re walking
against feelings
on tears
I'm walking afar
on the queue
of ants
The soaked river
shore rubs out
memory
The soggy footstep
misleads our
feelings
The sun is going
behind the lap
of mountain
No fragrance of
wonderful news
in my inbox
Per bit of breath
feels lonely in the
orbit of moon
Cheap wine’s dealer
is coming in
boozy odors
Macadam, rocks and
pebbles plays game
of shock together
For next day all
words lock up
my ink pot
For coming back you
and wonderful news
I'm waiting
-October 30, 2018 Chattogram
Virgin Conjuring’s
If I were a virgin I would lock up all the birds and bees
Keep them in little yellow boxes in the attic
And never feed them aphrodisiacs
If I were a virgin like Sir Isaac Newton
I would do something good for humanity
Have an apple fall on me and explain gravity
If I were a virgin I would become a cartoon
Just like Kim Jong-un, of North Korea
And pretend to be human
If I were a virgin in a strange religion
Where sex was a sin and crime all the time
Suicide and lobotomy would be on my mind
If I were a virgin, which I doubt very much
I would probably have to be age four or five
Living on a desert Island with no women by my side
If I were a virgin things would be different
I would suffer from malnutrition
There would be no reason for living
If I were a virgin……..
I was the smile at the bottom of the ladder
once more . . . "now, grandpa, please come down"
I had received a phone call from a neighbor
saying "do you realize your grandpa is hanging
off your roof !
And yes indeed, he was (again)
see grandpa had been quite the handyman
once upon a time . . .
the ladder he had placed slipped and he was left
hanging and hanging
I was able to set it straight and smiling my best
encourage the old guy to come done
promising a nice cup of tea . . .
and a slice of grandma's just baked apple pie
that did it, "apple pie" he repeated
and he scrambled down just a bit fast for my liking
"slowly grandpa" . . .
And when he reached the bottom,
I was the smile at the foot of the ladder
that embraced him with love . . .
(thinking, we better lock up all the ladders!)
_____________________________
April 23, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/"Grandpa Up The Ladder"
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1137-006-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, The Smile At The Foot Of A Ladder
sponsor, Craig Cornish
Honorable Mention
(To be sang to the tune of
"Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen)
Here's a wee warning.
Eowyn is on his way.
He'll blast round the UK.
So now batten down the hatches.
Lock up your house.
Close all curtains now
And hide!
We are just human.
They are the elements...
Dark clouded skies
Wind is strong
Rain will batter
All day long.
We need our shelter
Coz otherwise we'll all be blown away!
Like debris.
Warning!
There's a red alert.
All the gusts that travel past
May be a hundred miles fast.
Warning!
Pets need protection.
We don't want our animals to fly!
Hours!
That's how long.
There will be damage.
Be aware that fences aren't as rooted as trees!
Make sure you stay inside.
Any trips can wait.
Make sure you stay inside.
Snuggle up, keep cozy -
Stay safe!
There’s an old canal close by where I live,
and an empty lock made of stones massive,
traipsing around there, the place can amaze
just seeing how the whole of it was made.
There’s no mortar here, between these great stones,
they align perfect, no a gap is shown;
to do this with hand tools and draft oxen,
not just one lock, but again and again…
There are still hollow where great doors did swing,
sealing the lock up to keep water in,
holding it back without concrete of steel,
and no great engines, just pullies and wheels.
The canal itself, so humanely straight,
by spyglass and spring they made it this way,
with but shovel and pick to prove their own worth
they dug a river across the damn Earth!
Two centuries later it still remains,
two hundred years on who would know my name?
Sure, I write poems, but poems are talk,
these men carved themselves in the very rock,
the canal they built now sanctuary
for birds, fishes, turtles swimming lazily,
the towpath they built no a walking trail,
where kids ride their bikes when weather is hale,
seeing what grandfathers built back in time,
what men do with hard work and focus of mind.
Our future is disappearing before our troubled eyes.
Why are we so saddened when we sell them to our lies?
Is the future of our children worth a time of lust?
Once the children have been found are they returned unto the dust?
Are our children sold so we can have some fun?
Do we invest our time and love before the deed is done?
Why become so angry when for our love they are here?
Is it the children’s fault when to us they disappear?
Why do we not love them spending time for the now?
Go away; leave me alone, unto your friends you bow.
And when they grow seeking the love they missed,
Strangers they become seeking another’s kiss.
Do the children become the predators when they are grown?
The sick and twisted love they seek out there on their own…
And to the ones that fall away not trying but disappear…
Are we not the ones to blame is that our own real fear?
Being snatched or taken from before our very eyes,
I wonder if I have bowed unto my own lustful sickened lies…
I cry for the children each and every day…
Why, because I feed the one’s that make them go away…
The keys I carry lock up the ones we sought…
The parents hold the keys not using them, as they ought…
Cry for the children and not for your own pain,
For mostly their future and what they could have gained…
With in my heart I feel the pain as I see the “Fallen Son”
And the terror he did reign… while he was on the run…
The murderers and the rapists lay sleeping on their beds,
Growing fat upon the food while dreaming in their heads…
And I cry for the abused, I cry for the dead…
I cry for the missing, I pray and bow my head…
I wonder why I hold the keys each and every day,
I want to disappear and even walk away…
I cry for the children and this burden of mine,
And then another child is missing and I turn the keys of time…
I’m going to lock it up
I’m going to build walls
No, sky scrapers
Im going to surround it with thorns
And fire will burn all the way around
I’m going to lock it
Turn the rusty key
Watch it crumble into rust, dust
Break and fall away
Pulverized, into dirt
I’m going to lock it up
I’m going to lock it up
So deep and jailed in
With bricks, stacked
Cemented by hands
Clenched, bones, white hot knuckled
Red and white, stuffed inside
Jammed and thrust into seclusion
You’ll never find it, or greet
The soft petals with your touch
The pink veined and venomed things
Which would shutter and shirk away
Locked and twisted and bound
And hidden, smashed into a trunk
Is that enough? Is that enough?
I’m going to lock it up
These angels you’ll never find
Go on, search with those yellow eyes
Those blue and hateful cold dead northern eyes
Rheumy with desire and death crusted over
Look and watch it fail in the light
Lock it up, lock it up, lock it up
Watch it fade away into the shard of a memory
And vanish into the air like a breath
3am
i am up and out
a few days after an ice storm
a few days after my Mother's car was repossessed
walking the three hours to work
near the woods
i hear the rustling
i am being watched
a dead deer startles me
light
darkness
darkness
light
crickets
stranger sounds
i regret every thought before the important ones
now my legs are heavy
i am now wishing that i called a taxi
my money is limited, and i think of caroline
i think about my broken heart
i think about a brand new start
i am sweating frigidity beams
that breeze at my back stings
i thought i was too good for this happening
i thought i was way above this type of struggle
now i am the one not laughing
my bills have been on time ever since
a little after 6am
i am dragging my behind
i find the strength deep within myself to prepare mentally
i got eight long and physical hours to do
i lock up my pain like a strategic version of constipation
nobody knows the internal clown crying tears of woe
thoughts of loss
thoughts of debt
thoughts of my useless need to feel
thoughts of the mistakes and the bad resulting decisions
thoughts of a genius type of time machine
i sweat
i work
i make somebody else rich
i clock out
i think about the walk to work
i decide....without hesitation....to call a taxi
i Learn....
i Grow....
Several things I've been pondering for a while,
None of them have given me reason to smile.
but I'll only reference two of them for now...
Those I've included leave me with furrowed brow.
* * * *
I tried not think about Trump, but his following confounds me beyond belief.
He's like a whale, floundering ashore, beached.
He ruined America when its democracy he breached.
How can people believe the big lie that he preached?
The only sad conclusion that I have finally reached
is to lock up the moron who was twice impeached.
He vowed to "Make America Great Again," but
the only greatness he sought was power and glut.
Anger displayed by a red tie flapping over his gut.
This foul-mouthed dissembler keeps belching smut.
Not President material. He should stick to putt-putt.
* * * *
What in the heck is a "Premium Choice" Contest,
and what makes it different from all of the rest?
These two questions I've not yet seen addressed,
and although I tried to keep my inquiry suppressed,
I ask with all seriousness as a request and behest.
Is there some reason unbeknownst to some of us
why the term 'Premium Choice' is used. Is it nonplus?
To me it seems to be rather vain and superfluous
to place such importance on a contest, and thus,
is it so hush, hush that no one wants to discuss?
* * * *
As pondering things go, I have a whole lot more,
but I don't want to be considered a suffering bore.
Perhaps another time I will open my mind's door
to invite you in to learn my thoughts with candor.
Now, I'll say 'Adieu." and drop the mic on the floor.
Board up all the windows. Lock up all the doors.
Now has come the moment we’ve been preparing for.
We can’t take the time for you to come to grips…
Welcome to the Zombie Apocalypse!
Load up all the shotguns. Sharpen up the knives.
If you have no weapons you’ll be running for your lives.
Keep your sidearm close and make sure you have extra clips.
Welcome to the Zombie Apocalypse!
You can’t keep more stuff than you can carry.
You’re the food source now. You must be wary.
The slightest slip or stumble, you’ll be caught by the undead.
And they long to be fed by the gray stuff in your head…
Hear the sound that freezes the blood within your veins.
The constant, quiet murmer, “Brains……."
It’s just the rugged hero who replies with pithy quips.
Welcome to the Zombie Apocalypse!
The rest will find excuses for some long and lengthy trips…
Welcome to the Zombie Apocalypse!