Long Lunchbox Poems
Long Lunchbox Poems. Below are the most popular long Lunchbox by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lunchbox poems by poem length and keyword.
“Heads will roll,” I heard the line boss say,
“Immigration agents checking papers today.”
Things are hard all over (hard all over).
Things are hard all over (hard all over).
Grab your lunchbox and scram.
The office don’t give a damn.
Things are hard all over.
Clear the bar and grip the bottle tight.
Some poor mother’s son won’t make it home tonight.
Things are hard all over (hard all over).
Things are hard all over (hard all over).
Got that saltwater thirst,
My bladder’s fixin’ to burst.
Things are hard all over.
Yankees running roughshod.
Mets are running scared.
New York Times predicts
There won’t be anybody spared.
Things are hard all over.
Magdalene’s on the corner display,
Advertising booty. Got her own bills to pay.
Things are hard all over (hard all over).
Things are hard all over (hard all over).
The little girl needs a fix
So she’s been turning some tricks.
Yeah, things are hard all over.
Jane and I met on our first day
Of school, Grade one,
Now in 4th Grade, always had fun,
Jane used to often come over to sleep,
Best friends, loved each other a heap.
We would stay up late, told
Ghost stories, till the night was old
And played with our Barbie dolls,
Until it was almost light,
But the next day at school, something
Was not right.
Once again from my lunchbox,
My chocolate was gone.
This happened for two weeks
In a row,
My mum said I should report
This, to my teacher, Mrs. Bow
So I did,
Had no idea who would take it.
Jenny and Jane, want to see you
Both after school,
Why would Mrs. Bow want to see us,
This was not the general rule,
I looked at Jane, but she looked down,
She seemed upset, her face creased
In a frown.
So, we stayed,
Jane, said Mrs, Bow, Jenny reported
Her chocolate disappears every day,
Is there anybody you’ve seen
Acting in a strange way,
Taking Jenny’s chocolate away,
Every day.
Jane burst into tears
She was found out, she was guilty,
One of her greatest fears,
Well said Mrs. Bow, Jenny and Jane,
I have been watching and know,
That Jane stole your chocs.,
So off to the principal we go.
Oh no, please Mrs Bow,
Jane is my best friend, don’t go
To the Principal, I Forgive her,
Her mummy is not like mine,
Just maybe giver her a few lines
To write for homework.
Jane hugged me and said
She was sorry,
I hugged her back,
But was a bit sad,
Jane promised me that all
She would say,
From that day and every day,
Would be true,
And so our friendship blossomed,
And grew.
Contest Entry: THREE SIDES TO EVERY STORY POETRY CONTEST
Sponsor: SILENT ONE
Date: 22 November 2024
ACHIEVED WIN IN CONTEST
When going to school at a tender age,
The little girl would put on her socks and shoes,
Give her parents a goodbye kiss,
And run out with her school bag and lunchbox,
A smile upon her face, filled with joy and happiness,
Excited to learn a new word from her teacher.
Days turned into months,
And months into years,
Until finally came her graduation day—
The day she would leave those beautiful school days behind.
Afterward, her school uniform and school necessities
Rested quietly in the wardrobe,
Becoming memories of her beautiful early days.
She looked at them, sighed, and said,
"Indeed, this is where you finally ended,
After being with me through my beautiful early days." ??
I open the oven door
to a blast of heat
and hot bread bulging
out of a high tin, brown, crusty
and ready to be taken out.
That smell wafts across
seventy years to when I can
remember bread being delivered
in a horse and cart.
Carrying a big
wicker basket full of hot bread,
the baker would run
house to house whilst his horse
ambled along at a pace
in perfect sync with the bakers
progress along the street.
Weekday mornings
I would wait out front
and rush the hot bread
inside for my mother to make me
sandwiches for lunch.
Mum always complained
that the bread was too hot
for cutting. I had a steaming
slice smothered in butter
before I left for school.
Big, thick, uneven slices
of bread holding metwurst
or cheese or peanut butter
greeted me when I opened
my lunchbox at school.
Bread was never better.
Nearing eighty, I keep
baking bread, writing poems,
as if trying to recapture
those pleasures still steaming
in the past before they go.
In my mother's eyes
I see my hero
I know fear is far at bay
In her eyes I feel protection
In her smile I see my face
Cause she has loved me first
before anybody else
She carried me till the ninth month
so very close to heart
She breathed life into my lungs
held my hand within her palms
showed me guidance in every way
made me who I am today
In my mother's eyes
I see my hero
I know fear is far at bay
In her eyes I feel protection
In her smile I see my face
Her arms are always open
so I can curl within
For here I''m always special
without my need to win
Her soul ever a rainbow
in hues of humankind
For she carries no prejudice
amongst coloured and white
In my mother's eyes
I see my hero
I know fear is far at bay
In her eyes I feel protection
In her smile I see my face
Our days ,lunchbox of memories
filled with tender loving care
Past nights,eternal bookmarks
of those fingers playing gently with my hair
I know one time I 'd have to wake up
in a world of all alone
In the stars I have to find her
cause mama won`t be home
In my mother's eyes
I see my hero
Knowing fear is far at bay
In her eyes I feel protection
In her smile I see my face
With a backpack on her back she waves me goodbye
as my heartstrings pull tight I smile, but I don't cry
My little girl is starting school day, with a gleam in her eye
she says " momma I'm ready" is the bus here yet ?
The house sits empty and the only sound is the sound of my kettle.
I try to recall a day without her but I can't,
she's been glued to my soul, since the day she was born
"Its only kindergarten" I say as a way to ease my mind
but I know my heart feels like mush today, " I need to be kind"
I go to her room and straighten out her bed
and by the amount of crumbs on her bear, I know he's been fed
"She'll be back soon enough" I say to myself,
Its every mother's hope, that her daughter stays safe everyday
I used to thank God each time the front door opened
and a little voice said, " Mommy, I'm home!"
With a backpack on her back she waves me goodbye,
and I know I'm going to miss her, I can't lie.
#Oath_of_a_breadwinner
See these bruises on my knees, feel the pain on my back, my salty skin from both sweat and blood, soaking my skin pale. This dilapidating strength in my bones, my body tattooed with scabs and scars from thriving daily to serve those I call my own. The clots in my veins from steel hammering, these scratched and rough fingers nails, my daily meal has carved.
Took an oath, to shed my last breath on the streets, fighting for crumbs, less I bring nothing back to the table, until my body shed it's last, for I have mouths waiting to be fed at home. In my bed every night a lay restless, planing and hoping for my next tap. , to atleast come back not empty handed to my house, for the pain and groaning sounds of those I hustle for, makes me to never wanna sleep ever, to wake on the street no matter how small the pay, hence I'm forever in the streets, upon my oath
My tattered clothes, shriveled shoe soles, my oath is to put food on the table, not to look clean, what's cleanless to a man with mouths to feed, when life chose it's fate for him? Someone said "sleep is for the rich" but I live to thrive, I mean I thrive to live, my oath binds me to
I'm a breadwinner, In this current world, which bread is to be won, when doors are shut daily to my face, what bread is there to win, when I'm asked of work experience and qualifications, which life never gave glimpse to breath and acquire, when at every chance it had of me, was making sure I thrive, I fight for survival not to better myself nor equip me for such? What bread is there to win, when all has taught me was slave to survive, odd jobs, bad treatment from employees, having no luxury of taking lunchbox to work, for nothing in this life was brought to me on silver platter, let alone a silver spoon in my mouth, took an oath to be a breadwinner
My oath has no assurance, no 13th checks, no guarantees that if I sleep, I might wake up the next day and everything will be alright, I limp every day with the little hope, in the dark, that at least only if I get something to lay on the table for the day. I'm not sure if this body due to exhaustion and fatigue, I won't go to the street and fall on the roadside and no one might notice me, nor maybe go to bed and never wake up again, my oath remains, to be a breadwinner.
Poetic_Ink
Dedicated to my father, husband and all great father's who are often misunderstood
~~~~~
My mother passed away when I was ten but I never really missed her thanks to an amazing father who sacrificed his life for the happiness of his four children
~~~~~~
Whenever my son falls sick, my husband gets panicky even for small fever
He always goes out of the way to ensure his son is happy and tension free
~~~~~
While we all talk and praise mother's love father stands listening
He loves his children dearly at times more than mother but is unable to to express it in so many words
he worries silently
cries deep within without tears
he cannot use flowery language to express feelings
he can merely show it in action through his selfless service
He works hard without bothering about his comforts
Goes to office with just a lunchbox in hand and comes at night
Many times stays away from family without home food and comforts all for his family
He is always thinking of his family members and their happiness
Father is often misunderstood as insensitive and uncaring
A father merely seeks some understanding and praise from family.
He asks nothing else
But even this small wish often goes unfulfilled as all family member's criticise him....
I wrote my hubby a little note and this is what it said
Be home early tonight, I’ll be waiting in our bed
I put it in his lunchbox and sent him on his way
Hoping he’d be home early so I would get a lay
The day passed by so quickly and I was ready for some action
Put on my favourite negligee to spice up the attraction
But hubby was nowhere to be seen and I was feeling sad
Wondered what had happened – hoped it wasn’t anything bad
Hubby came in at normal time by then I wasn’t in the mood
Didn’t you find my message I shouted I felt like being rude
Message he said what message, and then I explained
He looked at me dolefully his face was looking pained
He’d put his lunchbox in the fridge and left it there till lunch
Grabbed it out the fridge and on sandwiches he did munch
His colleague had an identical one I guess they got wrong box
Hubby said his mate was like a greyhound of the starting blocks
Jan Allison
10th July 2014
It feels like fighting nature.
Like- trying to force the seasons to change.
Knowing that I’ll have to do this forever.
Putting things away and away…
Shoving things in drawers, and closet spaces,
And luggage, and bags.
And even a lunchbox some days.
Like shoveling snow,
And it always snows again.
Then the snow gets harder and turns to ice…
It’s a jacket this time.
The jacket is crumpled and crumpling.
But it’s scary, like holding a snake.
I’m going to throw this on the floor,
Even though my mom will be angry again.
And yelling,
But the yelling feels further away and away.
But the yelling hurts less than…
The pain of putting things away.