Long Maters Poems
Long Maters Poems. Below are the most popular long Maters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Maters poems by poem length and keyword.
We lassoed the moon and it gave us a wink.
My friend Teddy and I. Giraffe took a drink.
We were in the waters of the Nile, a beautiful place.
The moon glowed brilliantly, shone bright on my face.
Where should we keep her? I asked Teddy, concerned.
Storing a moon safely, is a skill that I never learned.
He looked thoughtful. ”Not in the closet or under the bed.”
“Let’s take it to Dun buggy land, friend Teddy said.
Dun buggy land was over the hill, and past the gators.
We would have to be watch out for them and their maters.
Giraffe offered to help, but hooves are not able to grab.
So we ended up calling ourselves a big yellow cab.
The driver said I will help. He got out and gave it a try.
The moon did not budge and I kind of know why.
That moon was full, all round and heavy and such.
Let’s come back another time, I suggested. But thanks very much!
Beyond the relics stance tainted feigned glory,
the achievers had gifted us their puzzles,
speckled based best in their field of theory,
like Baia hot baths, can't stomach its guzzles,
aloft or cavernous, or in a quarry,
like those Pyramid guys fuss up their fuzzles,
as rock piles escape while history depicts,
the bookshelves leave those green stains with those quick picks.
Millenniums, centuries, decades, plus years,
anthropologists helped by benefactors,
busy in their research before disasters,
like Baia downed in Naples Bay, off its shores,
letters for funding by their alma maters,
reach prosperous grads where old money outpours,
and achievers will have their dribblings published,
skilled wins the Nobel Prize as greatly cherished.
What can you boil, mash and stick in a stew,
Share yours with me, I'll share mine with you.
What comes in lovely golden chips,
You can bake them or they can even be whipped.
They come in beautiful skins,
Eat one and you'll never be the same again.
Their wrappings come in brown and red,
And they're just as filling as bread.
They are white on the inside,
Eat em' and they will put a grin on your face 10 miles wide.
What is this beautiful creation,
That is now a sensation?
Of course it is Taters,
Eat 'em alone or share 'em with the gators!
Eat 'em fast or eat 'em slow,
Eat 'em to and eat 'em fro.
So I'll leave you with a closing word about Taters,
They are 10x better than maters!
Love 'em alot or love 'em a little,
If you don't love 'em at all I couldn't give a whittle!
WHO AM I
Who am i, I am me
I can be whomever I want to be
A doctor, a lawyer, a actress, a teacher
I can be either one or the other
But I get discoraged by human nature
I try but fail or fail to try
I try to be strong, but still I cry
For a little girl lost begging to be free
Why must I hide can't I be me?
The man I love, does he love me?
I can't be what he wants me to be
A model, a actress, a human portrait
He tells me it's best I blend in with the maters
Hurtful words, silent cries
Asking myself the when's and why's
Who am i? I am me
And there's none else I'd rather be
We love our silly Grazillas,
Who eat chocolate ice cream because they don't like vanilla.
They prefer lumpy pillas,
As they nap under the willas.
They eat salt by the pillas,
And watch only chinchillas.
They prefer to work as millas,
They prefer their envelopes to be manilla.
They could easily take down Godzilla,
Because them Grazillas,
Are stone cold killas.
They are a cross between a gorilla and a gator,
And they sure do enjoy their maters and taters.
They make fun of waiters,
And they are great imitaters.
They love gossiping with the gators,
And are known to be fair ice skaters.
Peculiar too is the way they only eat fish flavored Now and Laters,
And man can they drive those freighters,
And they choose to shave with cheese graters.
They are even one-third dinosaur,
And they are rotten to the core.
They love to renact the Civil War,
And to get a dollar they will pretend to be poor.
They play golf just so they can yell Fore,
And when they get a banana they all yell Score!
They are in a band and go on world tour,
But I admit they are sometimes a bore.
They are the legends of lore,
That come from the Loth Lorien shore,
And in their land they are unequivical lords.
How do they have shimmering tails,
They put water from the Amazon on every golden scale.
Their fur is silvery and pale,
And they comb it twice a day without fail.
Their favorite snack is kale,
Especially in the middle of a gale.
They love riding the rails,
Looking for the the Holy Grail.
They may look frail,
But you never can tell.
They like digging wells,And telling tall tales.
Try never to compliment the males,
Cause their egos sure do swell.So if you come across a silly Grazilla,
Lazing under a willa...
Don't forget to bow to the queen of the Grazillas.
Whose name is Drucilla,
Who lounges on golden pillas...
While she listens to thrilla...
So I bid you ado untilla...
I say taters instead of potatoes
I say maters instead of tomatoes
My tongue is full of hillbilly idioms
I often say yeah when some would say yes
Sometimes I say “I reckon” when what I mean
Is I suppose this or that is best
I hear hearts instead of words or phrases
It is often the feelings expressed
That brings my mind the final conclusions
I hear the spirit flowing from the light,
The vitality that draws me in
Is the love that I see shining, glistening
Dazzling my heart with its gentleness
Its endless beauty found in love’s sentiments
I seek wisdom in the face of my Savior
It is His grace that brings me the greatest
Hope, the best blessings, the reasons
For listening to His word, His teachings,
The assurance of the faith that He has given,
Faith that abides within – where His grace
Reminds me that forever is within my grasp,
Eternity is endless, limitless, unbroken
By the end that comes to unbelievers
Yes, I’m a hillbilly
Yes, I’m sensitive to tenderness
Yes, I’m a believer – in everlasting peace
But, what I believe, most vehemently
Is that God’s love and grace
Will never leave me or forsake me
His Son, whom I praise – is the One
Whose spirit lives in me
And, because I know that He is alive
Inside my soul, where I know…
Intimacy with the very ONE I love
I will always be thankful, always, forever
Thankful for the grace of God,
Who loved me more than I could possibly think of!
I've traveled from the farm in Indiana, the place of my humble birth,
To places I never dreamed of seeing all around this earth!
On ships, trains and airplanes visiting fascinating ports of call,
And dining in hoity-toity eateries, more than I can ever recall!
I've dined on such exotic dishes as Beef Eterhazy and Athenian Moussaka,
Nasi Goreng, Halibut Cheeks, Paht Thai and Linguine Bugatta;
Linguine Primavera, Mahi Mahi, Lobster Thermidor and Cordon Blue,
Canard a L'Orange, Chateaubriand and savory Fillet of Wahoo!
I enjoyed those epicurean delights, but they'll never compare,
To the simple, wholesome dining on good old country fare!
I salivate thinking about a heaping plate of cornbread and beans,
With a salad on the side of fresh garden picked lettuce greens!
I drool just thinking about a hearty meal of meat and taters,
With stuff fresh from the garden like sweet peas and 'maters,
Home-made oven baked biscuits and heaps of fried chicken.
Ah, the very thought makes my old ticker begin to quicken!
Just to contemplate a repast of Bermuda onions and fried liver,
Gets my mouth watering and sets my old bones aquiver!
May you enjoy your Pate de Fois Gras at the country club;
I'll settle anytime for good old nourishing country grub!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Snapping beans, the summer pastime
Filling Mason jars
With cornfield or half runners
Filling a crock with layers
Of beans and corn, canning salt
For pickled beans and corn
That would make my mouth water
Peeling ripe red tomatoes
That I called maters
Cutting them in wedges
Placing them in Mason jars
Adding a touch of salt
Sealing the lids and cooking
In a liquid water bath
For enough time to be sure
Those maters were preserved
For the winter weather
Chili, soup or spaghetti
Dicing cucumbers
Mixing them with vinegar
And all the spices, garlic
Everything that makes the best
Pickles ever tasted
They seem such a blessing
When the snowflakes hover
Near the windows, dusting
The entire mountain
With reflections of the season
As the harvest hands over its treasures
Beans, corn, maters and so much more
The wise worker from the fields
Leaves the front porch each day
With scrapes of bean strings, peelings
And excess husks so the pigs
Will be as blessed as the rest of us
Granny showed me how to can
She gave me her instructions
With a hug and a grin
Hoping to remind me to always
Blend a bit of love
Into everything I preserved
From garden to porch
From porch to jar
From jar to dish
Where the love is mixed in
So that everyone who samples
A dish from my kitchen
Knows that I have given
My very best intentions!
A believer in God
killing babies fun fun fun
rape, well I blame all sides
Forgive
my hate
and ignorance
and silence when it maters
I have traveled no where
have no conscience
love those who disparage the weak
the weak are terrorist
the nerve of them to speak
I have no heart
a heart requires pumping blood
empathy is for other fools
no one cares
who drowns under Zionist floods
I have no voice
other than among peers
who love their rifles
more than they fear Gods cheer
My sword is a Tommyhawk
empty words and
backhanded slaps
if you hate I am yours
I am in good company
amongst all the silent ones
indifference is my medal of honour
I am America
I am none of the above
I have a heart
Dear Ma and Pa: I'm now a proud United States Marine!
I've found it purty easy to slip into their tough routine.
Some of them city fellers think things is really rough,
But growin' up on the farm has really made me tough!
Why, they even let us sleep-in 'til almost five o'clock,
Then, sergeants rant and rave to awaken us hapless flock!
You make your bunk and shine your shoes, if time will allow,
And then march to the dinin' mess for some hearty chow!
On the firin' range I've got three medals for aimin' true,
And though I'm only a hundred pounds and am but five foot two,
I can out-run and out-jump anyone on the obstacle course,
And flip them macho guys to the ground with but little force!
Pa, this shore beats sloppin' hogs and shuckin' corn,
And gazin' at mules' rumps a-plowin' at the break of morn,
Or milkin' cows, tendin' goats or hoein' rows of taters,
Or sweatin' under the Hoosier sun pickin' pecks of maters!
There's even an indoor outhouse and all the hot water you crave.
This shore does make it handy when the fellers need to shave!
Shucks, I'm a-thinkin' about makin' a career as a Marine.
That's all for now, as ever, your lovin' daughter, Darlene.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved