Long Neater Poems
Long Neater Poems. Below are the most popular long Neater by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Neater poems by poem length and keyword.
What in heaven's name would we ever do, oft' I wonder,
If not for the humble pencil eraser to correct our every blunder!
Plaudits to Mr. Hyman Lipman for his inventive intellect,
For patenting this mundane gizmo for our errors to correct!
A pencil eraser is also useful for musing bards to chew on,
While striving to concoct verse when their cleverness is nearly gone!
I've even observed folks surreptitiously cleaning both of their ears
With a pencil eraser that would cause alarm to an otic doc and his peers!
A weekend golfer's pencil is sans an eraser and for good reason I suppose,
Otherwise, with certain "adjustments" to their scores they would all be pros!
In this enlightened and technological age, correcting mistakes is much neater.
No eraser needed - just click a button on the computer called a "deleter!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Honorable Mention in the "Rub It Out" Contest - June 2010
the waiter waits for what the eater repeated owes
weeder and seeder share one dish of blackcrow
bleeder feeds the pleater ancient historicity owed
debater fingers slayer through triptych meter foretold
delayer is the later is the leader
leader lagging leads what later already delayed
heater heats hot water for pessimistic bleater
feeder and the breeder share one tether eater
deletor utters what the reader couldn't shouldn't read
teacher unteaches creature its feature
teaser tases the taser tallowing the blind build
pleader prostrates before the greater hater
slater covers what rater refused believed achieved
render the neater a pasteurized fleeter from the feeder
the teeter is the tether
greeter is the greater
leaper breeds a crater
nature uncreates what creature features
break breaks the breaker breaking broke
killer is a living giving beater
seder sets the table for the bleater
x-ray sees breeder flayed through knot whole
meteor deletes what is the longest tiny universe
millimeter feet inches nothing measures unmeasurable
measure unmeasures the measured measuring
nothing inches nothing toward nothing's infinite Nothing
seer teases waker waking what was dreading dread
dread dreams the dreamed into undreamed un-being
cheater your emotional beater crawls you fastest dead
slayer and the greeter share one scarface tater
later is the delayer tripped into uncreated crater
discourse already dispossessed buffets the maker unmade by making
utterance utterless utters the unutterable
utterance utters itself into un-utterance
the mediator utters
greater grater grader enters the uncraterless recursion
recursion recurses into non-recursion
the poem unmakes its own ending ending
utterance ceases utterering
I When Your Siblings Torment You
a) tattle to your mom and dad
b) tell them: Stop, or I'll get mad!
c) cry: Can't we just play instead?
d) put a family of roaches in their bed
II When A Schoolyard Bully Demands Your Money
a) fork it over and beg: Will you let me go?
b) lie and plead: I spent all my dough
c) chant: Dear friend, please be not my foe
d) slap his face and stomp his big toe
III When Your Folks Compare You to Cousin Billy
a) say you'll study harder in the year ahead
b) pledge to be neater and make your bed
c) vow to do your chores with a smile of good cheer
d) invite Billy over and kick his rear
IV When Classmates Call You Way-Uncool
a) study and mimic their swagger and walk
b) get with the attitude, tunes, tats and talk
c) make amends for being the nerd of the year
d) respect yourself and follow the drummer you hear
2/7/23
The Multiple Choice Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Suzanne Delaney
Estella Murray
1891-1912
Johnny’s was the last face
I saw that April afternoon in 1912.
I admit I was mean to him,
As mean as a starving she-dog in heat.
It’s not that I did not appreciate
The blooming rosebud he presented to me
Six months before my untimely demise.
But that thorn hidden beneath it,
Could it not have been removed beforehand?
It’s not that I did not appreciate
The long-winded love letter he delivered to me
Three months before my untimely demise.
But that last line written so sloppily, – “I love thee!”-
Could it not have been rewritten neater
And the word “thee” replaced with the word “you?”
It’s not that I did not appreciate
The inert standing vigil he kept for me
Three days before my untimely demise.
But what was that fool doing out there?
Just standing in the garden out front-
Outside my open-curtained window?
Could he not at least have stepped to my front door
There on Friends Street
And cried real tears for my departing soul?
But no! That fool, Johnny Barrow,
Instead stood out there flirting with his new girl-
Insipid April and her moody mornings and afternoons-
Standing and staring straight ahead
Like some stupid stone cold statue!
“Oh happy dagger!” the young Juliet once intoned.
“Oh happy death!” I said at last,
There on my mother’s divan,
Forgetting once and for all,
That staring unmoving fool, Johnny Barrow!
For so long
It’s just been you and I
Darting around the house,
Every weekend and holiday
Each summer, easter, autumn.
Circling the place that was our home.
Be it tag, hide and seek or simon says,
We’d always end up round
This little tree, on the ground
Basking in the sunlit garden.
Our grapefruit tree, branded with
12 sets of our initials
Set side by side,
Each neater and more intricate
Than the next,
Cuddled up against each other.
It grew as we did,
Its fruit ripening slowly throughout
The summer months,
From a harsh yellow
To a soft tangerine.
But unlike the tree as we aged,
Our blossoms began to wilt.
The end came that summers day
At your coming-of-age party.
When those words left your mouth
I felt all the air betray my lungs,
All the blood my heart
And all the light my eyes.
You left me broken and helpless,
Sobbing in front of our tree
In between shouts of
“Happy birthday!”.
Now every valentine’s day,
I buy a grapefruit from the shop,
Doff its orange coat
And remove its fiery insides.
Place it neatly on a ceramic plate,
Slowly eat it
Pearly cell by pearly cell,
Each bite leaving a tremor in its wake.
It tastes sweet like our childhood innocence
And bitter like your so-called “child’s play”.
Could our verity be any unique?
Whenever the twenty-first century is antique,
Links are the best way to deal with everything
When even the pencils will betide self-replicating,
The whole would be vastly improved
And, the fortune of the rich would be approved
Would remove those in requisite thoroughly
There will be no grimness when there is no infirmity.
Autos would be entirely electrical
Fuel and diesel would behoove skeptical,
News and journals will be made ready on digital
People react to move visions by a flash signal.
Parcels won't be uttered for a long time
Besides, astonishingly swiftly and in prime
On voice order, pencils and pens would work
Baring, scribble down all that we would rework.
Everybody will include a robot in their house
That will perform anything, including catching a mouse
It will cook meals and neaten the home, with no screams
Additionally, conceive all your expectations and dreams.
The earth will deem even as sole leader
A man with odd propensity and backbone neater
We might glean the option to dwell out in the cosmos
And we'd stray out on rockets to shop for blue camos.
How slightly does the world treat spot our sacred history?
Purvey future posterity with a canvas to our glittery
Sober-mindedness is the best way to crumble in terror
Indeed, pens will be automatized to abject horror.
Written: February 06, 2022
Let's explore digital technology Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Simon Rogerson
Men and puppies are the same
Training them is just a game
Of a lot of patience and
A gentle firm living hand
Teaching them what's right and wrong
But training can be very long
If they're stubborn and wont do
What you are telling them to
Smacking puppies on the nose
With a rolled up paper shows
Something wrong they are doing
On a rug peeing and pooing
Is not where it needs to be
It's more fun on a big tree
It's the same thing with your guy
No matter how much they try
To aim inside and not out
When they pee its like a spout
Making a mess everywhere
They're punishment can be severe
Puppies like to destroy things
Enjoyment it always brings
When they find a brand new shoe
On it they will chew and chew
So you say bad dog--they cower
Knowing you have all the power
When a man makes a big mess
Your patience is put to the test
Making them clean up they will
Be in the doghouse up until
They learn to be a lot neater
Making your life so much sweeter
Puppies like to run and jump
On top of you--sometimes they hump
Your leg and those of your friends
Push them off, it has to end
Like when a guy is all excited
His fire is soon ignited
And just attacks from behind
It is not polite or kind
So you push away your lovin'
Till they learn not be be jumpin'
It might take a ling long while
To reverse this wild style
That both men and puppies share
But with just a little care
You can turn them both around
With some tricks that you have found
Treating them when they're behaving
With some yummies they are craving
Or getting a little rough
When they're bad--showing tough love
Never knowing how they'll be
Full of fun or misery
Just take it simple and slow
And improvement will soon show
For your Himalayan Singing Bowl retreat stood neat.
For you gifted five eager souls, sheer enjoyable flight -
For your expense paid treat gave me first time visit,
And I, on friendly shores of my mother's birth, rejoiced.
Our aircraft desked in red, yellow, blue, and white,
The Island of Jamaica showered us with welcome signs.
Thank you!
St Ann's Bay of our stay showed prancing peacocks.
Qui gong on sculped lawn by the pool at dawn,
We stood adorned in soft white.
Such picturesque view of water, sky, and trees,
We savored graciously served meals.
Our Masseuse' full body massage floated me on a cloud,
Soon we enjoyed harmony of individual bowls -
You, "Mama T" patiently led us in symphony.
In stillness, we perked with treat of your lead bowl.
Thank you!
Bob Marley's mausoleum up at "9 Miles",
His humble childhood abode,
Ocho Rios, Dunns' River Falls,
Small colorful fishes swarming as we swam,
We basked in shade of tropic trees,
And we jet skied with warm breeze.
Such expense paid retreat remains neater than neat.
Thank you!
Returning to my quiet studio on Manhattan West,
I often envision the artist residing in you -
Such smooth share of therapeutic moments as gift,
Who would resist?
Bless you!
*
Spare a thought for that poor man
Who used to drive the night soil van
Compelled to do his job at night
So as not to give the ladies a fright.
The butt of many school kids jokes
Never spoken of by more polite folks
But our business was his business
And we were the cause of his distress.
Just think about it
He had to deal with all our sh*t
In the days before septic tanks
He did his work without much thanks.
What right does a man have to judge
Another who works with faecal sludge
If you had to handle someone's excreta
Do you think that you'd be much neater?
And I can well understand
Why no one wanted to shake his hand
But spare a thought for that poor man
Who used to drive the night soil van.
GALAXY YOKE BOMBARD MASTICATE LUSH VISCOUS
Some say our galaxy’s a feeble joke,
and I’m not one to beat about the bush:
two stellar oxen, fastened by a yoke?
Mythology, to me, is so much mush!
The moon, I guess, is made of white hibiscus!
I never take the storyteller’s bait.
We intellectuals are on our guard:
there’s no such thing as ‘destiny’ or ‘fate’.
Don’t follow fables: that way, you’ll fall hard.
I put my faith in science. Am I ‘woke’?
The president says toilets fail to flush.
That SCOTUS justice – is he an old soak?
He’s fond of beer – does that make him a lush?
The others go for substances more viscous,
which take a little time to masticate:
the pleasures which we’re able to retard
feel somehow more intense. Thus, ‘better late
than never’ means, ‘Bill Murrayed’, not ‘Bill Mahered’.
And words have meaning. If you want to ‘stoke’,
it doesn’t mean you’d much prefer to ‘gush’:
and on the whole it’s not as bad to ‘poke’
(because it’s less invasive) as to ‘push’.
Is ‘facial hair’ a neater term than ‘whiskers’?
So, my belief. I’d rather be a plate
than sharp and incomplete – ie, a shard.
It’s nobler if our pilots sit and wait
than if they get the order to bombard.