Long No takers Poems
Long No takers Poems. Below are the most popular long No takers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long No takers poems by poem length and keyword.
Hotel... in the Song
I listen to the radio,
it is turned way down low,
but it is all that I care to hear, anymore.
The TV in the other room,
is going all the time,
but that is just fine.
Father comes home late,
from nowhere he works at all.
Mother stays home staring at the walls.
I go to school, until I do not.
Then I am grown without...
a place to be, you see.
Now, we live in one room,
my parents and myself.
Sometimes I get to sleep on a bed,
and sometimes the floor.
It is better than the door,
and the unknown outside.
We had a real home once,
but it is gone for now,
I doubt I will ever see it come back.
Instead, we pay each night,
or once each week,
to be allowed a place
among the many.
There is no privacy,
and everyone is starving.
No one has any money at all.
There is no reason to go, anywhere...
but the stair, to stare at the lost people,
as they set up camp in the parking lot
across the road.
A preacher man he comes by twice,
once to give a note, and then to give his coat.
There were no takers for his words.
They would rather eat the continental breakfast,
provided by the establishment.
Broken people living in a rut.
Silhouettes know they’re loved, day and mostly nights;
When my ball sails the fence, I fetch—two blocks down
And when the dog walks the cat—dragged when she bites,
While ticketed, my name changed to a pronoun,
Love baseball, yet my golf ball, they can’t catch mines,
I’m in shorts and shirttails, she’s dressed to the nines,
She’s in the clubhouse, and I’m in the golf cart,
Begs I, she came; she’s there, I’m here, being smart.
Not a clock watcher, though, I’m told, “You’re still here?”
The wage is great, yet labor can be taxing
Staffed, forty years; polite—but can be austere
Wrote up some, watching union ranks relaxing
I hate writing up folks, or being strict, ugh!
Some tact, less frank, gets smiles, or a shoulder shrug
Double-shift, no-takers, no clock—“What’s with that?”
Worst, are those days, straight two days, I'm left at bat!
the causes i have lost
ever think the clouds
are hiding something
unfelt from birth
bounced around by atoms
grounded to beneath the ground
down
beaten like a beg
with no
rested pecs
Hero to nuns
ashamed suns
ending just befor
be
gin in a gin ring
unnoticedly unnotice a
bubble
dying from time
denying the seconds
out
round 2
this er keeps getting up
how
looking right threw me
with a listing lisping lips lubricate lusciously less
than naught
no's brought
the anti existent uneffisent to
cause a fuss
Spitting pity like leaded aero plain
as the knows on your face
ends of the human
race you to the bottom
Stop dare any God
stop my wor
nope no takers
ok demons djinns
here my jutting chin
Nope no one
you belittle me humanity
devolving so i dont belong
hope nature kills you
well thats your natural
state the truth
no fear for me
i dont believe the
now i put the instead of thee
what does the mean how many
dont know the meaning of simple words
watching love sold on revolving
on a crystal shelf
marked priceless
for all to bid on
and on this poem goes
but listen how the lines doth flow
almost hear the whispered wishes of a wave
forever breaking
a storms applause
or throw money
On the flower petals of the blooming faces,
flutter the patina of chromatic luscious lips,
gracefully painted with alluring shades of lipstick,
the attraction amplified by the dazzling smile.
In the women’s winsome world of enticement
many things stay tediously the same unalterable,
but the colors of the lips is an option of change,
they all strive to try in various charming hues.
Realizing it’s a large fashion market worldwide,
I set up a modest factory rolling out array of lipsticks,
not competing with the products of L’Oreal or the like,
my business started booming, soaring to new heights.
But then comes the virulent corona virus from the blue,
making lipsticks for the masked lips rather redundant.
No takers, I have to close down my factory where now
I am making mask to survive in these difficult times.
May 16, 2020
The old man arrived a gleam in his eyes;
He announced with aplomb “berries are in”
The buckets are clean, the weather is fine;
Who wants to go berry picking with me?
No! No takers save one, I had the time.
So off we did go, to the berry patch.
My grandfather knew all the best places to pick.
Berry picking meant story time for me.
We picked berries alright, but the real delight,
Were tales he would tell of when he was young.
My imagination would soar to great heights;
Time stood still, as pails seemed to fill themselves.
Alas, time marches on; the old man is gone;
Gone are the stories, the pails lay in wait;
I still ask the question, no takers I get.
Sadly there are no berry pickers but me.
Bus stop sensations
Where's the bus?
Tardy connection
~~~~~~~~~
Old contact hearsay
Not much to say;
Silent confrontation
~~~~~~~~~
Frangipani sunrise
Pink, yellow, white --
Magical moments
~~~~~~~~~
Smoky stray wind
Grim echoes;
Stale air descends
~~~~~~~~~
Shoppes in decline
Ancient wares loiter;
No takers
~~~~~~~~~
Evening settles
Noisy commotions fade;
Mahjong excavations!
~~~~~~~~~
By this old quay
Modern face lifts greet;
New watering hole
~~~~~~~~~
New dreams stacked
On old faded sites;
Cool revolution
~~~~~~~~~
Play school toddlers
Exchange play things;
Rude awakenings
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
17 October 2014
Singapore