Long On leave Poems
Long On leave Poems. Below are the most popular long On leave by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long On leave poems by poem length and keyword.
Besides noticing a few people who quickly turned away into the stores, (like a cockroach when the light switch is activated.) Penney also noticed that she had forgotten her bra. Well, she didn't forget one and didn't usually even wear one, but in this instance it really helped them out. The husbands upon noticing and gawking were blocking the path to them briefly, until they noticed Michael "bouncing" and got the hell out of dodge. But any amount of aid they could get was welcomed. They really needed an ace in the hole. If they could distract Michael long enough to enter the "escape rooms", then even if seen, they could run the Scooby Doo gang "nether realm voodoo portal gag" with all those doors in there, would really be a shot in the arm to their "staying alive" campaign. Well, son of a , it would be alot of fun and after all they had been through today, that would be just what the doctor ordered (if he was a non licensed witch doctor nurse practitioner, like on the Mario Bros. Cartoons, remember when he made that itching powder?, that was awesome!) For that matter, I wonder who could eat more, Scooby or Yoshi? Hey, wait a minute, wth do you think this is, you trying to pull a fast one? Back to the action.
The mall Easter Bunny was making his rounds after a liquid lunch and some car "video viewing". As Mr. Cottontale noticed Penney, she noticed him and "gave him notice", if you know what I mean. Some military Men on leave noticed too and saluted. The Bunny noticed Michael pursuing and did not need the competetion. He stuck out his leg and sent Michael flying into the railing, that sending blood gushing from Michaels nose as it planted a kiss onto the hardwood. It didn't deter Michael, however, the First Ladyboy picked himself up and the eight inch Bowie Knife (a knife given to him by David Bowie) that had spilled onto the hard tile floor. Gus who had noticed this from his hiding vantage point (and job as scout) from the escape room thought, hey, it has been well over three minutes, Michael must have ditched or disarmed the bomb during all of this. But that knife looked serious. He was not about to take his chances with a crazed lunatic.....
Form:
Grandfather played the tin whistle
with Paddy on his knee
for his grandson he played
songs of Ireland
songs that will live on
on Paddy’s tenth birthday
Grandfather gave him his own to play
Paddy took to it like a duck to water
soon learned from his Grandfather
songs of Ireland
songs that will live on
every school function when Paddy was there
sweet songs filled the evening air
Paddy played loud and
Paddy played strong
songs of Ireland
songs that will live on
Paddy joined the army on his birthday
eighteen years and shipped away
he took his tin whistle and he played
marching songs
songs of Ireland
songs that will live on
the Sergeant said one day
you could hear Paddy’s tin whistle
a gunshot away
when we go to the front lines
you must not play
Paddy played his tin whistle
on leave to entertain troops
new found friends and
new found love
he played
songs of Ireland
songs that will live on
his company took a hill one day
in the middle of a fight
was surrounded at the base
late into the night
Paddy heard the Major say
get your tin whistle
I need you to play
the radio is gone and
a planned air strike for this hill is on
Paddy get your tin whistle and play
and a hundred and fifty men will pray
they hear it a gunshot away
Paddy got his tin whistle and
climbed the tallest tree
he wanted the sound to carry
it was not a good place to be
he played all night with all his might
songs of Ireland
songs that will live on
when the air strike time had come and gone
a soldier was sent to get him down
but a sniper had found him first
a flag draped end to a man
and as he was lowered into his land
you could hear
a hundred and fifty tin whistles play
songs of Ireland
songs that will live on
love made a son far away and
he was given his father’s name
his grandfather brought him home and
arranged for his stay
gave his grandson a tin whistle
on his tenth birthday
Paddy took to it like a duck to water
he learned to play songs of his great grandfather
songs of Ireland
songs that will live on
Dad Revisited
RIP 1924-2015
Last night I sat up in bed and prayed a little longer,
I asked god to send dad back for just one more day with great fervour.
Dad was waiting for me in the verandah as soon as I reached,
Seated on his cane chair with legs outstretched.
Suited- booted, neat crisp turban, expectant eyes so tender
The same tweed coat, the warm muffler across his shoulder.
The moment he saw me he fumbled for his walking stick,
Stood up took a few steps forward in a nick.
We embraced each other tight as he planted as kiss on my head,
I nuzzled against his warm coat enjoying the love of my figurehead.
Warm drops of love fell on my cheeks,
Saw oceans pouring through his teary creeks.
'I can't control them', he said chokingly,
Feeling the other's heart beats we clung to each other tightly.
'Let's go to the garden, the grape fruit is waiting for you!'
We walked together slowly over his leafy garden dew.
Dad showed me the new cuttings and saplings he had potted for me,
He pointed to the overgrown grass and said his workers were on leave.
He said,' Ah, for more varieties of flowers!
But the dogs don't spare them in my bowers'.
We smiled and saw the overladen grape fruit trees,
I plucked three grapefruits and said they would suffice with a tease.
We slowly climbed up the steps to our sunny verandah to sit alone,
He asked me what was it that I had wanted to tell him over the phone.
I read out my poem, '13, West Macott Road', a nostalgia shakeup,
Of our ancestral home in Poona where he had grown up.
I was reared up there, too, by my grandparents,
He wept and hugged each other, our undying love evident.
'I can't believe you had this talent and I didn't know about it till now,
You always make me cry with your emotions, but no more will I allow!'
He took out his kerchief to wipe my tears, his permanent flair,
I was still sniffing when I sighted his empty cane chair.
December 10, 2015
Contest: Just One More Day
Sponsor: Laura Loo
I arrived at gadgados
today TD our receptionist
is on leave and i have to multitask
between HR and customer care desk
We did lose the keys to the washrooms
turns out the HR forgot and they ended
accompanying her home.. as we are almost
giving up hope of ever finding them..
The boss arrived and they popped out of her bag..
TD arriving at the office these days he keeps popping
up like hes traveling on the fourth dimension
And mi i do know there is no way those keys could
have ended in Madams handbag for the previous day
i am the one who had custody of them last
But the cybertrack ringing in the air.. ability
give me ability... i bet it must be young bujas
who is up to his usual tricks once more
they say he formed the puma squad with the crown prince
and here at gadgados no one really knows what the silver
sentinels are up to... the pumas are very evasive
today the HR trying to corner me wanted to know why
the crown prince deserted duty at the military academy
i don't know i mussed... no one really does know
Maybe Bujas does.. its rumored left to start the puma squad
private silver sentinels... and they have made gadgados facility
their operating base... what they do no one wants to knows
Later in the evening we lost the front door keys only for them
to mysteriously reappear again an echo of the cyber track.. strength
strength give me strength to overcome for you are strength...
I have to mention Bujas strange companion Roy now prowls this area
and the other day i heard Lemmy roughed up people after i declined....
declined work... like TD and took a leave of absence to do music
for i week i sojourned in music traveling trans dimensional arriving...
at the land of light not very unlike Roy.. but different from Roy i traveled
in the eye of my mind and unlike Bujas i have no need for a time machine
Lewis Nyaga
a day at gadgados
Laid down on the sofa today, memory
taking me back to teen years of so long ago.
When friend Danny and I would go down
town on Saturday afternoon to see a movie
at the Paramount, a movie palace with a wide
screen, that would put the theaters of today to shame.
We saw such movies as "The True Story of Jesse James",
Gunfight at the Ok Corral", "The Incredible Shrinking Man'
and so many more. Sometimes we would go over to Marshall's
Music room next door and play records for hours in the sound booth
upstairs, where we would listen to such stars as Jerry Lee Lewis, Buddy Holly, little
Richard, Chuck Berry, The Everly Brothers, Bill Haley and the comets,
the man who started Rock ' n Roll. Then later we would go across the street to the
City Drug and have a coke for ten cents, then catch a bus home. Where on
Saturday night these two college students from Iowa State had a TV Show called
Graves 'n Manor, which showed monster movies until 2 in the morning, we made
some popcorn and had our Pepsi in the bottle.
Lets not forget this was the year that " Leave it to Beaver" had its start on TV
and American Bandstand and a very young Dick Clark was on Saturday afternoon.
This was the year that the New York Yankess and the Milwaukee Braves played
in the World Series won by the Braves in seven games.
Ford put out one of the best cars ever that year, which for a time was driven by
Ward Clever on "Leave it to Beaver". My brother who was still in the Navy came
home on leave and to our surprise had bought one and brought it home with him,
and my friend Danny and i helped my brother wash it one Saturday afternoon,
while we listend to "That'll Be the Days" What a car, what a song, and what a great
year it was, I could write a book about this year along.
Written 5-12-11
Form:
Migrant workers and street children
Tarek Hasan
I do not sleep on eyes
Early action is away on leave
I have the luxury of back pain.
I did not question my race today
Abroad my identity?
Most of the walls are stained the conscience of the question
Minded as unwanted, what is the worst?
There is still the heart of the depression fall down.
Logo people tarite torn sail the way,
Common goal pursued by the will-o'-the-wisp
Children in memory of the way up the wall of the picture .
Children born faceless way, why?
Why is he silent, still did not answer
Human cruelty, not their distant
They are hated, god luck on the way out
There's still retired, their running play.
Sometimes the station the station never seen Mohakhali, Jatrabari, Gabtoli intersection,
Look out the rotten dumps to drain the water heater,
Sometimes the traveler exile
Sometimes money Sadarghat two porters.
The way they address their shelterless
There is no guidance on the identity of their birth,
They are sitting next to dumps
The smell of rotten rice spread on the nose,
When fatigue, happiness nest don't find
Do not fall asleep on the way to the park,
I space where foreigners with them.
Hard job labor malicious belly
I went down the road where there Pedestrian
Is next to the trash cans at them,
Nonra afternoon sat down with hand-goody
it does not smell like an owl.
There is no identity of their birth but spent the day
And so what I have received,
What is the way I walked Logo
Lived my life the ultimate curse.
When fatigue overheating on the labor body
Not finding the shadow of the vacation home
Fall asleep by the side of the road, with the head of bricks
And they do not mind, I
And do not be sad whisper, not torn,
I am a migrant worker, my identity
Today, the street children.
'Killing" time while homebound until...,
a cure gets distilled and/ or found
for pandemic, thus... I expound.
(Yupper - courtesy coronavirus CORVID-19),
how ja guess my good smear it in friend?! -
within Perkiomen Valley, Pennsylvania
toyed with thought to withhold or send
hmm... perhaps superstitious end
synonym with ominous trend,
methinks hoop fully auspicious,
and synonym with propitious will not abend
mine luckless mien kampf,
cuz the latter two similar lend
heft well woolworth
their weight in gold - words,
would moost notably, likely,
and heavily portend
toward disastrous, disadvantageous, disharmonious...
to Matthew Scott Harris,
whose time on Earth would
uninhibitedly, uneventfully, and unabashedly end
(ous ending intimating "possessing, full of...")
in this case foreboding...,
yours truly rendered permanently
incapacitated to offend
sense and sensibilities
honorable sacred tenets to poetics
tantamount to committing sacrilegious sin
if hypothetically practiced orthodox church goer,
and believer in reincarnation legend.
No matter getting cremated
(ha - of course after I die -)
good one, though... ha) crafting epitaph,
impossible mission to claim alibi,
while on leave from life,
and into cerulean heavenly sky
of course this guy would never lie
even in jest..., though all joking aside,
now tis golden opportunity well nigh
to compose obituary (mine of course),
one garden variety
(veggie burger eater) generic guy
who... doth not fear death, nor shy
about bidding permanent goodbye
to sordid vices that
DO NOT (no way) apply
to yours truly, he coon sitters himself...
well rather ho hum, (especially as singer -
for Curmudgeon Dummkopf Ensemble
(also known as the all star Schlemiel band),
no idea, I cannot explain why.
Can you see? A rainbow dying?
Can you hear? A storm-cloud scud?
Perhaps you can; and perhaps you cry
Me? . . . I don’t know . . .
I REALLY. . . DON’T! . . . know
Can you touch? The dark? Light of night
Can you taste? The light? Darkness in the day?
Perhaps you can; But; perhaps you’re DEAD!
Me? . . . I dunno . . .
Oh God! . . . I REALLY . . . DON’T . . . know
Did y’know. . . children cry?. . .
To see . . . a Rainbow die?. . .
Dy’know. . . fishermen shout “OH GOD!” . . .
When a storm cloud looms . . . up HIGH?
Dark clouds looming; Rainbows dying . . .
Shhh . . lovers’ caress a velvet nighttime’s skin . . . . shh
Mmmm . . Passion kisses a gold sunrise . . . shh MMmmm. . .
Mmmm . . . I’m pretty sure . . . no!. . . I believe it’s so . . .
Oh! Please don’t SAY IT! . . . . . ‘cos I really, really . . don’t know . . .
I can’t do this thing; can’t see this thought . . . no . . .
Where is God? Has He gone on leave or is He just . . .
Hung-over from the Tequila sunrises? . . .
Alone I am and . . . alone I know . . . I’m I-N-C-O-M-P-L-E-T-E . . .
Less than . . . A dram of hate . . . a measure of fright . . .
My Tequila SOUL . . . twisting with the bottled worm . . .
Gravid with loathing . . . festered by fear . . .
Loathing the living . . . Fearful of the dying . . .
Lingering in the limbo of twilight existence . . .
Hearing me; . . . Touching me; . . . Feeling me; . . . Tasting me; . . .
I’m gone! . . . Floating . . . In the dimness of uncertainty . . .
Marking . . . Time. . . On a broken clock . . .
Blinded; . . . Deafened; . . . Starved; . . . Muted; . . . NUMBED!
Just . . . . Silently . . .
Silently . . . SCREAMING! . . .
What . . . no-one . . . can hear . . .
Copyright ©Peter Mark Garnett; January 23 2017
Six years ago, whilst touring England, we visited Anne Hathaway’s cottage,
In Stratford upon Avon, I saw William Shakespeare’s ghost. Boldly I
Approached him, Mr. Shakespeare Sir, may I use part of your Macbeth’s,
Soliloquy for my new poem, very alike to how to I interpreted part of
Your Hamlet’s soliloquy for my poem I wrote, ‘To pink or not to pink’.
He bowed and replied ‘of course my lady’.
I had tried to phone Chrisi my hairdresser, but she was on leave,
Oh dear, oh dear, a long sad sigh did I heave,
I had to think
Quick and in a blink.
Out of all colors pink is my fav, so last night decided to surprise hubby for
Tomorrow’s big day, ran a tub of hot water, and took my time,
Soaking in pink bubbles that overflowed , my pink hair hidden under
A pink towel, Barbie style, thus completing this stanza in mostly rhyme.
Tomorrow is our anniversary, we are in the throes of celebration, the time, five
Minutes to midnight, in a dramatic voice Hubby said ‘IS THIS PINK HAIR CREAM WHICH
I SEE BEFORE ME’ and gently took my towel off my head. My pink hair tumbled down, he
Took me in his arms, suddenly the celestial skies opened up their gates, and angels
Played their harps as the moon’s crest swung us in its cusp. Oh, sweet dreams, thank
You for showering us both with the love and passion we desired, and for the inspiration
To color my hair pink again, which hubby loves.
Happy Anniversary sweetheart hubby said, you can go any color you want, as long as you
Always remember, you are my alien wife from maybe Venus or Mars,
And my brightest of stars,
In Heaven’s constellation.
Please read my first pink poem "To Pink Or Not To Pink" so that you can follow my second pink poem.
Freefalling, freefalling, my life rushes by,
Though it feels to me long, was the blink of an eye.
Daydreaming, daydreaming, as a young child I grew,
With no distinguishing marks between me and you.
I’m growing, I’m growing, came the secondary stage,
Hormones rushed through me with sadness and rage.
I’m crying, I’m crying, alone in my bed,
Beneath the dark sky my eyes wept they’re rimmed red.
I’m afraid, I’m afraid, what happens from now?
Nobody can save me, they wouldn’t know how.
I’m confused, I’m confused, what did I do to you?
Why do I deserve all the things that you do?
I’m ugly, I’m ugly, drum into my head,
Replaying your taunts, all the things that you said.
I’m desperate, I’m desperate, you were right about that,
Not a friend to rely on, no defence as you spat.
I’m tortured, I’m tortured, are you pleased with your life?
Are you happy I am worthless, have you sharpened your knife?
I’m fighting, I’m fighting, against my thoughts dark,
I know what to do now, time to disembark.
I’m beaten, I’m beaten, defeated at last,
Now it’s time to move on, leave the past in the past.
I’m writing, I’m writing, as I let them all go,
My family, farewell now, don’t come, don’t follow.
I’m certain, I’m certain, this is the right way,
The end to my heartache, the end to the day.
I’m hanging, I’m hanging, my life flashes by,
There’s a pound in my heart and a tear in my eye.
Then stop.
I’m lonely, I’m lonely, my voice is no more,
Now you all hear what you didn’t hear before.
I’m floating, I’m floating, away from this world,
Leaving all the abuse that you spread, that you hurled.
Freefalling, freefalling, why don’t you take a seat?
Take a curtsy, or a bow, your mission is complete.