Long Pack it in Poems
Long Pack it in Poems. Below are the most popular long Pack it in by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pack it in poems by poem length and keyword.
I watch the Circle Line glide past,
The passengers on deck;
Binoculars in hand or
At the ready, on the neck.
The tour guide points and tells them
That the mayor lives right there.
I wonder, as I listen,
If the tourists really care.
Some locals, sitting on the benches,
Feel the need to wave.
Some Circle Liners wave right back,
Both getting what they crave.
As they float by, I feel like I’m
A creature at the zoo.
“Oh look – there’s an East Sider,
Doing what East Siders do.”
Then off they sail and here I stay,
Just jotting down my rhyme.
Soon I’ll pack it in and head back home –
It’s almost feeding time!
When I was young, I took a tin can to the lip.
Courtesy of my best friend.
I ran away crying to my mother.
(This was my first set of(flesh) stitches).
My cat(blue) had a fetish for crapping in the bathtub.
Dad got sick of the cat shenanigans.
So, I never saw that color of that blue cat again.
My second set was (broken spirit stitches).
It was past bedtime I was busy finishing up a war.
With a jar of plastic army men.
Dad warned me a half dozen times to pack it in.
He was blue-collar tired and took a heavy hand to my hide.
His guilt was just as heavy (a set of forever stitches for him).
One early morning I snuck out of our humble house.
Made my way to the farmer's field and freed up all of his cows.
As punishment, the farmer wrapped a dead corn snake around my neck.
There were no stitches, but it put an end to my cow-rustling events.
Brother and I once had an infamous butter war.
Tossing and smearing it all over walls and kitchen floor.
The fun and hijinks were well worth the licking.
My third set of stitches were deep in the belly from laughing.
Rachel was both babysitter and childhood phantom.
Details are scumbled, mixed, and quite unclear.
I think I acquired a few stitches made purely out of fear,
One night, Mother was screaming, blood smears on the sheets.
Brother and a couple of crow men were present, I think.
The crow men were doing unthinkable things.
Then everything went completely blank, thankfully.
I never saw Mother's pretty face again.
(My fourth set of stitches was of the mental type).
Sitting deep in the black of the mind.
The kind that stays with you for your entire life.
I waited all morning for some kind of wildlife to come near enough for a shot.
My Nikon camera was set on her tripod, and I had been purveying the woods
I felt moose staring at me and I thought if I can just get one great photo of it,
It would complete the wildlife spread for the magazine who paid for this camera.
The sky was bright blue, it was a sunny day; I took photos of the trees.
Come on, I urged the bull moose. Just one little shot of you, would make my day.
The leaves on the trees were sparking in the wind; but no large animal came forward.
I was just about ready to pack it in when my grandfather’s voice came to me.
One more hour, he said. Just one more hour; he had never steered me wrong.
He had passed sixteen years previously, but he came to me sometimes.
When it was important, so apparently, this would be worth the wait.
Fifty-six minutes later, this grizzly bear came out of the woods giving my spread punch!
I took sixty-nine photos of her as she was walking toward me; I was insanely happy.
This is the best photo I have ever taken in my life! I told my grandfather.
I smiled all the way back to town, thinking about how terrific these would be.
They were too; everyone came up to say it; this kind of pure joy you do not get every day.
Winter Leaves
by Odin Roark
Seemingly adrift
Without care
Emblematic of interim homelessness
Yet
They rest unraked
Awaiting the next frost
The next thaw
The cyclic disintegration
The sequence they know so well
Still
We
The conscious ones
See not the wisdom of their seasonal trial
That arctic-like mission
Taking them to where they need to be
Come spring
The mulch of the winter
Delivers the gift
The nutrients for realizing
Spring’s glory
The cycle’s inevitable reconnect
Some might see it like love
Except nature knows
Without the up down
Bloom /wilting
Life/ death
There is no continuum
Blossoming
Lest we forget
The same tree
Bush
Vine
Doesn’t pack it in
Just because
Temperatures go seasonally cold
When will we learn
The heart
The mind
The being
Like all of nature
Is meant to be susceptible?
And
Like our favorite flower
We too
Are vulnerable
The difference is
The plant knows
Cycles are not only innocent
They are like the nature of everything
Knowing reality loathes tampering
And perhaps
The reason leaves naturally go on
Nurture the next generation
Without agenda
Is they’re gifted over us
They don’t have sentience
To mess them up
Burnt CDs, black marker spinning,
Discman walking through the seasons.
Ford Tempo losing ground,
feet dipping through the rusted sound.
On the bus I felt protected,
public-transit bubble, youth connected.
Till the night the danger shifted,
instinct sharpened, whole world twisted.
News broke, breath broke,
shape of everything revoked.
I blamed my feet,
trampled dreams, incomplete.
But I still hear the soundtrack calling,
even when the sky was falling.
Girlhood stitched in ice and steam,
ringette blades cutting through the dream.
My burned CD,
my lifeblood, my mythology.
Spin me back to who I was —
fire, danger, music, trust.
I was dancing in the room,
between despair and breaking through.
If all that’s left is memory,
then let it ring —
my burned CD.
Girl-power spice on frozen rinks,
tweens spliced between the ice and instincts.
Cutting habits meant to break us,
rage for show, but truth remakes us.
Gloves off, kick it, tape and stitches,
es get riches, survival switches.
I got the deal, sealed it tight,
peeled the dream down to the light.
Acid truth to clear the bruise,
systems built on old abuse.
Cheshire grins and Garbage nights,
In Utero and failing rites.
But the beat keeps pulling through,
rap and blues in every hue
Saturated food for thought,
gum-stuck rhythm I never lost.
My burned CD,
my lifeblood, my mythology.
Spin me back to who I was —
fire, danger, music, trust.
I was dancing in the room,
between despair and breaking through.
If all that’s left is memory,
then let it ring —
my burned CD.
Lineage laid out on a tray —
Elton John, Lion King days.
Foo Fighters stalking teenage nights,
speed and roads and manic rites.
Lock it up, pack it in,
get thin, detonate within.
Cut the joints, remove the bones,
pressure carving through the tones.
Jelly heart, but still I’m able —
wobble steady on the table.
My burned CD,
my lifeline, my identity.
Spin me back but let me be
the girl who learned her alchemy.
From rusted floors to northern nights,
from fear to rhythm, wrong to right —
if all that’s left is what shaped me,
I’ll let it ring —
my burned CD
Snow Globe Memories – Mystic
As my wrinkled old hands grasp the glass ball,
I watch as the glistening snowflakes begin to fall.
I gaze into it and give it one last shake.
There’ll be no room for all I was hoping to take.
My heart strokes the strings of memories, sublime.
This little snow globe has stood the test of time.
I watch the soft flakes settle on an old oak tree.
Alpine trees echo enticing chants, beckoning me.
I was bound for paradise, such a splendid upward climb.
The alps bringing peace, when church bells chime.
My wanderlust cured, no more would I roam.
Such amazing years I have spent in my mountain home.
Lost in the vision of my little snow globe here today.
As the last of the snow has settled, I really want to stay.
Along with some other treasures, I pack it in my port.
My love of this home just couldn’t be bought.
I wonder if there’s a snow globe that depicts where I am going.
I’ll miss my lovely chalet especially when it’s snowing.
I’ll keep my wee globe with its snow falling under the dome,
and I’ll take the snow in my glass ball to the old age home.
"Give Me Your Tired" posted 7 Jun 2021
i'd join the morning person's club except their meetings start before noon
early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and beat
they make clocks to tell me when to get up i need one to tell me why
a bicycle cannot stand up by itself because it is two-tired
my wife got tired of hearing my zodiak puns it taurus apart
teen's concept of an early bird: one who wakes up at the break of noon
[humor attribution - all humor found online, sources unknown]
"Just Asking (part III)" posted 14 Jun 2021
wow, is that an optical illusion or am I just seeing things?
why does the sun on the raisin bran cereal box wear sunglasses?
why are wise men and wise guys considered opposites of each other?
when styrofoam companies ship their product what do they pack it in?
if swimming is so great for the figure then how do you explain whales?
how does the person who drives the snowplow get to work in the morning?
[humor attribution - all humor found online, sources unknown]
"It's All In A Name" posted 21 Jun 2021
i visited a new dating website in Prague they call it ~ Czech Mate ~
there's a new contraceptive on the market it's called ~ i kid you not ~
my vote for the best beauty parlor name of all time ~ curl up and dye ~
good name for an ultra-conservative fashion boutique ~ clothes minded ~
maybe you shouldn't name your brand new restaurant ~ eater's digest ~
perhaps this plumbing company is worth a gamble ~flush or full house~
[humor attribution: #2 and #5 Edmo Snord, #3 and #6 are actual company names I've seen, others found online of unknown origin]
"Random Brain Guano (part III)" posted 28 Jun 2021
children are hereditary if your folks had none, neither will you
the best remedy for your bad memory is milk of amnesia
buy your valentine a bikini it's the least you can do for her
i tried making a belt out of watches it was a big waist of time
my toddler kept chewing on electrical cords so I grounded him
sometimes Bigfoot is confused with Sasquatch Yeti doesn't seem to mind
On a dark rainy morn
She wakes with a big yawn
With no time to relax
She slips into her torn rain mac
Out the door with guitar in hand
A day in the city is her plan
Already half soaked she picks a spot
Her stage was the front of a large shop
Playing her homemade jingles and tunes
Hoping to make a buck or two
Seen as a public disgrace
Police move her to another place
But with her music so sweet
A crowd gathered in the street
With a feeling of overwhelming
She sang and strummed into the evening
The early dark nights draw in
Forcing her to pack it in
She picks up her Puddle filled cap
Full of coins and cash
And heads to her squat in the poor faction
With a small feeling of satisfaction
She practice into the small hours
Hoping to bloom like a flower
Will someone spot her talent filled shoes
So her superstar dreams will come true
Gotta Play the Game
by Odin Roark
Okay
There's this big choice
Pack it in
Or play the game
So it goes with
That societal barometer
Called Retirement
Some of us
Know nothing of such nonsense
Others
Well
Their club dues
And tee time fees
Speak another language
Now the game
Has many rules
Make up your own
If you wish
It's all about beating
That dumb death trap
Called Retirement
So
For those of age-be-damned mindset
Put it out there
Youth is more than a state of mind
It's craziness never subdued
Give the creaky joints
Some Glucosamine and Chonodroitin
Slap on the skin goo for liver spots
****'m if they don't like suspenders
Or mumus
Eat your veggies though
Fox News even supports that
Avoid sobriety
And trip into wherever you need to be
‘cause
No one knows
Where you need to be
Better than your stubborn self
Which is an earned right of passage
The other way
With a shot of Jack in your paw
You're that person that's always wanted
Adventure
Freedom
Your own experience
And just a little bit of
Wisdom for a chaser
C'mon kids of "Age Be Damned"
Time to parrrrrtttteeeee!
When will I see you again?
Maybe when my dieting is at an end
You supported me for all those years
Now there is so much pressure it brings tears
You helped me go places even when you were sore
Now I look down and I can't see you no more
Sometimes I think I'd like to pack it in and quit
But for now I just think I'll have another banana split
My wife says I'm a winner, but I'd really like to lose
Then maybe in six months I'd be able to tie my shoes
Life is funny, after all these years I find
I keep getting bigger, a waist is a terrible thing to mind
Now if I lose enough and then look down
I could see you and life would be so sweet
I miss my left one, I miss my right one
I miss both of you----- My Feet.