Long Parcels Poems
Long Parcels Poems. Below are the most popular long Parcels by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Parcels poems by poem length and keyword.
Summer of blazing sun’s delight
offers good health and wellness flight
smiting intense heat wave blight.
Season for nature-trip leisure
mountain treks devoid of pressure
while sweating out with pleasure.
Tropic’s Summer sizzles with zest
vacation bliss and bonding nest
in warm hugs of loved ones blest.
As parched land parcels thirst for rain
humid air wafts bestowment gain
God grants golden harvest* grain.
Proverbs 10:5 He that gathereth in summer is a wise son: but he that sleepeth in harvest is a son that causeth shame.
January 21, 2021
1st place, "ALL YOURS (Feb 5)" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 2/6/2021.
The one thing you can count on,
Is that knowledge will inspire.
And it put us on the path,
Like the early quest for fire.
All the answers that we sought,
Would advance the human race.
From the sculpting of the wheel,
To our journey out in space.
We strived to build pyramids,
Today's structures reach the sky.
Wright's flight was from Kitty Hawk,
Now our jets go flashing by.
Parcels were bound by hemp,
Using fibers from the stems.
We now help those disabled,
With prosthetics for their limbs.
Finding ways to split atoms,
And cure some forms of cancer.
Through many years of research,
We came up with the answer.
All our struggles over time,
By the people we relied.
The best hope for the future,
Is we learn to coincide.
"The Gift"
Communication to a friend...
Responding to what you have written, responding to your thoughts. This is a very deep and very sad write and I get it.
I would like to read the story further to see how it unfolds.
One, no matter how F’ing awful the cards drawn in this life, expects to see a “win” at some point, even if it’s a small win. I think this is a metaphor for the treadmill of life and the large amount of driving down roads and passing parcels (messages) to others (you experience also in your job). Life becomes so stilted and routine after a while, like going to sleep and waking up (when you’d rather stay in your dreams, even the nightmares are lacking routine).
I wonder sometimes, when passing the parcel (like that game we played – or some of us played – at children’s parties, when we were very very young, with the expectation of a message of mystery and elation, then the unwrap, to find just another parcel wrapped underneath it all with another message for the next player we passed the parcel to – well, I wonder, what that person hides in their journey, no matter the glossy and cheery exterior they wear in front of us, swinging their gaslight, as some kind of torture, to say, “see I’m doing so much better than you”….when perhaps they aren’t and they are hiding great depths of despair internally, where they fall fathoms daily, not reaching even the bottom but they, in their own way, are trying (boy are they trying), to find the ladder to claw their way back out of the sinkhole (built by themselves, or others), towards the light. Depression loves its camouflage fatigues. Eventually, surely the last parcel reaches the person it is intended for and when the final unwrapping occurs, what’s contained in the Pandora box, may or may not be the diamond we were expecting.
I think you should continue this – it is like the opening chapter to a novel.
Have a lovely, peaceful, safe and joyful Christmas and I think perhaps 2023 might be your Year (for all good things to come your way).
With LOVE,
that is all that matters,
through every waking moment
p.s. I expect to read your next instalment on Christmas Day.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Christmas
A hundred yellow butterflies transmuted into a hundred states all gone chaotic. They no longer fluttered in happiness but dropped bombs like rain for oil. Geckos scampered around attempting to bring messages of transformation, but these were duly shoved underground, geckos with their messages.
Ravens blacker than black descended with croaks so loud, it was deafening. Poets sleeping with Bibles under their floral pillowcases ignored Rays of Light in favour of word manipulation, presented by Roman desecrators in history becoming herstory.
A hundred years times a hundred years panthers and tigers from Lyra stalked the continent, followed by a hundred yellow butterflies. The Lyrans attempted to open lids of the sleeping continent, with its hundred states. Stars and Stripes blew higher and louder, trying to gleam. Citizens made creamy puddings, roasted salmon and strawberry parcels, blindfolded. The animal kingdom wept. Still they slept, demanding subscriptions, allegiance, life.
Crimson was the sky, with skyscrapers about to topple. In bleaching bellies of dustbin scratchers, flies settled their veined wings. Phantoms descended weird and wonderful, some with whispy arms, some with goggle eyes, large as saucers. They painted yellow butterflies across bakery windows, subsequently writing ekphrasis on their paintings.
Timelines and grids collapsed. Every clock burnt itself in candle flames that citizens lit in Tarot rooms. Autumn leaves fluttered in springtime with snowdrops falling when summer walking became stalking. Beloveds were circles of colour sending texts to connect, retaining nebulous links. These confused Time too, calling past the present, and the future, the past. Colour was quietly expanding itself underground.
one kaleidoscope turned another
yellow butterflies between pages
destruction turning movie reels ~
At the Depot
As the snow flies, on a cold and grey December dawn
to waiting homes no mails are borne
from the depot.
Phil Bloggs, a mailman, scans the news
but his screwed up tabloid gives him the blues
saying 'To compromise both sides refuse,'
at the depot.
Hark! Foxes, stray cats, rats, critters all.
though humans languish, have a ball
in the depot.
On letters, parcels and Christmas boxes
little mice play, as do foxes.
Such a sight you never saw.
as stray dogs chew and rodents gnaw
in the depot.
What fleshpots in sealed parcels beckon
hungry vermin, who can reckon
in the depot?
What meaty dish, what luscious pie
teeters in a box stacked high?
No robber cries 'stand and deliver'
though many freeze and many shiver.
Phil Bloggs turns to another page
and what he reads puts him in rage
in the depot.
For guns and rockets billions go through
but for impoverished nurses barely a sou
in the ghetto.
A Handcart and a Ring
A man I knew had a handcart and became self-employed
I often saw him in the town with a load of parcels and sometimes furniture
He was a contented man.
One day, on his way to the railway station, the wheel of his cart came off
four suitcases fell into the street.
So, what to do?
He traced his steps and soon found the missing pieces that kept the wheel
on the axle, but he also found an expensive diamond ring
he put it in his pocket as he was occupied with fixing the wheel
and get his load of suitcases to the railway station
In the paper, he read about a lady who had lost a dear ring
he contacted her via the paper, and she was happy,
she didn’t give him any money because, as she said, honesty has its reward
The people at the paper thought this was too mean for words
made a collection and handed the kind man the money.
A Picture of him and his cart, the paper, and a nice story for the paper to sell.
when too old to push his cart around, he became a poet of the small things in life
and not about the life of aristocrats
A town in Spain had had enough
With dog poop in the parks.
The owners would be punished
For their pets who left their marks.
So volunteers with eagle eyes
Approached offending walkers,
Without revealing that they worked
As pooper-scooper stalkers.
With friendly chitchat they found out
The puppy’s name and breed;
To ascertain addresses,
Those were all the facts they’d need.
Then when the master walked away,
That poop was scooped and boxed
And mailed right to the owner,
Who was soon to be outfoxed.
The parcels, labeled “lost and found”
Bore an official seal.
Recipients had no idea
Just what they would reveal.
I wish I could have seen the look
On every owner’s face
When he or she discovered
Such a pedigreed disgrace.
So hats off to the Spanish
As these lowlifes they pursue,
Giving every city sullier
A gift of doggie doo!
Shopping in the city, Christmas presents she had been collecting.
The young woman was feeling quite tired as she was expecting.
She was slight with a baby bump, and all remarked, very pretty.
Christmas gifts she had been collecting, shopping in the city.
Stepping on the crowded train, laden with gifts all in cartons.
There seemed no vacant seat, a predicament that disheartens.
Looking up and down the isles and checking back and forth again.
Laden with gifts all in cartons, stepping on the crowded train.
I was that baby not yet born, in four months I would be me.
Noticing a neighbor in the next carriage, she looked to see.
She decided to make her way through, though feeling quite forlorn.
In four months, I would be me, I was that baby not yet born.
Just as she was going to move, a kind gentleman offered his seat.
Graciously she accepted, so glad to rest her tired feet.
As she sat, with all her parcels, the train seemed to hit a groove.
A kind gentleman offered his seat, just as she was going to move.
The train jerked with mighty force, plummeting things everywhere.
My mum woke up in hospital, with nurses tending to her care.
We were OK, but for the rest on the train, there was great remorse.
Plummeting things everywhere, the train jerked with mighty force.
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
I am a sprite pixie lost in the vast plain of tomorrow
Plain simple and impish and easy to find in my sorrow
A true spirit I am adrift in a snow storm void of the needle
To find my home at the North Pole no compass to twiddle
At the food bank they gave me a parcel but no directions
Sustenance surely but I miss my family’s loving affection
For what it is worth I never harmed any other creature
But my phone has no apps and no navigation feature
All powerful Santa would you look out for me twee one
On your travels from chimneys to i-clouds under the sun
I need no other presents because goblins are quite eerie
Without companions and sat nav though its freezing dreary
Send me a dolphin or peace dove or leprechaun rocket
I’ll pay you back in kindness so you won’t be out of pocket
Next year when short of a reindeer for all those good parcels
This elf will help you but for now I must get to my fairy castle
I am sending this registered letter with no return address
But the world is a global village and you have internet access
I am a dot on google maps with harlequin bells and quite sound
Of mind bar its memory and will sing Silent Night once I’m found
For more entertainment I can pirouette and dance like a dragon
So you won’t need bluetooth once we share a ride in your wagon
I am an involuntary migrant so help me rejoin with my sweet troll
Foreigners these days are so easily deported by border control
12th December 2019