Long Parochial Poems
Long Parochial Poems. Below are the most popular long Parochial by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Parochial poems by poem length and keyword.
Particularly pronounce abscess,
when rites of spring accursedness
prevails, asper testament, sans swell
scored psychological achiness
recording minecrafted history,
viz secreting acridness
permeates profusely predicated puberty,
akin to ambling au naturale adulteress
plethora plush plumage plus perfume
presage prickly profuse inauspicious pre/
post pubescent and adult affectlessness
propensity poisons primary predilection
pummeling poking pillorying
perpetual purgatory with aggressiveness.
Now translated into bumpy
layman's/woman's terms, aye
communicate, albeit stylishly campy
adhering, colluding, and choppily try
trending without trademark obfuscation,
nonetheless, a feeble
attempt might still defy,
an honest to dog ambition to express
how blooming in the dales less
sons glee aware, how lovers press
lips close together, when yours truly
shuttered himself in bedroom
of boyhood home to cope with stress
thus denying, depriving,
and destroying bone
a fied hankering,
asper this pooch hood doth hone
ache, never to experience puppy love
til pooch later in life,
when he became at present
male version, sans crone
revisiting, reliving, and
reflecting being alone
without ever touching, savoring,
and rubbing smooth cheekbone
of a lass - see, this thy reason
Matthew Scott doth bemoan
observing young bucks,
who liberate kickstarter jangling hormone
he oozes with envy those whippersnappers
gathering rosebuds while they may intone
enjoyment, qua the vitality, virility, and victory
before youth fleetingly passes versus millstone
weighing heavier with each passing year
before the grim reaper doth phone!
I was musin' yesterday about things I cherished as a boy.
Simple things, yet in my parochial world, things that brought me joy.
Anything from apples to Zweiback and so much more,
Could then be found down the road at the local country store.
For a quarter I could buy a straw hat to stifle summer rays.
Seems all you can find to wear are baseball caps nowadays.
Ah, to savor the taste of that old-timey original bottle of Coke,
Though the tingle in your nose almost made you choke!
Were there soaps other than Lifebuoy? I never knew of another.
'Twas used quite often to cleanse my mouth of filth by my Mother!
When it was a nickel pack of gum you had a hankerin' for,
Black Jack, Beemans or Clove was available at the local store.
When I could cadge a nickel from my hard-workin' Dad,
A Clark, Bit-O-Honey or Powerhouse candy bar could be had.
How I savored Walnetto caramels so delectable and chewy,
And choc'lit covered creams, delicious but oh so very gooey!
I quivered with excitement openin' a box of Cracker Jacks,
Anxiously lookin' for the simple prize, never mindin' the snacks!
Alas, such simple delights that I enjoyed as a lad are now lore.
I reckon tastes have changed - such things don't abound much anymore!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Over eighty years ago, my father
made a miniature Model T Ford
from scratch to scale out of
paper, paint, cardboard, wire and glue.
He could cradle it in his palm
the size of a small teapot,
half globe used like a cake cover,
glossy black chassis, red trim,
a circular base of green felt.
Posing like a shiny eight ball
waiting to be struck by
our pent up kid hands.
We pined to push it across
the basement linoleum floor.
But never could.
Keeping us back was the glassy globe
and Grandmother Lil's wary warning,
"Children, look but don't touch".
Same stern voice our mother heard
many times growing up,
we knew she meant business.
So when arriving at Grandmother's,
we'd march to its stately shelf
in parochial school procession
fascinated with this classic in glass.
As little more than toddlers,
we knew nothing of the "Tin Lizzie" saga.
So impressionable was I in the 1950s,
could there be a secret world in there?
I wanted to go in. But never could.
Didn't lift that glass till my mid-forties.
By then, the model was too fragile to touch.
Like an old, dried leaf ready to crumble.
It reminded me of those snowflake globes,
if turned upside down, snow scatters.
The wonderment of my dad's deft hands,
his piercing blue eyes focused on crafting -
bending, cutting, painting, gluing each part.
Thinking of what he was thinking then.
Concentrating more, I feel his essence -
his scent, his voice, his humor, his breath.
Today, when I recall the car in the globe,
I see a tiny cosmos, a bubble much like
the one I create to protect my privilege now.
Grasping for solace in other worlds is
a childish ambition only achieved in delusion.
Through the globe, my father still speaks.
Sometimes my eyes get glassy to think of it.
2/27/20 written
A Tender Moment From Childhood
Sponsor: Malaika Ray Choudhury
A Texan rancher Samuel Maverick,
Who never his calves and cattle branded,
That caused to create the word maverick—
An eccentric rebel born of cow shed!
Now, before the word breached its national,
Borders it meant ‘all cattle unbranded’,
And before that, ‘one unconventional’,
Mutating still: ‘master-less quadruped’.
Today, hidebound means man narrow-minded,
Long back it meant skinny cattle of drought,
Bare to bones and ribs all but sticking out,
Hidebound is man parochial, pettyhead!
Holy cow’, one may say to interject,
It oft means a ‘sacred cow’ one can’t touch,
You so much as just touch and get hit, ouch!
Elsewhere it may amount to mixing fact.
The word ‘cow’ comes from Sanskrit ‘gau’,
Comes cattle from Latin chattel—
Movable wealth French calls capitale,
Everywhere it is holier than thou!
To migrants then, cattle was sole money,
In Roman language , money is ‘Pecu’
From Indo Aryan Sanskrit word ‘pashu’,
From it came in English: pecuniary!
Words respect no boundary line,
As do birds and religion and music,
Only man’s busy borders to define;
To change maybe we need a maverick.
_____________________________________
Ways of words | 03.10.2009 |
My daddy—he once told me
don’t ever play with nuns
they’ll hit you with their rulers
it won’t be any fun
I snuck out of that prison
and now I’m on the run
Once freed from that schoolhouse
I sunbathed in the sun
I stayed out late, I went on dates
looking out for number-one
When I think of what I went through
of all the tired repressive lies
I keep running wise, in slick disguise
my purpose is renewed
Don’t ever let ‘em tell you
you can’t have any fun
If they preach that hackneyed drivel
grab some things and run
.
.
Songs for this:
Cold Heart (PNAU Remix) by Elton John & Dua Lipa
I'm Still Standing by Elton John
Webster: hackneyed = uninteresting, unfun, dull and unoriginal.
*stolen almost directly, in spirit anyway, from that freewheeling rebel, Johnny Cash
**My first 8 years of school were parochial
I now wear a mask
So do you
Credit the mask
For bringing a change
Making us new
The domestic help
No longer around
Any grudges and complaints?
No!
‘He’s having harder times'
We’ve found
The veggie and fruit vendors
Coming to our lane
Do we haggle with them?
No!
We are so understanding
Of their pain
Helping others
Has become
Our second nature
Our past memories
Comforting us
In an uncertain future
We are talking ‘spirituality’
Why?
Any sudden realization?
No!
Actually all ‘materialism’ has halted
So, we've broadened
Our parochial vision.
Masks are uniting humanity
Like never before
It isn’t an individual fight
Against COVID-19
We are in it
Together, for sure
But a nagging question remains-
What happens
When the masks come off?
Will the ‘real' us be back
Again embracing
Our old habits to scoff
At care, concern, compassion
And all such 'meaningless' things
Or,
We would’ve learnt our lessons
Which this tragedy brings?
I’m a southpaw,
one of those left-handed,
upside down,
have to curl my arm to write,
backwards individuals,
liv’in-the-left-life
in a right-handed world.
Think It’s easy, e.g.,
being a leftie?
Think again...
we’re out of place at dinners,
have to master backwards scissors,
built specifically for righties and
we are forced to learn everything, in reverse.
We wear permanent spiral wire imprints
on our left arm from trying to pen
our feelings into a right-handed
spiral-bound notebook.
One day, I decided to break the rules
and now all of my journals are written
back-to-front, blowing busybody minds.
Forget writing calligraphy,
a left-handed, oblique set of pen nibs
costs twice what the right-handed ones do
and they are about as elusive as garden gnomes;
what, you don’t believe me?
Try to find a set, I dare ya!
I’ll bet there’s not a store in your town
that stocks them, even though lefties
exist in huge numbers.
I spent 20 years trying to do calligraphy
with a right-handed, oblique pen;
(thank God for the web or
I’d never have found a set.)
In parochial school,
the nuns forced me to
turn my paper to the right;
now I am a half ambidextrous leftie.
This did not set well with my Mother
who wanted me to be the individual that I
was born to be...a leftie.
So, I turn my paper to the right, alright,
curl my arm into a question mark and
write upside down.
but , I play a right-handed guitar.
Pacific, pacifist pampered papa
parading par excellent paragon
parent (parenthetically parochial
particularly partisan) parvenu
passive, passionately paternalistically patient,
paunchy, peaceably pepped, perfectionist,
perceptive, perennially perky, permissively
persevering, persistently personable, perspicuous,
pertinent, phenomenally philanthropic, philharmonic
picturesquely pious, pioneering, piquantly pithy,
playfully pleasant, pleasurably plucky, plummy,
poetically poignant, politely pontificating, popular,
positively potent, powerfully practiced pragmatist,
praiseworthy, prayerfully precious, precise
predominant, preeminently preferable, preparedly
preponderant, presently president, prestigiously
prevailing, priceless, princely, principally pristine,
privately privileged, prized, proactively procreative,
prodigiously productive, proficiently profitable,
progressively prominant, promisingly prompt,
prophetically propitious, prospectively protective,
proudly proven provocative, prudent psyched, puissant,
punctilious, punctually purposeful.
SLIDING
i slid shy
through childhood
hardly speaking
in kindergarten
building blocks
painting
sipping milk
eating graham crackers
was there nothing else?
first grade found me
a best friend
chasing each other
around penguins
bowing knees, praying
at some point i hide
behind awful glasses
now i can see too far
the crush two years older
passes the classroom door
and i slide
under the desk
in sixth, they announce our names
me and my brother
we slide to the next city
and to another Catholic school
one more year
before we beg
our parents to leave the parochial border
a little naughty in eighth
as i skate
and skip one class
just a dip, merely a dent
it was my favorite year
loved my history teacher
first time i fell in love
not with the man
with the subject
and i made the honor roll
let me say
when i returned to high school
one year later
I didn’t miss it
didn’t miss the clamor
the steep wind
that moves through the halls
i enjoyed my freedom
to test the waters
then took a sail
as a sailor
finding me a man
of valor,
as we both slid through torrential waters
endured the sanding of our souls
polishing the shy beauty and the beast
our wrinkles secure
anchored down
wisdom entrenched
slippery sliding on the deck
getting wet
raining tears laughing
i don’t need a coat
umbrella or hat
i let happiness slide in
11/29/2018
No "FAKE" Fire Drill
Residents at high
land manor apartments
(aside from myself)
got rudely awakened -
by what sounded
like a screaming,
seething, and shrieking airplane
early morning hour
'ere september eleventh
two thousand eighteen
with deafening decibel (at
maximum threshold)
ear piercing shrill alarm
rousing atavistic primal
Neanderthal tapping primal brain
if NOT a atheist secular humanist,
I would aver my linkedin match
(com mon lee) attributed
to Abel and/or Cain,
but whether broad
minded or parochial,
that deafening fire alarm
this bloke doth disdain
but to ears of
volunteer fire fighters,
that unbearable audio
warning tone beloved,
aye need not explain
how appreciative, and
reassure ring knowing
rough and ready persons fain
to selflessly risk
life and/or limb,
when trucking
extinguishing arsenal
with genuine gratitude to gain
demonstrating without
pomp and circumstance
the art of being humane
automatic reflexive
instincts second nature
where breathe, eat,
and live for others
a credo, dictum,
ethos deep ingrain
within every cell
of their sturdy bodies,
sans indefatigable as
Tarzan and Jane
on par with prestidigitation skill
visa vis tricks of the trade
discovered via legerdemain,
yet aside from
power house strength,
another salient trait
needed asper physically,
emotionally, and spiritually exhausting,
grueling, and taxing job,
would necessitate one to maintain
composure in the
midst of pandemonium
gamely, gingerly, and
gloriously fighting infernos
(WITHOUT any mon
key business)
while training, learning,
and exacting diligence
non harried styled
tailored swiftness!