Long Photocopy Poems
Long Photocopy Poems. Below are the most popular long Photocopy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Photocopy poems by poem length and keyword.
I'm nursing a headache the size of Corfu
my stomach is tied up in knots,
it's the seventeenth time that I've been to the loo
feeling sick with a dose of the trots.
My memory's blank as to how I behaved
but from texts on my phone I can see
that Doreen who I met said 'yes' when I proposed
(she's retired now, and seventy three).
I lie on the bed still in suit and loud tie
no effort to climb in the bedding,
my backache tells me as the evening went by
I danced like Grandads at a wedding.
A bad move to mix all those drinks, that's for sure,
I think I may have crossed the line,
there's a photocopy on the floor by the door
and I'd swear that those buttocks are mine.
Tell them i was here
I carried them in my sack for nine months.
Tell them the ugly pains I encroached.
The fire that was in my chest.
The belly aches, the back pain, heartburn and headaches.
Tell them i endured the dull ending pain just for their seek.
The torture that clothed my pelvic and leaves me a sleepless night.
Tell them! the saliva that keep coming like Volta lake.
Tell them how my rest was robbed by pain,
With a mountain that scares my dream.
Tell them the enemy that possessed my mind with fear and anxiety about the life in the sack.
Tell them i was here.
When the sack blasted with the pool of water.
I saw them coming.
Tell them when they first arrived an Angel took away my pain.
My heart fled to awake my spirit in Jupiter.
My teethes came alive and hang open like London bridge.
I kept looking at them with wide eyes of an Engel.
I saw their eyes so bright like Sirius.
Their beauty is like mandarin fish in Taiwan.
Tell them i was here
I did not leave them an empty barrel.
Once i was beating by the snow.
Twice i was chased by lion.
My dresses always washed with sweat and my eyes were ceased not to close each day.
Tell them i did all these just to fill barrel with gold.
Tell them i was here.
Tell them about the terrible canker worm that separated me form them.
They took me to a strange land far form home.
And gave me a name called ghost.
Tell them i am the air they breath.
And carries my photocopy.
Tell them i was here.
Realistically, I should just photocopy last years resolutions-
exhausting is the list of things written in my eloquent handwriting, but
secret is my list- I cannot reveal a thing
obsessive- I am following each written requirement
labyrinth seems to be my path . . . and
unforeseen the detours I encounter-
Taoism helps (I think)
idyllic and blissful will be this journey, I will be
opening new doors to enlightenment and closing others
nature walks so important for my tranquility, or I am
seeking my zen . . .
___________________________
January 18, 2020
Poetry/Acrostic/Secret Resolutions
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1217-642-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
she described her work as creating creatures
using her efforts to summon the greatest fear
of people
she wanted her audience to believe her
and she wrote with an effort to
envision the deepest and darkest
feeling of fear and loneliness
the author paints the canvas
so that a world might see
the monster as she wishes them to
see it
she once said this person was
so easy to exploit that she could photocopy and paste his image
on whatever she wished him to be
and those who hated a creature would back
her efforts from her doings
gossip would generate enough fear
to have people looking for this image
and finding what he did
mean spirited and wrong
even if he was right and real
she made certain issues subject of debate
and had those who were his support
unraveled by speaking of him as someone
who could influence others to be part of
his doings
she created new words and gave them definition
adding colorful expressions and jabbing
at his position
with his significant to
undermine what he wished to accomplish
they smiled and lied enough
supporting him
and at all times were ambitious enough
to find his replacement
might this monster
stand before the new beast
and war
an entertaining sort shall
find my
enthusiasm strong enough
to make issue with everything he does
i got to know
are you this woman
I gotta know: guess gotta know!
If your life is a story what will be your titled page?
Will it be just a kindle format or a hardback
I wonder what the pages would spell like
May be of mystery, misery, love, hate, shelter or war
Will there be children crying on the front headlines;
Riots .Or will there be flowers planted on the front
pages to tell how beautiful your emotion is, may be
berries .will it be a blue berry or red berry .Or a rose
flower. Will the pages speak for themselves.
If your life was a book what will you name it?
Will it be a novel or a novela, a play or poem
An essay or a memoir written
Will it be in rhymes, a sonnet, an epic or just free verses
I wonder if it will be a photocopy of another man's pages
Will the chapters spell love or hatred , well spent or regret
Who will be in your acknowledgement?, and
dedicated to who?
Will you be the hero or villain, the Jack or Rose ,
the Romeo or Juliet
Achilles, Hector, Paris, or Helen of Troy
If your life was a book what will you name it
What would the world read of it?
Please Tell!!!
By Gideon Idudje
LIFE STYLE
Don't lie
He who thinks to lie for honorary
Will only be honoured embarrassment
Says the truth
But he who eats "dodo" banana
Will cease to say the truth
Apply equality but
He who want to uphold equity
Must come with clean hands
Show justice but
He who want to formulate just
Must not be bias
Be a preacher but
He who want to preaches
Must cultivate the message
Be friendly but
He who want to be friendly
Must not be aggressive
Be clean and neat
He who want to that
Must purify his and intention
Be yourself he who want to be that
Must not photocopy because
He who photocopy has duplicate..
©®25/9/17. Abdul-Wakeel Abdur-Rasheed Junaid.
Don't kill yourself
I beat my chest
I decided I will not be nothing
Lesser than who I am
There is no other way of existence
I know
I cant be a photocopy when I am the original
I have been watching the world in silence
I see how troubles never end
I see how my people are used
I can't with hold my pen for humanity sake
I hate to be perfect
The life I live dont deserve it
Cos am not inline with vanity
So when I beat my chest
I was ready to wear the lenses of a chosen soul
This is difficult to kill
Don't kill yourself
The world will never end
But can only transform
We either can live or we die
So why dying too young for nothing
When you can be the author of your worth
I once said I hate to be perfect
Cos I don't play a game of perfection
I only involve
I only exist
I am only just a blood body and a soul
So if I must be far from your understanding
Don't forget the rain falls on everyone's roof
So don't kill yourself over
What is possible to live without
I have a small secret love in my life,
A marriage I love to do,
It’s when I use the stapler,
Making one grouped sheet from two.
The heavy duty mechanical,
The straight, to big, to small,
I love the crunch of bending steel,
The papered wedding, I love it all.
And at special times there’s 5 sheets or more,
A bunch to join as one.
Then, when the pile of paper’s so big,
I use the electric staple gun.
My small secret I keep so quiet,
I never want to create a scene.
I just quietly work my job, 9 to 5,
With the photocopy machine.
Written 15th March 2017 on a whim for John Lawless' contest
EVERYBODY SHOULD BE A LOVE POET
Yes! Everybody should be a love poet
Everybody should treat their pen like pet
And their jotters like bet9ja ticket
Everybody should write about her!
The damsel with no photocopy
The queen with no equal
The amazing personality that is rare to find
Yes! Everybody should be a love poet
And daily write about her beauty that needs no make up to be pretty
And of course about the fact that she is gloriously witty
Everyone should write about her portability
And the comfort that comes with her company
In short! Everybody should write about my Awéléwà Òrenté
That damsel is just the best
ABSOL
Have you ever wondered what’s kept in a real blokes shed?
I bet you thought them full of junk, but I’m telling you instead.
I’ve had the privilege to peruse such a shed one night,
It’s owned by mate Kenny, who opened up my eyes.
There was carpet on the floor, compressors by the door,
Nuts and bolts, fishing rods, and Fosters cans galore.
And if you wanted any oil, like sewing, sump, or mower,
Just look around - you’ll find it stored; an ice-cream tub’s the goer.
A pair of boots a little tight, he’ll fix for future toil,
As Kenny’s way to make them fit is dip the toes in oil.
And when I asked, ‘What’s that you have hidden under wraps?’
‘A photocopy machine’ he said, ‘and next I need a fax.’
Oh, what delights this shed had brought, all useful stuff in here,
There are even shiny rolls of foil that hold your cans of beer.
I looked around and then I spied a cot upon the wall
In storage now, he will pass it on to eldest son named Paul.
On the shelf, a yellow cage for a bird he may pick up,
But have no fear Jeanette my dear, the feathered kinds enough.
Next to the cage a machine to sew, a little worse for wear
But Ken still keeps it, just in case his overalls might tear.
Equipment plus and flashing stuff in draws quite neatly stored,
And tucked away a paper too, in case your ever bored.
Although its news has come and gone of what, why, when, and how,
This edition’s old and rare, a collector’s item now.
However, in this shed don’t smoke, no ashtray can be found
It’s tucked away, so if you must just butt upon the ground.
And for those dark and dismal days a torch you may require,
Ken has several he would lend if ever you enquire.
When talking old but useful parts, yes most still have a spare
In case of breakdowns of the first - of course that would be rare.
Ken’s shed has lots of shi….ny gear, some new, quite fit to hock
But parting with equipment here, for Ken would bring on shock.
So, hear now, folks, and listen well - a real blokes shed has all,
Its contents stored on bench and floor and even up the wall.
And if you ever need a bit of this or even that,
Go to a real blokes shed you’ll find every piece of crap.