Long Popcorn Poems
Long Popcorn Poems. Below are the most popular long Popcorn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Popcorn poems by poem length and keyword.
We were always close together
As the house we had was small.
Family meals there knit a tether,
And precious voices filled the halls.
The dog was in and out of course
And she surely didn’t mind
To steal away the peace by force
As willing actors were in line.
We attended to each other then
Without attention to a phone
We laughed and loved back when
No one really was alone.
When one hurt, the family knew
We learned to “sense” each other’s mood.
When filled with joy or sometimes blue
Our little house let grace give room.
Empathy was tutored there
Along with patience and resolve.
There was little space to spare
As every inch was shared by all.
Familiar creaks and squeaky floors,
Pillow wars and popcorn nights.
Kids roamed everywhere outdoors
And made it home by dinner time.
We’re spread out now by the miles
I miss their presence and the nearness.
I miss my parents, meals and smiles
And count the blessings that were near us.
I waited and I waited just in case she’d been delayed
I stood there feeling foolish, though I acted undismayed
A movie and some popcorn might have won her pretty smile
And I was very keen and so I waited quite a while
Perhaps she didn’t like the fact I had a missing tooth
I’d heard another one would grow and hoped that was the truth
I hoped to tell Jemima of the money that I’d found…
“Hid my tooth under my pillow and it turned into a pound.”
Jemima, as my girlfriend wasn’t stretching much belief
I didn’t have much money, but I had a lot teeth
Losing one seemed scary, but the outcome could be great
Because, you see, the tooth fairy was paying for our date
But then I felt a flutter as Jemima said “Hello.”
She covered up her mouth and said, “There’s something you should know,
I’ve also lost a tooth and now I’m ugly as a witch.”
I said, “And I’m a warlock but, with all these teeth, we’re rich.”
A Life Hit
ThIt was a life hit,
A one after the other:
For first, there was the coma,
And just the idea of it
To struggle with, but then,
Afterwards my eyesight smudged
Spaces, altered them, imposed
Textures, shapes and colors.
This was diagnosed
(A complication from my coma)
As Charles Bonnet syndrome.
Hmmm...
Tough call for an artist —
Already dealing with proliferative
retinopathy, and its dozen laser
eye treatments nearly destroying
all peripheral vision —
Poor fellow, Charles,
Having such a legacy, a hard hit;
It challenged me to need
To learn to draw all over again,
Like a child turning the pages
Of instruction books.
When
I drew portraits, I’d put in three
Eyes and not see it until told.
Actually
There came quite much laughing
At the perceptions from the hit,
Which involve voids in vision —
Something the brain will not
Accept and so it fills in, often
Humorously (I’d say) —
Hmmm...
Funny brain. I’ll never forget
One day, re-learning to draw dogs
And after staring at photos
Of pups for more than an hour,
How I looked up from my sketches
To watch the news,
Only to see every newscaster
And interviewed expert now
Had a long, hairy muzzle
And floppy ears.
Hmmm...
Finally a life hit
That could go with a bucket of
buttered popcorn.
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(c) sally young Eslinger 5/2021
Thanks be to God
Spring is fast approaching; it's warm outside,
parking lot carnivals will arrive soon.
In my youth, I'd watch carnies set up rides,
while the popcorn popper whistled a tune.
I loved to ride on the merry-go-round;
it was like riding a galloping horse.
Nothing else ever felt as good to me,
having tried all the other rides, of course.
There were gypsies to predict your future,
whose intentions you had to consider.
For they'd peddle their magical trinkets,
to the superstitious highest bidder.
I recall when I was a little boy
how those carnivals brought me so much joy.
Every artist knows
Their canvas is not complete
Without a pop of passionate red.
Every stop sign knows
They will not be honored
If they are not the right color
The flag would be blah if it was only blue and white
If you look at the world flags, most have courageous red.
The Irish have a form of it in their orange.
Glossy blue-red lipstick gives us a feeling of the fifties
When women hid their blatant sexuality
Saving it in the bedroom, when they turned into hungry tigresses,
Tearing their men apart with pure sensuality
Restaurants use joyful red lavishly, understanding she encourages eating.
Unsuspecting victims devour food at rapid pace, taking home seconds.
Children see red and think of the circus, popcorn, or a fire engine.
Excitement, pizazz, a happy ending to a blah day.
Red was once the color of an angry old-maid teacher’s pen.
My theory is that she was no tigress
because she had no man in her bedroom.
Red is for the passion, sensuality, and warmth.
Red is for sexuality and pizazz.
So this one is about how I see stuff
No countries just one land with puddles on top
Tried to count without using numbers
Still designing the seat if our knees bent another way
I kinda feel cheated
See those pictures with beautifully clothed galaxies
they artificially add the colours
There are only two directions in or out
God must be murder at the cinema
Knows all the endings and doesn’t share the popcorn
Could Jesus catch a Malteser
Admit it nailed it
Right I get killing Hitler in time travel movies
but why don’t they just move him
Although what if he still did the same
Do we learn fear or is it taught
What if the hilt of Excalibur was the pieces of silver
gained with a kiss
We might all see different colours
A.S.I -artificial superior intelligence I bagsy it
The last human arguing for his existence with a calcu
see you late
Err
Empathy is weird cause we can’t feel the same as someone else but just our personal interpretation of what we feel they are feeling
Boulder just rolls off the tongue
Which I think we should rename ton gew
Give it a second it will grew. On you
We watch the same shape for all of our lives
Mobile phones are technically also phone boxes
If there was no mistakes would everything be perfect
Winding Down
Tom’s Early Morning Thoughts
November 18, 2020
We began winding down, when it became apparent that our best days were in our rear view mirror. When it became no longer important, whether our two vehicles smelled new, but had become just transportation. Or the house we built together still wore it’s popcorn ceilings, and had tiled floors. A see through fireplace, that we no longer use, adorns two native stone walls, which I suppose
would be considered obsolete today. At this phase of life we jettison things once considered our treasures, and our considerable library contains outdated, no longer read books.
The $900.+ monthly healthcare insurance premium has now become our biggest outlay. It’s became a time of remembering, not setting goals for the future. When estate planning is all in order and life is good. A time of helping others with needs more important than ours, and thinking of things others will face as our country
continues it’s march toward self destruction.
A time of reflection and being burdened for the unsaved,
those who have heard God’s word, but rejected it.
I guess you could say that life, for us, is winding down,
And I can’t help but think that Jesus is coming soon.
At least for the two of us.
Tom
The velvet mouth of the theater opens,
and it swallows me whole.
I take my seat like it's my grand secret.
The lights bruise out.
Now it shows me what I'm hungry for.
Westerns come first—
dust coughing in the sun,
men shaped like fences and guns,
horses flinging thunder from their hooves.
Justice rides a long road and does not look back.
The sky is wide as a promise no one keeps.
Then the Rated-R rooms—
where shadows sweat and neon bleeds,
where kisses come with warning labels
and every body is a lit match.
The screen pulses like a heart you shouldn’t touch,
but do.
Romance steps in softly,
hand in hand with rain and violins.
Two souls circling like moths in lamplight,
learning the grammar of longing.
Even heartbreak wears perfume here.
Comedy kicks open the door,
throws popcorn at sorrow,
slips on its own shoes and survives.
Laughter peels the paint from my ribs.
For an hour, nothing can hurt me.
Drama brings the long stare—
families cracked like old plates,
truths whispered into pillows,
tears falling with the patience of clocks.
Thrillers tighten their fists around my pulse,
teach my breath to hide,
teach silence how to scream.
Horror lifts the mask,
shows me my own face in the dark,
dares me not to flinch.
Science fiction opens a new sky,
planets like blue coins in black water,
machines that dream of us,
time folded like a letter.
Fantasy braids wings onto sorrow,
crowns the small and broken,
lets magic bloom where rules once lived.
Animation paints joy with bright bones,
animals speaking better than people,
colors that refuse to grow old.
And when the credits crawl like silver ants,
I rise blinking, stitched back together—
full of gun-smoke sunsets,
neon kisses,
tears, jokes, monsters, stars—
carrying a hundred lives
in my coat pockets.
I can think of no better contentment that can be had,
Lounging in my robe and slippers comfortably clad,
Than relaxing by the hearth in my favorite chair,
Gazing at the dancing flames, ah, nothing can compare!
A winter storm rages outside piling up drifts of crystal snow.
I checked the thermometer and it read twenty degrees below!
But what care I as we settle in for an evening of respite,
Sipping Berringers White Zinfandel on this Holy winter's night!
We reminisce about the past and things for which we aspire,
Dreamily watching the glowing embers of the dying fire.
With music softly playing and the lights turned down low,
I light my pipe, savoring the aroma and its mellow glow!
I make room for dear old Simba as he curls up on my lap,
Purring contentedly and taking his usual evening nap.
My spouse prepares a bowl of piping hot popcorn for a treat.
I couldn't ask for anything more to make the evening complete!
In the autumn of my life, such simple times I truly treasure.
With my love by my side, I'm satisfied beyond all measure!
The grandfather clock measures time in its inexorable way.
Oh, that time would stand still that I could forever relish this day!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Linda-Marie's "Holiday Hearth" Contest - November 2011
The temple.
The hill it is on.
What it is made of.
This is not what makes a difference.
My interest is what makes a difference.
This difference is what makes it interesting.
These are pieces of paper
and these of air.
There is a difference which is interesting.
Would you believe me if I told you
this is not my interest.
Come and show me the pieces of paper.
Come and show me the difference
between what is written on the pieces of paper
and what is written on the pieces of air.
This is the difference which is my interest.
The difference is what is interesting.
It is interesting that there is no difference.
It is interesting that you would not believe me
if I told you there was no difference
between the pieces of paper and the pieces of air.
The Greeks built temples out of air
and then the difference turned them into stone.
The Chinese built temples out of numbers
and then the difference turned them into paper.
The Etruscans built temples out of wood
and then the difference turned them into air.
There is a difference between air and stone
but it is the difference between paper and blood
which is my interest.
My interest is different
it is in the air in the wood
but you would not believe me if I told you.
The difference is written in blood on paper
but you would not tell me if you believed me.
Cotton candy. Popcorn. Taffy apples. Brine.
All these are different
but the difference is not what is interesting.
What is interesting is the difference
between what I told you and what I believed you told me.
The difference is there and it is interesting.
The interesting difference is that you believed what I told you
in the temple of air
in the temple of stone
in the temple of numbers
in the temple of wood
in the temple of paper
in the temple of sunlight.
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