Long Proprietor Poems
Long Proprietor Poems. Below are the most popular long Proprietor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Proprietor poems by poem length and keyword.
I have for many years had a reputation for being Tinpot Lucky,
Take this Tuesday for Instance,
I was walking down past the Lawnmower shop,
Where I bought my Wood chipper,
Should I stop in and and say Hello to Ian the Proprietor,
Who was in Lions with me and a friend,
Was the thought that popped into my head,
I went with yes choice instead of not today choice,
And guess what?
After asking after each other,
And our families,
What should he ask but how is your wood chipper,
To which I sheepishly replied,
That I had jammed it up and had not yet done anything about it.
Now here is where question of luck or something else comes to the fore,
As what should Ian say but that he had someone interested in buying one,
And he would come and get mine and fix it for free,
So, he could show the potential customer one working.
So what do you think?
Was it luck or something else.
Was a mysterious force at work to bring me to the store
At that particular point in time,
Or do I just have a knack for making good choices.
For myself I suspect I have a guardian Angel,
Who does not mind working overtime.
Catherine Bryan
1838-1918
Thy swan song will be kept short, for thou
And ye, faithful friends of Whittier’s Quaker enclave,
In stout shock, thy anger scolds the town,
For ye know, in heart and soul,
Thee and this old maid did not approve or agree,
With ye establishment of said saloon,
And its mad proprietor, with mustache in tow.
To God, in his holy anger, thou sayeth:
Do not spare ye town of Whittier,
Please, kindly show no mercy, as ye sinful township,
Heads into the uncertain evil times,
Cease not to spare the damaging quakes,
From thy emblazoned temper in seasons ahead,
For ye Whittier hath dressed obscenely in clothes of mustard yellow,
And hath exchanged them for the proper, black regalia of the righteous,
Yes, proper and good accoutrements for thy people in worship!
But now it is time for the old woman to say:
Ye Whittier! Thou hath forsaken the highest God!
For thy immodest music and dancing,
And thy indulgent viewing of sinful cinemas,
In the darkness of Hades itself, at the Optic,
Ye den of corruption and vice,
Hath spat upon the face of the Lord!
Whittier township, a dead woman says to ye future generations,
From this black place in a forgotten grave:
Ye are damned heathens in thy midst!
Ye reprobates! Ye are not the chosen people!
Instead of worship, and disciplined prayer time,
Ye sit in the dumbing darkness and find Lucifer,
Dreaded star of the morning!
The Optic be damned!
After driving so far down the road,
I needed some sleep, so I slowed.
A sign said "motel"......
but one cannot tell,
when the weirdo is due to explode !!
This motel had declared a good rate.
So, I checked into my room, rather late.
But the price should be lower!
Compromised in the shower
By proprietor, young Norman Bates !!
I ran fast down the road, like a chicken !
While forgetting my clothes, panic-stricken !
No more showers, for me ! !
No more bubble bath glee ! !
Bare-assed, I might be, ....but still kickin' !!!!!
__________________________________________________________
4/30/15 For The Contest Sponsored By Tammy Reams
Crossing The Line
David J Walker
There is a line and
There was a time
when they were
Kids like us
Singing clapping praying eating sleeping waiting
Waiting
Waiting
Waiting
For whatever comes
In the coming day
Waiting
Praying
Smiling
Saying
The things they thought they were saying
50 years before and
A million tears before
The tapestry so clear before
It blurred
Maybe it burned in a fire
With those lost important papers and pictures
The property of the proprietor
posting rewards
For their return
But they are gone forever
There was a time when they were
Hopeful for a reward-full
Life
Faith
Charity
Man and wife
And children who would remember
As they move beyond
This daily strive
There is a line
That cannot be crossed
Before its time
They cry out to be saved
By a darkness they did not birth
But even as they reach out
Their hands are cut off
And they're bound and gagged
And mutilated on TV
Leaving us all with red stained hands
There isn't an innocent left
Leaving nobody with moral superiority
Let me paint this picture with clarity
The flowers are dying in the fields
Because we refuse to water them
And when they begin to wilt
Some laugh and say it's their own fault
So let's go ahead and call it
America is divided by a black curtain
Those in power do nothing
And those without power can do nothing
At least that's what they think
The power was always in our hands
To find it we simply need empathy and courage
To face the black curtain descended
So that we can defeat the cowards who do nothing
And we must remember
Those who spread hate are not victims
Whether it was yesterday or today
And at the seat of presidency
Is the great proprietor of evil
Setting morality back decades
And common sense back centuries
And every Christian sheep following
Is just another Nazi in hiding
Just those who would allow the next Holocaust
But we've already witnessed the slaughter of democracy
And the public hanging of righteousness
America is not the guiding light of freedom
It has become an evil empire
Corrupt from the ground up
And we're the flowers wilting in the fields
Crying out to be saved
we poets are waiting for the moonset
sitting on my balcony, evolutions shamans
now wandering the beach
we are solving every social ill
while walking Blake's path of excess
to some palace of wisdom
this sojourn has but one worry
the hour the liquor store closes
less the worry here, shamans open doors
money, lycanthropy meandering the beach
a ramada where we wake the proprietor
who finds such occurrences propitious
vending beer, most cultures' insanity is sacrosanct
the moon is waning into the ocean
to Bach's Toccata and Fugue
we are singing Eddie Arnold's cattle call
while the other horizon eructs
red-orange warnings poets love to ignore
evanescent crescendos
write something every day, i am not that bored
the sleep never begun is over
quart bottles cover the table
our proprietor lies in the Land of Nod
poets of Laputa, self-serving pataphysicians
the bench is strewn with the problems of Gulliver
La Senora arrives, shift changes, orders breakfast
and this proceeds until siesta time
the repairing of every social ill
retiring into respective hammocks
we are philosophers, possess our epigrams
no siesta, no fiesta, tomorrow i swear
a new and improved version
the beach is safe now
for white bucks scribbling in the sand
while our feet are beyond and supine
covered with flies, killing us
did not the Beats do this
San Blas 91 The Patient Stones
On my path to uncle's village apartment,
I was in hurry , whistling in joy and
excitement.
The decorated garden with beautiful flowers, The timely arrival of rain and its showers.
Where morning are enriched with soothing sun rays,
Reminds me of fairy tales and heavenly vergent fays.
Working farmers in the field to earn future reserves,
The nature renders the creature everything they deserve.
The settlements are integrated and the bonding is strong,
It carries the flow of a wave to propagate this life and beyond.
The vibrant nature dictates its urgency to flow in rivers,
To provide drinking water to all the thirsty survivors.
It is the most amazing thematic appreciation of nature,
Where all the dwellers are its signatory proprietor.
In a hasty word, my heart rests
trembling, even the silence protests
what have you done, my captor, my proprietor
the darkness comes, my heart so much quieter
in a moment, tears rise in my chest
oh, dear Lord, I am so stressed
when will that feline leave me alone
she can hear my fear as I silently groan
weakening now, the burden of life
the tabby is leaving me with such strife
where can I go – I’m locked in this cage
waiting the claws who will offer such rage
In the shadows, she steals each hope
how can this body learn how to cope?
she’s not a kitten, but a full grown cat!
its beyond my understanding – that is that
dulling my senses, I feel my heart’s dread
storms never were as bad as what’s ahead
this cat is my enemy, why can’t you see her seethe
she’s coming for me, I can hardly breathe
my time is coming, she tells me each day
I don’t know what to do so I just pray
time is closing in, the day is just ahead
when I leave this earth, remember what I said…
this feline, with her claws and her teeth
to her – my feathers I bequeath
she’s doing her part to silence my wings
oh, how my heart quakes as her soul sings
I’m giving her just what the cat needs
the pleasure of the chase, then her dirty deeds
leaving me without a prayer – on to my peace
flying across heaven with birds and geese
I didn’t ever imagine my end would come this soon
while I watched her – my feathers she has strewn
oh, my friend, I never realized she would win
I feel like such a feathered fool as I watch her grin
She has no heart or soul – she has no evil twin
it is only her, the cat and her deadly sin
I have left this world, but I’ll haunt her with my song
remind her that to this world, I did not belong
I keep on flying, in heaven, across the skies
where love lives forever and our heart never dies
the past is the past and I know, despite this cat
I’m living my best life up here, and that is that!
I am lured in by the smell of lemon muffins, so tall
the blueberry scones are calling me to the back wall
Oh, my goodness, are those Italian cookies homemade?
I enter the bright bakery wondering why they don’t pull the shade
The sun is pouring in, lighting up the day in fast order
Grinning big time is the proprietor, old Mrs. McCorder
We are making two homemade soups for lunch, she tells me
And you’d best come back for apricot pie, it will be ready at three!
No one has to pull my hair to get me to buy my fill
My sacks are so full they threaten to over-spill
I leave with rhubarb pie and three kinds of homemade bread
I’ll be back at three, I holler, to Mrs. McCorder’s sweet head.
I
Standing in a glass cube
As rain falls all around
The fate of the world
Is up for sale
Valkyries burst like bombs
As the forces of evil push us down
Lightning lances across the sky
And we're begging for a miracle
The great Arc sails the skies
A triumph to watch sails unfurl
Serenaded by the pegasus
Are we finally saved
As volcanoes erupt and gods awake
The glass cube begins to shatter
Wherein stands the Proprietor of Evil
For it is Hades Himself
II
Clouds part like curtain call
Fire shoots across the heavens
We're just witnesses to Armageddon
As civilization falls apart
As helpless as cockroaches
Cowering in the shadow of a shoe
Were the old feuds really worth it
As gods render earth a battleground
Sails ripped and on fire
The arc is sinking in a blaze of glory
But victory is surely at hand
As Alexander holds blade up high
Once again ensnared in a glass cube
As tears rain from the skies
Comes the death of the empire of Hades
And his fate is up for sale