Long Purse Poems
Long Purse Poems. Below are the most popular long Purse by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Purse poems by poem length and keyword.
He don tey
Ma guy he don tey
Wey monkey dey work
And baboon dey talk
Chai! No be today.
Make I tanda
Gidigba like Balogun Thunder
Drop some verse like vaseline
Put ugwu meta
And land ponmo like four
Untop dis mata.
No be today
He don tey
Wey money dey fly
From we country purse
Man pikin dey hungry
Man pikin dey angry.
Dem say money
Don turn bird
Our leaders dey sleep untop water bed
While we dey yawn untop pako bed.
Yesterday na inside soakaway
Today na inside water tank
Dem keep all dem money.
I tire for dis kontri
Agbero boys no dey gree,
Even dem omo onile own get degree.
And even danfo drivers dey sing song of lamentation
Inside police station.
Na which kain palava be this?
Dem say skool no be for all of us
Say make we try ignorance
But school self na one chance.
Professor na gramma
Even dem first class na crammer
To pass na big wahala.
I beg who be that
Wey talk say stealing no be corruption?
I beg who be that
Wey just commot kirikiri
Talk say him be joseph of our time?
I beg who be that
Wey kidnap so tey
we hear say him wan sue govament?
I beg who be that
Wey dey dance
Untop say him get thirdclass?
Dem don chop national cake
So tey dem no even wan remain beancake
I tire for this nation
I hope say dem go leave our ration.
Muyideen Ayinla ©2017
A weird disturbance in the belfry….werewolves or worse?
Batwing held on a bit tighter to her bulging old purse.
Count Dracula’s red eyes bounced open in morbid surprise.
Spooky goblins chasing ghouls. Gargoyles smiles are on the rise.
October is the month for things to be slightly amiss.
The ebony toad hops away from warm cauldron’s kiss.
Witches on wispy broomsticks, showing off strange tricks.
Coffin sleepers glory in trick-or-treating shticks.
Magic in the air, anticipatory sheen.
What day is it daughter? Of course it’s Halloween.
Grab your mask, your costume and orange madness boots.
The owls are all atwitter, hooting pumpkin shoots.
A holiday craft fair – I needed a bag.
I’d looked for a while, and that was a drag.
I passed by a vendor – a bag called my name.
It had a few faults; my objections seemed lame.
The straps were too short. It was shaped like a sack;
But it offered more than the things it did lack.
The leather was mushy, so soft to the touch;
I knew that I liked it – was not sure how much.
A discount was offered, the stuffing removed.
When slung on my shoulder, its comfort was proved.
I stood there and held it; the minutes ticked by.
The saleswoman laughed, but no pressure’d apply.
At last I decided I’d spring for the purse;
‘Cause if I had left it, I knew I’d feel worse.
The vendor then asked how I ever decide
If there’s something important from which I can’t hide.
I told her decisions get easy for me,
The bigger they are or they’re seeming to be.
I struggle with small stuff – it’s hard to explain;
But the huge resolutions require no strain.
Yet a purchase when I’m not quite sure how I feel
Somehow seems to appear like a really big deal.
So I’ve got a new bag – what an effort to get it!
My fingers are crossed that I will not regret it!
Step Outline- Hiking Trail (A Horror)
Prologue
Ext. Woodland Park, Upstate California- Sunset
It’s mid-autumn, hot. A week before school starts, there’s a family gathering. A young woman is arguing with her father. She’s holding onto her food. Then, she grabs her purse and storms off. Her father calls after her, but she’s heading into the mouth of the woods.
ACT I
Ext. The mouth of the woods- Dusk
She walks along the hiking trail, grumbling about her father. She takes a bite of her hotlink and complains about leaving her beer behind. She isn’t alone.
Int. Feelings
She wants to have one family outing where she doesn’t fight with her dad. It’s the same repeating argument, just a different scene. He always eats away at her good time. Why can’t Dad let me be?
Ext. Right at the throat of the woods- Dusk
She shouts to the listening woods she doesn’t want to return to her father. And the beast that’s stalking her listens.
ACT II
Ext. Swallowed by the woods- Dusk
The beast watches the woman slide down the woodland path. She’s speaking to herself aloud.
Int. Thoughts
Are her troubles so loud that they have to escape her body? If the beast sinks its teeth into her throat, will her words of anguish spill out with her blood? And then she shouts she doesn’t want to return to her father. If she doesn’t have any plans to leave the woods, he should have his fill.
ACT III
Int. Inside the belly- Dark
There are blistering bubbles below her. She lost a shoe and three toes. The walls flex and relax against her crawling hands. She didn’t know someone was tailing her and listening. She was so consumed with her fight with her father that she got devoured by another man.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
From
The Harp-Weaver and
Other Poems
(1923)
Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!
Give back my book and take my kiss instead.
Was it my enemy or my friend I heard,
"What a big book for such a little head!"
Come, I will show you now my newest hat,
And you my watch me purse my mouth and prink!
Oh, I shall love you you still, and all of that
I never again shall tell you what I think.
I shall be sweet and crafty soft and sly;
You will not catch me reading any more:
I shall be called a wife to pattern by;
And some day when you knock and push the door,
Some sane day, not too bright and not too stormy,
I shall be gone, and you may whistle for me.
Dying
Sara Kendrick
November 03, 2009
Dating, oh! so much fun doing new things
This person is perfect in every way
Movies, popcorn shared, touch, a brush, heart sings
Just want that caress, the arm around stays
Now awaken to another day, no play
No brushes, that gentle caress gone, left
Control norm, making demands, no sun rays
No! I will not go to a movie, daft
Dying spirit on the inside daily
Longing for love, acceptance, fun again.
Could be just a walk in the woods baby
Sitting close or lying on couch in den
Soon I'll be gone no longer home near
I'll go out to find myself, my soul, love
(I enjoy reading a number of poets. Edna St. Vincent Millay is just one of
them. I wrote this one after reading hers above. I have heard so many women
complain after just a short time of marriage how they are treated. Then I was
reading Millay and saw things are the same as then.)
The pace of life is very fast,
It saps both heart and soul.
At times we have to call a halt.
And stop our furious role.
The mind and body of mankind,
Was meant to take some rest.
Why is it then, that most of us,
Just work until we’re stressed?
Philosophy of life has changed
From meeting just our need.
To scurrying around like mad,
At really breakneck speed.
The reason for this haste today,
Is very plain to tell.
The greedy want to grow rich quick,
And leave a trail of hell.
Some use poor people as their tools,
To help them reach their goal.
Who have to play their selfish game,
Or end up on the dole.
But is it just these wealthy folk,
Who lead the world this way?
Let’s look at every one of us,
What we do everyday.
For every time we use someone,
To help ‘us’ get our way.
We’re joining in this selfish race,
By making others pay.
Oh no, that isn’t me, we say,
But can you be so sure.
When was it you last leant a hand,
To someone on the floor?
The problem with the world today,
Is down to you and me.
I know that others pull the strings,
But surely you can see.
That every time we join this race,
We’re making it much worse.
What matters is, what’s in your heart,
And not, what’s in your purse.
So next time that you’re feeling stressed,
From living at top speed.
And feeling you deserve a rest,
From meeting other’s need.
Just look a little further,
At the one’s that ‘you’ can guide.
For the people at the bottom,
Always get the roughest ride.
Ivor G Davies
Clouds roll in to bruise the sky as rain falls from the sun's black eye.
My clothes are sodden within seconds - I dive for the first door that beckons.
The pawn shop smells of age and dust, a heady mix of past and must.
Then, from the door, my tired eyes spy a sight that makes my mouth go dry.
I drip across the wooden floor until I reach the open drawer
sealed with glass to keep away the specks of dirt that might decay
the pair of earrings on display in polished gold with subtle spray
of opalescent stones that dot a tiny pair of celtic knots.
My mind drifts to faint memories of Nana's fine accessories.
My stunned heart gives a painful squeeze; I know she owned a pair like these.
Through sudden tears, my vision blurs - I reach into my open purse
for bills to pay the waiting clerk, who stands nearby on high alert.
I clutch the box with shaking hands; my eyes drop tears that fall to fan
across my cheeks in joyful stains - and once outside, I thank the rain.
For Susan's "at the pawn shop" contest
Do I forgive you?
What is there to forgive?
Because you burned my new dress and stole a bit of money?
You are my lover after all. What is $5,000 between lovers?
Will I hold a grudge?
Of course not.
We are partners, you and I.
I will forget this has happened in a few lifetimes.
Can we resurrect our relationship?
What relationship?
You did not care enough about me to make me your wife.
Can we be the same?
Sure, honey.
We can be exactly the same.
I will be the semi-trusting woman
whom you take advantage of, and disrespect,
and you can be the cheating, lying, stealing thief that you are.
I will temporarily forgive you tonight, as I have
a new dress, and there is a party, and I need you to
be my good-looking, handsome, wonderful, man candy.
I am carrying a tiny purse though, without my credit cards,
and only a small amount of cash.
In a day or two I may actually forget this anger,
but I will probably hold on to a teeny tiny bit of resentment
as my bank account is empty,
and I had been saving two years for a car.
What the f**k is happening after that Ashes debacle
Not a lot top brass VIP pass don’t give a jot have forgot
Hard to believe they’ve given a reprieve to each rascal
Not down to luck or a blot…but imbecilic systemic rot
Big 3 sitting pretty top of the tree.. Kings of the Castle
Yippee ECB still gives Key backing no need for sacking
The Bazball curse things could haven’t been any worse
Skill and will seriously lacking OZ sent our boys packing
Perverse but cancelling Brendon’s contract hits the purse
Unprepared scared yet noone cared and all still spared
Excrement insurmountable management not accountable
Naysayers opine like players not down to how they’ve fared
No one’s responsible s**t plans fans say hardly honourable
Done like a kipper but folks we have heard from the skipper
Expletive laden rant which would embarrass a young maiden
Our once stellar fella now cinderella finding a glass slipper
Dear reader our broken token leader now somehow awoken
Stay chipper nothing to spot here.. trot on big smiley emoji
Self fulfilling prophecy we knew it would be & did foresee
As Baz Ben & Rob Key & their men get off again scot free!
You are moving to a big city?
You will be murdered before you get out of your car
Thugs will take your purse and use your I-phone
Rapists will break in at night and maybe kill you
What big city is it?
Des Moines
Oh, man, I have heard of that one
I will be sending you prayers.
They have the Iowa State Fair there. True.
They have a cultural center, and an art center.
No way!
They have lots of pretty neighborhoods with large lawns
And oak trees and it looks pretty safe.
I will call my cousin and get back to you.
She has lived in Des Moines for fifty years.
So it is not so bad?
Oh, no. According to her, it is awful!
Do you want me to give her your cell phone number?
No.