Long Quarters Poems
Long Quarters Poems. Below are the most popular long Quarters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Quarters poems by poem length and keyword.
The groom will keep his name
whilst she will change hers
to his. We talked over these things
as we constructed a home
that would become home to the new couple.
Some laughed when they asked us
to construx the place.
We put four corners up using poles
we used untreated lumber
interconal and external leaving the walls hollow
we used cobb to fill the walls
we found it best to
construx in quarters
building
to where the bottom of the window would be
and then ramming the cobb into the agapes.
we used cob and concrete
and drove rebar into the softened material.
we put concrete blocks and slabs of stones
in the pre dug trenches
and pour concrete in the bottom before
we began constructing box type walls
that we packed from the ground
and nailed them in place using
the bobcat.
separating the two materials allowed us to
save time by separating the cobb
which meant both parts could cure
separate and we could
continue work
not worrying about overloading the wall
and allowing errors.
we put a barn type roof on using tin and plyboards.
we used a faux stone decorative brick
on the exterior
the place looked authentic and brick.
Inside we used a natural stone ledger panels
to give a Desert look to the inside.
Certain areas inside used sheetrock
which we used mitered edged We cedar
and stained and shelaced the wood
and painted the sheetrock a cream color.
the center of the place had rammed earth walls
four walls that didn't touch but were
join together
using pallet wood
from the floor to the ceiling.
the pallet wood had been treated
with borax and stained.
we explored building topless and bottomless boxes.
and drilling holes
in the dirt
installing poles
and places the boxes around the poles
and filling them wi cob
on our next project
we'd use the same system
to creat rooms with this structure.
and would use te
large beams to
create a roof.
that would use both plyboard and tin.
sixteen by sixteen
centered windows
Since I've turned 3 quarters of a century old
And have a hole in my heart I'm told
Sitting on top of that a small tumor
This definitely isn't a run away rumor
I am old and slightly fat(well some say obese)
Controlled diabetes on top of that
Hypertension makes its mark
Sometimes I even seem smart .
Then coronavirus hit the world
It set our lives in a whirl
So grocery shopping is done online
It takes me twice as much time
I carefully place my total order
After asking my husband if he needs water
And my grandson what snacks needed
Then click the button and I 've conceded
In a few days we ride to acquire
What the staff at Wally World think I desire
Well, I may not have tissue to wipe
my nose and my derriere but some grapes(what luck!)
Each week I play Russian Roulette
With exactly what I will get
I hope the circumstances play a part
For my husband likes me shopping a la carte
I may even buy a small camera
Slip it in and say I ordered Samera(he'd never know)
I could start getting more of what I desire
Less to cook so we can eat like a highflyer(get carry out)
A cavalryman's day was guided by a series of bugle calls,
The dulcet tones reverberating within the palisade walls.
Wanting to hurl a boot at the bugler for "Reveille" at dawn,
Instead he stumbled from his cot at "Assemble" on the lawn.
Before he had breakfast, the horses must be tended to,
So "Stable Call" was sounded to assemble a working crew.
"Breakfast Call" invited him for coffee, bread and bacon.
"Sick Call" was announced ere daily tasks were undertaken.
"Fatigue Call" called for troops to "police" the parade ground trim,
Then, at "Guard Mount" assignments were made at old sarge's whim.
The dreaded "Drill Call" meant many weary hours in the saddle,
As sergeants berated recruits, trying to keep them astraddle!
At last, "Dinner Call" for a repast of pork bellies and beans,
Then "Water Call" to water the horses and fill empty canteens.
Later called to quarters to ready for "Assemble For Dress Parade,"
They paraded their steeds, in uniform with gleaming saber blade!"
"Supper Call" sounded meaning more pork bellies and beans.
After "Roll Call" they entertained themselves by any means.
After the sun slowly descended in the vast reaches of the west,
Plaintive "Taps" closed the day, bringing to them welcome rest!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I sometimes see older couples in an ice cream shop
They hold each others aged hands
Their wise eyes scan the glass of flavors
They order two vanilla cones
They press spare quarters into the old jukebox in the corner
A soft old tune fills the vintage parlor
It was so perfect
A couple who had probably been together for years and years
Part of me admires them for supporting each other and staying together for so long
Another part of me envies them for having that kind of long, patient, loyal love that lasts forever
Another part of me longs to find someone who is that person for me
The melody is slow and hypnotic
I eat my chocolate scoop alone
Not only is there the old couple but also a teenage couple
One who is probably out on a fun date
He spins his pretty girl around and pays for her ice cream and makes her laugh
Part of me is so jealous of them for finding someone and having fun
Part of me pities myself because I am sitting in an ice cream shop surrounded by couples, all alone
Love sings a sweet song
I want that love
I want another half
I feel like I’m missing out on something I can’t find
Sliding another coffin nail out of sky-blue cardboard,
lending yet another piece of myself to a stranger.
If giving a gift is giving part of yourself
you can find me in the lungs of street
performers in Rome who rise with electric light
and sing until the sun sends them to bed again.
You can find me in the deep breathing lungs
and steadfast hearts of all the friends who
take me with them as they dance into the night.
You can find me in the local economy of Woodruff
Park where the homeless trade cigarettes
for apples or shoes or rusted quarters
If you were to cut me open I wonder how many
pieces of how many people would spill out?
Momentary kindness builds the foundations
of my soul and everyday I add another brick to the wall
Add a coin to the coin purse
It's both a blessing and a curse
Some people cry for it
And some people surely die for it
It poisons the mind
And it's how we're defined
A dash of greed, a dash of glory
We're bashing heads for it, oh so gory
Some shelter themselves beneath bridges
Looking up at the iron gray clouds, like ridges
When everything turns to money, everything falls apart
We're so broken we've ripped out our hearts
For this insignificant inhumane thing
The moment it touches our flesh we feel the sting
We might as well walk with numbers overhead
But in the end we all wish to break bread
So add another coin to the coin purse
It's both a blessing and a curse
Add a coin to the coin purse
It's both a blessing and a curse
We're no longer black and white, but green
And we're the sickly sheen
That promises this will be terminal
We'll piss away tomorrow in the urinal
And sacrifice tomorrow's youth
As our government clouds the truth
We've got quarters over our eyes
And dollar bills taped to our mouths like lies
We're damning ourselves again and again
The American Dream shattered by pain
There's still time to save the broken
If we unite and show we've truly spoken
But in the end we'll all probably be dead
Wiped out by the emerald warhead
But go ahead, add another coin to the coin purse
It was never a blessing, but always a curse
(A poem dedicated to Khadiza Merry)
They all heard that,
Jesus is riding on a bus, these days.
Vinay from the remotest eastern village was an eye-witness
He just acknowledged today, in confirmation.
I was counting those quarters. One by one.
The unpaid dues for the neighborhood store...
When silence honors every single voice out there
One can be a meaningful one for afterlife, with a storekeeper.
And slowly,
I sustained.
I was tamed within
With those hot, warm sweaty humid minutes.
And I gifted a land of own, aged for long, to the storekeeper.
Will it be an identifiable generosity accompanied with the right hand?
A specially biased right hand?
There are need of mirrors, here and there.
These attires, dress etiquette and dress colors too...
Under the slender palm trees, the virgin Mary cries here, also
Somewhere, a frozen conversation dies in silence, with a noisy air-cooler.
This is my headache
that I can't call a migraine
because it doesn't go away
and its not strong enough
for that convenient label.
This is knowing how
to collect pennies,
not quarters, for
Coin Star.
This is going to a grocery store
not to buy food.
This is hoping you can afford
a Bento Box of wine so tonight
the headache will go away
for a couple hours.
This is asking for money
gently, and mot making it seem
like you are begging.
This is putting dignity
behind your family,
and yourself.
This is writing poetry
because words are free,
sometimes.
This is having a close relationship
with Tupperware
and leftovers.
This is learning the art
of meditation
because I can't afford
yoga classes or the pants
the women wear
who go to them on Saturdays.
This is learning to cook
based on the cans
in your closet between
bowed down shelves
you are too tired to straighten.
I have learned what it is
to recognize the song
of a Mourning Dove
and the peepers in the spring.
That makes me smile
when I run in the evening
and time and no-money me
can slide down a colorless
rainbow
towards
borrowed serenity.
There was a time, not long ago,
I’m sure this won’t seem strange,
When I would never leave my house
Without a pile of change.
My wallet would be fit to burst
Or pockets would be jangling
With all the quarters that from every source
I had been wrangling.
The parking meters ate them up.
The bus was just as greedy;
And every pay phone (once a dime)
For quarters seemed quite needy.
The laundry room had its machines
Equipped so they would take
As many quarters as they could
Before we’d bellyache.
I needed quarters in the car
For paying all the tolls;
And in arcades, a two-bit coin
Bestowed you the controls.
But now technology’s advanced
With cards of many types.
Some radar reads your E-Z Pass;
You board the bus with swipes.
I’ve plastic for the wash and dry,
The subway and to park.
A quarter proffered would be met
With shrug as question mark.
I miss my quarter harvest
Though I really must confess
I’m better off today because
My wallet weighs much less!
Her mother was a seamstress, her aunts and grandma too
She had grown up into it naturally, serious seamstress Sue.
Her house was full of fat quarters, there were pins on her floor
Tiny bits of embroidery floss followed all her clothes out the door
She liked quilting, she was an expert, a hand-stitching queen.
Did not allow anyone to say “hand-made” in any kind of mean.
Her jackets were quilted concoctions made of a variety of fabric pieces.
She made comforters and bags for her six daughters and three nieces.
Sue's expensive sewing machine was going twenty-four seven.
Can she take all of the things she made, when she goes up to heaven?
Sue did not worry about any of this, she sewed all day and night.
Wore her spools upon her head also, she was a truly crazy sight.