Long Queuing Poems
Long Queuing Poems. Below are the most popular long Queuing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Queuing poems by poem length and keyword.
It’s not just bricks and mortar
Nor a distant memory
But the ground roots of our livelihood
And our future destiny.
As this place prepares to close
When the final bell will sound
To mark the end of education
On these few acres of ground
So as the winds of change
Whistle down St Andrews Street
Time to take a look behind
Before it beats the last retreat....
To days when health and safety
Had not bound us up in rules
When “clackers”, “chinas”, “conkers”
Were all the rage in schools.
Chocolate crunch with strawberry custard
Was “ haute cuisine” at dinners
And monitors patrolled the room
Catching non-veg eating sinners !
Then there were school productions
That often caused a rumpus
I was told I didn’t look fierce enough
As a pirate in Columbus
It’s where I learnt the facts of life
Red faced at every showing
We gathered in the dining hall
To watch “living and growing”.
Girls in groups around the field
Playing games with white elastic
Or spinning tubes around their heads
Making noises quite fantastic
And on those heady summer days
In the shade of orchard trees,
I’d have my packed lunch and my drink
Smelling hops upon the breeze.
Groups of boys in mass migration,
Was quite a common sight ,
Swarming like bees round honey
To the battle cry of “fight!”
“Top cat” was on the telly
And so was “ Hong Kong Fooey”
We all brought board games into school
On the feast day of St Louis
Queuing up in tennis courts
Then marching to assembly,
I doubt they had such crowd control
For the FA cup at Wembley.
The changing rooms down by the pool
Were not far from the gym,
Where ropes and box and benches
Were designed to do you in.
Bassets sherbet from the tuck shop
A treat beyond belief
Matched only by the popping
Of “space rocks” on your teeth
So when the corridors are empty
And the babbling voices still,
Theses echoes and these memories
Shall future musings fill .....
For it’s not just bricks and mortar
Not just a place to swat and cram
It’s where the building blocks of selfhood
Turn the boy into a man.
We lay bare next to the skin of the earth
watching mercury dancing around the restless sun
playing hide and seek in the burning heat
and penetrating mankind deception in the deep
Venus is orbiting the earth with its piercing light
casting shadows on the desperate arrows
and choking up the heavens
I don't know where they have laid him
but I can feel his current rumbling through the earth
ripping the stagnant river apart
and looking at the moon in the dark
I am sitting here waiting on the unknown
Heart throbbing billows rolling and
the deep blue sky is covering my head
The green trees are still standing tall
waiting for the anticipated fall
Saturn in riding on wings in big circles
it is the rock on which we stand
And it stabilizes the turbulent land
looking for the one who is able
to withstand its fiery hands
Jupiter has been murmuring for years
it has a storm that is bigger than our fears
twisting cold windy clouds over our busy head
erupting the emotions and stretching our legs
Neptune is invisible to the naked eyes but its
water and methane is fasten on solid ice
Uranus is filled with chemical composition
The confusion on earth is position on suspicion
Is this imagination or mere confusion
Mars has been snooping on us from the sky
Twice this week it emerges in plain sight
with its bright orange eye budging from the sky
I have mistaken it for the amber moon
But nature has declared a war to soon
Bees buzzing from the sky dropping honey in the kettle
Mankind queuing up in long lines waiting for a city that is divine
The mystery of life is yet to be found
It is buried somewhere beneath the blistering ground
Something is out there in the unknown
Waiting for the perfect time to make itself known
Earth with its formidable crust has finally open it guts
exposing its intricacy and laughing at us loudly
something more powerful than man lives in deep ocean
swirling and twirling like monster ready to devour
Oh how much I dread this conceited revelation
It is shaking the core of the hemisphere
causing death and destruction over the years
Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune
are bidding earth goodbye as they regroup in the sky
Life mystery is profound and it is found in the unknown.
By Parizo Van Thulare
I was born endless miles from the town
Where tales are told about the king in his crown
Where plates are treated same glass
So fragile respect is of the erything
So beautiful My land is stunning
I speak in languages of types
Pepperd with traditions
And dishes of all kinds
African made with the greatest taste
African grilled with inspiring tales
Where I come from mountains sing the sweetest
Rivers play the romance
The Baobabs are cutiest
It is the land of its own kind
My Africa ,my quest
I come far away from the mountains of Drankesnberg
They Roar with beauty .
Near Lies the tunnel of Straitjdom Lepelle flows peacefully
Full of acquatics living blissfully
The words it sings
speak for the trees
It breezes the fume of sighs
With a flavor of purple ice
Down to Mapunghubjwe I rise
My Africa , my best
The history of the greatest is unleashed
It calls upon the genius to come and aphrend
It calls upon the future to come and learn
My Africa ,my pride
I haven't done yet
Get something to write
Still I 'm here to rhyme.
Talk about the bothers of Kruger
Worldwide are known
Worldwide they are shown
The falls of Victoria
The Valleys of Zambezi
The desert of Kalahari
Lobola or mahadi
This is my Africa
See the cars in colors pouring
See nations in rainbows queuing
To see only the biggest
To witness the wrestlemania of the nature
Ohh! what a wonderful adventure
My Africa is my biome
The land of dreams and hopes
All thanks to the almighty for such smashing home
I'm so proud to be an African
I'm so down with my heritage
Monotonous keyboards clicking
Redundant clocks ticking
Phones ringing, elevator doors swinging
Coffee pots brewing, vending machines spewing
Insouciant workers, carefree shirkers loitering
Clerks, secretaries previewing, managers reviewing
Visitors on stairs, in lobby chairs, lines queuing
Fate's dissonant chords o'er content hordes teeming
From Crescent's waning moon, spell of doom flinging
Across availing sky, a wailing strain is stringing
A portentous raven o'er torrentous swells winging
To his charted course, a venal force with guile clinging
Feral beast an imminent peril to prey quickly bringing
On the ethereal cusp perching, for crown jewel searching
Swooping down with force, beams from foundation divorce
Death's shadow in dust o'er screaming remnants streaming
Night's, palling darkness Day's ordained glint stalling
We British love to stand in queues
We are known through out the world for it.
It must be something in our genes
We have tried all the other means.
Nobody teaches us what to do
We just line up when we see a queue.
The trouble starts with our foreign cousins; they look on us amused,
Then they walk to the front, ingnoring us and bypass all the queues.
Excuse me Sir or Madam, we say but you should be at the back,
‘What on earth for when I can walk in, you know what you can do with that!’
Fury starts to raise and feet begin to tap,
I am sorry Sir/Madam, but you must join at the back.
The door opens and we see just what we are queuing for,
It is the ladies services but then she grabs the door.
Our foreign cousin jumps in, what a nice neat trick
And locks the door behind her, it was ever so quick.
There is a murmur from the queue,
I’d tell her off if I was you.
Don’t you worry I’ll do that when she comes back on out
I’ll stop the lady on exit, but then I here the shout.
You’ve missed another spot you dolt, just let the woman go.
Oh not again why was I so slow.
So to all our foreign cousins when, in England you arrive,
Please don’t forget to queue up here, if you want your holiday to survive.
I AM AROUND TO AGING
I look forward to thinking about my old age
Yet to come, but not too far away
My son watches me thoughtfully always.
He tries to help me climb and stand by
asking to be careful, that reminds me
I am ageing
Growing old means losing all the strength
that esteem now
Oh! sad, fading the glory,
temperament, bloom, and insight
Shall not see the kaleidoscopic atmosphere
Beautiful faces of loving children, relatives, and flowers
Shall not hear melodies
whistling of birds, ecstatic tunes
And shall be abandoned by everybody
And the isolation will creep into me
wrinkle skin castoffs the fragrances
Sometimes, my fingers tremble
When I am going to hold something
That is, gesturing, my nerves are getting weaker
and many more disorders queuing behind my shadow
my normal practices and desires
forsake without my approval
shadows of sad feelings pursue my footprints
I feel I shall run fast to the cavern of decayed
The day our first Grandchild was born in my family
A new star appeared in the sky in succession
For the first time, I consent now, I am an old man!
At this moment,
I looked around my son’s blossoming face
I see a rising sun, but in my mind,
A weary sun is sinking!
Jayaratne Weerakkody
Homeless
Jingle bells, jingle bells
Jingle all the way
Oh what fun to decorate
The Christmas tree today
Hanging coloured baubles
Plugging in the lights
Hoping that the fuse box
Doesn't plunge us into night
Dashing to the shops
As mum forgot the sprouts;
Shelves adorned with remnants
Like discarded layabouts
Tempted by the offers
On the things I do not need
Camping chairs with reindeer,
Festive kneeling pads to weed*
Queuing with my one thing
Next to trolleys piled with stuff
Wondering .. where is Christmas?
Amidst this preparation fluff
A man without a shelter
Greets me at the gates and then
I sit a while and ask him
How to find my way again..
Is Christmas an illusion?
Can I truly play my part?
To my chest he points and tells me:
"Find it here within your heart..
"Don't be fooled by all this nonsense
All that matters is what's true..
What would Jesus do at Christmas
If here, sitting next to you?"
His eyes are locked intently
Then he smiles and looks away
His words still linger somewhere
While I wonder what to say..
A penny dropping slowly
Is the sound that you might hear
As I stand and reach my hand out
While I choke away a tear.
No one needs a medal
Or an elevated place
Just to offer human kindness
Or a Christmas dinner place
May the Christmas Spirit find you
Through the tinsel and the noise
May you learn a Peace transcendent
With the Joy to beat all joys.
Jinjagoliath
6th December 2022
Merry Christmas!
* the verb, not the substance
Why does the sheep follow the wolf to hell
in this bat soup they all want a taste of communism
let's stick the needle into your arms and take control
When the train pulls up the track people are queuing for hours
they chant songs of freedom thinking they are safe
there is no cure for such blind arrogance
dangling the strings many carrots become attached
It's like fishing with an invisible bait called the cure
this virus is just the beginning shape shifting into darkness
lucky for some there is light at the end of this tunnel
Because when certain laws are passed in times of chaos
within those that are in breach of democracy
the fool will be caught in the wool like a tick
a creature of habit always craves innocent blood
Grandpa the Master Magician
Grandpa was old and creaked
like a well-worn floorboard
but he always carried a smile with him
which generally won the day or the situation.
He had just spent time with his two grandchildren
which had added fun to his morning’s recipe.
They saw Grandpa as this master magician
capable of producing an egg from either nostril
..…. boiled or not.
An eggcellent start to any day!!
Later, on an icicle of an afternoon
and confronted by a presumptuous wind
which blew him around street corners;
he found himself happily chasing his youth.
Newspaper and chocolate treat acquired
he set off for the finishing line of home.
He noted that the traffic lights were changing to red!
So, although not at the proper crossing, his GPS
i.e. Grandpa’s Priority Selector
was saying…GO! GO! GO!
However so was a fast-approaching Fiat 500!
Grandpa felt validated by time and experience so..
he sailed forth but time and his knees didn’t agree.
His legs instead of speeding up, started slowing down
which was the exact opposite of the flying Fiat,
driven ruthlessly by a manic-panicked driver
who exaggerated a swerve around Grandpa
with arms orchestrating her extremely annoyed thoughts.
Grandpa tottered on oblivious to the orchestrations.
He felt composed being lean, leathery and learned
as opposed to the driver’s ill-fed, ill-bred, ill-mannered approach.
However Grandpa, the master magician, wasn’t to be thwarted
so as his feet touched pavement, his hand touched cap,
then his winning smile and a flicked wave of politeness.
The driver just continued with her orchestration of
Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony in C Minor
while mouthing, “Is your brain on holiday!”
However life was to offer Granpa a final judgement
for as the traffic lights winked from red to green
our driver was still in a boil of botheration until…
a honk of reprimand from behind grabbed her attention.
Frustrated she tried to floor the accelerator pedal
but only succeeded in stalling the engine.
The horn hoots and toots began queuing up
until the Fiat 500 burnt rubber and swivel-hipped away.
Grandpa’s face showed not a flicker of amusement
but he allowed his bones to enjoy the moment -
particularly the funny one!
Then the wind giggled up, clapped him on the back
and then kindly blew him gently home!
You said its realistic: that portrayal of love captured in a tiny window frame of romance – shrinking small in juxtaposition to the expanding love. Stood on the precipice of acceptance I look in while I can. Firm on your door mat where I bow my head and know im welcome. Circumstance. It wont let me enter. Here im left to stand, wipe my feet and cool my heels. On the edge of something queuing quiet for a quart of promised nothing, waiting for that ritual washing of hands.
I said its real but sad. Paying for a moments happiness with a currency i feel I cant afford – a sorrow stretching over all of yesterdays tomorrows. The kind to leave me broke beyond belief but I still acquiesce thinking that in times ahead to keep me going I can think how much such an actual mess made me rich beyond my wildest dreams; albeit for a moment only – a muddy footprint at one of many turnpikes on lifes lonely journey.
She said at least you have me for a little while for the alternative was not at all. That if its any consolation you would cry when it was time to say goodbye. But truth be told it felt like time was standing still and I had silly boy like machinations of keeping it like this. Holding hands and arms and never letting go. Drowning out the well known sound of time passing through my finger tips unlike that everlasting lingering taste of her upon my sullen lips.