Long Refrigeration Poems
Long Refrigeration Poems. Below are the most popular long Refrigeration by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Refrigeration poems by poem length and keyword.
Always available to chew,
Need a perspective or two.
Allows you to see,
How saving gum is as easy as one, two, three!
No life preservers.
No CPR.
No refrigeration for contemplation.
No social media reference.
There are some well-known facts,
Why saving gum is mandatory.
Let me tell you the story.
To reuse when we get the blues.
Expand our money for other things that are funny.
Preserve the environment over use of the sapodilla tree,
Bet you thought gum just appeared.
Avoid creating waste,
No shoes with gooey paste.
Gives time to pause a thought,
Prevents words from bubbling out.
Sometimes what you say makes people shout!
Save your gum!
Stick on top of your shoe.
Wrap in old gum paper,
Either way will do.
Set for a time,
Under tables divine.
Stuck on a door,
To be seen once more.
Hardening from exposure to air,
Makes a repeat chew more extensive to do.
The flavors not great.
But wait!
You've saved your gum,
For another late date!
This year 2021 seems so very hard
with covid and all its limited implications
but it's worth comparing centuries before
five hundred years before was no celebration
In comparing all these 500 years ago
when it was a world so different from today
this was what Europe then was like
even U.S. hadn't been brought into play
During the 1500s there were no basics
no sewer system, central heating, water supply
refrigeration, antibiotics, penicillin or surgery
in our day not having these we would die
As well as no water heater or water
also, ballpoint pen, typewriter, pc was none
it beggars belief what life was like
life was harsh certainly not much fun
People in that day would've been so poor
struggling would have been a daily chore
so be thankful we're not still back then
despite covid we're still able to roar!
A place with real healthy green grass, trees, and flowers
variety of wild life free range; all things appreciated
A place with clean air, water, soil and organic foods
eco-system that thrives with smidgen human interferences
A place where food grows abundantly; hording unnecessary
healthy selections every destination; no refrigeration needed
A place where trees are loved, enjoyed, sang to with hugs
fields of flowers with vibrant colors, insects do enjoy
A place where its natural to walk barefoot for connection
sounds of life never gets annoying to the flesh or the soul
A place when the sunrise there's no need to move with hast
feelings of connection to everything enjoying the sunlight
A place when the sunset there's no need to run in fear
knowing of connection to everything enjoying the twilight
A place where dancing and singing is a way of everyday life
moving to beat of a drum and flow with the sound of a flute
A place where acoustics natural sounds can ignite the mood
vibration of the sound waves help stimulate moves with grace
A place where all ideas of creation accepted for what it is
respecting and welcoming other's inner creative genius
A place where eagerness to collaborate to create new things
expressing gratitude for another's fluidity of creativeness
A place where joy never gets overrated, boring, or burnt out
laughter, smiles, happiness, creation and love connects all together
This is a place I would call home
a brief description to set a tone
if this place exist take me there
no hesitation to come back here..
Trouble was caused by love of sausage,
Summer sausage by strict definition,
Which is any sausage loved by masses
That can be kept without refrigeration.
Until a day when a man arrives
Walking into a home, his destination,
The sausage was waiting, calling
His name, how could he avoid the temptation?
He lost his vision of all other tasks
In a quest for this pork perfection.
Who is to say it wasn’t true love?
Who can resist the salty pig parts?
The slender casing surrounding the
Tube of leftover scraps, like hearts.
The exact ingredients are makers secrets,
No recipes, or measuring, or charts.
The love in the hands of the artist
Who takes the whole pig, and some parts.
Often mixed with beef or venison
In secret combinations, takes smarts.
The magic of putting it all together,
Mixing and cooking and chopping,
Is wasted on a young man’s greed,
Who never even did the shopping.
Lost in the quest for food and drink
Shoving food in, there’s no stopping.
Heartless abandon to those around
Staying for free, just flopping.
Sausage created a wall for him
Between starving and groc shopping.
Did he even taste the subtle tang
Of a creation with just the right fat?
Does he even know the time it took
To get the ingredients where they’re at?
Did he miss the testament to the hog,
The life of the pig for just that?
Does he even have a clue that all meat,
Fat, salt and herbs, must be so exact?
He couldn’t have wolfed down a log
Of chorizo, for it would be too hot.
He couldn’t have handled the extra
Garlic in one, he’d faint right on the spot.
The mustard seed, black pepper
And salt gave it just the right shot,
Of spices, then add in a grace
Of sugar, to make it the best he got.
Dried or smoked, he grunted right through
Gone in a whisper, it was not.
How frantic
they got when
a citizen
decided to drop out!
They saw
the whole enterprise
weaken. They thought
all they worked for would
disappear in a moment,
the glue would
come loose, the nails would
pop out. It was scary,
much better to think
that the elements
in the chain were
simply securely fixed,
the atoms remained in crystal,
the ice intact.
Once lost, the citizen was nearly
impossible to restore.
They liked predictability.
That made them most happy.
And predictability
came from education.
They made the world real
by inserting it
into the brains of the young.
Those living in the real world,
our real world, they would say,
they knew
would stay.
They liked refrigeration
that drew the energy
out of the young.
They squandered their money
on the fuel to refrigerate,
keep the crystals
clean and sharp.
Stasis was the easiest
form of familiarity.
It sits out in your driveway
a glittering metallic sculpture.
It costs more than your house,
you love it more than your spouse.
You can hardly drive it, it’s too high,
you can barely park it, it’s so wide.
Like an exotic compulsion, you need it,
though you can barely afford to feed it.
There’s a cockpit with winking tech,
offering a printer, wi-fi and refrigeration.
It can pull a house off its foundation.
Is there a tendentious ecological statement,
in this prestigious resource you need for work
is the fact that it’s tax deductible just a perk?
With this polished and pampered machine,
you get the rewards of effective parenting,
as it literally reflects the care that it’s given.
It’s a spaceship ready for expedition,
what else in creation is as elysian,
as your gigantic pickup truck.
.
.
songs for this:
Dreamin’ by G. Love and Special Sauce
Driving by Everything but the Girl
Little Deuce Coupe by Andrew Gold
The snow comes on the rumblings of mistakes
As alien nature not named but numbing all the same
Comes crashing, colliding by accident in atmospheres
In fear, chrystals of silence remind us of the loudness
How unkind ice can be accompanied by snow
Once released to tumble down to mimic giants falling
Blinded by colors not of their making
Time stops but not before the storm unfolds
Takes its toll on the unexpected visitors
Drifting by they pound the ground in homage to refrigeration
Rocks stand their ground for a second and by chance
Turn into sand if aging is permitted in their presence
Snow can be dangerous even at a distance if not respected
Ten foot trees below the timberline are frozen solid
In solace they take their weight for granite in repose
Granted, their seismic temblors can cause earthquakes
When landing on the heart is no mistake
Branches pray in their bankruptcy to winter mysteries
At what cost if they should lose their souls to snow
If this were any other planet other than Earth
Each snowflake would be lost to the significance
Of being worth its weight in gold
The King dreamed of a contraption, a device
that would light up his night, so nice
No wax melting, no moths smelting
Not all that long ago...
He dreamed of food and drink always cold
in a box, a contraption, a device
No spoiling, no milk boiling, so nice
Not all that long ago...
O, and how he dreamed of a box, a device
to keep him cool on the hottest summer's night
No sweating, no tossing, no turning, so nice
Not all that long ago...
You and I are now more privileged
than the wealthiest of those Kings
Our homes, so nice, graced by lightbulbs, refrigeration, a/c
Are we duly grateful -- fellow King -- for all these things
Is Your Refrigerator Running
Late at night while sleeping or in a trance
Contemplating philosophic thoughts about the universe
Children called on the phone and postulated
An age old question about refrigeration
They shouted loud into the receiver
“Is your refrigerator running sir?!”
(I added the word “sir” since they did not… they must have forgot)
I checked my refrigerator quickly and checked its pulse
Looked inside to discover cold, outside was running hot
Somewhere about its lower region it seemed too hot
The children were so wise, so smart, so intelligent
They astutely suggested that I go and catch it
My refrigerator was running wild with fever
I did not want to get or catch what it might have
What if it’s contagious?
Tomorrow I throw my refrigerator away
And buy a lunch box to replace it
One with Batman or Superman on the lid
Refrigerators have become too complicated
I just need a simple box to keep stuff in
I must remember to thank the kids for what they did
Written: June 04, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand
*****************
Crude oil squats between my ribs
as a codependent nebula
asking if we can “talk around our relationship.”
It purrs, leaks, and files an HR complaint
with the Department of Internal Oceans
for “hostile hydration practices.”
It vibrates in my chest
like a supertanker with performance anxiety
and no access to therapy.
The apple in my hand declares a recession mid-bite,
Its seeds unionize,
the core files for bankruptcy,
and the stem starts a podcast about “resilience.”
I chew once,
And suddenly I’m liable
for three galaxies' worth of debt
and one very crestfallen auditor threat.
While the fridge appears geopolitical,
The milk launches a coup, cynical.
The yogurt is sanctioned for “fermenting unrest.”
and the butter — Napoleon of refrigeration —
amasses troops behind the pickles.
While margarine runs for office — for nickels,
on a platform of “No More Warmth.”
When I walk, the floorboards groan
under global markets
and interest rates that adjust themselves —
Whenever I breathe.
They creak like ancient gods
who regret outsourcing creation
to primates with credit cards.
My shadow unionizes,
demands cosmic hazard pay
and a dental plan,
then takes unauthorized smoke breaks
in a separate galaxy.
Every heartbeat slaps like a tanker hull
wondering why anyone trusted apes
with fire, feelings,
or anything that comes in a bottle.
And still — the Strait wears my skin,
the world wears my worry like a borrowed coat —
And I wear the whole mess
two sizes too small,
like a thrift-store spacesuit
missing its helmet.
So I laugh.
Because if I don’t,
the milk wins —
and the apple
will schedule another meeting —
That should’ve been an email.