Long Shelf Poems
Long Shelf Poems. Below are the most popular long Shelf by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shelf poems by poem length and keyword.
Cheerios got haughty when she saw who had arrived.
Those stupid Fruit Loops will not keep anyone alive.
She whispered to her neighbor but no one whispered back.
That’s when she noticed she is on the end of the cereal track.
Fruit Loops tried to make conversation, but Cheerios is stuck up.
Keeping her coupons so high, they could not come down with a pup.
Fruit Loops thought she was hard of hearing and tried harder now.
Cheerios stuck wax in her ears, she felt no kinship or wow.
Don’t even try it another box of Fruit Loops said to the new box.
She has always been haughty, she thinks she’s a chic fox.
Fruit Loops did not have to worry for long, she was soon gone.
Taken off the shelf by a boy and his daddy and mom.
Ugly Cat
We have an ugly cat or it has us
That spends hours on a shelf along with dishes
Looks like it’s been run over by a bus
Did I mention it’s malicious?
Kitty sits there with the plates in strict resistance
Thinking about how to become more cute
It has no clue but contemplates existence
As we figure out its longitude and “attitude”
Most small creatures are sweet and cuddly
Not the case with this feline with its fatal flaws
It takes pride in being ugly
And with spare time, tearing curtains, climbing walls
We haven’t figured out the sex yet, of our pretty-less pet
Can’t get too near, it bites and claws our backs
It leaves wounds you won’t forget
We’re not sure if it wears a dress or real fur of black
Ugly cat comes from a questionable lineage
We found it howling in an ally with no vitality
It stays with us, probably won’t reach old age
Lacking looks, will send it to an early grave, a feline fatality
10/08/14 Impress me with a poem (a poem, I haven't read yet) Poetry Contest
When men were kings with steeds
women were handmaids to their needs.
repositories for their seed to grow
...I didn't know.
When men worked to make fields right,
women worked both day and night,
with bleeding hands, she'd try to sew
...I didn't know.
Men talked politics to only men
women weren't allowed back then.
If she had a brain, it mustn't show,
...I didn't know.
A woman couldn't own things herself;
like chattel, she sat on the shelf.
Her children were only his to show,
...I didn't know.
This is one thing to take note:
at one time, a woman could not vote;
until Suffragists began their show,
...I didn't know.
She worked and the check went to the man.
He'd give her cash within his own plan.
Altho tired, she helped her children grow,
...I didn't know.
Now women sit as corporate heads,
doctors, lawyers, all well-read.
We're living in the afterglow,
on the shoulders of all those women
...we didn't know.
Pictures carefully laid away in tissue paper
on a shelf in a corner of the mind –
soft impressions on a sandy blanket
under a blue and white umbrella -
children jumping in the cresting surf,
laughing, splashing, ducking waves –
the smell of coconut tanning oil –
gritty sandwiches and warm soda.
Soft, meltaway evenings of fireflies -
the flickering glow of candlelight –
lingering aroma of grilled meat,
roasted potatoes, and corn on the cob –
the comfort of worn flowered cushions
on the glider and wooden rocking chairs –
glasses of wine, convivial conversations
with friends on the wide wrap-around porch.
Time and place have a habit of shifting
as the years slip by without concern,
more often than not without our noticing.
We are pushed forward, by days and years,
toward whatever is beyond our ken,
but when we open those safely preserved
albums of memories we stored away,
for just a moment there is sand in our shoes.
A battle with myself
I am still on the shelf
What do I do to be seen
Is it my none red lips
Is it I have no hips
Why are they always so mean
Sitting here patiently
None seem to notice me
I want to feel like a queen
Stand tall I admonish
You really are a dish
You could be on the big screen
My turn will come I know
To be dressed and on show
In my best dress of dark green
With all the trimmings round
I look good and astound
Topped with red beads I preen
Just hold me gentle please
You must never me squeeze
My holly leaves prick quite keen.
GG 12/11/2013
Contest entry. Contest sponsored by Dr Ram
The Enemy Within
Who wins when the fight is between you and yourself?
How can you tell when it’s over with a trophy on the shelf?
Who gets the medal? Who comes in first?
When all that you’re doing just means that it hurts?
How can you shake hands, call it a draw, and each go their own way
When neither one can leave because both will have to stay?
Go to your corners, come out swinging, each hoping their side wins
All the while they’re knowing to forfeit before it begins.
The Bible says to love your enemies
And I believe that to be true
Even in those crazy times
When your enemy is you.
I wanted to find freedom
To be all by myself
To do the things I’d love to do
Put nothing on the shelf
And then, at last I found her
She was awesome, she was fun
She took me here and overthrew
‘What worries? I had none!’
I did everything my heart craved for
Life was beautiful and cool
But then, I started noticing
Freedom used me like a tool
She became too disrespectful
Spoke to me like I was a child
I didn’t like her anymore
I found her a bit too wild
She left me quite exhausted
And also unfulfilled
I got what I was craving
But my longings were not stilled
I longed for what I needed
So I took another dive
But now with a much better goal
The true purpose of my life.
Wendy Nipas
The Elf on the Shelf is
transgender
White Christmas is now
a “dog whistle”
no longer is Christmas embraced
in the soft fluffy down of the thistle
the greetings are muffled
no eye contact made
for everyone’s frightened
but no-one’s afraid
to challenge a word
a phrase or a sweater
no star on the top of the tree
will be lit
no angels will be invited
to sit
the shepherds are hiding
the wise men have fled
and PETA showed up
when the jackass took ill
the rocking chair squeaks
poor Grandma still knitting
a flask for her whiskey
wond’ring….
who are they sh**ing.
©11/20/2019
Stuck in a Christmas Globe Poetry Contest
Along some Fort Erie beaches in Canada is sea glass
I collect the delicate glass fragments in jars
so in awe of these natural weathered pieces of glass
tumbled, rolled, churned, grinded by the waves
discarded glass created into a lovely product of pollution
It has taken many many years to make these fragments
that lay on the surface of beaches everywhere
perhaps coming from shipwrecks or just reckless tossing
the pieces have become smooth, frosty and rounded
and depending on the source different colors are possible
In jars on a my window shelf they shine in the sun
I have no desire to make jewelry as I want to leave them
exactly as I found them
finding myself
a discovery unto
itself thinking
simplistically
yet knowing
lately not
being
able
to sleep finding
my mind is unto
itself on another
shelf in some
other sort
of library
to be
read
i need not page
through herbal
lore but simply
go from my
front door
taking me
to my
back
yard where bullfrogs
eat unwary fairies
grows a sleepy
herb a plenty
and if any
weren't
so ap
ropos
i'd sip from the lips
both above and
below witness
to this that
her chalice
is my grail
foretold
in tale
that the drink not
be monthly but
everyday i can
consumpt
concept
ually
her
to
me
Form: