Long Shoos Poems
Long Shoos Poems. Below are the most popular long Shoos by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shoos poems by poem length and keyword.
School time is over
Nothing to cheer
No one at home
Till eve, left alone
Grounds full of houses
None to play around
Virtual world seems so real
Reality is like a Dream
Laptop sits on my Pa's lap
Mama shoos me around
Class work is a chore
Homework is a bore
I can't do what I like
I don't like what I do
I can't even sleep
How can I Dream?
Mornings’ can't even cry
Mouth thrust with paste
Milk does not taste
I am back to my drill
The slum boys out look better
They play in open pools
Like me, they look no fools
They don't even go to schools
Children’s Day is around.
This Poem is written to depict the Angst of a Child
in a Middle-Class family of Modern India
In Marked Territory 10-28-24 - Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In Marked Territory
Midnight tightly clasps the darkness,
Like a wounded heart,
In between topaz edges of twilight
And pastels of first light.
Jealous of its cosmos
Shoos away the master of the day
Turning the face of the daystar
To other skies
To claim small hours.
Guardian of vanishing infinities
Speaks
Indigo borders
For moonlight
Moonbows
And wishes on the first brave star
Where waves of the galaxy
Break
Over unseen edges of stellar sands.
Lit only by celestial lanterns
Enchanter
Conjures sovereign spells
Declaring jurisdiction over platinum roses
And
Lover’s sighs
That wax then wane under polar stars.
Night rules this welkin magic,
A sorcerer hiding a book of spells,
This realm under the starry arch
The moonrise
The nebulae decorating the firmament,
Where gravity hems in epiphanies.
There's a quaint little cross roads town that nestles in the shadow,
Of majestic Pikes Peak called Punkin Center in eastern Colorado.
The prime business in town is the Punkin Center Tack and Feed Store,
Where farmers and ranchers congregate to shoot the bull and more!
There you'll find fellers in bib overalls and John Deere tractor caps,
Cowboy hats, scruffy boots, faded jeans and greasy leather chaps.
Some spit streams of terbaccy juice - others enjoy roll-yer-own smokes,
And the air is rant with guffaws as they ply each other with bawdy jokes!
There are Ford 150, Dodge Ram and Chevy Silverado pickups galore,
Waitin' for their owners to load up on this and that from the store.
But they ain't in no hurry - besides it looks like a norther is on the way.
The Punkin Center Tack and Feed Store is a great place to idle time away!
Clyde Purpleears, the owner, stocks plentiful supplies for those in need:
Fertilizer, saddles, bales of hay, manure forks, hog and chicken feed,
Baler twine, hip boots for muckin' out the barn as well as various seeds,
Milk buckets, lariat rope, gloves, shotgun shells and stuff for killin' weeds!
Clyde displays the latest in coyote traps, steel posts and barbed wires,
Nose rings for randy bulls, post hole diggers and John Deere tractor tires!
As the shadow of Pikes Peak creeps over Punkin Center 'bout half past four,
Clyde shoos the loafers out of the Tack and Feed store and closes the door!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
swallow my response wander on past wooden boxes where elevation to the position of God are kept a can opener frustratingly not fitting over the head of a can in a conversation with a bee You haven’t left me any! cries the bee girlie buzzy voice Any? Any of what? I say with eagerness Not even a tiny amount or even one! Opposing ideas? No Um No! Wait I’m thinking No! I give up annoyed I can’t answer any of your questions Oh No I’m totally glad I didn’t give you any The any might get you on the wrong bus or train if you don’t leave me any! Okay right I better here’s what I’ll do um leave you an unspecified of any Good No Great! Satisfied her voice is flies away backwards the only way she knows how
I’m blocking irate normal football-loving normal-looking person can easily arouse sexual desire from using the vending machine 6-foot Mr Punctuation Mark expert at putting to use showing the leaving out of a letter or letters & I discuss whether or not we should spend a few hours imitating for loose change only a chimp or a gorilla we wouldn’t have to bother save many seconds making a tail chimps gorillas don’t possess one Awkward smart ugly things! irate normal person says loud echoes attention on us GET OUTTA THE WAY NOW!!! he just wants to take us apart not at all put rebuild us back together I’m about to stand my ground a rare display guy spins around storms off a win for the weird! rare moment leave feeling good this time not dead meat hanging for rats
I go into on the right an Advance Purchase Excursion shop people eject in private booth hear them squeezing hard must make it clear brought down transport fair booked a specified stretch of time beforehand from the hole end of the alimentary canal go right up to the female clerk disinterested normal-looking share nicely I have a disorder of the central nervous system affects my capacity to use comprehend guilt of apostasy I’m destined for this & this only purpose! She just looks through me shoos me away I shoo away
on a long seat near railing suit-wearing handsome stockbroker celery stick out of a tub patting the heads of the not suit-wearing ugly interns they lick his shoes clean the yogurt before he gets whiff of outcast he charges them one hundred dollars an hour
"the gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, kisses the blushing leaf."
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Spring arrives upon gentle Zephyr air.
softly kisses new leaves,
Whispers greetings for birds to share,
shoos snowy thieves.
Scent of new flowers hides in Zephyr's hair,
as new seedlings she checks
She calls sunshine for weather fair,
melt winter's flecks.
Birds fly from winter nests in Zephyr skies
set to build a new nest.
First, a partner catching their eyes,
spring does the rest.
A lovely world forms of greens, subtle golds,
and sweet bird songs surround.
Springtime's magic Zephyr unfolds
joy all around.
December 22, 2022
for Writing Challenge Zip, Zig, Zag, Zing Poetry Contest
by Constance La France
howmanysyllables=10, 6, 8, 4
The day was long and greedily waited,
in near unspoken secret - like a thing
delightfully and enchantingly wicked.
We are reunited - simpatico - my love, lover and I.
We ravish each other and lavish each other
with flattery, endearments and entire pleasure.
We live sweet centuries in those tight hours.
Happiness changes the tenor of things.
Rains of feeling combine in torrents,
like the tinkling notes of a harp make symphony.
Our minutest nerves are instruments of joy.
Mornings start with exquisite excitement and
the dense reel and stagger of intoxication -
because we’re drunk with the fullness of life.
Leaves on trees called chestnut, linden and hazel, stir
gently in the breeze - those faint shoos and rustles, times
nature’s fractal design - blare, in effect, like terrific trumpets.
At night, as we walk together under cooling summer skies,
the stars in the far-flung firmaments, seem to huddle together
and whisper, like sisters, of life and the mysteries of earthy love.
We are the dust of those constellations - are we but spies?
.
.
Songs for this:
Thank You My Angel by Over the Rhine
Perfect Day by Povo
Goodbye Sunday by Everything But the Girl
.
.
*Med-school orientations start tomorrow
I am on the phone with Mrs. Kravitz.
You remember her.
Samantha's snoopy neighbor on the TV Show Bewitched.
Oh, you weren't alive in the sixties?
Follow along.
Here is her dialogue.
What is going on?
No telling what this is about.
It is a door to door solicitor, she tells me.
I take care of the neighbors.
He had better not be going over there!
Her elderly neighbor pays her in Valium if she shoos the salesmen away.
I hear her door open.
Slow down Mass Whole!
I’m calling the cops on that one, she tells me.
This is two seconds after telling me she had threatened yet another doctor.
I’ll have his license! She told me. I reported him to the medical board.
It is a wonder she has not been hunted down yet.
Near the fountain stands the male
In iridescent glory,
But his mate begins this tale,
A true Manhattan story.
These same ducks have made their home
Outside a high-rise building.
I see them swim or sleep or roam;
The truth requires no gilding.
This morning, early, as he waits,
The female, with intention
Of what she now anticipates,
Insists on prompt attention.
She marches right up to the door,
By which a doorman’s standing
And opens up her beak to score
The meal she is demanding.
In full regalia, he complies
And grabs a baggie waiting,
Then shoos some pigeons to the skies,
Their hope for food deflating.
He sprinkles breakfast for the pair,
Who gustily start eating
And I walk on so I can share
This urban morning meeting.