Long Shopping list Poems
Long Shopping list Poems. Below are the most popular long Shopping list by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shopping list poems by poem length and keyword.
His adoring wife told her hubby that she was with child!
He was so overjoyed that he walked on air, to put it mild!
He started making immediate plans for a handsome little boy,
That he could hunt and fish with and bring him untold joy!
A football, baseball and golf balls were on his shopping list,
A closet full of sports stuff, things he just could not resist!
He bought a box of cigars, the labels reading "ITS A BOY!"
He painted the nursery a sickly blue, much to his wife's annoy!
They settled back to await the big event and he began to muse,
Upon the young lad's future and the career he might choose.
"Why, he'll be President of these United States, I have no doubt,
Or perhaps a senator in Congress where he'll carry lots of clout!"
"Maybe a four star general in the Air Force wearing a suit of blue,
Or a famous research scientist finding a cure for the flu!
Hollywood, I'm sure, will call wanting to make him a star!
Perhaps a renowned attorney defending hapless souls before the bar!"
Momma delivered a charming little bundle and what do you think!
She presented Papa with the cutest little girl all wrapped up in pink!
He tenderly cuddled and kissed her as he proudly proclaimed,
"President of these United States she'll be, the first to be so named!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
His adoring wife told her hubby that she was with child!
He was so overjoyed he walked on air to put it mild!
He started making immediate plans for a handsome little boy,
That he could hunt and fish with and bring him untold joy!
A football, baseball and soccer ball were on his shopping list.
A closet full of sports stuff - things he just could not resist!
He bought a box of cigars, the labels reading, "It's A Boy!"
He painted the nursery a sickly blue much to his wife's annoy!
They settled back to await the big event and he began to muse,
Upon the young lad's future and the career he might choose.
"Why, he'll be President of these United States I have no doubt,
Or perhaps a senator in the Congress where he'll carry lots of clout!"
"Maybe a four-star general in the Air Force wearing a suit of blue,
Or a famous research scientest finding a cure for the flu!
Hollywood, I'm sure, will call wanting to make him a star;
Perhaps a renowned attorney defending hapless souls before the bar!"
Momma delivered a charming little bundle and what do you think?
She presented Papa with the cutest little girl all wrapped up in pink!
He tenderly cuddled and kissed her as he proudly proclaimed,
"President of these United States she'll be, the first to be so named!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The Poems I Write
by Bob Moore © 2016
These poems come from my life, and are not about my wife
though she will not believe a word I say,
I try to tell her so, but she doesn’t want to know
it’s because we are together every day
Your life and mine, so basically entwine
it’s hard to write things that do not include you
you’re there in the morning, just as the day is dawning
with a list of things, that you want me to do
first it is the weather, “it will be hot today”
so we’d better get the washing on the line
then maybe we should go, to the shops you know
you have your shopping list, and I have mine”
I get up and empty out the dishwasher,
then I hang the washing on the line
make some toast, a cup of tea, one for her, and one for me
the sun is hot, it’s almost half past nine
I eat my breakfast, drink my tea, check my shopping list to see,
that everything I need is written down
it won’t be very much, some biscuits cake and such
the boring shopping is not up to me.
We go home and unpack all the shopping
that’s a chore that I don’t have to do
she decides where things go, I don’t really need to know
she’ll tell me if I ask, and just say “please”
So you see these poems, are all about my life
if you check back, I hardly mentioned my sweet wife
she is always there, and I would not trade
the one inside, her who must be, obeyed
What makes a story a poem
A paragraph a verse
I trust I'll find the answer
Before I'm in my hearse
But if you are the man, Sir
Who can provide the answer
Tell me when it happened
That a verse became a stanza
But if you are a poet
Then you will surely know it
For all your lines will rhyme
Except for when they don't
Now I've just confused myself
By using that word 'don't'
Cos I can't find a single word
That rhymes, so I wont
You see, I'm quite prepared to gamble
That when one takes a lonesome amble
And you're a poet it's allowed
To be described as 'as a cloud'
It's like I'm mounted 'pon a horse
And wouldn't you just know it
My steed has trod a wayward course
That's fodder for a poet
But of late the world of art
Has been blown open wide
It seems that art can be a cow
... In formaldehyde
But poems are a different art
And surely even me
Can speak a little jauntily
And call it poetry
So here I sit with pen in hand
The pen is metaphorical
I'm gonna type my poem now
And it shall be historical
A classic of the genre
My ode shall be Imperical
But seasoned poets may proclaim
My efforts are hysterical
By lamplight lit, my ode was writ
Yet no man cared a lot for it
Pen raised, indignantly I hissed
Then I shall write...
My shopping list!
5 November 2018
Baptized April 26,1564
Deceased April 23,1616
In Stratford-upon-Avon,
Warwickshire, England.
At only 52 years of age!
Plays and poems for all
ages.
Sonnets of great beauty.
Plays,unafraid to ask the
deepest questions of life.
Today, sold down the river
for Japanese poetry?
~~~~
I forgot to honor him this month.
I loved his ability to be fearless.
Now? We are no longer fearless in our poetry.
We sell out to the lowest common denominator.
We are jokesters Maximus. We pen with fear.
Oh, Lord, that we might tell the truth?
We romp as seven year olds thinking life is about
flowers and imagery?
We sell out our integrity here to be popular.
But we refuse to pen about this time or politics.
((Unless to attack our leaders.))
We can't quill in iambic pentameter.In that form
any poet will find true beauty.
Words on paper are not poetry to me. In that case
a shopping list is poetry?
I do not for a second,fool myself that my poetry is
the well-written poetry I aspire to. Save it? Why?
I know it is not up to par. I am but a child at this.
Hardly, near the brilliance of Shakespeare.
You may or may not favor the Bard. I suggest you
compare any poem you wrote to his.
One liners are one liners, Not poetry to me
Anyway, I got to be in his play, Julius Caesar.
I cry when I see Romeo and Juliet, each time!
Happy Birthday!
Thank you for the artistry you gave us. And the
strength to question, the meaning of life and love,
without fear from our peers!
Panagiota Romios
4/30/2021
~ 4~
I shaved my legs this morning. “Alexa, put dinosaur Band-Aids on my shopping list.”
Once you get in the college routine, time speeds up
One minute you’re young and carefree
the next you’re young and free-time free.
MIT guys
A group of MIT students were visiting Yale for some event. Sophie, Anna and I were in the residential dining hall. I’d finished eating and I was trying to read, when this group of MIT guys swauntered in.
My impression of MIT guys is that they’re short and they flirt a lot. They’re all over the place, like they’re manic or on holiday and they think they’re going to pick up girls.
One guy said, “I’m new to the area, could you help me with directions to your house?”
Another cane up with, “I’ve just become religious, ‘cause you’re the answer to my prayers.”
“What are you up to tonight?” This short stranger asks, leaning rudely on our table and acting like he’s lookin’ to get inside-the-ride.
“I’ve gotta read two chapters before tomorrow,” I said, somewhat annoyed with these dinkheads. They finally decided (realized) we’re boring and moved on to other female diners.
standing in line
Americans seem to love lines. I hate standing in lines.
People don’t line up for things in Paris. There aren’t “bus lines.” The person who guessed right and is closest to where the bus door stops and opens, or the quickest person or the most ruthless person will be first on the bus.
There aren’t any lines at cinemas or the boulangerie (bakery) or even at the Apple store - Apple tried to impose American style order - but #forgetaboutit.
.
.
slang..
swaunter = saunter with swagger
inside the ride = get an invitation to something.. personal.
dinkhead = immature morons
Through the years they worked their spells
From drawers and cupboards, taking things
That through them, thus, were given wings
And changed to sweetness meant for kings
With warm and wafting scrumptious smells
My Nana's hands ...
Countless times we'd strolled to town
To shop for what she'd need that eve
(First taking stock before we'd leave)
A shopping list tucked up her sleeve
My wee lad's fingers, safe and sound
In Nana's hands ...
The way back home was twice as long
Our arms filled plump with paper sacks
The makings and some special snacks
Oh, how the groceries bent our backs
Yet even then, I held on tight ...
To Nana's hands ...
Still it was always worth the chores
To watch her mix and bake and cook
While dancing to-and-from her nook
And glancing, sometimes, in a book
Oh, how I marveled and adored ...
My Nana's hands ...
But sometimes they were hard to hold
Curled with arthritis, wracked with pain
She oft' times had to stretch and strain
Though NEVER did she ONCE complain
Through rheumatism's stranglehold ...
On Nana's hands ...
See ...
Those bent old hands in disrepair
Worked twice as hard so we could eat
Thus each night's meal and every treat
Was that much more divine and sweet
All from the love and tender care ...
Of Nana's hands ...
And still, my fingers long to share ...
My Nana's
Gentle ...
Hands.
- by Gregory R Barden
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Cornucopia Cooking" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
WHY I WRITE POETRY
I can't leave the world in God's hands — that's my job now,
I worship yes — I wander forests of legend with flowers from the Tree of Life in my hair —
but trust, no — people die and that death is His will but it is my refusal,
and I am a poet and I know we need more time to make our own splendid mistakes.
Sea turtles live a thousand years in their slow and green waters,
my words cannot become flesh — they cannot heal an open and living wound —
but we could have colored rings spinning around our minds like Saturn,
we could map constellations across a lover's face as if that face were the entire sky.
Every child could be the Messiah because the world always needs saving,
and yet God — it is such a beautiful world — but no thank you, it is not enough —
no thank you for the sunrise when our eyes have already gone blind from so much dark,
a blank page is the place where I list the creation I was never given at birth.
A shopping list of eternity — where you are never too sick to eat fresh blueberries,
where the dance never stops in the middle of its most beautiful and aching step —
a blank page is a paper bird I fold and send to fly up instead of a prayer,
I can't change anything — but I am a poet and if I can't trust Him I must speak.
You are crucified on the hands of a clock — pull those nails out of your wounded palms,
test each day like a melon at the market — press it for ripeness, for sweetness, for life —
you want more — you want so much more than this beautiful and deaf world offers you —
and I am throwing you a rope of words from the bottom of a blank page — hold on.
Give children oxygen at least one time a day
Give infants bottles filled with empty promises
Use binoculars to witness criminal activity
Keep neighbors at a distance, say from here to Mars
Keep thoughts to yourself, never in your pockets
Keep an open mind in case you need a parking space
Buy food then eat it to survive
Make babies at your leisure
Use a partner to save time
Make a shopping list that includes dozens of oxygens
Make a dictionary that includes the word oxygens
Buy one more bottle at the store for security
Promise to never read the shopping list
Keep it in sight and never let it leave your side
Leave the light on by your nightstand to see it twice
Stay focused on important things that start with the letter X
Mark X on every document
Mark “A” if you run out of Xes
Make Xes a new word invented for your dictionary
Use a large letter A if you discover adulterers
Buy more letters to cover every contingency
Fill the refrigerator with fresh milk
Leave babies and infants outside of it
Keep all children away from hot and cold
Remember they are sensitive to light and life
Breath air in and out for system balance
Take a supply of oxygen in case you want to leave
Never leave unless you intend to travel
Close the door to keep mosquitoes out
Take time to figure what it is all about
Authors note: I checked the dictionary. The plural of X is Xes. You don't have to invest in or invent a new dictionary. Also: The singular and plural for oxygen is oxygen. However, in more specific contexts, the plural form can also be oxygens e.g. in reference to various types of oxygens or a collection of oxygens. (It is best if you leave it alone unless you intend on using it.) Also: I discovered you can use “A” for apple or Adultery (but don't take my word for it and don't make any commitments unless you are sure.)
For Terry Flood,* since you insist,
Here, in rhyme’s my shopping list:
Orange juice and Starbuck’s (iced,
Even though it’s overpriced),
Bagels, Swiss and muenster cheese,
Whitefish salad, frozen peas,
Broccoli and salad greens,
Carrots, berries, nectarines,
Melons, muffins, chocolate treats,
Licorice or gummy sweets,
Ice cream, cookies, corn chips, bread,
Hummus, pesto, peppers (red),
Eggs and butter, IPA’s,
Pasta meant for many days,
Chicken, mushrooms, sometimes meat –
Think that makes my list complete.
(For omissions, I’m to blame
Since rhyme, not shopping, was my aim!)
*a fellow poet on Poetry Soup