Long Snacks Poems
Long Snacks Poems. Below are the most popular long Snacks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Snacks poems by poem length and keyword.
Spare dimes and nickels were rather scarce when I was a lad,
But when I received a nickel now and then from my dear old Dad,
I'd hie to the store to buy a box of those ambrosial snacks,
Known to kids in all the land as scrumptious Cracker Jacks!
I can think of no other tasty morsel created for the masses,
Than that toothsome blend of popcorn, peanuts and molasses!
On the box was a picture of Sailor Jack in his sailor suit,
Along with his faithful mutt, Bingo, colorful and so cute!
Ah, but those magic words on the box are what caught my eyes:
"GUESS WHAT'S INSIDE!" - there was always a 'valuable' prize!
With trembling hand I'd reach in the box with great expectation,
And finding some trivial trinket, I'd give a cry of jubilation!
You might find a baseball card, jacks and among other things,
A tiny truck, ship, automobile and even 'diamond' rings!
A toy soldier, whistle, a fire engine, a small animal or plane,
A card with one of Jack's Funny Facts or a miniature train!
"What'd ya git?" kids asked, then swapping would commence.
In our youthful greed, these dealings grew quite intense!
In the autumn of my life, I peer back through the mists of time,
Recalling simple Cracker Jacks and times that were more sublime!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
At the playground,
I saw my friend walk off with their parents.
I have one of those!
But they had two...
I felt a fuzzy spot in my heart, but not in a good way.
My parent says every family is different... And that each one is enough.
I get it, I think.
I felt low for a moment.
Suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder.
They were big and strong and warm like a summer day.
It was MY superhero,
My parent!
My hero can carry the bags, snacks, scooters, clothes and toys of 3 people, not two!
Sometimes, they even get sweaty doing that.
I'd laugh at them as they walk to the car.
To other people, it looks funny...
But to me they are a super star.
My parent is a " single" person.
What even does that mean?
It doesn't even matter right now.
They're more than enough for me.
They bravest hero I ever did meet.
NO MORE TOMORROWS
WHAT!!!
If this endless day
was actually …..endless…
this eternal moment…
eternal.
No goodnights
no bed time stories
no midnight snacks.
Oh Lord,
we thank you for tomorrow
for its hope
its doubts
its promise
The future’s start
and finish line.
Tomorrow
“now’s” list
of things to do “then”
places to go
dreams to pursue.
Tomorrow
the next episode of
“The Game of Groans”
the next chapter in
The Mystery of Life.
Tomorrow
forever’s get out of jail free card.
©8/20/2019
What if there was no tomorrow – Poetry Contest
Silent One sponsor
The sinking sun is now undone,
the sky is fading red
and shadows prowl neath cloak and cowl
for midnight lies ahead.
Beyond the heap, the honchos sleep
with bloated bellies fed;
for, yes indeed, no one's in need,
at least, that's what they've said.
Amongst the ones that hunger shuns,
in day's retreating tread,
are spiders black ensnaring snacks
while spinning silken thread.
But as it stands, in conquered lands
a famine reigns instead
where kids at noon, collapse and swoon
on stones they call a bed.
With aching eyes they fantasize
and dream of gingerbread,
and after while, they wake and smile,
now dining with the dead.
We had better sneak the dragons whispered to each other.
You should not even be breaking in! Warned their worried mother.
Their father stayed out of it, he loved libraries and books too.
They tiptoed in the window and down the shelves they flew.
What shall we read first? Asked the little one. He was filled with glee.
I think the trick is to open the interesting ones said his cousin Lee.
Dreaming of reading since I was a baby, I was glad here just to be.
We began reading and could not stop that morning until way after three.
We were apparently caught on camera, and the librarian was glad.
She left the window open every night; she was an admirer, we had.
She left us cupcake snacks and little notes also, she was totally kind.
We read all the books in the library, glad we had a dragon’s mind.
A little one, bright and true,
A topper in studies, talents too.
On stage a star, in play a spark,
Running and jumping from dawn till dark.
Her dream was tall, her steps so fleet,
Grandfather said, “An athlete to beat!”
Like P. T. Usha she longed to be,
Strong as the wind, forever free.
Friendly in heart, with hands open wide,
Inviting her friends to laugh by her side.
Snacks and tea, a joyful spree,
Moments of love in simple glee.
The postman’s knock—she’d run with cheer,
Letters for family, she’d hold them near.
She never opened, for well she knew,
Each word was personal, each line was true.
She carried replies with careful pride,
Dropping them neatly in the box outside.
Yet in her heart a wish did stay,
For pen friends she had read of one day.
Then autumn came with surprise so sweet,
A violet grape purple envelope neat.
On Children’s Day, her name it bore,
A gift of love she had longed for.
From a family friend, a teacher kind,
Who carried blessings in heart and mind.
A greeting card, with wishes deep,
And a hundred rupees for her to keep.
A message of hope, of love, of cheer,
For a bright, long, intellectual year.
That violet grape purple envelope rare,
Became her treasure beyond compare.
i’m on Georgia turf, the land
of bless your heart, pretense
of the titillation of heat.
scurries the sun; moon
damp on clothesline.
burrowing bunny ears with
chocolate undergrowth.
seeds just float away —
Spring ants on ready
for full on assault -
red, black, small, sweet
snacks, eyeing the path
up the drain, backpacks
with chemical-scent
prepared to fill the queen’s orders.
moss suspended in animation -
vibrant hues imbued
with mosquito larvae.
oh what joy when Hotlanta dries
and we run smack
into the thugs
that arise from corners of
their nests.
just in time for Easter
bless our Southern hearts
with beasts that beat us
to the melted bunny feast,
branches that grow
overnight — a highway
for the squirrels. eyes
will be on pretty petals
that overblossom —
the poet soaks
in flooded rose
and jonquil reservoir.
flowery words swim
in the concentrated puddle
along with whirligig-ladybugs.
oh what fun, a slippery-slide
into a momentous hatch —
let me explain: a floodgate;
the Assyrian army.
3/5/2020
ISIS is going through a crisis
Things haven't gone quite as planned
With all the youth that they recruit
There's one thing they don't understand
You see the kids are starting to miss their cell phones
Along with their snacks, their TV, and their games
They hate to drop the ball on the cause and all
But without modern technology, well that's just insane
Now ISIS you know is in crisis mode
As they quickly do all their shopping online
For the necessities that these spoiled Jihadi's need
So they can get back into the fight
Used to be money was no object
Now they are quickly going "Broke.com"
With all the cash they now spend they're having to send
To Google, eBay, and Amazon
Not to mention all the power and telephone towers
They've put up to keep the young fighters from leaving
As they sit in their tents texting their friends
While engrossed in their PlayStation 3's
Yes ISIS is now in full crisis
The enemy within, who would have thought
That it would be the modern day teenager
Guess it happens to the best of us all
Grizelda the witch loved
cooking chubby children in
her bubbling, green broccoli
stewpot.
She wore a pointy hat that
constantly leaked bright pink
glitter everywhere she
walked.
Her magic wand was
actually a stale, half- eaten
pepperoni pizza crust from
last Tuesday.
"Mmm, boy- and- girl soup is
my absolute favorite!" she
cackled, dancing a silly jig.
She captured little Timmy
and Barnaby, aiming to turn
them into tasty dinner
snacks.
"Wait!" shouted Timmy, "We
taste exactly like expired
milk and gym socks!"
Grizelda sniffed Barnaby's
shoe and gagged loudly, her
green face turning bright
purple.
"Gosh! You need seasoning!"
she cried, dumping a giant
bottle of ketchup inside.
Barnaby secretly pulled out
a massive feather duster
and tickled the witch's nose.
"ACHOO!" roared Grizelda
blowing her own ugly
hairpiece straight into the
boiling soup.
The bald witch gasped as
the boys threw popping
candy into a giant
cauldron.
BANG! POP! FIZZ!" The green
stew exploded, covering the
kitchen walls in goo.
The magical blast turned the
evil witch into a harmless,
pink fluffy toilet brush.
She hopped around
frantically, squeaking angrily
because she couldn't eat anyone
anymore.
Timmy and Barnaby laughed
so hard that their bellies
hurt, doing silly victory flips.
They grabbed Grizelda's
pizza- crust wand and waved
it wildly around the messy
room.
The spell instantly transformed
the spooky potion into massive
hill of chocolate pudding.
The boys are their way out
of the creepy hut, laughing
at the brush.
Grizelda stated stuck in the
corner, forever sweeping
dust bunnies and crying
softly.
Now she only eats moldy
cheese crumbs and hates
the smell of broccoli soup.
There are Mamas everywhere,
Hanging their head,
Not many snacks in the kitchen.
There are Mamas with sore hands,
From keeping them happy and fed,
As well as all else that comes with the job.
There are Mamas everywhere,
Who think they're alone,
Feeling less while they're building.
Judgement moreso from within,
Suddenly, perceiving growth,
Comes in glimpses only.
There are Mamas everywhere,
Ones just like me,
Who are beyond grateful for the luxuries.
The conveniences that others enjoy daily,
Aren't something we see,
Though we see our children.
There are Mamas everywhere,
Paving the way for the future,
Struggling now and thriving later.
We are learning with our hands,
Confident to calling though unsure,
We deserve what we dream of for our tribes.