Long Soda Poems
Long Soda Poems. Below are the most popular long Soda by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Soda poems by poem length and keyword.
Like a can of pop overflowing,
Pent up emotions in me overtaking,
Old feelings saturating the newest feeling,
Afraid of when the table will start turning.
Like the cola soda covering
A table in which I am patiently waiting,
I am as usual finding my feelings confusing,
This metaphor is staining my well-being.
Like the cold hard thin metal lining,
I am lost again in my own mindscaping,
Chill to the core despite my inner shining,
Thanks to the sacred herb I was smoking.
Like my favourite drinks I'm always drinking,
Always recycling every thought and feeling,
Just so I can avoid telling everything,
Yet still hoping someone sees I need saving.
In London Town he was born and bred,
A ramshackle abode down Popham St.
In Queens' Cottages hunger was he fed,
In London Town he was left for dead.
The landings above the square surveyed
Bins big enough where children played.
Ancient of Times neighboured in a row,
Remnants of war; jaundiced and sallow.
Maggies the sweet shop across the road,
Sixpenny Cream Soda; a wonderful fizz,
Wacky backy, newspapers re echoed
Churchillian rancour of London's blitz.
Air sirens sung their seductive torment,
Chaos ensued to escape the maelstrom
To Underground haven of fear spent,
To avoid the carpet of whistling bomb.
Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile.England's ablaze;
A fiery inferno and Johnnies lit up a ***.
Let's play dodge the bomb. What a craze.
The landings where we played, had our
Fun, the dungeons where we slept and
Cried. Our war because we were poor
Was at our door. Cor! Listen to the band!
The heat of battle, the shrill of curse
Swear words bombing our souls of womb.
The days we were born, our lives a hearse
To carry us to our graveyard tomb.
We survived the war and lived to tell,
What injustices we suffered and bore.
At times it felt like we were in hell
Now those times are but of folklore.
Sung: The beginning of a WW1 English song.
Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile.
New York’s mayor wants to ban
The sale of jumbo drinks.
This will cure obesity,
At least that’s what he thinks.
Those who guzzle sweet iced tea
Or soda by the gallons
Never thought they’d have to hide
From Mayor Bloomberg’s talons.
It’s a bit Big Brotherish,
For putting into law
A bill to limit what we drink
Can stick in someone’s craw.
I’m conflicted – though I know
These drinks can make you fat,
Government should not control
Our choice to get like that.
People most affected by
A strong, humongous thirst
Will simply buy two smaller drinks
And Bloomberg will get cursed.
As freedom slowly fades away,
It causes me to think;
And though I’ll use a smaller cup,
I really need a drink!
We share our love for writing
A seat at the bar is always inviting
Writing comes naturally
Alcohol used medicinally
Both had their own way 2 stop the chaos
The need to write doesn't take days off
Long, slurred conversations with ourselves
Asking for whisk(e)y off the top shelves
I stir & mix him concoctions
Absinthe & Champagne is an option
But a Whisk(e)y and soda is a good choice
Words flow from brain to pencil tip
On your way out don't forget to tip
Alcohol was a mutual friend
Every writing has to have an end
As he left the bar my soul is where these words were felt
True nobility is being superior to ur former self
I was beaten into silence as a young child
from my father's brutalizing rage and
psychological torture as he punched me.
When I was 5, a man exposed himself, to me
I ran fast terrified, no words were spoken.
When I was 21 my boyfriend said, “I’m going to
F-Up your pretty face so no one ever looks
at you again,” with that, I had no words.
When the ER doctors urged me to tell the Police
that boyfriend fractured my cheekbone & blackened
my eyes, I never spoke of these assaults.
When riots broke out in high school, a large boy
shoved me against the wall, his hands on my
throat, he yelled say something, I had no words.
When several powerful lawyers I worked
with made sexual comments, I quit instead
of finding my words.
When a careless driver struck me down
altering my life, as I lay in the street,
a crowd around me, I had no words.
While visiting a relative, her drunken boyfriend
kicked me in the eye almost detaching my
retina, in court I cried, no words were spoken.
At a club, I drank soda, got dizzy; a guy put me
in his car, as I vomited; he threw me behind a
building; I never spoke of this attempted rape.
When my ex-husband committed
emotional & physical crimes against me,
I left without a word.
Still society has bullied me into silence otherwise
risking the harsh judgment of their punishing
remarks on my character.
Today, my words are not so eloquent,
but they do contain hard truths, as
God is always my Witness.
If you havn't read my other Orange Crush pieces, please start at the beginning. If you like them consider reading on.
Ricky jumped off the footstool holding me tightly in his little hand. I could feel his imagination coming to life. Within his mind the clear water had turned a brilliant orange and as he drank from me he could feel the bubbles tickling his throat. I felt alive with the possibilities this imagination of his would bring to light.
The rest of the evening consisted of eating and watching images flashing on a square box. It rather bored me because they were in black and white, I much preferred looking out the picture window at people doing their thing and cars driving by. Real life was much clearer and had a lot more colors. As it got darker out, the color all seemed to fade away. I think I prefer day time. Ricky's mom said it was time for the kids to brush their teeth and go to bed. They all rushed up the stairs and I was left on the coffee table.
Ricky's mom was cleaning up and grabbed me and three Coke bottles that Dadio had emptied. She carried us to the kitchen and placed us in a segregated box beneath the sink. Just as she was about to close the door, little Ricky ran into the room and said "where's my bottle" mom responded "What do you want with a silly bottle?" he responded "I like it" His mom smiled, pulled me out of the case and handed me to Ricky. If I were able to smile I would have had a toothy grin of my own.
More adventures for "Soda Pop" if there is enough interest to carry on with the story.
I was beaten into silence as a young
child from my father's brutalizing rage
and psychological torture.
When I was 5, a man exposed himself, to me
I ran fast terrified, no words spoken.
When I was 21 my boyfriend said, “I’m going to
F-Up your pretty face so no one ever looks
at you again, with that, I had no words.
When the ER doc urged me to tell the Police
this boyfriend fractured my cheekbone and
blackened my eyes, I had no words.
When riots broke out in high school, a large boy
shoved me against the wall, his hands on my
throat, he yelled say something, I had no words.
When several powerful lawyers I worked
with made sexual comments, I quit instead
of finding my words.
When a careless driver struck me down
altering my life, as I lay in the street,
a crowd around me, I had no words.
While visiting a relative, her drunken boyfriend
kicked me in the eye almost detaching my
retina, in court I cried, no words spoken.
At a club, drank soda, got dizzy; a guy put me
in his car, as I vomited; he threw me behind a building;
I never spoke of this attempted rape.
When my ex-husband committed
emotional & physical crimes against me,
I left without a word.
Still society has bullied me into silence otherwise
risk the harsh judgment of their punishing
remarks on my character.
Today, my words are not so eloquent,
but they contain hard truths, as
God is always my Witness.
like vinegar and baking soda combined
daily hustle bustle and grind — in caustic silence —
erodes...
precious time eroded in the rush to clear agendas
rushing to the rhythm of the— tick— tockin’ of time...
engulfed with the toils and responsibilities of life
it all seemingly moving in slow motion...
'til suddenly it becomes sublime
to realize just how much time— has passed
now seemingly moving much too fast...
like motion picture film spinning on a reel
as this arduous journey reaches a place of still...
still quiet —volume so loud —you can hear it scream
with flashes of the past rewinding inside your mind...
revealing —in that slippage of time— often
it was thou— you left behind...
quiet screams —
time to exhale....accept or receive
what has been lost or achieved...
shhhh — listen!— the time is now yours
time to lay to rest — hustle bustle and grind—
time — to relax your mind....
and enjoy —your way—what’s yours...
God’s greatest gift—
time......
***Inspired by the feelings many retirees and empty
nesters experience...
I packed my plaid valise
For a journey from the past.
I didn’t know exactly
Just how long my trip would last.
On my feet were comfy saddles,
On my neck my favorite dickey.
I was thirsty so I bought myself
A tall and cool lime rickey.
Though I’d miss my new Victrola,
My transistor was along.
I could listen to the Good Guys
When they played my favorite song.
On the bus ride to the subway,
As my driver gave me change,
I saw he was chewing Sen-Sen
And I thought it kind of strange.
Near the subway I got pizza
At the special lunchtime price –
Just a quarter for a soda
And a dripping-oil slice.
Then I used a dime and nickel,
Got my token for the train;
Caught my stockings on the wicker seats-
Man, is that a pain!
As I started my excursion,
Leaving all I knew behind,
I was filled with awe and wonder
At the future that I’d find.
But a tiny nagging feeling
Made me question my whole trip,
For there might be certain changes
That could make me lose my grip.
Then I settled in, deciding
I would simply wait and see.
After all, it’s just the future,
And how different could it be?
When i was young
Drinking coke mixed with Cream Soda
And speed skating on horizon ice rink
Popcorn slush puppies hot dog's
At the Drive Inn
How the mind work's
And takes me back
I believe
Strong in the mystery
Trying to run away
From the problems at home
I never understood back then
Until much later on in my life
I couldn't handle the truth
And still to this day can't
I run
I ran
I tried my best to run away
Only to find my way back where
To where i began
The only difference is now
I know what i am still running from
And from insanity i can't escape
It is the only shape and form
In which i fit
It is my glove
My shoe
My comfort blanket
I am the son of an alcoholic
Monkey see monkey doo