Long Sofas Poems
Long Sofas Poems. Below are the most popular long Sofas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sofas poems by poem length and keyword.
it was 1999,
cyber schemes held me together at the seams,
but ripped apart my teenage dreams,
i walk my city on new year’s eve,
down to the sinkhole in the ground,
the one in schumacher,
orange fences all around,
i’m with my friends,
wearing silly toques like jester hats,
we throw our old shoes into the hole,
we don’t hear a thud,
nothing lands,
it goes on forever it seems,
to another land,
the world goes quiet under my feet,
a soft hum rising through the street,
i don’t look up, i let it be,
just pavement, breath, and memory,
the past still clings like static heat,
and follows every step of me,
we bang our pots and pans,
ushering in the next chapter,
the one that comes when you turn sixteen,
is it sweet,
or is it mean,
i find out in a complex way,
he comes to me in a haze,
a dream boy with an accent,
far away eyes,
energy already spent,
green and pink walls,
sofas from the mall,
mad magazine and highlights,
mtv cartoons on the crt tv,
stick it in,
press play,
these were some kind of days,
and the years fold in on themselves,
like paper left out in the rain,
colours running down the drain,
i hear echoes of who i was,
in the hum of old machines,
in the glow of crt screens,
first avenue, before it turned to something new,
i still feel the pull of that old route,
the ground remembers every step i made,
the name is gone, but the echo stayed,
and i keep walking through that fading light,
like it’s still 1999
So many pennies,
lost in the system,
rejected, neglected,
dejected -
cursed by '99' price tags,
a charity box favourite,
nobody wants nor waits for.
So many forgotten pennies,
lost on the streets or behind our sofas,
yet pounds are never thrown away.
Both are round, so why do they only care for the pound?
Maybe its a matter of currency and colour,
or social structure, value and power.
No pound without pennies,
only empty piggy banks and jars,
but pound lovers take pennies for granted,
abuse us, belittle us, try to control us.
They get jealous of our shine,
try to manipulate us into a mouldy depression -
no wonder there are so many homeless pennies.
When did we stop being a priority,
descend to the bottom of society.
Just because we are misunderstood, do not fit in,
we are still round, but ignored by the system
a conflict of civilisation.
Imagine if all the pennies got together,
instead of being slaves to the pound?
Then surely we'd be stronger,
or would we just become pounds?
Has the penny dropped yet?
Sunday thoughts
Silent One
9 February 2020
The Devil got the sack last week
He’s feeling at a loss
For several thousand years now
He’s been in charge, the boss
The new man’s changing everything
Hired a whole new team
The place is so much nicer
A more relaxed regime
Red hot pokers up the ****
De rigueur, they are not
Only those that ask, will get
A poker up their bot
There’s been a change of fragrance too
Well, sulphurs so outré
Seems Lily of the valley
Is the order of the day
We’re getting leather sofas, which
Could well be here quite soon
And a squad of decorators
Working hard in every room
Now they’ve fixed the air conditioner
It’s behaving as it should
Hell is rather pleasant
In fact it’s jolly good
So when you pop your clogs
And you’re deciding where to go
Forget the trip to Heaven
It’s much better down below
JUSTICE
They stare out at us unsmiling
from tintypes of the first photographs,
from the tea-colored pictures
of thin, ragged immigrants, huddled
in cold bare rooms in tenements,
children clinging, dazed and frightened,
their paltry belongings tied in scarves.
They look out from pictures of dreary pioneers,
in front of sod houses without windows,
from grim photos of old, weary children
working in the mills and sweatshops
of the early nineteenth century.
We weep for the thousands who died
of poverty and disease and tell ourselves
how wonderfully the world has changed,
how we now can have fresh fruits
and a variety of vegetables year ‘round,
how there are miracle medicines
to keep us healthy and cure illnesses,
how homes are better built and heated,
Self-righteously, we smile at each other
while legislators we keep electing,
like the mill owners of old,
line their pockets greedily as they deny
raising the minimum wage to a living wage,
while they have the best health care,
paid for by the taxes of the many, but
vote to deny it to those whom they represent,
while they buy the finest of foodstuffs
and vote to cut allowances for food stamps.
Greed and hypocrisy still rule,
and we sit on our sofas with our blindfolds on
continuing to vote for lawmakers
who only care for their own elite,
scorning the poor, the ill, and the indigent
who often work at slave wages
to provide them with all that they have.
We pride ourselves on justice,
but, in reality, there is no justice.
I wish I lived in a commercial,
perfect people who all dance and sing,
perfect clothes that they wear
perfect smiles, perfect hair
perfect children, who'll eat anything.
The products they use are all perfect,
they do a good job every time,
no-one having to soak,
just a chisel-jawed bloke
with a squirty gun, cleaning the grime.
The holidays always seem sunny,
the cars have a glistening shine,
the sofas sat on are nigh twenty feet long
and not frayed, with some cat hairs, like mine.
Healthy oldies discussing their pensions
and taking out funeral plans,
I don't care about death, just maintaining my breath
and making it upstairs while I can.
If I bought everything that they offer,
maybe I'd then be a perfect bloke
but I've checked the amount
that's in my bank account
and I'd end up both perfect and broke.
The cabin is a lumber store of snores
Sawing and hacking while lying on our backs
Filling the day’s orders of dreams and chores
I’m the only one up this early
Alert to the prophecies
With checklists of nails and hammers in hand
The uncontained forest fires north of Superior
Have painted the blue skies over Torch Lake
Opaque with smoke
Twine in the pine trees buckling with birds
The sun does not rise
But burns like a candle
Hazy and orange sweeping the hills
Lighting and fanning the kindling
Of our curtains and walls lampshades and sofas
Our jack-o-lantern cabin
Set aglow
Burning down from the inside out
Its scowling face spitting flames
To the Azaleas wheat fields and faces of deer
Holes in my bucket as I run to the lake
Too late
Too late
Yawns and stretches what’s for breakfast?
Family love is born in little rooms,
around sofas, settees, dinner plates,
with paternal bond that strengthens and grooms,
unswerving link that lasts till heaven’s gates!
We were such family in a French town,
traditional, true, religious us four,
mother was good at making wedding gowns,
father a decorator ran paint store!
Sister and I watched German troops on streets,
Tuesday August year nineteen forty three,
parents held us close, could hear their heartbeat,
that was the last day we would all be free!
Dragged on to street by the Nazi soldiers,
our father was punched kicked and beaten blue,
we wept helpless, clung to mother’s shoulders,
that was the last of our father we knew!
Pulled away from mother and Sis I cried,
screaming imploring, no mercy, no heart,
that day for me when humanity died,
was day my family was torn apart!
Packed in a train suffocating with stench,
alone defeated waited journey’s end,
with dead and dying that made stomach wrench,
four days of thirst and suffering to spend.
I remember that train to Auschwitz well,
journey that destroyed many lives like mine,
where our love and hope to tyranny fell,
to death we were paraded in a line!
Six months past we heard exchange of fire,
that made evil enemy pack and run,
We were all rescued from behind barbed wire,
was still hope and goodness under the Sun!
When God smiles he smiles generously well,
lifts suffering souls from bottomless pit,
That day he was smiling we could all tell,
his eyes perhaps gleaming and face well lit!
Each life and hope with dignity restored,
we were treated, bathed clothed and given food,
In room of people saw face I adored,
sobbing with outstretched arms my mother stood!
United with mother back to my house,
and years of togetherness we would share,
on the wall hangs our striped prisoner blouse,
to tell trappings of hatred and its snare!
The train to Auschwitz took many to death,
guilt ridden, to and fro ran that train,
but tracks remain, hate may creep back in stealth!
train to Auschwitz should never run again!
Premier contest 6th placement
Written 09/April/2021
10 syllables each line (PS syllable count)
based on a true story as related by a 93 yr old Auschwitz survivor
The last train to Auschwitz poetry competition
Kai Michael Neumann sponsored
These are two etherees that will be put together side by side to form ONE complete poem having 11 syllables per line, so I thought i would show how it is done. It's like fitting two puzzle pieces together to form the poem for the contest at the bottom!
(Etheree #1)
Two
cats now
occupy
a space that is
my home, their kingdom,
with beds to hide beneath,
and with closets, stairs and chairs
small pets like to explore and where
comfy, side by side, they doze. Two cats,
now a part of me, show me daily. . . love
(etheree #2)
Cute new friends, no longer foes, but sister
companions, share common spaces and
a place even more important:
the heart I give, along with
the place they frolic in,
with sofas they climb
and desktops where
they perch. Here
my joy
lives.
(I have put the lines of the top etheree in parentheses so you can see how neatly they fit together with the reverse etheree #2)
A Home with Two Cats
(Two) cute new friends, no longer foes, but sister
(cats now) companions, share common spaces and
(occupy) a place even more important:
(a space that is) the heart I give, along with
(my home, their kingdom), the place they frolic in,
(with beds to hide beneath), with sofas they climb
(and with closets, stairs and chairs) and desktops where
(small pets like to explore and where) they perch. Here
(comfy, side by side, they doze. Two cats,) my joy
(now a part of me, show me daily. . . love) lives.
Hope I explained it so it was understood how I did it!!
For the Pet Contest of Francine Roberts
“Welcome to Kansas Sofa Mart. How are you today? Looking for anything in particular?”
They look like an odd couple. He is old and ugly; she is young and cute. Too cute.
Husband glares. Wife runs toward salesman, jumps on my lap, strokes my beard.
“You remind me of my daddy,” wife says. Husband looks damned mad.
I jump out the sofa, dumping wife onto the floor. This seems to please him.
(He may have the checkbook after all).
“Sofas,” she says. “We want a sofa” (Easy, peasy. They sell themselves).
“We have such a fine selection of sofas,” I tell them, giving them my winning smile.
I lead them to the sofa section. We have at least two hundred sofas.
She tries out all of them; he stands around, shaking his head, acting mad.
She loves color; he does not. She loves paisleys, plaids, polka dots, stripes.
He makes it clear it is black leather or nothing. Two hours later they choose nothing.
“Thank you for coming in,” I say. Trying to gulp up a bit of a smile.
(And wasting six hours of my day by not buying anything).
The blue coloured walls
with a roof and a floor ,
i call it a home .
A large peepal tree
covers it and provides shade,
a nest on tree does not let its beauty fade.
A small verandah with railings ,
where my kids keep on playing ,
dark brown doors and windows
will remind me of my vows.
A buddha painted on the wall
will add to the peace and luxury overall.
HOME a place where i can go
and would want my children to grow.
The light brow wooden furniture and yellow plush sofas
will remind you all of a big stuffed samosas.
The texture on the walls
and an cupboard for all my handmade shawls,
will cover the bedroom hall.
The shin steel utensils
light up the dull kitchen drawers.
The tiles on the wall
will remind you of a waterfall.
then comes the children's room, my favorite one.
When you will enter and sit on the chairs, so very fluffy
you are surely gonna dose off in a jiffy.
The trophies and medals
decorate the pale white shelves.
The toughened glass cupboard
will surely be adored.
Alexa fills the room with melody all over,
as artificial intelligence can not ignored.
Security will be priority
so the corners will have cameras in warranty.
My drawings cover each and every room with focus light,
the frames will have all the pictures of people that i care about.
All this will give my house a concrete shape ,
where memories is what i will create.
This is my home miles away from rome,
where the doors will always be open for you,
thank you