Long Stack up Poems
Long Stack up Poems. Below are the most popular long Stack up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stack up poems by poem length and keyword.
Maybe one day,
when silence is loud enough to hear,
we’ll open the door
instead of stacking bodies.
They ask, “Where’s God?”
when the blood hits the floor—
as if He hadn’t carved
light into every corner before.
But truth is,
He built the door.
And we locked it.
Stacked our fears like bricks
and blocked it—
then cried
when no light shined through.
This was never a flaw in the plan,
just a flaw
in the hands of man.
Given a garden,
we bought a shovel.
Given a Son…
we played holy telephone.
Game took too long.
Judge is dead.
And God didn’t fail—
but we found a way
to sell mirrors
and bend love,
just to justify hell.
God bought me
a five-dollar door.
And my thoughts
have me stuck on this side.
I punched a hole through it—
light shines through so properly,
stands no chance
against the dust in here.
Every once in a while,
somebody comes to visit me.
And they stack up.
Weather is overcast.
And the light becomes a mystery.
The cracks in the door
no longer glow.
Too many bodies
blocking the rays.
I can’t blame the builder
for how we fill these hallways
Washing after meals:
Plates and bowls soiled,
Leftover spills,
Random thoughts toil.
Cleaning wears wit:
Pots and pans drip,
Liquid soap fits,
A routine flip.
Clear water flows:
Rinse away grime,
Wet aqueous show,
After meal mime.
Stack up to dry:
Utensils drain,
Await next try,
Odd meal refrain.
Kitchen view hooks:
Thoughts run away,
Glimpse strange outlook,
Stretch of good day.
Sanguine stay here:
Poise flavours choice,
Happy funds cheer,
Deep profound voice.
By Hamlet Place:
A vivid touch,
A special grace,
Love tells so much.
Leon Enriquez
18 June 2018
Hamlet Place, ACT
5/30/22
"Much Larger"
Getting smarter
Working harder
Open to barter
Occasionally taking a charter
Nearby a harbor
Sometimes wearing armor
Buying crops from farmers
When necessary I display ardor
In order to reach farther
There needs to be a departure
Brush your teeth or there will be disease and tartar
I have no care to become a martyr
The bigger picture is much larger
No matter if times turn darker
And get harsher
I've become sharper
Ups and downs I went through many
The weight on my shoulders and back got heavy
Nearby an eddy
I held on steady
With a machete
Ready for any medley
From here to New Delhi
Then beyond the Serengeti
I'm talking good and plenty
I got no time to be petty
I need to stack up some serious feddi
Instead of just celebrating with confetti
Will they ever accept me
Or just always judge and think less of me?
Occasionally listening to Mozart
I've been off to a slow start
For the most part
A lot have no heart
So if need be I shoot them with a blow dart
Then take off in a Go-Kart
Into the Ozarks
At it again, guess who?
Can't let it all get to you
Even though everything I've said is true
Life is always going to test you
Will either handle it or panic and call for rescue
Stand up,
Won’t lay down 'til I stack up.
Fed up with the brokenness
A liq just gonna tease me
Focus,
Pull up in a Lotus.
Fly on essential,
Throw up like bulimic
With you she a padlock,
With me she a secret.
Convenient,
Don’t take life too serious.
Articulate,
Went and took one
She missed on her period.
For my dogs, I’m ruthless,
Like John Wick, I leave you toothless.
Perseverance in the darkness,
Soon as the lights turn on
You ain't flawless.
Stock market lookin' exotic,
Potential in motion, perpetual.
In her walls like a schedule,
Might see you later
If this sh*t don’t get raided.
I'm faded.
I received a re-invitation email this morning. A ‘come on, why don’t you want to?’ note that struck me as odd. See, I’ve been ‘tapped’ for a couple of final clubs at Yale. It can happen if you earn top grades and interact easily with male friends by day (the crew club scene is ol’ school patriarchal).
Three of my roommates have been tapped - for one thing or another. The upper-crust, traditional networks and secret societies are a huge part of why young men and women choose Ivy League schools.
I’m not talking about frats - I enjoy flippant misogyny as much as the next breasted-American and really, does “Yo bruh,” sloppy binge drinking, and sexual assault ever really get old? Yeah, it kind-of does.
And I’m not talking about the more open and popular ‘eating clubs’ - no - I’m on-about the elite social orders that enjoy a subversive and exclusive appeal.
Some students desperately want to be ‘IN’ and believe those memberships prove they’ve somehow ‘made it’. Let’s face it, someday - if you can’t actually earn it - that skull & bones handshake might open some doors.
I’ve attended a few meetings, meals, and parties in “tombs” (in upstairs libraries and houses) around New Haven, but I guess I’m just not a ‘joiner.’ Groucho Marx once said that he wouldn’t want to be a member of any club that would have someone like him as a member, maybe that’s it for me too.
Anyway, this harangue is sponsored by the glower that that silly email put on my face.
“What’s the matter?” Leeza asked, seeing my expression.
It reminded me of watching people suck-up and ‘social mountain climb’ to get into my grandmère’s (boring) circle. If your club is so exclusive (email sender), why on God’s confused earth would you want me?
Hey, I like parties, dances and hanging out with eskimos - but I'm a pre-med student and the time/value equation just doesn't stack up for me - I’ve got the M-CAT tests next summer and prepping for those has taken up my life.
It’s ironic though, how by day students at Yale go-on about ‘elitism’ - in stylized outrage - and then by night they strain to join these crew clubs.
.
.
slang...
final clubs = elite clubs and secret societies
eskimos - really cool people
crew = elite
I hate to throw a book away
When I no longer need it
For it might make another’s day
If he’d the chance to read it.
In cleaning out my children’s shelves
I made a giant stack-up.
If they had done it by themselves,
They’d put them all right back up.
But they’re not here, so I’ll decide
Which ones are worth bestowing
As soon as I am satisfied
I like the place they’re going.
Two favorite books have covers gone –
Will someone still accept them
Or will they ditch them, whereupon
I’ll wish that I had kept them.
It’s hard to part with such old friends.
They brought us so much pleasure
But hopefully their time extends
As someone’s new-found treasure.
there is an afterlife in these high branches
spirit bears
watch as tracks appear and
vanish
men who walk around trees become women
when the tree is old enough
to seed other wombs
days forgotten and missed
stack up against barbwire fences
the yet to be born
will bulldoze and
unstack
in Thailand we climbed the 200 stone steps
in the heat of the day
monkeys chattered at us from ghost houses
where incense rose
for those who live last moments
the polished stone Buddha
smiles
thanking us for the long trek
tells us
in a thousand languages
that we are but one step on a journey
one that will not be recorded
until we are free of the thought
of being
temple monkeys howl in approval
a power stations electrified guts
spills its timebomb seeds
waits for the last fizzle of
the goners and the becoming
lifetimes lay in state
under rusting backhoes
generations glimmer
aluminum eyes buried deep
in the softening soil
we cannot recall what we were or foresee
what we can be
only keep watching
the layers grow
the mounds rise and fall
as a world excavates time with its
little pink paws
I think I hate writing poems about you
They stack up so fast, 1,2,3 this is 4 now
And they used to be a blast, I couldn’t wait to write you more. Now,
The warm, strong arms around me have been replaced with warm, wet tears
And God no I could never hate you
But I used to think I could see you at any hour, any time
Now to see you it’s like I have to scour for any dime
The comfort that I used to know has been replaced with only fears
I feel like I’ve been betrayed by you
That one night when I needed you the most I was alone
I ended up in the hospital and you say you’re trying to atone
We used to talk for hours, I’ve watched as your longing slowly disappears
At the end of the day, I love you
But my love feels so pathetic and one sided
My poems feel so sloppy and misguided
I used to cherish writing out our love for just our ears
Now I don’t know if any of it is true
And that’s why I hate writing poems about you.
Inner turmoil boiling over,
The stove over heating,
I'm eating from another plate,
Looking straight into the pot,
I can feel how hot it's getting,
I'm sitting right in the middle,
A little of this,
A little of that,
I keep adding stuff to the vat,
Splattering to the floor,
It won't hold anymore,
Bubbling and roaring,
I start exploring,
Thoughts justy pouring out,
Shouting about the turnout,
I doubt it will be any good,
I'm always misunderstood,
Nothing turns out as good,
Like I think it should,
Who would've guessed,
My best wasn't good enough,
I couldn't find the right stuff,
It was a rough ride for sure,
My concoction wasn't pure,
The recipe for my cure,
Was tainted by fury,
Worry kept me from working,
I was always in a hurry,
I'm jerking me back and forth,
Forcing the kettle to crack,
There's no turning back now,
Turmoil is part of the track.
Taking my power back,
I stack up Experience.
You do not want to hear me cry
I’m hungry
Must I hide from YOU all that is painful
In your palace?
Mother works a bit, weeding and at the market Sundays.
Daddy is here and
Not here
I’m hungry
[ I chew my lip.
My tongue makes a wet circle from chapped corner to chapped corner.]
Daddies home no one hired him today, no one hired him yesterday.
Beer bottles stack up in his truck.
Sometimes he brings me and the baby Mountain Dew!
It’s cheaper than milk Ma says!
While Ma works in the neighbors garden weeding
I fill the babies bottle with orange soda, his tongue turns color
We laugh in the mirror.
I’m so hungry, but I know you don’t want to know that.
I see her, look baby she has a brown bag!
Red tomatoes, green and yellow squash roll across the old kitchen table.
Get the fry pan honey Ma smiles….
The corn oil sizzles on the black caste iron, as she tosses in the sliced
Veggies…I lick my lips
The door of Dad’s truck opens..and he stumbles head down toward the backdoor.
Daddy smiles. “What’s for dinner.” he says.
He takes a raw squash and bites.
“What NO meat?”
“God, I’m hungry”
*In America 1 out of seven families today are on food assistance.