Long Sticks Poems
Long Sticks Poems. Below are the most popular long Sticks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sticks poems by poem length and keyword.
Champ was there ready to go
Feeling really defensive about this attack though
Problem was the Canes were not there
Did they not care?
“I am glad I said no to the offer Sebastian made since the only intention by him was to get into my business when they invade,” he said wondering if they got paid.
Walk on, walk on Champ did to the bar
Having his Independence after he parked the car.
Sebastian did arrive at the place
Trying to build his case of not being there which made people ponder if they did not care.
“Are you here or are you there,” Champ did ask
Trying to figure out if Sebastian was wearing a mask
“Champ my good friend I am here to defend,
You see we needed to show our kicks to help us sell our sticks”
Shaking his head Champ once again said,
“My ramp is for fun since all I do is run.”
Taking another swig of doggie brew
Champ was hoping this sales pitch was through.
“But you need us canes especially if you get a sprain,”
Champ looked at him funny knowing Sebastian was just looking for money
“You need another score, you need more,” Sebastian knew things were getting late and he needed to get to another state.
Champ laughed at this request to make more points on the test.
“I don’t need you Sebastian I was able to make one more run just for fun and ended up with another score that was more now it is time for Sebastian to head to the door.”
Champ watched the Ibis leave thinking about what he was able to achieve.
He played for fun, made enough runs and now the Bulldogs were Independence Bowl’s number one.
The child loves to go to the park
and pick up sticks.
Like a dog,
he will try to bring an impossibly long stick home,
but he is 4 and by 4 o’clock he is getting tired.
He will not let go of one end
but drags it, tottering to the waiting car,
by the time he gets to the lot
he is actually sleepwalking.
I wake up;
a wandering hermit crab slips back into its shell.
That stick I had to abandon was a prototype,
a totem, a measure
of the many things I have had to let go of.
That kind of midnight dancing
is a stick that never ends.
Loss is often only trivial
a vexation,
just something left behind we thought to keep,
then maybe it’s an actual life
that once drained through our hands.
Whatever that stick represents
perhaps like me,
you still want to take an impossible thing home.
Hot, dry, dusty was the dirt road
That lead to childhood home
Summers meant some freedom to walk
That road and in woods roam
Walk or ride bike to the little
Creek, watch fish dart and play
Damp the bank and cool on a hot
Dry summer's long, long day
Sometimes some kin would come; cousins
Gather around; to woods
We would go to build a play fort
From anything we could
A fallen limb, sticks, stones, pinecones
We would put them to use
Imagination came alive
Thoughts, ideas running loose
Those days had their glory, play filled.
It's good to remember
What fun childhood could be _should be
But then came September
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Contest: Summer Run
Date written: August 30, 2012
Never bake them in an oven
That would be wrong
Making babies should never be a mistake
Rub two sticks together in a rainforest
Use a flashlight under the cover of night
If you get lost use matches not rocks
Babies hate rocks and friction
They prefer hugs and kisses
Don’t expect to discover them under cabbage leaves
If you find them dancing with leprechauns stop!
Take a picture and develop it in the womb
It is advised to use parents in making babies
Have them face in the same direction for best results
If you must use a parachute open it. Pull the cord
If you want babies to work get them visas
Give birth first. Cut the umbilical cord
And feed them soft foods. Avoid bazookas
Avoid contraception and asteroids from space
Hospitals are safer for the newborn
Babies come out easy on their own
The ones from Madagascar grow wild
Rumor has it they come from rubber trees
Some are on sale wrapped in plastic
Found in isle four at the supermarket
Because there is a clean up in isle sex….six
You cannot always believe what you read
Some say they come from factories in China
From under tables in Indonesia
From tanks in Afghanistan loaded with ammo
It is easier to make babies at home when you can
Behind closed doors and loud noises
We understand Madagascar has a sale on rubber walls
Which sounds delightful to install and to have more fun
And to protect the other children from sounds
From things they can’t understand
Making a baby is easier than you think
But you should do it before you sleep
I used to be able to outrun my puppy, not anymore, not anymore
Moving with arthritis in both ankles is a drag; I am kind of a bore
I am seventy-two, but some days I feel ninety-four, and I’m not kidding
The devil will probably come by to see if I will do his bidding
I am closer to death than life these days, but I remember the past
When I was limber, cute, sexy, sassy, some might say a bit fast
Those memories keep me going, I like to dream, so I am great at naps
I am not playing racquetball or pickle ball, and I no longer run laps
Many things I used to do daily I have given up on completely
My house used to be tidy, nowadays it is barely a tiny bit neatly
I would love to get back to the good life, when I had the energy of six
But here I sit, in a recliner, out in the country, in a yard full of sticks
My teeth are cracking, for I grind them and I don’t mean a little bit.
At the drop of a Kleenex, I might scream or throw a tantrum fit
My frustration is high, for I remember when life was gloriously grand.
Now I sit here, pining for my old life, eyes traveling from TV set to land.
I watch him race into the yard,
On pudgy legs he swaggers onward,
To wander through the garden paths,
Adventure seeking is his sport.
He hides beneath the willow tree,
A branch for sword he battles forth.
Then takes a wound and falls to earth,
Hand clutching heart he dies so brave.
Up he jumps and runs to hide,
Amongst my Roma’s and Mountain Prides
A sheepish grin of bounty red,
Drips down his chin and stains his hands.
Mouth to sleeve and hands to pants
Then off he runs to chase a squirrel.
He spots the sprinkler in the back
Like moth to flame, to water lured.
A jump, a slash and slide through mud,
A squeal, a laugh, another jump.
Mud puddles made for sticky pies,
Or castles built with sticks and leaves.
Wet from head to toe he stands
With hands on hips he stalks his prey
Then suddenly through twinkling eyes
He detects me in my suit of white!
.
Mother raindrop
She didn’t want the lunch I prepared
said she was on a diet, unhappy with her body
she is half of a watermelon
to keep my company
I wish she hadn’t stopped talking about
her discontent
I tried to enjoy my lunch, cauliflowers with
Cheese sauce, celery sticks with Roquefort
I had gone vegetarian to please her
Later, on the terrace, tending to my rose bush
it needed compost
I saw a big rain falling like a shiny sapphire
hit the terrace, burst open, and gave
birth to a million smaller drops
I scooped them up and fed my rosebush
It blushed and produced marron roses
Everyone has a dark side but this silhouette stranger,
this one sided love haunts me, forever tattooing me on its heart
Forever hiding in the dark corners of my mind.
Close to me like the sticky sweetness of cotton candy
It wraps me around in its arms, and tells me that it is the only one who could stand the cramp corners of my mind
The mist of dew drops crowd in the corners of my eyes,
this stranger sends thoughts that makes the dew fall like the Niagara.
This silhouette stranger dips me in the dim light of the pantry kitchen,
reminding me that my insomnia is a walking time bomb on my physical mentality.
If I tell you that, my emotions are the many-casketed bodies that are now forgotten bones of loved ones.
Would you run?
When my anchor begins to break would you catch my fall.
Or watch as this stranger locks me in the solitary confines of my bed of emotions
that scream how
Worthless
Pathetic
Naïve
Disgusting
Unloved
Hopeless
Immature
Ungrateful
I have asked this silhouette stranger to abandon the hollow auditorium of my body
To give back what was once mine.
I have what I like to call an unrequited love relationship with my lover depression, this ever-changing silhouette stranger.
Depression holds me hostage inside its cage
but a ransom note will not be required here.
My depression tells me it’s the only one who can stand the cramp corners of my mind
This unwanted lover sticks close to me like the sticky sweetness of honey
This stranger loves me, in an unrelenting way
But...
At least I’m Loved.
'You'll grow', I long to say
'And no one cares how much you weigh'
But I cant tell you how I feel -
I know, I grew to be a buzz kill.
You're already carrying too much;
Mine would hurt to the touch,
Stay sweet and she wont get worse,
Believe me - it's not a curse.
You'll learn soon that life's not fair,
No matter how much you care
And it could all be taken in an instant -
Even if you feel indifferent.
I'll warn you for the future,
I'm sorry - I wasn't kind to you as a teenager
But I'm trying more now
Even if me and dad still row.
See, there, I made you smile -
I know you haven't seen that in a while.
I make sure now, that smile obeys
I wish for you that this wasnt a phase.
But the sadness sticks around,
Lingering in the background -
Don't be upset, please, its not your fault.
Even when it burns like salt.
Viva la morning sun
Midnight, dark night, no light, can’t go.
So dark, so quiet, so I guess the neighbours are not home.
Waiting for sleep to arrive, but it never does on time.
Still waiting to permanently close my eyes;
But match sticks under baggy eye lids,
Will not show me the peaceful dreams I need to find.
Brain storms while outside it is silent.
Not a raindrop in the air.
Sun will rise shortly, as will the neighbours;
They all arise without a care.
I will hear their alarms and the beeping of their cars
And each and every door they all slam, God damn!
Muffled music drives away and I am left with clinking milk bottles.
How I hate to hear the milk man moving in full throttle.
The bin men arrive flashing their ‘vehicle is reversing’ lights.
I close my eyes, but they peek around the curtain…sigh.
People are busy nattering and I am left sinking;
There is no calling for the postman singing.
The birds have not even got their song books out yet,
Because there is too much noise, for all their rehearsing.
Now I arise from the deep pit in which I dwell.
The zombie arisen, the power button pressed, another day of Hell.
In a state of half-dress the violins begin,
Quietly at first, but soon a full orchestra of noise;
A cup of tea is soon ready to drink.
This symphony would wake the whole neighbourhood,
If it wasn’t for all the toys and work, which mean they are already up.
The din would be said to be deafening, ironic,
If I cared to hear those muggles out there, but today is supersonic
And the strings are rising up to the top of the planet,
And I am drifting within the music’s magic.
I am taken away to a classical age,
Where maidens play while in-waiting in castles.
The beer is served in tankards,
Meat ripped with fists and soldiers prepare for battle.
This warrior mind has no strength for a Queen,
The zenith passed, the air up here is so clean
And now the end of the song approaches
And with a whimper, I remember, the line of forgotten roaches…
I raise to my height, now at full length, a citizen.
Viva la revolution! I am at one with creation.
Hello Earth and morning sun!
Let me feel your warmth…my morning divine, my elation.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.