Long Stocked Poems
Long Stocked Poems. Below are the most popular long Stocked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stocked poems by poem length and keyword.
Armadilly came galloping into Troll Lake, bent on seeking a new life, to unwind.
He’d rode out of the Badlands, leaving only a trail of blowing dust and leaves, behind.
His steady stead Jalopy had been pounding feet, relentlessly with powerful strides.
Rearing up, Armadilly stopped before our Troll Bridge with his slingshot at his side.
I could see, he rode the sleekest mount, and the biggest tortoise, that I had ever seen.
Man that armadillo knew his tortoise flesh… this was the fastest one, ever been!
I would say: he truly looked, the devil’s mount… with glowing, fire stocked eyes.
The stranger named himself as Armadilly, but his true identity, could not be denied.
He was really Armadilly Billy, The Slingshot Kidster, as he bowed to us, so very low.
With a yes Ma'am, and a no Sir, he was smooth and could charm, near any old soul.
The Trolls loved him for the spell binding stories, that at the campfire, he gave away.
He never talked about his past, but we knew who he was, without being told, that day.
The rumor had it that Sheriff Bunny Garret had shot him dead, on one fateful day.
Another said he’d faked his death, heading south to Mexico, his life to live away.
But we knew better, for he was here with us, right now, on this illustrious day.
We knew he was a kind and misunderstood guy, because of what I’m about to say.
He saved our squirrel, Funkundilly, from a hawk diving straight for her, inward bound.
With his slingshot, like streaked lightening, he forced the hawk to spiral to the ground.
And we all applauded that Funkundilly was now, once again, so very safe and sound.
Then he strode, spurs a jangling, to dish out his own type of justice, so very renowned.
With a steely glint in his eye, he ordered the hawk away, or meet his end, he did convey.
And you can say that frightened bully hawk, really high tailed it, as he ran away.
Everyone celebrated that night, with Armadilly, all the way to dawn’s embrace.
Before he left, Armadilly knew from then on, he’d always have a home in this place.
But his mind was set on a wandering, more of this world’s adventures, to unweave.
So with a HiHo! Jalopy! He took off, leaving in another cloud of dust and leaves.
But I heard him shout that he’d be back again, soon…
And we were sure, that’s just what he would do!
Inspired by Silly Billy the Kidster's--- Billy the Kid Blog
An epic poem by Carol Eastman
...So why do we keep ghosts in here
when by the day many folks die?
Well, you see, it’s technology,
it tears them apart from the inside.
Since they are merely energy
all the fields from our gadgets and toys
scatter their essence all about,
it’s a fate free ghosts can’t avoid.
These ones here we were lucky to save,
and we need to find more all the time,
some go to heaven, others to hell,
each morn we know not what we’ll find!
Nearby is the mummy’s lair,
and it causes controversy,
some say that they shouldn’t be here,
that they are just dressed-up zombies.
Others claim it’s a magic thing,
which makes them a whole other clade,
I honestly don’t’ care that much,
the people come see them in spades.
Some were even Egyptian pharaohs,
though which, we’re not really sure,
professors have tried to talk to them,
to see what history they can learn.
Hollywood has rented them out
for their movies, and they pay so well,
sometimes they seem to try to speak,
though what they say, no one can tell.
Most people like to hear them moan,
like they did in the films of old,
did you know mummies really do that?
And if they catch you they’ll grab hold?
Sadly, they do not do much more.
We don’t see them often these days,
not many folks still mummify,
and the old ones have been grave-robbed,
in the wild they don’t survive.
Keeping them stocked up with linen
makes all the zookeeper’s tired,
but let’s down to the big show,
the place where we keep the vampires.
Now these guys are a unique case,
since they’re not critters, but our guests,
they’re sentient like human beings,
to lock them would be to oppress.
We build them big apartments here,
with a back-room facing the zoo,
we pay them to visit with folks,
and tell lots of stories to you.
Since vampires are immortal
so many great tales can they share,
want to know how Jesus Christ died?
Well our guy Julius was there!
They can leave any time of course,
some of them even punch the clock.
Wilhelm is a security guard,
walks the night shift like any cop.
Some thing, but won’t he feed on folks?
It hasn’t been that was for years,
since transfusions and blood banks came
there has been no reason to fear.
They no longer had to kill people,
staying alive didn’t mean murder,
they’d get their pints, go on their way,
no reason to bite folks or disturb...
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
Life is fuuny and cunny,It's not a good thing for anyone to pass through my path way in life for it is meant only for the strong and bold.I don't know where my strenght is coming from each day but i manage,
It's not easy walking through the path i have walked through and still walking through.I will never pray someone else walks past close to my path way in Life uptill now,never should anyone get it.its been STRONG my dear friend and brother
very STRONG,
I am just stocked in a single place like a piece of paper on a dry ground surrounded by both water and fire.if i change position,i either get soaked and torned off or i get burnt and loses in thin air,
Sometimes i stare at my path way in life both past and present,I see that i have travelled too far but not so far
I tend to wonder if travelling this path is all about staying at a single bus stop.
its really frustrating and sometimes wonderingly uncomfortable to notice that haven travelled a long path in life,you find yourself starting from the very begining where you started from,
its kind of annoying and may give a weak mind some chances of blaming his creator of which at times i do but may God forgive me for I am just being human.Listening to FOOLS and illitrates whose mindsets are blocked with ignorance and mischief makes my path narrower and tight,
well,well just keep doing your thing my brother and God is with you.as for me,I'll keep walking my rough path in life till my God makes it glaringly straight and easy for me,
I realy feel so down man,so down and confused.I feel real down.Yeah I know about my faith,I know about my God and I know everything is possible with him but i feel weak after passing through so much in life His strength has been and is still keeping me going but i need more,
I need to get to the stage in life where i can start doing what my heart yawns for.As it is said in the bible,"Train your child according to the ways of the Lord so that when he grows up,he will not depart from it",
Hope you get what i am talking about even if you are not around or beside my path way in life to witness the reality of it.But we must keep things we have in a continuous and pospective way where we can see developments in the near future even if it aches my back,throat and heart in a very bad way.Well,well I just keep my path way in Life and until then,i keep praying...
Serenade Me, Julius La Rosa
His striped tie has a green tint color
And his hands are dark and bulging with blood.
I can see them gripping the steering wheel like parrot talons.
I can see from all the way up here
That one of his fingers has a golden wedding ring,
And he just sits there in that Studebaker
Looking up at my apartment window,
Like I’m some freaking captive locked in a high tower,
And he’s my guard, my sentinel,
Making sure I do not escape.
“Hey you! Yeah you! I’m talking to you!
Oh? You have a problem with me seeing the blond bombshell?
The one with the face that launched a million ejaculations?
The face that burned the topless towers
Of a million American households?”
Now he has a cigarette going inside that sleek automobile.
It’s dangling from his lips
Like a big white toothpick from Scully’s.
The Los Angeles Mirror,
The front page,
Rests forlornly on the passenger seat.
I can even see the headlines from up here –
Something about an execution,
Julius and Ethel R.
Serenade me, Julius La Rosa!
Sing to me now! ‘Eh, Cumpari!’
It’s 1953 and all’s well in the world.
There shall be a tiki torch in every back yard!
“A cocktail? Here, have mine.
I’m well stocked here in my Kasbah.
Now, sweetheart, what were you going to say?”
“When I dance with you,
I feel like I’m in Paris by the Seine,
Dancing in technicolor with Gene Kelly.
You have wonderful moves and a very masculine touch,
And I can almost hear Gershwin music,
Way off in the distance.”
“By the way, my darling Norma Jeane, who taught you to dance?”
“To be honest, my mother.
It was an emergency situation, I had a hot date, so…”
And now we are sashaying on my torn and tattered carpet,
With Perry Como crooning ‘No Other Love’ on my Hi Fi,
Over there in the dark corner.
The lights of the Big Enchilada
Glisten outside my lone window
Like a million incandescent candles
That burn with lust for us.
“Hold me closer.
I need to feel your warm blood.
I need to breathe in your luscious sweet cologne.
Mmmmmm. Kiss me.”
“I will kiss you.
I will kiss you long and I will kiss you very hard.
But first, my darling, why not some Rachmaninoff,
The second piano concerto,
Instead of Perry Como?”
“No Piggy.
Locked in your arms I’ll stay.
Waiting for you to say,
No other love have I.”
*Holly (Vault Dweller)*
Hey bartender,
Who's that girl over there,
The one nursing the whiskey in the corner,
She has that press hat one that makes her look...strangely debonair.
*Bartender*
That'll be our little Ms. Piper Wright,
She runs the local paper,
Spends all day looking for a story then types the rest of the night,
Bit standoffish at first but quite the looker.
*Holly*
Hahah I'll say,
Just look at that red trench-coat and suit,
And that piercing stare,
Comes off tart as a mutfruit,
But it just bounces right off her wavy hair,
And goooosssh those lips,
Their silky sheen betrays the steel of her gun,
Dangling from her buxom hips,
Armed with an unabashed tongue,
Clearly her deadliest weapon,
Complimenting her feisty spirit perfectly preserved in an hourglass figure both fair and young,
Fully stocked with an arsenal of wisecracks, worthy armaments for free speech's most sensuous bastion,
Avid journalistic endeavors personify her inquisitive nature,
Reporting the most controversial conspiracy or the latest Publick Occurrences,
With jaw-dropping headlines fueled by her insatiable determination not even the mayor can escape her snooping typewriter,
How this vixen has eluded both the aging of time and voraciousness of lovers is beyond me,
And I think I'm allllmost drunk enough to go over and talk to her,
Should only take me another couple of rounds before I'll have the guts to...ah who am I kidding,
I'm over 200 years old there's no way she'd ever go for a pre-war relic regardless of who well preserved.
*Bartender*
News flash buddy, she's single,
Read today's headlines and you might find the subtle hints,
Listen to her playful comments of life and lust weaved in-between the innocuous babble,
The words may take their place in the articles but her true message is hidden underneath the paper's yellow tint,
She's young and lookin for love just the rest of us here in the Wasteland,
So what've you got to loose hotshot go get her,
Or do you need another round on the house give you the upper hand?
*Holly*
Well damnit bartender one more round it is,
If you don't from her till morning it'll be one of two things,
Either I've been utterly rejected and lying in a ditch,
Or I'll be too busy ignoring the world trying to make her mine.
Helen's brick house
was built by her grandpa James
with a specific design in mind:
the front black cross-windows
riminded one of Christ's sorrows;
when the off-white roll shades opened
the neighboors saw Helen wearing a rosette
on her blouse she herself had created
on a foot paddle sewing machine...
copying it off a Cosmopolitan magazine.
The porch's wood was cracked and faded
not a perfect dispay for begonias,
amaryllis, hydrangeas and roses
that Helen watered on drought days
to perserve them, never to be whitered
by a lack of rain when the grass yellowed.
A staircase led to her bedroom kind of mystique,
the queen bed was covered with macabre art linen sheets
and had a wrought-iron bedframe almost an antique;
often Helen heard whipers of folks who had lived
there, and she wondered if it was her imagination or dread:
" Dead people are harmelss, only living people harm others! "
No garden in that neighbohood was prittier than hers,
sweet Alyssum, purple Ageratum, white Alemone growing
under Japanese maples and strawberry trees so tempting
made it so harmonious and so lively that amazed others;
would it been complete without the merry warblings
of the canaries,of the mockingbirds and of the wrens?
The roof shingles needed replacement, they often fell down on piled logs,
and Helen stocked them up neately in a corner to save money later on;
her income was kind of low and expensive utility bills kept on coming in,
the pension her husband left her was spent on food, not on luxury goods.
When rain fell the front lawn and garden became fens able to transform
their loveliness, hundreds of leaves were left by the last tropical storm;
and Helen was saddened staring at the devastation of the lovely grass,
only the day before she got rid of those ugly weeds hiding the wild violets
and the crimson clove along the fence where birds built their nests...
I can imagine how helpless she felt seeing such devastation in minutes!
The faded timber door fought severe winters and they lasted night-long,
spring brought pleasant days, it stood open to greet their fragrance;
no thief invaded a house protected by good spirits and benevolence,
God was there and that made Helen feel at home where she belonged.
No chatter patter, I'm alone in a lonely house as winter arrives
My thoughts fly to you as you travel afar in distant regions
You still write me letters, though with fewer lines
Yet, they are filled with music for my soul
You took care of all my needs before you left
You even stocked the house with wood for our bonfires in garden,
But of what use are they without you and our little hearts?
The wood lies bundled quietly in the store waiting for your hands to untie them
Solitary fires bring no warmth, I dispel with such an endeavour
Memories of children and us around our evening fires warms my heart
There was laughter reigning all around
Neighbours heard our peels as loud guffaws rattled their windows
They smiled at us the next day as it cheered their hearts, too
Scrumptious hot food was savoured
While jabbering endlessly till midnight eerie hours
Now when I return from work I unlock an empty home with cold walls
The overhanging roof almost engulfs me to madness.
I wake up to misty-foggy mornings with the temperatures dipping
I keep myself warm to retain my good health
You were always worried about my health with the seasonal change
The days at work pass by, it is the dark cold evenings that leave me lonelier
The cold quilts dampen my lonely spirits further till eyelids drop
I miss the warmth of your arm as I snuggled closer
It gave me protection and made me feel wanted
Your presence in your office at home made my world complete
Now the chair is lifeless before a clean dusted table
The office that was priceless has lost its value and
There is an empty vision in an empty room which waits for its master
Hot cappuccinos our nocturnal addiction is sans aroma
We were a couple of few words but our silent eyes told stories
Quietly we walked down the lake with bird-food in our hands for our migratory guests The orange shroud of the vanishing sun imprisoned the lake waters lapping the banks. I've stopped going there without you
I read and sometimes sit alone in our barren garden that
Awaits your return to bloom in springtime
Life all alone without a loved one is a loveless life.
December 12, 2015
Contest: Favourite Love Poem
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
The bottle freedom cracks suddenly
I don't want a quarrel
Cos' I don't want a duel
I don't want a quarrel
Cos' I don't want to pinch his toes
I don't want a quarrel
Cos' I might crack shell our relationship
I don't want a quarrel
Cos' I might go soured our communication
I don't want a quarrel
Cos' I don't want to cause her a baked heart
They don't want a fight
They don't want to offend
I don't want communication go loud
Cos' I don't want a split rock relationship
In this bottled freedom
I don't want to kill
this happy mood we are
though I am dying inside
In his frustration
He keeps silence
In her caked heart
She keeps silence
In his blue eyes
He keeps silence
In her red heart
She keep silence
but silence is a killer!
And then depression
drains her kind
As obsession
tame his mind
oppression
their freedom binds.
Tin tiny thinner
They become
Going down into a pit
of mind imprisonment
Fear their jailer
has sent melancholy
to be their mate
as hatred becomes
their breath.
silence is a murderer
Choked up he becomes
Cooked up she boils
Baked brown
boiled hard
Steamed hot
bursting into social
Maladjustments
Exploding radioactive
Silence is an executioner
Don't quarrel
don't fight
don't break relationship
don't cut communication
But please don't be drenched
in a pool of silence.
Silence is a pretence
In the multitudes of silence
Is greater war
In the multitudes of silence
Is greater battle
In the multitudes of silence
lays the inner poison
stocked inside
piled within.
The heart
bears the weight of it
when heavy
screams thunder
then all is voiced
Though it's a tool but
Don't be drenched
in it pool
Like a deeper ocean
It is ....when drenched
Silence is a bottled freedom
1st place Win
Contest :Reflection in silence
Sponsor: Silent One
******
A Poet's note:
"Silence an inside and gentle killer
A problem shared is half solved
A problem kept within is multiplied ×2"
Most great people who passed on painfully
Gave way to self silence antidote/medic
Doctors are well visited, but counsellors
Neglected ...this should be taken in
6/21/2020
Dear trafficker,I am on the run
With face emitting fear
Worn in clothe surged into rag
By the scissors of rape
linen scars
With the screech from angry nails;
narrow escape.
Do not ask why I run
Like a prey dodging the hunters’ gun
from thick darkness I run, in search of sun
I am but a derelict
Worn in tattered smock
As the whirlwind stirs frustration
and my hopes remain forlorn
I would relish the scary street
Here is better than your hell
No more shall your contractor waylay my ardent strife
Fruitless life
Sweat in shambles
Still I boast of no life
I wouldn’t come,
Without the credence from your tongue
You said the pastures are green
and life is but a melodious song
Meanwhile you had it planned all along
To make laborers from our clan
The poorer we are, the richer you become
I am only sixteen,
Devoured by manly mantle
For sordid pleasures
My pride will they rumple
and vowed that I shan’t see the morrow’s dawn
If I dare relinquish the place of a pawn
As heeds the rivers’ wave and tide, the coxswain
So do I heed commands that deepens my pain
I am stocked
Can’t move forward, nor to the back return
I am disheartened
With no hope of a glorious turn
In the street corners I shall lay
Where wanton mosquitoes fly
I lay in the spring of tears
Till heaven hears my cry
Trafficker as I lay with earthly stings
I know you are somewhere
Feeding on chicken wings
I run for a place to lay my head
If it means to bunk on grass in exchange for bed
I would anything, than stay in my mistress’ den
Where I am a meal to many men
Daemon! You orchestrated my fall
You took my harvest and careless if I perish
You said papa will be fine when I work
This is all for papa and you know
Why then is my story so
Tell the kids in Togo's loitering street
and all the troubled ones in Africa
When a man like this beacons
Please resist his soothing tongue
For he is darkness in array of light
As he would cajole, to cast on you a lasting plight
He is a coward,
whose fortune depends on our sweat
and in greed, would he have some souls to-let
Trafficker, don’t from your evil schemes relent
Till justice come, and then you’ll have no chance to repent.
Even when it all seems established and fruitful
Don’t let pride creep in
Even if you are swimming in a pool of emeralds and pearls
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when you are sliding through life with all your trophies
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when you’ve defeated giants and claimed territories
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when your table is filled with food
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when your cellar is well-stocked with the finest of wines
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when you visit kings and queens
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when you sit down to dine with the wise
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when they try to flatter you with sweet words of admiration
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when you hear the crowd chant your name
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when they salute and serve you
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when all your prayers seem to be answered
Don’t let pride creep in
Remain humble and thankful!
________________________________________
Even when the morning goes and the evening comes
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when all doors seem to be closed
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when they laugh at your perseverance and faith
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when they turn you down and walk away
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when the rain begins to pour
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when the ones closest to you betray you
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when the tears threaten to pour
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when your wallet looks old and empty
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when your stomach growls and your tongue is dry
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when they make silly faces and laugh at your dreams
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when you’ve been rejected and scorned
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when tomorrow seems too far
Don’t let doubt creep in
Always believe, never lose faith!
By Sylvia Chika
sylviachika@gmail.com
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© 2016 Sylvia Chika