Long Stool Poems
Long Stool Poems. Below are the most popular long Stool by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stool poems by poem length and keyword.
Cold and damp, the stool in the corner,
The muso sits with guitar.
All in good time,
That’s rhythm and rhyme,
He brings colour and life to the bar.
Gus beats melodies, tunes and songs,
Ballads and harmony lines.
Rhythm and rhyme,
That’s all in good time,
With a chipped glass half full of red wine.
People relax while tapping their feet,
Moving and grooving the floor.
All in good time,
That’s rhythm and rhyme,
All is sweet from the front to back door.
Joggers, jeans, shirt and beanie,
He sings notes of emotion.
Rhythm and rhyme,
That’s all in good time,
Life’s free with the musical potion.
Do you feel the chaotic concerto?
The cloaked and clandestine composer
Plucking at the ivory keys, exactly eighty eight
With even more ways to tangle those
Countless red strings of taut linear fate.
To be a being, we first must begin
To begin, we must be born, then torn
From the lively, slick, loud, and slimy link
Of mother’s umbilical cord, now
Cut.
Cartwheel your baby body from the delivery room
To sitting criss cross applesauce atop a cedar stool
It’s snack time at age four,
Celery sticks, peanut butter, milk in a plastic cup
Chug whatever lies before your youthful eyes-
Slam the glass down, now look at you, twenty two
Disillusioned with the notes you hear, but cannot play
Plucking the strings, now we all sing to the song
Of a puppet on a string dancing, dancing
To the melody that is tied to us as we trudge along.
“And now here we are at eighty eight,
Did you think you would make it to the retirement home?
The fuzzy television screens, the dementia, the barely palatable
Food that nearly slides itself off your plate, look at you
Still slimy, still newly born.
Let me cut your cord
You made it, this is your reward.
Is this all that you have hoped for?
Well it better be, for this is the sound
Of your string’s final, echoing chord”
Snap.
Break your celery stick betwixt
The anger you feel, your fear,
And the peanut buttery memories
That stick to the roof of your mouth,
The ones you hold so dear
He was growing old and senile and his hair began to fall,
And he perched on a stool to tell accounts of the past,
Of how he’d fought for his country and of his manifold valiant deeds,
Speaking of patriotic comrades who’d long returned to dust.
His neighbors sometimes thought that his stories were a joke
But elders who had understanding of the past
Knew his honesty and the truthfulness with which he spoke;
But we don’t hear his tales today for the old Musyoka passed way.
Not many mourned him, perhaps only his children and wife,
For he led an ordinary uneventful lifestyle;
He had a part-time job and a family, calmly heading his way;
The world did not know when death took his nationalistic smile.
When thievish politicians die of eating too much
Their sinful corpses honorably lie in state
While spoon-fed sycophants give crammed eulogies,
But a freedom soldier quietly succumbs to his unfortunate fate.
It seems the greatest contribution to the wellbeing of our republic
Is to lie to the people and severally break your unfeasible promises,
But the patriotic soldier who lays down his life for the country,
Goes unnoticed to his grave without the minutest of praises.
The earnings of a politician are more than their service,
But a patriotic soldier gives up his life to protect his countrymen,
Yet his pension is small and old age and disease the only rewards,
And an ordinary death awaits him at three score and ten.
It is easy to forget old Musyokas for they live no more,
Even disregard that such heroes ever went to the battlefield,
But I hear heart-rending cries from forgotten graves yonder,
Where old Musyokas and their devoted mates restlessly lie.
They cry, “sons and daughters, we died like common folks,
Yet we are the reason why you enjoy the peace you have,
We lost our arms and legs and most of us died cheap as a fox;
Will you deny us a simple and costless thing such as honor?”
I loathe hearing the fallen old Musyoka and mates haunt me so
But I’m not the commander-in-chief of the land,
Nor am I some legislator in the August House,
I can’t honor a fly, but old Musyoka won’t understand.
With the party in full swing
And the joy that this can bring
I wandered through the garden fair
Stood in the doorway mesmerized there
Sat on a stool in the middle of the lawn
Was a big Stag with a small Fawn
Suddenly a Tiger came
They started playing a childish game
As I watched in awe, dumbstruck in fact
An Elephant passed by with a Haversack
He saw a Mouse sat on the grass
Which freighted him, so he tiptoed past
I blinked my eyes, I must be dreaming
Suddenly a Hyena was screaming
More like a loud laugh, it had quite an effect
Made me smile and recollect
As I stood by the Garden Door
I shook my head and saw some more
Amazing things to think about
As a Bear walked by and he had gout
Walking slowly with a limp
In dark glasses, looked like a pimp
His black suit looked rather smart
Must have been bought at WalMart
My eyes are playing tricks on me I thought
It’s time to stop that’s what I aught
To be doing, stop this illusion
My mind is in such a state of confusion
Just then Dr Doolittle came walking by
Looked at me and just said Hi
Walked out through the garden gates
And took along all his garden mates
I then collapsed into a chair
Looked out again, there was no one there
This funny baccy, mixed with the drink
Made my mind hallucinate a bit I think
It’s time to stop now this has begun
Must be other ways to have fun
Walked back indoors so full of dread
Turned over quickly and fell out of bed.
Each time that you nudge me into the light of day, I am forever grateful.
Under the glory of your precious love, I am conscious of the wonderment of your creation;
The morning dew on the blades of grass, the Wolffia coupling with the holly green moss as they spread alongside cool free-flowing streams.
The tall and mighty trees that shade the earth.
The steep sharp landform that transcended the clouds, and is your stepping stool.
The majestic and vast seas and oceans that, nearly overpower the earth.
The empyrean that shows the glory of your handy work.
The diversity of beasts that is obedient to your intended purpose here on earth.
The medley of birds that soars the heavens and circle the globe.
The splendid complexity of the races in their quest to exist.
Under the glory of your precious love, I am grateful for the enlightenment;
For each precious day, I am filled with refining and satisfying moments of bliss in the affairs of the world.
For each precious day, I am joyful of your loving labor by with you have graced this world
copyright June 17, 2016 Labyrinth of Life
He would sit on the same stool everyday
And watch, as I tended bar
Conversation flowing between us
As I kept refreshing his jar
At the end of my shift, I’d sit with him
And we’d put the world to right
Forgetting the world around us
Talking ‘til well into night
Days became weeks, weeks became months
Our friendship growing strong
Then one day he made the confession
That his heart, to me, did belong
That we were meant to be together
Since the day I walked into his life
And down on one knee, he asked me
If I would consider becoming his wife
Although now passed on, I couldn’t have asked
For a husband more loving, or tender
Or the twenty five years of wedded bliss
From his ‘Confession to a bartender’.
For Natalie The Rogue Rhymer's contest
The End Stool
Always askew
As if occupants left quickly
Such is the life of the bar’s end stool
We’ve all noticed its isolation
Its paradoxical value as an observation point
The lighthouse warnings
Stay away from the rocks
Yes
End stools are special
Reserved for the aloof
Yet
Wanting the “more” of life
Like we who occupy the center
Will never know
End stool has a story
Ancient as Christopher Marlowe
Recent as Oliver Reed, Richard Burton, and Peter O’Toole
Contemporary as Bukowski
Think aloneness is desired?
Think not
Oneness without connection to another something is…
Such is the sadness of lives ended
Atop the End Stool
This is the story of two all-time great baseball pitchers who are both in the Hall-of-Fame. So, the story goes like this. Last week the old-timers both well into their nineties, were out together at a pub enjoying a fine meal and some fine chardonnay. They talked for hours about their pasts and about how long they knew each other ever since they started playing ball together way back in little league. Over the years they became great friends exchanging Christmas gifts with each other, having Halloween parties and celebrating many occasions with each other, never missing each other's birthdays and both always attending the other's family members weddings and anniversaries. They were indeed best-of-besties for life. During their dinner conversation the topic of death came up. John, who was six months older than Joe, came up with a thought about dying and when whoever should pass first that they promise to ask the good lord if they can come back to tell the other what to expect when he gets to heaven. After they both agreed they sipped their fine wine and made the toast and a promise. Well, sure enough just about a week later, John, the elder of the two passed away. After learning of the terrible news Joe (feeling down and out and lonely) went to the pub and waited for his friend to show up. Wouldn't you know it, just about a half an hour of waiting Joe realizes that his pal John was sitting in the stool next to him. John...he shouts!! You're here, I can't believe the good lord actually agreed to you coming back. His first question to John was naturally- "John- What's it like in heaven, do they have baseball up there" John looked at Joe and smiled, then he said- "Yes, there is baseball up in heaven. He told Joe that it was awesome, but he said to Joe, there's some good news and some bad news I must tell you about. The good news is they have beautiful fields, umpires that never make a wrong call, the food is terrific, and they even have beautiful cheerleaders at every game. Wow said Joe- that all sounds amazing! Well, that's all-wonderful Joe replied, but tell me what's the bad news, John? John replied- Well, the bad news is "Get ready quick...you're the starting pitcher tomorrow"
baseball in heaven
playing together again
forever friendship
- Dying Mother-
Perched on her stool but getting there
Angry at paper that just does not care
Onion unlayered in the last of her skin
Paper be angry, paper be thin
Blotched and embattled, unwashed and pajamaed, the bladder goes dry on the floor Not telling her why, two teeth left in a mushy jaw
I am still alive but who knows what for
Walking swollen ,chapped and scaled , stuck like Mother goose
Hearing goes harder than misunderstood
Drinks from the vine the everyday bottles ghost from the past
Wherever i am going I am getting there fast
Will they buy my a casket, or burn me with gas
There's comma 'tween now and forever and a hyphen just before hell
The nothing hereafter gets as good as it gets
In the Nativity, Jesus was not given space, room,
For a kingly birth with velvet and silk to concord;
Rejection stood aloof at the inn curbing the bloom,
Holding and seeing the babe fight a harsh board.
According to Matthew and Luke, this lens saw
The nativity as being the genesis of Christianity -
The split incarnation of Jesus the man to awe,
And Jesus the god, in twin scenes and cities mighty.
After some decades of the death of Jesus the man,
The gospels were structured by Rome’s docs, writ;
Emperor Augustus was the god n’ saviour to span,
As the ‘beginning of the good news’ to boom, orbit.
Mark’s Jesus parallels the document of Vespasian,
Introducing the deified reign, and the son of God;
Papyrus told the ‘good news’ of this god-man,
Proclaiming peace and joy to all in dominion, baud.
Even though this was a virgin birth with no soul mate,
Roman emperors revelled in mythology active,
To claim likewise to be born of woman and god fate,
Endeavouring to claim to be eternally proactive.
Greek and Roman mythology is threaded throughout,
The gospels, being steeped and founded upon its stool -
Emperors were the kings of all the people stout,
And the gods listened to, guided, blessed and did rule.
Fought for, accepted prayers for, interacted with, for
The people’s shout - the gods were eternally worshipped,
And adored, called all to wash - jilted baptism's floor,
The growing believer with creed n’ followers identified.