Long Storage Poems
Long Storage Poems. Below are the most popular long Storage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Storage poems by poem length and keyword.
(Against Love of Possessions)
LK 12:16-21
Then he told them a parable. "There was a rich man whose land produced a bountiful harvest. He asked himself, 'What shall I do, for I do not have space to store my harvest?' And he said, 'This is what I shall do: I shall tear down my barns and build larger ones. There I shall store all my grain and other goods and I shall say to myself, "Now as for you, you have so many good things stored up for many years, rest, eat, drink, be merry!" But God said to him, 'You fool, this night your life will be demanded of you; and the things you have prepared, to whom will they belong?' Thus will it be for the one who stores up treasure for himself but is not rich in what matters to God.
Reflection
A wealthy man is confused to where to store bountiful possessions
Thought to build a larger storage room
He thought it he should enjoy
Be happy
He will not take it when he passed
How can he bring it?
Give it to those who have nothing
Sell it to buy things that other people needs
J.
Each year Deborah and I share one Christmas tradition-we do this religiously.
Together the day after Thanksgiving we buy our Christmas Tree.
As we head out to purchase our tree we are filled with anticipation
for we know the gift lies not in the tree itself, but in its decoration.
From the moment we open our storage bins and rediscover the ornaments they contain
It’s not just a simple trimming of the tree...it’s a trip down memory lane.
There is a special feeling about finding an old ornament time and time again
Holding it up and saying....Hey Deborah do you remember when....
Each ornament adds to the story of our life as we’ve watched our family grow
Most are significant only to us and carry meanings only we would know.
We have ornaments that remind us of our children,”Hey, isn’t that Ryan’s baby shoe?”
There’s a photo of Ali and me, Bryan’s manatee and pickles for the grandchildren too.
There are ornaments from old friends, a few of Whitman: he was a great dog!
And the ornaments of places we’ve been form a lifelong travelogue.
Each year when we’re finished trimming we have more than just a tree
There in the corner stands memories of our life...it’s an album in 3-D!
Every year when the tree is finished Deborah says, “Now you might think me mad,
but I’m sure this year, this tree, is the best we’ve ever had!”
As I stare at the tree and nod my agreement I think I can now attest
to understanding why every year our newest tree is the best.
Last years tree was the best we ever had…that was easy enough to see
but we’ve added another year of memories to the boughs of this year’s tree.
So as wonderful as last year’s tree was it’s the new memories we’ve amassed
that make this year’s Christmas tree a little better than the last.
And I’m sure as another year of memories in 2021 we add
next years tree will take it’s rightful place as the best Christmas tree we’ve ever had.
At any rate, it was not quite a ‘history repeating itself event', but it was close. It was the same place and close to the same time but a different day, separated by nearly a year. Like then, I was watering, there was a spider. and there was a yard bug trapped in a spider’s web. However, unlike then, there would be no rescue by me of an entangled bug, but rather a large catch by the spider.
It was Saturday morning at 7:20 on the 4th of July, and the fireworks would not be blasting away for several hours. However, the yard bug in question would not be around to hear the sounds of patriotic celebrations on this holiday. It appears also that this time, I was just a bit late to hear the sounds of “Help me!”.
Walking out my front door to water the flowers, I bent over to turn on the water faucet and noticed a most interesting encounter. A Black Widow Spider had begun processing its food supply at the expense of a yard bug. The bug was trapped in the spider’s web, and there would be no getting away this time.
After observing this wildlife ritual for a minute or two, I went back into the house to fetch pen and paper to record what I saw. When I returned at 7:30 to continue my observation, I must say that I was surprised that the spider and the bug were nowhere to be found. Not being educated on the eating ways of spiders, I thought that the spider would consume its prey in the web. Apparently, she had a better location for storage and eating purposes.
As I thought upon this wild-life tale, I began to realize that the bug was only slightly smaller than the spider. This meant that there was enough bug food for several days. So the Black Widow was dismantling its prey from the web to tuck it away for future consumption. The big catch was sufficient enough supply for the whole Black Widow family.
I could not help but recall my similar observation of last August 18th, when I was able to rescue the bug from the trap of the spider. It could have been, but I doubt that it was the same bug. I think perhaps he would have been smarter than to return to the same danger zone. But who knows? However, I have every reason to believe that this was the same Black Widow, who this time, beat me to the bug.
07042015 PS Contest, At Any Rate, It Will Be Fast Moving, Julia Ward
When I was a young girl, they said I could have an empire
Careers and businesses, money and trophies, a family of my own
Lies twirled off the patriarchy's serpent tongue
For my womb became their personal storage space
I couldn't wear a dress too flowy or short
They worried my male peers would stare
Not even my favorite rugged dark jeans
Because XY chromosomes had their eyes on me
Like a stone wall only built halfway
Their promises felt atomless
We fired, but only grazed the target
And fortification didn't patch our wounds
Twisting, turning, my body was never mine
Just a vessel on their puppet strings
Only another human incubator
Because what if the kid's straight, White, or male?
I'm more than my fountain of fertility
I love and feel just like a man
But I'm given nothing to wipe my tears
Only the birth certificates of my hypothetical kids
Don't remember me for my body and face
Think of my fists raised in the air
Shouting until my larynx gives out
"I'm also a human!"
A sinewy faith built rough cabins.
We were pleased to claim this land
for Jesus.
We raised cities that were bear free.
Everything soared;
later crime and meth rose even
higher.
Cracks appeared where a garish paint
had weathered the sky.
Plaster flamingos crumbled,
angelic limbs hung down
caught in ceiling fissures.
Pink plastic arrows littered concrete.
It was a Mall dream; it was our dream.
We began to order stuff
from worker ants in other countries.
Plaid went in and out of fashion,
Horseless cowboys kept up the long tradition
of truck wrangling.
Impedimenta impeded the improperly taught.
Log cabins transported themselves
to theme parks,
too little hope clogged casinos floors,
rage stalked the freeways.
God spoke to us,
urged us to fill storage units
with our long raked-over crap,
sad holy relics in duct taped boxes -
yet neatly piled
in a persnickety Midwest way.
I am much cuter than those squirrels.
I see them in the morning when they
don’t think anyone is watching,
primping and posing and fluffing
those tails, rubbing their teeth on
the maple leaves to shine them,
rehearsing their inane chatter.
I choose a quieter life style,
living in an underground
estate, multiple entrances,
sensible rooms, and a large
storage space. I must collect
nuts and seeds, while at the
same time, evading the beaks
of the birds, the claws of the cats,
and the mockery of the squirrels.
I tried speaking to one, one day.
As he picked a seed aril from
his teeth, he laughed, and made a snide
remark about my skinny, rudder tail.
The birds, though they never stop
squawking, have little to say. The old
owl, though given to wisdom, seems
to have a focused interest in me,
as supper. One old lady says that
I am cute, and tosses me seeds and
acorns. I do appreciate the handouts,
but chatter my sharp and frightening
teeth at her just in case any of the
squirrels are watching. I have seen my
reddish brown, skinny tailed, spotted
image in the window of the basement.
I am one handsome chipmunk.
I am much cuter than those squirrels.
John G. Lawless
7/22/2014
Contest - Animals Alive
If I only I could say
Or tell you all that
My inbox is so full up
Even be that with negativity bile
fuelled hate criticism of my opinions
about and on the subject I have wrote
I find myself with having no storage
space left
In order for people to place fresh new
comment in
To the point I have to delete the vast
majority of them
Then maybe I might begin to understand
or get to grips with them that choose to
spend their time doing that
But then again come to think of it
they no more want to be understood
As I want or would ever willingly wish
to understand what exactly makes
them want to do or subject other
people to such vitriol and abuse
I suppose in reality we should actually feel
sorry for them and write them straight back
and ask them how they are doing and be
dead nice to them
And now that I have just written and read
that back I am actually laughing so hard I think
I may have just peed my pants
Because that will properly wipe the smug
smile right off their face
And sure enough ruin and shoot their day
all to hell
To the point they log off and go back to sleep
This was before they were banned
From overhead storage.
Amazing how one Durian can clog
So many confined bobbing heads.
A stomach turning air turbulence
Is yet more desirable than
That choking miasma of emissions
Which waft from their pulpy substance.
In foreign parts beer is not quaffed
While consuming Its flesh.
No one says why.
I do say however
For it is disturbingly wonderful
to glug while munching
That earthy reek.
To gormandize upon
The fungal billowing
Of its noisome meatiness,
Is an experience only
The reckless may speak of.
The creamy white meat
Around the large pithy seed-eggs
Beguiles the mouth to suck
And pillage its pale treasures.
While the cold beer
Both numbs and shocks
a cringing brain.
I have found it blows the mind
Yet leaves only the stench
Of a gluttonous well-being
That permeates through
Every orifice.
Those unused to the potency
Of being alone with a ripe Durian
Should not fly or be ill prepared.
For even when sealed in cargo
The funk of the fruit stuns and stupefies.
Fellow passengers
Demanding parachutes
High above over the Indian ocean
Have been known to renounce
Their white privilege
Or fall to their knees in prayer
Hoping against hope
That ventilating masks
Will drop into the contaminated cabin.
Naturally, there is no escape
For even when they disembark,
Cabs will not carry them,
And all will shun even the shadow
Of a Durian
Once its odor has latched onto
Your trembling soul.
STATUS OF SALT
Our staple food demands salt: Compulsory!
Unavoidable!
To digest or to taste
making palatable.
Dessert or beverage
liked by average
sweet dish to relish
But of course:
Cannot be a substitute
of salt-based main course.
In Bengali proverb status of salt is well-said.
“Debt of SALT can never be repaid.”
AND
VANITY
of Ocean and Sea
exhibiting aqua opulence,
storage of salt in abundance.
Strong SALINITY
in water’:
Unthinkable!
Undrinkable!
03/09/21
HM
' Salt ' Contest Anthony Biaanco
Captain: Permission to speak,
Although I may not even be able to squeak,
And you gaze upon me makes my knees weak,
It is only truth that I speak.
I see in you immeasurable courage,
Yet, your heart is used for nothing but storage,
I must admit I am the leader of your entourage,
But your dismissal of love leaves me in an outrage.
You fly to the ends of space,
But your heart is going to waste,
But if I could just state my case,
I could wrap your heart in velvet and lace.
Please, just give my love a chance,
I could teach your heart to dance,
For I have cherished you from first glance,
And mine is the purest love from Pluto to France.
I can teach your heart to love,
To infuse it with the magic of the stars above,
My heart fitting yours like a hand in a glove,
It shall be the one tree that stands apart from the grove.
Give me one moment in time,
And I shall show you the sublime,
Give me reason to my rhyme,
And I shall give you, my Captain, my entire universe for one precious lifetime!