Long Strop Poems
Long Strop Poems. Below are the most popular long Strop by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Strop poems by poem length and keyword.
A cluttered barbershop in my old hometown I fondly call to mind,
Was a gathering place to loaf and socialize, a great place to unwind!
Harry, the barber, kept farmers, the local rabble and boys like me,
Looking right smart, clipping hair and shaving necks for a two-bit fee!
Outside, as raging winter storms amassed piles of drifting snow,
The old pot-bellied stove radiated warmth setting hearts aglow!
The shop rang with debates about politics and the charms of local females.
Hiding behind a comic book I learned some mighty intriguing details!
Harry's shop had just one old wrought-iron footrest barber's chair.
Thereupon hung a strop with which he honed razors with flair.
In a cream-colored cabinet, Harry stored the tools of his trade;
Brushes, straight razors, shaving cups and pungent oils of pomade!
Wall posters depicted sports figures and women scantily clad,
Also, ads for Vitalis, Brylcreem and other concoctions to be had.
In the back was a room where ne'er-do-wells usually hung around,
Enjoying a smoke or playing checkers - fellowship would abound!
Adding to the cozy setting was Harry's inscrutable cat.
No one dared move him from the chair where he always sat!
Harry and his quaint barbershop are now forever gone,
But to the memory of those simpler times I will e'er be drawn!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Another year of tears
Sneers & jeers appears
Peers careers in arrears
Piers of fears & nadirs
Swelter in this smelter
On the Hell-ter skelter
Where seems every filter
Is somehow out of kilter
Whole rabbit hole rigmarole
Or out of hat habit.. tres drole
Mistletoe snogs & egg nogs
Carved birds & roasted hogs
Kind words & yuletide logs
Boomer tumour consumer cogs
Blogs on look at me shiny clogs
Swag brag-bags tiny whiny dogs
Lucre in lycra now everyone jogs
Not enough time they do sigh
Why they falter at altar of AI?
Still worship daddy in the sky
Baddie pill top of the bill guy
Broke folks shoot up in bogs
Serfs from birth society flogs
Wage slaves rage system slogs
Starved knaves go to the dogs
Aghast & agog schadenfreud void
Heinous intravenous drip deployed
Broligarchy malarkey whip can’t avoid
Staggering corporate pollution collusion
Constitution & any institution an illusion
Swaggering hate template of delusion
So in the confusion what is the only solution
Don’t cower but scour at the dour tech tower
People power ire got steeple spire profusion
Cometh the hour our glower must flower & shower
Devour dire liar denier empire everything does sour
High flyer pariahs on fire.. us entire our super power
So get off meds scoff not hats doff off with their heads
Don't wallow rally go doolally just like in a Bastille alley
So follow the Frogs boff each toff in their trendy togs
New op crop the top who cop our strop "Vive La Revolution"
Why is it such a big deal to be an avaricious & pernicious alligator and just steal from every creator use all our data and turn even the meek & mild into a wild hater...
"How do we stop the lavatorial plop plop of AI slop
Cull the new crop an arch oligarch march to the top
No behavioural fop to an algorithm making you strop
Don’t be a sop to a pack who hijack a stack on the hop
Pander to your dander by knowing how you do shop
When you gander…. propaganda & slander they drop
This laboratory of hateful oratory is what we all cop
Cohorts sport.. escorts all sorts.. come on chop chop
All about the economy give woke folks a lobotomy op
Forgotten besotten rotten dot com bubble did pop
Impropriety no jobs swap entirety of society will flop
Social media greedier needier seedier stronger gallop
So how do we stay dry of sh*t from on high this AI slop
To stop bottom feeder sly lie then no longer be the mop"
Fido
I took Fido out for a walk
I knew that the neighbours would talk
His ears stood up proud
His breathing was loud
And his teeth were like big lumps of chalk
I bought Fido only last week
From a bloke I met down by the creek
Although he's quite massive
He’s ever so passive
And even with cats he’s quite meek
I tied him up outside a shop
He got in a bit of a strop
He pulled on his rope
The shop couldn’t cope
And collapsed on an off duty cop
I walked Fido down past the school
Why are kids always so cruel
One dunderhead chided
‘That thing should be rided’
You can’t educate a damned fool
We called on the mother in law
He piddled all over her floor
She mopped up her Lino
Said, ‘There’s one thing I know,
A dairy cow couldn’t pee more.’
I left feeling guilty of course
Saying Fido was full of remorse
‘Fido!’ She said,
‘You’ve been misled,’
And, ‘That’s a strange name for a horse.’
In the beginning was the void,
it made God annoyed,
he created the space and the sun.
He then made a place
called ‘The World’ in his space,
then he thought ‘Now I’ll really have fun’.
He planted a garden,
then made him a man,
then a woman to keep man amused.
He then made a rule,
for he thought it was cool,
to keep his creations confused.
But he didn’t expect
that no woman’s respect
would ever cause her to decline.
A free lunch invite
to a nice juicy bite,
on God’s apple she started to dine.
So God in a strop
said now I will stop
my creations from breaking my law.
Said his garden of Eden
no longer would feed ‘em,
to make them all hold him in awe.
Having done what he’d done
he returned whence he’d come
and left Adam and Eve to their sin.
For he’d found in dismay
that whatever you say
with a woman you can never win.
In the beginning was the void,
it made God annoyed,
he created the space and the sun.
But he knows to this day,
men now have to pay
for the woman he made just for fun!
Ivor G Davies
I took my son to the barbers today, and I sat there and I thought about how it compared to when I was small,
All of the equipment is battery driven, but way back when it was scissors that were usually blunt,
The seat for a child was a plank of wood, but now they have a comfortable seat to make them feel good.
They asked my son about his style, but a long time ago it was just short back and sides.
The tools they use today seems to be all throw away as I look around the shop,
but a long time ago they were sharpened on a long leather strop.
My son got to choose who cut his hair, he chose Rosa, but I had only one choice, old Bob Fenner and I am absolutely certain he charged less than a tenner!
I have in my possession an object I really prize.
It belonged to two guys whom I really idolize.
'Twas a necessary device when straight razors were the fad.
'Tis the leather razor strop used by my Grandpa and Dad.
Its precise genesis is really difficult to gauge,
But it's certainly well over a century old in age.
It shows the scars as they went to all the trouble,
To hone their razors to rid their mugs of stubble!
I can picture them as young swains shaving before the mirror,
With a steady hand trying not to nick an ear.
With a brush and soap to apply lather to their face,
Later to meet their sweeties decked out in ribbons and lace!
Now I never thought of a razor strop in relation to education,
But Mom found a novel use for it much to my mortification.
When I became rowdy and tended not to mind,
That cold, hard strop was generously applied to my behind!
I will pass the old strop along to a subsequent generation,
With vivid tales of Mom's expertise in its application!
This only to add to family knowledge and lore,
But to use on tender behinds never, never more!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
WARNING: The following poem is a figment of the author's imagination and deals with fictional characters.....WOMEN! ;) (THIS IS FOR FUN, GIRLS, SO DON'T GO AND GET ALL HUFFY AND PUFFY ON ME!)
Fickle Fickle - For Every Man in a Pickle
Fickle fickle…. Broads are fickle
Get a man into a pickle
Sweet talk sweet talk…. Yes they tickle
Treat us lower than a nickle
Chat up chat up does belie
Gives us bites of ego pie
Flirty flirty… grows the storm
Disappears like the norm
Riding riding is her wave
Naughty naughty to her grave
Touch up touch up where she can
Making sure that he’s a man
Swish and sway, what a sight
Thinking she is dynamite
Tries to see how far he’ll go
Gets to third base, she says no
Fickle fickle, fizzle…. Strop
Mess with me, I’ll make you stop.
In Response to Auntie Eileen Ghali
For her Fickle Fickle poem
Form:
They spread the rumour
It ain’t true
what they like to think of you
only human
See their mood
humourous
see you lose
exuberant
banter bouncing
blunt abuse
stand rebound it
legs refuse
their open mouths
wish you clown
jokes they sound
keep you down
what goes around
It’s your turn now
Felt their bow bow
cope somehow
I sink drown
no help about
hold hand out
they slap it five
all an act all a lie
hold my hand now
small piece dies
make out you are nice guy
backs behind
laughing louder
oh to live a life o' lie
insecurities are rife
sly I see in your eyes
laughter cry
not around now
out of sight
Not around
out their life
they think my fall
makes them look tall
but they stand tall
their hand I pulled
laugh me down
they are cruel
I helped you
when you struggle
strop and crawl
I know your weakness
pain and sore
how you stumble
how you beat it
what cause trouble
wait repeat
burst your bubble
I won't seek
see you leak
I now cope all on my own
world you’re yet to have known
for now you have an ego grown
I’ve the pin to see it blown
for now you feel the bigger man
but bugger damn I know your head
misplaced banter fed me threads
you love it how I fumble down
one day luck will turn around
normally you must resent
this has been your chance to vent
showing you are not a gent
misery wishing far from decent
descend my friend love to offend
funny how you jump on board
“mates”, I think I'll cut the cord
You ruin moods
can’t be accused
divert attention
“Look at you”
If it’s me
I’ll leave you be
replace and blame somebody
if only you could take the blame
accept responsibility
but you cannot it's lame
so long to you and me
screenshots of these words get passed
all I think is kiss my asterisk
you don't know whom I aim specifically
assume and right you must be
Let’s go skiing ! Said my wife
It gives you such a thrill
So off we flew to Canada
To face the bitter chill
We took a bus from Calgary
To Banff’s National park
Found our hotel, went to bed
To get up with the lark
I brought a bright red jacket
My mate Stuart let me borrow
I thought at least I’ll look the part
When I hit the slopes tomorrow….
In the bright blue morning
I went to hire some skis
And boots that felt like concrete
I could hardly bend my knees
The minibus dropped us off
By a mud stained snowy drift
My wife said “ I’ll get the passes”
Just go meet me by the lift “
A group of red faced skiers
Were gathering in a throng
To sit on a revolving seat
That didn’t stop to let you on.
“I cannot get on that” I said
As I stared in disbelief
With slats of wood upon my feet
I knew I’d come to grief
“Come on Mike” my dear wife said,
You’ll be fine once you get on
So I stood as was directed
Then “whoosh” and I was gone
Hands gripped round the safety bar
As we rocked on metal ropes
Thinking “how will I get off this thing
When we reach the nursery slopes ? “
The chair in front began to slow
I heard their bar go “clunk”
They deftly skied away with ease
While I prepared to flunk
I ejected from my seat
To a ramp of icy snow
I soon was sliding on my back
With both legs akimbo.
Sailing down the green runs
My instructor in a strop
Kept telling me to slow down
But I didn’t know how to stop
I saw some awesome sights
I learnt the “pizza” wedge
I heard a muffled scream
When a friend slid of the edge
I lasted just three days
Till we skied toward lake Louise
I handed in my ski poles
When I couldn’t feel my knees
Time to sample “Apres Ski”
In my warm, hotel retreat
Dipping bread in fondue
Was much more up my street
While My wife “carved the powder”
Meandering with such skill,
I rubbed ointment on my kneecaps
And took a pain reducing pill.
I would not trade these memories
I will treasure them for life
I am not built to be a skier
But thank you my dear wife !