Long Swab Poems
Long Swab Poems. Below are the most popular long Swab by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Swab poems by poem length and keyword.
A magic mirror told the queen that Snow White was the fairest in the land!
This put Her Majesty in a terrible snit and to the woods she had her banned!
She hired a hit man to have Snow White slain but he'd have none of that!
He let her go and she trudged along a path and came upon this run-down flat.
She rapped upon the door and hearing no answer stealthily crept inside.
Snow White had never seen such clutter - such a mess she could not abide!
She grabbed a broom, mop and pail and began to swab and dust and sweep.
Weary from her labors she climbed the stairs, found a bed and fell asleep!
The unlikely denizens of the little shack worked in the local diamond mine.
'Twas a 'Grimm' looking lot wending their way home through towering pine.
Dopey the younger, Doc the intellectual, Bashful, he with the coy pose,
Drousy Sleepy, crabby Grumpy, pudgy Happy and Sneezy with finger to his nose!
The little munchkins arrived home to find this beautiful creature in their bed!
She awoke rubbing sleep from her eyes, stared in disbelief and nearly fled!
Eventually, Snow White became a mother figure to that chaotic, motley crew!
She tucked them in bed, cooked their grub and settled beefs when fisticuffs flew!
Each morn the dorks shouldered tools heading for the pit to earn their dough,
Singing a quaint song they made famous, "Hi ho! Hi ho! Its off to work we go!"
Mister Disney made this classic film in 1937 when I was but a mere child!
Even today in my dotage, watching it with my grandkids, I'm still beguiled!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Tied for First Place in Linda Marie's "Disney" Contest - August 2011
Unexpected sickness;
Kids were home from school.
Took them to the doctor;
That’s the current rule.
Crayons in the waiting room;
Coloring and calm.
Cartoons in the background
Acting like a toddler balm.
Called into the office;
Temps and check the ears.
Waiting for the shoe to drop –
Hysteria and tears.
Strep swab does in Henry;
Flu shot’s Hadley’s bane.
Hard to hold them down and watch
Their terror and their pain.
Over in a minute –
Home for soup and rest.
Not the day we’d planned on
As you might have likely guessed.
Still, it’s part and parcel
Of our babysitting days,
Though doctor’s visits make me think
That we deserve a raise!
If I were a fly on the wall at a DNA office,
I’d see one mama budgeting child support for two maybes,
hoping the high-earner wins the paternity sweepstakes.
A grown man doing a victory dance he practiced in the car,
while another looks stunned like the swab repossessed his last hope.
A grandma wiping tears of joy because her real grandbaby finally found her.
A whole couple discovering they’re cousins and breaking up mid-hug.
Three siblings realizing the middle one belongs to nobody in the room.
Just a fly dodging swats while families get swabbed,
watching bloodlines flip faster than reality TV plot twists.
My third wife is angry now, she knows that I cheated.
But I like life on the edge, so I told her to pack up and beat it.
Then I walked in Santa Monica, a man was lying in the path
He was in obvious pain, but I gave a nasty laugh
I passed a new store with an astrology sign.
On impulse I went in, and I waited in line.
I recognized partiers from my script writing days
Those parties got me addicted, when crack was the craze.
An assistant asked us permission to swab our cheeks
I started wondering, was this place for freaks?
Then a gypsy lady came out, beckoned me to a booth
She said “we’re high tech now; genes tell the truth."
“Your Dopamine receptors are all out of whack
Your D3 is high, I guess you take crack
Your D2 is low, are you an impulsive guy?
I said "so far you're on target my genes did not lie."
She said, "low vasopressin, do you cheat on your wife?"
I said, “I’m floored, it’s the story of my life!"
She said "I see your amygdala must be small:
"I would guess you don’t care about people at all.”
“On the good side, D1 is high, you're a creative type"
I said, “I write edgy scripts, and I’m great at hype!”
She held her nose, said "your profile gives me a fright.
"Forget the fee, there's the exit, get out of my sight!"
So I left the gypsy lady, walked out into the sun
Then a still small voice spoke, said "your story isn't done:
Why not change, rebel against those genes, leave the crypt?
Take charge of the plot and change the script!"
I looked around, couldn't see where the voice came from:
I shrugged it off, then I began to run.
I thought I'm no hypocrite, I know myself; I don't care
It's the others, the do-gooders, who do most harm out there.
I wondered if anyone knows themselves for real
Are values everlasting, or are values what we feel?
I didn't want to break the mold, I wanted to be me
But that nagging voice echoed - which direction makes you free?
I'm drawing plans for a fictional realm,
Insightful brinks and a sacrifice-themed helm.
Smoothness clings to a grip, then rots away,
Her ruby eyes are shadowed by a torn sky.
Cold, harsh hands of time cement reality,
Consider a wild parallel to true vitality.
I spot your inner vibe and your groove,
Wait for them until we are told to move.
Ardor pulls me and ousts me at the sight,
aired hands-held dirty web shreds on site.
Are you going to cry away your worry?
Repair the shattered pieces of my fury.
Bind our beating souls jointly raising affection,
Yield the cosmos a color-flowing connection.
Bind me to draw with you as we recite our tale,
Configure the skeleton with a quatrain trail.
Throw pain and swab it away from raw flesh,
From our throat, write thoughts left fresh.
A writer with omniscience named fate rosery,
Ink filled our souls till we were bleeding poetry.
Draft a proud ending and infuse it into capacity,
Sitting on the side of the soul rapt in creativity.
Written: October 06, 2022
Eyes pucker and swell
Erupting with tears
Of pleasure or joy?
But who is to know?
The quivering lips
And trembling hands
Equipped with cotton
To swab the overflowing
Excretions from eyes and nose
Of pleasure or joy?
Is it for me to be
The analytical master
Of this robust emotional
Human puppeteer.
Alas alone struggling
With unbridled emotions
Of pleasure or joy?
Why some choose to cull
All emotion for private
Yet others ill equipped
With self control cannot
Quell the tearjerking
And public displays
Of pleasure or joy?
The loveless and the lonely
The defeated and lost
No one to judge
No cross to bare
But I surmise at times
Through life's unparalleled
Roller coaster it is to be not
Rejected not ignored but
Simply admired from afar
As an uncontrollable impulse
Of pleasure or joy?
The result of which commands
The same tearful over dramatized
Actions whether private or on
Display for passers by to discern.
Breaking news this just in,
Russian medics have just discovered
a vaccine or cure for Covid-19
1 sprits of Novichok
1 cup if tea laced with Polonium - 210
Followed by a weekend mini city break
Taking in the 125 meter tall steeple
above Salisbury Cathedral
A symposium on fake news delivered
by Vlad Putin himself
A beginner's introduction to chemistry on the
periodic tables most toxic poisons
And a crash course in election
tampering
Then lunch a passing out ceremony
and certificate with matching gift set
And proverbial negative swab test resulting
in the all clear nothing to see here
Nostrovia vodka for everyone to celebrate
and toast our success
The panels faded o'er time earlier creativity constrains
Yet the material value of past visions maintains
Canvas now tinted with darker hues; youthful vigor restrains
But each, underlying tone, burnished with yesterday's dreams, remains
Once gilded strokes now meaningless, paternalistic strains
Yet the meandering pattern an innocent quality still contains
Each, delicate, insecure swab the grainy picture retains
But on the brash backstrokes the forgiving eye trains
Every callous blot each year more opprobrium drains
But every thoughtful deviation the quilted fabric ingrains
Glossy pictures of green pastures corroded by earthy stains
But ephemeral beauty from burgeoning fount surrealistic vista still feigns
The counterfeit copy the brokered ideal even more disdains
But the bartered images serve to rationalize nominal gains
It started early for me - using words sailors are supposed to know
My parents had no idea where I got them.
I figured it was my last lifetime
When I was a pirate.
I could cuss with gusto at an early age.
Dhraammit! I would yell when I tried to walk and fell on my knees.
What did she say? My parents asked each other,
hoping it was not what it was.
I got my mouth washed out with a bar of Ivory soap
by the time I was four and was using these words:
SLURP! SMARL! MACH! WHOOOP! CHICAKE
Chicake meant cat, but they thought it meant something else.
They were the parents, and in charge of the soap
So gurgle, gurgle, spit, spit, gurgle, gurle, choke, choke.
I rapidly learned to not swear around my parents
However, I was quite selective in my friend-choosing.
I did not surround myself with the super religious
Or the super judgmental, which were often the same actually.
I surrounded myself with other reincarnated pirates like me.
Dhrammit, it’s not my turn to swab the deck! No swhit?
WHERE WERE YOU IN THE SEVENTIES
i was between a tween and adult, in the house of the hudson valley,
and music was my main man,
i would hear whispered in my ear
me and mrs. jones...we got a thing goin’ on
and i would rock to sleep
don’t rock the boat...don’t knock the boat over
dress in a low cut purple dress, and look for mr. goodbar
or what i meant to say mr. travolta
in the dizzying display of disco, having a ball.
really i was just a shy nerd in a dress
you say i was a dancing queen...only seventeen...oh yeah
and i did have saturday night fever
and with the death of several classmates, not in shootings, but illness
and the usual car accidents...radio groans all we are is dust in the wind
after heartbreak of loss via death and puppy love
i did not sign the loan to return to college, went on to,
as i used to say “swab the seven corners of the room”
as the village people and my dad directed me to
in the navy...you will sail the seven seas...in the navy…
you will put your life at ease...bootcamp saw the end of 1979
2/27/2018
Line Gauthier’s Poetry Contest
*Lyrics may be slightly changed
Me and Mrs. Jones by Billy Paul
Rock The Boat by The Hues Corporation
Movie: Looking For Mr. Goodbar
Dancing Queen by Abba
Movie: Saturday Night Fever
Dust in the Wind by Kansas
Puppy Love by Donny Osmond (still swooning over
this song from the sixties)
In The Navy by Village People