Long Takeout Poems
Long Takeout Poems. Below are the most popular long Takeout by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Takeout poems by poem length and keyword.
By the way.
I'm not doing anything later.
If you don't have any plans, why don't you throw on some sweats.
Your favorite ponytail and we'll find something on TV.
A little Netflix and chill.
A little takeout and random channel flipping.
A stimulating conversation about old times. Inspiration.
Our dreams. What we hope to be.
I'll call you soon as I settle in.
Hop out of the shower.
Nitpick about the way that you've been on my mind.
The smell of incense and cocoa butter rubbed smooth on your skin.
It doesn't have to be anything spectacular.
A moment filled with the click of heels.
Just the simplicity of a moment filled with you
Hi it’s B?l?e?e?p? leave a message!
Hey it’s me Jeff
I know you’re at work.
I was bored doing nothing
But you popped up in my mind.
I don’t know what to say.
To start I’m glad that
We’re taking things slow
And starting off as friends.
I just need sometime
To get used to all of this.
Especially with my issues
Of pushing people away.
Sorry, my mind is just blank.
I’m just tryna find the right words
I don’t wanna say the wrong thing
Cause I’m not good with this stuff.
I really do want this to work for us.
I want to make new memories with you.
This time I want to be more vulnerable.
I want you in my life for real this time.
Anyways call or text me later.
Maybe we can get some takeout.
Hollywood casts its new shooting star
Opulence follows the tale
Larger than life lifestyle sits on green gables
Larger than life ego sips from golden goblets
Yearly excursion to the plastic surgeon
Whirlwind romances blow
Overseas to cease and desist two diseases
Oil of olay won't save the day
Dingy can't find a safe port
Hollywood's new shooting star shot with penicillin
An arrow a day keeps the shivers from quivers away
She still swears he gave it to her
Both attend the press conference with lawyers
Exuberant fans become ex-fans
Except when cutting red ribbons at fastfood takeout stakeouts
Nobody notices the smell for weeks
An ask of mine needs urgent sating
I don’t mean to blashpeme or be rude
But when God was done and dusted creating
And he looked and saw that “it was good”
What was he looking at?
Were his eyes glued to the Andes
As the little mountains popped up like warts
Or was it trained on the Ganges
As it snaked its way through the flats
Did his breath flutter at the Siberian mirror
(I know, I know he doesn’t need the air)
Did he find the aye-aye queerer
Than the way we all find it here
Maybe it was the American cays
Strung on like beads of gems and pearls
Or the Himalayas defiant in the breeze
That whipped itself in maelstrom swirls
Or was it the terrestrial layout
Brown meat between white bread
And vegetables, like a chef’s takeout
Hamburger with the perfect spread
Was it just one point, or was it the other
Or volcanic glory, of Etna and Kea
Please, anyone, come help out a brother
I mean look at the Andaman Sea
One secret wish; to truly see
And understand just as he could
What he saw, that unbridled natural beauty
And cry out too “Damn! It is good!”
We have reached the base of the Idol
where the iron is now mixed with clay
a kingdom broken and fractured
its lack of strength in full display
There can never be any cohesion
of elements weak and debased
governments and religions so splintered
where virtue and truth is erased
Oh senate of Rome you still rule here
and golden coins her decisions make
the amalgamations of your religions
continue the confusion you create
Your churches fictions were born in Persia
and your idols birth from Egypt took root
from Greece and Rome your philosophy
and senators who lie for money your offshoot
The former fools of the court now staged
the drunken revelry of Greece and Rome
highly paid keep your citizens engaged
is the takeout they dine on at home
History now accurately documents your error
the scribes no longer paid to hide your sin
but every truth has been now recorded
into the book of time not held by men
Men live as though
no record to their life exists
that every reflection of our minds and thought
and of our bodies
not in time encased
They seem as quickly to forget
the place where all exist
in where ever is the book
of time and space consist
Our inheritance millennia's of lies
the table of the world of thought
it has twisted the aim of the target
until our own destruction will have it brought
Tis the net and web that seeks to catch us
the bait is saturated with wine and song
a cup full drunk with its inebriation
until you cannot see what's right from wrong
Every conception in time has given birth
to the ideology that has taken root in man
it has grown into the tree that has not worth
and its branches to be burned and condemned
Men lavish praise on their idols
for the trophies and the titles to win
but if it is self service that you are seeking
the table that's spread will in death end
sources , Daniel
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
I go to a restaurant owned by Wang Chung.
His specialty dish is shrimp egg foo young.
The food is the best in town without a doubt.
I usually go there when I want some takeout.
Wang is just too generous with the gravy.
It’s the most I’ve ever seen, and I don’t mean maybe!
Well, he didn’t put the lid on tight enough.
I had an experience that was plenty rough.
The lid opened and gravy was all over my shirt.
How do I get the stain out? It’s tougher than dirt.
Wang Chung sent me to his cousin who owns a laundry.
Wang told me that he was the one to see.
“My cousin can get your shirt whiter than white.
The first time only, he gets things right.”
I left the shirt at the laundry and departed in a spurt.
However, the ticket remained in the pocket of the shirt.
The next day, Wang’s cousin said this to me:
“So solly cholly! No tickee, no washee!”
March 1, 2014
Forty days and forty nights
Christ spent wandering in the desert
but it’s now over ten times that,
four hundred twenty days and
counting in this isolation desert
cut off to varying degrees from
contact with other humans with
remote meetings getting more
remote and a takeout dinner
from a fancy restaurant is just
a takeout dinner, although live
streaming music and plays
help a little but ain’t really
all that live and I have a
desperate nostalgia to return
to what was my mundane
existence before, while the
days of our lifes trickle like
water from a leaking faucet
as I as I sit on my back porch
bench denied your touch
as we are apart, suspended,
between heaven and hell.
Neighbors
by Edmund Siejka
It was getting colder
Sun slowly
Easing
From the afternoon sky.
Taking off his glasses
He studied the front steps
How was he going to get a heavy dresser up there?
His wife asked, “Are, you sure you can do this?”
Turning, her eyes focused on the nearby homes
She thought she saw a curtain move.
“No one is coming out to give us a hand” she said
“We don’t have those kinds of neighbors,
We’ve got to do this ourselves before it gets dark
Tommy’s going to have to help.”
“But Tommy’s only thirteen.”
“He’s got to help. Anyway, he’s big for his age.”
Exhausted, they moved the dresser into the bedroom
Tired she said “I did as much as I could.”
“We’ve had a long day” he replied
“So, lets get takeout.”
Flashing a grin she answered, “Sounds good to me
Chinese or pizza?”
“How about Chinese?”
“Let me ask Tommy If he’s OK with Chinese.”
Calling from the other room
“Tommy wants pizza.”
“Christ everything’s for him.”
“Well, he did help.”
“When I was his age, I did what my parents said.”
Lowering her voice, she answered “Well, he’s your son too so why don’t you talk to him?”
Looking around the bedroom
She couldn’t help but notice,
“By the way there’s scratch marks all over the floor.”
Red faced he answered
“Listen, no more aggravation today. We’ll do something about it later. Pizza is fine with me.”
“OK, I’ll call and you pick up. Does that work?”
Leaning against the kitchen counter
Thoughts that were always near the surface
Bubbled upwards
Making her wonder
Why are husbands so fuggin’ stupid?
I don't mean to make this anyone else's fault
I don't mean to go back there
but the bumblebee with the crooked wing in the parking lot
roasting on the asphalt and I looked away
you kept it in a takeout box with a leaf as shelter
we opened a jar of honey from the cellar
heard it pop, threatening the hot June air
it melted and stuck to your bumblebee's legs
I saw a monarch with its wings torn off stumbling towards the door
my father pulled me toward the car and my mother said a prayer
and i watched it through the rearview window
the forsythia started blooming the day the bumblebee died
we placed blossoms at its grave in the sandbox but I was
relieved to be free of the pity
we pulled apart dandelions and watched maggots swimming in the fluff
we tossed them into piles that we threw into the air until someone told us
to knock that off and go back inside
that only left enough time for you to pick up a fat green caterpillar and
gently place him in your pocket
One shouldn’t be presumptuous, I know this all too well
But I’ve seen such fidelity and love as strong as hell
I’ve felt adoring eyes on me, her heart and mine are tied
Even when distracted I can feel her by my side
I’d never click my fingers like I’m beckoning a waiter
But if I did she’d be there ‘NOW’ and not sooner or later
I feel unworthy of the way she idolises me
I’m an ordinary fella, which I hope she’ll never see
Sometimes she is barred from places that we’d like to visit
But we’ll eat takeout in the park and it will be exquisite
She’s always there for me, forever at my beck and call
Yet all she ever asks of me… is that I throw her ball