Long Talkie Poems
Long Talkie Poems. Below are the most popular long Talkie by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Talkie poems by poem length and keyword.
Years ago at our cabin, when our grandchildren Damien and Taylor were young…
(Why does time so often seems so short)
the four of us with lumber from Lowes decided to build a fort.
The exact date of this undertaking…I’m so old now…I forget
I do know our two other grandchildren, Aden and Ava, weren’t in our family yet.
We built that fort one summer and what a playhouse it became…
built with our own hands…between two trees…Camp Mica was it’s name
We built it far enough away from the cabin…
where Damien and Taylor could let their imaginations fly…
but close enough, where through the woods, we could keep a watchful eye.
We even installed a zip line pulley system…making it easy for us to transport…
Nana’s home-made cookies directly to the fort.
The cabin and the fort had walkie-talkies…the plan was as simple as it was grand…
they would walkie-talkie up their order,,
and we would zip line down a basket…into their waiting hands.
Aden and Ava when they finally arrived…and were old enough to enjoy our forts design
took full advantage of the walkie-talkie and Nana’s cookies coming down the line.
But as I say time is short and our grandchildren are all grown…
the zip line was long ago taken down…and Camp Mica stands alone.
The forest has grown up around her…we can barely see her through the trees
I like to think she’s waiting patiently for another generation to appease.
She’s resting as we all are on her memories…of a time not long ago
when children climbed her ladder to play in their miniature chateau.
When they called us on their walkie-talkie…because on snacks they wanted to dine
and we gladly filled the basket and sent it down the line.
Now as I sit her looking down at that old fort…remembering the laughter and the tears
I see how just like me she has weathered a little over the years…
Yes, Camp Mica needs a little touching up…
but with a great-granddaughter on the way…it’s future is now set…
and I’ve got a little time to bring that old fort back to life…
because, it seems, she’s not done making memories yet.
I have worked in ten schools as a school counselor.
I have had twelve administrators over twenty-seven years.
This one was the quintessential ridiculous administrator.
Let’s call her Dorothy Doo Wrong.
Dorothy Doo Wrong compartmentalized grades 3rd-5th.
It ensures that the teachers never get to bond with their class.
It is impossible to bond with children you only see half the time.
Dorothy Doo Wrong says no matter what you are supposed to say
“You are not in trouble.”
Teachers need to practice this, for the times that a student might
hit someone, hurt someone, or kill someone.
And you should never act angry.
I was doing lunch duty once when a child put another child in a head lock.
It thought he was going to choke him to death before I could get there.
He argued with me in a yelling way when I told him to go to the office.
When I used a walkie-talkie to say “child has another child in headlock,
I am sending him to the office, DDW said “okay.”
Two seconds later a child in the lunchroom threw food.
I picked up the walkie talkie and said “Sending student to office for throwing food.
Dorothy Doo Wrong yelled “I AM COMING DOWN THERE!”
She came with the head lock choking kid. Gave him another chance.
Later I was told she LOST her COOL when head lock choker did it again
and then the food-thrower threw food.
Wish I could have been there.
THE MAELSTROM OUTSIDE THE MALL
Mellowing out at the mall,
Amidst the short and the tall
Shelves, filled with shirts and shoes,
A mixture of reds and a lot of blues.
Leaving was like a treacherous storm.
A sweeping car with a demonic form.
As I beeped my horn, he ignored the bell.
Almost hit on the driver side, we both would yell.
This wild-eyed bat, wouldn’t pull up his car.
Who knows why he took his dereliction way too far.
I couldn’t open the door. Trapped for a minute or five.
Armed with a walkie-talkie, a timely hero would arrive.
Finally I can loosen my panicked grip of fear.
Leave with the anxious shirt and shoes I wear.
I lighten the curses that plummet from my lips.
For sure, this visit to the outlet mall was quite a trip.
3/29/2018
I have worked in ten schools as a school counselor.
I have had twelve administrators over twenty-seven years.
This one was the quintessential ridiculous administrator.
Let’s call her Dorothy Doo Wrong.
Dorothy Doo Wrong compartmentalized grades 3rd-5th.
This ensures teachers never get to bond with their class.
It is impossible to bond with children you only see half the time.
Dorothy Doo Wrong says no matter what you are supposed to say
“You are not in trouble.”
Teachers need to practice this, for the times that a student might
hit someone, hurt someone, or kill someone.
And you should never act angry.
I was doing lunch duty once when a child put another child in a head lock.
It thought he was going to choke him to death before I could get there.
He argued with me in a yelling way when I told him to go to the office.
When I used a walkie-talkie to say “child has another child in headlock,
I am sending him to the office, DDW said “okay.”
Two seconds later a child in the lunchroom threw food.
I picked up the walkie talkie and said “Sending student to office for throwing food.
Dorothy Doo Wrong yelled “I AM COMING DOWN THERE!”
She came with the head lock choking kid. Gave him another chance.
Later I was told she LOST her COOL when head lock choker did it again
and then the food-thrower threw food.
Wish I could have been there.
I reveal these words to the American,
who has the right to pardon this page,
while the whole world's getting out of hand,
as the evils of revelations rage,
Why's the US helping foreign lands?
when it can't get a grip on it's own,
If they intend to make any future plans...
why not start right here at home?
It's nobody's right to invade anywhere;
there's no serious threat here at home,
so send the officials whom send our troops there..
and on the front line with a cell phone,
Yea! parachute them in with a baseball bat,
a cell phone and a roll of duct tape,
One they get to where imposing minds are at...
they can put on their superman cape,
Or, drug them and issue them a used baseball bat,
a walkie talkie and a catchers mitt...
Once they realize where and the heck they're at,
there's a chance they'll resign or quit,
And pardon me if you don' t feel the same,
or believe "just"...........as I do,
but those thousands of humans killed and maimed...
continue growing in numbers too.
Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack
There is no corner to get stuck.
You may pause to get a snack,
But again you hear the Tick,
Soon followed by the Tack —
Like Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack.
Money clinks to this rhythm,
Bodies wet and dry.
Faces smile and wrinkle,
Tears drop and dry
By Ticks and Tacks.
Pain comes and goes.
Trees dry and rain falls.
Wings cease to flap while
Realities turn to distant memories.
Like Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack
Children become parents,
Parents become kids,
And hearts stop their beat.
Days and nights run back to back.
The rhythm turns them to weeks, months, and years,
Steadily turning our ages to gold —
Like Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack.
without moving anything but my eyes I see
a mouse pad, computer, power cord, phone
fork, knife, spoon, half eaten chunk of meatloaf
stapler, scissors, Clorox wipes
Jason Reynolds and Ibram X Kendi’s books Stamped
without leaving my seat at my desk
I see two bottles of hand sanitizer, my work badge,
a red cloth face mask I am tired of wearing
an address book with a multitude of squiggles
which no one else could read
they might possibly think I was mentally ill if they got closer
by turning only my head to the right I see two notebooks
three pens, one of them happily has red ink
an oversized yellow bottle of water I continually knock over
a roll of blue tape, and a walkie talkie that needs plugged in
I am looking to the left now. Three posters
One says “Effort and Perseverance are the Keys to Success”
There is a blue chair with an ugly hexagonal print in yellow
A bookcase with kinesthetic sand which I love as much as the children
Welcome to an Elementary School Counselor’s Office
The Marmite Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
Written 8-17-2021
I am an elementary school counselor.
Everyone else shuns the sixth graders, they are my pals.
They are the ones I know the best, we have the same humor.
We laugh at the same raunchy jokes,
Although some I have to pretend I do not hear.
I like my day, it is so much fun; every day different.
I glide through it, laughing and playing, in a child-like, happy way.
Until I get a phone call or emergency text from Room 145Z.
Laughter stops. My smile runs off and hides in a corner.
I pretend to be sick, running for the bathroom, clutching my mouth.
I have a walkie talkie. I get paged six ways to enlightenment.
My boss comes to find me; she is the principal. I have to go.
Jumping off a cliff into a murder of crows being killed by wolves
would be more desirable.
I open the door and enter.
They are all over the place, screaming and yelling.
Under tables, screeching and snarling. Spitting and kicking.
"Thank you! " the teacher says. "I will be right back."
Six or seven come up to me and tug on my clothes.
I use the kindest softest voice I have ever mustered.
Two run off screaming and crying because I hurt their feelings.
Sixteen run up to tattle on others.
One pulls my hair to see if it is red all the way to the root.
Another throws up on my shirt.
I have been here what, two hours?
I look at the clock.
Where is she?
She comes running back in. "Thank you!" she says. "I really had to go."
I'll say.
She was gone two minutes.
I am terrified of room 145Z, the kindergarten class.
At first light trudging through the Arctic Snow,
Is it for thrill or just a Facebook photo show?
As the Arctic wind buffets our flushed face,
The long-awaited walk soon becomes a shambles of a race.
Hands morph to splintered wood, eyebrows deftly freeze,
And yet the brochure promised we’d do this trek with ease.
Soldier on, embrace the frigid grind,
Pray aloud that inner fortitude to find,
Not a sound outside our laden breath,
Every move made with fractured hapless stealth.
But coupled to the cold a streaming sweat,
A larger wager would I not have surely bet,
That a saunter on the glistening Arctic Tundra
Would at most develop the art of soothing Mantra.
Then a booming voice disturbs this quiet introspection,
As the guide engages in frantic group inspection,
His walkie talkie comes suddenly to life,
Stern commands soon wailing shrill with strife.
Bears ahead with teenage cubs in tow,
Keep down, stay low,
Curb the chatter, pretend you’re but a stone,
Form a line, don’t venture out alone;
Rifle’s cocked, don't turn around,
Polar bears don't run - they bound.
Now move backwards, avoid their steely gaze,
Take full advantage of this soaring Polar haze.
Maybe minutes, but seemingly an age,
As we shuffle blindly stage by stumbling stage;
Our Dunkirk - the waiting rubber boats,
Ecstatic for anything that somehow runs and floats.
Back to the ship, sodden and quite sore,
Not to mention frozen to the epicenter of our core,
We huddle around cups of steaming tea,
Sharing stories of all we had to fear and see.
You may well ask, was this the fateful end,
Did we to natures will forlornly yield and bend?
It's true the thought did rather cross our minds,
Fearful of more unscripted scrapes and woeful binds,
However, a good sleep and liquid strength galore,
Did somewhat mollify that sorry shameful score.
For as dawn broke early the next day,
To a person did we in seeming chorus say:
Off we trudge as more adventure waits,
To experience all that Nature's majesty creates,
Our only thought one of craving more,
And so we went, still frozen to our core.
A flash of white, a coat of night,
A secret tucked away from light.
Beneath the hood, a rumbling den,
Found by the Boss's truck engine then.
A tiny scrap, all soot and sheen,
The cutest stowaway ever seen.
You came to stay, a fleeting grace,
Meant for a moment, a temporary space.
But in your eyes, a velvet plea,
The promise of the life you'd be.
The heart took hold, the bond was sealed,
A tiny life that wouldn't yield.
I couldn't part, I had to keep,
A Tuxedo cat now fast asleep.
You'd walk the room, a padded tread,
And talk back sharply when you were fed.
That little meow, a chirp, a sigh,
A fierce retort from one so high In spirit, demanding to be heard,
My sweet, demanding little talkie thing.
Then came the calm, the dearest sign,
The way you'd settle, wholly mine,
A warm soft weight around my feet, A purring, rumbling, joyful beat.
The terrible day, the shadow's start,
The sudden, shocking, broken heart.
A clumsy hop, a tragic fall,
A silence answering your call.
Too young you went, so swift, so brief, Leaving behind a silent grief.
The house is dim, the floor is bare,
A silent space where you should care To knead and chatter, swift and sweet,
KiKi, my love, my cat complete,
My little talkie thing.