Long Thermostat Poems
Long Thermostat Poems. Below are the most popular long Thermostat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thermostat poems by poem length and keyword.
Open you hands to receive life's gifts.
Open your eyes to see life's opportunities.
Open your heart to receive life's love.
Let your energy flow freely
to circulate positivity and newness.
Open your channels to relieve
stagnation and stasis.
Keep the flow constant ...
Regulate your thermostat...
Constant energy -
Constant stream -
Constancy -
Steady flow -
Grow in fluidity
Tidal development.
No pools of sludge or slurry.
Clear waters of constant, perpetual
forward motion....emotion ....
Freeflow...freefall....freedom...
The momentum of moment
leading to magnitude of existence
and safe arrival at serenity.
A secular soldier's demise came from friendly fire.
Soon demons dragged him into another friendly fire.
A succubus said,” Please dream of freedom and sex,
But there is no option to leave the Hell complex.”
The Sargent felt the thermostat was set too high.
His thirsting throat rapidly became parched and dry.
Satan offered him a brew of ghost pepper juice.
Despite an urge to vomit he could not cut loose.
The Sargent asked to tour all the circles of Hell.
Satan laughed and said, “Dante had nothing to tell,
For all his fabulous prose he was never there.
And expect no Purgatory for respite care.”
Sarge said, “Dante the poet would not lie for sooth.”
Satan asked, with a pilot shark smile, “What is truth?”
“Why am I here?” the Sarge in acute anguish cried.
“For enlisting in eternity's losing side!”
If we delay pushing back,
Telling others it is wrong to do that,
Putting on a hard hat,
Leaving a one bedroom flat,
Giving bodies less fat,
Chasing the money trail to a fat cat
Smelling a rat,
Going out to bat,
Getting rid of the weeds covering the welcome mat,
Reading the latest crime stat,
Giving a word to the wise, to a bureaucrat,
Making gangs scat,
Checking the thermostat,
Firing a technocrat.
If you can show me, how we will be ok if we don't start pushing back,
And just turn our back on all of that,
That the system will cope and we will all grow fat,
With no freedom being lost if we ignore all that,
That profit after tax will stay pat,
That everybody over 60 will still be able to bat,
That children will have no nightmares,
If we delay pushing back on most of that,
Then I will eat my hat.
Kitchie is an old copper kettle being used for boiling water. Sinkie is a faucet in the sink that keeps everything full and clean. They stay very close to each other for many years in a small kitchen, inside a small house.
One afternoon, Kitchie asked Sinkie...
Kitchie: "Are you cold? Or are you always hot or warm just like me?"
Sinkie: "I can be hot or cold depending on my mood. Humans who use me can control me with any temperature they want with the use of electricity. Similar to a thermostat that controls any room temperature inside a house."
Kitchie: "Do you run out of water too?"
Sinkie: "Sometimes."
Kitchie: "If you are to choose to be something else, what would it be?"
Sinkie: "I want to be a kitchen utensil... maybe a spatula or fork or spoon so I can defend myself."
Kitchie: "I always feel warm and unwanted in my daily routine. Humans only use me whenever they drink coffee or take a bath."
Sinkie: "You are of good use and don't feel small about it! And just like me, we are created to serve."
Kitchie: "I don't want to serve forever. "
Sinkie: "Why not?"
Kitchie: "I'm already an old kettle. I will not last forever."
Sinkie: "Humans can mold you or transform you into something else without losing your natural composition or worth."
Kitchie: "I hope so. I"ve seen many kettles, big and small, sitting beside me on this same kitchen. They retired early. Tens of me have already left this place and are now musical instruments. They are now kettledrums!"
Sinkie: "Really???!!!... Where are they now?"
Kitchie: "Most of them are in the entertainment world. Some are in schools while others are in the circus. "
Sinkie: "If ever, where do you want to go from here?"
Kitchie: "I just want to be free and stay outiside under a tree."
Sinkie: "You don't think like a kettle... you must be something else!"
At some point you are going to need to impress more than a few friends with some burnt toast. I used to have an old, heavy-gauge chrome-plated toaster with a dial to adjust doneness from 1-5. I took a Sharpie and scribed a 6 at the extreme. The pointer doesn’t actually go there, but it is useful for indicating my intent. It works better than the 5 setting which merely chars the surface. But 6 chars it darn near all the way through, enlarging the pore structure to retain even more melted butter. You gotta be cautious not to overuse that feature because it’ll burn the toaster, as in overheating the thermostat and melting the whispy wires. No more toast for you. Back at the store they were quick to figure out your attempt to exceed the capacity and the clearly worded statement in the ownership contract will be pointed out to you, that glamorous document with the curly-Q decorations making it supremely authentic like a stock certificate from the 1960’s. They replaced my toaster once, but the second and third times I only got a stern look of reproach. The manufacturer has black listed me through my credit card so now all my toaster purchases are cash only.
Owner of my desires ...
I am direct current,
and Energy Central,
With my own thermostat ...
With inner force, repair
LEVELS OF LOVE DEFECTS
and feeding daydreams ...
My driving force
Come from above, I'm a motor
Metaphysical, Creating Waves
loving ... vibrating
human warmth, though
causing crashes and chills,
Burning calories in love,
I am a vortex
of affection, chakra of tenderness ...
Emanating love, I love so much ...!
Feint faint "Fake" no nor'easter
If putsch comes to shove,
aye ain't no doggone fraidy cat
nor chicken little
fearing coup d'état,
yours truly simply
risk averse, and more exact,
he stays sequestered
within these four walls,
cuz tis safest inside this flat
always... mein kampf,
I remember when fertilization begat
after nine months in utero...
ah dat womb dar full habitat
i.e. uterus cradled humanity, whereat
teeming bajillions primates
peopling planet Earth
couples made lovey dovey after spat
(which species among
other flotsam and jetsam),
got shot out (think) analogous
muzzle loaded gat
excellent marksman aimed
then squirted packed heat hot
as summer temperature
gets within Gujarat
recorded courtesy, thee
oldest functioning thermostat,
albeit microcosmic primordial vat
testy sea men don
(May comb hairy
gah great again) conical hat.
I surmise proto humans
especially storied hall
(conjured in Peer Gynt
by Edvard Grieg
of mountain king)
trumpeted, tooted thwacked,
and announced presence
courtesy posterior primal mating call,
which vibrant cheekiness heard all
around the mulberry bush to Gaul
hmm... maybe e'en hot air
inspired Marc Chagall,
while sitting atop porcelain throne,
nonetheless scandalous
rectal blasts methinks help explain fall
of Rome, whereby noxious
generated silent but deadly nauseating
noisome pall mall
felled friend and foe alike
analogous on minuscule
scale to Chernobyl
level 7 nuclear accident
also linkedin, when
Polar Vortex doth stall
across avast swath planet Earth
forcing quick thinkers to marshall,
what (mathers) matters
such as... antique pinball
machines worth a mint,
a to install.
A happier couple, you could never see.
One blessed day, they would be three.
They'd enjoy a picnic in a park or beach,
Joe and his wife, Molly, a lovely peach.
I would say their lives were very much in check
'Til the day Joe became obsessed with tech.
"Where's our simple life?", Molly would sigh,
"Before electronic gadgets and AI?"
Soon, digital tools would run their life.
Molly was no longer a happy wife.
Joe spent all the money in the cookie jar
To put AI in his TV, watch and car.
Then, these two could never be alone,
Each accompanied by an intelligent phone.
Even their fridge had something to say
As it monitored their diets night and day.
All Joe's devices networked as a team -
To improve the couple's lives, their scheme.
They, of course, knew exactly what to do -
They had more brain power than these two.
This system started acting somewhat strange
As their lives, it would upgrade and change.
Even the navigator on Joe's new car,
Instead of home, drove to his favorite bar.
His phone called Molly to duly report
Joe was having fun with a blonde escort.
The refrigerator told Joe to discard
Conventional wisdom and eat more lard.
The thermostat set itself way up high -
In bed, Mollie would at a distance, lie,
While her phone whispered in her ear,
"You look so lovely tonight, my dear."
Did I say that Joe and Molly would be three?
Did I tell you if he bought a warranty?
What did they get for all the things Joe bought?
A new boy - a beeping baby robot!
Can we talk about love in the twilight years
Ain't not no expert I must confess
But the older I get, find myself ogling young ladies
Might even think this old guy's obsessed
Not at all my friends, I can take 'em or leave 'em
Now what the hell am I saying
Prettying up the landscape more than us guys
Hope there's plenty upstairs I'm praying
How boring to live an eternity without ladies
Sure wouldn't look forward to that
Rather go down below where the bad girls are
They'd certainly adjust my thermostat
I've led a clean life for the most part I'd say
But for a couple of minor infractions
Like running around with a bunch of loose women
All part of a young lad's passion
Let's talk about love, a favourite subject of mine
Ain't not no expert I must confess
The older I become, the more decrepit and sad
Going to miss seeing girlies undress
© Jack Ellison 2015
It starts with you stretching~
a heroic, over-the-top reach
across the bathroom counter,
your fingers barely able to
graze the empty cardboard tube.
“You’re unbelievable!” you groan.
“Who in their right mind
leaves the toilet paper roll like this?”
I lean against the doorway,
crossing my arms and enjoying the drama.
“That, my love, is what sailors call a broad reach~
you’re almost there, but the wind
and the toilet paper have abandoned you.”
You shoot me that look.
“Oh, please. You’re the one who used the last of it.”
“Incorrect,” I reply, “that was the cat.
She’s been plotting a coup d'état for months.”
You ignore me and continue your dramatic stretch,
trying to snag the new roll~
the one sitting just beyond your reach,
your fingertips doddering like an old quarterback.
“You know,” I add,
“if you installed the roll under,
you wouldn’t have this problem.”
You freeze mid-reach.
“Don’t start.
We agreed—over is civilized.”
“We agreed nothing,” I say.
“You declared.
I quietly rebelled.
It’s called balance.”
You sigh like a disgruntled woman
who has endured many things~
my thermostat treachery,
my dishwasher loading heresy,
and now my toilet-paper insurgency.
“Fine,” you reply.
“Hand me the roll, O Keeper of Chaos.”
I pass it to you with exaggerated ceremony,
like I’m presenting a royal scepter.
You snatch it, triumphant.
Then, with the precision of a general
placing a flag on conquered land,
you install it over~
smooth, confident, victorious.
“There,” you proclaim. “Order restored.”
I grin.
“For now.”
You narrow your eyes.
“Oh, you wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would,” I retort.
“And I will.
A broad reach is nothing
compared to a well-executed midnight flip.”
You laugh~
that warm, reluctant laugh
that always ends the battle,
even if it doesn’t end the war.