Long Thrift Poems
Long Thrift Poems. Below are the most popular long Thrift by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thrift poems by poem length and keyword.
seems like ten
i had nine million thoughts of you
8,999,999,000 of them were daggers to my heart
the one thought that i held on to was recycled and turned into a message from God
it took me 3,650 days to realize that quality time with you was a sneeze in a thrift store full of ripoffs
now for seven days a week, i move on like a turtle intentionally constipated
i always carry that small wonder like a 15 year old butterscotch disc
at least butterscotch is still a friend of mine....
did you ever read that poem and hip yourself to the internal message
now my heart is on a temperamental conveyor belt
the surgical tools used to fix it have all decided to become animate and retire
the tears from my heart make black roses grow and inspire an odd senility to the whole of me
yes, it feels like another ten....and i thank you from the bottom....
....that i will never get over....
Containers come with different purposes
as they hold, wage, measure and engage.
From stone walls to fragile shells,
blood vessels to cage to idea.
Containers come with different protections and methods for treasures to unveil.
Each of a different purpose and story to tell.
Holding memories, secrets, or material, spirits- preciousness,
like a ring of a bell, a bluuurpbglllpll-
vomit of a puppet, a ouija for a demon of Hell.
In wooden chests, treasures lie hidden,
till the creak of hinge is bidden.
Whispers of history, stories in books, either Holy, educational, entertaining,
mysterious or forbidden us.
The brain to house memories,
where they belong,
the skull for the brain,
to help keep harm from,
or as a placeholder
for grey matter placebo for some.
The vessel of a porcelain teacup,
holds warmth and comfort, it's mold to stand
and deliver, as your lips gingerly quiver, bracing for
impact, careful it's hot, you lily liver!
Aww yes, sipping nature's elixirs
with each delicate sip,
in its delicacy, (pinky up sophisticately)
we find wisdom's mold to behold, pattern,
symbology, continuity, ingenuity, bounty,
Thrift Store Old Lady looking at you look at her.
antiques like security.
Aaarg matey!
A ship sails the vast, uncharted sea,
bearing straits of discovery, to arrive in one piece and enjoying the ******* luxury.
Contouring the wind's sweet glide.
A private plane, a non fossil fuel of the Elites,
a vessel of travel and privilege,
reaching for the sky, off to Little St. James,
though Hell is a contained container,
and Hell is from here to Eternity.
Continued....
The mocking is shocking
Aunty Mavis stopped rocking
Then mourners were flocking
A cavalcade blocking
The streets of South Dorking
Rumours and talking
Like vultures out squawking
Proportionate baulking
Reputation ignoring
So boring, I'm snoring
The eulogy diction
Precise in it's fiction
The perfect life stitched on
Close the sale, get the pitch done
Now the coffin is sliding
The red curtain slow gliding
Velvet box soon residing
On a mantle piece hiding
It's a travesty clearly
Distant relatives merely
Hanging round for a number
Pass the bread and cucumber
Social etiquette blunder
Now poor Mave is asunder
The circus is closing
Uncle Sid is left dozing
With sandwiches curling
The world keeps on whirling
Lesson learned: be a spender
Be a builder, defender
A love fight contender
Not reciever, but sender
All that thrift doesn't render
A relationship mender
Remember, remember
God decides where to send ya
When it's goodnight Vienna
Sam Scott
24th September 2023
The yard sale was great.
Sold everything in my place.
Now to start over new.
Influencers tell me what to do.
Have a need for food, shelter, and clothes.
They say that's not the way to go.
Buy products online,
Thats cheap and refined.
Use a credit card,
Get whatever you want.
Paying the bill is just an affront,
Go to thrift stores for a better jump.
What you want and need,
May be different indeed.
I can't fry my eye lashes to eat,
Hair products can't keep me warm.
Tattoos won't make a room for you.
No place to keep all my stuff that was cheap,
Live in a car with no place to sleep!
Again the machair blooms. Again these wild
Atlantic shorelines, battered but unbowed
as the marram grass, survive the wayward
blasts of winter, the silver sands endowed
with dancing colour, greeting the splendour
of the budding year. A close bound repertoire
of nodding harebells, celandines and thrift,
clover, thyme and tiny eyebright, near and far,
a sweeping backdrop to the wave-washed shore.
Sea campion, marigold and silverweed,
majestic iris, buttercup and mayweed,
bashful wild orchids, and a myriad more,
each in their order pays homage to the sun.
Bedazzling the eye, High Summer has begun.
Snap... crackle... pop... microwave went kaput
After start button pushed
immediate auditory signal issued
nsync with billowing smoke
time saving convenient contrivance
rendered defunct trucked to dumpster.
Pre owned electronic contraption
unpredictably went on fritz
malfunction occurred without warning
luckily spouse, the Misses
she instantaneously intervened
lest towering inferno engulfed
yours truly and wife
poetic license expended
to identify latter counterpart.
Rather than dish out
(and scrape together)
scarce legal tender
strong probability resident
(housed with Highland Manor apartments)
will vacate premises within near future
abandoning useable microwave oven.
Another option? Nearby thrift stores named:
Habitat for Humanity West Norriton ReStore
sells kitchen appliances
close proximity to our living quarters
if unsuccessful pursuit...
Worse case scenario?
Shop at Bath, Bed and Behind (er... Beyond),
Bestbuy, BJ's Warehouse, Boscov's
Home Depot, Loews, Macy's,
Target, or Walmart.
Splurge (potentially breaking poor piggy bank),
plus overspend checking account funds
readily pitting yours truly into the red
money to purchase brand spanking new
cooking unit versus consuming
frozen and/or uncooked foods
remember Euell Gibbons?
Twenty first century western civilization
steeped in capitalistism
I find existence
palpable (barely), incompatible disagreeable,
yet ill prepared
to revel in luxurious self sufficiency
think sweat of one's brow
living off the grid.
Yours truly never heard, seen, no lies
particularly when alone
facing my (pushing up daisies) demise,
without pretense nor guise,
he honestly decries
smelled, tasted, nor touched, any size,
and essentially knew nothing besides
ancient fruit grown in Japan
for past 1,000 years as Earth flies
thru space, now more about loquats,
plethora of details to exercise
memory bank, though
this poetaster still tries
to appear learned, no matter
me no expert, I reckon eyes
aforementioned small yellow size
egg-shaped acidic fruit
great breakfast, lunch,
or dinner sup prize
for dessert never knew the evergreen
eastern Asian tree of rose family,
in Thorndale residents
at somber occasions,
or holidays edibly feast
as modus operandi to eulogize.
If ever opportunity
finds agriculturally cocksure
and propensity doth arise to venture
to savor succulent juice of Loquat,
savoir faire mine mean
mien to one epicure
this wordsmith, whatever
his wordsworth as whitman,
he will need to remove lower denture
minor inconvenient truth (er tooth),
where jaws comprise juncture
and/or chop delectable treats
into byte size morsels.
Perhaps before I lay
me down to sleep
forever and a day
launched into death
be not proud, aye
will strive to appease
culinary yen oy vey
searching high and
low unexpectedly axed
about diddly squat (a spot,
pimple, or sty) seated
please and lemme
introduce myself, cuz
thar thou looking
for specific monsignor okay
thy my quest, I wilt thus assay
to indulge me secrete,
and rejoice hip... hip... hooray
if thee will allow any which way,
yours truly to supplicate,
perhaps magic discovery
after I pay obeisance and pray
to Mother Nature
my hunger, she will allay.
If ambition to satiate loquat all naught
please scatter cremated ashes,
upon bed of loquat sought
but ne'er found,
cuz earnestness to secure
coveted desire fraught,
not necessarily in vain if I got
repurposed to commingle,
viz this pauper devoid of haute
cuz thrift stores find me
where clothes get bought.
Would you take a dollar?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a fifty-cent piece?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a quarter?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
The haggler has no idea how to haggle really, the
vendor thinks, not realizing she gets more things for
a dollar, a fifty cent piece and a quarter than anyone
else in the world.
The buyer leaves with her dollar intact.
There is another garage sale two houses down, right?
Would you take a dollar?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a fifty-cent piece?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a quarter?
Yes. Sure.
Thank you very much! I love it!
Form:
Once upon a time
There lived a poor woman
With two children
She struggled every day
To provide for them all
Even a place to stay
The clothes they wore
Generally came from a thrift store
Two or three thread bare and stringy
A few with stains through and through
Feeding everyone took a lot of stew
Became a challenge the poor woman could do without
Boiling coffee in a pot
Filtering with a paper towel
Doing the same grounds again
Gave her two pots to see her through
Cowboy coffee she called it
The children remember to this day
Bring a tea bag
Just one
Make three cups from just one
Magic made for everyone
The cream, salt, pepper, sugar was good
She helped herself to the free supplies
Always taking a few more then she should
In a napkin
For their own good
Mixing powdered milk into gallon jugs
Helped stretch her dairy from month to month
Shopping in trash bins at vegetable stands
Everything just needed a pare here and there
Digging for clams and oysters
Added to spaghetti sauce
Her kids never knew
The occasional fish either caught or bartered
Added to the larder
Making a chicken last a whole week
Fed the family of three with something good to eat
The library taught them with a few books
What was edible in the yard
Thank God they looked
Checking the garbage for free furnishings people gave away
Always looking for something she might need
A lamp
Or table
Some place to read
Hair styles became convenient
With ponytails
For a few years
Entertainment was sparse
Free movies at the library
A swim in the sea
Camping anywhere that was free
Cooking over open fires
With what she had around
All of this gave substance to their lives
Creative poverty
So they could survive
History, it has always seemed,
at least it always has to me,
Is not something to be forgotten,
For from it much is gleaned.
It strikes me as more sensible,
if I may be allowed to say,
that's history is not a dusty book,
it's an all-you-can-think buffet!
From the ancients of the Levant
Ten Commandments do I take.
From the doughty Middles Ages:
Chivalry, a fine impression makes.
From the minutemen on Bunker Hills
comes a true love of liberty.
From the trappers in high Rockies
A sense of true independency.
The cowboy age it gives me
an appreciation of the grit,
along with a strong desire
Not to take any lip.
The roaring twenties gives me
the thrill of living it up.
The thirties taste strongly of thrift,
Of how to suffer through the rough.
Of the forties came a craving
for punching evil in the jaw.
From the fifties: Domesticity,
it's great rewards I saw.
From the sixties I take little,
except maybe rock and roll.
Though I admit as I grow older
Its seems tasteless and cold.
The seventies and best not eaten,
On that most will agree.
But the eighties' flavor is the power
of man's ingenuity set free.
From the millennium I consumed the fact
that Islamism is not that great.
And the present taste teaches clearly
not to trust those who cry "Hate!"
And this is just the beginning,
so many ideas out there lay...
A bit from here, a bit from there
A plate built of every age.
You leave behind the gristle,
though it make take some time,
but eventually you plate is choice,
and free of fat and rings.
And why some folks flee from it,
I cannot begin to say.
All I know is that once you start
you will always crave the taste.