Long Tidied Poems
Long Tidied Poems. Below are the most popular long Tidied by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tidied poems by poem length and keyword.
Mom woke up early to bake the pie. The special occasion pie. Her daughter’s favorite. She rolled out the chilled dough with the old rolling pin and crimped the edges just so. She danced with anticipation as the custard bubbled to its chocolatey glory. When all was done, there were eggshells everywhere. She tidied the kitchen humming their favorite tune.
At last the doorbell rings and there is the delightful smile of her beautiful girl! Though a bit awkward they hug and chat pleasantly. But before Mom can present her scrumptious offering, something from the bitter forbidden list almost slips from Mother's lips. Almost, but her daughter’s keen ear hears it. Almost is enough. Enough to trigger her daughter’s rehearsed response--leaving Mom stunned and alone with her disappointed expectations.
behind the slammed door
the said, unsaid, and dust swirl
untouched meringue weeps
3/8/2021
At dawn the bugle's piercin' call roused troopers for another wretched day,
Of curryin' horses, shovelin' manure, drillin', guard duty and gatherin' hay!
Another day of bellerin' sergeants and pompous officers that they must obey!
This and more for a mere thirteen bucks a month - a private's meager pay.
Stumblin' around in dim light they made their bunks and tidied up the bay.
Breakfast was the usual stale bread and rancid bacon, much to their dismay!
After muster roll they fed and saddled their horses for arduous hours of drill.
Fatigue duty was meted out - some hapless lads to fell trees for the mill.
Others detailed to police the grounds, some to tote water from Laramie Crick.
There was always holes to dig and squads were handed shovels and a pick.
At the bugler's call 'To horse!' troopers were sent on perilous missions.
Through hail, rain, mud, dust and snow they endured appalin' conditions!
They took a bath once a week on Saturday night scrubbin' in a barrel.
Recruitin' sergeants failed to mention that a trooper's life would be so sterile!
On paydays they'd visit 'soiled doves' at the 'hog ranch' just down the road,
Or get soused with booze at the sutler's store, then face the penal code!
At days end they mustered for parade as the bugler sounded 'Retreat',
And for supper they 'enjoyed' more stale bread and rancid bacon to eat.
At last, well-earned rest as 'Taps' resounded as in their bunks they lay.
This and more for a mere thirteen bucks a month - a private's meager pay!
Each new person is a gift
Some wrapped in shiny foil paper
Tidied up with ribbons and bows
Others trussed inside brown paper
Restricted by an extra tight string
That chafes them, tearing into their souls
The challenge is easy.
All we have to do to fully enjoy them
Is to coax them or cajole them out of their wrappers
As we get to know them
They will either open up to reveal their truths
Or they will crawl into a corner and hide
Some will come out hissing and spitting
Angry that you want to know them at all
These are the ones who need love the most.
If you can scale their walls
Infusing friendship, understanding and love
You will have a forever-friend who will never leave
You hastily spilled a loaded jar of stained language.
Sky aglow by a rainbow, as sunsets below a ledge.
Pouring a layer of dullness into a pristine scene.
Murky clouds have drowned the gentle sunshine.
Unscrupulous guarantees, sand-tidied venturing,
And the heart will stow away in the way they review.
In the azure sky, golden rings are instantly plunging.
Blackbirds crow around humans peacefully withdrew.
Storm haze from a weakening typhoon stream.
Realizing the window curtains inhibit late-day sun.
This fear involves a torrential downpour dream.
Nowhere for adoration untamed stallion to run,
He wanders around this forsaken dust bowl land.
Without a stated objective, just a promise in hand.
Dreams of enigmatic and utterly ease dry,
The rises speak culpability as they move away.
Written; December 26, 2021
A fearful mind approves each deft move.
As a roving lout, I have a soft spot and am sensitive.
Your clarion call ought to be a full-scale disorder.
I'm weaving dim deceptions over my slander.
written in octaves
Tom gathers broken branches
and stubs his toes on roots.
Tywhoppity’s rich bottom
is tidied up each autumn.
The ache and pain he stanches
to reap September fruits.
Tom gathers broken branches
and stubs his toes on roots.
Re-staking his best grapevines
on the hillside on his knees,
he rakes up leaves and stubble
along with rocks and rubble.
The smell of fragrant pond pines
makes this old farm boy sneeze.
Re-staking his best grapevines
on the hillside on his knees.
His body takes a beating
his mind stays in control.
Each year his land gets littered
but he is not embittered.
It’s nature the man competes
against with heart and soul.
His body takes a beating
his mind stays in control.
Crops gathered without delay
hand-picked by one-man crew.
Bottoms broadcast with clover
provides a winter cover
Keeping Blackford Creek at bay.
This bottom - his world view.
Crops gathered without delay
hand-picked by one-man crew.
June 25, 2019
Brian Strand, YOUR PERSONAL PERFECT POEM PICK contest, 3rd place.
Tywhoppity Bottoms isn't some place you can find on Google Maps or Wikipedia. It is a small area of bottomland that surrounds Blackford Creek, which creates part of the county line that divides Daviess and Hancock counties in western Kentucky. According to legend, Tywhoppity was given its name by Union soldiers during the Civil War, who remarked the sound of the creek against the rocks made a ty-whop-it-ty sound.
When we bought a home on Tye Ave., many times I referred to our area as Tye-whoppity Bottoms especially when our creek (Blackiston Run) rose and got into our neighbor’s house.
Mother, you’ve been gone for twelve months
I write poems upon your desk
The house looks different, you wouldn’t like it
Now I know why you worked and worked to keep it in order
I comprehend why you polished the silver
I believe the dishes should be put up every night
I see why we shouldn’t bring food to our rooms
Mother, we miss you terribly, we love you so
I sit in the living room, I write upon your desk
The couch smells like your perfume
The pictures rest in the closet, I don’t know why
Mother, your voice rings out on the second floor
Now I know why we tidied our rooms in the mornings
I comprehend why schoolwork comes first
I find myself being just like you “pick up your clothes”,” feed the dog”
Mother, how I wish I told you I loved you more often
The house looks different, you wouldn’t like it
Now I know why you worked and worked to keep us in order
Mother, you’ve been gone for so long
I write poems upon your desk
It feels like you’re right here
06/10/2021
Written for Lipogram Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emilie Pinet
(no letter a)
The day drags its feet, despite my efforts to speed up its pace. I got up late, so that I could sleep away the morning hours, aiming for a shorter day. Yet it’s only half past ten and I’ve already eaten breakfast and put my dishes in the sink. Glaring at the clock for the umpteenth time, doesn’t help, it just keeps on ticking away; yet I swear that it hasn’t budged since the last time I looked. I already tidied up my room, and picked up last years toys. And I’ve even put some milk and cookies out, hung my stocking up over the fireplace and wrote a note to Santa; yet it’s only noon, now what? What am I going to do for the next eight hours? Why does it always take forever for sleep to come, when Christmas day is the next day?
Cloudy skies explode into puffs of snowy flakes,
Harbingers of excitement and sweet sugar cakes.
Ringing bells peal and chime, blessing this joyous day,
Invitations to celebrate Jesus's birthday.
Santa's reindeer are all set for their flight tonight
To deliver presents; to every child's delight.
Mommies and daddies are all smiles and hugs of love,
As youngsters eagerly search the skies above.
Slumber fuels dreams of elves and a flying sleigh,
Dozing off to sleep, while awaiting Christmas day.
All the months of waiting will soon be at an end,
Yuletide spirits filling hearts as fun and faith blend.
(Haibun/Acrostic/Rhyming Couplet)
What if I have not answered your phone?
Maybe, it was due to my right ear but wrong tone.
What if I have not called you lately?
Maybe, I have been very busy.
What if I have not replied your messages?
Maybe, my phone needed to be deep cleaned and tidied.
What if I kept on making promises?
Maybe, I just wanted you to put my words in your diary.
What if I kept on breaking my promises?
Maybe, I have lost my memories.
What if I wanted to end all the communications?
Maybe, all I need was to press the mute button.
What if I want to leave you?
Maybe, I need to make the first move.
What if I no longer want to be with you?
Maybe, I just have to ignore and go through.
What if you want to be back to me?
You know where to find me. Maybe.
What if I never see you again?
Goodbye. Good luck to you, my friends.
What if I said all the above was what you did to me?
Maybe, for sure, every thing with you was all maybe.
Reverence
I see you in the mirror, I see all three of you looking back,
I see all the hate and void tidied in perfect little stacks...
I feel presumptuous fingers running, tips brush skin and,
I feel six penetrating eyes, but only two cold damp hands...
I taste my iron flushed saliva, as blood runs my bitten tongue,
I taste the bass echoed hollow, from the screams my throat sung...
I hear judgments as shadows laugh and dance in primal screams,
I hear my rages whistling kettle as my sanity tears its seams...
I know that chances come at costs, coincidences have consequences,
I know this reflection, lost, mouthing these words in silent sentences...
Standing in this structure, that has long since, been demolished
Breathing lemon bleach, where the floor was freshly polished.
Taking photos in my mind, of this single, borrowed moment
already the past, but I had one chance to own it
The buzzing of the phones and barking dog, echoes
Yogi's chipper voice, greeting with hellos
"Anna!, line 6!", rolled through the intercom
The bright, red light blinked and I felt a sense of calm
Only my sweetheart would know to call me on this line
Which meant, it must be late. Getting close to closing time
Others argued over the work
It didn't bother me a bit. I didn't care to sit
At the peak of my prime, working for a dime,
you can bet I didn't quit
until my check was signed
This delapadated building, positioned, just beyond the tracks and
The beginning of adulthood, I keep trying to go back
The money earned and lessons learned
They made me who I am
Who would have thought, as time turned
I'd wish a traffic jam
Oh what a bore, to crave nothing more
Than my hardest working days
Back then, I prayed for more in store
For the children, I should raise
But suddenly, it's clear to me
That who I was, I was meant to be
I hadn’t the slightest clue back then
But who I am, is where I've been
To think, that rundown building
Where I worked for minimum wage
I scrubbed from floor to ceiling
And tidied every cage
Would be a stepping stone
As time kept moving on
A chunk of foundation
For my very creation
Treasured memories I would own
13 years have passed
Things are changing way too fast
They’ve surly moved on from me
But I hope they would agree
That I too, played part, in the shaping of the heart
As they, in turn, sculpted me, they were my family