Long Totes Poems
Long Totes Poems. Below are the most popular long Totes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Totes poems by poem length and keyword.
All in double
179,878 people worldwide - from doctors to engineers - from nations to individuals - all people are managing to double the number of happy people - creating clients and friends.
Giving people what they are asking for and then 1% more.
What a simple formula!
What are you waiting for?
1% more equal to the double of happy people - customers and friends and even nations.
Think about it and know how.
Read here: https://goo.gl/forms/InL4RNPLBiSj3qgv2
Use the translator for your app
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Tot en doble
179.878 persones a tot el món -des de metges a enginyers- de les nacions a les persones físiques - totes les persones aconsegueixen duplicar el nombre de persones felices, creant clients i amics.
Donant a la gent el que demanen i després un 1% més.
Quina fórmula senzilla!
Què estàs esperant?
Un 1% més que el doble de persones felices: clients i amics i fins i tot nacions.
Penseu-hi i sàpiga-ho.
Llegiu aquí: https://goo.gl/forms/InL4RNPLBiSj3qgv2
Utilitzeu el traductor per a la vostra aplicació
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Tudo em dobro
179.878 pessoas no mundo todo - de médicos a engenheiros - de nações a indivíduoas - todas as pessoas estão conseguindo dobrar o numero de pessoas felizes - criando clientes e amigos.
Dando às pessoas o que elas estão pedindo e depois 1% a mais.
Que fórmula simples!
O que você está esperando?
1% a mais igual ao dobre de pessoas felizes - clientes e amigos e até nações.
Pense nisso e saiba como.
Leia aqui: https://goo.gl/forms/InL4RNPLBiSj3qgv2
Use o tradutor do seu aplicativo
Buttons for game pieces, buttons on totes,
Buttons on toys, shoes, sweaters and coats.
Buttons that open and buttons that close
On pockets and purses and edges of clothes.
Buttons that decorate; buttons that don’t.
Buttons I'm sure to lose; buttons I won’t.
Buttons as filler for bean bags and such.
Buttons collected are not used so much!
Buttons on greeting cards and on jewelry!
Thousands of buttons adorning a tree!
Buttons to reset , to turn on a light.
There’s “Cute as a button” and also as “bright“!
Button up (but not down); push them “hot” (but not cold);
“Button your lip” and do as your told!
Though buttons may vanish one day from earth,
We'll wear on our bellies - buttons since birth!
Blank note book page:
Wait on wild scribbles,
Wait for deep rage,
Wait for new squiggles.
Style words of poise:
Scribble fleeting stuff,
Stream sensuous voice,
Signal some odd bluff.
Each leaf a whole:
Waiting impulse finds,
Waiting nude soul,
Waiting pulse that binds.
Some sketchy notes:
Ink stains scrawl ideas,
Crisp and clear totes,
Brief moments sans fear.
Wonder why here:
Wait on pending spills,
Wait for fresh cheer,
Wait for random feel.
Symbols and signs:
Thought in wavy dots,
Plot squeaks align,
Slot happy brisk jot.
Blank spiral sheet:
Meta-form prompts more,
Nude naked beat;
Can odd touch slurp more?
Leon Enriquez
14 September 2017
Singapore
Some years from now
the Devil throws a banquet –
In hell, of course – where he alone
unquestionably rules:
A banquet table plated for
greedy fools: to his right,
Barack seated; with Hilary at
his heated left; Bidden,
unable to tell where he is –
so after a brief, delirious spell,
decides himself quite content
with just the odious, strangely
familiar smell – Hunter doing some
cooking – agents told to shy
from looking – ordered not to
allow lawful booking:
Pelosi and Schumer,
for the first time
realizing themselves entirely
powerless...yet, hopelessly
addicted to procuring votes,
hotly plot how to send
the Squad copious
asbestos notes – His Majesty
offers them, another plate of
hot coals, with a side-dish of
charred souls – some fur lined
totes, to go with stylish
Arctic coats –
I like my driftwood,
I like my glue.
I like my craft room
And making something new
The room keeps getting fuller,
There never is enough.
Watch out you don't trip
Over any of that stuff.
Once it all fit in totes,
Maybe just three or four.
Now its dozens of totes and boxes
Covering the floor.
I can't control the need
To keep collecting more and more
And if I don't stop adding
I won't be able to see the floor.
There are labeled totes and boxes
So I know just what's in each,
But now they're stacked so high
They are mostly out of reach.
I think I have a problem,
I don't gamble and don't drink,
But these crafts are my obsession.
I need an intervention, don't you think?
It's my fifth day of unemployment
and I'm going a little bit crazy.
I'd expected to sit around and relax
and in general behave quite lazy.
Day one, I made a scrapbook
and rearranged all my craft totes.
Day two I cleaned out bird cages
and started writing pre-Christmas notes.
Shopping is done and put away.
Outside Christmas lights are shining.
I fear I'm running out of projects
and for my job I am pining.
A second scrapbook has been started,
a nine hundred page book's nearly read.
I've not even made it through week one
so the next five weeks I now dread.
I vowed I'd wait 'til the new year
before looking for another career.
Six weeks off seemed reasonable, at the time,
but my resolve is failing I fear.
These little projects keep me busy.
They keep my mind occupied for awhile.
If I tell you I'm enjoying this holiday,
well now you know , I'm just in denial.
Looking back, it seems I've made a giant plastic nest.
Plastic cars -plastic totes- plastic toys
plastic guns- plastic utensils- plastic boats
plastic bags- plastic Easter eggs- plastic remotes.
Plastic Jesus hanging from a plastic cross
a plastic grimace on his perfect plastic face.
I've fallen hard for plastics
so cheap
so practical
no more slivers of glass in the soul
It's really God-like
it's an all-around helpful entity
we can dump our excessive baggage.
It'll never complain- it never goes away...
Plastic was the answer
until it worked its way into the food chain.
Back in the day, at about the age of 7 or 8
mother(step) schooled me on how to wash dishes.
The plastic plates were the toughest to master.
Mother(step) would run her finger over the surface.
Like a pimply teenager's face, all but impossible to get rid of all the grease.
She'd disgustedly toss the plastic God
back into the greasy suds.
I'd scrub the greasy sin from my plastic God...
over and over again.
Plastic has polluted me. I have a plastic brain.
The price I pay for sleeping with plastic people.
Hunters in the Snow
Slowly, the hunters break stride through the snow,
Hunched over in failure, their heads hanging low.
Below the hill where villagers at play
Will soon be sad with no food on the way.
The meagre kill slung across one’s shoulders
'Tis barely enough, let alone for others.
But there at the inn a boar on the spit,
Pork and ale for them who can pay for it.
A band of crows meets the depressed procession,
As a magpie flies by in food exploration,
While those perched in the trees caw incessantly,
As if to mock the returning party.
Yonder mountains rise with icy-capped peaks,
Where at the cliff’s base a castle is seen.
Across the dam an ox-drawn cart lumbers,
While men on ladders douse a chimney fire.
Off in the distance, a tranquil scene reveals
A village with its clock and a church steeple.
All around the town are fields covered with snow,
And below the troop, the millpond froze over.
Everything looks cold ‘neath a green-tinged sky
That signals a storm gathering be nigh.
There on the bridge, a hag totes afaggot,
Fuel for the stove to keep herself toasty.
The hounds look unnaturally thin and worn
And, like their masters, hopelessly forlorn.
Back from the hunt and home from the forest,
Hunters and dogs are badly in need of rest.
***
Note:
“Hunters in the Snow” is an ekphrastic poem describing the painting “The Hunters in the Snow” (1565) by Pieter Brueghel the Elder (c.1525/1530–1569).
HILLBILLIES BYBILLIES AND BLOWBILLIES--
Once upon a time in the land of Frilly
Lived a tatter torn family the McFrelly’s
On the outskirts of Arkansas the county of Mountain Lily,
Just below the Mason Dixie line acts involuntarily
They were peaceful hillbillies
Granny made corn and dandelion whiskey dilly
Jonathan had a tan cuz he slept on the sand pond lily
His sister Bertha Bybillie goat choking off the surrounding globe lily
Kitchen totes, those utensils often found a float really
They were peaceful hillbillies
Daddy Darson Dale dippin snuff and drinkin shine ale swamp lily
Blowbillie shown now it’s winter it snowed time to turn off the stilly
This be the Legend of the Hillbillies, Bybillies, and Blowbilllies
From Arkansas, Mountain Lily Arkansas (Ain't that a dilly!!)
They wuz peaceful hillbillies
4/28/18
Hillbillies, Bybillies, and Blowbilllies. - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger |
Gray smeared sky like a quilt of rags
Winos sip rot gut from brown paper bags
Threadbare cloud crotch splits up the side
Rain pours down, you got nowhere to hide
Cheap umbrella from a street corner pimp
Turns inside out before going limp
Putrid puddles, soggy doggy doo dollops
Are artfully dodged by high-heeled trollops
A rat scurries by with a piece of bread
Like the ant that totes a leaf on its head
You too once held big dreams in your grasp
But they got drowned with a gurgling gasp
You told me before, no you don't stutter
Your genius ideas got washed down the gutter
Now like a scavenger after a flood
You salvage what's left from out of the mud
Ashes to crashes, lust to rust
In the end it only goes bust
Caught in between the future and past
You start out just fine but finish dead last
____________________________
by Brian McClain - Jan 23, 2016