Long Unpacked Poems
Long Unpacked Poems. Below are the most popular long Unpacked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unpacked poems by poem length and keyword.
Another Christmas season has arrived, at last
and like so many others from Yuletides past,
I'm glad some things have remained unchanged
Although the furniture has been rearranged.
Across the room, a fire crackles and burns
Jenny has grown; for love, her heart yearns
I recall when all she wanted was a baby doll
and skates for the new ice rink in the mall
I've been unpacked in just enough time to see
my family hanging ornaments upon their fir tree.
Garlands of holly berries and popcorn strung
The green velvet stockings beneath me are hung
There's gingerbread scent and carols on the radio
Dad sneaked a kiss from Mom under the mistletoe
The angel nods to me as she's lifted into place
atop the tree. She once told me her name is Grace.
There's old Kaci, the collie, fast asleep on his rug
Grandpa looks sad. I wish I could give him a hug
Mom is headed for the mantle to give me a shake
She's always gentle, taking care I don't break.
I was a gift from her Mom on Christmas, long ago
when she had asked Santa to please bring her snow,
but snow didn't fall in the South where she resided.
I was the closest thing Santa had lovingly provided
Tears fill Mom's eyes as my snow starts to flurry
I've become a bit cloudy and that makes her worry,
but I'll see her smile again Christmas Eve night
when she puts me in Jenny's stocking by fire light.
December 15, 2020
Christmas Poems ~ Old or New
Sponsored by ~ Constance La France
Fascinated by a word ‘lofty solitude’
I, as a tall and dignified pine tree,
once stood high on a mountaintop
that stands there from a time remote in antiquity
the unfathomable height.
However, I have burned the pride of the pine tree
to ashes in the sunset glow
because no one ever noticed the trail after trials of hardship
the pine tree underwent to sustain the self as pine tree
on the summit of mountain, and, therefore, I felt offended.
Bewitched by a word ‘tragedy’
I was, as a fluffed giant rock,
stood on the cliff no one ever stepped on
in one of those stormy night,
the roaring thunders, dazzling lightening
and the darkness reigns with flapping huge wings.
However, unable to hold own weight any longer,
wishing to mount on the back of a cloud,
I tried to hold a drifting cloud struggling with tiptoed stretches.
Becoming a captive of a word ‘anguish’
I wandered the wilderness
with thirst under burning sun
and hunger in chilling air at night.
However, the word anguish was the fierce torture
the whip inflicted on no one but self,
and, therefore, the deep wound never be healed
gives sharp pains unable to bear.
I thought the word 'loneliness' becomes to me,
I sat by the window counting a lot of stars in nightly sky
heaving with sighs as many as the stars I have counted.
I spent the sleepless night longing for an unknown love
in the ripples of moonlight,
the breaking surfs by the window.
However, throughout a night’s loneliness
I was overcame by sorrow, and became the drops of tears
and heaped up to overflowing in my heart’s river,
the solitary stream had nowhere to flow.
For a word ‘moksha--spiritual awakening' is so awesome
I roamed here and there wishing to find it the meaning of life,
and when I found it, I have collected it with joy
and packed it in old beaten knapsack I was carrying and returned.
However, when knapsack was unpacked and found was,
neither the will nor the way as I was expected all along,
but full of useless stones the darkness that is darker
then the raven’s feathers.
After all,
I think I do understand the meaning of the word ‘life’
though vague and fragmentary, now, I am standing
as a stem of reed in the marsh by a river
while swaying about in the wind
to tattoo the word ‘life’ on my sick and weary body.
A reprieve arrives, hopefully to stay
casting faint glimmers of the sun
so long held hostage by the clouded grays.
now undone.
The needed rain pulls back
but the landscape is still pale green,
frozen in time unpacked
a lime mist floating on the air can be seen.
It appears all creatures were released
from hibernation of the sudden chills
and the yard comes to recognize a quiet peace
that pervades gardens and unleashed growth is spilled.
A woodpecker knocks repeatedly
answered only by the call of distant geese
and the glow of the sun warmly heated
and robins hover singing in the trees.
A grond-hog climbs a frail cherry weeping
to challenge the squirrel presence
and the heron struts boldly around the pond creeping
looking for life and its inner essence.
Spring is reborn
producing life and color to the earth
as winter looms in the background unadorned
and spring comes alive in its rebirth.
I reckon most folks have ludicrous events in their lives to bear.
During my four-score years, Lord knows I've had my share!
Some left my dear long-suffering spouse (and me) somewhat sore,
But we laugh about them now since they've become our family lore!
In my younger years I worked as a janitor vacuuming floors and such.
Once, the vacuum hose got stuck - I jerked it with a not so gentle touch!
As quick as a spitting cobra the hose struck me square on the snout!
It bloodied my nose, caused my head to spin and nearly knocked me out!
Once, my wife was leaning over the car trunk getting something out.
Innocently, I turned the radio on raising the aerial causing her to shout!
That lustful antenna was creeping up her blouse in a very delicate area,
Causing her to cry out at me in a state of near extreme hysteria!
At the baggage carousel I snatched a bag that looked the same as mine.
I try to be ever mindful and careful of my good name never to malign,
But when I unpacked at home I discovered a bag of ladies intimate wear!
I tried to explain this turn of events under my spouse's baleful glare!
There was the time I was up a ladder when on the ground I spied a snake!
Discretion won out over bravery - I asked my wife to slay it with a rake!
Did I scale the ladder before or after seeing the snake is ever a question
That my wife ponders to this day tho' I'll never make a true confession!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I can be obsessive. For instance, last night I needed a command hook.
My mind couldn’t focus on “Principles of Biostatistics,” as fascinating as that book is, because I needed this $3 command hook to hang my keys by the door.
There’s a table by the door, I could easily put my keys there, but no. That’s where books go (am I too picky?). What’s funny is, I’d just been reading about ‘bias mitigation,' ya know, science is everywhere.
Still, I searched the boxes that I hadn’t unpacked
I looked around them too, did one fall in a crack?
Did I have one to begin with? I couldn’t keep track.
I texted Charles (across the hall), “do you have a command hook?”
“A what?” he replied. So I texted his wife, who went to look.
When she didn’t have one, I went back to my book.
The chapter was about ‘probability distributions as tools for managing uncertainty.’ How topical, here I was, uncertain about when I’d get that command hook. Never mind an indifferent God, science is obviously listening.
It was nearly midnight. I wondered, how late Door-Dash delivered?
Would they bring my hook or were there other services I should consider?
What about Amazon, Target or WalMart—could one of those be a winner?
In the end I had to do without—I gave up at 1am.
The miracle of capitalism had failed me—damn.
I could study with the hook off my mind. So, I set an Alexa reminder,
an alarm on my watch and alerts on my iPhone and MacBook finder,
then I wrote a pink post-it note, and put that on my epidemiology binder.
I have a standing, pre-dawn jog with Charles, and an idea forming.
If we passed an open convenience store, I could buy one in the morning!
.
.
Songs for this:
I Want You by Bob Dylan
I need you by Jon Batiste
It sat there on the bookstore shelf
And called attention to itself;
With stairs and lights and rooms to fill,
I thought that joy it would instill.
I schlepped it home and wrapped it tight,
Anticipating sheer delight
When both the grandkids got their gift;
How it would give my heart a lift!
The paper ripped, the house unpacked,
Assembled with our wits intact,
I waited for the eyes to light
But never counted on a fight.
For each one thought that he did know
Where every item ought to go
And naturally, their views diverged
While tempers flared and shrieking surged.
At last, to combat noise pollution,
We arrived at a solution –
Separate times for each to play
To keep the rivalry at bay.
But hours later, there’s a truce;
The reason why, I can’t deduce.
I’m watching them attempt to share;
To intervene, I wouldn’t dare!
Words will flood like torrents raging,
Deep immersed in waters wild;
Languishing in languages
Of liquid pools of prose,
Each time a laughing mannequin
Would somehow dare suppose.
They walk along with voice on leash,
Leading the park with cannibalistic eyes,
Bending over benches waiting,
For the next remark.
Together sharing repartee
For all they may experience
Between their cups of tea.
And when the tea is gone
And day is done
They read each other's tea leaves
Just for fun.
And words will flood like torrents raging
Deep immersed in waters wild,
Bragging their experience;
Their late night, early morning laughter
Left uncaging.
They will stop with you,
Exchanging dreams,
Amidst the clattering of the glasses;
Voice unpacked, and weakly fumbling,
For their answers;
Never knowing that the question
May go yet unasked,
And they be left at shallows end,
Naked and unmasked.
And words will flood like torrents raging
Deep immersed in waters wild.
Treasures from my Past
In preparing for the yard sale, I gather all my junk,
I wade through the mass of items from decades before
From furniture to dishes that have sat down in my basement
And I realize that my past will be pushed outside my door.
I pick up a box of Royal Albert dishes from a dusty cardboard box,
Carefully removing the yellowed newspaper that wrap each plate,
Displaying the majestic burgundy strip with 24k gold filigree,
Rediscovering those joyful feelings that seem to calm and sedate.
Long before the death of my parents and my only aunt,
These plates graced the dining room table at all family celebrations.
Oh the food, the smells, the faces and the happy times,
These plates bring back all the best and warmest sensations.
With so many items to keep, each item with its own meaning,
The Royal Albert plates unpacked, finally get moved outside at last,
To ease my mind I think about the happiness that they can bring,
More happy memories for others, can be made from these plates of my past.
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once short unpacked
NOTE:Each of the above is a FOOTLE ,a two line lines,2 syllable verse with an integral title-Light Poetic verse form,witty,pertinent,topical etc (technically a trochaic monometer and not necessarily in rhyme).
Footles on the otherhand(with an 's' ) is a 'hybrid' innovative sequenced variation that has developed over the years (since 2009)alongside the original definition.
Nothing arrives whole.
Everything comes folded~
creased at the edges,
tucked into itself
like a secret that forgot
how long it has been carried.
To be unpacked
is to let the day exhale,
to open the small, stubborn corners
where memory hides
like lint in a pocket.
I lift each moment
from its hiding place~
a peach warm in my palm,
a kitchen light trembling
on the rim of a glass,
a childhood street
still smelling faintly
of percolator coffee
and women laughing
in their housecoats.
Unpacked,
the world softens.
It stops pretending
to be tidy.
It spills~
slow, honest,
like a drawer finally opened
after years of silence.
And I stand there
my hands full of the past
realizing none of it
was ever lost.
It was only waiting
for me
to unfold it.