Long Vat Poems
Long Vat Poems. Below are the most popular long Vat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vat poems by poem length and keyword.
WHALING SHIP CAPTAIN"S LOVER part 3
Now Jorgie met a new love
He begged to make her wife
First, they’d fetch her small boy
to start a fresh new life.
So East they went to Minot
To find her cousin there
But when they came to his big house
His smile for them was spare.
The cousin was not happy
To relinquish that fine boy
He said his wife would waste away
Without her greatest joy
And Jorgie, solemn, studied them
The woman and the child &
Wept with great compassion
Her broken heart ran wild.
Determined to do justice
Twas no one she could blame
Jorgie hugged the boy good bye
Her soul in raging flame.
She bid the woman love him
And tell him she was aunt
And with her newfound husband, John,
Departed pale and gaunt.
Now John, he was a good man
Who worshiped his new wife
They agreed to keep a secret
About her former life
And so away the years passed
Son came after son
Jorgie had a fresh life
They built a solid home.
Each month she mailed the letters
To the ‘cousin’ in the west
She parceled up the photos
true siblings in their best
But Sadness haunted Jorgie’s eyes
She tried to hide it well
But her husband knew her---
She had him in her spell.
So sad she was and so forlorn
He needed to confide
To someone who could help him
to cheer his cherished bride.
And so he told his sister
His wife had longed to see
From her past her loved ones---
Her own sweet family.
So sister Lena planned a scheme—
For Jorgie wild and free
the gift would be a great surprise
And John he did agree.
They would take the children
Aboard the westbound train
Jump the train at Minot
To see the boy again.
Wait they must til autumn
For Jorgie twas the best
In May would be a newborn babe
Nuzzling at her breast
Then hit the plague of ‘17
Entire towns were dead—
And in their midst was Jorgie--
With her newborn-- cold, in bed.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note: Jorgie : (pronounced Yor’ gee) was a nickname
Her name: Sena Jorgine Larsen
My father’s mother. The baby named Clara. My was nearly 4 when they died. His father, John Anderson—Jorgie’s husband , never remarried. He lived to be in his 70’s. His sister, my great aunt, Lena Anderson Hildebrandt, told me this story in 1971.
PS THERE IS ANOTHER PART TO THIS IF ANYONE WANTS TO READ IT LET ME KNOW. I DON'T WANT TO BORE ANYONE TO DEATH! vat
Prescribed blood tests
present no qualms,
unlikely nothing askew i.e.
ticking time bombs
nor prone to catastrophization,
albeit anticipatory anxiety
plus demeanor of poetically titled
medical practitioner allays, calms
alleviates agitation exhibited
by dad's and/or mom's
panic minimizes si? no sweaty palms,
nonetheless precautionary measure taken
thumbing apostle Matthew psalms
ayee feel grateful relatively
clean bill of health.
Nine thirty morning
appointment earlier today
September tenth two
thousand nineteen no way
found yours truly bright
tailed, and bush shay
eyed, cuz mine circadian rhythm
(reed sleepiness), I cannot betray,
yet medical plight concerning
bowel movement analogous to clay
stool pigeons ever ray
now and again plague me: hay
4 four at aye
oh elle dot com, alias math they
you scott harris happy as jay
bird for personable rapport
she, said practitioner did display
offering friendly feedback
proactive measures to avoid
finding mine psyche
analogously scrambled (think) souffle
even absent such agreeable
pharmacological medications keep at bay
panic stricken state
seeding additional gray
hairs (matter of fact
synthesized prescription -
pills selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors)
only necessitate small copay
Medicare bonafide dogsend
whereby nurse practitioner equal
however much she doth weigh,
in salt, though an oft worn cliché
feather in her cap coup d'état
personable, laudable, hospitable...
winning accolades regarding
humbleness and modest stay
expertise within her craft hoop fillet
staving off general mills concerns
reason I wrote rhyme, eh somewhat passé
even Mister Ed would neigh say
so with his horse sense to stirrup
unbridled jollity - me hoof finds rein
ching words cathartic je ne sais quois
experimenting with this, that,
or t'other typed out array,
perhaps hashtagged as tripe courtesy quay
zee poor ah shunned poet fray
ming tropes distinguished (ha)
even if garnering no pay
English language I play
juxtaposing incongruities
to tease out reactions probably lay
build rickety lettered edifices
manuscripts best sentenced to sauté
within steaming vat
fed as swill to petsmart hogs
grunting as they fertilize mulch greenway.
FINE BE FAIR
~~~~~~~~
Rapid rhyme
Rapid that's fine
Fine I'll drink to that
Fine fresh vat
Vat fresh nouveau wine
Vat fresh Beaujolais sublime
Sublime dry
Sublime I cry
Cry out
Cry shout
Shout delt
Shout heartfelt
Heartfelt my soul
Heartfelt control
Control truth
Control forsooth
Forsooth I'm not a fool
Forsooth empathy a tool
Tool designed for the needy
Tool like sympathy
Sympathy compassion
Sympathy don't ration
Ration no
Ration woe
Woe sadness
Woe created by badness
Badness look around
Badness found
Found you can see
Found it must be
Be a way
Be staid
Staid daring
Staid in caring
Caring for peace
Caring to release
Release all
Release hear the call
Call shout it out
Out the evil
Out to save people
People suffer
People need a buffer
Buffer leaders
Buffer keep feeders
Feeders who care
Feeders who are fair
Fair to all
All...
Fair...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blitz
Definition
A form of poetry created by poet Robert Keim in 2008. It is a 50-line poem of short phrases and images. The "Blitz" poem is well-named, as the fifty short lines are read in rapid-fire fashion. “The form really relies on sound and rapid "flow”... Rob Keim.
Here are the rules:
Line 1 should be one short phrase or image (like “build a boat”)
Line 2 should be another short phrase or image using the same first word as the first word in Line 1 (something like “build a house”)
Lines 3 and 4 should be short phrases or images using the last word of Line 2 as their first words (so Line 3 might be “house for sale” and Line 4 might be “house for rent”)
Lines 5 and 6 should be short phrases or images using the last word of Line 4 as their first words, and so on until you’ve made it through 48 lines
Line 49 should be the last word of Line 48
Line 50 should be the last word of Line 47
The title of the poem should be three words long and follow this format: (first word of Line 3) (preposition or conjunction) (first word of line 47)
There should be no punctuation, except for an ellipse after the final two words in lines 49 & 50.
The majority of the examples, (if not all), are not correctly classified by their authors and as such cannot be used as references.
Jupiter Joy Juice/ A day in the life of the twilight zone
Pulling off of the main road, the two ladies were interested in the odd looking space craft thingy atop a small structure. A sign reading “Jupiter Joy Juice” hung from the nose down to a small coin operated dispenser. Upon depositing the quarter required, frustration set in as the cup dropped and nothing happened. Beth, not to be taken for her money, walked around to the back of the dispenser, and found there, a set of stairs. Thinking they led to an office, she walked up them, where, sure enough there was a door.
It was unlocked. Being less curious, Marge stayed by the dispenser. As Beth stepped into the room she was perplexed as she squeezed around the circular disk partition partially blocking the way, just inside the door. A very low hum was making the room vibrate slightly. Seemingly empty, she turned to leave but now the disk was blocking the door. It was rotating. She noticed it was inching toward, forcing her to move further into the room. So odd, but it appeared to be attached to the long shaft down the middle of the room. The shaft was definitely turning and seemed to be speeding up.
Looking forward, she was terrified to see another such disk directly in front of her. Whatever this contraption was, it was forcing her to keep moving forward. Just as she reached what had to be the far side of the room, the floor suddenly fell out from under her as a trap door sprang open. The noise of apparatus was hidden by the hurdy gurdy music now coming from outside. The noise also hid her scream as she was processed by an array of knives, rollers, clamps, and steamers. She was reduced to three gallons of bright red liquid in a vat.
As Marge noticed ice in her cup, a delightfully red colored drink began filling it. She was glad Beth had found the problem. She called her. “Beth, come on dear, we really have to get going.” No answer followed, so she strolled back toward the stairs with her delicious drink. “Beth? Beth! calling again. What is going on?” she thought, heading up the stairs to take a look.
A young couple was pulling into the driveway, just as she went through the door.
June 11, cgh
when it happens, when they come for you,
they will do so like the mafia,
showing signs of a long friendship or
what they term a family oriented atmosphere---
you’ll be led to a public place if you were
important,
somewhere outside the actual workplace
so that you will not make a scene,
and when your world comes crashing down
you will be unable to show any emotion
whatsoever,
like so many hollywood scenes of firings on the
big screen,
except,
you are not an actor,
and this is not a movie.
if you are lesser than important,
something of a soldier in the common trench,
then you may not even be fired---
you will be “let go,”
and when you are terminated,
those that worked with you won’t even know it until
monday morning,
because they will rid themselves of you on friday just
before the day ends.
on monday,
management will round up all the surviving
wage slaves
and explain to them that you are
“no longer with the company,”
just like they learned in management 101
when they pledged to whore themselves to corporate
in hopes of getting a bigger pile of scraps than you
from the table.
when it happens, they will take as much as they can from you,
any severance pay or vacation time that is supposed to be yours,
will be wrestled to the death & you’ll be denied a
health care cobra,
if you had health care to begin with.
and know that your story is not special,
no matter how bad you think your own circumstance is
regarding your personal termination,
someone out there has been treated worse
and they are in court,
fighting their place of past employment
just to be able to collect unemployment insurance
until they get back on their feet---
your ex-job will do the same if they can---
many have lawyers in their pockets
waiting,
just to do so.
so until the day that it actually happens,
don’t trust anyone,
keep your mouth shut &
watch your back like your life depends on it,
because
it
does---
you’re just another piece of garbage
ready to be dropped into the acid vat---
it’s only a matter of time.
if you aren’t looking for a better job while you are working your current one,
you are asking to be eliminated.
Grenade (The McDonald's Version)
-Please note some things/words may not make sense to somebody who has not worked at McDonald's :)
Dump dump dump and salt, that is all I do
Fill the fry hopper and make salty fries for you
Should of known you was trouble when the fries were up
Had the salt shaker open, why was it open?
Gave you all my fries and you tossed them in the bag
You tossed them in the bag, you did
To give me all your thanks, is all I ever asked
Coz what you don't understand is
CHORUS
I catch a french fry for you
Burn myself in the eye for you
I'd throw myself in the vat for you
You know I'd even get fat for you
I would go through all this pain
Put a deli knife through my brain
Yes I would fry for you baby
But you won't do the same
No, no, no, no
Gold, gold, gold and crisp, make them till I'm numb
To the spot-sweep I said hey, where the **** did you come from
Mad worker, bad worker, that's just what you are, yeah
You'll smile in my face then dob me in for my car
Gave you all my fries and you tossed them in the bag
You tossed them in the bag, you did
To give me all your thanks, is all I ever asked
Coz what you don't understand is
CHORUS
I catch a french fry for you
Burn myself in the eye for you
I'd throw myself in the vat for you
You know I'd even get fat for you
I would go through all this pain
Put a deli knife through my brain
Yes I would fry for you baby
But you won't do the same
No, no, no, no
If the vat was on fire
Ooh, you'd watch it burn down in flames
You said you loved fries, you're a liar
Coz you never, ever, ever did baby
CHORUS
But darling I''d still catch a french fry for you
Burn myself in the eye for you
I'd throw myself in the vat for you
You know I'd even get fat for you
I would go through all this pain
Put a deli knife through my brain
Yes I would fry for you baby
But you won't do the same
No, no, no, no
No, you won't do the same
You wouldn't do the same
Ooh, you never do the same
No, no, no, no
Cheese curds make my day.
My wife has a daily habit
Of caring for all my needs.
She keeps her eyes wide open
To see what she can see.
This week was no exception
As she neared the dairy case.
Greeted by one of my favorites
Now staring her in the face.
You see. . . I love cheese curds.
I even love their squeaky sound.
When she finds real fresh ones
I can eat them by the pound.
Several months ago,
A nearby dairy closed its door.
Never to make great curds again
No. . . never “curds” no more.
Shullsburg, Wi. was the next place
We’d make the day long drive to.
When we’d go so far fetch,
We’d always buy more than a few.
But it goes against my “system”
When those curds are in the home.
I’m always “digging” in the frig
I can’t leave those curds alone.
But as sometimes life will go
Our local grocer now has in stock
So we can buy fresh curds
Without driving a "million blocks”.
She announced as she returned
From the weekly trek she makes.
“The store had some ‘new’ curds”
To mention curds is all it takes.
I quickly fought open the package
To taste and hear that sound.
I scarfed down several chunks
Before in the frig they’re bound.
“Oh my !” is what I shouted.
These curds are really best.
But at my age, I must control
The quantities I now ingest.
For my old system can’t tolerate
All the cheese I’d like to eat.
So I must regulate the flow
Save my curds for just a treat.
My son, however: doesn’t seem care.
He can mow them down full feed.
But I know “our kitchen tender”
Will supply us all we need.
So “Thank you” Homestead Dairy
And all the folks involved in that.
I’ll be up to see your operation
Maybe get to see you “stir the vat”. :o)
A parting note to all Christian readers,
I’ve a thought about life’s end.
With all the banquets talked about,
I trust my curds “someone” will send.
Written by oldbuck to commemorate the discovery of a “local” supply for fresh curds. Curds and crisp bacon are two of my favorite foods.
A winery had a failure; a batch of wine is crook.
Those looking for a buyer, now don’t have to look,
for the vintage that is offered, hidden out of sight,
in a mystery went missing, from the vat one night.
In a backyard out in Cardross, fume soon filled the air,
drifting from a little shed, then drifting everywhere,
An innocent poor motorist drove past Crosbie’s drive;
when a copper pulled him over he was over point-o-five.
Crosbie’s white lightning - ninety per-cent proof,
gurgled in a little still, lifting off the roof;
dribbling down a copper pipe, where a bucket filled.
For Crosbie’s white lightning all you do is ask for Bill.
The rumours ‘round the district is good news for his brew.
There’s nothing it won’t kill; there’s nothing it can’t do.
It’ll build up all your chooks; kill off all your snails.
It used to send his Trotters flying ‘round the rails.
People have been dying; often I’ve heard said -
Bill dropped in a bottle; next day they’re out of bed.
It’s better than Viagra when your urging fades -
and simply for some others it even cures Aids.
Crosbie’s white lightning - ninety per-cent proof,
gurgled in a little still, lifting off the roof;
dribbling down a copper pipe, where a bucket filled.
For Crosbie’s white lightning all you do is ask for Bill.
The law came out to visit Bill; they’d heard about it too,
but they needed evidence so they had to taste the brew.
They quickly turned to ‘ga-ga’; Bill put ‘em to the test.
For their drunkenness he made a citizens arrest.
So to all you drinkers who think can down some beer,
you better stop your bragging when the still is in top gear.
You can drink your beer all day, but be careful of a whiff -
twelve stubbies is comparable to just one ‘lightning’ sniff.
Crosbie’s white lightning - ninety per-cent proof,
gurgled in a little still, lifting off the roof;
dribbling down a copper pipe, where a bucket filled.
For Crosbie’s white lightning all you do is ask for Bill.
what is my claim to fame
a face in a crowd
no name
that stands me out from the multitude
wading aimless in this bottomless vat
searching
for a glimmer of that somewhere light
climbing on ladder straights
that bend and break
from the pressure of generations
that sleep in hollow graves
shedding tears from hollow eyes
dried bones ache no more
from the pains of life
buried in this hole called nowhere
enclosed by walls that echo and scream
scream
when they remember yesterday
cry
when they think tomorrow
no longer seeking
the warm rays of the sun
even in death
there work is undone
ancestral spirits stand in the wings
hover over trees
whispering hold on
don't give in to the bend in my back
don't be afraid to let go of today
there is light at the top
of this bottomless vat
i have held centuries
who walked before you
tubman, booker t, dubois
sojourner, malcom, martin luther
just to name a few
don't give up to the ache in you feet
the pain in your hips
the chafe on your lips
the blood in the palm
of your outstretched hand
no one to understand
the pressure in the pit of your chest
broken heart
aching back
lost in the crowd of this bottomless vat
no father, no mother
no sister, no brother
a friend
an illusion of the mind
time has erased
all traces of humanness
climbing the ladder
to that somewhere success
hold on to your straight
don't give in to the weight of those
that stand on your toes
sap your strength
make you weak
smile in your face
then, slap the other cheek
you did not die from the knife
in your back
healed over scars
hidden wounds
its too soon
your don't have time
to form an attack
even with the knife
hanging from your back
peek the dawn that's about to break
it's all right to cry
no time to hate
stretch your arm
grab another straight
step once more upon my back
there is light at the top
of this bottomless vat
hold on
don't give up
you're on your way
to a place called
freedom
Form:
The maiden's nipples
swollen, her bosom
flush with excitement,
hailing her goddess as
she slighted very
eloquently, puissant.
The goodness they
shared was of sinful
reproach, a somber
obedience of lovers'
admiration.
The dusk laden sky
flickered with prose,
the sorrows of
Belial's romance of lost
mysteries and his
vengeant domineer,
his bravado, his
masculinity, cascading
like spirals of chaos
and the chimes of
instilled darkness
climaxing to the
sojourn of forbidden
pleasures.
Gently now,
Belial eased this
fair lady to her lover's
demand, her patience
swelling between her
thighs, burning. . .
eternally.
- - - -
I.
Awoken from a dream,
a fair common was she,
her beauty unsurpassed
only by her soulful
demeanor and natural
prelude. Her femininity
and subtle prowess
always the victor,
her passion a hearkening
rose upon a lonely
desolate scorn. Her
feelings a bit feverish,
there now, nothingness
and the harlots of
misery and the massacre
of saintliness. The venom
there pulsing now,
was evermore raspy,
and only to the
delight of our royal
antiquities, vespers
of envy, of anger's delight,
of beckoning glee, a
madman's exuberation to
the deafening hysterias
of mischief's vertigo.
A marriage. . .
arranged, a stiffening
King to his Prince's
triumph over darkness.
Yes, this common peasant
and her divine bounty
was as a peril of Eve
searching for her lost
Eden.
There being no more
reprise, bitter, for her
burden, she was to share.
Somber eyes and
a broom for everyone
to take hold. Yes, the
beauty of a fair maiden
this, so vast and of
such masterful drab,
splendor to all of
the shared treasures
in spirits.
Rage!
A taunting basilisk,
enslaying our vat of
christendom and devotion.
To this day, of prayerful
morn, maiden Geinere,
awoke, scarlet fever.