Long Wardens Poems
Long Wardens Poems. Below are the most popular long Wardens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wardens poems by poem length and keyword.
Mommy, Uncle Turned Out Okay
Mommy, uncle took me to the zoo today
We tried holding hands but I ran away
My little legs ran around the elephants
Turning a deaf ear to uncle's yells and rants
Did you know his face's funny when he yells
All afternoon he kept ringing my bell
Ding dong, ding dong, come back here
Guess what, mommy, I hid and disappeared
My little legs found a bush by the lions
And I could see uncle searching and crying
Big buckets of water rained from his face
Mommy, uncle's eyes bulged as he gave chase
Mommy it was so funny to see uncle, red
That passerby's looked me on with dread
Then two wardens appeared out of nowhere
Taking me away from uncle's blank stare
I raised three fingers when asked my age
Then I pointed to my uncle drenched in rage
They kept a straight face and wanted to laugh
I then ran over to uncle like a young baby giraffe
Uncle, my cousin's been a bad influence on me
My eyes pointing to the monkeys in the tree
A rare chuckle slipped through my uncle's lip
A first of many on the remainder of our trip
connie pachecho
7/19/17
They fly around our streets in packs
We see them lurking almost every day
Don’t misjudge them in time or place
Or there will be more than hell to pay
Their beady eyes don’t miss a trick
Yellow jackets hover like pesky flies
One minute late and they will sting
The fine will be paid in painful cries
Arrive at your car in plenty of time
Don’t get there with a second to spare
Your car is marked, and they will swoop
Those yellow jackets make people swear!
Inspired after seeing two parking wardens in our village today.
(In the UK the traffic wardens wear black and yellow jackets)
08-31-17
I walk up the promenade franked by the flowers
Seas of Marigolds with Alyssum waves
An ocean of daffodils and a bluebell wood too
Manicured lawns and beautiful trees
A cafe selling ice cream and afternoon teas
I walk through a hidden glade that leads to the zoo
rabbits and Guinea pigs and a parrot or two
Mums pushing prams and dads playing games
The lake as a bridge which is an honour to cross
named after soldiers who fought in a war
and now to the business at hand !
poaching the lake and feeding the swans .
comp enter 14/02/2016 , new to the site if the form wrong someone tell me please.
The park in question is Crewe given to the town by the railway company,in its hey day coach trips would be arranged from other towns that is many years ago , The bridge over the lake is called the Burma star bridge , and no fishing allowed so a game of cat and mouse with the park wardens . cheers
animal control in the form of two men were shutting down the beach
There was a cougar watching from a giant rock, they wanted people safe
Many of the beachcombers ran toward the rock with cell phones
Wanting to take a “selfie” with the cougar
Did they think there was safety in numbers?
If one jumped out of an airplane without a chute would they have all done it?
The game wardens looked at each other, wondering what was happening/
Had common sense been replaced by mob mentality?
The cougar showed his teeth, and growled.
Delighting the idiotic crowd of onlookers.
Some were dumb enough to clap.
Incensing him.
Breaking free from collusion
A watch tower stands tall a look out in the circular prisons
surrounded by wardens laying down prescriptions and rules
with us in the centre fragmented in dead ends and schisms
mirrored glass no one inside we internalise as obedient fools
At the gate high walls conscience barriers and road blocks
imagined barbed wire where we pay fines in constant delusion
monitored in constriction we fail to walk outside of that box
abide by dogma norms lack vision to approach our confusion
Afraid of cul de sacs dead ends stop signs for individual drive
we halt and abide arrested immobilised for society’s sake
accept torturous certainty admit to all guilt and as we shrive
cannot distinguish from needs what is causing us mind ache
Roundabout’s exits guarded by our very own straight jackets
we spin around like puppets on strings to our master’s delight
The ‘panopticon’ demands obedience and we cannot attack it
for lack of conviction rebellion introspection rigorous insight
Unless we break free from chains of what others demand
disregard our dreams our beauty default on individual virtue
the road ends at a four way stop where forever we stand
disunited abolished forgotten and constant imagined taboo
4th January 2017
Written for contest: At the end of the road
178 months, 129940 hours,
now only 10 minutes remain.
Sitting in cold eerie darkness,
he observes the rhythm of water drops,
slowly wipes away streams of sweat
with his withered trembling hands.
That aching fear, gnawing in his fevered brain,
spasms of fear demanding flight
yet none to be had,
his inner soul asking why he had lost his way
why had his sad life come to this?
What lay in the caverns of darkness ahead!
Wardens pace up and down like wolves,
stopping to stare with compassion less eyes - smirking.
Waiting for the clock to chimes 12 times,
and to shout,
'dead man walking.'
He sits savouring every last breath,
rapidly repenting for all his past mistakes,
deep inside he knows its too late for regrets.
All his apologies fall upon deaf ears.
Flashes past seen, his crimes, girls and drugs, what a blast!
Pretty girls, each taking a slice, of his hoarded treasures
and he indulging in theirs with total abandonment.
O' glorious were those dead and ancient days!
Then reality came back to bite and bite hard,
saying, " such foolishness was a dream and soon comes Death"!
Too hard to bear such truth, he rushes back into fleeting dreams.
Suddenly cold, very cold he feels the deafening bleakness!
Sees the finality in the concrete and iron bars holding him.
Cries silently, what he wouldn't give for another day,
another dawn out in sunshine and fresh air!
Then reality and Fate both spoke to him saying;
" Tho' you a doomed man, meet thy death as a brave one."
Each heart beat beats with each ticking second.
He clutches his worn bible, readying himself for what lies ahead,
anxiously contemplating if he is worthy of redemption.
Rocking back and forth,
unable to control floods of tears,
his thoughts are disturbed with a truncheon rattling his cell's bars,
and the dreaded final summoning of his name.
Wolves smile with sly eyes,
as the stench of death fills the air.
Fellow inmates turn their faces to the ground.
He savours every step, he knows they are his last.
God is no longer the master of his condemned fate.
He knows he can't erase the crimes of his past,
but takes solace,
feeling his crimes were not premeditated,
but now he must face the hypocrisy
of his own premature death.
The bitterly heavy rains had cleared,
and though the afternoon heat
reeked more of eternal summer
than of spring, we felt her hover
through our wide-eyed gazes,
the unapologetic smiles and in
every wrong turn taken, in
every awkward interaction.
Amidst a meadow of paper and texts,
fresh intellect shows signs of blossom
while the wardens of nature -
the lapwings and ravens - observe
the dawn of a season of rebirth.
A/N: I just started my university journey, and my father (who also went to the same uni like 35 years ago) saw the common areas of the university packed with undergrads and commented on how it looked like spring in full bloom. I really liked that imagery, and I told him I'd write a poem on it, so here we are. I also incorporated some other observations I'd made - like how animals (especially birds) were super tame on campus grounds.
My future happiness depended upon school,
They’re understanding of religious older parents,
Them constraining them with supervision,
So that I could have autonomy in my garments.
I mean, my parents let me wear what I liked,
But were unspeakably forceful poignantly,
Regarding who was going to dress and shower me:
Women, not men who could interact with me perfectly.
I wasn’t asking for all male carers,
Just one or two out of maybe five,
And I even offered to employ male nurses,
Rather than just anybody alive.
But my mum was disgusted at my suggestion,
Said it turned her stomach and made her ill,
Posited that I was not in my right mind,
Said that I made her queasy and gave her a chill.
The school’s social services seemed traditional,
Just like their toilet facilities, old and outdated;
The social worker had white, permed curly hair,
And so for parent disputes you could be slated.
So I never got the help I required and needed,
For my first care package at Glasgow University,
So I suffered from rejection, shortness and selfishness,
From my carers who were supposed to offer identity.
The wardens made it better for me every day,
Reprimanded them for disrespect and impoliteness,
But I never even imagined that voluntary carers,
Could suffice for my own future astuteness.
It upset my whole life, the schools neglect and indifference,
When I think that living success could have been sorted out,
My personal dignity and freedom could have been secured,
With a bit of determination and secular, atheistic liberal clout.
School is really just about your future,
It claims it by its very definition,
And the whole child should be taken and loved,
Not just his or her abilities with cognition.
I remember my mom having a collection of hats she stored under her bed.
For any occasion that could arise…she had a hat to set atop her head.
Moms of today are different…often they go out with their heads bare
because of this we don’t often realize…all the hats they wear.
If we tried to count all their hats...we can’t…for the list goes on indefinitely
perhaps one way to approach it...would be alphabetically.
Moms are Accountants, Babysitters, Chauffeurs...They do what Doctors, and Electricians do
They are Farmers, Governors, Housekeepers, and Ice cream vendors too.
They are Janitors, Kitchen and Laundry workers, and Maids who clean the floor.
They are Nurses, Optometrists, Painters, Quality control inspectors…there’s more.
They are Receptionists, Seamstresses, Teachers…Umpires…and not always soft spoken…they are Valets, Wardens, X-Ray technicians who can tell if that bone is broken.
They are Youth counselors and every Mom I know is a keeper of the Zoo
If you’re keeping track that’s 26 different hats...26 different jobs that all Moms do.
Moms are the original and still the best multitaskers the world has ever met.
In fact, I didn’t run out of hats for them...I ran out of alphabet.
I guess it’s a good thing each job doesn’t have a hat that sits atop Moms head
for there wouldn’t be enough room to store them in boxes beneath their beds.
They are visionaries, they are cheerleaders, so much of our existence they adorn
yet they had no experience being a mom until their first child was born.
For it was at that miraculous moment in a panic mixed with calm
when the doctor handed them their baby and said, “Congratulations…you’re a Mom!”
And to any Mom who might not have given birth…might not have been there from the start…here’s to all the Mom hats you’ve worn once you opened up your heart.
Do you remember that miraculous feeling…with a mixture of panic and calm…
whether you chose the moment…or the moment chose you…
when you became a Mom?
And therein lies the hat that encompasses all the rest...the hat called motherhood
and to all you Moms out there…I must admit…you make that hat look good.
So to all the Moms everywhere,
here’s wishing you a wonderful Mother’s Day…for all the things you do…
for all the many hats you wear…
our hats are off to you.
Convictions
susan Q. miller © 2011
Song Lyrics
Maybe our convictions are convictions after all,
They lock us in a prison in our minds.
They keep us from living in this moment.
We’re out of synchronicity---out of present time.
Convicted by convictions, we are prisoners, prisoners.
Living in the past we will never be free
Until we breakout, until we break out,
Open up and live our lives today.
I'm not looking for a pot of gold
At the end of some long road.
Treasures wait around each bend, we can uncover them.
There is no end to the wealth to be discovered
When we break out, break out of our delusions,
Break out, break out of all our past conclusions.
Then we can be free, yes we can be free to live today, today
Let’s live for today.
Maybe our convictions are convictions after all.
They lock us in a prison in our minds.
Each of us are wardens and we hold the key.
There is no one else who can set the prisoner free.
So if we breakout, if we’re willing to breakout
Of past conclusions, our delusions,
Then we can be free
Free to live today
Free to find a better way
No time to waste on blame.
It’s time to break out.
We’ve got to break out.