Long Yardstick Poems
Long Yardstick Poems. Below are the most popular long Yardstick by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Yardstick poems by poem length and keyword.
He was a stiff one,
There was a yardstick up his back
His mouth was a paperclip
No gray or red in his world
Black and white, pure office.
No touch of flowers or a picture
For he still lived at home with Mommy
He had to call her if he would be late for dinner
He was twenty-eight
Twenty-two women bookkeepers called him Pen Clip King
They all worked in a giant room in a Super Foods Warehouse
In Des Moines, so they had a lot of the same ideas.
Those who did not, did not last long...
These bookkeepers were happy,
typing and laughing,
chatting while they made innumerable mistakes
on store owner's accounts
Writing checks the wrong way
because this was in the 70's before a bunch of glaring computers
Pen Clip King (PCK) was wimpy, fishy, but he was easy too.
He rarely came out of his glass office at the front.
Never to speak harshly for he did not do that
When he did come out, the hens gave him a look and laughed.
His face was perpetually red about it.
One day a male bookkeeper came to work at Super Foods
He was young and darling.
The older ones tried to entice him with photos of their daughters
The middle-aged tried to flirt with him which was exceedingly stupid
They nicknamed him Handsome, and kept him like a pet
He laughed with them and rolled his eyes at their jokes
He was engaging and fun.
They were all semi-in-love with him
Never realizing that he and Pen Clip King were lovers
Dedicated to My Darling Sister, My Punky
Love for my sis makes me like her own Bolshevik
so though I would rather swallow a stranger's lipstick,
I babysat her ground-dweller - her dog - named Limerick.
Once - outside while his wiz-biz defied arithmetic,
I noticed he had one gross fully plump black tick.
All that was nearby were pliers and a yardstick.
When he suddenly rolled over, my reaction was slick -
I grabbed up the pliers and I surely grabbed quick
before thoughts of bloody surgery made me sick.
Limerick was still while I pinched at my gross vic.
I pulled but that slimy tic bugger was too slick.
Over and over, I failed at click, pull and then flick.
When limerick cried out and gave me a tender lick
I called for my husband to join our happy picnic.
He examined Limerick who whined long and thick
then laughed, Honey, he said, you funny lunatic -
You have been pulling at a mole, poor dog has no tick
Against the back drop of green leaf copses,
dulcet bird chirp, and bubbling pavement fountains,
that dawning from the azure blue sky a silken whisper,
to follow street signs on my ritual trek to work,
with a hearty ample gusto and potent verve,
metal pointer to destination a micro mirror on surround,
stoic indicator of known direction that upright,
ubiquitous unique urban stylish compass,
clustered by behemoth scenic grandeur,
at its fresh and fragrant mint spring zenith,
and those surging throngs who sashay in brisk step,
rimmed patterns so diverse yet firmly focussed,
as I am whilst counting on that reference point,
that fixed point usher, informative ally,
that deep-dyed friend at each crossroad,
safe in the knowledge of doorstep arrival,
and in tandem with some spotless day,
heroic toil in constant bright prospect,
how symbolic are these pathway guide rails,
to one who warms to flagship growth,
in its august transit on fervent foot slog,
pitfall strewn road of sheer expertism,
pole mounted emblems, silent sentry solid,
detail for me on daily route without waver, to muse, reflect, enthuse on chapter ripe simile,
terse life token for the yet to be completed cycle, where analogy is typified but oft so misconstrued, coincidence, happenstance by foot or by wheel, skewed secret elemental scheme at dim veil core, tip, counsel, auspice, yardstick, beyond outer limit
Trailing clouds of glory do we come
The magical moments of childhood
When we felt at one with the universe
Spinning dizzily with delight
Or with more of horrible and awful
That even to name is sorrowful
Bound helplessly with flu in bed
Unable from the pillow to raise my head
And wishing the world would just go away
Paralysed by the loss of power to move
Maybe it is not so much
The image to which we should cling
Rather that the images should cling
To us
Providing our distinct identities
The yardstick of our recollections
The holding of our first born close
Those bedtime stories where
The kids cling on to every word
Just before into euphoric sleep they drift
When we slip softly from the room
Switching off the bedroom light
With their minds now deep in dreams bright
Choosing one image is far beyond me
I much prefer the whole family tree.
Y
Yggdrasil
younglings
yobbishly
yohimbine
yammering yardsticks
year-round
yuppifying
yuppifies
yokefellow
yarborough
yellowtail Ypsilanti
yearningly
yellowback
yarmulkas
Yevtushenko
Yellowstone yachtswoman
yellowfin
yellowing
yearlings
yodellers
yearnings
yachtsmen yesterdays
yearbooks
yachtsman
youngberry
yarramans
yellowhead
yeastiest yardstick
yieldingly
youngling
yogyakarta
yoghourts
Yugoslavia yodelling
Youngstown
yarmulkes
yataghans
yawningly
yellowish
youthfully cowardly
yellowness
youngsters
yeastlike
youngness
Yiddish
yardmaster
yuppiedom youngster
Yaroslavl
Yellowknife
yellowcake
Yugoslavian
yuppified
Yorkshire
yellowest
yattering
yellowlegs
yesterdays
yeastiness
ytterbium
yesteryear
yardbirds
YouTubing
yellowwood
yellow-belly
Yucatan
yourselves
yabbering
Y words?
8/11/20
written word by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©
this alteh kocker nostalgically reflects
being ma late mama's boytchik
(now, she long since deceased,
whose cremated remains of day
scattered to all points on compass)
fondly referencing
both sisters as dabchick
incongruously sprinkled her Brooklyn brogue,
especially when angry, she quickly segued
from mild expletive fiddlestick
the latter playfully aired,
when kibitzing wit bubeleh
reminiscing being dirt poor,
nonetheless zee mother
every now an again homesick
regaling the whole mishpokhe
(meaning us brood of kids)
interrupting herself
with frequent non sequiturs
discombobulated anecdotes switching subjects
as if external forcefield
jimmying a joystick
interleaving disparate threads with subsequent
tangential linkedin snippets
with feigned lovesick
chatting 'bout cockamamie
"Grandpa Moishe"
and his chaim yankel posse
(to escape hen pecking nudnik
"grandma Rebecca"),
a trenchant termagent bubba,
not averse to incorporate dreck
in the same sentence with zayda
ostracized him
scoring figurative placekick,
whence upon his schlepping back home
met with "silent treatment" dampening rollick
king atmosphere choking tearfully
"mother" recounted
farblunget anger thick
lee palpable extremely discomfiting,
particularly when ("mom's")
girlhood friends bore witness aye gavalt,
where penury churned moribund thoughts
viz empty cupboards
devoid of bare necessities
a figurative apropos yardstick.
To quantify an equation,
takes more than mere calculation,
Take the sun and moon,
now consider they’re coordinations,
One 8 light minutes from earth,
other just a single light second,
Both appear the same size in the sky,
more or less it’s reckoned,
So how can it be, very simply
put, it’s an optical illusion,
Sun is 400 times further away,
and part of this cosmic collusion,
While heck the moon is 400 times
smaller, a very neat solution,
So in effect an eerie perfect
resemblance, bit like evolution.
I’m not buying random
chaos, just because all appears right,
Must take luminosity into
consideration, to bring in the light,
This is where I have problems,
accepting some natural phenomena,
Damn moon is more than a rock,
reflecting rays of minuscule quanta.
Every now and then, blocking
the whole sun in a shadow,
Albeit along strange curved paths,
sometimes very narrow,
Such a perfect arrangement,
one so complex, yet it’s known,
In geostationary observation,
light photons reveal a solid stone.
Bizarre or factual, we predict
eclipses with unfailing accuracy,
Thousands of years past and future,
are detailed miraculously,
But for me it’s too convenient,
so much I refuse to believe,
This accident of serendipitous
alignment, real purpose does deceive.
A yardstick of information,
used to prove Einsteins relativity,
During an eclipse, light from stars
behind the sun, bends in reactivity,
That moon is our starting point,
Earths next stage of devolution,
Put there by god knows what,
for humanities ultimate revolution.
I know this poem is filled, with
many cosmic contradictions,
Without any scientific limits,
my mind holds no restrictions,
Subjects always beg questions,
blind acceptance just needs faith,
But we’re more than any rock,
locked in gravitational embrace.
These steppingstones to reality,
lie strategically well placed,
All the information we need,
lies before our eyes in space,
Each one has pointers, not
buried but within plain view,
Secrets can be deciphered, it’s
human imagination solves the clue.
By
David Kavanagh
Einstein figured out relativity
through his mind experiments
using the power of imagination
The moon proved he was right.
Assertions of the Lord for awakening aspirations
Book of the Law*, the Bible is for my being’s beauty
Compass for existence with points of compassion
Direction of soul toward fulfillment driving
Eternity-expounder expressing my very essence…
Faith source with Jesus Christ as the foundation
Guide toward good works, blest graciously
Heaven-pointer, the Saviour heralding
Inspiration of the Holy Spirit, immutable
Judge of motives, instilling justice and joy…
Kindness-imparter; gentleness, kindling
Light and lamp with love-filled lessons
Manual of life for meaningful maneuverings
Nourisher of soul and spirit nurturer
Optimizer toward service opportunities…
Peace provider with protective power
Query-solver, attending to mind’s quests
Redemption and regeneration responder
Salvation- anchor secured by the Lord’s seal
Truth upon mercy and righteousness’ triumph
Usefulness standard, understanding upholder…
Virtue-expositor toward everlasting values
Wisdom-illuminator, Word of God** pointing the Almighty’s Way
X-factor of divine excellence against selfishness x-ray
Yardstick of obedience with gratefulness’ yell
Zeal-driver while waiting for the King’s coming with zest.
*Joshua 1:8 This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou shalt meditate therein day and night, that thou mayest observe to do according to all that is written therein: for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success.
**Hebrews 4:12 For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.
December 10, 2023
3rd place, "Write an Abecedarian" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Silent One; judged on 12/16/2023
Double standards is a thing
Judge all the judgments you’ve been judging
And you who calls others “unfair”
Will find it hard to bear
That you are perpetrating victims
Whose thoughts clash with your very dreams
Going and coming around is a real event
And in the wake of the latter you term it “different.”
Scampering for whatever grace you could find
Arguing to the farthest beacon of your mind
It’s a hard and large bite to chew
When you yardstick comes back to haunt you
But also sacred law is too a thing
If a cord be a cord don’t accord it to be a string
Going once, going twice will only go under
Let what goes for the goose go for the gander
Speak it in the air
And act so just and fair
K. Muitherero
I heard that you have many homeless souls
Hidden in caverns, some buried on your soil
I learnt that now you feel too much relevant
Your troops are void of true bravely
Oh,Cowards!
They would have tender ribs bent
Subtle skins bleed
Quiet hearts yell aloud,
They are now butcher of wills and aspirations
They have no soul of pity,
They feel strong but no integrity
Now of what yardstick is your emblem?
The soldiers to protect
Thesame idiots destroys without remorse
Have you forgotten,
You have flesh and blood
Like a burning coal
You are a blight,
a consuming scorch
To those who innocently seek refuge from you
In your yard's economy they relied
To us they are many
But to you few
Many they are with glorious dreams
And these gracious hearts you annihilated
Their sudden doom
You beasts! Orchestrated.
Lib' you are doomed
You called for this fisticuffs
We shall assail your unholy ground
If in my reasoning I am asked
To what grade will I have you classed
I will state with undiluted rage
You are a grade of useless animals
And none out of your multitude
Deserves the light of tomorrow's dawn
If one parson do exist in your vineyard
Or any exists who was conceived of woman
Or any of your cruel leaders
That sheds our blood and still stay bizarre
Or any innocent blood
From you sprout
I say to whoever is by your blood bound
shall all vanquish by the fire of war
Lib' shall have no abode
No place amongst us
Lib' shall be no more.