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Long Girlfriend Poems | Long Girlfriend Poetry

Long Girlfriend Poems. These are the most popular long Girlfriend by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Girlfriend poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Louis Borgo | Details |

My In Heritage

To know your history is to know your literature a lesson to learn, which will Stand the test of time and what one founds of their in heritage no matter how enduring and grim it may seem it something you should embrace- I came from a small city with big roots and routinely I was ask “where are you from”, especially from girls, if it wasn’t that it he thinks he cutie? And I’m asking why I would say something like that. Or He thinks him smart, God!!! I’m just answer the teacher question? But when I got older, older woman told me they probably think that ascent was sexy and I’m thinking where in high school what do they know about sexy? Man is her computer seat warm? America woman I just don’t understand them? I wonder what they do if they heard me speak a few difference language at same time? Thank god I’m quite because it not like they can read my mind. But it got me thinking from and questioning My Roots- What I found was the name Borgo had many difference Ethnicity & meaning with it as well as nationalities and that Borgo is Small Island between France and Italy. And if history may not mention it was a Borgia who captured Napoleon? How do I know where did it take place? BorgoBaby- No wonder I like Caribbean woman and it is this one that get my heart beat beating up to 400 beats per seconds if that is possible I can’t say it is a forbidden love but what I will say is breaking the ice and melt when think out loud? And yes she knows my name but why ask not why but why are some lyrics so deep my dear? Remember some old friends asking don’t you make beats? As I have some bread and tea. And that Bourbon is a drink, a Pecan Pie and a Street I’m thinking man if I have girlfriend What date it would be- Then I dig deeper and found the prime sources that seem to let to these events the Borgia or borja married into royalty which happen to be Louisa Borgia who married Philp De Bourbon or Philip V of Spain. He was rejected as King Louis legitimate son because born out of wedlock but later accepted but Philp never forgave and where he could have been both king of France and Spain he was just the king of Spain. Question I ask do any one know today the real reason why France has no nationality? Hurtfully to write or hear but i heritage mean full name as should other take to one, I have heard rumors that true bloodlines of nations of Kings that don’t rightfully take the throne it is a reason for that but not my place to say the way history is written is just to say to remember men wrote history but literature holds another tell? Who can tell the differences, but one question for god I always ask Why so much war my lord, I truly feel like a man without a country and Just walking away- I myself never came from money I start literally from nothing but as I got older I was given legitimate connection legitimate ideas and principals and the understanding of wealth but so trying of spending night and days with no day off of a seven day week wonder if I can make those principals work for me as sick as I am there are reason undefined why I do this things and money is not the endorsement my life is more complication then eye may receive to capture but if you listen you learn more than just hand written if you get the drift- I was never told of my in heritage put as one will it something like a scare or tattoo I had to found to adjust to my nick name is “Jason” but my full name is Louis Antonio Borgo III as I’m about to fall to sleep and lost all aim of conscience I see a email with my full name spell out in Ancestry.com question how did they know I was search for them and if I ever be accepted from this other half as I am a man literally without a country and in love with French woman more than American the phone rings and a woman from Canada called speaking French I drop the phone and finally I fall to sleep and As I sleep dreaming could anyone imagine wanting to go home but where? Remembering the ringing noise of girls ask ” where are you from”...


Long poem by Katie Pukash | Details |

She Hulk

When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses 
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed 
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were  ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman 
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or god,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us 
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood 
just how much words effect us. 
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.


Long poem by Teenage Frustrations | Details |

I Hate

I hate the birth mark under my right eye
I hate my extremely static hair
I hate my big bottom lip
I hate my spotty nose

I hate that I have really *****y times
I hate that people only remember me for my really *****y times
I hate that the real *****es hate me
I hate being cautious so they don’t ***** about me

I hate that I cry over everything
I hate that people know I cry over everything
I hate that I hide from them anyway
I hate that they actually don’t care 

I hate the fact that my brother is leaving home next year
I hate the fact that I cried when he told me that
I hate the fact that I hid my tears from him
I hate the fact that he’s all I really have left

I hate my father for making me feel like he doesn’t care about me
I hate my mother for making me feel like she picked him over me
I hate that my brother had to look after me when they couldn’t be bothered
I hate that, in my eyes, they don’t deserve to be called mum and dad

I hate that when I was younger I had to run away from my father
I hate that my mother and brother left me by myself that day
I hate that they left me closer to my father
I hate that they went somewhere I would have felt safer

I hate that I feel like my friends are slowly fading away from me
I hate that I feel like I’m a third wheel
I hate that I feel like my friend’s don’t trust me
I hate that I feel like I can’t trust my friends

I hate the feeling of loneliness
I hate that I read books to escape to a world better than mine
I hate that I write to create a better life than my own
I hate that people want to invade that one heaven I invented

I hate that people ask me why I made Katy Clover Taylor
I hate that I had to make a role model for myself
I hate that she is the person I desperately want to be
I hate that she is the one thing I will never live up to

I hate that I feel like my grades would grasp my families attention
I hate that feeling of disappointment when I get a bad grade
I hate feeling like I have to live up to an expectation to hold their attention
I hate that I am relied on because of my grades

I hate that I am an older mind trapped in a younger body
I hate that I am limited in what I can do because of my age
I hate not being trusted upon
I hate people treating me as a kid

I hate not telling people how I feel
I hate hiding behind an invisible barrier
I hate not being able to share how I feel with people
I hate being scared that they won’t care.

I hate people judging me
I hate judging people
I hate that feeling of giving up
I hate the feeling of losing when I didn’t give up

I hate the choices I have made
I hate that nobody thinks I can live up to my dream
I hate people thinking they are so much better than me
I hate the fact that they are right

I hate that I will never make a good girlfriend
I hate the fact I know nobody would fall for me
I hate knowing that no one would help me pick up my life
I hate that it has fallen apart

I hate hurting the people I love
I hate them not loving me anymore
I hate knowing that what I would do would hurt people
I hate the fact I do it anyway

I hate knowing that I do all of this
I hate knowing I hate all of this
I hate trying to change it
I hate that I am not able to change it

I hate that I try not to give up hope
I hate knowing all hope is lost
I hate that I still try and cling to it anyway
I hate knowing I failed at that too

But most of all

I hate not being able to express this until now
I hate that this still won’t change a thing
I hate thinking that it still might
I hate knowing that no one cares


Long poem by Terry Trainor | Details |

A Dashing Blade

In a house high on a hill an old man grows weak, many years have gone, he lays in his old bed,
Back in the day, a dashing young officer with a brilliant red uniform he had many girlfriends,
Flowers scattered across the mead's and meadows the heaths and the glades and over wide glens,
Those days bright and hot, the occasional thunder announces itself in the seasons sultriness,
Today it is summer again trees rich with green leaves now darkened and oaks have little acorns.

Laying in his bed the French doors wide open, summer greets him warmly for just one more time,
White haired and thin his skin yellow and his eyes sunk into wasted sockets his lips quiver,
He remembers the woods well, sitting by a sheltered warm bank, new greenery bursting through,
He tries hard to sit up and to see his long ago self in the beautiful green ripening gardens,
Sweet flowers know him well, respectfully they nod to an old friend who is going on a journey.

As a man who liked to be outdoors he walked and tended these landscapes even as a young blade,
He casts way back to his youthful days when he would walk in the sun a sweet girl at his side,
Running up a woodland bank, his hands on hips, he would wander miles enjoying wonderful views,
His heart raced with joy as the carpets of the forest grew around tall trees along the floor,
Now the songs of the birds grow faint the nightingale is hushed and the cuckoo bows his head.

A nurse tiptoes in she quietly shuts the doors, he whispers, she cannot hear him but she looks,
It is so faint she goes to his bed bends down to listen her ear to his lips they barely move,
He says don't shut the doors the beauty makes me feel safe my old friends are out there waiting,
She lifts him higher, puffs his pillows adds another blanket she smiles, 'you are a lovely man',
The blackbird and the thrush perch near the French doors and sing a musical goodbye very softly.

He can now see the Coltsfoot and cardamine in the fallows with green moss in the moist meadows,
And the star of Bethlehem gleaming from the copse the woods, a special beauty from shady places.
The celandine and kingcup glow in golden lustre he watches them his eyes rheumy and tears fall,
Daisies scattered across lawns like patterns in a carpet of lime green, smelling of spearmint,
The elder flower, corn poppy and the viper's bugloss with a rich azure smile from his garden.

He begins to smile shakily at the crocuses spreading a purple flood over the greenest meadows,
It's a sight you have to see, to take it in, color returns to his cheeks on his ashen old face,
Above all the favorites of the field is a violet, many times he picked one for his lady friends,
White, purple diffuse sweetness under hedges, a landscape painted in mind, those were good days,
Young girls would walk arm in arm across the glades to listen to his wondrous battle stories.

These pictures of beauty he has known since his early childhood days, his memory so very clear,
Whispering do you scent the hay, do you hear the scythes ringing, do you hear sweet laughter,
The joys of running across green fields like young breeze and smelling sweet newly cut grass,
Scented breezes fill his room, his eyes close, happy to return to his precious long gone days,
And with his last breath he walks arm in arm with a beautiful young girl in sweet old meadows.


Long poem by Evin cruz | Details |

When I got Stabbed

                                                   WHEN I GOT STABBED

The blade went through my flesh like a knife through melting butter.
Thoughts ran through my head as I bled out, like no more will I see my mother
Anger and rage streamed through my veins so I didnt feel the pain.
Im on my way to my car and get into the passenger seat.
My girlfriend Sareina runs to the other side, I hear the thud of her feet.
Getting into my car was quite a task, it was lower and 
close to the ground.
Time seems to freeze as my are starts to throb and my head 
begins to pound.
I hear the car turn over and roars to life, as I sit there and 
mine drains out.
As were driving I look around me and see the crimson splatters 
I hear my mom on the phone asking my big brother Rikki 
whats the matter. 
He hears the trembling in her voice and doesnt know what to say .
He said mom Evin got stabbed but dont worry he'll be okay. 
Sareina swerves through traffic trying not to crash.
I lift my blood soaked shirt and remove it from the gash, 
She sees the slice in my wrist, panice and begins to scream. 
At the time it didnt seem real, like a fable or some bad dream. 
She pushes the pedal to the floor, the engine gets louder and louder. 
Already in motion the car lunges forward releasing all its power, 
My fingers go numb and my hand beging to follow. 
Sitting there in a pool of blood its getting harder to swallow 
we make it to the hospital, skidding in front of the door. 
I open my attempt to get out, but almost fall to the floor.
Rikki and Sareina help me as I stumble into the lobby. 
My blood soaked cloths send velvet liquid dripping down my body.
As I stand there among the rukus and comotion,
My mind seems to fade away no worries or emotions.
I woke up in the back on a table I hear singing, 
A womans soft angelic voice this cant be real I must be dreaming 
Extreme amounts of pain let me know that this is real
the singing nurse says welcome back with a smile like it was no big deal. 
We cant get the bleeding to stop so we had to give you more 
I hear sobbing so I turn my head and try to focus on the door, 
the crying was coming from my mom who was sitting by my side. 
The doctors tell her that theres a problem and were going for a ride,
we dont have surgeons here to help you. 
Sounding hopelss and exhausted she sighed, we've done all we can do. 
We're sending you to Portland, they'll make you good as new.
Falling in and out of consciousness, we reach our destination. 
On the verge of giving up hearing family say stay strong, gives me motivation. 
Getting rushed off the ambulance and seeing my loved ones tears
made me feel more strength, but striked some sudden fear. 
Like will I make is through the day to see them smile again,
Or is this my time to go will this be my end.
Later I awoke to see everyones relieved and anxious smile, 
I asked how long I've been out it seemed like quite a while. 
My mom said you've been under for a couple days, 
you've had two surgeries but dont worry both of them went okay. 
I closed my eyes and smiled to myself I'm thankful the angles heard me pray.  


						By Evin cruz


Long poem by Carol Eastman | Details |

Clueless Job Applicant

You’ll never guess whom the cat drug in; have a day where you just couldn’t win?
He came strutting in, smacking his gum loud, dressed to the nines Goth Punk style.
Tats trailed down his left arm, with my notice, he said, saving up for the other arm.
When ask about drugs, his answer to me was: “Yes, I’ll share” most invitingly…

Metal adornments on ears, nose, and lips, didn’t want to know, the all of it, at this.
As I noticed, he smiled most cattily, asking: ‘Want to see where else they might be?’ 
Hair a Mohawk with a trail down his back, colors of the rainbow, left nothing to lack.
Steel studs on a black leather butt, said, ‘Bite Me!’ with each and every staged strut.

What are you kidding?… Do my eyes me deceive, or did he just make a pass, at ME?
No Way! I’d rather drop kick him from my office fast, didn't he have any real class?
The application, a Sales Manager Job. Who would try to send me over the deep end?
Bet it had been a practical joke, beginning to end, so I simply held on, my friend.

He must've read my face, forhe smirked, I continued to ask for his list of experience.
His experience was none, but he said he managed his I-tune collection, very well.
Of course, he was the Leader of his ‘Chat Room’. I wondered, ‘Who could tell?’ GEE!
Also an impressive set up on his Facebook page, for his innumerable video games.

I ask how he was qualified for ANY job? Said, Dad ‘THE CEO’ wanted him employed.
I verified this with a call, was told not to be too Harsh, he had Potential, after all...
Ask what job he wanted to give his son? ‘Let him chose himself’, came the real clue!
Ask him, what job he really wanted to do, ‘VP in charge of Recreation’ was imbued.

Said he'd check out all the great places, in his Dad’s fancy Porche. Honestly True!
I kid you not! And he wanted his girlfriend, made into his secretary, Yah! No Doubt!
Believe it or not, he got all he thought he was due. All approved by the CEO’s! True!
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better… I began to really reconsider…

Really, who had been clueless… It hadn’t been him!… Which left me in a dither…
Knowing I just couldn’t win!  I’d be glad when this day was finally, truly, done… 
The kid had probably thought this a great joke on me from beginning to the end!
My perfect job, had just come undone! Apparently, being in HR isn’t always fun! 

My college degree, that took so much sacrifice, no longer sparkled, so much to me.
Boy did I now WISH, I was a CEO’s SON! As I simply got all the paper work done. 
Later, I saw the family portrait on the CEO’s desk. Lucky me! One down!… 
Only eight more to go!

Carol Eastman and Hubby


Long poem by Gary Fields | Details |

Quips My EX GIRLFRIEND revisited


     1.   My ex-girlfriend tried to impress me when
          She told me that she is "Fasting"!  And I knew
          That she was true because, I saw just how
          Fast she ate that basket of chicken.......

      2.  The next time that she told me that she was "Fasting"
           It was three (03) double meat Whoppers!  And I have never
           Seen three (03) double meat Whoppers go so quicK......

       3. My ex-girlfriend was so upset!  She explained that when
           She was young that she could bounce a dime
           Off of her butt.  Only now, when she bounce the same dime
           It only flops!
         
  So, I looked on the bright side and told her that now she can
           Bounce a quarter on her belly button and it only drops!

         4. The last time that I saw her, she was "Fasting" on a
             box of cookies.
          
          * And boy, those (03) box's of cookies sure went fast!



Explanation: That is none sence and no one got fat in the making of this pun!
           
 
    4. I just hate it when my ex-girlfriend call's me!  Usually I keep my
       cell phone on vibrate and in my front pocket. My EX-friend
        Know's this.  She also, know's that I have a bladder problem!  Every time
        she blow's up my phone it make's me pee!
        I know that I hate it, but she give's me such a warm feeling and I take
        what I can get!
                                    

     5. My ex-girlfriend is so stupid that she can't ever give me a piece of
         her mind!  She has to get an substitute..... Ha! Ha! Ha!   He, He, He!

      6.My ex-girlfriend, She alway's cut me short!........  She wanted to give 
         me a piece of her mind, buy, she didn't have enough brain cell's left! Ha! Ha!
         Feel the Joke! Uh!

EMBARRASSING QUESTIONS?

       1.  When you "Pass Gas" and you know you did........
            And no-body heard it........ Is it proper to wait for someone
            to smell it first, before you say, excuse me..........
            Is it really too late....... That is what my girlfriend doe's!

       * I would just blame it on a friend!


Moments To Share:

       My ex-girl friend and I were discussing a poem that I wrote! She told
       me that it was an perfect oxymoron.......

       I told her that she was just a moron!


Words' To Live by:
       I was trying to explaine my mis-giving's to my EX-girlfriend......
       I told her that the problem was, not that I really love you, because
       I don't!  The problem is that I just can't get you out of my mind!


Long poem by Jessica Arteaga | Details |

Cornpuff

She wasn't a stray, but a sick yellow cockatiel,
with speckled gray on her feathers.
The pet shop was giving her away,
I was in elementary school when I got her,
she was a lovable bird and I enjoyed holding her.
Very timid she was, you could sort of hear her purr.
Not like a cat but in her own special way,
I would leave her on my stomach as I watched her when I laid. 
She would look at me and still be rather bothered 
of the fast movements of my hand,
and as a child I didn't know any better,
but her frightened little yellow, orange cheeked face
would stretch out and get skinny
and that would make me laugh out so silly.
She was still quite very sick and we kept her in a box,
she didn't leave the house,
she would ride on my shoulder or on my head.
I noticed her feathers where rather ruffled and gloomy,
so I decided to go outside and I think the light almost blew her mind,
'Cause she freaked out screamed!
..Well a little birdie squeal,
and she jumped off onto the ground
and in the grass she looked around.
Thank goodness her wings where clipped,
if not I would be a little girl crying
for a bird she surely missed.
And once again, since I was young 
this act had made me laugh.
By golly corny puff, you're such a scaredy cat!
But then I saw, when she calmed down,
she looked up to the sky,
she watched the sun,
she watched the clouds,
and nibbled the grass blades.
I saw she was enjoying
her small little escapade.
So ever since then, I'd take her out
and sometimes she'd get away,
but she would always fly to the tree out front
so I would have to get on my tippy toes 
and give her some guff.
And as the years passed, we would go out less,
cause as you get older life get's in the way.
I would pet her on the head and off to school I fled,
off to girlfriends,
off to my boyfriend,
off to an interview 
off to a job,
and there Cornpuff stayed.
She would wander the house
and my dad got mad cause he stepped on her once,
but luckily only her tail.
We had a skylight and there she stand next to the fridge,
looking at the light of the day.
In the morning I would wake, to an odd scratching sound,
there she was biting my shoes, rubber crumbs on the ground.
Other days there's a tapping on the mirror,
for she was trying to get her reflection
and one time I looked down from my bed
and there she was trying to get my attention!
I would pick her up and leave her on my chest,
picking on the dry skin on my face.
I would fall asleep and soon would she,
my best friend found her place.


Long poem by Tanine Graham | Details |

Green Back addict

                                                                 Green-back addict
Ambition is the keys to unlocking all the doors. Enthusiasm or courage can 
possibly put an end to world hunger. But let’s be honest, who need courage 
when you got that instant almighty dollar.Remember this: the “cowardly lion” 
don’t have to fight when he’s rolling in something with plush interior. That’s right!
I got my eye on business, your business that is. 

And don’t do me any favors; because I don’t want any type of paper, I want 
your “ye'pper”. The gross point of this is, love still don’t pay my bills.
Unless I can, Can it up and stock it on shelves for fools like you to buy it 
wholesale. I want you to turn me own.To you your stocks and bond,With me 
about your vivid dollar signs, I like to see it sprawled all out on table, in 
untraceable 20’s and 50’s.

It’s dirty, and it makes you fresh and clean, you’d want to be me. Day and night, 
anything else would be uncivilized. I’m true, I care  to spend your money, on 
clothes, pearls, at fast car dealerships, I want that diamond life.
All color jewels, right off an Arabian prince’s hand.

I marry folks that resemble “Franklin”; I’m not too smitten with the Washington 
family.I need her and she needs me. I’ll stick her in my purse, meanwhile 
pocketing your accounts, that Swiss cheese is what I need. Call me old fashion, I 
like that 100-year old money, give up those decrepitude figures, I’ll spend it to 
smithereens. Giving that old girl a new attitude!

Wealth will withstand my impulse, to kill in these stores over seas and in your 
town, buying top designers: Fendi’s, True Religions, Red Monkey’s, Baby Phat, 
Valentino’s, Dolce & Gabbana’s, Couture, Coach bags, Gucci shoes, Jimmy 
Choo’s, Ralph Lauren’s and Versace.
Max lip glosses, botox and make me over after the swelling go down. Nip and 
tuck me in. read me a story, out the newspaper, not the funnies. I only go to sleep 
to clabbered-up chatter on how my addiction has foreclosed another billionaire’s 
wallet. 

That greenish blue piece of paper got me firing my best friend, a widow with 5 
kids and no health insurance. (Oh yes I did).Sad part is, if she got have a chance, 
she would have done the same.Don’t frown up your face, Ok, put it this way…
 When I can make profit off a packaged haters, then we’ll do lunch. Until then I’m 
going to see if Larry H. Parker have girlfriend, money calls … 
 You know the story.

                                               


Long poem by Ian Foley | Details |

Mother's American Dream

-
Sitting on this gray wooden bench beside my late mother
Her light yellow blouse shiffling in the Atlantic air
She is exicited, anxious, happy and swells with a sense of achievement
For she had done it. She had found her relatives found her long lost Duke and hope.

We looked out together from Rosses point at the horizon and America
My much younger brothers played soccer on the beach below these rocks
They were not much more than tousered specs but proud we were 
Proud in a motherly and brotherly way of them.

Mother would never say stay and work when you do arrive in Maine 
But was tough enough to let me go. Just like her own mother would have been.
Her love would always be dousted strongly with conditions of boastfulness 
at all her children's achievements
I would well consider staying in America should the opportnity arise

The airforce base nearby sweltered for me in the 6am Maine air.
I jogged alone by maincured lawns of Duke's neighbourhood, Could I fit in.
A prison warden he took me to gaol to collect a pay check and to dish out irish fags
I jogged again and asked do I really want to live and work in this land

My routes are strong. I would miss my young brothers and not even know them.
Boston had style but screamed at me too.
My mother's first cousin was a hollywood dream, a chiselled Kirk or Burt.
With him a wily wife of Italian extraction and a tarot card reader extraordinare.


Her prediction :
A job and marriage and an apartment will come to you on this three week trip!
Written on a piece of paper I promised not to read this until the last day.
One night we dined out and awaited Duke's friend and attractive girlfriend.
We chatted. I realised I was the son they really had wanted between them

The girlfriend declared that she would be prepared to marry a stranger 
A stranger for a fee. How desperate might I be!
A stranger who may want to get to stay in the USA full-time. Legally.
A job at the drive in bank. A job through a friend of Duke's. You can stay with us.
You can stay in New Hampshire at our letting house. Why not. Why not ?

I opened my wallet on the plane. And read.  "Negative response to the above".
I had said yes or no to no one but I could see my mother's disappointed eyes. 
But no she was grand because, still excited, she had not given up. 
In her hand we knew. If a letter arrived from the American embassy in Dublin that
I had won a Morrison visa. A lottery draw to balance world numbers to the US. !



Long Poems