Best Hard Luck Poems
I bent down to pick up a penny from the frozen ground.
I could smell myself, the acrid stench of sweat and soot,
the taint of vapored vagrancy
that marked my movements, masking me from the reality that used to be.
I hate me and what I am, more than you could ever think to,
but more so becuase you do, with your limp laughter and scared stares.
I never knew my life never needed me to know it could all go away in a single day.
I see it all through dirty windows draped in singed eyelashes and gutter grime,
the pathetic gazes from afar as another afternoon of sale shopping and shoe sizing is ruined
by my appalling appearance.
"How dare you be here! What's wrong with you?"
"Go get a job you junkie, you slob, just jump a bus so you can't disgust us with your sewer
shoes and hard luck blues. You deserve the dirt and a kick in the teeth from the steel-tipped
toe of a jackboot too. No one wants to see a scummy sack of crap like you, bending down to
pick our scraps off the frozen ground."
The helping hand of man slaps the taste of humanity from my mouth with each volatile volley
of acid arrow analogies angrily slung and fired furiously from the bows of bastard
businessmen and bleach blonde bimbos.
My weary wounds fill with the sea-salt of sarcastic statements and unflattering finger
gestures from frat boys as I bend down to pick up a penny I found on the frozen ground.
"Head's up means luck," Abe smiled at me, and suddenly my thoughts began to run
differently.
I took a long look at the lingering light of one of the sweetest sunsets I had ever seen, and
the simplicity and majesty washed over me.
There was no use in listening to abuse and accusations and obtuse observations any more.
I was being shown a door.
Wrapped in the warmth of the amber and amethyst glow, I finally smile for a little while and
close my dirty windows against the icy winds of waning words.
Tomorrow, someone will bend down to pick me up from the frozen ground.
In snow
Walk slow
If stuck
Hard luck
Bad foot?
Stay put
Forced stay
Delay
A sleigh!
Hooray!
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Contest: March of the Footle
Sponsor: Timothy Hicks
Whoever finds themselves alone,
To make their bed a slab of stone,
Goes there but for the grace of I
To contemplate the reason why.
Who knows the journey each have led?
The horrors which they may have fled.
Financial ruin is one such fate,
Or just hard luck, the loss is great!
And so, a life where pride is lost
To forage bins at any cost.
Where passersby will turn their heads
To go home to their comfy beds.
A placard scratched out more in hope
Disguises that they fail to cope
And thus, the empty cups reveal
The hopelessness they can’t conceal.
The cold and bitter winters night,
The cardboard box for which they’ll fight,
May stave off hypothermia
But do little for insomnia!
It’s miserable to say the least,
The fact that they will never feast
Or just to shower, enjoy a cuddle,
Instead a lowly fire they huddle.
Have we now become so cruel?
Whereby society will often drool
On celebrities who matter not,
Whilst these poor souls are thus forgot!
for bruce springsteen...
it was a rain-swept monsoon day
way back then, so many moons away
when i felt the music strumming in my veins
setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins
you sang of simple truths,
your verse spoke to people just like me
in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night
as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone's plight
'bobby jean' spoke to me
of that girl down the street
glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet
and 'the river' that flowed through my ever-barren heart
led me down further roads of thunder
when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on
and never to surrender
to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run
while i danced in the dark
with memories vivid and stark
even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark
and then a 'human touch' came along
and 'better days' seemed real, not just words in a song
and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes
as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies
in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned
as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned
and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up
working on a highway of scattered ideals
and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup
well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road
with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad
but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night
just like the ghost of that old tom joad...
Form:
Milk
Swim
Struggle
Sink
Splash
Bubble
Thick
Solid
Stuck
Stress
Struggle
Hard luck
Heat
Cry
Felt
Struggle
Butter
Melt
Form:
Vlad Putin was dealing with state affairs
On his way back he skidded down the stairs
You could smell the foul gas
Cos' he ruptured his a.s.s
No get well wishes because nobody cares.
He'd fallen over and broke his a.s.s. bone
A guard rushed over when he heard a moan
Hard luck you commie jerk
Cos' it's karma at work
Start praying now for your sins and atone
Written on 2nd December 2022.
The place, the Twenty Third Precinct, Brooklyn, Vice. Detective Rodney Townsend,
The time, four thirty a.m. Report of incident, death of one John Doe. Ally on the
fourteen hundred block, Forth street. The deceased IE; perp is a white male,
approximately thirty five years old with lots of tattoos, some of them are kind of
indistinguishable. Hair, black, Mustache, black...Lots of rings.
The victim, person attacked, Maria Wiegold, tagged for prostitution seventeen
times in the past five years, was apparently in the process of being beaten and
strangled in said ally. She said the perp had a knife, the Homicide boys said
it was a flensing knife, I had to look that up. Flensing knife, I'll have to remember
that. The perp was struck down before he could kill her. Is this the Ripper?
I think we got us a live one here, in a manner of speaking. Maybe the killings
will stop now, by the Grace of God! " Yo, Brick"! " What do ya want Mikey, I'm kinda
busy here. " I done some checking with the ME, and your ice berg aint the Rip" He's
the broads Pimp, name's Gino Rondo" " arm long rap sheet, attempted murder
more assaults than I can count" " Your lucky you can count to ten Mikey, and
that's with your shoes off" "Awe Brick, cut it out, will ya"!
" Cheese Whiz, Mikey, I thought we had this one in the bag" " You always was a
hard luck story Brick" Yeah, yeah, I'm goin down to the Morgue, check on our
stiff. " William thirty Baker, central, show me 10-9 at central morgue, I'll be on
portable if you need me" " Central, William thirty Baker, will do Brick". Yeah....
" Hullo Doc"! " Hello Brick"! " I'm here for the skinny on my stiff" " You mean MY
stiff, don't you"? " Well....the Skinny as you call it, is, One cut, powerful, downward
thrust, begins at the breastbone and ends at the groin" " Very precise, almost surgical,
except"! " Except what Doc?" " I don't know any surgeons that
use a sword to cut into people" " You sure Doc?" " Quite sure Brick, I've seen
something like this before, in Japan...If I miss my guess, this was done with
a Japanese Katana".
Samurai !!!
so whats all the fuss about?
all the shouting and screaming
no more hard luck stories to tout
no more back stabbing scheming
just stand up to all and sundry
what do you think this is beggers week
it's just not like it used to be
so stand proud no room for the meek
you have to fight for what is yours
fight until the nasty bitter end
if you don't into your pride it bores
stand with pride your heart will mend
but it's a crying shame!
not to follow advice
for i am exactly the same
worse it's not my only vice.
Form:
Somebody Needs Some Sunshine
It’s raining again,
the bad luck kind
the rain that brings problems
problems with no end
the person being rained on
doesn’t deserve the downpour,
he deserves sunshine
sunshine to bring him luck
sunshine to make him smile,
Please God, tell the rain to stop for awhile
It’s raining again,
the hard luck kind
the rain that brings bad news
bad news with no end
the person being rained on
doesn’t deserve the thunderstorm,
she deserves sunshine,
sunshine to bring her luck
sunshine to make her smile
Please God tell the rain to stop for awhile
It’s raining again,
devastating, disappointing kind of rain,
the rain that brings sadness
sadness with no end
the person being rained on
doesn’t deserve this hurricane
he deserves sunshine to bring him luck
sunshine to make him smile,
Please God, tell the rain to stop for awhile
Someone told me a saying that is true,
“It always rains on the person who most needs
the sunshine”
how true this saying is,
too much rain all the time
got to have sunshine more of the time
sunshine to bring us luck
sunshine to make us smile,
Please God, tell the rain to stop for awhile.
Celine Rose Mariotti
I was born in a landlocked getaway town
Where all the colors were black, gray, or brown.
Jobs at the steel mill were ratcheting down.
It was not in my future to stay.
So, I took a long walk off a very short pier,
An unschooled, untraveled recruit buccaneer
On a quest to cross Neptune’s vast salty frontier.
Hopped a slow boat to China one day.
Underway on the Crescent City, it seemed
The ocean was wider than I’d ever dreamed.
A ship load of sinners, our souls unredeemed
Steaming west toward whatever there was.
Keelung told Hong Kong to call Singapore.
Subic Bay badgered Mombasa for more.
Sea legs, as always unsteady ashore,
Even more so with liquor and drugs.
Bilge water sloshed in the depths of the hold.
The mizzen mast learned what the typhoon foretold.
I was sea duty tempered and Shell Back enrolled;
Wasn’t nothing but maritime norm.
I was born in a hard luck blue collar town.
Half the way broken and half the way down.
But time gifts its renaissance scepter and crown
To a jack tar who’s weathered the storm.
Hard luck
Luck.
I hoped to gift you
with my tears
to adorn your
crown with a
somber face
and a land of soul
with banished smile.
But hard luck
Luck!
I tongued clean
the salty tears.
Hard luck.
Better luck the
next dream-wreck!
Who is Sod and what’s this law
Sod’s law, what’s it for
Mend your car engine, drop your spanner
Can you reach it, no you canna
Perfectly aligned beneath the middle of the truck
Sod and his law, hard luck
Who is Sod and why did he
Let me get dog muck on my knee
I only knelt on the grass to pick a four leaf clover
Now I got dog muck on me all over
Sod must have seen me on my way
Lucky four leaf clover, no way
Why did Sod make my self propelled lawn mower
Go really good when the grass was lower
Now, the grass is long as stalk
And I cant get this mower to work
This law of Sod’s really does stink
Is it me, what do you think
Sod it, sod’s law. I got one toe inside the bath
And the door bell rang, well you may laugh
So I got dressed and ran the stair, only to find
There was no one there, Sod and his law
Who’s it for?
The garden gate was banging in the wind
The wife nudged me in bed, go mend that thing
3am in a howling storm, 3am in the god damned morn
Just when I reached that banging gate
The wind just dropped, all calm that’s great
Sod and his sodding law, I can’t take it anymore
There is a million things like those above
Sent to try, to push and shove
As long as there is a law and Sod
Make sure your shoulders remain broad
Sod’s law, its staying, that’s for sure
The both, my Parents, mom, too, are dead now,
And what a thing that is to have to know.
I really can’t get up and have a cow,
But smiles, sometimes, seem they are all for show.
And now, to other twists of laughing fate!
My mother died, but two weeks from my wife.
My father died, nine days before my birthday.
I seem to have a gift for calling strife!
My sister lost her mom a week before
Her birthday, and she says dad said goodbye
Around that time – hard Luck nailed shut the door
In August and September, thus, we’ll cry!
O, what a comedy of hurts is this!
No wrinkled, or rough-whiskered cheek to kiss!
We've been having a "Bash Santa" week, but I wrote limericks this morning about Putin breaking his tailbone. So, Tom suggested we have a "Bash Putin" week. Here are three more from me. Please join in bashing that dastardly demon if you wish.
That Evil Putin fell down and hurt his tushy
He swore, "It was one of my bodyguards pushed me!"
Not wanting to be blamed
For he was so ashamed
That he had to change his pants cuz they were gooshy
It was on his darn keister that Putin landed
I'm going to be honest and very candid
He was chasing a skirt
When the scumbag got hurt
While being frisky with her, he was caught red-handed
Now he can't sit in a chair on his derriere
Cuz that lowlife tried to ruin the innocent, Claire
It's his tailbone he broke
His neck I'd like to choke
He's worse than Hitler, the annihilator Herr
Written by Jenna Logan
V. Putin has fallen on his tush
Pity was not in a thorny bush
Put him on a chain gang
Better yet, let him hang
Then let us have in Russia a putsch!
Arrogant Putin's butt is sore
Love this special news, tell us more
The ass is hurtin'
The world is certain
Putin needs to be shown the door.
Written by L. Milton Hankins
Putin is a fascist like Hitler, no doubt
That's what he really is all about
He fell on his a.r.s.e
Emitting methane garse
And learned it's three Reichs you're out!
Putin to his guards was accusatory
So let us embellish on that story
Shoved down from his thrown
Cracked his smug coccyx bone
This tail-ends his self-proclaimed glory
Written by Robert Gorelick
Vlad Putin was dealing with state affairs
On his way back he skidded down the stairs
You could smell the foul gas
Cos' he ruptured his a.s.s
No get well wishes because nobody cares.
He'd fallen over and broke his a.s.s. bone
A guard rushed over when he heard a moan
Hard luck you commie jerk
Cos' it's karma at work
Start praying now for your sins and atone
Written by Tom Cunningham
While scanning the local personal ads, the other night,
The following headline ventured, into my sight.
"SINGLE BLACK FEMALE, seeks male companionship."
Well there's a catch line, I was prompted to quip.
So naturally I read on, to see what this gal had to say.
"Ethnicity unimportant; I'm a good girl who just loves to play."
Maybe she'd be the one, who could change my hard luck.
"I love long walks in the woods, and riding a truck."
And she continued, "hunting, camping and fishing trips,
Cozy winter nights by the fire," all rolled from her lips.
Is she real, passed through my mind?
Women like this, are impossible to find.
"Candlelight dinners, will have me eating out of your hand."
This is every man's fantasy dream, you must understand.
"I'll be at the front door, when you get home from work,
Wearing only what nature gave me," and my head gave a jerk.
"Call this number and ask for DAISY; I'm waiting."
She certainly had my attention, there is no debating.
Well I tripped over my own feet, I'm embarrassed to say,
To dial DAISY'S number, and invite her to come out and play
When the phone stopped ringing, I heard this beautiful female voice.
"This is the ATLANTA HUMANE SOCIETY, and I'll give you a choice,"
"Push #1 for DAISY, our eight week old female Black Lab pup.
Or push #2 for STUPID, 'cause your filthy mind's all screwed up."