Best Long Shot Poems
Long shot prospect
named “Reject Hoss”
bedecked with sweat.
He fell to last
‘till he passed gas
so fast, he flew!
He ran with ease.
At Jockey’s prod,
he squeezed in front!
Forty to one,
odds he won was
pure fun for Hoss.
Inspired by Dr. Ram's Than- Bauk contest.
written 8/6/11
In life disagreements have always been around,
so why the frown?
We all like what we like and that’s the bottom line.
I won’t see life as you do because I am me and
you are you.
However, what kind of filter do you use before
you look?
The filter that you use is a determining factor in
what you see.
I’m not perfect by a long shot, but I try to let
optimism be my guide.
In a world of negativity it’s so easy to let op-
timism fall by the wayside.
The old saying is true “ treat others like you want
to be treated.“
If someone said they like(or have a nonchalant
demeanor )being mistreated or disrespected,
I don’t believe you.
Because at the core, we all are human beings
and we have feelings.
If you don’t care now, you used to care, being
hurt over and over can cause pain; pain overload
turns into numbness.
The moment you allow yourself to feel again you
will understand.
Numbness can “walk around with a I don’t care”
attitude.
Once your numbness leaves, you will start to feel
again.
I know from personal experience, I wore my
numbness(as a shield of defense) for years
and nothing affected me.
Later on ,once I dealt with my pain and put
aside my shield of defense I started to heal.
The world in itself is cruel, and fueled by so
much hate.
But change starts with you and I, let’s agree
to disagree and walk in to love’s wing.
Alexis Y.
10/27/2020
Saturday, February the 14th of the year 2015
It's no Valentine's Day in the Great White North
It's the big Hockey Night in Canada
And to these fans, it's a night of epic rivalry
Saturday nights with the blue and white
Trying to play with all their might
Saturday nights with le bleu, blanc, et rouge
Trying to play all the way through
When the moment the puck drops,
A person's normal heartbeat stops
When the instant the puck hits the ice,
A rival's heartbeat is anything but nice
Toronto Maple Leafs - the long shot team
Will bring their honor to battle for this rivalry
Montréal Canadiens - the big shot team
Will bring their torch to burn on this rivalry
Two teams will battle for a victory right
Only one team will have victory upon being loyal
As for this Valentine's Day hockey night
There will be no love in Montreal
A little alliteration by a long shot speaks so loud.
Metaphors muddle my mind
And silly similes stymie the sentence.
A terrible trope takes too much of my time
g Tiberius is my tag and title
My nom de plume is a personal platitude personified
Better *****es badger me with their bared bosoms
A curious cacophony controls my cochlea
Demanding drugs and daffodils
Eventually ephemeral earth will evince my effervescence
Freakin' phantom fear will appear
Had enough, Harry?
Or do you just ejaculate jocularity?
O K - I'll specially spare you the shroud of St. Sebastien
And say Adios, amigo; ta ta to you, see ya, Zebra; good-by, sweety-pie
So long saintly Samuel, take care, Virginia Dare
And that's the way it is, my miz
Amen and au-revoire.
Some said it would come with the millennium
Worldwide chaos and technology confusion
Two-thousand twelve forecasts create mystification
Are the hopes we hold for man’s future an illusion?
There is no doubt our day of reckoning will come
Tornadoes, tsunamis and earthquakes are preludes
Softly ticking clocks gain the thunder of drums
With caution we confront skeptical attitudes
Some spend their entire lives in states of fear
I choose to live in a capsule of serenity
The end of man’s reign on earth may be far or near
As we await passage to a heavenly city
Let’s not get caught up in the growing speculation
Instead concentrate on how we live every day
Knowing our path to eternity has begun
And the covenant of God’s love I won’t betray
The date, the time and even the means matter not
For those who treat others with kindness and respect
To say we know the precise moment? That’s a long shot
Choose to live in the now, not suffer in retrospect
Three pigs
New digs
Straw house
Stick house
Wolf Bad
Big cad
Huff puff
Puff huff
Chinny
Chin chin
Fell in
Big din
Pigs run
Outdone
Wolf quick
Pigs thick
Fresh pork
On fork
……………………………………………………
Last pig
House big
In digs
Safe pigs
Huff puff
Puff huff
On fork
No pork
Wolf trick
Pig thick
Turnip meal
Real deal
No way
Pig say
Not thick
Wolf trick
On roof
Climb wolf
Long shot
Hot pot
Fell in
No grin
Big plate
Pig ate
………………………………………………………………………………………….
And lived happily ever afterwards
I am the long shot.
I am the one they never so coming.
I am the life beat of a heart once dying.
I am the old horse that keeps kicking.
I am truth in a world that keeps lying.
I am the runner who though the race ends,
Keeps running.
I am the dancer who keeps moving,
Though the curtains falling.
I am the raindrop that split the earth
I am the straw that broke the camel’s back
I am the bullet the vest couldn’t catch
I am the arrow the armour couldn’t stop
I am the pebble that cracked Goliath’s skull
I am the hair grown back on Samson’s head
I am the longshot
I am the manifestation of a revolution
I am the symbol of a new generation
I am the underdog who becomes champion
I’m Del Monte: picked, not just chosen
I am the voice they can’t mum
I am the song hope cant stop but hum
I am the last of a dying breed
Yet its hope that i bleed
I’m he whose passion is a creed
Created by God’s decree
I am the ‘f’ that made lame hot like flame
I am the ‘g’ that made low glow
I am change. I am difference. I am uniqueness
I am wine from The true vine
I am what you cannot be
I AM ME!
I once saw a video starring Lou Bega.
He was singing his release titled "Sweet Like Cola".
There, he danced with a pleasing plump brunette.
This kind of woman is one I would like to get.
Lou described her figure as a little "round".
However, he said he loved every pound.
Singing "stop your dieting 'cause you're so sexy".
With his description, I would wholeheartedly agree.
I am hoping for one long shot lucky break.
This is one type of woman I would like to take.
I know it is quite a huge long shot.
However, I can win a big pot.
I will join the dance.
Give my dreams a chance.
A buck per ticket is not a lot.
“Let go your hold
Your hands are cold
And it’s getting old
When I am un-holed
My soul’s been sold
So they can behold
That a marmot’s found gold
Since they think I’ve foretold
And cast a dark spot
Or maybe not
Coz all I got
Is a long shot
See my nerves are shot
Since I don’t know squat
And danger is fraught
If I show what is naught
Yet they still seek
Punx Phil’s mystique
And ask that I speak
But I only squeak
Then they’ll all peek
At my chubby physique
Of which they’ll critique
Plus there’s still six more weeks”
It happened without any action on my part.
All I had to do was just say, "Yes, I will go".
Moreover, it was not my dream, but my friend's.
However, from a child, I have been an avid sports fan.
My games of choice, and my childhood fantasies
were baseball, basketball, and later on, football.
From a child, I had pictured myself on the field of dreams playing baseball. When reality set in, I was content to see myself in the stands.
In 1974, I attended my first MLB game in Chicago. In 1984, I attended a Harlem Globe Trotters game in Oakland, Ca.
In or about 1990, I attended my first NBA game in Sacramento, Ca.
That left one major American sport to go, and it was a long-shot.
In fact, such a feat was buried deep in the bottom of my bucket list.
There were certainly other things placed in a higher priority, but life
happens, and so often we have very little to do with the happenings.
So in 2019, I was invited by a friend to attend an NFL game in K.C., Mo.,
and after a Greyhound Bus, an Amtrak Train, a rented car, and nearly a
4000 mile round trip, that game became the most recent item kicked off
my bucket list. In a very real sense, there were two buckets in one, shared by friends. My life's venture came as a gift. Who knew?
111220PSCtest, What Have You Kicked Off On Your Bucket List,
Chantelle Anne Cooke. 2P
Form: Alliteration
A little alliteration by a long shot speaks so loud.
Metaphors muddle my mind
And silly similes stymie the sentence.
A terrible trope takes too much of my time
g Tiberius is my tag and title
My nom de plume is a personal platitude personified
Better *****es badger me with their bared bosoms
A curious cacophony controls my cochlea
Demanding drugs and daffodils
Eventually ephemeral earth will evince my effervescence
Freakin' phantom fear will appear
Had enough, Harry?
Or do you just ejaculate jocularity?
O K - I'll specially spare you the shroud of St. Sebastien
And say Adios, amigo; ta ta to you, see ya, Zebra; good-by, sweety-pie
So long saintly Samuel, take care, Virginia Dare
And that's the way it is, my miz
Amen and au-revoire.
First sky says, Toth faced the reptiles
Just go back and read the tiles
Forever written laid before your eye
The story goes on for miles
Forward to the time of the snake
This is when the story becomes fake
See eye becomes quicker than hand
Now then thee earth really did shake
Ushering the coming of a lamb
This was the time of the Ram
The establishing of the law
A dividing between you and Sam
Now jumping to the time of the fish
The next step in answering your wish
Love each other as you love yourself
Soon they will arise in dish
Heard from the cry of the guns
Entered we have the time of the one
Whosoever can hear me and see me will
Hit the game winning home run grand slam
In a dark night I am lost and alone
Far from home without a phone
In my car in a rural area
I feel the beginnings of hysteria
My heart pounds as does the beat of the rain
I calm myself to prevent feeling insane
There is no human being or building in sight
Became mad at myself for getting into this plight
I stop and park in a less muddy spot
A car passing by seemed a long- shot
I never experienced such lonely places
Would welcome the sight of strangers' faces
As the now light pat of rain puts me to sleep
Beside my car shines the lights of a jeep
A man walked out and knocked
My car door were locked
I pulled the window down half way
To hear what he was about to say
He asked if I needed aid
I was not at all feeling afraid
Expressed my frustration
Then handed him a paper with the destination
He advised me to turn around
In a quarter of a mile the location could be found
"On the right there is a mailbox by the dirt road
Go straight down and you will find the address you showed."
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, by wagon, train or foot.
Days not all that long ago, in tall ships made of wood.
“A gold rush struck in ’49, all quite by accident.
A burning fever that cut men to bone, in a sea of dingy tents.
Day and night, they toiled and told, many headed home without a cent.
But some packed out bags of glistening gold, and made a stop at Buzzard’s Breath.
The town’s mud logged street, deep with horse manure, bubbled like a shallow grave.
With a Sheriff’s office, a livery stable, and a church for souls to save.
And a fancy house, on a grassy knoll – sign read, “Madam Lil la Tart”.
With soft, curvaceous ladies who mined for hearts – and gold of a different sort.
Didn’t take long before easy gold, was extremely hard to find.
And burly miners, tough as steel, moved in to hard rock mine.
With bloodied knuckles, dented hats, they blasted at a furious pace.
To find the gold, called the mother lode, yellow blood coursing through their veins!
The mine they worked was called “Long Shot”, the men thought that name a curse.
But the miners hankered for the handle, “Buzzard’s Breath”, and the mine’s name was reversed.
As luck would say, they held a royal flush, when they hit that horse-wide vein.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found, this side of the Pearly Gates.
Eyes wide as saucers, they were all in awe, everyone was filthy rich.
The miners should have all retired and should have cashed in all their chips.
But a man’s hard to figure, when his blood is yellow, and he’s stricken with a gold fever.
“Eureka! boys, git the dynamite and a whole lot more mining timbers!”
They mined that vein to the bowels of the earth, and the heat increased by day.
Buzzard’s Breath became the hottest place, to Hell – the shortest way.
And then one day, the men never came back. – Hell must have jumped that claim.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found – that’s where the Devil mines today!”
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, died a slow and quiet death.
Along with days of tall wooden ships, and the ghosts of Buzzard’s Breath.
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY : LXXIV
IF ever I had a country proud of its sacred Soul Patrie
And if ever by a long shot I was nominated - not spuriously elected - Chef Ministre d'Etat
Plenipotentiary
The first thing I'd do is to give the Minister of Justice the sack in a hurry
I'll then take over his post and issue a long awaited (you'll agree) and needed decree
That henceforth any razor-sharp lawyer and his erudite team appointed by a client for a
very very high fee
To defend protect and facilitate the " escape " of any known criminal whose ill-gotten
gains burst bank-vaults to a brain-numbing degree
That the lawyer and his team be given the DOUBLE of the sentence meted out to the
criminal and be put away minus their licences to practise LAW in an Alcatraz-like
penitentiary
And this even if I never ever had no country to call my own with or without any patrimony
(The late eminent Vietnamese-French lawyer, Maître JACQUES VERGES, renowned for among other feats the defence of KLAUS BARBIE, the NAZI " chief " under the French Vichy regime, was also the Secrétaire de la Conférence des Avocats/Examiner for those wishing to practise law in France. And yet, in a case where I was concerned with revolting Master's and Doctoral students at the Sorbonne-Nouvelle University, he subtly had my case scuttled to prop up mainly Muslim and African-origin students - openly backed by JAMES BALDWIN - who objected vehemently to being taught, besides numerous other Commonwealth authors, V. S. NAIPAUL's The Guerillas, together with Eva Peron and The Killings in Trinidad, students who also took exception to any comparison, by way of structural influence, of WOLE SOYINKA's The Road, with Greek tragedies.)
© T. Wignesan - Paris, March 8, 2019