Long Ann Poems
Long Ann Poems. Below are the most popular long Ann by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ann poems by poem length and keyword.
Ruth Ann is a subcriminal
Picks up a pen from offices and banks
She did not plan or mean to be a thief
She slides them into her purse without antic or cranks
Unfortunately this habit led to others
She shoplifts clothes, and a jackhammer
She is no longer welcome in homes of her brothers
So sad that she eventually ends up in the slammer
She should have never stolen from Daddy Hank
For his new trophy wife is a huge ugly crank
The family tries to get Daddy to back off,
But all wife-y has to do is give a come-hither-cough
So Ruth Ann ended up behind bars for life
And her daddy is still pleased with his mean trophy wife.
A brand new doll, with braids and freckled face,
was tossed aside, left caged, with plastic bars.
She eyed the blue-eyed spat with no embrace.
Though box was dinged, she’d not receive sad scars.
Ann’s clean though tossed in attic space; it’s dark.
It’s not how she’d imagined play; she’s bored.
Alone and lost without a friend - trademark
and popularity, boxed in cardboard.
One day the sun blazes, a blinding hue.
Stirred doll doesn’t know how long she’s been around.
Ann’s brought downstairs, unwrapped..she’s awed…she’s new.
A hug of excitement, for she’s been found.
Her girl gives her a rocker and a bed.
The kindest soul with freckles, hair deep-red.
(Lesley Ann Down was an actress in
the Golden Age of live TV drama.)
We live in an age of midgets.
There are no seers now, only lookers,
no values left, apart from digits.
Cash is the hook, and we’re all hookers,
no Carmen Joneses, only Bridgets.
Did you have to learn the equation
(“have to”? – what an odd suggestion!)
which represents acceleration?
It’s printed now, beside the question.
No gravity, just gravitation.
Subtitle writers, now, can’t spell,
and language teachers know no grammar.
When banks are hiring tellers, well,
in Alabaster, Alabama,
they sing aloud, “You Never Can Tell”.
Let’s get somewhat more sarcastic.
Our carpenters just never get wood.
Today our craftsmen just squirt mastic,
then, as any moron could,
they clip on bits of precut plastic.
We’ve got police (I like this best!)
who, far from being Texas Rangers,
have never passed exams or tests,
and can’t, by law, face any dangers,
or run rash risks, like make arrests.
No Richard Rodgers, Buddy Holly,
no more Stoller (as in Lieber),
but ‘tis the season to be jolly –
after all, there’s Justin Bieber!
Hence, loathéd melancholy!
Momma mia man date
comb the second Sunday during month of May
can be traced back to ancient Greeks and Romans
festivals held
to honor mother goddesses Rhea and Cybele
setting precedent for Mother's Day
where early Christians fancied festival
known as “Mothering Sunday.”
Fast forward to the early
twentieth century 1908 when
Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis (a social activist then,
and community organizer
during American Civil War) era to quieten
grief fraught era also cited
as informally memorializing her mother,
who begot said noble men
touring daughter
paying homage to woebegone
lachrymose role with accolades
to endure tragedy and loss put upon
childbearing women,
this event held (rain or sun)
at St Andrew's Methodist Church
in Grafton, West Virginia, which did quicken
in subsequent decades to formal fete,
where poets (like me) did open
the special occasion with ranked midshipmen
commercialization cropped as ken
be expected by the early 1920's imbolden
greeting card companies such as Hallmark gen
er rated a market (money making of course) even
though Jarvis believed companies sought profit
NOT prophet, thus misinterpreting
and exploiting idea of Mother's Day and met
aforementioned founder, who tried to jet
tis sin the vulgar appetite of the ole mighty dollar,
but her lofty ambition did get
thwarted by mass marketing
the quaint idea,
plus she feared going in debt
and though the industry
(initially proposed entailed low key
acknowledgement, the originator
(Ann Marie Jarvis) still esteemed,
lionized, revered re
formed unsanitary living conditions with zee
less ness and aplomb
set a course where greater longevity doth hum
all because, she sought to regale "mum."
A child should not need to hide
with death a constant evil ride
silver specks of april moon
death was knocking at your door
A little girl of sweet sixteen
with love the taste of romance keen
a child of a different age
the building was her hidden cage
Father mother locked in fear
I think there was a fat man there
a young one hidding in the walls
life created, men and fools
Genicide, atrosities, contemptable
how can we treat a human sweet
judges, soldiers, men of grace
How could you build this devils place
A father watched his little girl
growing up inside these walls
watched her taste her first romance
watched her fear without a chance
The soldiers of the german war
What theory's are worth dying for
The science of the time did speak
and say they wanted strong not weak
The arian race the perfect man
not so perfect evil plans
a father watched his little girl
taken by the soldiers van
A father watched his childs life
swallowed by the nazi fight
A father watched his little one
stolen from her life of fun
A father watched his little one
stolen from his arms and sun
into the nazi camps of death
his wife and Daughter into hell
He survived but not his child
he survived but not his wife
the dairy that, his child wrote
shows the dark and evil state
Mitt Romney’s wife was criticized
(Though she was not defensive)
Because she chose to wear a blouse
Considered quite expensive.
She wore it on a TV show
So she would look her best,
But journalists decided that
She’d failed the litmus test.
All those who like to criticize
Were ready with their clucks,
Delighted to reveal that blouse
Surpassed nine hundred bucks!
Though prices through the stratosphere
I cannot comprehend,
I wonder why reporters care
What politicians spend.
John Edwards’ haircut, Palin’s suits
And now Ann Romney’s blouse,
Provide the ammunition so
The columnists can grouse.
Such splurges prove to all of us
Those folks are out of touch.
They have no clue that most of us
Would never spend so much.
Yet still, I find it strange these facts
Are told with fevered pitch;
Beware of candidates like these –
They’re not like us – they’re rich!
I was a Tomboy to the core,
Went to Kindergarten – hoping for more
Than merely dolls and tea sets but some things
Like cars and trucks, airplanes with wings
All the things that make a boy’s heart sing
Also brought me to dreaming of every good thing
Despite the tomboy who lives inside this lass,
When I entered the kindergarten class
I was met with a doll, Raggedy Ann - while
This new teacher, with her kindest smile
Offered me Ms. Raggedy – I accepted her
Despite the thoughts that came in such a blur
This is mutiny, revolution… this could create
A uprising in my soul, but patient, I’d wait…
Ms. Raggedy, once I’d secreted her beneath
My desk - I realized that, once lost, I’d bequeath
Her to my friend – since then, I’ve decided to become
A poem writer – writing about the lost doll who would overcome
The tomboy who had won her as a trading tool
This lost doll who she’d market became the best in school!
Who knows what happened to Auntie Ann?
We've tried to find out, as best we can—
scoured the papers, followed the news,
and still we don't know how we could lose
our cherished Auntie Ann.
There's always been vile rumor, of course,
(remember to consider the source!)
that Annie just gave in to the drink.
But if she did, you wouldn't think
that she'd completely disappear.
Someone has to buy the beer
for drunken Auntie Ann!
Then there are those who said she went
to join the circus under the tent—
that she became an acrobat,
did triple flips, imagine that!
But she was lonely— can you blame her?—
she fell in love with the lion tamer
who married Auntie Ann.
Now Auntie Ann was so very sweet,
it's not unthinkable that she'd meet
a ne'er-do-well who'd promise her
a profit if she'd just transfer
her money into his account.
Could she have lost a vast amount?—
gullible Auntie Ann.
One of the silliest thoughts I've heard
is that Auntie left without a word
and moved to Africa to stay
where she resides this very day,
traipsing about in safari clothes.
(just why she'd do that, nobody knows)—
eccentric Auntie Ann.
I always rather thought it weird
that Annie wished she had a beard.
My theory is, she found a doc
(prepare yourself, it's quite a shock)
who, with his scalpel, was quite handy
and turned our Auntie, sweet as candy,
....... into Uncle Andy!
True love I thought
Oh Ruth Ann
You were you are my heart
Our souls are joined
I relinquish to you my heart soul sure pure
But our pulse was just a wish unfilled
You never believed
There was only history
We are now just two lonely bodies
You and I Ruth Ann
I could never have loved anyone
The way I Loved You
I would have made love to you
Always I would have made love to you forever
But her kiss was just a wish unfilled
Those was only the darkness
And always meant only a minute
And our soul entwined no more
Yet and still you're my life my light
goodbye sweet princess farewell
Ole to thee Ruth Ann
2/10/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Mary Ann had never looked so beautiful
As the church bell tolled loudly and echoed
Reverend Cooper shuffled to his pulpit
Bible in hand, staring down at the floor
She was not nervous about the big event
Her burgundy velvet dress was spotless
The lace around the collar white and soft
Her dark curly hair was tied with a burgundy bow
Her cherub face was still plump and firm
Her polished patent-leather Mary Jane’s
Were a stark contrast to her white tights
Yes, in all her 3 years, she had never looked so beautiful
From the front of the room, she looked out
Everyone was there - mom, dad,
her big brother who teased her for being a girl,
Gram and Grampy, her aunts and uncles,
even her babysitter
All there just for her.
As Reverend Cooper began speaking
Mary Ann looked down and noticed that
she looked so sweet framed by the
off-white padding of her coffin.