Long Annie Poems
Long Annie Poems. Below are the most popular long Annie by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Annie poems by poem length and keyword.
Locked in the history through the doors of his mind
Are the remains of an unwritten contract he signed.
The rules he lived by with his own flesh and bone,
Wrote in his blood and signed alone.
An Indian father or a Spanish bride,
The white mans greed won’t alter his stride,
The black mans courage with endurance within,
Mixed with trials errors and mortal sin.
Through the hardship and horses through courage and pain
These are the hands that held the rein.
Annie Oakley, Kitty Wilkins and Bell Star,
Combined lace with leather and created a gender scar.
From Picket, Custer, and Crazy Horse,
These are only a few who would not alter their course.
And those less know on Oregon’s trail,
Who sold all they had and to the west set sail.
Chisholm, Goodnight and French, some of the Cattle kings,
They all are the reason a cowboy sings.
And their blood still flows through our veins,
These are the hands that held the rein.
Forgive them for they knew not what they done,
As they settled the west with hand and gun.
Fought for open space they went through,
Not knowing that greed and politics followed them too.
Restless by nature a curious kind,
Searching for answers they will never find.
An unwritten code he rides for the brand,
It pumps through the veins into the soul of this man.
He gathers those memories and tries to remain,
These are the hands that held the rein.
Writing no letter for he can’t but he would,
To who he’s not sure but it is understood,
There is no place to send it anyhow,
So he saddles his pony and rides for the cow,
Sings a song and says a poem in rhyme,
To cut the quiet and pass the time.
That helps keep the stories of his horse and life,
As he sings of a friend and dreams of a wife.
Through the doors of his mind those memories remain,
For these are the hands that held the rein.
Like shuffling a deck he’s held in his hand
He has gambled his life and made a stand,
And made a vow he will try to fulfill,
With the luck of the draw his blood flows still.
To the next generation, with changes in time,
We still hear his stories in song and rhyme.
And if one more day could be spare
For the songs sung and poems shared
Let him live just one more day,
Let him ride for the brand and draw his pay.
In our future let our history not be in vein,
For our hands are now what hold the rein.
Form:
So you think you know just how us cowboys should behave
But listening to your jawing, I hear Chisholm spinning in his grave
A Cowboy who don’t drink or cuss, I’ll tell you that’s not right
Ain’t you heard of Old Whiskey Row, Where two cowboys got tight?
To go to tying knot’s in the Devil’s tail took more than lemonade
There’s been liquor on the bar in every movie John Wayne made
Back when Chisholm blazed the trail & cattle claimed the West
It was music round a campfire, as the hands settled for a rest
They’d often talk of home or sing a tune to pass the time
You’ve seen that in the movies, when it only cost a dime
They sang of Laredo, Lil Joe or maybe Annie Laurie
Right then & there you decided what a Cowboy ought to be
There are some things we might share with Hoppy, Roy & Gene
But real cowboys won’t ever be like those on the Disney scene
Any buckaroo can sure clean up sharp for a Saturday night dance
Even be persuaded to use pretty words when sparking a romance
We pick a little guitar and some can make that harmonica wail
But you’re just as apt to hear La Bamba as you are a song of the trail
Those cowboys that you talk of, all slick & squeaky clean
All pressed and starched, with proper speech, they ride a silver screen
You see that feller in the corner, all tattered & dusty, that’s the real McCoy
Battered old Stetson, mud & manure spackled jeans, a bonafide Cowboy
He might be rough around the edges and his language a bit coarse
But when he sets to working cattle, You swear he was born on a horse
We are only human after all; sometimes we just need to cut loose
Shoot out the lights, kiss all the ladies; drink our fair share of the booze
We still love our mommas and say grace with most meals
We just don’t handle being boxed, can’t stand the way it feels
Those who don’t tolerate a lot of rules choose the cowboy way
Much like this cowboy you see here before you today
I can see you are trying to sort this out in your head
For all you know of cowboys is what you’ve seen and read
I surely hope this little talk about cowboys made it all a bit clearer
The only one we answer to is the maker and the face in the mirror
I hate to burst your bubble, still you best here it from me
Cowboys can’t be pigeon holed; they must be wild & free
Catherine Lilbit Devine © September 19, 2005
her name was Anne
and she wrote dreams
upon pages;
the kind that roam around your mind
but are always held deep
inside your chest;
and she heaved
under the weight of tears
left uncried
and so many truths
left unsung;
her name was Anne
not of Green Gables
but of Gestapos and Gettos;
not summer getaways
but of guards and gates;
she was Anne of raven hair
with faraway eyes,
on spindly legs
running towards
a woman's curves;
but the hook of her nose
told heritage tales,
that they numbered
with hate
upon her youthful arm;
yet she still dreamed
and wrote,
of longings and yearnings
of the future;
with simplistic thoughts
not comprehending
her reality;
her pen flew across pages,
filled with hope,
yet inked in sadness;
and the winds blew the sheets
upon the prejudice
that surrounded her;
without effect
she was Annie to parents
who saw only the past
of a little girl
with shiny new shoes
pink bows
and capped teeth;
the shoes went into piles,
bows flew upon the breeze
and the teeth
shone only in fillings
of melted gold
instead of smiles;
she was the promise
of a woman's secrets,
yet to be revealed
and enjoyed,
upon silken thighs;
with desired weight
pressing love
upon waiting lips;
she was humanity
destroyed by
inhumanity;
as the world watched
little girl tears
float away,
into subconsciousness,
where we didn't have to
feel them or hear
their weeping moans;
she was a star
from the family of David;
an outcast now
from society
that deemed her unworthy;
outlined by the yellow blaze
as the star
burnt itself out;
and she called to her God
without blame
for he was good and kind;
and man...
well man was man,
so unlike her God;
her name was Anne
and she pressed her face
upon the panes of our illusions;
breaking through the
shaded barriers
that we ourselves
had forged;
but too late for Anne
did we see the truths;
and now she remains
forever young
in our minds;
but dead to our
world;
and her pages
are all that speak;
her hushed whispers
grown finally loud;
we hear her voice
and feel at last
her tears,
as they slide down
those precious pages
to become
our own...
"Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation For sacrificing her spouse in World War II Annie received little compensation"- Disposable Wisdom by Carolyn Devonshire
I stood aghast as I looked more than ONCE.
The number seemed a very large BUNCH.
Drawn by this poem, I could not REFUSE.
It was unusual to see that many VIEWS,
a number so far ahead of any I had seen.
The number 26131 was the number of views for
the poem, Disposable Wisdom, posted 12 years ago
in 2009. I stood amazed and could not hesitate reading IT.
It was a most telling and sad poem, more than a little BIT.
It was about a widow whose husband was killed in World War TWO.
She reminded me of a man I once knew whose name was Harry. So I believed the story about the widow to be TRUE. It's clear that Lesley was disconnected from the world, but sadly no one seemed to connect with the widow nor CARED for any wisdom she might have SHARED, leaving her alone to grieve.
She ate cat food as she dined with her cat Tibby, who also PRECEDED her in death, vanishing all that was left of a HOME and leaving her even more ALONE. It seemed she was never NEEDED. I was deeply moved by the poem, and after reading it, I understood the #26,131.
I never knew Carolyn Devonshire, but I felt her heartbeat as I read those lines. I understood her, and how myself and all the others were overwhelmed and sadden by this human TRAGEDY, this TRAVESTY of human dignity and kindness toward one whose husband gave the ultimate sacrifice. Moreover, like Carolyn, I understood so much less of why a prosperous and proud nation like my own would allow a soldier's widow to die in POVERTY and all alone.
I'm grateful that Carolyn shared this poem. Carolyn departed from among us a short while ago, but has left us a treasure of beauty and power in her work.
081321PS
An enormous pole
made of chrome
A table set
Steve, knew he was home
With a tiny leather thong,
he swung around,
in a world he did belong,
with the rythm of the sound
Around he twirled,
faster and faster
The lights swirled
He was the master!
Stripclub Steve,
a legend of his own making
A master of the pole
There was no faking,
no by your leave
To win!
His only goal!
Word spread...
Far and wide
Stripclub Steve
To see him glide!
Such dazzling skill!
You would not believe!
Now, there were championships to be won
Stripclub Steve...
A man on a mission
A man with a loaded gun!
How he twirled
How he swirled
The chrome gleamed
The contest won?
Or so it seemed
But along came Desperate Annie
A girl with a most beautiful fanny
With her feminine charm,
it filled steve with alarm!
He tightened up his leather thong
Carefully patted it all in place
For this was the serious race!
For this Geordie lad...
The prize was to be had
So with an almighty effort of will,
he grasped the chrome
The crowd was still
With a nod to the judges,
the music commenced
Stripclub Steve was home,
the trophy in the bag
he sensed...
With a twirl here
and a twirl there
The crowd gave an almighty cheer
Stripclub Steve...
Was on air!
That chrome pole,
touched his very soul
It was in the bag
He did his best
Now it was up to the judges,
if he had passed the test
Two hundred hopefuls in town...
One hundred and ninety nine girls
Steve, the only man...
The talent to unfurl...
Could he take away the crown?
Now, Stripclub Steve is a Geordie lad...
There's prizes to be had
He waited with bated breath
Had he done enough to pass the test?
A unanimous decision!
Skill on the chrome!
Our boy Steve,
brought it home!
So there it was...
A legend in his own lifetime!
The trophy raised above his head!
With the crowd roaring,
he ripped off his leather thong
and sent it soaring!
Upwards it flew...
Like a leather bat
Down it came
and hit Desperate Annie,
right in the ****!
So let this be a lesson to all you blokes...
Stripclub Steve,
our man of the chrome
Brought it home!
So spare the jokes,
read this and believe!
Disposable Wisdom
Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?
Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace
More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry
Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage
Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience
Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing
In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby
She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II
Annie received little compensation
This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty
To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home
With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse
Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty
081521, Celebrating Carolyn's Poetry: An Uncontest Poetry Contest, Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich. 1P
I chose this poem because it speaks of Legacy and Love.
It challenges me to be more caring and outreaching.
It paints a fresh portrait of the power of a poem and
a story. Curtis Johnson.
Nutty grandpa president
is talking crazy uncle Donald again
His little Chucky thumbs
is tapping epithet tweet nonsense
Batty grandpa’s been
grumpily sucking
on the hate hot sauce bottle
stashed in his KKK closet
Now he’s sporting a Commander-in-Chief cap,
dressed in a wrinkled birthday suit
Churlish grandpa wanna blow the nuclear candles out
in his Oval padded room
He’s trying to smear his coconut-frosted
pejorative German chocolate cake
on every African looking face
Calling Doctor Strangelove and nurse Annie Wilkes Misery,
bad Grandpa is verbally pooping all over the place
His anti-social, mood swing meds
is scattered everywhere on the bed
Nutty grandpa prez
is a stable genius he says
But his schizophrenia behavior
is open and shut caged rage ... Jekyll and Hyde
Hannibal Lecter ... American Gothic suicide
Old Grandpa says
young women love him like Frankenstein’s bride
His paranoid soul
got a misogynist itch
in it’s nether parts
Curmudgeon grandpa claims he’s really rich,
and has an Ebenezer Scrooge heart
Nutty grandpa prez don’t like no immigrants
who came from where he ain’t
Straight jacket truth wraps him wrong,
he loves to swear that he’s no saint
Crazy grandpa just wanna roam the West Wing halls at night,
cursing at everybody left and right
His angry autocrat ticker just wanna be dictator loved
with family suck-up sniveling loyalty
Cuckoo grandpa flew his nest egg eyes over someone in the staff,
whose nurse Ratched mirror image greedy
Nutty grandpa president just got another person fired
for improper cleansing backside kissing
And the raucous din,
rising from the voter base-ment,
means it’s electoral shock therapy time again
So lock the border doors —
keep it dissent quiet, dum-dum
Czar grandpa prez don’t like all that democratic noise
Silence of the lambs,
that soothing lullaby hum
Is the sweet sound
that calms his Joker tweeting thumbs
Rest your rage, nutty grandpa prez:
Uneasily snore deeply,
wearing your Mad Hatter MAGA brim
(keep having more troubled, neo-Nazi policy dreams
of Making America Great Again)
As the White House hospice staff is issuing
M.A.S.H unpatriotic greetings
to Parallel reality refugees
seeking insane asylum ...
Welcome, to the Oval Sanatorium
Ruth and her six year old daughter Annie, were moving along the countryside by Train. Ruth was reminiscing. She was staring deeply into her six year old daughter's beautiful brown eyes. Ruth was feeling emotional, and had a deep sorrow filling up her worried heart. The train proceeded. She clutched her daughter close to her with a special mother daughter bond. Anne, her daughter, looked up at her, innocently and asked, "Mommy why are you so sad?" She kept repeating, until her mom answered her. Not wanting to worry her, she replied, "Honey your Mommy is not sad." The six year old intelligently asked, " Mommy then why were you crying?" Her mom replied, " I'm OK sweetheart, now relax, and hold me." Ruth was experiencing a flood of thoughts of Annie growing up as a child. She was asking Annie if she remembered the first time she told her that she loved her. Annie said, " Yes Mommy I remember." Ruth kept a special Diary of times and dates, of special moments she and Annie shared. Ruth thought of Annie's first birthday, when she took her first steps, and was falling forward as she caught her, preventing her from hurting herself. Ruth reached in her jacket and said to Annie, " Honey, always have with you this diary. Annie took the diary and started looking through it. She said, "Mommy this is so special, thank you Mommy." Annies dad was imprisoned, and it added to Ruth's turmoil inside. She was trying to ascertain his whereabouts but was difficult to do so. Annie kept reminding Ruth of her father. She constantly was asking, " Where's Daddy Mommy?" " We will be with him soon." Was her repeated reply. The train made its way through and a Loud whistle blew. It started slowing down, and just before it stopped the whistle blew again. Ruth looked at Annie and said to her, " Always remember honey your Daddy and Mommy, will always love you. Promise me you will never forget." Annie replied, " I promise Mommy to remember." As the Caboose door opened Ruth held Annie's hand. Annie asked her Mom, "Mommy where are we?" Her Mom replied, " We are going to see Daddy and Grandpa, and Grandma." Ruth was shaking inside, and the journey was finally over. The SS Nazi Guards motioned them forward, and directed them into The Auschwitz Concentration Camp.
Michael Tor
His words cut deep like a knife,
Last night, it was as if all the unknown of the world pressed upon her gloomy soul,
His last punches blasted her chin and as well blurred her vision
The love they once had deserted the shores of his heart,
Like the parting crimson glory of the ripening summer sun,
Oops! She was married to a monster in a warmest husband's clothes.
Little Joshua got off the blue school bus,
Looking so sad and depressed,
You see it on his dull face,
Mommy and Daddy have been fighting again,
The roar of the commotion rose to thunder,
He's caught in the middle of it all,
Studies meant nothing to him at the moment,
Thought shook through him in poignant pictures,
A definition of wild whirl of nameless regret.
He has dreams, like every little boy in the world,
But right now his main dream,
Is to talk sense into the father or see him disappear forever.
He was fed up with those angry voices,
And can't embrace with ardor the prospect of serene leisure,
Like he was caught in a frosty thraldom of winter,
A ton's weight of resolve upon his muscles were just far fetched.
The mother's choice didn't work out the way she thought it would,
Alone in the room ruled by a viper,
Memories were flashing like moving images,
She remembered when she held his hands in church,
The pastor read through the scriptures,
Putting words in her mouth,
Maybe what the pastor said was not something that was within him,
She was blinded by the glittery,
Now pains devours the walls of her mind,
Yet, she could not throw out phrases of ill-humor.
Little Joshua came back from school,
He goes up to his room devastated and broken,
There was no point complaining to anybody,
Because Dad's ears were blocked and Mom's heart was already bleeding in anguish.
It's late already,
"Go to bed Joshua"
Mom's voice subtly echoed,
And remember to pray for better days
There he prays for one thing;
God, will you make Daddy disappear forever?
But never knew that Mom still loves the Dad amidst the beatings,
He forgot one can only choose his friend, but cannot choose whom his biological father is.
He woke up in the morning and mom said to him,
Time heals when pain is love!!!
A Stewart Annie Everestus 's poem © 2019
You look at me so uninviting;
I may have some missing teeth, stumble when I walk, bout' to FALL!!!
Stutter when I talk, but yet I'll still call;
Might smell like ole mothballs or mint or maybe even Old Spice;
You see me and you stare, you're looking at the patches of my skin YES! it's different (maybe diseased ) different;
different colors and wrinkled on my face, the gray in my hair;
Yes you still stand there and stare. . .
I may talk bout RCA, Philco record players you say "what's that;
I might talk bout Annie Oakley, BoZo the Clown, Captain Midnight, you say Whose that;
Well child let me tell you all...
Don't throw me away;
Cause I'm just like you;
Don't put me out cause I'm too slow;
You think I'm in the way and I can no longer grow;
Don't throw me away, place me in a rest/nursing home;
Don't put me away because you think I'm in the way;
I', senior don't talk bout me in front of me I don't understand a word you say;
I'm alive, I have more brain cells and I got all my memory, well;
That's more than I can, say for you huh-hey!
Imagine if I'd treated you such;
But I wouldn't cause I've got God's love in me so much. . .
Love you see
::::::::::::::::::::::::what?::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
So I just suck it up turn the other cheek;
I may tumble but I won't fall;
I may forget something's but not all;
And yes I still eat meat;
Cause I got all my teeth;
Remember your just trying to get where I am at now;
I'm a senior don't throw me away;
I'm telling you I'm history and I'm a part of God's glory wanna hear, come here;
Come here and sit down, I sit in a chair can hardly rise or go anywhere;
You see me and you stare I drive slow you begin to cuss and swear;
I won't do you ill;
I won't act like you will;
I'll take you today......
But I won't, I will NOT THROW YOU AWAY
Dedicated to all Gods people's 60 years of age to 100 years
Thank you for your wisdom, thank you for your life. . .
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. July 6 2015©
For the book Poetry to Bridge Generations University Of Nebraska at Omaha 2015©
This poem also found in 2020 POETRY SOUP BOOK:." PS: IT'S POETRY A BRILLIANT POETRY ANTHOLOGY"