Long Big ideas Poems
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He wasn't such a bright kid,
big ideas filled his head...
my advice was always useless,
see him now in his madness!
He thought he was a genius,
flashing hundred dollars bills as fools,
and spending money on silly things,
he didn't appreciate their worthiness.
And worst of all, he quit his job as salesperson
and baby-sits his baby all day to prove his fatherly affection;
his fiance works nights to bring home the bread:
is this teen a responsible young man or a knucklehead?
An attractive young lady shouldn't be allowed
to work in places where temptations abound,
or where danger lurks behind the stools of a bar
as drunken customers can lure anyone and drive far.
Does anyone, sane as me, see this teen's foolishness;
and what your advice would be in a matter such as this?
Am I judging him wrong? Should I look away and approve
his naive thinking by helping him increase his criminal groove?
Written for Natalie:) The Rouge Rhymer's contest,
" Genius or Criminal "
A simple girl
But not really
Big ideas
Called silly
Lost in books
Survived by song
Modest looks
Childhood gone
A yellow star
Always, worn
To prove the scar
Jewish born
Her head, high
Her family frowned
She knew, not, why
It should be down
The day came
When everything
She ever knew
Forever, changed
Pulled from school
Denied, goodbyes
Placed in a box
Forced to hide
Lovely locks
Amber eyes
Two fearful years
She stays inside
A life not wasted
She spent her time
Shaping a story
To leave behind
A famous author
Who’s documentation
Tugged at hearts
Across the nations
To be quite Frank
This girl, named Anne
Wrote the history
We understand
Nude
I won’t get any big ideas,
I know things will never be how they used to.
They’re not gonna happen,
But maybe in another life they would’ve.
I paint myself white,
Hoping to drown with the noise in the back of my mind.
And I’ll fill up with the noise,
As the memories of you flood back in.
But there’ll always be something missing,
The part of me that you took with you.
And now that I had found it,
That side of me has disappeared with you.
It’s gone,
And I will never have infinite love towards someone again.
Now that I have felt it,
Imagining such a bond with another being seems near nonviable.
I don’t feel it,
As I will never feel the softness of your adoration again.
I’ve gone off the rails,
Hoping to get back on the track leading to your heart.
So, I won’t get any big ideas,
I’ll just ponder with the thoughts of "what ifs".
They’re not gonna happen though,
And I will have to live on knowing our lives took different paths.
I’d go to hell,
If that meant I’d get to cross paths with you in another lifetime
And what my diseased mind is thinking;
I will never hear Nude by Radiohead without dreaming of what we could’ve been.
BIG IDEAS
UNG!!!! Fire was the big idea
Flaming Woolly Mammoth on a hot stick
OHH!! The wheel was the big idea
Woolly Mammoth are heavy
Caves were the big idea
Condos of cohabitation.
Cave Drawings were the big idea
Decorative stories
Road Trips were the big idea
Keep moving with the food
Evolution was the big idea
Creatively adapt to change
Music was the big idea
Drums and whistles and chants
Dance was the big idea
Moving in the fire’s glow
Words were the big idea
The poetry of survival
Texting was the big idea
Messages scratched on a wall
Moving out was the big idea
UNG!!! Take fire with you
John G. Lawless
5/17/2015
SUBMITTED TO – WHAT’S THE BIG IDEA – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Lyric Man
It's Wednesday, and Our Mandy has finished a shift.
Swaps blue scrubs for the doubled down indigo denim
Of the Wild West Midlands.
To the fringes of town to go - line dancing.
Our Mandy wears her heart on her sleeve in diamante.
Nursing courses her veins, it's how she operates -
Dedicates, medicates an infinity pool of calm
To the impatient patients.
Toes the line on the ward.
Though the job may be flawed, she is cured
By a dose of line dancing.
Our Mandy waits for her bus in the drizzle.
The dazzle and dizzle of dancing awaits.
Lit community hall, post-menopausal give it their all -
Forget yoga or zumba or dreams of the rumba,
Line dancing.
Our Mandy nods a greeting to Cardio Sue
And whispers, “Where's you know who?”
‘Fancy-boots-Frank’ believes he’s, ‘Top Rank’.
Frank's a step-up from the rest, so he thinks.
Twitches and winks, rhinestones and Stetson,
Good God! He can sweat some!
With his great big ideas and his little behind,
Frank is quite candid, one thing on his mind,
Cupid shuffle and, Our Mandy
He thinks himself funny, “Oi Mandy!
Step along with me - I'll be your Barry Manilow to your high!
Mandy, you’re ecstasy! “
Now small people can carry big grudges,
But needless to say she sends him away.
Our Mandy, she came and she gave without taking
His achey-breaky heart at line dancing.
And when Our Mandy leaves, adrenaline high,
She texts Sue from the bus home,
After - 'cause they know, as nurses, best medicine’s laughter.
They used to call it the Empire State.
But the empire isn't doing too great.
Democrats in power, big ideas they plan.
Too bad for the middle class and the forgotten man.
Low-income high rise in your village
Middle class won't escape the general pillage.
Congestion and crime, they'll surely bring,
Practical doesn't matter, ideals are everything.
Landlords, its coming, statewide rent control.
They think you fat cats should be in a hole.
Squatters' rights beat your rights, so you can't evict.
Pols keep finding new ways, troubles to inflict.
Borders wide open, worldwide crooks pour in
MS-13, Venezuelan gangs, we lose, they win.
Homeless camps appear, old diseases arise.
Politicians let a killer loose, and Laken Riley dies.
They say, "Just pack your bags, if you disagree
We don't need you, go to Florida or Tennessee
Idaho, Montana the stampede fills them in
Locals priced out, waters rise, can you swim?
Shoplifters know hundreds of items can go.
No downside, they end up rolling in dough.
For assault, arrests are made but holding is rare,
If you're the next victim, guess who doesn't care.
A store owner could ask, what am I working for,
Just to watch my goods exit out the door?
I know people who no longer walk at night.
Hard to believe pols didn't do this from spite.
They'll remove your oil and natural gas.
You can't pay the AC, but more laws they'll pass.
They'll remove merit from the medical schools.
don't crash getting out, you'll be mended by fools.
What they really believe they tactically hide
Till you elect them, then the four horsemen ride
No room for the little guy, the pols feel disdain.
Look out the window, you're on a runaway train.
Maybe there’s no leaving and going,
no returning, no entrance nor exit.
People live on the stories they tell each other,
living by a faith that may eventually
metastasize as a growth in the mind,
a cancer that attacks any original thought.
Maybe all the beliefs that ever were,
were whispered into our ears
by well-meaning celestial prison guards
until that time when we can cure ourselves
of the thousand and one children’s stories
taught to us by other children.
Then maybe there will be a real entrance
a real exit,
a real going and leaving. No more returning
to this all too small prison for big Ideas.
Tell me all your big ideas
Let’s see your greatest moves
Repeat yourself a thousand times
My interest, you won’t lose
Nerf guns and ninja kids
The one and only, Jackie Chan
The amazing things you did
And what you’ll do, when you’re a man
What happened in that movie
And how you won that game
Fort nite and call of duty
And, no, they’re not the same
The thoughts that cross your mind
As you lie awake in bed
I’ll assure you, things are fine
Squeeze your hand and kiss your head
I love you more than you’ll ever know
You’ve made my life worth living
So, every day, as I watch you grow
My attention, I’ll be giving
We were tight — we were thick as thieves
Only we didn’t quite know it then
Isn’t it true that a friend in need
Is your only kind of friend
And we band of brothers
Went marching through the streets
Ready to take that dirty old town by storm
And we band of brothers,
Whoever we did meet
Became unwitting belligerents in our war
In Pikersville —
We were small-time
But we had big ideas and big words
In Pikersville —
Strictly small-time
The chosen steer marked out from the herd
Now, a generation or more is passed
And we’ve reared up our own
To take up the Piker mantle, once again
To walk the casual hallways
In our glorious institutions
And glow like stars in a constellation of friends
And we band of brothers
Went marching through the streets
Ready to take that dirty old town by storm
And we band of brothers,
Whoever we did meet
Were drafted as belligerents in our war
Small town — small change — full of big ideas
I Stare in the Mirror
I stare in the mirror and what do I see?
An old man with rheumy eyes looking at me.
Who is this old codger, this balding old shell,
Who cannot remember what it’s like to feel well?
Where is the vibrance, the get up and go?
Why are his movements so painful and slow?
Who stole his glowing skin, his dark flashing eyes,
His derring-do, courage, his sense of emprise?
What happened to big ideas? Future? Ambition?
Why do his joints fight a war of attrition?
Why can he see clearly adolescence long past,
When he cannot remember the thing he ate last?
It doesn’t make sense, I don’t recognise him,
With his belly and baldness and weakness of limb.
No! That mirror’s a liar, whatever I see.
Whoever that old man is, he can’t be me!