Long Bob Poems
Long Bob Poems. Below are the most popular long Bob by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bob poems by poem length and keyword.
Bob Dylan is great
And he is real mate
He started out like Woodie Guthrie
But only roughly
He told us the answer was in the wind
He was all so thin
He went electric and creative
It went hectic and stimulative
He was called Judas and booed off stage
The crowds were in a rage
He fell off his motorbike
And things changed again with a strike
He hid in a basement
Curing his ailment
Then he returned to the watchtower
With even more power
He knocked on heaven's door
And he was back to his fore
He split with Sara
And made a movie about a Clara
There was blood on the tracks
But he reached a new climax
He got lost in religion
And hovered around like a pigeon
He took a slow train
And soon started to regain
He became a shooting star
No signs of any scars
Even though the world had gone wrong
He still sang his song
Then came 'Time out of Mind'
Nothing like it of any kind
Lots of things had changed
But in a sense it was just rearranged
Roll on Bob
But watch your fob
Then came the Nobel Prize
For us it was no surprise
Bob Dylan is Great
And bloody real mate
Bob Dylan is great
Bob Dylan is unreal mate
Bob Dylan, Woke
I can’t help but digress
When Bob Dylan expressed
(And consider gender sexist),
“How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?”1
They say he was the voice of a generation,
A poet deserving of privilege
And a Nobel Prize in Literature.2
Step back and contemplate his self-portrait,3
The mask of woke; pick, choose, and pass.
And I look at myself and reflect,
That Bob Dylan’s self-portrait
Is just a reflection of myself.
***
References:
1 “How many roads must a man walk down, before you call him a man”, from Bob Dylan’s song “Blowin’ in the Wind”, written by Bob Dylan in 1962 (Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia).
2 In 2016, Bob Dylan was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature “for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition”, by the Swedish Academy in Stockholm, Sweden.
3 Columbia Records record album cover, Bob Dylan, “Self Portrait”; released in 1970, Bob Dylan, painter. (photo, MoMA).
You were always in the television spotlight,
hosting the game show “The Price Is Right”.
Amongst the many loud audience cheers,
we saw you onstage for thirty-five great years.
Before that, you had many experiences
as the host of the show “Truth or Consequences”.
You were never a stranger to fortune and fame;
even with that very short-lived "The Family Game".
With quick humor and wit, and a beaming smile,
you made winners and losers feel great all the while.
You were also a spokesperson for more than a generation.
You urged us to control the pet population.
For contributions to television, much credit is due.
Since you have gone, we sorely miss you.
Bob Robinson had been born in the ghetto,
and his childhood was not a nice thing,
single mother, just a teenager herself,
in a neighborhood known for gang-banging.
But Bob was a truly tenacious soul,
he got his first job and didn’t look back,
determined he’d never let himself become
a welfare case stuck addicted to crack.
Though he never had culinary schooling,
he learned much at the restaurants he worked,
until, at thirty, he opened his own,
his own place, his own menu, his own turf.
He had a great spot right by the highway
near a suburb that housed much big tech,
he just called it ‘Bob’s,’ and soon was known
for serving up the town’s finest Tex-mex.
Bob usually liked to be the bartender,
he met all sorts of near people that way,
life went smoothly, at least it did at first,
until his nephew was sent out to stay.
Jamal was the first of the family
to receive an offer to go to school,
a local four-year gave a scholarship,
since Jamal was anything but a fool.
Now Jamal did not want to wait tables,
but Bob fed him, since he was family,
and not long after he started classes
he began to behave aggressively.
Began to say folks were out to get him,
that the ‘system’ was rigged to his loss,
then pale-skin folks were all ‘keeping him down,’
would never let folk like him be the boss.
Now all this seemed quite bizarre to Bob,
he himself had seventeen employees,
but Jamal kept saying he was ‘oppressed,’
that he would fight as a minority.
For the first year Jamal was quite active,
never missed a rally of protest march,
but then when he got himself arrested
Bob worried the his path soon would get dark.
When he got off with community service
it seemed just to invigorate Jamal’s rage,
he started calling for ‘reparations’
for the actions of a dead and gone age.
He started spewing out Socialist tripe,
said private property only oppressed,
that all who took part in it were ‘slave-drivers,’
it all left Bob feeling more and more vexed.
Then when Jamal jabbed a finger at him,
and cussed out his fiancé for being pale,
Bob threatened to cut him off for his crap,
but his threats seemed to be of no avail...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Dear Bob,
It has been mighty long
That I have licked my wounds and cursed your song.
I wish you had warned me, Bob,
That the lying bastard came only to rob
My shame bathed in my suppressed sobs.
Did you not tell him, Bob
That a man with no good intention
Is a mere coward to awaken a woman’s affection
Only to feed her a dose of rejection?
And Bob,
I bet you turned ten times already in your grave
To witness that dirty, low-down knave!
I don’t know why he takes up
Sunday morning space in the pew
Such a lying bastard has made me a miserable shrew.
And he- an apt description of the one
Who wears many faces to meet the faces he meets,
Has his fans believing he is far above
Suspicion
But Bob, you and I know
that lying bastard casts his face from
The very seed he sowed.
He came to rob and he came to kill
That insidious lying bastard
Will one day swallow his own pill.
He was quite a famous celebrity.
He co-starred with Bob Smith on “Howdy Doody”
Everyone could see him on post-war TV.
Not one child in the studio would bear a frown.
They were entertained by “Clarabell the Clown”.
However, he left all his garnered popularity.
On another network as a new character we would see,
Bob Keeshan in his role of “Captain Kangaroo”.
Unprecedented fame for the man was now due.
Along with Mr. Green Jeans, Mr. Moose, and company,
Captain Kangaroo appeared for millions on morning TV.
With all of their unusual and funny escapades,
they taught and entertained children for three decades.
However, almost all good things do not last.
Captain Kangaroo is now a thing of the past.
Bob Keeshan has since been laid to rest.
As an entertainer, he was among the best.
Well, you asked for it so here goes!
I'm five-feet, eight inches tall from scalp to toes.
Born October 1930 in Indiana - so there, I've revealed my age.
I'm blessed with great health even at this elder stage.
Happily married to my dear Vera for 62 wonderful years,
And we've met life's vicissitudes with laughter and some tears.
Two daughters Leanna and Leslie but, alas, lost Mark, our boy.
Through the years they've brought Vera and me so much joy!
I'm blessed with 6 grandchildren and 4 great grands.
(I hope to stick around for more as my family expands.)
Enlisted at age 17 in the Air Force in 1948 retiring in 1978.
Assigned to Morocco, Germany and Japan which was great!
I 'fought' the Korean War in Bermuda dodging sea shells.
Met Vera in Bermuda and in Texas we rang those wedding bells!
Retired as a Chief Master Sergeant, the top Air Force enlisted grade.
'Twas a challenging, exciting life and I'm sure glad that I stayed.
While in the Air Force I earned a degree in Justice Administration,
And upon Air Force retirement became a Colorado Bailiff for my vocation.
I like folks who keep their word, are punctual and I don't suffer jerks gladly!
Me and the Lord are working on this but I have very little patience, sadly.
I love God, family and nation and enjoy writing poetry and even though,
I've penned nearly 1200, alas, as a bard I've made very little dough!
I like steak and taters and a sip of Beringers White Zinfindel now and then,
And going to Cripple Creek to play the one-armed bandit when I can.
Sorry if I bored you but once I began writing the words just seemed to flow.
Now, you probably know more about me than you ever wanted to know!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Entry for Regina Riddle's "Bio Poem" Contest
I had the distinction of being labeled 'Robert' by Mom and Dad.
Somehow that evolved into the moniker I'm known by today,
And the name I prefer, just plain ol' Bob - what more need I say!
I shed the cute name of 'Bobby' when becoming an older lad!
Many chaps through the ages have carried this distinguished name.
Let me list some of the redeeming qualities of us guys,
And I'll leave it to the reader, our attributes to surmise.
Some of us were destined for dismal doom - others to glory and fame!
Bobs tend to "git 'er done" with a minimum of pretension.
Most every Bob is a trusty, reliable and decent sort,
And is just an all-around ordinary good sport.
We like to get lost in the herd thereby attracting less attention!
But, mind you, Bobs when necessary can be rough and tough.
There is nothing flashy or tawdry about us Bobs,
And we detest crude behavior and insufferable snobs!
Furthermore, from nary a soul will we take any guff!
The solid ol' name of 'Bob' means "bright shining fame."
The name 'Bob' is also a palindrome, don't you know,
Easily spelled no matter which way you go,
Something a Clarence, Buford or Wolfgang can't claim!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Entry for CT's "What's In Your Name" Contest
A humid day
mosquito clouds swarm and separate
along the dirt road to the farm
pig pens hazed by black flies.
Bob (an old friend), said, “man,
you picked the wrong time of year
to come visit,” he chuckled.
Hogs grunt and squeal.
Slop-time - the air was turgid with
with the numberless notes of a stale miasma,
the splatter of slick gobs of muck.
He hands us smeared green buckets,
a yellowing deleterious stench reeks
from the semi-solid swill
that the hogs grow fat upon.
There are stains on baked-in stains here
corrugated into noxious layers.
At the back of the sties
there are heaps of sludge
a bilge even the swine could not consume.
Bob bends to his tasks whistling happily,
while I explain to my wife
that Bob used to work for the C.I.A.
I can see she is surprised and impressed.
“He got tired of that sh*t,” I add.
Winds of Consciousness,
waves of ponderousness.
Particles always whispering,
transparent and yet listening.
Bob Dylan lyricized the wind.
Others have been equally determined.
Through karmic rebirth and purification,
one can transcend in the eightfold revelation.
Always returning to the mortal taste of sentience,
always ascending in awakening self-observance.
Realize we are the cause of our suffering.
Realize how we can be free through our discovery.
Cultivate an attitude of love and kindness,
cultivate awareness of momentary mindfulness.
Envisage wholesomeness, altruism, and selflessness.
envisage empathy, compassion, and fairness.
Speak truthfully with the harmony of rivers.
Speak never with cruelty, hatred, or anger.
Acting with the fragrant, mellifluous breeze.
Acting with loving and unconditional ease.
Awaken to the absorption of the heart.
Awaken to life’s intricate work of art.
Winds of consciousness bring resilience.
Winds of consciousness are the habits
for turning Dharma wheels into enlightenment.