Long Bookie Poems
Long Bookie Poems. Below are the most popular long Bookie by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bookie poems by poem length and keyword.
I could smell the ballpark in my glove
Lose myself in the crooked sky above
Hear the roar of the crowd in my bat
Oblivious to your epitaph called stats
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
So you bought a curse named Ruth
Not to mention 26 Octobers to boot
Did you do it to spite this game
Integrity sold for the price of fame
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
You built a cathedral from which to boast
Helped the Babe exorcise Gehrig’s ghost
Buried Maris beneath a Mantle of shame
Sleeping with a bottle and two dames
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
Joltin Joe swinging that Marilyn clout
The mighty Casey you struck out
Too old for a springtime affair
Welcome Jeffrey Maier
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
Three times a charm in the Bronx zoo
Reggie’s knockin them out, Billy too
Who needs a bookie if you have a boss
You can bet you’re fired after a loss
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
Beware the seduction of pinstripe sin
Immortalized by Jeter’s cocky grin
Four more pennants in five years time
Selling out is winning’s soul crime
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees
So tell me George, when will it end
Is 200 million a salary cap or a trend
If it’s a general manager you seek
I hear the Devil comes real cheap
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I pray
Damned Yankees
I could smell the ballpark in my glove
Lose myself in the crooked sky above
Hear the roar of the crowd in my bat
Oblivious to your epitaph called stats
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
My destiny..? is preordained & wont be denied
No matter how many times I fail, I gots to keep on trying!
I know...pressure can bust a pipe, but it also can make a diamond.
Enduring lifes' atrocities...gots me striving & shining.
Shining..?, only to be the best...that I truely can be.
Some talked down...some hated...but mostly?, they disbelieved!
As if I couldn't dream, & turn those dreams into a reality.
A man strenght can only be measured, if he over comes his adversities!
Over achiever?, yes!, cuz luck doesn't apply to me.
Becuz, I could've been a Bookie!, who was eradicated by life complacncies!
Wasn't me, so I chose another path.
But, in order to embrace my future?, I most 1st know my past.
The past of hurt!, destruction!, & drugs!
Some one tell me why?,
when black men get money we profess to be thugs!
Entities..? with out a cause, loving just to momentarily ball!
But, with no stability, it's a long , detrimental, & inevitable fall!
Acrophobia..?, we'll die before we hit ground!
Reflecting on our short comings, only to realize we were the ulimate clown!
Asking God to bless me, so I might be a blessing.
Can't forget where I come from, learning from my trials & tribulations.
Gotta be different!, choose a route that's never been chose.
Can't be of this world, yearning for snatch, cars, & clothes.
But, the road of knowledge, cuz I desire to win!
& sleeping on my dreams?, will be the climax of all my mortal sins!
Introspection...looking deep, only to see the real picture.
Praying to God as I take that 1st step, cuz I refuse to be a wisher.
Cuz, man might not get all that he pays for in life,
but he must pay for all that he gets.
& knowing that life don't give a squat about a brother,
motivates my spirit!
Motivation, desire, & plus with a dream.
knowing i'll over come:,
gots me feeling like Malcom Little & Dr. Martin Luther King!
Becuz, it's mind over matter & if I don't mine,
it shol doesn't matter.
Have you ever seen a brother come from nothing, make something,
& climb his way all the way up that tiresome ladder?
Well, it's a 1st time for every thing, & my gift..?, is truely my mind!
I'm claiming 2008, mark my words...This is My Time!!!
certainly it only takes putting the hand on the burner
once
to figure out how stupid a relationship at the work place can be
to figure out how it will effect your coworkers
to figure out how it will effect the relationship itself &
inevitably,
how it will ruin both the work reputation &
the relationship at hand,
with one clean swoop
like a samurai sword slashing swiftly
through a zucchini.
so what makes people continue to have them?
what makes people continue to risk their job in order to pursue
romance in the same place that the clock bears down upon one’s
head?
is it the intimate moments on break?
is it the make out sessions at lunch,
is it the private dialogue with another party throughout the day,
or is it just the last refuge of the desperate?
as humans, we do what we know best &
in this case, literally,
so how long then do you think it will last?
how long will it be a good thing to see your significant other
every
single
hour
of the
day
without a
moment of
privacy or
pause
from the ongoing bubbling at hand?
as the two new bunnies bounce around
cooing & groping, smiling on mondays (when everyone else is out to kill) &
often just being a general nuisance to all being subjected to it,
we watch the new lovers start to have little snippets of spats,
which in the early throes of that new finding of a person
may go unnoticed in a regular setting,
but now the concentrated work relationship
stomps out the issue &
then rekindles it at home
rekindles it on the way to work
rekindles it the next day,
for nothing is denied anymore
as each party is in the other’s 24/7
surveillance.
so the rest of us workers make best,
paying the designated bookie
as to when it will all crumble away &
suddenly things will be thrown across the room,
profanities will illustrate most of the day &
we will all be able to bank on a solid month or so of
entertainment.
It was very sticky
Myron had to use his dicky
Wiping his face
Needing to build his case
He used a four letter word
In front of a girl
She started to cry
Knowing she was got caught in a lie
Starting to cry
Said goodbye
Home she ran
To her Mommy Fran
Fran picked up the phone
And with an angry tone
Told Myron’s Mother Joan
Well Joan was livid
That her little Myron did it
Used a four letter word
In front of a girl
No one was there
When Myron peered down the stairs
Feeling very scared
He didn’t go down, not even dared
“Myron did you use a four letter word?
In front of a girl?!?!”
Myron thought he was going to hurl
“Yes I did Mom
I let loose an F Bomb”
Myron said being very calm
“I wanted to be on her best friend list
And I used the F Bomb when I was dissed
She had another guy named Brad
So I was mad
Just like Dad
When you threw him out then called a cab
Remember you used an F Bomb
Mom”
Turning into a red lobster
Looking to kill like a mobster
“Myron I do not like your tone
Go to bed all alone!!”
Hours passed
And Myron had an urge to release more than gas
“Mom I want you to know
I really have to go
A four letter F Bomb is coming
Not a solid but running”
When Myron was in the can
His Mommy came to understand
With pink stuff in a bottle
And TLC on the throttle
“You were not in the bathroom sitting bricks
You were feeling sick”
He looked into his mother’s eyes
Honest no lies
“She liked someone else other than me
She was such a tease
Does everything as she please”
Joan being a good mother gave him a hug
Took away the troubling love and bug
“You want some warm bake cookies?”
“Sure Mom but first let me call my bookie”
In the end
And time to defend
Just say when
Pushing the F Bomb button that says send
When stretched forever is my day
I while the empty hours away
in courtrooms dank with men of silk
proud and tall
lawmakers all
step lightly lest you meet their ilk
Attorneys and stenographers
lawyers and interpreters
each word they spake is tongue-in-cheek;
lear-ned judges, advocates
prosecutors, barristers
spew Latin which could well be Greek
The courtroom's packed
the gallery stacked
the charge is one of pilfering
the bookie sets
last-minute bets:
"10 to 1 his head will swing."
From the ord'ly
fing'ring his rosary:
"Court's in session! Silence! Zip it!"
His Lordship enters
sans his dentures
sucks his thumb and looks decrepit
Eyes his gavel
sneers: "You're evil!
my thumb is swollen and beet-red
you'll be detained
when next again
I miss and hit my thumb instead.
"The weather vane
predicted rain
today I'll suffer agony
you caveman's hammer
how did you
till now escape technology?"
To put it mild,
the crowd goes wild
but for the shifty-eyed accused
Judge Weatherstorm
stays true to form:
he keeps his audience amused
Th' accused meanwhile
with comely smile
winks at M'Lord to cut him slack
he'll cop a plea
of not guilty
tho' evidence against him's stacked
The star witness
non compos mentis
brain well-addled by Alzheimer's
mounts the stand
bows to his fans
with clenched fist vows the truth to utter ...
(PART 2 TO FOLLOW)
28.04.2011
(This is a work of fiction in its entirety and merely a satirical look at our corrupt
justice system.)
I've been told I'm much too sensitive
my eyes leak tears like a used sieve
I cry over sad movies, words in a book
so go ahead and give me that 'look'
Sometimes I cry goodbye on the phone
So what? I wasn't chiseled out of stone
Tell me I get my feelings hurt too fast
I'll say I cry from memories of my past
Don't tell me I need to restrain the flow
Maybe I've suffered more than you know
I can take being knocked around by my foes
those who bitterly want to step on my toes
But words from someone I really care about
cause me to frown with my mouth in a pout
I'm a sensitive woman who tends to cry
if I tell you I don't, I've told you a lie
I would never intentionally hurt anyone
If I like you, I'll tease you, but it's in fun
Falling tears may not be in fashion
I don't think it's a crime to have passion
So please don't think I'm being a grumps
if you do I'll get down in the dumps
I've been told that I'm a tough cookie
you can make bet on that with any bookie
I'll be your friend, honest and true
but don't hurt me 'cuz it'll make blue
There was a knock
We stopped doing our tik tok
Opened the opportunity door
A cable guy was there from the local electronics’ store
With orders from the mother ship
He handed me a grid iron script
I was chosen
Stood there in shock and frozen
Wearing his prop the NFL mask
He entered to do his communication task
I must have stock
And now I was on the clock
Was my thought
Wondering if my athletic product was going to be bought
Continuing to assemble the device
It was a camera that had a nice retail price
Do I owe you for the house call?
No just go and play football
When that green light flashes
You will be seen by the masses
Stay calm when you are on
Was the cable guy’s comment
Knowing that I really wanted it
You are now a rookie
Your background is known by everyone even the bookie
As he left
I tipped him money to bet
Knowing I will be a selection
Not a rejection
After the internet inspection
First night came and went
Green light had no transmission sent
Was my small box in tune?
With what the virtual production was doing?
Picks were made
Yet I did not hear if I made the grade
Two hundred was the one that had the call
And I started to plan applying for that job at the mall
It is a nice Radio Shack
A nice wage no reason to pack
Centered in a strategic place
Making money when I put a smile on my face
All of a sudden it came
The television said my name
The green light started to blink
A giant interest I did think
I got a shot
To put my talents in the NFL pigskin pot
Securing the final draft slot
And a reservation spot
On the simple rookie cot
And they come to Jerusalem: and Jesus went into the temple, and began to cast out them that sold and bought in the temple, and overthrew the tables of the moneychangers, and the seats of them that sold doves; And would not suffer that any man should carry any vessel through the temple.
And he taught, saying unto them, Is it not written, My house shall be called of all nations the house of prayer? but ye have made it a den of thieves.
— Mark 11:15-17
Thieves sitting in the temple,
bookie counting their stolen treasure
Parlay pirates got patchy-eye greed,
having no moral discretion
Paint the blinds green,
shutter minds love the sound
of the coin clink
Aperture hearts covetously blink,
as their filthy palms
dig in your pockets deep
Then they rub a little lip balm
onto your taxidermy grief
These new moneychangers
always speak dead air to citizens’ pain
The commonwealth re-arrangers
spin the vocal chords,
and cuff lustful souls to the gold chains
Politricking thieves standing at the pulpit
of the public forum
Waving flags,
demanding bows on the knees
Such a patriotic drag,
when you feel their pocket squeeze
Taxidermy lies
keep their maggot cries
hemmed into consumeristic minds
As the times be ever changing,
modernity carries an abominable rebel cost
too mint heavy to confederate bind
Caught in a dire medieval crosshair;
pay the new pleasure tax,
this makes Caesar’s czar rule
a penny ruble more painful to bear
As his vice buddy ol’ Pharaoh
steals from you piss blind
Those new, evil fruit moneychangers
be of the most rotten kind
So we’re going on a picnic with the pygmy, Pixie Poggly, being the quirky queenly
quaintly quickly person she is and her friend a raunchy rascal reverently named
Andy Bailey. As you remember he was in the Aussie army association, barely
battling the banshee that were bawdy blackly bloody in the boggy boundary briefly
in the outback, and lets not forget pixie’s perky prominent pal that is a bossy,
bluntly, brainy, bookie, breathing brashly, balmy, bits of boogie bookie chatter to
all the cheery, choicely, chunky crowd around his choosey, cheesy, cheaply
choice of chummy spots, and in his coarsely cocky way, he coyly clamors crafty
creepy words that really don’t say what they needs to say, but confuses even the
gentle, ghostly, gaudy, gawky, gabby, gypsy genie down in the gaily, gabby,
ghastly valley town called Gatsby. I hear even Fatty Fannie the fancy, fleecy,
flimsy, flowery, and foxy maiden that has her doggie, “Dotty” watching her dreamy,
dressy, downy, dowry. And to make things easier Pixie’s dumpy daffy deafly, dinky
donkey named Dixie is going to carry all the supplies, and we are going to the
daffy damply dainty little dairy where the daisies grow daily in the deeply densely
droopy grasses next to the hay, and it sounds like it will be a giddy, giggly, goodly,
goofy, goosey, grabby good grammar in all its Grammy award wining grandeur
day.
Parts of this poem were copied from another poem that I cannot display here, but
that I did write, it is called “The Picnic” and I thought this would be some fun
reading for all here.
It was late into the night
When Bert Ernie and I
Were traveling across the plans of Nebraska
Much to my surprise
Bert looks me straight in the eyes
And says Mike, I gotta question to ask ya
With Big Bird wrapped up in the trunk
You'd think that he'd already thunk
About this night long before it already happened
When we took Oscar the Grouches can lid
And whacked Big Bird smack dab in the head
Then tied him up tight while he was napping
We rolled him out to curb
Believe me it looked quite absurd
Ernie grunting with Bert complaining as feathers went flying
But as would be our fate
Able to make our planed escape
When Count Von Count took time out to do some feather counting
So this is now where we are
Bert, Ernie, Me, and Big Bird in the trunk of our car
Not really knowing where it is we are heading
Our thinking went only as far
As nabbing Big Bird and the get away car
Putting Ernie in charge wasn't such a good idea is what I am betting
Ernie says he's figured it all out
Bert says we need this, but still has his doubts
Cause Bert owes back pay alimony and Ernie his bookie
We head to Ernie's planed drop off spot
And of course it's swarming with cops
While our inside man " The Monster " gave us up for Cookies
They let Big Bird out of the trunk
Who proceeded to slap us punch drunk
Then straight to the judge to pay for this hideous crime
I can't think of any worse fate
I now know this was a fatal mistake
The sentence...
Banished to Sesame Street for life, now that is hard time