Long Bumming Poems
Long Bumming Poems. Below are the most popular long Bumming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bumming poems by poem length and keyword.
Cheeks were meant for kissing
Hands were meant for holding
Ears were meant for listening
Arms were meant for folding
Eyes were meant for ogling
Mouths were meant for stuffing
Hair was meant for brushing
Cheeks were meant for blushing
Minds were for manipulating
Knees were meant for kneeling
Bums for bumming around
Thoughts for disagreeing
Feet were meant for walking
Palms were for reading the future
Toes were meant for counting
Common sense to avoid bloopers
Tongues were meant for wagging
Sores were meant for rubbing
Eyebrows were meant for raising
But hearts my very good friends
Hearts were meant for loving
Long ago duriong my childhood Hon'ble M.L.A.s attended state assembly riding bicycles.
Officers of the govt departmens and staffs attended their offices
riding bicycles.
Policemen in groups went riding bicycles to arrest roadside gamblers.
If caught they were taken to police station on bicycles.
At school our Headmaster, teachers and staff came on bicycles,
some on foot.
As for the students most parents did not allow them to wear long pants nor use bicycles till they clear H.S.L.C. exam.
So they went to schools on foot most of them for miles.
At the college principal, lecturers, staff and studens came riding bicycles.
There were long bicycle sheds in the campus.
But today a few people use bicycles
and on the roads and market places bicycle users are looked down
as poor and starving people
But I dont shed my old habit of riding bicycle
often bumming miles in the countryside.
During the coronavirus lockdown time and again I came out
of the confinement at my home initially with timidity
pedaling my bicycle wearing a protective mask.
Although on the road police stopped the four wheelers, auto rickshaws
and power driven bikes, detained the drivers
or made them turn back non of them stopped me
as they thought bicycle users harmless.
So during lockdown often I pedaled my bicycle to the foot of lonesome
Nongmaijing hill
enjoying the scenary and gentle breeze there,
looking at the egrets flying in the sky and landing on the barren rice fields,
taking snaps of the countryside with my smartphone.
I returned home everytime regaled
without any fear of getting infection with coronavirus
nor police stopping me on the way.
I spy you standing in the shadows cast
by a flashing neon sign, bumming a smoke,
with your nose dripping as it does on coke;
your pale skin and red hair in sharp contrast.
And you're ogled by shady men you've asked
for a smoke, even some hippy type bloke
who tries to convince you to take a toke.
You didn't recognize me as I passed.
Like a silhouette inked by the darkness,
you are framed by flashing colored lights,
and so drunk, three times you had to hurl.
This alley holds an aura of starkness
and although I know all about your rights,
I won't walk away; you're my baby girl!
(Italian Sonnet)
8/8/2018
Cheeks were meant for kissing
Hands were meant for holding
Ears were meant for listening
Arms were meant for folding
Eyes were meant for ogling
Mouths were meant for stuffing
Hair was meant for brushing
Cheeks were meant for blushing
Minds were for manipulating
Knees were meant for kneeling
Bums were meant for bumming around
Thoughts for disagreeing
Feet were meant for walking
Palms were for reading the future
Toes were meant for counting
Common sense is for avoiding bloopers
Tongues were meant for wagging
Sores were meant for rubbing
Eyebrows were meant for raising
But hearts my very very good friends
Hearts were meant for loving
© Jack Ellison 2013
As the piano temp started to play
It was low note to high note
Suddenly Dramatic upward beat
Arrived at Uptown Harlem, NY
Narration began to follow
Music being the thing in the uptown swing
Jazz came alive the night trance blues
The Night being no time to sleep, but dancing enjoyment wise
Piano keys reset
Upward and outward effect
Club Goers melody
Shout to the Piano Man, “DO YOUR THING”
Hit those ivories
Let the rhythm speak
Tone of delight
Lit up Harlem night
Foot tapping and butt bumming
Jazz the way it was meant to be
Take the A Train as only Duke Ellington put smooth
Vibe high
Piano upswing
Lighted steps of Dance, Swing, Come Alive
The Piano made it possible in music simplicity
Hear and obey in action
Men and women dance, “IF YOU AN IT COME AND GET IT”
Every piano note with a story of its own
Straight out full blown
Booze added flavor to Jazz
Drink up
Night was young and Club Goers all among
Come up to Harlem, NY
Downtown connected with uptown
No one does it better but Harlem
It was an enterprise
Business Realize
Piano motto, “DANCE AWAY YOUR WORRIES”
Harlem sling
Oh that piano
Let the music play
Harlem in
Musical night meant to never end.
Courtesy of Marx (albeit Zeppo,
Harpo, Groucho, and Chico), whose
acts (along Seuss iz Zacks Fifth
Avenue) brought generations of
laughter to Vaudeville, and then
the Silver Screen adlibbed, linkedin,
and ransacked skits zoid material
Bing very loosely based on his best
known writings (Oh Pee Yet Of The
Masses) by Karl Marx (no relation
to Bros Grin), and Friedrich Engels
whar they whiz instrumental qua
Cingular Capitalone political philosophy
paradigm as spit, and (shoe) shining,
seducing, and salivating players trans
formed Msn Netzero Linkedin Petsmart
Aleck outlook and pinterest, when their
collective insight did cents how masses
(i.e. bourgeois) took a rakish (otherwise)
up standing Norwegian bachelor farmer
for comic relief to break monotony of
agrarian obligations, and serve up one
heaping healthy portion per production,
sans whatever whims would crop
up by infusing thespian showdown
incorporating commune nic cache shun
(disproportionate) app peals studded terrain
with locked havens avast re shtetl ment.
Hoi Polloi re: common folk in sore need
of distraction and belief in a brighter side
of life, than saliva dehydrating brute nose
to the grindstone pathetic existence, yoked
as oxen to plows, where plodding tattered
shod feet scraped a pencil thin line, whence,
seeds sprinkled into futile ruts forecast angry
birds to shutterfly, twittering like bada$$
beastie boys Dharma bumming while On
The Yellow Brick Road.
Inn ascent bystanders avian avatars initially
supposedly sprung from ergot, mushroom
and/or smut spores, whereas the myth of
one mortal idol (Matthew Scott Harris) did
rival Vladimir Ilich (frequently corrupted into...
The Government's poor depressing me.
Depressing me with looks.
Their lack of spirit just angers me.
My happiness gone to crooks.
They're vagrants at the corner stop
with cardboard signs in hand.
And begging for my money saved
that I'm more shamed than grand.
The government's pets surrounding me
on leashes made of shame.
When passing me out on the street
have made me feel some blame.
They're bumming things from everyone
and never seem to rest.
And still I'm saying no to them:
to every governed pest.
They're gathered 'round the city shelters.
Huddled into groups.
Confused as to just where to stand:
desperate longing snoops.
They're smiling with their wretched teeth.
Neglected broken smiles.
They haunt me like it's Halloween
and dare me with their guile.
I brace myself for more to come:
the government's poor collection.
In truth I must concede to them
as government forced inflection.
Now, I myself can see in them
the need for preservation
To keep the price of housing down
and save from reservation.
But truly; I can speak my mind
and make my money count.
While government's poor are scaring me
and I as soon surmount.
By chance I swear to knowing them:
my soul a governed roam.
That one day I'll redeem in them
the poor that I call home.
Think I'm just gonna bum around today
If you don't mind that old expression
Literally, I'm gonna goof off and waste time
Feeling lazy in a state of vegetation
These days are happening a lot more often
Became a senior, then suddenly plonk
Maybe it's because of my afternoon naps
I watch the tube and then zonk
Need to get active like the good old days
A whipper snapper all full of beans
The world was my oyster, yuck I hated oysters
Wearing skin tight faded blue jeans
Love bumming around, it's good for the soul
It also puts hair on your chest
Now ladies, I really love nice smooth boobies
So ya better stay active I suggest
Phew! Got quite hot and bothered for a bit
At my age, better cool it I'd say
Gonna goof off, waste time, vegetate for a bit
Eating bonbons, ogling ladies all day!
© Jack Ellison 2013
For most of his
Bumming around days
He was lost
In dead end jobs
Once in the gym
He became a silhouette of youth
Weaving like a cobra
Slipping
Countering
Learning how to hook
Footwork and poise
A moving target
Possessing speed
And brutal power
Waiting
To connect
On
Flesh and bone.
All his life
He searched for what was missing
His dream
Was to be champion
Months
Years of solitary training
Was the price he gladly paid.
The ring waited
Patiently
Knowing that he lived for the moment
When all was a blur
Of sudden activity
Moving shadows
And the roar of the crowd.
Years go by
Another decade
Another time
The city moves on
In a singular rhythm all its own
For him
Time now stands still
In a quiet place
Of warm sunlight
Streaming through an open window
A place of
Old fight posters
And faded photographs.
He won a title
Had good times
Some laughs
Traveled with an entourage
Met the famous
Parties came and went
And so did his money.
Holding the yellowed clipping
The old thrill
Returned
He felt strong again
The bright lights were on
The roar of the crowd
Was louder than he ever remembered
The smart money and the ladies were in front
All eyes on him
Bobbing and weaving in the empty gym
He stopped to catch his breathe
Raising his hands in triumph
He knew that in the bottom of his gut
No matter what anyone said or did
In the ring
He had fought and lived like a champion.
Been down, been out, so what's new champ?
Nothing but these same old scars of empty dreams,
So when's your sun gonna rise from these ashes brother,
Cut the song, kill this tape, bumming my kozmic vibes,
When it's said an' done, you're lost in everlasting excuse,
Gotta pull that rope, chase this hope, put on that yoke,
Of self presentation to the masses through this choked voice,
My hand's out, but not for cash; your prayers' rollin' down,
Crack my skull into motion on this empty street heading out of Eden,
Ya know; I'm Cain's son, but i ain't losin' face, i'm runnin' this race,
At night under neon, mixing these harmonies in time with the beat of the world,
Yeah, I'm a nobody; nobody you ever gonna forget when I put this melodic strain in
your brain,
Cut these tracks like cuttin' teeth, take a bite son an get the taste for success,
Gotta get lyrical, spiritual, cause fear is all that's standin' in your path of that new
day comin',
Waken thine soul in fiery passions anew, and hit the streets with your hustle and
drive,
And don't forget the flow on the side.