Long Doubloons Poems
Long Doubloons Poems. Below are the most popular long Doubloons by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Doubloons poems by poem length and keyword.
The cats had a rather slow day
So they went to the yard to play
All over the ground
Were nuts to be found
Before long, they had too much to weigh!
The porch, not the best place to keep
A large store of nuts in a heap
The local tree rats
Said, “what’s up with that?”
Swooped in to see what they could reap.
The squirrels saw the pile as a boon
Like a cache of Spanish doubloons.
To get such a stash,
Without using cash,
They’d be ready for winter real soon!
In the morning, the cats were in shock
At the sizable dent in their stock.
It was their belief
That they’d found their thief
When they dusted for prints with some chalk.
Well, they soon confirmed their suspicion;
Their sleuthing had come to fruition.
They watch the thief flee
To a giant oak tree
While committing walnut sedition.
At the oak tree, the rat turned and sneared.
Then his tree mates all joined and they jeered.
The gauntlet was thrown.
For honor! For home!
That’s when things took a turn for the weird.
So they fashioned a ready-made sling
From some swimsuits and elastic string.
With walnuts for bullets,
Gat loaded, Bat pulled it,
And launched at those squirrels with some zing!
The cats really pressed the attack;
It was non-stop noise: rat-a-tat-tat!
They were popping those squirrels
When our hero cat girl
Said, “I think we just gave our nuts back!”
Bat and Gat then felt a bit silly
Didn’t noodle this out, not really.
When you fend for yourself,
And store up your wealth,
Your brain’s a bit more like fusilli.
Bat and Gat learned a lesson on greed;
The experience planted a seed.
A hero first grade
Is quite often made
By sharing with others in need.
Here we are in 1650, which is ten minutes to five
swing the wheel to the West, which is left,
put your sun cream away, man the mizzen and the stays
as we set off for some murder and some theft.
You'll find us as your hosts on the sunny Barbary Coast
and from there we venture forth to ply our trade
we've been out leaving them for dead from the Atlantic to the Med
before we skittle off back home our fortunes made
With a yo-ho-ho and a barrel of grog
and an arrr and some other cliches
table leg for a thigh and a patch on me eye
as a Pirate I will end my days
As I previously stated we all get inebriated
from our copious imbibing of the grog
our excuse is there's no Cola in the bars of Hispaniola
which is why we need the hair of the dog
With a yo-ho-ho and a barrel of grog
and an arrr and some other cliches
table leg for a thigh and a patch on me eye
as a Pirate I will end my days
Got a woman in Bermuda and another in Tortuga
and they give me lots of lovin' for some coins
and although they're very foxy they're just both a pair of doxies
which I'm sure explains the rash around me groin
With a yo-ho-ho and a barrel of grog
and an arrr and some other cliches
table leg for a thigh and a patch on me eye
as a Pirate I will end my days
Now we're really no buffoons when it comes down to doubloons
and our treasure chests are burstin' at the seams
then old Blackbeard started spouting about doing our accounting
so I said (before I shot him) 'in your dreams'
(ye chorus)
As we skirmish the Atlantic I was starting to get frantic
since the one thing on my voyage I've always feared
is the men who've not been coming for a while across some women
have all started wearing lipstick, which is weird
(arr, the chorus again)
Well it's reached that point me hearties where we anchor down and party
so me shipmates here on board I'd like to thank
though the mix of food and beer has now given me diarrhea
which is why I've made our cook just walk the plank
(for thee last time, chorus, arrrr)
September 17th 2015, 'A pirate's life for me' contest, sponsor Kelly Deschler
(Author's note- there are several spellings of diarrhea, but it doesn't matter, they all have 'arr' in 'em, me hearties)
Chronicler of History
History goes back as you might guess
Through vast tracks of time out there to be cataloged and measured
And a couple minutes more, before the universe was born
It discovered Hobo Jack at home within one millisecond
Put him to work to make a list of dark matter, plants and planets
(Planets are the smaller ones)
And all solid things that mattered and had form
Hobo Jack was given birth and raised on Earth
His first love was lamps and gold
Accounting became a knack in natural fashion
With a history of his own
And as a matter of fact he was good at keeping books
Lists of animals he encountered were quickly jotted down
From dinosaurs to platypus
Geiger counters became a fad
So ancient coins, doubloons
Spanish treasures made his day
Hobo Jack and his long white beard
Led their way through history
Among archival masters Jack was the best
He chronicled everything in life then passed away
Oh, what an easy thought to find,
The countless things I'm thankful for,
Soft-spilling, joyous, as they pour
From each deep recess of my mind ...
Like gold doubloons, they shine and spin,
Each one a cherished treasure, fine,
Such wealth, have I, that's wholly mine,
Locked safe forever, deep within ...
Fast, they pass thru lifetime's sieve,
Our loves and graces, big and small,
And moments, rare, but most of all ...
The grandest gift, to simply ... LIVE.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "A Cheerful Rhyme" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 7th Place ~ in the "Thankful" Poetry Contest, Tania Kitchin, Judge & Sponsor.
Ah, sweet slumber of nip-laden dreams;
the milk of mother moon bestowed,
a blessed drink and lactose-free
to this mine humble, feline throat.
Running freely through outer space,
I touch upon thy blessed universe.
My home of emerald and lapis lace,
is where in I lay in furred repose.
Chasing neon rainbows in nebulae bright,
my dreams are filled with gold doubloons.
I’ll spend them on treats and nip-delight,
and chase away any greedy tycoons.
A feline black as obsidian night,
in a home filled with human love;
among the faeries and tree sprites,
mind flies just like the doves.
EYELIDS WEAR THE COLD
Eyelids wear the cold
shivering in the dark
neither dull nor bold
doubloons lost their spark
Shivering in the dark
weeping manic tears
doubloons lost their spark
fruition of her fears
Weeping manic tears
mascara runs on lashes
fruition of her fears
as his short life crashes
mascara runs on lashes
neither dull nor bold
as his short life crashes
eyelids wear the cold
2/16/2020
PANTOUM Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Theme:I will miss you
Come one, come all to New Orleans
March and dance with King and all kinds of Queens
Year round festivals in town
Don't hesitate, catch a ride, come on down
Come on down to the Mississippi River Crest
You want a party, New Orleans does it best
From Bayou St. John to the French Quarters
Street cars, horse drawn buggies, to river boat charters
Greek, Italian, Irish, Vietnamese, Cajun, Creole, German, Black
Parades and festivals, there is not one who will lack
Christmas, New Years, Fourth of July, most any day of the year
Is an excuse to celebrate and drink plenty of beer
Oysters, gumbo, mirlitons, tomato, a good Po Boy
All kinds of food festivals for you to enjoy
You like music, festivals for that, too
Rock and Roll, Jazz, Zydeco, and get down Blues
Of course, Mardi Gras is at the top of the list
Biggest free show on earth mustn't be missed
Doubloons and beads are thrown to you
Holler, “Throw me something, Mista!”all you have to do
So much sadness in the world, so come on down
New Orleans will have a festival that will give you a smile and take away that frown
Check out the festival calendar for most any day or night
We'll pass a good time, Shah, yeh u rite
"Ballinger's pride will be the death of him,"
Was the last muttering of the old cyclops before
The poison took over. Never trust unicorn bartenders.
Young Gallimay, the town's token centaur,
Walked into this scene:
Serren's body laid across the bar.
Tempest the unicorn bartenders cleaned pint glasses. (All ladee-da.)
Two old frog friends sat in the back with lagers, blinking back at the man/horse.
Tinkerbell whizzed by with the someone's check, pregnant with her 3rd babybell.
A baby albino dire wolf slept soundly at the foot of the hat rack near his hooves.
Gallimay trotted up to the bar right beside the dead body.
"300 doubloons," said Tempest the unicorn bartender.
Gallimay gave her a look like he got hit with a frying pan.
"The dire pup," she clarified, "300 doubloons if you're interested."
Gallimay shook his head and leaned in, "Ma'am I'm here on a tip someone was poisoned to death. A text from this location saying 'I've been poisoned.'"
Gallimay looked at the body next to him
And then back at Tempest.
"What's this guy's story?"
"His name is Serren. He's a regular. Must've fell asleep."
Gallimay nudged the Cyclops' ribs.
"Hey buddy!" The body toppled
Over and hit the ground.
The Centaur took out a walkie from his vest pocket.
"I gotta 10-66 at the Imagine Inn."
"Bloody Mary?" Tempest asked Gallimay.
"Not on the job, thanks."
"No, have you talked to Bloody Mary?"
Tempest pointed her cone towards a woman at the end of the bar
Cloaked in shadows and dripping with blood.
"Mary and Serren were an item for quite awhile," Added Tempest.
Unable to help from over-hearing, Mary waved at them politely.
"Let me call you back, Ballinger," said the scarlet-soaked woman
In a barroom hush.
I used to love to pick my nose.
After 3,
Better than playing with my toes.
With a nose you see,
Each little crevasse has a surprise for me!
A goober,
A booger.
Nothing I would find amiss.
Cleanest nose in town,
Until Momma was around.
Momma said, "Don't pick your nose,
You might get it on my hose!
There are not gold doubloons in there,
Just goobers and boogers.
Perhaps a bit of hair."
But that's the whole point!
My boogers and goobers,
Are my snacks at night!
Mommas in bed.
It's dark,
No one will see.
Just me and my nose,
Boogers and goobers are free!
The words of the Zulu coconut,
a once coveted souvenir
from an indulgent visit
to festive Mardi Gras.
As our hero speaks
two mice nibble
unobserved
at his
coat.
"Beads
were slung;
doubloons cast.
Grasping tourists
seized the trifling throws.
Floats advanced in the queue
krewes tossed their tokens wildly.
Prize gifts are meant to be given.
So I, Zulu, went from hand to hand."
Meanwhile a mischief of mice emerged
to attack Zulu's varnished coat.
As they quickly devour him,
his paint began its work
within their stomachs
to do the same.
Zulu's last
witnessed
speech:
"Far
better
to restock
the soil of earth.
Better to be spent
as nourishment to some.
Better still to end this life
by sprouting as a seed of hope.
Better than this: "paint may be toxic."