Long Eh Poems
Long Eh Poems. Below are the most popular long Eh by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Eh poems by poem length and keyword.
Wanting what I can’t have,
That seems to be my M.O.,
Why I keep doing it I’ll never know,
You’d think I’d understand that I can’t have it;
(Yeah yeah yeah,)
(Go ahead,)
(Make a blonde joke,)
(I’m not even blonde dumb ass;)
But no,
I still go on wanting it more and more,
I want what someone else has,
(Yes, I know,)
(****,)
(Shut up;)
I want what’s too far away,
I want what doesn’t want me,
I seem to want the impossible,
And then,
Outta the blue,
Something wants me,
And of course I get excited,
But then there’s luck I got,
Something always comes up,
And I always end up a day late and a buck short,
Story of my life,
It’s not just that it happens with something important,
No,
Of course not,
It’s with everything,
I can’t seem to get a break,
No matter how much time I have,
Or how many 20’s I got in my wallet,
It always ends up short;
(Yeah,)
(Go ahead,)
(Laugh it up,)
(I said short,)
(I know,)
(Smartass,)
(You aren’t helping my situation,)
(So just shut up,)
(I don’t care,)
(I’ve got bigger issues to deal with;)
Because I don’t seem to have enough of somethin’,
And lemme tell ya,
It ain’t fun not havin’ it;
(Not that you care,)
(You’re busy makin’ wise cracks,)
(Doesn’t really bother me though,)
(So get over yourself, a’ight?)
(Why am I even bothering?)
(I’m not writing this for you;)
I’m not writing this for anybody,
I’m just writing it,
Just putting my pen to paper,
And letting the ink write whatever comes to mind;
(That explains the ranting, eh?)
(Yeah,)
(Bite me,)
(I’m having enough problems without you,)
(So could ya just lay off for maybe five minutes?)
(Somehow I doubt that,)
(But one can always hope;)
It’s not my fault I come up short;
(And don’t even say it;)
I am who I am,
With or without whatever’s missing,
No,
Strike that,
Because if I had what was missing,
I wouldn’t be me now would I?
The thing I need,
Wants me without whatever’s missing,
But good luck finding that,
And we all know how my luck goes;
(That’s it exactly;)
A day late and a buck short,
Ahh the universe loves me;
(Don’tchya think?)
(What?)
(You don’t agree?)
(Can’t imagine why,)
(Well, I guess I’ll have to put up with you,)
(Lucky lucky me,)
(Nothin’ I can do about you;)
At least not now,
Not until I got an extra penny,
At least,
And I’m half an hour early.
La conciencia no aguanto el remordimiento
el sufrimiento va consumiéndome Lento
pero se bien que yo me Lo eh ganado
eh pecado y por ti seré castigada
puedo mentirle a Los demás pero a ti no dios
se que observas cada paso que doy allá en el cielo
tu que me trajiste a este mundo con un propósito
si te eh fallado créeme que no Lo hago apropósito
gracias por estar cuando te necesito ...dios me escucho y la mano de el tome ...mi espíritu tendrá La Paz y de este mundo oscuro que destruyo mi vida...será liberada... Ya no tiene sentido pensar en el pasado En lo que hice o lo que pude haber hecho Solo sé que ya caminé un buen trecho y sufrí demasiado lloré por mis errores por mi falta de carácter ... porque no pude salir de mi mundo oscuro que me tenia en esa agonía atormentada vivía todos los días le pedía perdón de corazón y que me diera la paz que tanto necesitaba ..talvez no entiendan y se questionen por que no hice las cosas diferentes nadie puede juzgarme porque no estuvieron en ese mundo que me termino quitando las esperanzas y la fe que día con día Morian lentamente como lo hacía yo .,, yo page por mis errores y pecados y fue un preciso muy alto que añadie le deceo pasar por eso
Aunque no sé cuanto he avanzado
Unos dirán que fui demasiado buena
Otros en cambio me tildarán de mala
Algunos habrán dicho la verdad
Otros una simple mentira piadosa
Solo Dios sabrá juzgar mi realidad
Unos me habrán querido demasiado
Y no faltarán quienes me hayan odiado
Pues como todo humano soy imperfecta
Y tengo tantas virtudes como defectos
Mas si en este mi largo recorrido
Sin querer a alguien he lastimado
Le pido perdón a Dios arrepentida
Por el daño que hubiera causado
Hoy que llego al final de mi camino
Que mas le puedo pedir al destino
Si tengo el tesoro más precioso
Que la vida generosa me regaló y la dicha de aver sido madre de ese angelito Aaron siempre viviré en tu corazón mientras tu no me olvides.... la dicha de aver tenido ami abuelita y que pronto la voy a ver ,,, la dicha de tener ami tia carina y ami madre hermanos amis tias y tíos ...primas que fueron como hermanas ,, y un tío que fue mi figura paterna Tio Jorge desde el cielo a todos los cuídare y dios me los cuide y ami angelito se los encargó me voy pero siempre estaré en sus corazones si a si me lo permiten me duele no poder míralos una vez más
BACK STORY
Me and my dad used to work as a team on the Trolley Buses for Manchester Corporation, out of the Hyde Road Depot. Dad drove, and I was his offsider, collecting fares, and keeping order on the bus, like making sure people did not block the aisle, or go past the stop they had paid for. and no one was standing up if there was room to sit down, also making sure people upstairs did not bang there feet on the floor. General Spoilsport eh. In the second part, Moses was a big African fella, and his offsider was a little red headed Irishman, they usually had the run in front of us, and tried whatever they could to get us to go ahead, and take the load off them, timetables did not bother them much. I always told dad,
if it comes to a fight, I will take the little one
Trolley Buses
By Robert (Bob) Moore ©
I used to work on trolley buses, up and down Hyde Road
My dad he was the driver, and I controlled the load
Move along the bus I’d say, there’s room for 2 upstairs
that’s where you were allowed to smoke, in those days no one cared
Leave from Piccadilly, the 210 was our bus
Keep eyes on the timetable, it meant a lot to us.
Ardwick Green and Belle Vue, then on past Debdale Park
Hyde would be the Terminus, then turn and head right back
Sometimes a petrol driver, would try to make some cash
With overtime on trolleys, but sometimes they were rash
They’d forget about the trolley arm, and try to overtake
They’d see us wave and shouting, and realized “mistake”
It was all too late of course, and the sparks would start to fly
The arms were bent and waving, and the power it would die
Then swearing and apologies, and laughter close to tears
Then back to depot on batteries, for the ribbing and the sneers.
Moses was an African, his offsider was a Mick
They tried to get us to take their load, with every dirty trick
We pulled into Hyde one day, they had their trolleys down
You should be in front they said, and take the load to town.
Dad did not bat an eyelid, we’er on a break he said
you’ll have to wait 10 minutes, before we go ahead
they knew they could not wait that long, they had to make their run
so trolleys up, and off they went, we drank tea and watched the fun.
Stranded in bittercold without food or drink...
Though the following
twittering scenario quite absurd,
methought diehard adherents of mine
(intimation also quite far-fetched),
some unnamed readers insomnia
nevertheless could benefit courtesy
a thought provoking tweet
east of Eden heard.
Dire straits necessitated
yours truly to be atypical and think
outside the box (literally outdoors
of squarish structured nested dwelling),
where blinding albedo effect
forced me to blink,
additionally also ruffled tail feathers
of this sole surviving male bobolink
(North American songbird,
Dolichonyx oryzivorus)
pushing survival species
to extinction brink,
thus series of unfortunate events
woke resident chewink
(North American bird,
Pipilo erythrophthalmus
also called: towhee
or ground-robin),
tweeted from within
his cozy armoire chink
polar vortex froze habitat,
whereby arctic wind found
brushy areas to clink
unwittingly brambles ferocious
waving circular rotation
wrought minuscule countersink
eh, no bigger than a cufflink
his ornate bejeweled complex edifice
compliments of sizable income
allowed, enabled, and provided
opportunity in tandem
with significant other
to create acronym named DINK
(dual income no kid)
acquiring handsome combined income
rendering and selling stylized goldfinch
also known as distelfink
common motif in
hex signs and fraktur,
which interpretive native folk art
eye state meaningless
without rhyme nor reason,
superfluous gibberish by George,
and/or...well... courtesy
following purposeless gobbledygook
defying poetaster to incorporate doublethink
intelligently nsync with downlink
playfully, jauntily, and deliberately
creating confounding badinage eye wink
at thee, no doubt many
an anonymous innocent
reader calling me rat fink
(Ed “Big Daddy” Roth's child)
under their breath or more
colorful brutal appellation
inducing cheeks of unknown followers
turning fifty plus shades of firepink
moost definitely concurring gink
perfectly apropos description
concluded individually versus
collectively, quickly, and
unanimously i.e. (think) groupthink
I approve this entire message, which
most likely tinders pet peeve,
concluding GoDaddy
go tell Aunt Rhody
yours wittily, truly,
quirkily, nervously, jokingly
attempted to hoodwink.
Eldest daughter – I Praise
Twenty two years ago
December twenty second,
two thousand eighteen
"star student" born
this papa (and most
likely thee birth mother)
initially felt ecstatic,
dramatic (yes frenetic),
and careworn
as freshly minted parents,
but gifted with a daughter,
whose existence far
more precious
than any Earthborn
rare widgets, gewgaws,
gems, et cetera, despite
evoking unsolicited,
unpleasant, and
unmanageable forlorn
communication "dirt poor"
living (at least ten years
of wretchedness at 1148
Greentree Lane) unable
to toot your horn,
cuz unbearable, undesirable,
unforgettable, et cetera,
and manifold challenged ,
when beloved Shana
Punim evinced inborn
developmental delay,
(which severe electric
koolaid acid test
patience of this father),
much more difficult
than playing krummhorn,
now after tendering the trials
and tribulations, an
amalgamation of
poignant affects,
whereat your
permanent presence...
(must never NOT precede mine),
cuz..., I would definitely mourn,
your absence, thus felt the timely
opportunity to dash off
a birthday poem to you
in tandem with sharing,
(while comfortably numb
and figuratively licking war
torn psychological wombs) - torn
and ripped, queued,
peppered natty psyche
pockmarked with scorn
from self, (and those lives,
this dada immediately
impacted) particularly
your person roar'n
with cumulative anger toward
this insightful fellow,
(who claims to know
what thee feel toward me),
especially when ****
hours of valuable
time, now caught
(say, eh...approximately, fraught
upon the half life of rare Earth
element Eden), not
just strictly naught
heard thru the grapevine,
but forcing Math (hew)
analysis, via meditation, poetry
writing therapy, et cetera.
Hence...I apologize,
asper unasked for pain wrought
thee, sans being unemployed,
demeaning "mother Abby,"
bumbling, horrid house
keeper (Hagrid himself,
would turn down invitation),
plus Facebook fiasco,
imbroglio, and locomotive -
complicit in behavior
comparable to pedophile,
yet please let me conclude
by admitting total lack
of wherewithal.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR DAUGHTER!
Serenade Me, Julius La Rosa
His striped tie has a green tint color
And his hands are dark and bulging with blood.
I can see them gripping the steering wheel like parrot talons.
I can see from all the way up here
That one of his fingers has a golden wedding ring,
And he just sits there in that Studebaker
Looking up at my apartment window,
Like I’m some freaking captive locked in a high tower,
And he’s my guard, my sentinel,
Making sure I do not escape.
“Hey you! Yeah you! I’m talking to you!
Oh? You have a problem with me seeing the blond bombshell?
The one with the face that launched a million ejaculations?
The face that burned the topless towers
Of a million American households?”
Now he has a cigarette going inside that sleek automobile.
It’s dangling from his lips
Like a big white toothpick from Scully’s.
The Los Angeles Mirror,
The front page,
Rests forlornly on the passenger seat.
I can even see the headlines from up here –
Something about an execution,
Julius and Ethel R.
Serenade me, Julius La Rosa!
Sing to me now! ‘Eh, Cumpari!’
It’s 1953 and all’s well in the world.
There shall be a tiki torch in every back yard!
“A cocktail? Here, have mine.
I’m well stocked here in my Kasbah.
Now, sweetheart, what were you going to say?”
“When I dance with you,
I feel like I’m in Paris by the Seine,
Dancing in technicolor with Gene Kelly.
You have wonderful moves and a very masculine touch,
And I can almost hear Gershwin music,
Way off in the distance.”
“By the way, my darling Norma Jeane, who taught you to dance?”
“To be honest, my mother.
It was an emergency situation, I had a hot date, so…”
And now we are sashaying on my torn and tattered carpet,
With Perry Como crooning ‘No Other Love’ on my Hi Fi,
Over there in the dark corner.
The lights of the Big Enchilada
Glisten outside my lone window
Like a million incandescent candles
That burn with lust for us.
“Hold me closer.
I need to feel your warm blood.
I need to breathe in your luscious sweet cologne.
Mmmmmm. Kiss me.”
“I will kiss you.
I will kiss you long and I will kiss you very hard.
But first, my darling, why not some Rachmaninoff,
The second piano concerto,
Instead of Perry Como?”
“No Piggy.
Locked in your arms I’ll stay.
Waiting for you to say,
No other love have I.”
"Camptown Races sing this song, Do Dah! Do Dah!"
( sung incessantly by a certain, unique rooster.)
Henry Hawke: ( Sung to Holly Jolly Christmas:)
" I'll be there and back by sunset.
There's a chicken there for me!
Mom and Dad will be proud, you bet!
when a chicken, they'll see!"
Henry: ( Sung to Arkansas Traveler:)
" I think that there's a chicken, yes, indeed!
No need to check, that's a chicken, yes, siree!
I know that that's a chicken , yes, indeed!
Even though he has a snout for pecking at the seed!"
POW! ( cue woozy music.)
Barnyard Dog:
Hey, wait a minute, kid!
Have you flipped your lid!"
Henry:
" I hit you a good one and I'm the winner!
Now come along with me! You're what's for dinner!"
Barnyard Dog:
" Eh, kid.. I'm a dog, don't you get it!
Now, scram! Before I make you regret it!"
" Camptown races, sing this song..
I say , I say.. it's not the words,
son, it's the song
It kind of.. eh, moves me along, err.."
Henry:
" Oh, the shame!
The family name!
Life for me will never be the same!"
Barnyard Dog:
" Someone's given you the bum steer!"
He looks at Henry crying.
" Kind of gets you right here..
Tell ya, what, kid!
I'll give you a real clucker with all the feathers!
Now listen to me, the sooner the better.." Pss. psst. pss..
"Camptown Races, Uhh, oh, I say, I say..
What do we have here?!
An unholy alli, alli alli, joining together.
and the word is ..Beware!"
I say, son!
What are, what are you doing here
in my little slice of paradise?!"
Henry:
"Ehh, Mister Cock-a-Doodle Doo..
I'd turn around if I were you!"
"Heh, heh heh..
Obviously, this boy believes
that I was born yesterday
if not the day before!
Let me lead him on a little more.."
"Just what am I supposed to see, there, ehh, son?
The rising moon? The setting sun? Heh, Heh, Heh.."
BAM!
"I, I, I think I've been way layed.
I, I, better look for some shade.."
PLOP!
"That boy's got more nerve than a bum tooth!
ehh, that's a joke, son!
Miss Prissy! My my time has come too soon!"
Eeee, THUD!
Henry and Barnyard Dog( together.):
"Geez, What a maroon!"
Cue the Looney Tunes end music.
(" Eer.. That's your cue, son!")
" Can't find no good cartoon help these days!" THUD!
THAT'S ALL FOLKS!
Prescribed blood tests
present no qualms,
unlikely nothing askew i.e.
ticking time bombs
nor prone to catastrophization,
albeit anticipatory anxiety
plus demeanor of poetically titled
medical practitioner allays, calms
alleviates agitation exhibited
by dad's and/or mom's
panic minimizes si? no sweaty palms,
nonetheless precautionary measure taken
thumbing apostle Matthew psalms
ayee feel grateful relatively
clean bill of health.
Nine thirty morning
appointment earlier today
September tenth two
thousand nineteen no way
found yours truly bright
tailed, and bush shay
eyed, cuz mine circadian rhythm
(reed sleepiness), I cannot betray,
yet medical plight concerning
bowel movement analogous to clay
stool pigeons ever ray
now and again plague me: hay
4 four at aye
oh elle dot com, alias math they
you scott harris happy as jay
bird for personable rapport
she, said practitioner did display
offering friendly feedback
proactive measures to avoid
finding mine psyche
analogously scrambled (think) souffle
even absent such agreeable
pharmacological medications keep at bay
panic stricken state
seeding additional gray
hairs (matter of fact
synthesized prescription -
pills selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors)
only necessitate small copay
Medicare bonafide dogsend
whereby nurse practitioner equal
however much she doth weigh,
in salt, though an oft worn cliché
feather in her cap coup d'état
personable, laudable, hospitable...
winning accolades regarding
humbleness and modest stay
expertise within her craft hoop fillet
staving off general mills concerns
reason I wrote rhyme, eh somewhat passé
even Mister Ed would neigh say
so with his horse sense to stirrup
unbridled jollity - me hoof finds rein
ching words cathartic je ne sais quois
experimenting with this, that,
or t'other typed out array,
perhaps hashtagged as tripe courtesy quay
zee poor ah shunned poet fray
ming tropes distinguished (ha)
even if garnering no pay
English language I play
juxtaposing incongruities
to tease out reactions probably lay
build rickety lettered edifices
manuscripts best sentenced to sauté
within steaming vat
fed as swill to petsmart hogs
grunting as they fertilize mulch greenway.
"Both devil and angel on one's shoulders, scenes from yesteryears, little did the public know that it's when one falls, therein, lies the benefits ... for it's when one rises, gives one meaningful purpose, an eye-catcher, a life-changing event, and so on ...," ... by the Poet.
When you have died and know naught why, sitting while you're thinking
perhaps a dream, let out a sigh, go back to your drinking
Got a bottle in your left hand, a baby in your right
you drink the milk, tastes like bourbon, a babe kissed you, "Good night."
You looked underneath the table, you see the battery,
you then checked all of the cables, but can't find the car keys.
You asked the driver parked by you, can he give you a light
flicked his Bic, you said, "Forgot, I'm through--smokes, sorry, and good night ..."
You looked under the hood again, found a glass of bourbon
head up you say, "My dear, sweetheart," she says, "No, it's me, Ben!"
Now you have your drinking buddy, and the fun of your life
until you know you are woozy, caused thoughts, --just like Lot's wife.
You were on top of your bar stool, you slowly lean on Ben
but now there's a smell of car fuel, you try to wake your friend.
You feel Lot's staff hook round your neck, you feel ground rub 'neath you
you look towards the car, a wreck, it explodes from the fuel.
You cry out to the dark for Ben, hears voices all around
"He is right beside you, your friend." "You are both safe and sound."
It's Sunday, two souls in church pews, "Welcome, today's sermon,
Sodom and Gomorrah, Good News," "I hope they're naught Mormons."
"Why, you have a problem with that?" "They don't allow drinking."
"Thought we quit, swept it 'neath the mat." "Say what are you saying?"
"We jumped verses? That makes no sense!" "I thought it was implied."
"Inferred, there is a difference." "Inferred, implied--denied."
"So what, I'm drinking hereafter." "Aha! After--That's it,
afterlife--caught in the rafters, or 'twill be the fire pit."
"Your choice my friend, want to kick it, live and keep on livin',
or, a lifer, --alcoholic, die and keep on dyin'?"
"Eh, H-E-double hockey sticks, (HELL) I'll stay for the sermon,
Christian-like, ex-alcoholics--they may not be Mormons?"
FabelThirty
FabelThirty
Jim Carrey Email
Filter Poetry
Poems is Filtered
Fan Club Is Full
TOO many Millions
Eye finally got to talk to JIM Carrey today and he told me why he cannot read my
poetry. He explained it like a man. There is too many fans. There is too many
emails. “Eye “MISTER Carrey to yew” make filters for my fan club messages the
**** is the first one.” Okay my gentile reader ewe begin to see now eh? Where
this one is going?
JCFC(jimcarreyfanclub)Filter One : NO ****.
FILTER TWO: NO POETRY
FILTER THREE: NO EMAIL
Oh why oh woe is me eye wanted JIM to read the mee? Oh pain now from
headache and anxiety Your email address has NOT been verified. Please
click 'Click to verify' next to your email address below or change your email
address to a valid one.
Oh why cannot we just have his home address a house boat eye suppose in
some woman's swimming place? Eye was a CIA spook before eye got religion
the love replaces hate so now eye want just to relate to all the STARS in
Hollywooded glens and pools of swimming fans. Eye had a picture ready to
download to the fanclub when the email did not come eye lost all hope that HE
was really there and sure enough it was a band called Carrey Band. This is just
a fanclub not Jim Carrey. AND that is how this FABEL was just born.
Jim Carrey Online
Comprehensive Jim Carrey fan site features news, pictures, movie details, audio
and video clips, ... Links. Images. Video Clips. Sound Clips. Wallpapers ...
www.jimcarreyonline.com - 16k - Cached
Charles Hice
Number 23
Number 23
Waiting in a line for food.
Am I in a prison or a diner.
Drinking soda and now water.
I am sitting in a recliner,
wishing that i could get up and
jump into the sink,
to drink a pail of water.
I am just a want too.
I am full of meat.
Waiting in a line for food.
Wanting bread but eating meat.
A poor man and his daughter.
I am number twenty three.
Charles Hice
http://www.newline.com/properties/number23the.html
Actual Trailer to the movie this is my tribute JIM Carrey please email me.
IMPORTANT: Please click on the link below to verify this email address:
OH forever JOY the RIDDLER is mine at last.
Charles Hice