Long Fellas Poems
Long Fellas Poems. Below are the most popular long Fellas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fellas poems by poem length and keyword.
Make for the corner, Fresno-Whittier
(there’s neighborhoods a whole lot prettier):
it’s probably ten-ninety-six,
but don’t draw weapons – that’s a Nix.
The man before you’s not a “perp”,
so don’t come on like Wyatt Earp.
Latina (claims she’s J-Lo’s cousin)
talking nineteen to the dozen
says she almost bought the farm,
but totally (we think) unharmed.
Find the pale-blue shotgun shack:
he’s out front, and she’s out back.
Ten-zero, boys. Proceed with caution.
Blame’s not something we apportion.
They love each other – had a fight,
same as any couple might.
Bear in mind one simple thing:
no-one wants a Rodney King.
So, L.A.’s Finest, when you swoop,
he’s sitting on the streetside stoop,
and spouting incoherent crap,
samurai sword across his lap.
Don’t pay no mind to what he’s blurting –
the guy’s okay. He’s simply hurting.
Don’t see a spic from Zapopan,
look at him closely. See the man.
Don’t think, “one of the wetback horde”:
think what it took to make that sword.
Someone tempered, shaped, embossed it.
And Juan’s a man. He simply lost it.
He came up here in eighty-eight,
and settled in the Orange State.
Wielded wrenches, welded axes,
raised his kids and paid his taxes,
and now he’s slowly catching on:
there’s nothing else. His youth is gone.
He mops the floors at Taco Bell,
and Carmencita gives him hell.
He’d wail a horn, like Bobby Prewitt,
but doesn’t have the art to do it.
So let’s forget the “better than”.
Go easy, fellas. See the man.
He knew that if ten groups shared the same style different by there upbringing and the way they were and would be presented to the public. This would give a more diverse and specail relationship with both fans and musicains alike. they wanted it to be so that if people toured together one orastra could be used. people called him cheap and frugal: often this made it difficult and limited your creativty. One night after rehersal a group of fellas stopped to talk. Onguy told a story about the people he knew that spoke foolishly about the business he was in. He said strange people often times told him he thought he was specail and the cruel world would humble him. he said it was a point in time where he was happy and felt good about what he was doing: he said the contracts were signed
dtes made and the music was written, rehersted and recorded. He was at a party of almost onehundred people, and a foolish guy walked up to him and his freinds and told him he wished them well but he had a linescook job waiting for them when they got back: cause they should give up what there doing and come work for him he could use them for publisty. We took that as a smirking jerk type comment but hanked him anyway smiling. He walked away and about ten minutes later he came back and said" ya'll foolish people think ya'll better then me, and ya'll gonna learn don't nobody wanna hear that crap ya'll singing, he said we were a bunch of $$_)($$"s and were try'na scank our way into the limelight. And then boom! people were pulling people off of him. We found out he had been a producer who was duked by some of the people we worked for. And we just wondered how did this fool get up in here!
Patrick O’Flanagan’s covert shenanigans
Make people ask where he gets to at night
There’s a perception that Patrick O’Flanagan
Visits a door with a glowing red light
What people don’t know about Patrick O’Flanagan
Is he has only one goal
Each night at ten to ten, visits his gran again
She does a dance with a pole
Old Ma O’Flanagan dances for Stan and Ben
Over in County Kildare
The nurses and carers all turn a blind eye
As Stan sticks his pension ‘down there’
Pat’s her announcer, he's also her bouncer
He keeps them old fellas in check
Old Ben can get frisky and that’s a bit risky
Unless he desires a sore neck
These is the rules says Patrick O’Flanagan
That shrivelled todger of yours
Grandma will make that old thing come awake again
And you place hard cash down her drawers
But Ben said those wrinkles don’t pep up our winkles
We only watch her to rehearse
For what we might see on the CCTV
When you nip out back with that nurse
yeee and that be thuh harrr
'cauze
Yeshua say'd 'to mine
y usted
where
two three
or
gather in
His Name
He'll there
be
yup
rrrr
and fellas
y'all harken back 'to
Yahweh's Words
Inspired
His Admonish
Oracled Yeshua
by
Matthew 6:33
'magin that
ourn and
Lord
More Blessings
I have this lucky shirt…I feel the luck in this shirt is strong…
I’ve worn it many times and every time I wear it…luck has come along.
I wore it on the first leg of our trip to North Carolina.
It’s like being enveloped by and old friend….
And since it’s luck worked that first day… the next morning…I put it on again.
In my defense our car was air conditioned…I didn’t sweat
and for 10 hours I felt the luck through my shirt flow…
So it was an easy decision the next morning…to wear that shirt two days in a row.
(In case you’re wondering if I am a complete slob let me clear the air….
Yes, I wore the same shorts and shirt…but I changed my underwear!)
All this reminded me of a time years ago In the mountains of NC
when Damien and Taylor (our two eldest grandchildren) spent two weeks with Deborah and me.
We didn’t notice this until we looked at the photos later
something that, to this day, still disconcerts…
but in every photo Damien and Taylor were wearing the same shirt!
They brought two weeks of clothing
Stacked in their dressers…each day to be swapped
but each night Deborah washed their dirty clothes then neatly stacked them back on top.
Each morning, without thinking, Damien and Taylor would reach into their drawer…
and put on the very same shirt they wore the day before.
So in every photo taken in each and every frame
due to Deborah’s loving cleanliness…Damien and Taylor were dressed the same.
As I put my lucky shirt into the dirty clothes…to be washed for the 100th time again…
I wondered if, perhaps, Damien and Taylor also had lucky shirts back then.
Which makes me wonder when it comes to our apparel..and our sense of fashion too…
If re-wearing clothes that are not dirty and do not smell…it’s something fellas do.
Which brings me to the reason for this poem:
Beginning with these two weeks in NC
and then on our 48 day road trip…let me take a moment to assert
Do not judge me too critically…
if in almost every photo
I’m wearing the same shirt.
Those yanks in their tanks never got many thanks
The locals moaned, ‘they’re over here’ *
We Brits had the ration, those yanks sought out passion
With cigarettes, chocolate and beer
Girls couldn't rely on a whiff of a nylon
So legs got the tea or the gravy **
Eye liner pencil sufficed for the seam
The trick was to not make it wavy
But Typhoo and Bisto for fellas from ’Cisco
Was something quite hard to explain
Those girls would do lock ins with painted on stockings
All thankful that it didn't rain
Then with the war over and husbands at Dover
And Uncle Sam’s troops on their toes
Wives by the dozen had buns in the oven
And those baby’s dads were John Does
——
* Over paid, over sexed and over here - a reference to American GIs
who came, seemingly, laden with otherwise rationed goodies.
** In the absence of nylons/stockings, women would ‘stain’ their legs
with tea and draw on the seam. According to Mr Google, some even
used gravy. Neither were waterproof and rain (in Britain?) was to be
avoided at all costs.
There is a girl I know,
A work of sheer perfection head to toe.
Each time I think of her, my heart beats so,
And her name is Sadie Sue.
She has a pair of eyes
That are bluer than West Texas skies,
And there's a hint of promise in her sighs
Of paradise with Sadie Sue.
The way she moves her hips
Can make me tingle to my fingertips,
And when she speaks the honey fairly drips
From the lips of Sadie Sue.
When she turns on her smile,
It lights the world up for a country mile,
And my humdrum life seems more worthwhile
When I can be with Sadie Sue.
She has her pick of beaus,
And fellas flock around her, Heaven knows,
But by some chance if it were me she chose,
I would be true to Sadie Sue.
And then how proud I'll be
When my dream becomes reality
And she goes walking down the aisle with me,
The day I marry Sadie Sue.
You waited in line
Cause your we're
Next
That's an idea
l situation I am told
What shiney ain't
For me me
Cause I am dull
And spent
Excuse me Sir
Is that gold
I reckon I 'll
Just mossey
Along quote'en
Them words to
That cuss word song
By the way
All that glitter ain't gold
What want from me
Cause he so po'
Get his checks from
His chore
That ain't no money
That's tween me and you
Talking rich and acting poor
Got your Gal out acting like-ah
Whore: talking bout
place we go knee high I q!
Ya'll know the sequence y'all
Meet her in spring
She pregnant in fall
Pappie someone's else's
Niegh I go I ate ooh ooh!
That's how it is
Ain't nothings changed
Oh the ancient
Still arrange
Talking in tongues when
Sunday morning comes
Freaking fellas
By the time the service
Is through
Snitching in like gals
Current and future bride
Tryna make everyone say
Quasi motto neigh IQ
I went out to a bar one night
To have myself a beer
I went to a place I've never been before
So I knew nobody there
I watched two fellas shooting pool
And they looked like they were good
I asked them both, if I can play
And they said, "Boy, do you think you could"
When it was my turn to play
One of them handed me the cue
He asked me if I wanted to break
I said, "I don't mind if I do"
After I broke the rack of balls
The eight ball dropped right in
I beat his butt pretty fast
And I chalked me up a win
He said, "Boy that was luck
Can I play you one more time"
He was dropping all the quarters
So I really didn't mind
He racked the balls and he said to me
"Do you want to wage a bet?"
I told him to be careful;
"It's a bet you might regret"
He laid down a twenty-dollar note
And said to me, "Let's play"
I was feeling good and on my game
So I said, "Okay"
I broke the rack and hit them hard;
I gave those balls a ride
The eight ball rolled all around
Then it fell into the side
I didn't take his twenty-dollars
Even though I knew I won
I just had him buy me my next beer
And said, "Practice up there, son"
Catch me if you can,
Or watch me from afar.
They all call me "The Man"
I'm a rising Superstar.
Was born to shake the world,
And take it by surprise.
I'll leave them all in awe,
With a twinkle in my eyes.
When I walk into a party,
The crowd always comes alive.
Those that make it through the night,
Won't make it home till five.
I strut just like a Rooster,
With tail feathers in the air.
I sing just like an Angel,
And dance like Fred Astaire.
Some will call me Sinner,
And some will call me Saint.
I make all the Fellas jealous,
And all the Ladies faint.
If you take a look inside,
I'm golden to the core.
Don't call it foolish pride,
Cause I'm "The Man" hear me roar!