Long Gang Poems
Long Gang Poems. Below are the most popular long Gang by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gang poems by poem length and keyword.
Behin' bared doors, beneath yer floors,
in cozy dens and caverns deep
y'll find me der down under de stair
where gutter rats scamper and silverfish sleep.
"Who can I be, hmmmm let me see.
I be a thief Good Grief!"
On to Ol' Town's docks walks Goldylocks
decked in de heights a fashion
in 'er purse I peeks, I rummage, I sneaks
discoverin' coin for me passion!
Den off to de park fer another mark,
I grimace and frown appearin de clown
Whilst signin' for de gang we makes a plan
ta break all de rules in de 'ole damn town.
Soon der's a tussel wid all of dis muscle
den me fingers kin creep in 'is pockets deep
grabbin' the loot I's trained ye see
yet, what I find i donna na keep.
Who can I be, hmmmm let see,
I be a thief Good Grief!
At Marchant's Oak near Fayrin's rest
Down forest paths,through high grass
I stalk de traders, cause I loves dem best
Why let me see who can I be so crass?
Who can I be, hmmmm let see,
I be a thief Good Grief!
But surin what I find I will na keep
Dough stealing be me duty,
I'll give ye back whats in yer pack
Fer I be an Honorable beauty.
And if per chance ye needs a hand
Wid opening treasure boxes cutie..
Donna get smart wid some other tart
who'll walk off wid yer booty!
Just 'ave a cheer fer I be 'ere
~Honoravillana at yer duty!
Dis 'err piece a work be dedicated to de Raven ‘aired beauty
name of Constance La France
I started my teaching career in a Chicago middle school as a sub.
Our cars were locked up so they would not be vandalized during the day.
We were expected to leave by 4:30, so we would be safe.
One time I saw a bunch of children chasing one child, and two were holding bats.
Children told me they could not leave their block.
They told me it was dangerous.
Gangs owned the next block.
Many had never been anywhere else.
Some had brothers and sisters who had been shot and killed.
More than I like to think about.
Some bragged about knocking an old man out of a wheelchair
And hearing him cry because he could not get up.
I asked if they had felt sorry for him.
No.
I was assigned to a classroom of ten-year-olds for a three week stint.
They did not know what a campfire was, or a sleep over, or camping out.
I brought flashlights, and we sat in a dark classroom telling ghost stories one day.
They loved it, and so did I until security came rushing in to “rescue” me.
There was such a commotion,
Screaming and scrambling.
A peaceful, fun experience, ending with almost violence from reactive officers.
One of them said “You can’t do stuff like this! These are BAD kids!”
There were bad-acting people in there, but they were not the kids.
High noon beckons
For this trio of men
With a flick of the wrist
And the write of their pen
Words transcend from thoughts to paper
Like a delicate cut, from the best draper
Images flow and picture our sight
These three Amigos, and their literal writes
Wordslingers they are
As their poems unfurl
The might of nature
The love of a girl
Peranteau in verse, word wise and free
Goff in the mix, with his poetry
Fraser's pen follows, our History
Once again to the nib of my pen
This Tallahassee Lassie prompts me again
The James Gang, and their abundance of words
Held in their hands, like knights with their swords
We get stronger each day, not a bullet in site
Three Amigo's with a pen for their write
Inspirational to me, is Lady Carolyn
For in my heart, she will always be in
A funny thing happened on the way to my hanging
Couldn't sleep the night before my head was banging
I was innocent of a crime that I did not commit
But they roughed me up and got me to admit.
The face on the wanted posters said it was me
Anyone seeing those posters would be inclined to agree
I was in a horse drawn prison wagon with bars down the side
Thinking to myself, it will be my last ever ride.
Heading for the gallows then onto Boot hill
To pay for shooting a bank teller that I didn't kill
Two miles from the town all hell did break loose
Unbeknownst to me I'd be dodging the noose.
For ten desperados' brought the wagon to stop
Then ordered the guards, their weapons they drop
Some gang members got me out and they set me free
The gang leader approached and he looked just like me.
He said " in this life you look out for your own "
Then he told me something that I hadn't known
" We were Separated at birth and we had the same mother "
And that this mean desperado was in fact my twin brother .
" We heard that you'd been framed for our crime spree
But you are my brother and that's why we've set you free.
The teller had died because he went for his gun
We grabbed all the money and went on the run ".
He gave me some money and said " start a new life "
Told me head south, settle down and find a good wife
There was so much I wanted to ask him and so much to say
My brother said " some other time, best be on your way " .
Written on 4th July 2018.
For a funny thing happened on the way to...poetry contest, sponsored by Robert Haigh.
For all that day the frantic chase went on,
until evening’s gloom started to spill,
even in the middle of a warm August,
Yukon nights can give a man a chill.
And the gang stared to complaining,
all three of them, Mitchell, Jeff, and Dale,
that if they pushed the chase much further
their horses would soon tire and fail.
Joel just snarled,”I’m still pushing on!
You’ve got just a half-hour to rest.
Then you get back on the trail and find me,
or I’m taking it out on your heads!”
He spurred his horse on, leaving them there,
knowing deep down their complaints weren’t wrong,
but with a gang like this you let nothing go,
if you did, you wouldn’t last all that long.
Pushing his horse until it sweat and blew,
he rode down a hill into a small clearing,
where stood a small cabin, roughly made,
from a chimney grey smoke was rising.
In front of the house stood the fool boy,
defiantly clutching the long rifle,
but next to him stood a female figure,
the sight of whom made Joel’s breath stifle.
He recognized her beauty instantly,
a few lines the only signs of age.
“How can this be? You-you were swept up,”
was all that he could manage to say.
His dear Running Moon looked him up and down,
said,”I told Red Hawk not to look for you.
He’s too much like his father in that way,
won’t let anybody tell him what to do.
“I didn’t want him to go down to the post,
not after hearing what you are now.
But he wanted to know, to see the truth,
the stubborn boy finds a way somehow.
“And yes, I was swept away in that flood,
nearly killed by the water’s white rage,
washed up on a shore, miles downstream,
my life battered and wasting away.
“A trader found me, brought me to his home,
where I was looked after by his Squaw wife,
broken was I, and unable to leave,
and on top of that, bound to give new life.
“But as the months went by rumors came in,
and at first I didn’t want to believe,
words came of a bandit bearing the name
of a man I loved named Joel Claughtrey.
“That’s why you’ve never seen me since then,
and why I kept our son from your grasp,
I wouldn’t let him meet his end on a rope,
I had to keep him from walking your path.”
CONTINUES IN PART III
Peace is not a final state
Peace is not a promised land
Peace is a direction
a discipline
a daily
refusal of hate
The sociopath exists
The sadist masks up
The profiteer of suffering
lives next door
The work of peace is not to erase evil
but to build systems strong enough
to contain it
detect it
dismantle it
before it metastasizes
through tissue
Justice is not peace's opposite
it is its prerequisite
The trafficker must be stopped
The abuser must face consequences
The war criminal must be held to account
Peace without justice is not peace
it is surrender
painted flat
Yet justice alone is not enough
Walls crack like old craniums
Locks break like crystal goblets
Surveillance falters like failing hearts
Evil seeps through the smallest crevice
Because evil is not only in men
it lives in systems
in cultures
in the poisoned soil
of neglect
Carl Jung warned us
"The world hangs on a thin thread
and that thread is the psyche of man"
The shooter was once a boy
isolated like an island
radicalized like a slow toxic poison
armed like a walking war machine
The gang member was once a child
who saw violence as his only shield
against a world that showed him
nothing but
its teeth
The abuser was once abused
The soldier was trained to dehumanize
This does not excuse
it explains
Explanation is the first algorithm
toward prevention
before the next boy becomes a bullet
before the next scream is normalized
I have seen what peace without justice becomes
I have sat with its aftermath
I have listened to its brokenness
and it does not heal
it waits
to repeat
Gangs and disciples
Who colt the game
Am sure you can
See those fingers
Pointing to same
Moon
Like always the songs
They identify
With the words like
The sun of the day
Gangs and disciples
I look around the world
Like I go places
There is same thing
People share in common
On this is the war
Like is in a formula of
Gangs and disciples (followers)
You see this formula is every where
In religion
In politics
In streets
In communities
In schools
In jails
In business
In companies
All like gangs with it disciples
All over places
what a world
Gangs and disciples
Gangs
A few group with
An idea developed
To rules
Disciples
Controlled by the rules
Of the gang
Disciples never live to
Break no rule or face
It rot
What a life
Gangs and disciples
Now check out
The real situation
Look around you
See reality
Compare this formula
May be you are already on one
Life is beautiful with nature
And in the world of nature
You are free as
You free your soul to
A freedom of love
No gangs here
For no rules is more
Than life with a joy
Gangs and disciples
Must you be a follower
Always with no ideal of your
Self
Must we always believe
To belong
What happen to the mind
See now we war
Like a mafia life
Gangs are more
To brutality
As evil springs from
Today's
Gangs and disciples
Close together, we chat.
Relatives, cousins - our mothers: the twins.
In the wind, ghosts;
we speculate.
We wonder while we
chitchat and munch.
Distant memories
of practical jokes, tokes;
days before she ran away;
& not questioning her
upon her return.
Sitting on my lavender bedspread;
laughing, listening; forlorn-ing.
Her i.d. tags, army surplus look,
blonde hair; my long locks, dark brunette.
In the Summer week,
we speculate on ghosts;
something we know nothing about.
We stood, took turns
standing over his coffin -
her brother joked
to relieve the tense.
All together, our gang;
our mother’s brother was twenty-five…
My cousin was fifty-two;
in the wind, ghosts,
I’ve surpassed
speculation, leans differently today,
knowing one day,
this world will fade,
as another comes into view.
Close together, we’ll chat,
as relatives speculate.
Hey!! wake up!!
you don't wanna miss this!!
The soft voice that woke him,
he didn't know.
Opening his eyes
and seeing two grim faces.
Along with one that was
angry and beautiful.
And the startling fact
the last thing he heard
was the hammer
being pulled back.
Click Click Click
None of them
were family or kin,
never mind the question
of how they got in.
Waking up to cold steel
touching his skin.
But wait!
...
This is not where the story begins.
A young no talent Rapper,
pimp wanna be,
just turning twenty-three.
Running the streets
trying to be somebody.
Not a member of a gang
speaking nothing but slang.
using every four-letter word
except B-E-L-T.
That he needs to hold up
the jeans hanging off his behind.
Thinking he's fine and in fashion
and always looking for some action.
Got the hook up
and now carrying
a black 38 Smith & Wesson.
The young blood is in need
of a good lesson.
Saw a beautiful young lady
and not wanting to miss a chance
for a little romance.
He showed the lady
the caliber of his conversation.
Of course, she was not impressed.
But ask for his phone number.
Saying playfully,
you'll be hearing from me.
And well you know the rest.
Hey!! Wake up!!
You don't wanna miss this!!
Click Click Click
Robert Burns knew schemes.
Like all of us,
His vanity
Lent him an illusion
Of control.
How did his wisdom come?
Did his head fall beneath the trap?
The cat is away, time to play.
What's dearest to your heart?
A night in paradise?
A glass full of lies?
Maybe a vision of ladders
Climbing closer to your treasures.
Come now, come now,
Free will, will reveal the maze.
Starving for peace,
Our plans
Unfold like walls and cul de sacs
Before us.
Hunger for control,
Needs too deep to fathom:
I am the master of my destiny.
And of course, we're right,
Right as rain.
Our destiny, our plans "gang aft agley."