Long Hard luck Poems
Long Hard luck Poems. Below are the most popular long Hard luck by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hard luck poems by poem length and keyword.
Woe is me, Oh woe is me!
Life is so unfair.
I know all sometimes have hard luck,
But not more than their share.
I live beneath a darksome cloud.
I think I have been cursed.
The minute things seem to abate,
Something makes it worse.
My home life is an argument.
My job is just the pits.
I get no rest, I get no peace,
Sometimes I want to quit.
Quit my marriage, quit my job,
And run away and hide;
But where on earth can I go?
The world is not that wide.
Food and shelter are a must,
No matter where you are.
One must needs support oneself,
Or else you won't get far.
Where'er you go, what'er you do,
You'll have the self same problems.
It's how you handle them that counts.
It's the way you solve them.
You must do it on your own.
No one can do it fr you.
It's called "growing up" my friend.
Just like all those around you.
I was born in a landlocked getaway town
Where all the colors were black, gray, or brown.
Jobs at the steel mill were ratcheting down.
It was not in my future to stay.
So, I took a long walk off a very short pier,
An unschooled, untraveled recruit buccaneer
On a quest to cross Neptune’s vast salty frontier.
Hopped a slow boat to China one day.
Underway on the Crescent City, it seemed
The ocean was wider than I’d ever dreamed.
A ship load of sinners, our souls unredeemed
Steaming west toward whatever there was.
Keelung told Hong Kong to call Singapore.
Subic Bay badgered Mombasa for more.
Sea legs, as always unsteady ashore,
Even more so with liquor and drugs.
Bilge water sloshed in the depths of the hold.
The mizzen mast learned what the typhoon foretold.
I was sea duty tempered and Shell Back enrolled;
Wasn’t nothing but maritime norm.
I was born in a hard luck blue collar town.
Half the way broken and half the way down.
But time gifts its renaissance scepter and crown
To a jack tar who’s weathered the storm.
Sitting here reminiscing
About what my life is truly missing
The passion and warmth you feel from kissing
I see myself needing to be bolder
Or my nights will continue to get colder
I need some love that appears to be stuck on hold
The whole thing leaves me feeling like I don't fit the mold
Treating them all with a heart of gold
Why have so many of them sold their souls
Don't they see I got game that rolls
With one goal to love not control
So many of them put on such a good show
Thinking it's not possible for you to know
Like being online makes you blind
So many of them using the same mo
Their intentions known from the word go
Sharing their hard luck life
cutting through your trust like a double-edged knife
Shame on them for taking advantage of my lust
Not knowing that it all leads to one big bust
When they lie to gain my trust
They leave me no choice but to look at them with disgust
What must I do to find a love that is true
One that exists just between me and you
A love that grew together from the very start
One based on a truth that won't keep us apart
The kind love that mends a lonely heart
From the one who calls you sweetheart
Granules of recollection rub like salt
Flailing in the fog of seven years ago
Deafened by incessant frog cries
Vines dangling began attaching to each other
Drying river stagnated, slime slippery with algae
Vigorous tree growth stooped in defeat
Muddy river banks fixed my feet, prisoners
Quick sand sapped my energy, ate my memories
Spears of bygone javelin my lungs, make gasp
Emerging from the mist of six years ago
Mountain side incredibly steep left me breathless
Static crinkle hissed between my eardrums
Channels flip changed without my inference
Hard luck hollowing trunks of high altitude
Offered to swallow my past, kindly include present
Flattened cushions of childhood fights , bring distance
Spinning cartwheels into oblivion of five years ago
Faintly flickering home movies startle between grins
Marbled images depict how we were, junctions punctured
Paths deviated, split decisions, moments distilled
Bottles broken, options poured, down the sink
Faltering swell glimmers foaming overdrawn fantasies
Slices rewound reflect fleeting of four years ago
Head barely above, awash in nonsense, victim of tides
Pushed under and pulled above, or is it more apt
the other way 'round, heavy, ocean surrounds drowns
Pencil case zipper obediently conceals, shoved down
Fragmented fragrant shavings of three years ago
Greyed erasers took too much, left the wrong stuff
Coloured stubs refuse to function, shrink upon prompting
Mirror tells me glamour remains against toughest test
High eyebrows, pristine lip lustre of two years ago
Marilyn wink in the blink of camera, busy filtering truth
Tree hugging Boho took over, appealed to populus ideal
Cocaine sand between toasted toes, garland encircling forehead
Currently I'm languishing in roses
bestowed by crown of thorns
* * * * * * * *
You make me want to believe in something;
That’s not easy;
Not when you’re used to a hard luck story
covered in spikes and blackened hearts;
You make it easy to have faith;
What is it about you?
I hope I’m not a pebble on your covered road;
I hope I’m not a face that you already looked away from;
I’m slowly trying to rebuild something
that’s been broken way too long;
I should probably tell you that;
But how can I when I am surrounded by rules?
You make me want to make a crazy decision.
You let me stop thinking.
I need what you give me but only if it’s real.
I’m ready to talk, when you’re ready to listen.
It’s not easy, but I want to believe in something;
I’m not sure what to tell you
all I know is I really want to, don’t let me down;
You make it so easy
to fall completely for that drinkable smile;
You feel just like a daydream;
Just don’t spin me around
if you’re not ready to catch me;
Because I want so badly to believe in you,
That’s not easy,
but Im ready to let go of this hard luck story.
when my winnings hit the news, relatives climbed into my windows.
great aunts and uncles, sixth cousins, uncles twice removed.
some families stormed over to demand their due with no connection.
you remember me – yes, I do, the neighbor who never waves back
heard hard luck stories that topped one another fast and furiously
I bought myself a new identity, new face, new name.
had to leave my family behind because they did not want new faces. I
I left half my winnings with them, as that was fair.
ex-husband keeps calling me, begging me to take the money back.
he has big trouble since the divorce settlement was announced.
I am in the Bahamas where there are no crying children or ex's.
a good looking man in lying the green plastic beach lounger.
I suck in my stomach and try to look chic.
He smiles and I smile.
He has great teeth and a sweet tan.
“Hey, aren’t you that gal who won the lottery?”
ROTGUT
The whiskey was bad
the burn and warmth of it
was, if not good, welcome.
Hard day, but aren’t they all,
Hard ground, hard work, hard head,
Hard luck, hard times.
The whiskey would fix that,
ease the edges of the hardness,
deaden, if not soften them.
This town, like so many others,
a refuge, turned tormentor,
daring me to leave, begging me to stay.
Same stool, same drink, same day,
day after day, whiskey’s treadmill
never backward, never forward, always here.
Within the confines of a curse
to seek its dark oblivion
knowing the day, this day, would come again.
Amid the muffled noise of others,
nameless, faceless, blurry beings
going through the motions of a life,
devoid of any feeling, save despair.
Old pictures propped against the bottle
dusty dreams washed down with Rotgut whiskey.
The eyes that looked at him were dead,
reflections of the mirrors judgment,
unable to turn and walk away.
He would stay in Rotgut, or find another.
Same stool, same drink, same day,
bad whiskey, welcome warmth.
John G. Lawless
7/8/2014
for Jerry T. Curtis contest A Town Called Rotgut
Tell me, my friend, when can I send
My spirit gently into that good night?
How many times do I have to die
Before I get it right?
Every car crash, train wreck,
Overdose, misstep,
Splintered bone, rug burn,
Danger zone, poisoned cup,
Open sore, bitter root,
Slammed door, rotten fruit,
Tool shed, chicken shack,
Demon seed, heart attack,
Foul deed, flash flood,
Drowning pool, splattered mud,
Ridicule, taut noose,
Hanging tree, hot seat,
Safety latch, knotted sheet,
Lover’s leap, cruel twist,
Sudden shift, slashed wrist,
Whiskey breath, itchy wool,
Charges due, paid in full,
Circus freak, Judas kiss,
Hide and seek, losing streak,
Broken tooth, swollen lip,
Busted jaw, sinking ship,
Hard luck, hockey puck,
Sucker punch, mother f*ck,
Hot iron, nasty cold,
Phantom limb, flat spin,
Steel glove, rusty nail,
Faded love, hammer claw,
Twenty gauge, monkey paw,
Tombstone, gaping maw,
Friendly fire, lost and found,
Piano wire, last rites,
Foul deed, prairie dust,
Jimson weed, stock tip,
Bad trip, razor blade,
Muscle rip, chain saw,
Pole axe, pin prick,
Candle wax, crack pipe,
Dope ball, monster high,
Bad call, de-tox,
Padlocks, sweat box,
Ticking clocks, hair lip,
Pratfall, bull whip,
Brass balls, matching set,
Sacred cow, tangled net,
Marriage vow, and every other
Barren point of blackness
That litters the
Eternal Book of Life
Are only punctuations
In its bloody text,
While waiting,
Waiting,
Waiting
For the death
That’s written next.
We've been having a "Bash Santa" week, but I wrote limericks this morning about Putin breaking his tailbone. So, Tom suggested we have a "Bash Putin" week. Here are three more from me. Please join in bashing that dastardly demon if you wish.
That Evil Putin fell down and hurt his tushy
He swore, "It was one of my bodyguards pushed me!"
Not wanting to be blamed
For he was so ashamed
That he had to change his pants cuz they were gooshy
It was on his darn keister that Putin landed
I'm going to be honest and very candid
He was chasing a skirt
When the scumbag got hurt
While being frisky with her, he was caught red-handed
Now he can't sit in a chair on his derriere
Cuz that lowlife tried to ruin the innocent, Claire
It's his tailbone he broke
His neck I'd like to choke
He's worse than Hitler, the annihilator Herr
Written by Jenna Logan
V. Putin has fallen on his tush
Pity was not in a thorny bush
Put him on a chain gang
Better yet, let him hang
Then let us have in Russia a putsch!
Arrogant Putin's butt is sore
Love this special news, tell us more
The ass is hurtin'
The world is certain
Putin needs to be shown the door.
Written by L. Milton Hankins
Putin is a fascist like Hitler, no doubt
That's what he really is all about
He fell on his a.r.s.e
Emitting methane garse
And learned it's three Reichs you're out!
Putin to his guards was accusatory
So let us embellish on that story
Shoved down from his thrown
Cracked his smug coccyx bone
This tail-ends his self-proclaimed glory
Written by Robert Gorelick
Vlad Putin was dealing with state affairs
On his way back he skidded down the stairs
You could smell the foul gas
Cos' he ruptured his a.s.s
No get well wishes because nobody cares.
He'd fallen over and broke his a.s.s. bone
A guard rushed over when he heard a moan
Hard luck you commie jerk
Cos' it's karma at work
Start praying now for your sins and atone
Written by Tom Cunningham
The both, my Parents, mom, too, are dead now,
And what a thing that is to have to know.
I really can’t get up and have a cow,
But smiles, sometimes, seem they are all for show.
And now, to other twists of laughing fate!
My mother died, but two weeks from my wife.
My father died, nine days before my birthday.
I seem to have a gift for calling strife!
My sister lost her mom a week before
Her birthday, and she says dad said goodbye
Around that time – hard Luck nailed shut the door
In August and September, thus, we’ll cry!
O, what a comedy of hurts is this!
No wrinkled, or rough-whiskered cheek to kiss!