Long Jan Poems
Long Jan Poems. Below are the most popular long Jan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jan poems by poem length and keyword.
In Jan, nineteen thirty-three, there was man called Mick Malloy
At the time he was an alcoholic and a poor homeless boy.
A young Irish fire-fighter out of work
He left his home in Donegal - to find some in New York.
He fell in with five real bad men
Who wanted to cause murder back then.
Poor Mick they had him in their sights
An insurance fraud, they brought to light.
They signed three life policies on Mick
Now they had to kill him quick.
Unlimited credit in a speakeasy, they gave him
To drink himself to death-they went out on a limb.
Although he drank all day long
His life it just seemed to prolong
They switched to antifreeze instead
Expecting Mick to wake up dead.
With turpentine they then did tempt
But no success, so they switched to horse liniment.
Finally a drink of rat poison, they gave the poor lad
But Mick never ever seemed to get bad.
They tried oysters, then methanol.
Bad sardines, poison and carpet tacks
But poor old Mick swallowed the lot,
And still poor Mick kept coming back.
The five would be murderers were baffled
Poor Mick just would not die
The murder trust then knew,
something else they would have to try.
One night poor Mick unconscious, they stripped him and carried him out
In minus fourteen degrees,naked, not wearing a single clout.
Threw five gallons of water on him, to make sure that he would freeze
Poor Mick returned the next without even a cough or sneeze.
Mick returned the next day to order himself a drink
The men were getting desperate they really had to think.
Next they hit him with a taxi and broke lots of poor Mick’s bones
But he had three weeks in hospital, then they sent him home.
The gang had thought that Mick was dead
But when they tried to claim, poor Mick returned once more
And kept on his drinking game.
In desperation in February, in fact on the twenty second
They waited for Mick to collapse, then gassed him in a second
A pipe they pushed into his throat and now poor Mick was gone.
The gang did not win even then, no not a single one.
They squabbled and were caught and to Sing Sing them they did send
Four to be fried on the electric chair what a sizzling end
The fifth was sent to prison, which didn’t seem quite fair.
He somehow managed to escape, Sing Sings electric chair
Poor Mick Malloy has been long gone, but will not be forgotten
Just remember to watch your friends though; you never know who’s rotten.
Your laughter’s echoes are like a broken record in my hysterical brain
I misplaced my journey-like notebook, written in pen and pencil prudently and sincerely
Solace sunrays are embedded in your blue-green eyes and it’s driving me insane
Change is a challenging chore, but as someone once told me, “No one ever stops progressing, but it’s your job to improve frankly!”
Confined to this Depression wars, I feel like I’m frozen forever in his ribcage
Don’t accuse me for committing atrocious felonies – my intentions don’t lean on greed
I love God’s Wonderful deeds indeed! I loathe this fast-paced world, especially in this day of age, sponging up avarice and rage
Be careful what you watch, say, touch, hear, and taste – nourish your family seed
Visions of unforeseen, unforced miracles is a memory I hold dear honestly
I recall years spent on pondering about the tragedy in this fast-paced world and its many crimes
You scan my verses as if it’s a short story, catching your sheer curiosity
You have read me several times like a children’s book with silly Mother Goose Rhymes
I resemble shrouds of misfortune for cat’s sake...Now, am I worthy to be compared to a children’s tale? Am I the cause of the world’s calamity?
The dusk has dawned upon me…unearth the mysteries in the hollow, tacky atmosphere
Man’s plans were destined to be a fail from the beginning of time – why’s my heart thumping with pride and vanity?
Why should I rely on Man when I have God by my side? He’s the one and only that makes me have tears of hope, not frantic fear!
I’ve seen his wonders, so imperishable! I’m a witness to God’s phenomenal, faultless Work!
Why don’t you look at yourself in the mirror? Let’s face it – we’re all playing roles in this world’s tragedy!
Why are you throwing the blame on me? You resemble an irrational jerk!
I can’t bear being that individual who speaks his mind deliberately – I’m not acting immature! Straighten up your mind; stop acting so silly!
~!@#$%^&*())(*&^%$#@!~
Inspired by Jake Ponce’s poem: Ephemeral and the verse (entitled: The Key To My Heart) written by Jan Allison! Check both poems out and you’ll be amazed and it feels as if you’re placed in their shoes. It’s remarkable. Do look them up and read their works. You won’t regret it.
^Written by David William Breidenthal^
***Date this was written: Thursday, May 29, 2014***
Theme for collaboration suggested by Tim Smith
Two enormous old toads crossed the road
On Tom’s back lounged Thomasina toad
Both are ugly and warty
Thomasina’s so naughty
As her bowels on his back she’d download
06-16-17
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
When Thomasina toad dumped on old Tom
He thought her poop explosion was a bomb
He hopped in the air
gave her a mean stare
shouting, "I'm not taking you home to Mom!"
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
Ribbit rubbit robbit 'n ro
this crazy toad has got to go
She's turning quite mean -
Fifty shades of green
No time to chat but still does crow
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
"Why don't we do it in the road?"
Said Thomas, the old horny toad
Thomasina hissed,
"Get a load of this!"
and a "blessing" on him bestowed
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
Thomasina was on a road trip
Her taxi was Tom's back she'd grip
But she strained as she held
And her bottom expelled
So she said "I've just left you a tip"
WRITTEN BY RAY GRIDLEY
Tom and Thomasina were the perfect pair
They were ancient toads without a care
He had a huge wart
She gives a mean fart
Anyone in her vicinity better beware!
WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y
Now Tom was an over achiever
He wanted the lady, not leave her
He sprayed his back with Scotch-Guard
and rubbed down with lots of lard
the dumper was now the receiver
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Tom gave Thomasina the boot
Got sick from the smell of her poot
told her to get lost
right after he tossed
She gave him the one finger salute
WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER
Thomas and Thomasina loved to hear
the waterboatmen rubbing their gear
Thomas tried and started to croak
causing Thomasina to choke
you two will never get it right I fear
WRITTEN BY SEREN ROBERTS
When T'sina hopped on for a ride
Old Thomas reminded his bride,
"Though you're my sweet dish,
on the road we'll get squished",
"Just do it!" was her terse reply.
WRITTEN BY CRAIG CORNISH
Thomasina and Tom a heavy load
Lingered a little too long on the road
He could have kissed her all night
shocked at the oncoming lights
Croak and ribbit was heard; two flattened toads
WRITTEN BY EVE ROPER
PLEASE SOUP MAIL ME ANY SUBMISSIONS FOR THE COLLABORATION
06-16-17
Even Dawn Cried About Death Of The Poet
They that see dawn in softest crimson glows
Having sought to embrace the golden moon!
They that ink paradise as a true gift,
Sings praises of the gentle month of June!
Whilst feeding at midnight the hungry crows
Sometimes with iron, and with eager breath
Oft each stands alone, watching dark world turn
Then she that inks paradise as a gift,
With compassion, romantic flames that burn
Wrote faithfully, even unto her death!
Dawn that foretells of living and true love
Helplessly seen as the poetess died
Cast its brightest rays to heaven above
So angels could see how too few cried!
R.J. Lindley, Jan 25th, 1987
*******
Dare We Pray, Humanity Wakes To Be Redeemed
From blacken hills into magical woods we wade
Where golden mushrooms ring shrouds of ancient trees
Praise God, that this earth and humanity he made
Although from great divine wrath it so often flees
In morn's mist, airy shadows rise and slowly fall
'neath hopeful promise of resplendent future state
Whilst those ever beckoning hills heed Nature's calls
Same as man bows to ravages of horrid Fate.
Therein comes immense pleasures of paradise dreams
Too often laced with folly of human schemes
Were it not that love may gift that which hope redeems?
Aye. Love and pleasure are as candy to a child
And thus sweet blessings flow unto those meek and mild
Whereas thistles and thorns pierce deeply those too wild.
Dare we pray, humanity wakes to be redeemed
From evil wickedness, that mankind daily schemes?
R.J. Lindley, March 6th, 1987
Rhyme
*******
From The Virgin Light Into The Dark Mist
There within such immensity of solitude
Rests a billion threads but a sad solitary thought
Of life, earth and barest naked soul therein nude
In worldly prison, dying entity thus caught.
Oh but, tis not that tragedy our daily bread
Fodder for rampaging fires eternally lit
We but sacrifice for those gods long ago dead,
And bawling mass for Hades and its burning pits?
Tis not mankind a true enigma and a bit more
Far, far more than a fallen fly in the hot soup
Once stuck down below but by own hand now can soar
Risen up by vicious might in one dark fell swoop ?
Aye! One may fear to such reality admit
As it leads backward, to thoughts of hot burning pits!
R.J. Lindley, March 22nd, 1987
Rhyme
Poetry Soup Hero's
Poets with golden ink and pens
You make us move forward with your inspiration
With kind an honest, encouragement and compliments
Small act of caring all which has the potential to turn a life around
Peter Duggan
Vera Duggan
Michael Tor
Demetrios Trifiatis
Broken Wings
Andrea Dietrich
Carrie Richards
nette onclaud
JAN ALLISON
boddie, eric
John Wulf
Sandra Haight
Casarah Nance
Emile Pinet
John lawless
Abdul Malik
Julia Ward
Kim Patrice Nunez
Olive Eloisa Guillermo
hunjeri, njeri
Anne Lise Andresen
Dr. Upma A. Sharma
Ian Guyler
Mystic Rose
Tim Ryerson
arthur vaso
Paul Callus
Frederic Parker
Keith Trestrail
Richard Lamoureux
SEREN ROBERTS
Joseph May
Robert Stoner Jr
Silent One
Laura Leiser
Faye Gibson
Viv Wigley
Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Lycia Harding
Bev Smith
Tim Smith
Poet Destroyer A
Janice Canerdy
Robert L. Hinshaw
Teddy Kimathi
Kim Merryman
Thabang Ngoma
Connie Marcum Wong
FJ Thomas
Judy Konos
Sneha RV The literature lover
James Inman
Sara Kendrick
Eileen Manassian
Adam Hunter
Bill Lindsay
george seal
Barbara Campbell
Kelly Deschler
Robert Lindley
Carol Eastman
David Fisher
Barbara Gorelick
The Grahamburglar
Shadow Hamilton
david mohn
Pandita Sanchez
Isaiah Zerbst
Balveen Cheema
peter holmes
SKAT A
len carber
Warner Baxter
Darlene Gifford
CayCay Jennings
Deb Wilson
Alexis Y.
Jerry T Curtis
Aiyah de Torres
James Fraser
Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Debbie Guzzi
craig cornish
harry horsman
Ruben O.
Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
Mohamed Adel
Lee Carter
Dan Cwiak
Leonora Galinta
olusegun Arowolo
Edwin Hofert
Roy Jerden
Diane M Quinlan
john beharry
Carolyn Devonshire
Mark J. Halliday
Joyce Johnson
Hannington Mumo
Anulaxmi Nayak
Mary Oliver Rotman
Lei Strauss
michael tor
Mark Trichet
Mark Woods
Ronald Zammit
Laura Breidenthal
Andrew Crisci
Raha, Miraj
Phool, Maharani
Johnson, Megan
Graves, Allan
Ngo, Meline
Ramos, Tiffany
Rosenthal, Allie
Borghei, Niki
Tripp, Criss
Reyes, Thomas
Rajaratnam, Gunadevi
Braxton, Shanda
Barry, Stephen
Prophet, James
Titus, Luwi
Leach, Michele
LeBlanc, Michelle
maximax, nicole
Kwinana, Ndikho
Turse, Patricia
Dazh, Ezell
Luke, Neena
Brown, Verna
Catie Lindsey
Bongani Zungu
Eve T.M.M.
Lin Lane
And so many more!
Team Poetry Soup :)
Not For Contest
I'm a firm believer
In limerick fever
(This isn't news)
"It'll cure the blues!"
Says Jan (who is no deceiver)
Written by Jan Allison:
Writing limericks is a fine art
Yes I write about poop or a fart
But show me someone
Whose not dropped a ‘bomb’
then from poetry soup I’d depart!
Written by Lim'rik Flats:
Does art mimic life or life mimic art?
Don't ask me, I'm not too smart.
It seems the soup
Has the same poop
As watching the news (or a fart).
Drama and trauma, factions and foes,
Smiting and fighting, (hard on the nose),
Saves me the trouble
Of viewing double
Saves time, and less grief I suppose.
Written by Ray Gridley:
Raise a toast to this collaboration
Whatever your race or your nation
Just write on a whim
Lim'rick Flat's bound to grin
They are all going to be a sensation!
Written by Daniel Turner:
I know a guy called Lim'rick Flats
Writes limericks at the drop of a hat
Jan is his pal
She's quite a gal
They met in a laundry mat
Jan makes jokes about poop
he puts them in alphabet soop
drinks from the bowl
with no self control
which makes him a nincompoop
Also written by Daniel Turner:
Write all the limericks you want
but don't fart in a restaurant
people will laugh
call you riffraff
even if you're a debutante
Written by John Lawless:
oh the limerick it ain’t quite a sonnet
and the learned, they look down upon it
for they cannot grasp
its head or its ass
nor the cleansing effect of its tonic
Written by Terry Reeves:
Late for work she flew out the door
Took an express elevator to the 29th floor
Let some discreet killer farts
Nearly stopped all their hearts
Left them gagging; she'd evened the score
Written by Tim Smith:
Nonsense is here found out in the alley
Five funny lines we'll add to the tally
a smile or two
we laught till we're blue
so put out your best and join in our rally
Written by Alexis Y:
Hey what's going on in the soup?
Lim'rik Flats I want the scoop
What do you have to say?
You got poem of the day
Congrats, I shouldn't have flown the coop
Written by Jean Murray:
John is always fun.
His poems and their puns.
If you need a lift.
He has the gift.
Lim'rik Flats is number one.
psst. How could I not add this to the string? ~ john
~What Make A Best Friends~
Best friends are hard to find
Just like among the lovely stars at night we’ve to pick the best one
A priceless gem of God’s Loving Divine.
I finally found you Linda (aka pd)...
My heart is in triumph
My desolation is gone
You’re not only like a star, but my rising sun
Someone who tenaciously raises me up when I’m down.
When a shroud of gloom hangs over me,
You cheer me up
Whether you are far or near
Your listening ears give me a breath of wind.
You offer the loveliest rose in your garden
Smile…. Laugh and cry with me
One of those who anchors to the fulfillment of my dream
Hone-in-on to a friend’s sake
Offers a mighty shoulder to lean on
Or to stand to see further. --From: L.G.
-A dearest sis, from heaven send-
I share my muse, with your beating friendship
Never would I force you to answer or say something
When I'm hurt or crying, or feel like my life is over
Just knowing you are there listening, brings comfort--
--Whether you are near or far
I know you will be there caring in every step of the way
In you I see a woman who highly respects herself
A beautiful person who goes a long way, making others feel the light
I would never trade you for someone who can't prance and dance like you
Your best quality, comes from being yourself no matter who's around
This is how I know, you have the perfect ingredients
Of what makes a special best friend
So, fun, unique and interesting, Leonora you are so sweet
You understand, with support, you carry a soul of trust and beauty
You were there through my good times and bad
A positive shoulder to cry on
Without casting judgment on the things I've done,
I smile with glee, enjoying your sincerity
Leonora, my BFF, I hope you don't mind that I gave my secret away
The perfect ingredients, of what makes a best friend. --By: P.D.
Jan. 10-17,2014
- collaboration poem of Linda/PD and Leonora
~ It’s again my great honor to have been invited to collaborate with my most all time favourite, my greatest poet, loving poet sis and forever BFF, PD/ Linda. She's a very special poet sis & friend/BFF of mine . I’m in tears of joy to know that I’m also special to her. Word’s are inadequate to thank you enough for everything my dearest sis! My biggest & loveliest hugs ever to u! Lovem4evr sis & BFF Leo
The Search to Find the Edge of the Ice
They say moss doesn't gather on a stone rolling, in motion,
And even wise algae gets left in the wake,
Of a proud ship, foresail dipped, rising upon an ocean,
Yet what of the movement of cold, blued, polar ice,
Where humanity has no known device,
That can truly assess each crevasse like a human eye,
Not wafting past, digitising from way up high,
But the eye picking out subtle changes,
The sense of touch, of feeling crumbling, matters much,
And no satellite can be quite right as the human nose,
Smelling fauna, or the stench of rotting, dead plants or fish,
For ice recedes its movement gathers stones,
But it reveals things, that satellites alone,
Can never bring to assess, without assumption in that process,
And so a legend of arctic exploration abandons long treks,
Or climbing mountains, and not due to getting older,
Indeed using boats for a landlubber is getting bolder,
Taking stock of the after shock,
The Northwest passage laid out, like a virgin on a wedding night,
Internally sobbing for the state our world is in,
For there was no ice, not even enough for a consoling gin,
The long march of humanity's future discontent,
Requires assessment, a global response to a new war cry,
Come Europe, Come China, Come India, Come America,
Come hear the cry of the Canadian northwest,
Of the fears of Greenland becoming a new forest,
Come Australasia, Russia too, come all countries, much to do,
For we must rise to assess the circumstance of the ice regress,
To prevent surprise, loss of our world's bequest,
And pushing forward the advance guard of this new challenge,
Is Sir David's team, the polar ocean phalanx,
Not sat around at home in comfy armchairs,
But doing something, going somewhere, to show we care,
Seeking to find and monitor and report back,
Crucial knowledge that currently we lack,
For how can we plan to avoid our worlds future sorrows,
If we do not make an effort to find out for our tomorrow,
Where exactly is the edge of the ice, which today no device,
Can show in a way that all of human kind can know,
Does the ice recede or simply ebb and flow,
Stand up, man up, pay up, support them,
Lets see them depart and sail,
To find this century’s holy grail,
The search to find ‘The Edge of the Ice’.
@Andrew Carnegie, Challenged in Wiltshire, Jan 12th 2017.
It was now growing dark as the sun was going down
When a stranger rode into Soup Creek, a frontier town
No one could see his face, he was all dressed in black
An old boy was heard to say "I think he's come back".
He took his horse to the stable, then went to the boarding house
Before he went in looked across the street, to the town jailhouse
There was a familiar figure sat outside, in a rocking chair
Cradling a Winchester and the stranger, felt his cold stare.
He'd returned after all these years; he had something to prove
And just after a few days back in town, he would make his move
But Sheriff Koplin is no fool and he had planned up far ahead
And had formed a posse whilst the stranger slept in his bed.
Three fiesty girls from the saloon, Jan and Jenna, Tania too
And a Texas ranger called David who was just passing through
With gambler Milton who was deadly, with a colt forty five
And Tom the undertaker who looked more dead than alive.
It was the evening of the showdown; the stranger came out of the saloon
The sun was now setting but the tension had been building up since noon
From his holster he withdrew his pistol and then fired shots up into the air
The stranger was not one for living a peaceful life and he just didn't care.
Sheriff Koplin approached him and said "Hand over your gun"
And the stranger replied "Lighten up man, I'm just having fun"
The stranger was laughing now and looking down at his feet
The townsfolk were nervous and had disappeared off the street.
Then behind the stranger came a shout in a loud Texas drawl
It was Jenna disguised as an old woman, covered with a shawl
"You heard the sheriff " she shouted, "Put your gun on the ground"
The air was now thick with tension and you couldn't hear a sound.
Then from nowhere the rest of the posse appeared pistols in hand
They abhorred bullies and conflict and were prepared to make a stand
The stranger realised he couldn't win and threw his gun down
Walked to the livery stable to get his horse, and rode out of town.
The drama was now over but it could have gone either way
Sheriff Koplin and his posse restored peace, and had won the day
It was now days end in Soup Creek in that peaceful frontier town
All you could hear were chirping crickets as the sun was going down.
Written on 20th May 2022.
The Hero, Raven, Poe And First Encounter,
Part One, Dedicated To Master Poe
Midnight chill, moon glowing a bloody red
gone life's sweeter thrills, am I truly dead
room has that smell, death groaning echoes deep
dark ringing its bell, devils stir and creep.
Must seek shelter, as last fading rays flee.
Else Evil shall eat away all of me.
Down black abyss, cast into hellish pits
Raven set its kiss, there lay body bits
blood flowing crimson bright, in gushing streams
such wickedness this night, tis not a dream!
Must seek shelter, as last fading rays flee.
Else Evil shall eat away all of me.
Alone at three doors, one must I dare choose
time counted by roars, beasts coming by two's
door I chose, knocked heaving breath out of me
from stone floor I rose, lost by Fate's decree.
Must seek shelter, as last fading rays flee.
Else Evil shall eat away all of me.
There grew a great tree, it limbs dripping blood
a voice spoke to me, behind me a thud
as vicious beast, its green eyes all aglow
said now I will feast, for my dark to grow.
Must seek shelter, as last fading rays flee.
Else Evil shall eat away all of me.
At tree's huge base, a beauty lay in chains.
fright on her face, near her bloody remains.
prayer said, sword and shield lay at my feet
fight I dread, yet victory was so sweet.
Must seek shelter, as last fading rays flee.
Else Evil shall eat away all of me.
With beauty in tow, upward we both fled
then a blow, as Raven this black-curse said
in chains I have Poe, he you were to free
now you know, will you stay to battle me?
Must seek shelter, as last fading rays flee.
Else Evil shall eat away all of me.
In distant cell, Poe in iron chains wept
saying this is Hell, decades since I've slept
run fast and far, from this place return not
your courage I admire, free what you got!
Must seek shelter, as last fading rays flee.
Else Evil shall eat away all of me.
(Part One Ends)
R.J. Lindley, Jan 8th, 1978, edited- 2-06-2020..
Rhyme, Poe dedication,
( The Battle With Darkness And Raven's Wicked Curse )
Part Two -- To be written.... this year...
New Note, ( 2-06-2020: This old poem was never finished.
Soon I will begin composing part two to conclude this old fragment.
Forty-two years flown by now and I am hoping I get to complete this old fragment.