Long Jerry Poems
Long Jerry Poems. Below are the most popular long Jerry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jerry poems by poem length and keyword.
...A child who’d never know a father
that had deserved him more than she could tell,
knowing that she must lie to her husband,
the truth of it would not end very well.
The moments when she should feel only joy,
she just felt despair she could not avoid.
The weight of it all pushed Whitney to drink,
she hid it well, since Jerry worked a lot,
the au pair did most care for the baby,
since inside Whitney was nagged by dark thoughts,
she’d see her youngest, and think of her loss,
then call the au pair, and hand the babe off.
This pattern went on for about a year,
all of her family noticed the grim mood,
Jerry did his best to cater to her,
but despite this Whitney didn’t improve,
when, despite her kids, everything seemed wrong,
when in her own life she didn’t belong.
It wasn’t suicide that claimed Whitney,
at least it was not the conscious sort,
it came when she’d exhausted her wine,
and without a thought, went out to the store,
far enough gone that she didn’t realize
that she had no business trying to drive.
Her car was found at the base of a bridge,
she gone so fast she’d burst through the guard rail,
the coroner said she’d died in impact,
when Jerry heard of the news he just wailed,
he may not have held the love of his wife,
but to him she’d been the love of his life.
JERRY
Jerry found himself in a trying place,
alone with three children, one of them young,
working full time to keep everyone fed,
without nannies he would get nothing done.
But even then, his children were depressed,
not understanding the whole of this mess.
He’d never been an emotional man,
but he tried his best to be there for them,
especially their one-year old baby,
who, of course, needed so much attention,
Jerry’s hair turned gray trying to keep up,
and he was still mourning for his lost love.
He managed to find some sort of balance,
some way to keep his kids going through this,
they were the only good this he had left,
the only reason he cared to persist,
alone he had little time for himself,
it did take a toll on his mental health.
He’d no time for dating, didn’t want to,
it still hurt too much to not see Whitney,
all his time was spent with his three children,
there was none left for fun or for hobbies,
Jerry felt himself a shell of a man,
everything was struggle, there was no more plan...
CONTINUES IN PART V.
...Even worse as his youngest grew bigger
he noticed things that had him quite alarmed,
the kid had blue eyes, Whitney’s had been brown,
his were brown too, he could not understand,
his facial features were not like Jerry’s,
he felt things he did not want to believe.
Jerry ignored it as long as he could,
but that dark thoughts just kept building in his head,
not long after his youngest had turned five,
to a doctor the young child was lead,
“Just for a check-up,”Jerry told the lad,
hoping against hopes the results weren’t bad.
But when it came back several weeks later
it became clear the youngest wasn’t his,
he knew that it must be Alan Price,
what other man would Whitney have lain with?
He told not the kid, that would be a crime,
but inside resentment burning in his mind.
He raged at his wife for betraying him,
and Alan Price for destroying a home,
raged at the universe for taking them,
the objects of his vengeance now were gone,
like his wife before, he stared to drink,
and as time went on even more did think.
He’d known of his wife divorcing Alan
back before they had gotten together,
thinking from her place, seeing it all a hoax,
helped him too see the thing all the better,
to be torn between two loves, both alive,
he could see the confusion born inside.
And thinking of Alan, smeared as he was,
feeling so desperate he’d take his own life,
had Jerry been there, and feeling like that,
would he turn down a moment that felt right?
When half the world thought you guilty of rape…
all based on a lie, ruined by such hate…
But understanding only goes so far,
and Jerry needed an object for rage,
this started with a false accusation,
that Jesse Malinche maliciously made,
had that lying not started this all
then none of them would’ve faced such a fall.
Jerry had never been a big gun guy,
in fact most would’ve called him bleeding heart,
but one day he walked into a gun store,
he had no record, or crime he’d had no part,
so there was no reason to stop the sale,
no reason to suspect that he would assail.
That night gunshots were heard at Jesse’s house,
the police came, saw him on the front step,
mumbling madly, his mind clearly gone,
his hands with blood were stained red, and quite wet.
They took him away, found Jesse inside,
dead in her bedroom, with glazed, waxy eyes…
CONCLUDES IN PART VI.
6 years ago, I wrote limericks about 5 PS poets. Today, I've posted
about another 5 and will continue to add more... before 6 years.
I tickled funny bones of five Souper men
So, I gave thought to trying it once again
In the order they replied
My sarcasm was applied
As I gently heckled them with ink and pen
First, Tom Cunningham, who "liked my collection"
To femme limericks he had no objection
But now it's his turn
Tom, forgive the burn
I heard you're headed for a house of correction
Jerry T Curtis said to "keep them coming"
But I think that lately he's been slumming
He's all aflutter
And starts to stutter
When his lady friend starts his heart strumming
Then there is the poet of romance, Tim Smith
His sweet words of seduction are not a myth
I know it to be truth
Don't ask me. It's uncouth
I don't kiss and tell so I'm pleading the fifth
John Gondolf said my limericks made him "chuckle"
His comments are always filled with honeysuckle
But if he wants a date
I'll have to castigate
I have a black belt in the use of my knuckles
"I needed smiles and giggles," said Greg Barden
His poems are flowers blooming in a garden
But some words are couture
Fertilized with manure
Now I guess I'll have to beg for Greg's pardon
The new additions...
Like a brother he comes to my defense
This man wears no guise and has no pretense
Mark Koplin, misunderstood
A modern-day Robin Hood
To me he shines with rays of effulgence
There's a man who took me under his wing
Says what he thinks. Doesn't hold back a thing
Danny Turner, my friend
A helping hand he'll lend
For offering kind words, he's a wellspring
David Kavanagh, true friend from the start
Encouraging advice, he does impart
Throws Monoku lines like spears
I raise a glass to him ~ cheers!
Loyal, his word. A man with a good heart
Canadian, Vaso, we don't see oft
Art doesn't come across as being soft
But has a tender heart
For countries torn apart
His poetic words should never be scoffed
His funny thoughts overflow in a Flood
Terry writes humor that's never a dud
Risque, and sometimes not
His stories have a plot
Rumor has it that he's known as 'The Stud'
Gentlemen, I ask forgiveness for this spoof
My humorous parodies should be the proof
That I like all of you
And don't mind if ya do
Get even in your own limericks of reproof
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
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
This is Wyclef, Refugee Camp (L-Boogie up in here)
Praswell (Praswell up in here, haha)
Lil' Base sittin' up here on the bass (Refugees up in here)
While I'm on this, I got my girl L (ah, ah)
One time (one time), one time (one time)
Ayo, L, you know you got the lyrics
I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him, and listen for a while
And there he was, this young boy, stranger to my eyes
Strumming my pain with his fingers (one time, one time)
Singing my life with his words (two times, two times)
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd
I felt he'd found my letters and read each one out loud
I prayed that he would finish, but he just kept right on
Strumming my pain with his fingers (one time, one time)
Singing my life with his words (two times, two times)
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Yo, L-Boog, take me to the bridge
Whoa
Woah-oah-ah-ah-ah uh, uh
La-la-la, la, la, la
Whoa, la
Whoa, la (ha, ha, ha, ha)
La-ah-ah-ah-ah
Strumming my pain with his fingers (yes, he was singing my life)
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words (whole life, with his words)
Killing me softly with his song
Yo, put your hands together for L-Boogie (strumming my pain)
From the Refugee Camp (yeah, yeah)
(Singing my life) up in here, you know how we do, L-Boogie up in here
Wyclef, Praswell, said L-Boogie up in here
Wyclef up in here
My man Lil' Base (Praswell up in here)
Jerry one time
T Rocks up in here, we got Warren up in here
This is how we (Warren up, up in here, Outsiders up here)
We got Fallon up in here, Mulaney, Mulaney's up in here
(Refugee Camp, Refugee Camp, yeah)
Everybody got a breakin' point kid
And they'll rat on you
The family niggas will rat on you
That's why we gotta be prepared to take whoever out we need
320 has a great bunch working there
They show a lot pride they really care
I personally don't consider any of this work, to me it's all fun
Sweat already pouring from the Warehouse heat and the morning sun
Daine and Nathaniel welcome to a great team
We cover one another on tasks in Warehouse 317
We have the mother of all mothers coming our way soon
Enough fun coming to make you wanna bark at the moon
I am looking forward to the thirty thousand guests
So let's wipe the sweat from our brows and make it look effortless
Monique is going to miss out on this great adventure, Zena is now the one caught in between
Local Purchase stop pulling your hair out, what a great place called Warehouse 317
There is Hezakiah handling the turn ins
He has to be careful and watch the NSN's
Glen handles the Turretts and parts to the shops
Without Wonda and Michael, the production stops
Gabrielle is the Goddess of the Hazmat
Shipping is now on cruise control with Doug there, but we all wear so many different hats
Jerry is the main director of this sometimes circus scene
Under our wonderful big top at Warehouse 317
A manager is only as good as her or his people allow them to be
I am thankful for all who I work with and my extended family
I love where I work and I am so happy to come there every day
All this fun and very good pay
DRMO is handled by Elsa and Fred
This is where all the useless parts are sent
The Carpenter Shop has Jason
That is where they do the packaging and craten'
Tom runs the show at Container Ops
David is in charge of the Turrett Shop
The mechanics have the vehicles coming in and going out at a tremendous rate
The Shop Clerks keep the ordering and parts requirements up to date
Vehicles to be shipped, Motor Pool is on the scene
But it all starts at my favorite place, Warehouse 317
I am sorry if I missed anyone such as Tammy at Safety, or Miss Lilly at PBO
Overall the operations are under the direction of Rick and Joe
The Front Office Personnel answer the phone
Without them, there would be nobody home
The shipboard stuff handled by Wholesale
Shop's parts handled by Retail
I personally want to thank everyone for all they do
This place could not do what it does without me or you
So I am not trying to be rude or mean
But I must end the saga now, come visit us at Warehouse 317
-Dear, Mr & Mrs Poet-
Do you ever question where it comes from?
This poem's about you, sit down and get a load off
Tranquilize your pen, take heed to the ecstatic applause
The things in life we take for granting, in time get worse
From WHICH' our lives transverse, ascends a deep poetic curse
You write almost everything, rehearsing every living verse
Embezzling words, like Martha Stewart, ---NOT YOURS!
Withdrawing from your substance,
--yielding it to others, who aren't devoted lovers
Spacing your lines, ready for reader's digest,
Educating the mind, like Albert Einstein
You paint a different horizon for the color blind,
Drop a note, forecasting the news, that brings, Spring to mind
Your adrenaline, leaves people with a feel good faint.
At this level, Poet you're better than high speed Internet,
Anything that makes you feel this is the real deal,
Today, you write like there's no tomorrow, borrowing yesterday's clay
Inspiring ink, left to right, feeding the need to breed a poetic degree
Your dramatic dialogue, deserve 'The Peoples Choice award."
I love the sweet audio, when you lowercase every word
It's done so well, hell, let's never capitalize another word
Reaching a point across, when capitalizing every letter,
This is your world, take it, manipulate it, with the perfect stanza
Produce it like a poetic film, imagery, action, CUT it like Jerry Bruckheimer
One day Hollywood will incite a roll, looking for the best poetry soup rhymer
Your tears and affection, you pour on partial paper,
Showing every word you want to enunciate
A SHOULDER-- gone cold, drowning, forgetting the normal way
Writing about the pure religion that meets your light,
A beautiful flower under the moonlight
Hear the bells, Poe wrote about, adding sprinkles to the twinkle in your eyes,
A redolent scent not meant to be forgotten, from Eden's garden
Taking nature, by course, granting her a crown, before slamming us down
I will call her out --The evil and the fury of a goddess, a beast
This is my feast, I welcome you to my jungle, and the outer bounds of time.
If you ever question where it comes from?
Sit down and get a load off, listen---Where's the ecstatic applause?
I'm not afraid to say, -----I'm Proud to be A Poet Without A Cause
by;PD
I do it for fun
Inside The Mysterious Enigmatic Fragmentary...
Mortal Mind Of Matthew Scott Harris
ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Seedy gobbledygook ergot
visibly argot bubbled, burbled, bustled...forth
yea...give garbled, jangled, warbled shoutout
if ye doth render
mug gadabout totally confounding,
this unfettered voluminous confection
ruff lee in toto as sample
doggone freelance gargon
sublime red rover - misaligned with
twenty first century time
emerging, fishtailing, kvetching,
slithering, whipsawing
during springtime
thaw - oozing out primordial slime,
schlepping aboard bissel mishuga train
while kibitizing with longfellow
ghost hosts Bartleby,
thee Herman Hermits,
and Stray Cats caterwauling
scrivener circumlocution showtime
evidences troubadour prima facie
tremendous struggle rustling rational rapport,
ruminating, citing his dismal schooltime
track record muddled, and hence
questing to cobble a rhyme
distilling, harvesting, and
leaching (out pulpy, knotty,
Max Headroom Ancien regime
filmy... gray matter) in realtime,
while strains of Ragtime echo
from late nineteenth century
tin pan alley, nsync, linkedin
cubist, dadaist, existentialist...
mine poetic melange jerry rigs
flashes random discordant phrases
kickstarting hotmail...faintly
analogous to processing quicklime
mucking with abstract alphabetic
mire ranks as playtime
forging whimsical tactical trippy thoughts,
nursing eternal idealistic Earthly peacetime,
worrying away looming mortality,
noshing post death as pastime,
welcomes input and alien abduction – ME,
mine "FAKE" existence, sans charade,
facade, masquerade onetime pantomime,
no second act allowed, nor
revising questionable tour de force
I claim NO pièce de résistance, nor overtime,
asper waning game
of thrown away Life
approaches nighttime haven
soon...forever rest in peace
surrendering requisite burnt offerings,
sans (cremated ashes) - meantime
fete grateful dead
scythe lent hoodlums on warpath
to incite bedlam
postprandial mealtime prayer final -
deathly hallowed gleeful grimace
witnessing successful electroshock therapy
of yours truly emotionally frozen
decades long comatose state
thankfully oblivious, when impending
curtain call signals finis!
This is a tribute to those who were themselves
An ode to the incredible minds
Including Hunter S. Thompson and Jim Morrison
Artist born inarguably before their time
This is a write to the rebels
Those who punched authority in the mouth
Bob Marley and Johnny Cash
Belong in this crowd without a doubt
This is an anthem
To those who stand up for their rights
Muhammad Ali, Malcom X, and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
For the Africans led freedoms fight
This is a write
For those who have the voice for the ages
Jerry Garcia, and Jimmy Buffett
Were at their best on the grandest of stages
This is a document
Endowing guitar god immortality
To Stevie Ray Vaughn, Jimi Hendrix, and Dwayne Allman
Their names shall live long after their fatality
Texas Rock Legends ZZ Top
Belong in the guitar god classification
Well into their sixties
They are still rocking stages for this great nation
Pink Floyd is embraced with love
Symbolizing the envied acid trip generation
Singing mellow songs with an especially deep message
Times tarnished by public misinterpretation
I’ve mentioned few
Of the historic minds I hold dear
Though many were lost before I was born
I still shed symbolic tears
Their messages and combined impact
On the generation in which I belong
Often could only
Be broadcast in song
They vocalized their messages
To impact segregation
They sang songs filled with meaning
Often advocating self medication
Their memories are priceless
Even to those they were never to know
Their impact so important
Such a significant path drove
They lived in controversial times
Experiencing events not known to we of today
All we know
Is what our teachers choose to display
Knowledge may be earned
By studying these priceless minds
Listen to their music, read their messages to the world
For you would be so very surprised
This art is non-existent
In this “Bill Mahr” defined era
Rather than banding together, we point fingers
With women finally able to vote, they only worry about their mascara
The efforts of our former sixties/seventies generations
To change our nation has now been proven to have failed
For the future has shown
Their freedom train was to be inevitably derailed
In the beginning there was a word
Which was I, so I couldn't be alone
So I flied, reminiscing about those days with boom box's
and listening to slow jams,
Dancing to tunes oh the beauty in that thou,
thee shall not if thee shall won't,
The days, I was flying like Peter pan
Shouting "who wants to be old when you can be young and have fun"
But time hits us all!
so we keep spinning the wheel of fortune
to being catapulted out of our own imagination,
So we throw a quarter just to start over,
Knowing if we go back will lose our chances of being equal
The early days, once upon a time
When we were animals,
When we were black
Now we Africans, just reminiscing!
We will ever be humans, im just asking ?
Days go by, but im just playing records
To cassettes so im rewinding,
Back to the 80s,
my previous incarnation
Before the whole revolution,
so im skipping tapes,
playing with stones instead of toys no money,
it was kept behind the curtains now its out in the open,
sadly thee open the vault thee shall close,
This is more like Thanksgiving so lets enjoy the feast,
a whole family of guests I guess that's what happens
when you leave the door open and the windows closed,
All you have is an opportunity but no vision,
So they pull the strings,
man I'm just reminiscing about those days
we used to watch puppets,
those monsters on the screen,
The Sesame street
Ranging from care givers to cookie eaters,
Coated with red and some blue
they taking over the neighborhood,
To the frog, that's always being chased so the hood
could never have a prince, so we can never be saved,
man I'm just reminiscing,
The early mornings
Waking up to the rising sun
Now it just rains and rains
So I stay indoors, heater lit up
Guess who's feeling all warm and cozy
My fuzzy cat Elfie, that feline!
Reminds me of Tom in the cartoon series Tom and Jerry,
Oh boy! those were the youthful days
running around in circles dodging the system and its obstacles,
To being in church with Mary
Begging to Jesus can't you share your mom,
since that day i remember it as Merry Christmas
something like Mother’s day
déjàvu now its Sunday and I'm listening to slow jams,
going through all that again.