Long Jimmy Poems
Long Jimmy Poems. Below are the most popular long Jimmy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jimmy poems by poem length and keyword.
Froth
by Odin Roark
Come
Be my operator
Me your camera
Medium shot
Lower Manhattan sidewalk café
He in Armani suit accented with Ferragamo tie
She with Jimmy Choo and Prada outfit
Both with Latté and croissant
Low angle
Bottom of refuse chute
Zooming up through food trash
Hurtling downward
Tortillas
Rice
Chinese vegetables
Big Mac wrappers
Wide angle
Textile floor
Sewing machines
Steam pressers
Dark skin
Yellow skin
Back to back
Fans whirling
Sweat flying
Finishing food break
Quickly down the chute
Garbage
Traveling
Into subway car
Dark skin
Yellow skin
Heads bowed
Exhaustion at end
Night
Manhattan
Armani and Prada
Dancing
Drinking
Rolled $100 bill snorts
Night
Bronx
Yellow skin
Dark skin
Fire escape mattress
Bathtub mattresses
Wall to wall
Families on straw mats
Domestic fights next door
Depriving sleep
Night
52 floors up
Skyline view
Moonlit bedroom alight
Prada with Eye mask
Armani with face scrub plaster
Seashore CD lulling sleep
Wide
Night shift
Congressional mailroom
Rows of paper-shredders
Reams of documents
Header – “Minimum Wage Proposal”
Pages upon pages
Shredding into recycle bins
Low angle
Nightstand projection clock
Ceiling lit up with 4 AM
TV comes on
BBC morning stock report
Armani raises head from pillow
Puts on glasses
Stares at TV screen
Removes glasses
Manually turns off TV
Spoons Prada
Sunrise
Bronx studio apartment
Chinese family lines up
One bathroom
15 readying their day
Wide
Textile floor
Steam building up
Hundreds of idle sewing machines
Prepared
Close shot
Espresso foam machine
Latte cups waiting
Froth filling the frame
Tranquil spaces as we wander through the park,
the heat oppressive.
The zebras herding sheep like the watchful alpaca,
yet there are no predators
A motley selection of animals in one space - domestic and wild,
they congregate without care - used to the human spectator,
wildebeests, cows, impalas and sheep.
Following the path the giraffe monopolise the horizon,
tall and graceful,
relaxed as we approach.
Almost like a petting zoo,
although close proximity is fine,
but never so close to touch.
Gorgeous - they do not run,
just continue to eat,
withstanding our presence.
The boat ride to Crescent Island Naishaiva
The boat ride through the hippo lagoon
docile and poised
yet dangerous
never too close to these animals
as they are unpredictable
and temperamental
and will turn at any time.
wet and silky they watch the watchers pass,
and sink beneath the surface.
The boat man Jimmy, who indecently
bought an English dictionary to teach himself how to speak English,
buys 4 fish.
Lovingly calling them:
the grandma, mother, sister and (me) the baby - hilarious.
One for each of us,
and then takes the boat to the fishing eagles and whistles.
Impressive - the Eagles come,
dive for the fish and fly off to dine in the tree.
Again and again he whistles - flights perfection.
The dive, the talons as they wrap around the fish,
a dance of feasting off the surface of the water.
One rejected, one stolen by another
the food chain at its finest.
Magnificent to watch - a highlight of the adventure
The teacher was trying to figure it out
She was brand new, and optimistic
Fresh and ready to educate her first graders.
She had prepared all summer and was organized.
They came in and sat down, all sparkly
With clean expectant faces, and great attitudes.
A few knew each other, most did not.
She introduced herself; it felt like a terrific start.
William a most annoying student kept trying to talk over her.
He was taller then the others, he looked eight.
The rest of them were six and seven.
She noted his red hair.
He reminded her of someone.
She felt more annoyed every second.
He was a class clown who made lots of jokes.
He did not take first grade seriously.
By Wednesday she realized who William reminded her.
He looked a lot like an pesky classmate of her childhood
Jimmy, a child who bullied the other children
She tried to find something she liked about this child.
Gave him many chances, finally began focusing on his positives.
Any time he did anything that was halfway on task, she complimented him.
William changed from angry and defensive to excited about school.
He became a student who wanted to please his teacher.
His classmates began to like having him around.
Jimmy Doyle Wright
Born: 7/29/1948 Died: 4/4/2016
Written: by Tom Wright
Jim was a loving, husband, father, and brother;
Who will be remembered by most for his wit.
Jimmy’s life began like a breeze
Whispering through thirsty grass,
And terminated like a wagon wheel
That was two years dry of grease.
Warring with death, he became,
Battle hardened as a Bois d’arc tree;
The bloodier his prognosis became,
The more abundant were his sharks;
Not once, did his witticism submit to pain,
Nor did he lose faith as he battled.
But when time runs out clock hands stop,
All things, too soon, come to an end.
* 2nd Timothy 4:7
Jim has plowed his field
And now his harness hangs in the barn.
Tom
Prodigious;
Remarkable or impressive in extent, size or degree.
Prodigious;
Archaically unnatural or great abnormally.
The difference between, only being slight of hand.
Biblical in proportion as before the great flood,
The living grieved must now take an archaic stand,
Banish this dead philanthropist anointed with blue blood.
Publically giving throughout his life;
He fooled the common-man and even the queen.
Cleverly masking the innocents' strife,
His death revealed gifted garishness unseen.
While knighthood is a living order that death takes away;
The Whitehall committee possesses the power empanelled.
Emboldened by the servile multitude willing to flay,
Jimmy Savile's many years of prestige must now be annulled.
Operation Yewtree Contest Sponsored by Catie Lindsey 03/09/2018
I am a working class
woman
"with a heart of gold
in a complicated time"
It happened when
I fell in love
with Jimmy Barnes
and his extraordinary lyrics
that remind me
what it feels like to be alive.
I am not celebrating
the midwestern sky.
Mine is the southeastern sky.
I try to find
the sunset
on my better nights.
I am still
"mad at Uncle Sam"
I continue dancing
to a dusty song
that should be reconsidered
and listened to on repeat.
I won't fall into the habit
of consistency.
I will live on the edge
and feel the coughs
of broken rhythm
and relish in life.
Dinner is leftover
spaghetti.
Throughout my life I’ve had the privileged of listening…
without interference of confusion
to a diverse and varied and melodic musical suffusion
From a host of animals…dogs, cats, birds and dolphins
to the subtle flutter of a butterfly’s wings or the buzzing of the bees
From the waves of the ocean crashing on the shore…
to the whisper of the wind through the trees.
I’ve listened to a host of musical genres…from Bach to the Beatles
all who’s virtues I extol…
From country to folk to reggae to the blues….
everything from Jimmy buffet and Motown to rock and roll.
Time seems to stop when I’m listening to music
I can’t put my finger on the why or the how…
but when I’m tuned in to the music of life
as the Buddhist say…
there…is only now.
Music has a way of permeating the body
of finding it’s way in…
It not only enters through our ears
but is absorbed in through our skin
It echoes from within us…then settles
never to depart…
For once it’s found its way inside…
it makes a home within our heart
Yes, I’ve been blessed to love all types of music…
some of the tunes have faded away…
others often repeat…
and I imagine by listening go the music of life
is where my heart discovered its beat.
John Deere riding lawn mowers in fields of high grass
can sometimes be cruel to small creatures that live within.
My brother, Jimmy, twelve years old at the time,
noticed a puff of fur fly out from the side of the green beast
as he ran screaming and flailing his arms at my father.
With tears running down his cheeks,
Jimmy searched the surrounding area for other rabbits
that he could secure away from the rotating blades.
He came upon the brood of new born bunnies that
must have been the offspring of the clump of fur
now nestled in the shreds of grass.
My father tried to explain to Jimmy the futility
of trying to save four newborn rabbits,
but Jimmy would not listen as he removed his shirt
and placed the four, still furless, wet bunnies inside.
At twelve years old, Jimmy had already saved
the life of a robin from the mouth of a stray cat;
raised frogs from tadpole eggs found in the small
pond of water formed in tire tracks down the old dirt road;
helped our pet dog deliver a litter of eight puppies;
rescued a butterfly cocoon from a fallen branch;
and nursed back to health a box turtle ran over by a car
on the road in front of our house.
With a shoebox full of grass, a light bulb for warmth,
and an eyedropper of milk, Jimmy stayed with those
bunnies day and night.
As days slipped by, eyes opened; a bigger eye dropper was needed;
lettuce was introduced to the shoe box; and furless bodies
became covered in a soft brown fur coat.
Jimmy was never one to become too attached to his patients;
he did not do what he did to try to add to his menagerie of pets.
When he was confident that the bunnies were ready to live on their own
he began his long hike into the fields, far removed from John Deere tractors,
farmers, cats and dogs; and, released the four, healthy bunnies into the world.
Twenty years later, no one was able to do for Jimmy
what he continuously did for the creatures that he so loved and adored.
We lost a good man that day. May he rest in peace.
It had something to do with American hostages in Iran was all I knew.
Some political complication that required a showing of the flag.
But Iran had been our ally? I’d seen their sailors train at our base,
And their uniforms looked even nicer than ours.
Now they were the enemy? OK. I don’t ask questions.
It hadn’t been my habit to think above my pay grade,
Or grasp beyond the sphere of parochial concerns.
I was there to serve my country. “Ask not…” and all that nonsense.
Nor had I questioned the tenure of Ferdinand Marcos,
With his beautiful island nation under martial law,
His wife holding all their shoes hostage.
Like the Shah, I’d been told he was one of the good guys.
It was a cold war.
I hadn’t yet questioned a lot of things.
I was there to serve my country,
Not a common motivation in the post-Vietnam disco era,
When civilians didn’t thank you for your service,
But rather branded you a loser
For giving up your freedom in order to take orders from others.
But that’s why it’s called the service, duh!
Thank you, America. Thank you all to hell.
Well, during our time on Gonzo Station,
Records were set for time underway.
Kelly’s wife divorced him.
Thompson’s had a kid that wasn’t his.
Jimmy Liquor lived up to his name
And was ordered into drydock, just like so many others.
Gypsy Joe Pilotti died of an overdose.
Airman Dillon was sentenced to life for dealing.
Operation Eagle Claw ended up
With Desert One a total cluster f*ck.
I had the feeling things weren’t on the level.
I felt I’d earned the right to ask questions and seek answers.
So, my Iliad was ended, and my Odyssey began.
We spent the Holidays together,
Jimmy was a great guy always
welcoming his guests at the door;
Barbara was his wife: a fine lady
with gentle and affectionate ways...
her kindness touched us tenderly!
When tragedy stroke she sought solace in us,
and we hugged her and comforted her;
losing her husband to a stroke was a tragedy
and herself being ill tried to subdue his memory,
by not weeping, until the tears returned
reminding her that her sweetheart was dead...
as she sadly stared at those whithered lilacs!
At the wake, she stood by her husband's coffin
and whispered, " They took my darling away
from me: he was all I had and all I ever have! "
We stood next to her grieving with deep commotion,
tears released much pain and invited us to pray:
death didn't weaken us, we sought strength from love!
Before we left the funeral home, she thanked us
for being her friends in such sorrowful moments;
we could tell that her grief was alleviated by our sympathy;
yes, our presence lifted her loneliness and anguish momentarily!