Long Lie low Poems
Long Lie low Poems. Below are the most popular long Lie low by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lie low poems by poem length and keyword.
Bank robber Jim was one unlucky bloke
Went to draw his gun but the holster broke
It dropped on the bank floor
And went off with a roar
The shock was too much and he had a stroke...
Though he was unconscious he hadn't died
Woke in a coffin for his final ride
In a desparate bid
Banged on the coffin lid
But all he could hear was laughing outside...
Written 17th June 2021
Then someone shouted can you hear banging
It was quite faint because folks were singing
The sheriff prised off the lid
And he was so glad he did
Because he thought we'll have us a hanging...
Jim didn't know whether to laugh or cry
Resigned himself to the fact that he'd die
Saw sheriff holding a rope
Realised there was no hope
And for unlucky Jim the end was nigh...
He was taken to the gallows in town
Handcuffed and wearing nothing but a frown
Jim was then starting to choke
But with the drop the rope broke
The crowd screamed as poor Jim came tumbling down..
Unlucky Jim jumped up quick as a flash
As he passed the bank ran in and grabbed cash
He stole the first horse he saw
Then let out a loud yee haw
And for sweet freedom he made a quick dash...
Written 19th June 2021
A bounty hunter called Nevada Slim
Went after bank robber Unlucky Jim
With tracker Spirit Bear
They discovered Jims lair
And Jim's future was now looking quite grim...
Slim called out "put your hands in the air"
Jim grabbed his gun, Slim said "don't you dare"
But Jim was too fast
And let off a blast
Slim fell dead then Jim shot Spirit Bear...
Jim quickly packed his things and rode away
Thankful that he'd survived another day
He decided to lie low
But what old Jim didn't know
Was that Pinkertons were heading his way...
Jim was sleeping in the afternoon sun
And didnt hear the cocking of a gun
He woke up with dread
Saw guns at his head
And a lawman said "Jim looks like your done"...
Jim was handcuffed and they rode back to town
There to meet them was Sheriff and Judge Brown
The charges were read
Jim nodded his head
Sheriff said " this time Jim you're going down" ...
For Jims last request he asked for a smoke
And noticed the hangman had a new rope
He put a hood on Jims head
Jim dangled then he was dead
An escape this time!, there wasn't a hope...
Written 1st July 2021
RIP UNLUCKY JIM
"Before The Gates Of Alahsar,"
By,
Michael .P. Clarke.
Full Version.
Bardic style.
Chapter..........1..........Part..........1..........1.
Come now, my Lords and Ladies,
listen now to the tale I shall tell,
the ancient tale of the dreamland,
of Alahsar, I lay before you.
look now within your mind's eye,
look on the golden gates to peaceful shrine,
they stand in wonder,
before a city of joy and peace,
a most ancient jewel.
I, your Bard, stand before you,
my words, I am ready to sing,
my beating heart of truth,
it shall beat the tales cadence,
as my words, I do speak.
Oh, Alahsar, your dream forever sung,
I lay it forth, following ancient texts,
come now, my Lords and Ladies,
listen to the tale my heart shall tell.
Never, had there been dark, in Alahsar's jewelled kingdom,
the sky afire, with a golden glow, in a night of lightened twilight,
all night, this sun would lie low in the sky, a golden glory,
this light of love, ever touching the beating heart of Alahsar.
The sun did sparkle off golden pinnacles and minarets bejewelled,
the sun, kissed gold so gently, and golden light did live,
my Lords and Ladies, such a dazzling display of light effects,
forth did come the rainbows of dream's desire.
Upward, ran the virgin white, stone dwellings, of the city,
they did tower to such heights, they reached for the heart of Heaven,
open your minds to the vision, look upward, upward, ever upward,
atop the great city, a golden palace, how that glory did shine.
This was a golden beacon to all, that Alahsar did live,
the city of dream, in its golden coat, arrayed, it did sing dream's song,
from the golden gates below to the golden palace atop, peace and joy did reign,
Alahsar, sing dreams song in majesty.
On the first level, the dwellings of Alahsar's mighty armies,
of the most sumptuous furnishings, they were arrayed,
seem within your minds, soldiers dressed in such regal splendour,
those on duty, they walk proudly. from dwellings to the mighty parapet walls.
They all know nights of passion, in rooms of silken beauty,
primal passion, emitting sighs and screams into the night
communal wash areas were to the rear of these dwellings,
they were behind high walls, built into the rock itself.
To Be Continued...........
Catastrophe of the dry run
The sea, Ice, air, human are rapture
The powerful are brought to ruin
Green horse making this World hot
70% is absorbed in heat
18 degrees Celsius balance the heat
Mighty keeper of water in the lands
Mighty destroyer of Islands
Changing, charging chastising
The atmosphere
I see, I am part of your activities
Burning of coal activities
Carbon emission, 34%. 2020 activities
350,000 in Britain suffered your hands.
65,000 Dominican Republic feel your hands
500,000 in southern California left home to avoid your hand
Denmark gathered the heads cos of your hand.
The heads accept to make peace.
If only it will go to the heart.
Oh mighty one, tell me how to keep peace,
Is it more of vegetation, so I keep peace?
Or keep away carbon dioxide
Nitrous oxide and methane
for peace.
Mighty one, tell me
How you can lie low, for peace
I know I used more than
I put back to you.
Should I have my own forest?
But I know sunspots and solar flares started before me.
REASONS OF WRITING
This poem was writing out of inspiration on hearing and reading how this atmosphere has been badly used and the follow events caused by bad emission to the air, the changing in almost every natural events gave rise and when the heads of states gathered in Denmark to plan for the way forward. It is my contribution on how this atmosphere can be made for a better condition for us all to stay in.
MESSAGE
(1) This poem is a free verse, it run through without break, saying the major event that global warming has cause in the world.
(2) That the heads of states decision in Denmark should be put into practice not mouth say.
(3) That before man (human) started anything sunspots and solar flares started before man
(4) We use more than we put back to nature.
(5) That green vegetations is also a way forward.
(6) Everyman should have his/her own or plant his/her own forest it is possible.
Rampant reckless retrospect rushes
The present blurs in blues
The mistakes of the past make me miserable and low
And so, I give up and the feeling grows
And in wait for time to make things better
I push living further into the later.
I don't know if it's butterflies and sunshine, later
I just hope to pick up pieces, as the time rushes
But do I hope in vain? What is better?
I feel worried so I look into the blues
Of the waves, and the moss that grows
I just give up and lie low
Down as the weed, in the roots I stay, much low
In hopes to remain rooted, even if they mow the green later
And then in good time, a leaf of me grows
And with that the past rushes
Far away into the grey oblivion in the sky of blues
Is that it? Will that be better?
Is living in later or present better?
How do I duck every time and stay low?
Is future colourful or just shades of blues?
And then again, I wait for later,
And with that all my time rushes,
My youth and life is spent, and the autumn grows.
Or do I try, and fight the past clumsily and my present grows
Maybe things will shape for worse or just get better
A calculated risk, but miscalculation in my head rushes
Or as decided, should I stay low?
Or maybe fighting today becomes synonymous to later
The tipping scale of probability plunges me in dark and blues
Is it all clues I look for in my moods of blues
A clue for bliss and happiness, a feeling of numbness grows
Today makes sense, not unpredictable later
If I want to live the best I gotta try to make it better
I have stayed for a long while, down and low
Now with my present I walk, unprepared, wherever it rushes.
And in all the blues, and the running second that rushes
The more low I feel, with actions the strength grows
In hopes of better, if I work now, maybe all I wish comes to me later
Viva la Cordillera de los Andes by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
I’m seized with a mad rage to yell
long live the Andes Mountain Range
may the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain
The reason I can hardly divine
but I can’t hold myself back:
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
For forty full years now
I’ve wanted to step over the horizon,
go far beyond the limitations of my myopia,
but I just didn’t dare.
Now, by no means, Gentlemen
is there an end to my ratiocinations:
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
Have they heard what I said?
There’s an end to my ratiocinations!
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
Doubt there’s none over my lack of response
if they sever my vocal chords
(in such a case as this
it’s almost certain they will)
well, if they do stifle my voice
I would like to say I have no choice
but to accept the dashing of my very last hope.
I am a merchant
indifferent to the positions of the sun
a professor clad in green-coloured trousers
who comes apart drop by drop as dew
an insignificant bourgeois is what I am
in what way do red clouds matter to me?
Nevertheless I appear on balconies
in order to shout out what I offer:
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
Pardon me if I’m going out of my mind
while in the garden made by Nature
but I have to keep shouting till death:
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
In the fascinating life journey of a couple
When clouds darken in their midst all of a sudden
With murky grey shades in their relation purple
Many a storms begin to twirl their souls ‘n burden.
Clouds of hatred billow inside them both,
Nights are full of creaking noises ‘n uproar
Howling winds spread in hearts taunt ‘n loath
Respect is tarred ‘n no rapport is attempted to fore.
Startled winds of ego and jealousy begin to roll
Through enraged corners of mind and heart
Gales of dominance drive faster uncontrol
Thunder of anger spooks their animal spirits apart.
When their egos remain unbent and both do not yield
They tear each other unresent and blow off their tops
Relations start to break and love gets cartwheeled
Pitted against the perpetuating gale of hatred it pops.
Bolts of lightning rip their worlds poles apart
Even gods seem furious and trigger the landslides
Reverberating with ire, the unsettled hearts begin to smart
Drowned in their desperation they lie low in their glides.
After the brutal dazzle, a torrent of tears beat down their cheeks
Drowning their muddied worlds in sorrow and gloom
Flooded, they somehow lose energy to add more obliques
Storm when it weakens later, it gives them some legroom.
After clouds poured empty, they let open up the sky
To both it dawns it would be silly to ignore nature’s reprieve
They pull up themselves and decide to make another try
With whatever bits and pieces left after the storm to retrieve
It is easier to get over nature’s storms of wind and rain
But difficult to revive sunshine of relations once sullied
Not easy to repair vivid scars of the stormed souls that remain
Hope and renewed love of twain may get differences buried.
Date: 1/7/2014
Contest: Storms by Shadow Hamilton
Admirable Almights all I ask appreciatively allow me to attain,
be beyond bourgeois breeding ballads for the brain.
Create colloquialisms that cast competently into chimeras,
directing dramatists with doubtful determinations to
delightful dactylic discriptions.
Edible expressions that exite eyes and ears,
by freely forming a firm fire you'll flog any frigid forlornness fear.
God glorifies the good, my given gift Godsent thee,
my hardihood's husky, heart hungover with honesty.
I inscribe impenetrable insights, my individuality's
inanimate without improvisation,
other jaws jabber jargon jokingly, my journalistic journey's
like Jesus's justifications.
I know to keep with Christ a close kinship,
lie low then leap to light life is limited.
Maturing moderately I molded motives to mentally
manufacture music,
now naturally notions are necessary, abnormal novelistic natuarlist.
It's obvious this optimist ovulates obscure poetic offsprings,
perception pastel's perfectly personify the pen pusher's
potentcy passionately.
You're quasi qualified like Franz Kafka no question,
respectable written reflection ramble rampant even while resting.
Some scorn and show sentiment towards sonnets I've
scriptured successfully,
the toungue-tied troubadour tallies towering totals of
synchronized terms intentionally.
My untimatum is ultimately unrivaled when using unbreakable
utensils,
my voice vibrates vigorously, visionary with a victorious view.
Why waste what you wrote, wake up, wonder in a writer zone,
poems have vibes like a xylophone.
Heart young, yearn for God 365 times a year,
my zodac is wrong, attitude zealous.
Form:
Unquotable quotes - I
A friend in need is the goon who stokes your greed.
A journey of a thousand miles ends with the last broken step.
Don’t kill the brother-in-law until the sister is dead.
Butter your toast on either side to lick hands.
Hang not the hangman with noose: you’ll lose booze.
Half a loaf is better than no love.
Even a blind cat can smell a rat that bells the cat.
Take care of the pounds and the wife will pound you.
Take the load off your own fat.
Shoot to kill only if you can’t stand still.
Slow and steady are two legs in a sack race.
A marksman is the marked man’s also-ran.
A blacklisted writer is on every publisher’s reading list.
A dime a dozen is no denizen.
He who cries thief knows no mischief.
Turn coat and capsize boat.
A snake in the grass may miss Mass but is full of grace.
Early to bed catches the worm.
All that glitters cannot be sold.
Immolate yourself to moult your soul.
Even if you’re forced to burn your boats, fly by air.
Where there’s a will, there’s no giving way.
Run also with the hares and the hounds will eat you.
A little knowledge makes the master grin.
Birds of a feather share the same tailor.
Don’t judge a woman with a book by its covers.
If you kick a can down the street, empty it first.
What burns up and out is the gas in the gut.
A stitch in time saves kith but not kin.
Forewarned is foredamned.
Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, just lay them.
If the hens begin to crow, the cocks will lie low.
If you pour oil on troubled waters, Mid-East will dry up.
Still waters run in sleep.
Parallel lives never meet or greet.
© T. Wignesan - Pris, 2016
When my heart is lonely,
And fear beseeches me,
Then ‘protector’ is the synonym for you...
Then only do I discover
That you are there with me...
When my soul is crying,
Over heart clenching tragedies,
Then you are the only consoler I seek...
Then only do I remember,
That you are there with me...
When my mind is tired
Of running day in and day out,
Then you act as an elixir of life...
Then only am I satisfied,
That you are there with me...
When I feel earth-bound,
Then you are the brain to tell me,
That flight is yet to be discovered,
Then only do I feel determined
that you are there with me...
When I feel like a bud,
Ready to blossom,
like a new born star
Ready to shine,
Then you are the one to remind me
that there is room for more...
Then again, do I realise
that you are there with me...
When my heart is elated,
Of having achieved everything
from dreams to fantasies,
Then you are the one to tell me to lie low,
That a bird also needs,
some earthboundedness
Then only do I feel re-assured
that you are there with me...
And when failure revisits,
You are the one to tell me
that brightness dawns
only after the dark of the night,
Only then do I feel,
re-enclosed in your warmth,
that you there with me...
And then one day,
I aspire to regain everything,
And make you proud,
That you were my creator,
Then do I see
your hands held up,
To shower blessings on me...
Then only do I feel
That you are there to bless me...
You are my GOD...
Form:
Lie low when convenience calls
Stick out your neck at optimum moments
To climb and scale high social walls
As you swerve away from avoidable torments
To shunt aside a servile lifestyle
Predicated on premises so thin
You risk to frisk and whisk green bile
If you hobnob with characters so mean
They drive you into a ditch
Where awash with confusion and indecision
You struggle to make a switch in the stitch
That misses the fabric from which a fusion
Mixes and waxes fact and fiction to forget
Why for a while you chose to lie low
How you determined it wasn’t worth pursuing the target
You once thought you knew lay in row
Number one at the behest of fairness
Until you perceived much water under the bridge
Had gone by to cede room to meekness
Grown more significant outside the fridge
Where belief in necromancy
Blew a hole in the knowledge base
That inadvertently fed sycophancy
Deemed significant in the case
You strove to consider for possible inclusion in the novel
You contemplated writing
But gave up when it became clear your sleep in a Kafue National Park rondavel
Lit up and rekindled your fighting
Spirit to reject out of hand
The notion that social associations grow cold
When you openly take a stand
Against attitudes that strike the prude as too bold
To contemplate
Too weak to make a lasting impression
Too forward to merit a serving of caviar on a silver plate
And too silly to warrant a mention in a poetry recital session.