Long Limb Poems
Long Limb Poems. Below are the most popular long Limb by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Limb 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.
I am but an ordinary woman resting in my easy chair after a long day of work.
However I am about to transform myself into a great explorer.
I travel through the many realms of space and time all from the safety of home.
My journeys cost me nothing but time spent in their enjoyment.
I close my eyes tightly to contemplate whom I shall visit this night.
Shall I sup with King Arthur and the knights of the table round as bards entertain,
Or feast on nectar and ambrosia with Zeus and Hera on Mount Olympus?
I could feel the angst of Cyrano’s unconfessed love for Lady Roxanne,
Or that of souls from Poe’s pen with his mocking raven quote it “nevermore.”
Choose to learn the life cycle of the bee, lion, or bear through a scientific work,
Or fly through space on a star ship with the creator of a masterpiece of science fiction.
I can recapture the whimsy of childhood while chasing cars with Clifford the big red dog,
Or take a brisk run with Pooh and Tigger through the hundred-acre wood.
I may celebrate glorious new beginnings with Mother Mary and Baby Jesus,
This holy birth portrayed forever within our sacred Bible.
I might also choose to contemplate death along with Caesar during his last moments.
Only the playwright Shakespeare could portray these with such tragic effect.
I may discover the secrets of gourmet recipes from master chefs,
Or learn how to sew a patchwork quilt of old fashion.
Vicariously visit the culture and religion of various peoples,
Or study the history of my fellow Americans.
Maybe I should check the financial reports to see how the stock market is doing,
Or it might be pertinent to examine the latest advances in law.
Let me discover the origins of favorite words in a volume of etymology,
Or distinguish quartz from quartzite whilst leafing through a book of gemology.
Books, yes volumes hold the secret keys to my voyage,
It is they that conduct me each night worldwide exploring.
I need not to plan ahead pack luggage or gather tickets,
Fore when I wish to escape this world a book is always close at hand.
I may travel safe and undisturbed through numerous times and places,
And leap out of one adventure headlong into the next without moving a limb.
When I am weary from the road or have chased enough beasts as warier fine,
I simply mark my place, fold the pages together gently, and retire to sweet sleep.
GROWING UP THE PAST RUNS DEEP
Growing up in the village..
days before electricity arrived
when i used a kerosin lamp..
as i browsed through volumes..
volumes of literature..
Till my eyes would turn dry..
and i would feel dizzy...
for not changing my reading poster
screaming nerves accussing mi..
i stood accussed of abuse
by my own senses..
Sweet sleep would fall over me..
the novel dropping..
from mines limb hands
dreaming of strange lands..
Oh the joy of addiction..
i was hooked to good stories
Evading peers to catch up
on a book.. didnt i love escapism
negleting schoo work... now thts dumb..
negleting sports and exercises wasnt i hooked
the past is deep i spent a lot of time..
reading make believe stories
Moving to the east coast town..
after finishing forth...
i fell in love with movies
and became an enemy of the books
a great movie i watched..
robbed of my immagination
Rushing over meals
running to catch a new movie
my brother michael...
sneezing allrgies of the polluted cities..
i was missing village life..
Strange swahili culture..
christian, muslims, arabs africans
strange foreigners,, i have this-
against them most of them didnt seem
to love clothes.. yet the others
covered to their eyes..
Mwadhini calling the faithful to prayer
christians holding week long crusades..
here the battle was for souls
or was it the offerings
strange swahili culture..
drinking strange palm wine..
such was the life at the coast
New friends trying to revert me to islam..
elders remmindim me not to forfeit..
the wisdom of our people..
borrowed clothes dont fit well..
and customs and traditions..
are the mirror of society..
No where were my beliefs challenged more..
they called me almukafirun...
i retaliated youre a zailim..
didnt we love the enlightening debate
softening of stands..
proponent and opponent reached common ground...
The bond of friendship and culture
breakin down- them
cultural religios barriers
friends and gal friends from all religions
people at the coast are very freindly
and salaams greetings a way of life..
Stories of jinn and black majic
we knew not to give much-
credence.. there of the disbelivers
we believed in the onness of the supreme..
debated on tenacles of faith..
for the bond of love runs deep
and the past is deep..
by lewis k nyaga
Now gather around, ye lusty lads, a tale I'll tell to thee
Of jealous Gods, monsters and ill-fated men who sailed the sea.
My tale is set in hoary times when fickle fate was by divine decree.
Then men were men who faced all odds, much sturdier than you or me.
It was the time when the Trozans fell, King Priam's pride was turned to dust,
Odysseus' ruse of Trozan Horse, made him of the God's accursed;
For Apollo's faith was crushed by heel of Grecian fleet,
And rape and pillage, with lust and greed, was rampant on the street
But fair Odysseus, with wanton fill, mindful of the weep and wail
With his Grecian hordes and a dozen ships to Ithaca did set sail
With hope-filled heart, with fair Penelope and Telemachus in mind
His course to fair Ithaca was charted and well and truly defined.
But fate, I did say, was most fickle-minded, and had deviously contrived
A fate which would try their grit and test how they fought, and survived.
And so the ships driven willy-nilly by the North Westers and South Easters
Drove them by predetermined chance to the Land of the Lotus Eaters.
The Lotus Eaters were a race which the world forgot in their drugged state
With food of the Nelumbo, of a species time forgot, but did their hunger sate,
And drugged their minds to exclusion of world, to family, and other cares.
Odysseus , abstinent was he,, dragged them back on board, with crew unawares.
Thence post-haste did the ships set sail and sighted fair isle with fatted cattle,
Fair game for stocking provisions, but first a Titan Cyclops they had to battle.
Odysseus, full of guile knew that force would lead to hapless naught,
So crept he in, midst cattle din, and there sleeping Polyphemus sought.
And there as the Cyclops soundly slept, blinded his eye, which was but one.
Polyphemus, Titan, unbeknownst to Odysseus, was Poseidon's beloved son.
With prideful boast Ithacan King, in derision his name did daringly decree.
Wild with rage, and dreadful pain, did Polyphemus call his father from the sea.
Deeply hurt at deceit and guile by which the Grecians blinded his offspring,
Poseidon did curse and said, " May stormy seas and whirly winds calamity bring"
So tossed about were the dozen ships, windblown and tossed on heaving seas.
With heavy heart and tired limb went they to Aeolus, the Wind God there to please.
~11 Jun 2016~
The crone can hear the children's laughter, cold as ice
And they exclaim out "witch", not thinking she can hear
Their parents then admonish, "Try to be quite nice."
Upon her thin, emaciated form they leer
Of love forbidden she has paid the awful price
Malicious magic powers all the children fear
She only wears black, mourning each and ev'ry day
Her world is full of dismal, somber shades of grey
She loved a wealthy cultured handsome gentleman
But she had not the clothes nor proper pedigree
And never would be issued any wedding bann
For poverty did not amuse his family
When finding herself great with child of his, she ran
She felt displaced, just like a dead uprooted tree
In bleak back alley child unwanted disappeared
No chance immoral tainted peccant child be reared
Although she lost her core, her heart, her soul, her mind,
She wandered dazed and crazy back to town she knew
Her fam'ly said, "We never have produced your kind."
There was no place to go and nothing left to do
But after mournful agony she came to find
Satanic powers very evil she would rue
She met the incubi in wooded forest glen
Although she knew it was an awful, grievous sin
Her soul and body raped by evil forces bold
Instilled in her the seeds of their foul awful pow'r
That grew more potent as she grew extremely old
Demolished, shattered self continued still to sour
Her sterile body, now quite barren, grew ice cold
A vile vexatious tongue lashed out at all each hour
Thus she became a bitter venomous old hag
While dressed in filthy clothes; on head, a dirty rag
She met a fine genteel young man, so good and kind
A person reaching out to all in charity
Attempted making better lives where he could find
He wanted human folk achieving parity
However, he had never met an evil mind
The succubus seduced his soul with clarity
She crippled psyche; took his cash, his bonds and stocks
Her languid lips convinced him caged; no keys for locks
Then when the moon was full one night, she murdered him
Around his vile demise all sorts of tales arose
She had dismembered rigid corpse each limb by limb
Disposed so very well of ugly bloody clothes
The whole ordeal had been a gratifying whim
Upon his naked body set a blood red rose
His corpse was never found; base tales do not abate
Today she suffers vile result of cruel fate
To be a polylepis tree you gotta know
You're a polylepis tree & this knowing
Cements by being a polylepis tree,
Knowing between diagrammatic cracks
Fork'd already info knowing during descent.
Mud run through alpine meadow. Rubberized
Crunch on ruddy paths, rucksacks looped,
Deltoids, silly sound serious bulge spine
Ached before leaning away to swallow,
Sepia bark holding his musculature;
Paparazzi march out crimped edges
Of fungi, sussed then left together.
Glottal ribbing. Skeumorph thread
Discs, spades, b-side timpani under eaves.
Copper sheaves, wine burning in cups
Thickening until dark brown oozes
At a lesser velocity, blown eardrum,
Given the climaxes of greater viscosity—
Green epiphytic ferns stitch airy
Misconceptions (soil, root), the drawing in,
& expulsion, the search for a golden
Arboreal rat. A tunnel-maker
Said to be densely populated in woods
Near-gone to potato farms, cattle,
The absent lecture, then, on survival plastic
Spool of thread glued to the back
Drawn in a thin white line, followed
For ur-experiment, hundreds of feet
Climb up the lateral limb, down, dug under
Grass, tunneled, then over miniature crick,
Through nodule floor-sponge, a wetland,
A watershed for a whole valley, to grass
Again, below, finding elaborate nests but
The rat escaped, the sinewy string left.
A choreography misses it, an instinct
Closest but dull, so a blind sight in high
Sun, a canopy growing at itself not up,
Sift, shrift, the want to lay down before
Night freezes the water inside the air.
A return at night to the espeletia, giants
Sunflowers shocked by moon, switch-backs,
Doing Zs, squared, cubed to the tenth clouds
Departing, something horribly there not
Constellation no not a galaxy those are
Not things let them not be where’s the
Name laying in the grass, alpine creekline
Eschatological curvature, mutter, murmur,
A yellowing light flung, the cold how they
Open little air, the screaming sleeve, there!
Of not-this this, in it, out it, here & away,
Something recalled, what a string, rat,
What ways you move, only that body,
No containers for the humans so the sea
Could get that travel-manic blue, sworn
To make another moon of it, another go,
Unfixable, in need of fixing, air adjust,
An alkalinity expectant, a Sulphur rain,
Chattering cargo setting fire to night.
So once again, with grim countenance, the ship sailed on with all bemoaning their woes
Till calm seas prevailed, with balmy sun, sweet zephyr song, they came to Helios' shores.
Helios, calm god of the day, smiled upon the lads, gave of his land free rein, but with a caveat-
Helios pride was his golden herd, indolent and fat,"Do what you will, but don't touch that"
Well, as was their wont, like a terrible refrain, full-weathered from woes and want, but yet unwise,
The crew, overcome by gluttonous greed, slaughtered a heifer, for raucous feast, not sacrifice.
Wild was Helios at this blatant deceit, with terrible curse, banished them all, to wander once again.
So with Helios' curse (and Neptune's help), the ship was tossed and soon lost, all crew were slain.
It was Odysseus alone who was alive, afloat on flotsam, floating about, with fervent wish of death
But sweet surcease was not his lot, more plight was his fate - his tryst was due with Charybdis yet.
Perhaps Scylla was a better bet, in it's slavering jaws a definite death, I think he'd rather have it
But caught he was in Charybdis' thrall, a vortex which ate him whole, and threw him out as spit.
Past the maelstrom's outer whirl was our hero tossed clinging to life's last hope, verily a straw
Floated, the wasted carricature of a man, denied of food and water, no sustenance he could draw.
But perchance the Gods smiled on him, wearied of their devious, puerile games going too long
Odysseus fell on land once more, where restored were life and limb, bewitched by Calypso's song.
Now Odysseus, all said and done, was a man vulnerable to worldly women's wanton wiles
And Calypso was full besot with our hero's lusty frame, his wit, his deeds and charming smiles.
For seven years did he taste bliss, ensconced in Calypso's arms with thought of home amiss
But one day, after seven years, did Caypso, with heavy heart, let him go on pleas of our Hermes.
From Calypso's isle did Odysseus sail on raft, through storm, as was now his habit, and came to Sceria
Where Nausicca, on Athena's urge, gave succor, till he sailed with Phaecians who had trade with Sumeria
The Phaecian ships soon landed Odysseus on fair Ithacan shores where Penelope had travail,
But my dear laddies, I must hie hence, for the Dawn is nigh, of Penelope and Suitors, is another tale.
Concluded
I Know that I am suppose to be somewhere but not here
I know that I am supposed to be somewhere far away from here
My tears cannot flow and my body cannot grow, my hands are stiff
My thoughts are exploding and there is no space to contain this wealth of knowledge that is overflowing.
I looked at the tree across the street but there was nothing to eat
Except for a hard star apple clenched tightly to the limb. It has been there from last spring but all the moisture has dried out of it but still it has not fallen into the wretched ditch and the men shaving wood in dusty clothes speaking on top of their voices and uttering strange sounds. They don’t know no how to talk and they don’t know how to walk
And the dull machine sitting on its heel making music at high altitude
If you listen carefully there is a solemn message embedded in the sound
The type of music that would make you wants to frown, you don’t hear
Quite often except for when you are in between two layers of something
And a kind of writhing rhythm is beckoning within.
I look up at the sky and everything was clear and the clouds were
Rolling on making way for the unscripted song; my side was clear but the other side was telling me to be aware. The sun peeps out its eye and disappear underneath the forbidden sky the eagle soar with all its glory and wrapping its wings all around me so I felt secure while destiny waits for me at the door.
I know that I am supposed to be somewhere but not here. I have waited for you for so long to help me complete this unbridled song, I have the lyrics, I have the rhythm but the tune is walking around without shoes.
I don’t know soon I will launch and I have to take my cue from the lark
I know I am supposed to be somewhere because I have so much to share
My spirit is yearning for more and time is knocking on my door
I am deprived of fresh air and this suffocation has been going on for many years. The mosquitoes are feeding on my flesh and I am almost out of breath. It is this downtrodden feeling I get when you are not around
The feeling of emptiness and longingness that is crawling all over my flesh but hope kept smiling at me and dragging me to my destiny.
I know that I am suppose to be somewhere but not here
I know that I am supposed to be somewhere and I am waiting for you to come and take me there.
I took a walk along the old country road looking desperately for a story that is not yet told, I search in the bushes and the trees but there was nothing waiting for thee.
The morning with its bright petals gleaming in the clouds and an army of birds swarm the sky moving around in slow motion communicating with the big birds on the ground and I watch them flying all around.
Something was going on, but I could not understand so I took a walk on the beach and saw thousands of birds gathered on the shore holding court and keeping a conference on the sand.
There was nothing to write about, so I continued my journey in the woods until I found a squirrel climbing out of a hole from the tree, its eyes move quickly around and for a split second it stares directly at me and hurried quickly down the tree and ran in the bushes.
I looked around to see what I could find but nothing was there except rows and rows of trees and the water flowing from a nearby stream. I took a deep breath and absorbed the wilderness around and sat on a log that lay across the stream and suddenly my childhood dream came back to haunt me.
It is the solitude that was all around and the braying donkey laden with goods going to town, and the woodpecker making a strange sound in the hole. It sounds like someone was knocking on the door and suddenly the entire place came alive, and the universe whispered in my ears and, said, "you are mine." I looked around to see who it was, but just one bird was standing on the tree limb looking.
I hurried away from that place and went back on the main road and walked a quarter of a mile before I could see any assemble of life; the country dust pushes me on and the rhythm in my feet drag me along; it is the deity that I could not understand, and I contemplate the scale as I journey up the lonely street.
I walked about half a mile and suddenly I broke down and cry; I wasn’t sure what I was sobbing about but the memory of the moose and how it gorges out my wisdom tooth overshadowed me.
Not too far from where I was, I came up on a little country shop, so I stopped to get some water, I walked in, but no one was there, and I saw blood on the counter and a man lying in a pool of blood in the corner.
I held my mouth and scream, and a car came out of nowhere and I suddenly woke up out of the dream.
[Continued from Part Two]
The elder took no notice of risking life and limb.
Hither, thither ran the children, glancing up at him,
while indulging mindlessly in each impulsive whim,
with no apprehension of the future looking grim.
Their chances for salvation seemed increasingly slim…
That aged man’s deep compassion filled him to the brim.
The father knew the children liked any strange device,
exotic playthings, trinkets, whatever would entice.
He needed now to improvise a mode, in a trice,
that could capture their attention— something to suffice
to hold their young imaginations— to be precise,
a mechanism marvelous, no matter the price.
He had stores of immeasurable wealth, beyond doubt,
and his warmhearted love was impartially devout.
Just then the elder had the thought that not in the least
would his limitless riches and reserves be decreased,
even if to a kingdom vast he were to dispense
his overflowing fortune… so why shouldn’t he hence
give out his wealth directly to his progeny all,
before the children’s catastrophic deaths should befall?
The aged man reflected on what tactic to pick—
an expedient means that was sure to do the trick.
He told the children of exquisite toys he possessed
along with lots of precious carts of the very best
craftsmanship and quality, that all had been designed
expressly with the youngsters’ own enjoyment in mind.
The elder next, in order to persuade them, stated
that right outside the house at the entrance awaited,
to suit the young ones’ fancies skillfully created
goat, sheep, deer, and ox carts, ornately decorated.
He said that they must rush to leave the mansion, in haste,
and he’d give them everything— there was no time to waste.
Then the children finally fulfilled his desire
and scurried in a race safely out of the fire.
The father beamed with bliss that the urgency had passed.
They had securely left the burning building at last!
When they’d exited and scampered out, they all sat down
on the dewy earth and asked their father, with a frown,
where the toys and carts were that the elder had portrayed
for their own special likings to have been tailor-made.
The youngsters had escaped and the elder’s heart was eased.
But now each one of their capricious wants must be pleased.
[Continued in Part Four]
~ Harley White