Long Luck Poems
Long Luck Poems. Below are the most popular long Luck by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Luck poems by poem length and keyword.
A shell explodes out of the barrel
Of misfortune's gun with a deafening bang.
Unexpectedly pink slipped as he was
Slowly making his way up the corporate ladder;
To use the demotic vernacular, "Laid off."
Poor fellow. He never saw his hard luck coming;
Confronted with a disconcerting reality,
It has rendered him a melancholy shell of a man.
Poof! His dream job vanishes at one fell swoop;
Outsourced overseas. In his wistful eyes,
Utter dejection. His reversal of fortune, cruel.
He doesn't quite know what to do with himself.
It's a tough pill to swallow; he's struggling
To adjust to his grim circumstances.
Sudden joblessness has taken a toll on him.
His saturnine feelings are tough to conceal.
His indigo-hued mood clearly shows on his face.
He's teetering on the precipice of depression
And withdrawn from friends and acquaintances.
A shroud of uncertainty now hovers over him.
His future couldn't look more gloomy.
With his stellar career gone
And mental health dangling on tenterhooks,
Where does he go from here?
Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Date written: 05/26/2023
I never had to go to bed
Hearing gunfire in the night,
Nor had to close my blinds
Against a scary fight.
Although we were not rich
I had enough to eat,
Had decent clothes to wear,
And shoes that fit my feet.
No friend of mine was shot
By someone driving by
Or accosted by a dealer
Who tried to get him high.
No junkies stood on corners
To meet and make a deal.
No sirens and policemen -
No racing tires would squeal.
Our yard was mostly grass,
Not made of dirt and weeds,
Around us not just buildings
But yards with grass and trees.
Those with luck like mine
Should never bear a grudge
When others are acting out -
We’re not qualified to judge.
The glamour of a prestigious school lured her far away..
two years would whizz past, of arduous work,
immersing in books, away from home,
away from her beloved...she assured him.
rushing to the station, he wished her all good luck,
holding a bouquet of Lily of the Nile...she admired !
petals shrivel, flowers wither, the moment does not.
July 27, 2022
Short Verse Inspired By Pictures Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Lisa YY
Picture B:https://www.pinterest.com/pin/578431145904762475/
SECOND PLACE
Just about to launch a new career
Or maybe I should call it a hobby
Dani Spies has certainly caught my attention
With her mouth watering recipes
And easy step-by-step videos to help us along
I'm drooling all over the keyboard as I type
I'm always game to try something new
And of course the payoff at the end is the ultimate reward
Now I hear some of you saying...
"Are you nutso!!! Aren't you kinda old
To be firing off in a new direction?"
My answer to that is this, "I ain't dead am I?
I'm always ready for a new challenge!"
And man, what a rewarding hobby... yum, yum!!!
I'll keep you posted as to how much weight I gain
(ie. one of the annoying side effects!)
Wish me luck all you nice people!
Next thing you know, I'll have my own show on PBS
Entitled "Old Chefs Never Die
They Just Choke On Their Artichokes"
© Jack Ellison 2014
The Poet in His Casket
Well, look at you lying there!
In your brown suit and gold tie.
How I want to hug you now!
You can't be dead, you're only forty
years old!
We lived together till you took a new
wife!
Her name was alcohol and that ended our
happy days and our life.
She was the apple of your eye, she took
all the money and happiness we had!
She destroyed your morals and see, your
once great body,too.
And as for your writing skills?
Out the window they flew.
The world is filled with once innocent,
unaware people like you,
Thinking what's wrong with a drink or
two.
What's wrong is the simpletonian thinking
Is the ignoramus belief
" There's nothing wrong with a drink!"
I tried to control you, how sad in retrospect.
I know far better now!
You never heard of the twelve steps neither
did I!
You are buried in Marin County now.
I try to tell this brief story here.
If any poet here or has a family member
with a problem...
It can end. Not in a grave, no.
I realize he had a disease, full tilt.
Heavy drinkers can quit easily!
Alcoholics cannot, they have a disease
and need help.
Three weeks in rehab for true alcoholics
simply won't cut it.
This is a mental and physical disease,
quite a whopper!
We feel soory for the diabetic or cancer
patient, don't we?
But just Tsk,Tsk, when we see a man or
woman walking drunkardly.
It maybe someone just high for one night.
But for many it's more than than that.
When alcohol is the love of your life.
Know that No person sets out with the
goal to be an alcoholic.
If you love them, keep loving them!
Get to an Alanon meeting if family
Or friend.
You must understand the disease if you
truly love them.
Best wishes, good luck and indeed, that
poet in the casket was my husband, indeed.
The last time I saw him, he recited a
poem dedicated to me.
And now that poet....is history.
Forever lost to me, living in eternity.
Panagiota Romois
5/22/2019
7:15 pm
I have no idea what you are facing in this segment of life
You are like a labyrinth; I can’t untangle the mayhem without any clues
Spill out your emotions…there’s a waterfall in your eyes ready to collapse
I don’t have the time and willpower to hike on your colossal mountain
Are you fit enough to climb with my echoing praise?
I doubt I ever have the strength to crawl into your agonizing thoughts
Of destruction and decadence
Of despondent dreams and isolated guidance
Do you accept my benevolence towards you?
Do you believe that I can mend your shattered dreams?
Do you accept my fondness towards a friend like you?
Do you have faith that I can make your dreams a reality as it truly seems?
Your contemplation is another expedition to trek
You are like an island, separating cramming chaos from undying peace
Rise from the cave and attack…there’s a bear in your nature, watching over her cubs
I don’t have the ability and determination to trudge in your soggy wasteland
Are you slick enough to trek with my shielding gaze?
I doubt I’m nowhere to be found in your thoughts of desolation
And destructive formation,
Springing forth the equipment of your
Turmoil and damnation
With any luck, I hope we can arrive in one piece
On the other hand, I wish that we both escape from this horrifying journey
Because I want to discard the labyrinth, crafting puzzling pathways that draw me back to
Destruction and recklessness
That I, by no means, address
. for public domain
A folded, yellow lined sheet of legal,
taped to a railing of chipped red paint,
caught my eye as I stepped down the stairs
from a Lower East Side dark street.
A note from our ancient Chinese landlord?
A scrap captured from chaffing winter winds?
A secret message from a foreign spy!
A Dear John letter hastily written
by my betrothed on her journey to Spain.
"I need to find myself, and a better
life, a rich suitor, a seaside villa.
I still love you! Take Care! Good Luck! Good Bye."
I unlocked the door and fed the cat, Jack,
nibbled a sandwich of honey ham and rye,
peered out the window at heels passing by.
Go all you, and wither! Die in God damn Spain!
A knock at the door, "I missed the last coach.
Can I stay here with you? Is that alright?"
I got out spare blankets. "You get the couch."
"43's in the pantry. Put out the light."
Luck and a poet
It was an evening in my room,
It appeared as God knocked and came in.
I asked, “Who is it? and why such a laugh?”
It kept silent and shed its tears
Though it seemed rich and delightful
but its face was sad and full of grief
I asked what for it came to me
and what can I do for it?
With a gasping and slurring voice
It broke its silence and told,
“Sorry! my dear man
up to your forty five I did nothing for you.
To heal the wounds in my heart
I came here to do some favour to you.”
I laughed and told,
“Sorry, you are unfortunate
and you can do nothing for me,
because I am a poet more than you,
and away from all fortunes and misfortunes.”
With face painted with disappointments
It vanished from my little room.
Could it possibly be real
For once in my life
Me my luck be in
In the right place at the right time
Or just another false dawn of hope
2 good 2 be true
This is after all
Me i am talking about
And historically
All roads lead back to square 1
Tainted with disappointment
Because i should know better
And not to spend or count on
a single penny
Until the cheque has cleared
my bank account
And a little more later just
incase
The bank goes bust or it is stolen
by thieves
And this isn't me feeling sorry for
myself
This is the most positive i have
felt in year's
Safe in the knowledge knowing it is bound to end in tears
Like it always seems to and does
Unless and this is a big maybe
Miracles really can occur
And terminal bad luck does
eventually run out
there was a anxious young lass from Darry
who thought the world around her is scary
everything she trembled and shook
even pages from a picture book
it`s so funny how her name is Merry
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there was an Irish duck called Taffy
was a second cousin to Daffy
tried to impress other ducks
but become fresh out of luck
rejected by lady duck, Daisy
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there was a pretty young las from Portrush
with a strapping lad she had a big crush
he gave her a bright red rose
with words he then did propose
the colour of the rose, became her blush
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there was an old man from Dublin
too much guiness, started stublin`
falling on his skinny bum
after slippin` on some gum
he went home, all sore and babblin`
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the irish lass from county kildare
when out ice skating, told to take care
tried a twirl and jump
but fell on her rump
and broke the part that sits on a chair