Long Lucked Poems
Long Lucked Poems. Below are the most popular long Lucked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lucked poems by poem length and keyword.
Mince Munseun and Anais Zonte' Dider
Of "Soothing Grooves" Used the
"Audacity Fix" to thrash
The Nepheliums with there manager
Dick Maddox
"Bassy" "The Axe" Kualmurphy
Lucked up with a win over
"Minnesota " Enos Eyecandy
"Spiteful"Spike Soothinjour won
Over the Wolves of Winnipeg
Using a full Nelson to make
Criss Jaw bone submitt
Soothenjours partner sat at
Ringside muzzled and chained
Due to the stipulation, making it
One against to.
"Triffling" Tripe Gulbouis v.s.
Brudda Hollis Bindwinder
Never materialized as Tripe
Was attracts before the bell and
And thrown into the audience
Where four masked men
Bested him. Boxer " Humper" Ric Dais
and wrestler Valdise Ortega came to
His aid. They grabbed the mask of
One of the masked quads revealing
Big Basil Bandez, causing a near riot
As Bandez is a member of the
Championship committee.
The main event saw
Newcomer Kip "Pretty Boy" Hossendale
Beat Contenders Champion Chatt Steamboat
In a. Scientific bout that had the fans on
There feet. Hossendale wins the title.
12/23/20
Been one heck of a year and some month
Recently got a buzz cut
I'm buzzed yup
I was down and I was up
No longer such a young buck
Always f***ed up
What a f*** up
Shut up
And hush up
Pettiness continually being dug up
I'll take you out barehanded, or with num-chuks
Try to confront me and puff up
But quickly got roughed up
And scuffed up
Shut the f*** up
I don't ever need any thumbs up
You either did or didn't have enough guts
Fell down stayed there or was able to jump up
Before the towel was hung up
It was splattered about like bug guts
Spread amongst us
Always trying to instruct us
Yet so quick to confront us
Never been or plan on going for a duck hunt
Can't say the same for so and so, or such and such
Call it dumb luck
Often I lucked up
And was able to one up
The other half of the time, it was tough luck
Too many people being a suck up
Stuck up and a dumb f***
As they continue to bluff much
My eyes stuck shut
Occasionally over did it, but rarely ever would up chuck
Why must
They remind us
That eventually our time's up
If you deserve it, my trust you earned it
I'll tell you what's up
And what's what
From here to beyond Lubbock
Always working towards getting the funds up
Not quitting when the moons out or when the suns up
Saw it or did not see the gun tucked
Because they've had enough of
A world that is f***ed up
In the past a lot of shrubs and brush cut
Once in awhile the job required a lug nut
Fathom, that some people are still living in a mud hut
Having nearly nothing, except for just one cup
I needed a cake for a birthday;
I stopped at a fancy food store.
With Mothers’ Day coming tomorrow,
I lucked out with choices galore.
My daughter loves everything chocolate
And one seemed to really just pop –
A mousse-filled creation in layers,
But crowned with a satiny top.
When asked if the cake could, with icing,
Be personalized on the spot,
The counterman grinned with excitement;
I gathered he does this a lot.
With beautifully swirled dainty letters,
How deftly he piped every word,
But before he completed his artwork,
A happenstance strangely occurred.
He’d asked not a word ‘bout my daughter
But finished his icing design
With a musical staff and a clef note
When it’s music that makes her life shine.
How’d you know? was the best I could muster.
He just smiled as he tenderly placed
What he’d lovingly done in a cake box;
It’s just perfect, no matter the taste.
We’re rightfully concerned
It seems to be a dark dubious world we’re bringing you into
Threatening and not so promising
How long can we shelter you from it all
You’re tiny not even able to crawl
A babe not yet in school~ fastforwarding ten years
Can’t even imagine the so-called progress
As it is, it’s hard to keep up
Everyone’s on a technology conveyor belt
Though a clever trompe l’oeil
We see veneer attempts to shrink
That gap between the have’s and the have not’s
Thank God we’re only grand-parents
Maybe age, fatigue or nostalgia gets the better of us
We seem to have lucked out growing up in the hippies era
Sure it had its problems but it certainly was amazing
Everywhere mostly peace and love they were the golden years
Thinking back~ seems obvious that the magic element is
Youth, innocence and naiveté
AP: 1st place 2020
Just maybe when it comes to life
We all of us may well be nothing
more than a number after all
Patiently both spending and biding
our time awaiting to see
If in fact our very own particular number
is to be eventually drawn or comes up
And as life is a total lottery some blessed
lucky certain individuals seem to hit the
Jackpot
Whereas the vast majority of others
find they have merely lucked out 1
more time all over and over again
And sadly it also seem to not matter or
depend either on whether or not
Who you are or what you do as a person
Be that whether you are or do good or
bad things
How intelligent what race or creed you
are
Sex you are male or female
How much money you possess or
poor you are
Not a 1 single thing you can do about it
or will ever change it
We are all just born and thereafter
assigned a number in this lottery
we call life
And why on earth certain individual
people's numbers seem to come up
and they are deemed blessed to hit
the jackpot
Whilst simultaneously countless others
perennially luck out
Well only god knows which I gather
will remain a total and utter mystery
Until or unless we die
And if death is supposed to exactly mean
death we die and we are therefore dead
Why would we then really care anyway
As finally our number has eventually
come up
And hopefully our very own happy ending
as well
Unless again unbeknownst to us our
number land's on black
And the only button in this here particular
elevator goes down not up
But at least we are in for 1 hell of a ride
If what we are lead to believe tuns out
in any way to be true
Some walked, others biked
As we gathered at the park
There was Jimmy, Peewee
Ricky, Billy and Mark
Neighborhood boys
From blocks around, they'd descend
For the Sandlot World Series
It was friend against friend
There were seven to a side
The bat was tossed to Bob
It was fist top of fist
'til a thumb crossed the knob
Back and forth went the score
Our pride made us care
The other team would storm back
And the tempers would flare
I was Mickey Mantle
Stuck out in right field
With a gun for an arm
Two bare feet for wheels
In inning number seven
And getting quite late
The tying run once again
Strode across the plate
After Tommy struck out
It was our turn to bat
We were cheering and yelling
Shaking our rally hats
Peewee lined a single
He was always big trouble
Then Steve, my brother
Lucked out with a double
It was second and third
With nobody out
When I stepped to the plate
Jimmy's mom gave a shout
Then I heard my dad
Holler,"Time to eat"
The game ended in a tie
As none wanted to get beat.
In nineteen sixty six
On a hot August day
There were fourteen friends
Who gathered to play
Not the first nor the last
That ended a little teary
As supper time brought a tie
To the Sandlot World Series
Feb 15 2017
by Daniel Turner
Nobody prepares you
For life after a loss.
All the words are the same
But they don't tell you it's hard.
They expect you to know
That waking up is weighed with guilt.
They don't warn you
About the fear of forgetting.
They don't know what it's like
Moving on with nothing left
To remember the lost by.
Everyone grieves with us
But it may be easier for them.
At least they have
More to hold onto
Other than a memory.
And while memories are special;
While we lucked out with pictures...
I won't ever get to say:
"It was my sisters" again.
I can't say, "My mom gave it to me."
Everything that belonged
And all that she gave
Has been lost to the flames.
All I have now
Is a resemblance
That will change
As I grow older
While they stay
17 and 43
Forever.
Mince Munseun and Anais Zonte' Dider
Of "Soothing Grooves" Used the
"Audacity Fix" to thrash
The Nepheliums with there manager
Dick Maddox
"Bassy" "The Axe" Kualmurphy
Lucked up with a win over
"Minnesota " Enos Eyecandy
"Spiteful"Spike Soothinjour won
Over the Wolves of Winnipeg
Using a full Nelson to make
Criss Jaw bone submitt
Soothenjours partner sat at
Ringside muzzled and chained
Due to the stipulation, making it
One against to.
"Triffling" Tripe Gulbouis v.s.
Brudda Hollis Bindwinder
Never materialized as Tripe
Was attracts before the bell and
And thrown into the audience
Where four masked men
Bested him. Boxer " Humper" Ric Dais
and wrestler Valdise Ortega came to
His aid. They grabbed the mask of
One of the masked quads revealing
Big Basil Bandez, causing a near riot
As Bandez is a member of the
Championship committee.
The main event saw
Newcomer Kip "Pretty Boy" Hossendale
Beat Contenders Champion Chatt Steamboat
In a. Scientific bout that had the fans on
There feet. Hossendale wins the title.
She Herself is poetry
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder
To her it’s a theory , that can’t be proven
Because she is loved by many but acknowledge by a few
I disagree; she is a goddess without denial
She does not only turn heads
But she is the reason why
I believe God has favorites
Her beauty can not be described
Mere vocabulary will not serve justice
The truth is her beautiful, black long hair
Does not go unnoticed
It sadness me that she believes her gummy smile ’
Is not admirable enough to focus on
Undeniably, she is my muse
Her desirable physique is lusted over
A blessing or a curse
She is a cactus in the desert
Many desire to drink from her waters
But she is a women of standard
Too good at protecting her womanhood
Her curves and waist is so perfect
It is as if she was sculpted by a Greek God
Not just any artist
An artist with an appeal for
The finer things in life
I believe she is not human
She is like the portrait that hangs
In the middle of the gallery
She is on stage
Lights hovering over her
Cameras on her
And the press is her audience
No matter how many new pieces of artwork
Enter the gallery
She can not be replaced
The reality is individuals do not
Have the taste for the finer things in life anymore
She is as fine as a white wine
Served on the coastal harbor
I love her
but she doesn’t even know my name
Mama said some things are better off
Admired, then approached
She is a combination of
Delicacy, luxury and refinery
A five-course meal that serves with style
I know you're thinking.
I am only talking about her beauty
Off course she is more than her looks
But I believe poetry
Is something that is seen by the third eye
A doctor has her stethoscope.
A firefighter has her firetruck
And a poet has her poems
I got lucked out and I got the luxury to see her
My soul purpose in life
Is only write poems about her
Poetry does not have to be articulated
Read by many, understood by a few
A linguist would say
The synonym for poetry is Her
Her whole existence is too bold not to write about
And I believe she herself is poetry
I rarely eat my breakfast out
But, as a special treat,
We took our guests to Effy’s,*
Hoping that we’d get a seat.
It’s half a block from where we live
And breakfast gets a crowd.
We took a chance, though, and lucked out.
(Reserving’s not allowed.)
Surprisingly, the outdoor spots
Were filled, despite the heat,
But in the room inside, we found
A cool and calm retreat.
A varied menu let us choose
From middle eastern meals
To pancakes, wraps and sandwiches,
All with their own appeals.
We ate, we drank, we chatted
In a pleasant atmosphere,
The buzz of fellow diners
Adding to the Sunday cheer.
A break from a routine
Can often bring about a smile
And a state of satisfaction,
Even if once in a while.
*Effy’s Café on the upper east side of Manhattan