Long Mick Poems
Long Mick Poems. Below are the most popular long Mick by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mick poems by poem length and keyword.
Someone recently said there was more discrimination
against blacks than Jews, travellers (gypsies) or the Irish;
for which an apology has been offered for all those lies,
an inacurate description for whom the beloved country cries.
The poor Jews who were driven from golden pillar to post,
what belongs to them, you wonder, maybe the holy ghost;
we should not berate 'the chosen people' on a green hill,
because they're still here, last time Hymie sharpened pencil.
The 'gypos'settled in my car park after a second coming,
from the south of France and God knows where in India;
I told my son - you don't want to spend the rest of your life
in a caravan do you? Cheaper but gradients may be steeper.
What have the poor Irish done - that's the problem - nothing,
no government - there must be better news that Mick could sing.
A favorite pastime of mine is to watch wildlife from our front porch or window. Kentucky bluegrass provides a perfect backdrop for deer drinking from the lake, pretending not to watch fawns running in circles, bucking and playing in the fields. Frosty, our horse, grazes right along with the turkey foraging for meals. Cardinals, blue finches and hummingbirds fly from flowers to shrubs to feeders. They, along with the dragonflies, butterflies and bees, seem to follow an invisible orchestra conductor. Lately the ducks, Quack and Quacker, appear to be somewhat intuitive. I also use this God-given opportunity as a mental diversion for physical pain, after seeing specialist after specialist.
two ducks each circle
leaves that circle the two ducks
round and round the lake
June 27, 2018
haibun Contest by Mick Talbot
July 5, 2018
Third Place
I got a problem, it’s with my son.
He seems so different, the odd one.
It’s not unusual with lads his age.
They’re going through so many emotions at that phase.
Nah this is different, he’s acting strange.
It’s like he’s playing a different game. It’s like he’s playing in a different field. It’s like he’s pushing to be someone! It’s like he’s living under a different sun!
Don’t get so worked up, so what he’s not just like anyone!
He’s walking like he’s found a new craze! He’s talking like he has age! He’s dancing and singing songs. It’s makes me uneasy to see this strange wildness in my son!
Look so he’s different, perhaps not what you want to see. He’s different not like you and me! But perhaps he’s just a Mick Jagger and he knows his mind. Perhaps his difference doesn’t matter through his eyes. Perhaps his difference is what makes him strong. It’s only for you to make him feel like he belongs.
Like Mick Jagger! Yeah perhaps that’s true! Perhaps it’s natural that he’s not like me or you! Perhaps he needs to sing his songs. Perhaps I need to ensure that he belongs.
There’s nothing about his songs, there’s nothing about what he wants. There’s nothing here that says he doesn’t love you.
Perhaps you’ve just got to alter your field of view?
Elvis he's a hero, he's a super star,
and I hear that Paul McCartney drives a Rolls Royce car.
Dylan sings for millions, and I just sing for free.
Everybody's making it big but me.
Neil Diamond sings for diamonds, and here's old rhinestone me.
Why is everybody making it big but me?
I hear that Alice Cooper has some foxy babes,
in every state he performs always back stage.
John Lennon had two fine ladies, Doctor John has three,
but I'm still seeing the same street walkers that I use to see.
Everybody's making it big but me.
I got charisma and personality.
How come everybody's making it big but me?
I paint my face with glitter just like Bowie does,
and I wear the same mascara that Mick Jagger does.
I even put some lipstick on,
but that just hurt my dad and mom.
Everybody's making it big but me.
They have groupies for their bands,
but all I have are my own two hands.
Why is everybody making it big but me?
The long hot summer vanishes, the leaves have all fallen. As I sip my coffee on a cool morning on my patio. I watch the fawns following the elegant footsteps of a doe. I hear the cries of the chicks waiting impatiently open mouthed, for a tasty regurgitated worm. As the mild wind blows back my hair, the refreshing coolness comfortably tilts my head backwards closing my eyes. I fall into a daydream and dream of beautiful nature. I obliviously become part of the scenery. I awaken by the fragrance of the flowers that are lingering from my rose garden and passing my nose. As the bee with the full belly lands upon my hand, I gently flicker my fingers to set him off. The fall has landed in my backyard and it has made my morning's solitude most enjoyable.
summer's now over
all newborn enjoying life
September morning
Haibun Contest
Sponsored by Mick Talbot
6/20/2018
Let me put these words on paper
Before I regret not putting them
Where do I start
They say, always start at the beginning
And end at the end of the story
Drops the mick
Run for cover
Let me express these feelings
Before I regret not experiencing
Where do I start
They say, always start at this thing call love
And end at the memories it will bring
Picks up the mick
Smile for him
Let me say what I want to say
Before I regret not saying it
Where do I start
They say, the words usually comes naturally from the mouth
And ends at the tip of the tongue
Composing myself
Warming those vocal chords
If you had to pick...what’s your kind of comic
Do you find you pine for slick ironic
Or get behind a line that’s quick..sardonic
Opined by design.. aligned to resigned laconic
Unkind with the mic..sick at taking the mick
Defined by sly dry wry alcoholic hyperbolic frolic
Or less refined grind.. moronic the comedic tonic
Swoon at boons of the goons or cynics picnics going manic
Ready as lampoons buffoons with an unsteady heady histrionic
Idiosyncratic…emphatic witticisms..feeling victims reeling.. erratic panic
Keen lyrical hysterical mean criticisms scene stealing whims.. talismanic
What about who croons your tunes …go slow..metronomic
Choose the muse & fuse of rhythm & blues.. free flow tectonic
More giddy Philly Delfonic than tidy Taffy Stereophonic
Or raw roaring baselines scoring plus eleven ..soaring supersonic
Soul or rock & roll heaven.. acolyte delight.. bright totemic
Atrocious Metal in ferocious fine fettle...furiously demonic
Bespoke notes of sublime folk strokes always curiously bucolic
Pizzazz…elite razzmattaz of jazz.. seriously neat hedonic
Classical..technical feat regalia…deliriously sweet symphonic
Dance hall & reggae.. calypso beat.. all imperiously euphoric
Quadrophenia paraphernalia or more quadrophonic
Wurlitzer chutzpah delightfully or frightfully electronic
Tip top non stop hip hop drops like Dre’s the Chronic
Don’t do generic…when you could do mesmeric
Wiggles or giggles.. this is a witty ditty polemic
To big up shindigs..grins at gigs..sins at jigs…guffaws & encores..stratospheric tunes & comic buffoons..scores on the doors...simply iconic!
Anti-Poem — “The Membrane Electric”
(Poet’s Instruction: Play “Two Thousand Light Years From Home” by The Rolling Stones, while reading this anti-Poem)
susie and billy tripping into arterial los angeles
sloshing their young gonads with diet-rite cokes
riding now in his ‘72 cadillac deville on highland
susie’s in the front seat wearing a pink mini skirt
she’s swaying madly to the outrageous music
creating stardust sandwiches for the bewitched
the stones are jamming on 8-track with majesties
jamming and scratching the membrane electric
keith playing electric bass now with a mind claw
relax baby this is music from the perfume places
the bending plastic places where time oozes onward
sprinkling the silent cosmos with this gushing music
this atomic slide with mick jagger and the blues boys
brian hypnotizing death with mellotron madness
it’s so very lonely when the streets aren’t blinking
susie and billy careening now past the neon tributaries
this stunning urban interlude with handjob milkshakes
hey baby relax let’s just kick back and ride this music
this very cool mind slosh with charlie and billy too
ride easy baby as we slide into the membrane electric
yeah honey we’re two thousand light years from home
susie’s swaying now closing her eyes loving the stones
Yo Adrian
Hey yo, sometimes you have limon friends and
Sometimes you have yo yo friends.
Hey yo, I’m dumb and you're shy.
I can take you downtown to have some pie.
Hey yo, I should have broken your thumb.
I got a locker and I’m a boxer; I’m a bum.
Hey yo, how do you spell Del Rio?
Look it up in the dictionary Rock. Yo.
I never asked you to stop being a woman.
So don’t ask me to stop being a man.
Hey yo Adrian, go fix the meat.
I’m going to finish my work out and drink some coffee.
I like black, I have a black hat,
And a black jacket.
Mick, why do I have to chase a chicken?
Because you're going to eat lightning and crap thunder. O.K. kid?
Yo Adrian, I won the belt. I did it.
I can take you ice skating. I dig it.
Maybe this weekend I can take you to the zoo.
Maybe I can make some turtle soup.
After 10 years you drop by to help me!
Hey yo, me and Apollo Creed are homies.
Yo Adrian, why do cows wear bells?
Because their horns don’t work. Get it?
Thank you for getting my dog back Bitkis.
You were always in the ring with me, And I still love ya.
The girl and her smile straddle the rainbow.
Neon hair the fluid cascades of northern lights,
her seafoam cloak the ripples outgrown by the shore.
She adores the breeze adorned with gems.
Emeralds fly from silk strings in wriggle-giggle wind,
as jaded kites made of ruby and sapphire and pearl
sit on a picnic checkerboard in envy-green grass
betting on play-dates with zephyrs.
White dice cubes roll beady-black-eyes at their folly.
She chases books as they sail from trees.
Their soft-covers as nimble as sparrows’ flit.
She leafs through slices of fruitcake,
each nutty page a looney tooney frame of insane;
Mr. H. Dumpty carouses with Mick Jagger swagger,
two baby paisley owls drive a ‘67 mustang car,
the car does a hop-scotch down bourbon street.
Field-mouse-flowers meow,
the moon jumps over the cow,
and she sings “the world needs more bumblebees!”
The golden palm of a five-fingered maple leaf
offers a diamond ring.
Palm trees pull up anchor and hover
in sunset silhouette like Mai Tai parasols.
A two-masted schooner scries seawater for its soul.
She laughs as black-habited nuns ride
upside-down on the roller-coaster rim
their feet kicking the billow-bellies of clouds ‘til
they fall into dreamcatchers sticky
and tricky as spiderwebs,
and a doughy-boy-baker loses
the reins of sugar-cookie-horses tilling
confetti seeds in a magician's puppet garden
where Dali wombs and peacock plumes bloom.