Long Mulligan Poems
Long Mulligan Poems. Below are the most popular long Mulligan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mulligan poems by poem length and keyword.
A Sonnet
Date to Remember
Written: by Tom Wright
2009
On August the twenty-eighth Nineteen Sixty Eight,
on this day God had given me a clean wiped slate.
God had acquitted me from a lifetime of sin,
now under the blood and not remembered again.
It was like a Mulligan in a round of golf,
A do-over in life, causing others to scoff;
Friends had failed to see, that it was nothing I'd done,
I'd merely accepted Jesus, God's only son.
The cancer that previously had body bound,
In an instant was gone and I was rendered sound.
He's positioned in my path those whom I love deep,
Giving me a desire to share and eyes that weep.
He's put things in my heart beyond understanding,
From that eventful day life’s been less demanding.
Though I'm not a professional cook as the title might imply,
I can still whip up delectable fare in the blink of an eye.
And to an oven or a frying pan I needn't be a slave,
As long as I can open cans and boxes and use a microwave!
No need for me to spend hours cooking on languid afternoons,
Making a mess with spatulas, blenders and tablespoons.
I can simply open a box and fix macaroni and cheese,
Or thaw a spicy lasagna from a carton in a breeze!
Ah, the variety of gourmet soups I can extract from a tin,
All prepared to perfection, not too thick and not too thin.
Doesn't take me long to create a scrumptious mulligan stew;
Simply open a can and heat it up is all I have to do!
I never bother making vanilla waffles anymore from scratch,
When I can thaw Eggos from a box and enjoy a tasty batch.
Thanks to my microwave I can quickly thaw frozen pies.
(I didn't bake them but my gullible guests think otherwise!)
Me and my sidekick Chef Boy-r-dee make a fine spaghetti,
And also canned ravioli, tortelline and cappelletti!
I'm always happy to share with others the secret of my success,
And the proper presentation of fine cuisine with finesse!
Entry For Julia Ward's "Favourite Poem In Rhyme" Contest
7 July 2019
• Those Meat Pies/Tony Adamo/2011
Straight to the head groove in hip time/ lay me out man It's jam time/ Ya know the funk is slight/ It's tight/ bright syllables in five four time/Walkin' the beat on low down street/ her hips got me in a deep trip/ high on the smell of her sex/ her ex is Ted the freaky flex/ sippin a black coffee brew on a hot musky day/ lovin you baby is the only way/walkin' the dog on a four lane highway/ drum sticks as chop sticks/ Man do fries go with that shake/ subway fusion' dance hall bumpin' grinding bodies to the iphone dance/ can you see it? Love has got you in the trance/ the acid head trip/ street corner junkies lyin' bout their lives/ mama makin' those meat pies/ dive in brother and sisters the hipsters teachin" ya how to side step the squares/ have it your way love on the rocks with a hard knock chaser/ Man I'm flyin out JFK/ get me outta here I changed my mind straight up/ my passport says Paris France/ My feet say hip me to the nearest dance/ Where's that ladder at? I need to climb out of this heat/ Art Blakey and the jazz messengers birdland brunin/better grab your girlfriend cause she's in love with the band/ Clifford Brown/
Brownie was the man/ dead at 25/his influence lay heavy on those young cats
including Donald Byrd, Lee Morgan, Booker Little, Freddie Hubbard, Woody Shaw, Wallace Roney,/ I put a match book cover under a table lag to help me balance up my thoughts on settin up shop to sell my jazz vinyl / No free give away today/ wait was it true/ the great Gerry Mulligan was waiting tables at a little jazz dive called the ashtray/ waiting for the nite to fall so he could jump the stage and free himself/ be himself into the kool jazz scene/(Chet Baker Sings, It Could Happen to You/ Me? yes you bro/ Mike Clark and the Headhunters/ What was that he said?/ oh it's Thelonious Monk in shades and beret/ diggin life the Thelonious way
Tony Adamo Hipspoken Word
I nodded off for forty winks,
and dreamt of scrod, so odd, methinks!
For they were golfing on the links,
about to putt a halibut,
while slurping fizzy, fishy drinks.
’Twas then, a walrus did inhale
that halibut, from head to tail.
Those scrod, to God, did surely rail,
insisted then, a mulligan;
their rantings were to no avail.
Then muttering at their confound,
they threw their putters on the ground,
no halibut nor flounder found.
Round squashed, nay, squished without a fish,
off to the pub, those scrod were bound.
A ruddy server rudely poked
my ribs; I suddenly awoke.
I do not fib nor do I joke;
there at the pub to have some grub,
some fish and chips; one lucky bloke!
—————
for the Nursery Rhyme Poetry Contest
sponsored by Eve Roper
written on 2/26/23
Goldie Locks
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
Goldie Locks
I did not know your name
You swayed your hips
With small steps
As you pass me by
I did say hello to you
You did not answer
You growled a little smart
And bluffed a little bark
Which caught my heart
I could not say goodbye
It would have been a lie
I could not take back
You were too
Cute for goodbye
It was too smart
When you looked at me
Up and down
My heart began
To skip a beat ..
So I picked you up
And brought you home
My little hazel
Brown eyed puppy
And called you
Goldie Locks.
Way down
Years gone by
Without tears
You met a pug
Called Mulligan
And had
Lots of pup's.
THE 15 PRIORITIES OF FISHING
1) doing something
together
2) watching the bobber
go under
3) feeling that tug/tension
on the line
4) what you catch
5) size of what you catch
6) was number 5 BS?
7) was number 6 BS?
8) what bait/lure you use
9) save/eat or catch/release?
10) how “buggy” it is
11) did you bring effective
bug spray?
12) how many red-and-
white ornaments did
you hang on the
trees?
13) are you absolutely,
positively, honest-to-
god-may-you-never-
catch-another-fish-
SURE about your
answer to number
5?!?
14) adding a “Mulligan” of
(at least) one inch to
number 5 is a given,
(to everyone BUT the
game warden)
15) did you disregard ALL
the other priorities for
the sake of a negative
answer to number 11?
* A bit of fun - for my two fishing buddies, Brandon & Travis *
( Painting by Tommy Kinnerup )
On August 28th Nineteen Sixty Eight
That day God gave me a clean wiped slate.
God pardoned me from a lifetime of sin
Under the blood and not remembered again.
It was like a Mulligan in the game of golf
A do-over in life, causing others to scoff;
Friends failed to see, it was nothing I'd done
But I'd accepted Jesus, God's only son.
The cancer that once had my body bound
In an instant was gone and I was made sound.
He's placed in my path those whom I love deep
Giving me a desire to share and eyes that weep.
He put things in my heart beyond my understanding
From that day forth, I've found life less demanding.
Though I ain't a cordon bleu chef as the title might imply,
I can still whip up gourmet fare in the blink of an eye!
And to an oven or a fryin' pan I need not be a slave,
As long I can open cans and boxes and use my microwave!
No need for me to spend hours cookin' on languid afternoons,
Makin' a mess with spatulas, blenders and tablespoons.
I can simply open a box and fix Kraft's macaroni and cheese,
Or thaw Marie Callender's lasagna from a carton in a breeze!
Ah, the variety of Campbell's soups I can extract from a tin,
All prepared to perfection, not too thick and not too thin.
Doesn't take me long to create a scrumptious mulligan stew -
Just open a can of Dinty Moore and heat it up is all I do!
I never bother makin' vanilla waffles anymore from scratch,
When I can thaw Eggo things from a box and enjoy a tasty batch!
Thanks to my handy microwave I can fix Sara Lee frozen pies -
I didn't bake 'em but my gullible guests think otherwise!
My side kick Chef Boy-r-Dee and I make a fine spaghetti,
And also unrivaled ravioli, tortelline and capelleti!
I'm always happy to share with others the secret of my success,
And the proper presentation of fine cuisine with panache and finesse!
Entry for Lewis Raynes' "I Love Food" Contest)
You can smell jazz, if you got hip to the sound, like on “Camera Three” a TV program in the 50s/ a 1956 episode featuring The Gerry Mulligan Quartet in black -N- white/
many jazz clubs come and go dimming their lights in the sunset glow/
fast food joints now line the streets where once stood the mighty jazz clubs of old/West Coast Jazz exploded in your ears/ Like Central Ave, It was the soulful jazz heart of LA’s jazz scene in the 40s, 50s, and 60s, all the jazz great’s/ would be sittin’ in to their fellow jazz musicians gigs after their two sets where over/other jazz clubs to be seen and be booked in up and down in the LA area/ Zardi’s, Tiffany Club, Jazz Cabaret, The Haig, Jazz City, drinks, drugs, sex, where all part of the show while diggin’ Art Pepper, Monty Budwig, Hampton Hawes, Ernestine Anderson, Zoot Sims, Miles Davis, Shelly Manne, and Wardell Gray
In the lost-and-found of memories, there lie Nina Simone LPs, forgotten treasures about love lost, love found, and a revolution in a new voice sound waiting to be spun/
A jazz hustler leans at the door, a whisper of dreams tied to CDs, silent songs, never given the chance to ride the radio waves/
In a cab to your gig, you left your horn in the back seat— a misplaced key in a world full of locks, yet out of the blue, you find your singing voice, the notes rise like steam from the New York streets on a rainy jazz night, each syllable soaked and sung in spoken word passion and pain/
It’s crazy, this love, sometimes feeling like you’re out to lunch, in a world that doesn’t pay to play jazz/
and yet you are hooked on this jazz thing bathed in the glow of the bandstand spotlight, asking, “Why do I love it so much?” Because jazz, my friend, is the heartbeat of the lost, the anthem of the unheard, a melody that sings even when the world goes dark.
Nowadays, it seems that most dinners are served with a sprig of parsley.
Mister Cordon Bleu, I'd prefer that it be used rather sparsely!
I suppose it makes a fanciful garnish, but that is open to debate.
The stuff serves no useful purpose and just clutters up my plate!
Should I find a sprig of parsley embellishing my plate, it I will eschew,
(Tho' I reckon I could brook it for flavoring my mulligan stew!)
'Twould make a wonderful greenery for a corsage or flowery display,
But Mister Cordon Bleu, please omit it from my plate, I pray!
Should I nibble on the stuff, it wouldn't add to my nourishment.
Its only redeeming value as far as I know is use as a garnishment.
Spare me that twig of vapid parsley, if you will, Mister Cordon Bleu,
And feed it to some deserving wapiti in the local zoo!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)