Long Nicked Poems
Long Nicked Poems. Below are the most popular long Nicked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nicked poems by poem length and keyword.
I’ve kept the bone-ash circle open—
chalked in wax traced from your last reply,
the one you coughed out sideways
between a mirror and an echo,
Just to reiterate, it read.
(Though you’ve unsent it now—
the smoke still mouths it back.)
The salt forgets which door to guard,
whether you're enemy or friend.
My tea leaves knot themselves
into nooses. The knife won’t keep
its edge unless I say your name
with my mouth full of soot. You know
who you are.
We only spoke three times—
I still remember your laugh.
I burned your coat—
the one already nicked at the cuff,
lined with lint and one of my hours.
The smoke limped east,
then circled back.
I still leave the latch loose.
Not for you—
just in case
some ghost with your gait
remembers how
my spine once knocked
like a drum left running.
Well hard as they might fight and try
So tight are rarely barely getting by
Sigh jobs squarely unfairly go to AI
Picked nicked then flicked on the sly
No sorrow poor borrow more to buy
Tricked by CGI lie from a cloudy sky
Social media spy pigs in the Tech sty
Future can’t deny no one gets a bye
Suitor will be AI then humans will defy
Pyrrhic critics decry but it is do or die
Titans fight for their piece of the pie
White collar all about the dollar guy
Dash for stash of cash ultimate high
Purloining while just coining on the fly
Spend as know the end is almost nigh
Flash rash brash greed splash they ply
Keys for wheeze must seize or will pry
Happens so fast they have cast the dye
Command it’s about demand & supply
Sycophant pant a creamy dreamy chai
Ego blast will last with your past will vie
Perverse creed gets worse this the storm's eye
Sow the seed impede our swede teed up & fry
Won't conform will curse why must I lie with AI
Plead don’t need IT to perform bellow thy lullaby
No go slow mellow Hello but a wry dry Goodbye
Washboard Waltz
Is a washboard musical when scrubbing socks on its metal ribbons?
The woman in the basement was not aware of anything other
than the soap suds, steamed-up windows and the sense of hopelessness
when working on a Saturday, a day of rest from the factory floor.
Other women, too, did laundry day, gave her a feeling of pride
to see her washing on the line was cleaner than theirs.
She sat by the window in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the washing
smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee from a mug with her name
and wondered if children knew her name was other than Mum!
She had to look out for the weather, May when it can suddenly rain
If it clouded over, she would take the clothes in, even if they were
only half dry, put them on the kitchen table and wait.
She had boiled the potatoes with the skin on, healthier she had
told the children; she had to do was to open the mackerel in oil
she had nicked at work; heat, the canned fish call the children
the children would mash the mackerel and potatoes on their plates
to an unsightly mess, hastily eat, and run back into the street again
where a ball game was going on.
The rain kept away clothes that could hang on the line till morning
before taking them in, she liked the smell of the sun and hygiene.
On Sunday, she would get the children up early, give them slices
of bread with sugar on it and sent them out to play, ah, the peace
she could open a magazine and read about famous people.
His suit neatly pressed on the chair by his bed
His long white beard combed and the reindeer all fed
His snow boots all polished till shiny and black
The presents all counted and packed in his sack
And now having checked all his Santa Claus gear
It’s time to set off and spread seasonal cheer
So off to his grotto he goes eagerly
Where the boys and the girls come to sit on his knee
But strangely today, things didn’t go well
And Santa Claus found himself locked in a cell
Not because any child went home neglected
All the kids got their gifts just as expected
The coppers appeared to be less than impressed
Enquiring at length about how he was dressed
I’m just so forgetful these days, Santa said
So my suits neatly pressed on the chair by my bed
***bawdy
--------
once an Aussie had a Barry Crocker
when he got fined from an angry copper
he smoked up his holden ute
then said it was real beaut
because of this, the fine was made double
and his best mate was nicked named blue
cooked kangaroo and emu stew
gave none to hungry Scott
'cause he gulped down the whole lot
then spent the next day in the loo
his best shiela was from Melbourne
wore little since she was well born
she'd walk around in the buff
except for mittens an' gloves
till the day she fell on a thorn
she had a best friend called Mary
who had a whistling canary
it's tune stuck in Mary's head
from morning to night-time bed
and drove her to reach the sherry
they all knew a bogan from sydney
who was very tall and so skinny
one day while at bondi
meet a young blond called di
their first date was spent in his tinnie
di was a bushie and jillaroo
who squawked louder than a cockatoo
she would waddle like a duck
but he couldn't believe his luck
when she showed him her secret tattoo
one day while out for a ride
he asked her to be his bride
and when she said yes
they relieved his stress
till they both became cross-eyed
---------------------------------------------------
Aussie slang interpretations:
Barry Crocker-shocker
copper-policeman
smoked up-skid
holden-popular australian make of car
ute-utility vehicle [a car & pickup truck combined]
beaut-beautiful
loo-toilet
shiela-girl/woman
buff-naked
bogan-uncouth person
tinnie-small aluminium boat
.....................
Jan 26 is Australia Day-to all Aussies, happy Oz day
CENSORED: a kind of unfinished symphony
This hammer made my finger sting
The flaming, silly, soppy thing
Now I’ve hit my poor old thumb
Oh my giddy aunt, ho hum
My right leg’s broke below the knee
Goodness gracious, pity me
I just nearly broke my neck
Blow me down and what the heck
Oops, I think I’ve been misled
That bridge was lower than he said
What a shame I won’t get far
The roof’s gone off my poor old car
Gosh, the milkman’s nicked my wife
That’s how it goes, I guess... that’s life
My word, I just fell in the lake
What am I like, for goodness sake
So tell me, is it midnight yet?
Fifty quid, I’ve won the bet
So off you go and toodle pip
Block your ears as I let rip............... HOLY F....!!!
30 December 2018
For Brian Strand’s Contest 535
[Inspired - with much gratitude - by Jan’s poem
There’s No Knocking On Heaven’s Loo Door
and Caren and Tom’s comments on it]
***
The toilets in heaven are cold on your ass
The angels believe that they’re all made of brass
Turns out the reason the lavvies are cold
Is that all those loos are eighteen carat gold
Heavenly shoppers had been sent to Earth
And told to buy goods of exceptional worth
The best baths and basins and showers and so on
But do not return without something to go on
One of those shoppers was sure in fine fettle
Sought out some toilet pans in precious metal
He came up one short of his gold toilet goal
He needed another so that one he stole
The owner told me that that richest of loos
Was nicked by a bloke with a beard and no shoes
One million pounds for my loo that was yeller
I said Jesus Christ! He said yeah that's the fella
So that’s how there’s toilets of gold up in heaven
They said there were two but there’s actually seven
But heavenly humans are not a bright species
And built up an accumulation of feaces
They looked at the task from a different angle
And now drop it in the Bermuda Triangle
Sailors and pilots are frequently struck
And turn up in heaven all covered in muck
Although they’re in heaven they never seem happy
As they use the bathroom because they’re so crappy
It might be a rumour but what I’ve been told
Is they often cry out…
THESE TOILETS ARE COLD!
There is a small sliver of a piece missing; it is here somewhere
Waiting to be discovered, to be accepted. I search with my angel,
Determined to see what she has in mind for me, my heart leaps.
Effervescent crystal ball seems more mine now, more personal.
A tiny piece of refracted crystal now found, speaks to my heart.
Telling me things I did not know I knew, but I am convinced of accuracy.
Slivering off was a God-thing, this crystal ball needed to be nicked.
I readily forgive the instigator, for he was an accidental soul helper today.
He was unknowingly part of the master plan to enlighten me further.
I put my tiny nicked piece down onto ball's black velvet tablecloth.
She winks at me and blinks twice. Verification to my soul she is alive.
I am confident that now I will have all my questions answered.
How is heaven, Mother? The crystal's aura glows in rainbow colors.
Do you get to see father, Mom? She shuts down hard, turning dull.
Just like my mother used to shut down fast in front of our father.
I am amazed and delighted; the master plan is working well.
I have claimed to be apolitical but there are times
when the crop is ready for harvesting, so I put fuel
in the John Deere, ink in my pen and wrote...
He'll get millions of votes for that nicked ear
The vengeful narcissist people should fear
Picasso President
With malicious intent
He should be given the famous Bronx Cheer!
It looks like the graffiti on the wall
Four more years and America will fall
Trump will blow his own horn
Guilty of loving p.o.r.n.
And the rape of all the women he's mauled
There's another Trump, Junior's daughter, Kai
Brought a tear or two to dear grandpa's eye
It was her intention
During the convention
To convince people that he's a good guy
Melania was there but just for show
Since he paid off Stormy... well uh, you know
She has kept her distance
Abhors his existence
She can't be with him since he's had a ho
His Trumpeters may be humbled one day
Those who will vote for him and have their say
Those who are so headstrong
Thinking he's done no wrong
The beast who led America astray
He hasn't made the US great again
He's torn the nation apart... friend from friend
Time will tell the story
But there'll be no glory
Picasso President is no Godsend.
Trump toadies must be in a state of bliss
When his venom spews like a snake, hiss, hiss
They praise the dictator
The alienator
His villainy too baleful to dismiss
I've never liked saying, "I told you so"
But D J Trump is a jerk and a schmo
He's a divisor of men
When he's elected again
His tyranny will reign like a deathblow
I've read a few posts about Trump and yet
Not one comment did I write to upset
Another poet's view
I expect that from you
Without hostility or epithet
Minus adverse side effects
courtesy Ropinirole HCL
couple nights I did try,
albeit yours truly wanted to die,
plus also yearned tubby
among grrrrrreat full dead, no lie,
yes absent asthenia, fatigue,
and/or malaise oh my
nausea, vomiting, somnolence, dizziness,
and asthenic condition,
I woefully did decry
unconsciously kicking,
thrashing, twitching, wife kvetching
downing aforementioned medication
found me awry
beseeching psalm body
e'en the Sultan of Brunei
or sovereign from Abu Dhabi
to administer euthanasia,
I would willingly rectify
to bid good riddance and goodbye
experiencing said unpleasant reactions
listed above, hence death wish
of mine to comply
expressed modus operandi doth underlie
trawling the net whereby, to crucify
rigging (leg giddy met) i.e. legitimate
gofundme site could justify
assisted suicide recycling, reimbursing
repurposing... biodegradable cross -
guaranteeing faithful ethics to fortify
upon me rising masses will deify
an imperfectly square profane guy
skeptic at heart, unsure soul will go skyhigh,
or descend into Dante's inferno,
hmm... methinks hot meal my
olfactory organ doth nasally espy
summat good cooking, therefore aye
got hearty appetite unbearable symptoms
amazingly relieved, that scare did mortify,
now get secular humanist off doggone †
lest he gets cross and promises to nullify
future aery missions...
sidelining death, viz abort... fail... retry
else fans ye will need to pacify,
and posthumous rock star status
martyr on your stained hands
leaving widow whose syrup prize
zing tears unceasingly cry
without spouse to henpeck,
she cannot deny
cuz, body (mine), saintly
nicked peep pulled, tattooed
with apostolic marks
sharp nib she did apply.