Long Ole Poems

Long Ole Poems. Below are the most popular long Ole by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ole poems by poem length and keyword.


Ever Returning/Departing

I reached into the depth...
But could not withdraw  Excalibur from the stone.
Yet I knew I was the one.
Why else my 'Grail Vision' in the sun?
The depths call me to reach further still.
And Mary's eyes bled.
Realizing for whom the tear's shed.

I know not what to do.
Vainity reaching to withdraw from the glue.
I stare blindly in the distance a 'bust' of my former self.
Passing the secret of excalibur being drawn by someone else.

And passing by the oracle of Ephesus, Medusa's eyes
She drew the sword stone in deep catching my contemplations of the mirror.
I could loose myself in her forever.
Secret Sweets. Stained Sheets. and shaking cold she wraps me in the golden fleece.
Covered in snakes, I melt into the secret skin.
Learning the name, I see my fathers before me distrought.
And see now the blindness of the Kingdom Oedipus wrought.
Sophoclese Tragedies and I am forever Oedipus.
Betrayed blessin' between whorish thighs and my camarades' lies.
Where is Helena these days?
Gone so long, I've forgotten her ways.

That's the trick-she sucks in your depth.
I am Horus, my seeds sewn in the west.
Innana's dead. I broke my maiden-named womb.
Long ago I allocated multiversic kingdoms for Osiris' perversion tombs.

And in the mysteries of deep misery.
I have witnessed my seed coming of age.
To lay thoughts like these out on a page.
Christ, Annubis, and I planned this on a street in Greece, A.D., B.C. I can't remember which.
I bare down frost-bitten from the North.
And my Christ of peace bore symbols from the East.
Our dog-eared down-home friend brought simpler lessons from an outdated South.
And we witnessed our births spread out over time.
Three wise men we were singing dark-hearted songs of a blackened Madonna we couldn't find.
So we relinquished ourselves to Daddy Darkest who knew best.
Redistributed seeds, we pushed ourselves to a static line beyond myth; where men like us no longer needed to exist.

Sweet Virgin, Return
I am old and worn thin.
Now, is your time to begin; A collection of stories your heart has borne, but you lay unblemished.
My daughter lay our bones to rest. 
Cook them in your stew.
Reigns handover long overdue, but that's not the style you do.
Don't worry about ole Paw. Jimmy Crack corn.
May you be Princess Disarming Charming laced with meaning...
And I awake sleeping...
Beauty, I next to you.
© C Sowder  Create an image from this poem.


Fare-Well Ole Pard

Farewell old pard, I write this letter to you. Well, I guess I’ll saddle up and ride out with my new pard, he’s only a colt at three.
He’s a real beauty, a real eye pleaser and sure of foot with a cutting pedigree.
I’ll go on out to the rough country where the sky is blue, relive the
old times and try to work the rope a bit, so I won’t be thinking of you.	
We were pards for many a year and we both tote the scars to show
and that cold back you had fairly tossed me hard every morning                                                                                                      before you’d make up your mind to go.
But we never shared a cross word that ever meant much among friends,
Though, you did take a few hard comments when you got ornery now and then.
We purt- near worked in all kinds of weather, rain, snow and even a blizzard or two.
We shared our misery out on the plains when the cold winds off the mountain blew.
We’ve covered a lot of country, any closer, I don’t guess any pards could be
and though you weren’t much to look at, it never meant much to me.
You loved your job and worked it well with light rains and leg ques.  
And there were times when you led the way, and I took my ques from you.
You were not a natural cutter, but you weren’t scared of bulls, cows or steer
and you worked the tight spots eagerly, never showing the jitters of fear.
We were pards, alright, never just a way to get the job done nor pleasure for me,
You loved it too, riding the open range with only the basics that kept us wild and free.
Why did you go and leave me, you just laid down in your stall and I was left alone.
I tell my stories and old pard, I tell yours too, since you’ve checked out and gone.
I look back through the years as I sit here looking over the grass growing high on the range. 
How love for a horse can feel so right is hard for this cowboy to explain.
I can’t help but riminess’ and wonder, were there times you just didn’t feel quite well?
You always took to the saddle and in my selfish way, I never cared to ask, and you didn’t tell
We’d ride out and pretty- soon, you seemed glad you came along and there were
times we trailed in late, long after the sun had gone.
But now I look back on the past and sentimental thoughts tears my eyes and burden me.
Good-by old pard from your old friend, you were the best any pard could be.
Form: Rhyme

Cattlecoaat Dipolamcy

THEY WERE NOT ADMIRED, THEY WERE HARDLY EVEN LIKED, THEY REFRAMED FROM COMMENT DUE TO THEIR DISPOSITION, ALLOWING
SOMEONE WITH A GREATER DISPOSITION TO BE IN CONTROLL. mONITERING
THEIR ABLITIES WOULD BE EASY AS THESE MEN WERE ADVANCE IN THEIR TRAINING. THEIR WORKS WERE OF THE TEACHINS OF "GEM FULLA" (WORLD FAMOUS SUBMITION GRAPPLER. ONCE KNOW IN THEIR NATIVE COSTA RICA AS
U-NEW, AND U-OLE, THEY HAD REIGNED SUPREME, UNTIL "THE MEN FROM DAFFA" CAME TO THEIR TERRITORY, AND MADE COMPANY MEN OUTTA FREELANCERS. THEY DEFEATED THE TWO IN A "COMMONGROUND- STANDOFF"( A TWO OUT OF THREE FALL SUBMITION MATCH) THEY WERE DEPOSSED BY THE PROMOTION, AND SHAMED BY THEIR PEERS, THOSE WHO SUGGESTED, THE TWO TO WEAR MASK, IN LIGHT OF THEIR SHAME. MONTHS LATER, WHEN THEY HAD REBOUNDED TO RECOVER, THEY HAD WON 25 OUT OF 33 MATCHES, AND HAD POSITIONED THEMSELVES FOR A CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE MATCH. THERE LUCK EVEN HAD THEM TO FIND FORTUNE IN MEXICO, WERE THEY BECAME CHAMPIONS NATIONAL, AND PRIMO JAPAN'S TOP-DRAW CHAMPIONS, BY DEFEATING THE LEGENDARY TEAM OF BRICE BULLSTRONG AND PANK PRICHARD. ONCE AGAIN THEY WERE ON TOP OF THE HILL WHEN THEY FOUND THEMSELVES COSTA RICAN TAG CHAMPIONS VIA, A NO-CONTEST STIPULATION IN THE CHAMPIONS CONTRACT, WHEN THE CHAMPIONS REFUSED TO DEFEND THE TITLE THE CHAMPIONSHIP COMMITY NAMED THE NUMBER ONE CONTENDERS THE NEW CHAMPIONS, ONCE THE TITLES WERE STRIPPED FROM THE CHAMPIONS,U-OLE, PULLED THE MASKED LUCHADOR INTO THE RING AND PINNED HIM, THIS CEMENTED THE REIGN, AND EVEN THE LOSSED CHAMPIONS GAVE CONGRADES TO THE NEW CHAMPIONS. 
     WE DON'T KNOW IF IT'S TRUE OR NOT, BUT THE APPEARANCE OF A NEW TEAM IN THE HIGHLY POPULAR WORLD BRAND RASSLIN, COMPANY NAMED THE DUO NUMBER FOUR IN THEIR INTERNATIONAL SERIES ( A TAGTEAM TOURNAMENT) BUT THE OPPOSING SIDE HAD A NEW TAGTEAM NAMED " RIVERRATTS" (PANINI PRESTON ANDAUX AMANDES ) WHO RESEMBLED THE COSTA RICAIN DUO. WORLD REKNBOWNED GRAPPLER, CUSSIN PAGE, CALLED OUT BOTH TEAMS TO GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THE SITUATION, BUT ONE TEAM DESIDED TO JOKE AROUND, AND SENT OUT TWO WOMEN DRESSED AS MEN IN MASKED TO ANWSER THE CHALLENGE. FORTUNATLY FOR THE FANS THE RIVERRATS RECORDED THE ANWSER TO THE CHALLENGE EALIER, THEY ACSEPTED THE CHALLENGE, AND THE MATCH WAS MADE FOR HOUSE SHOW PRIOR TO THE MAINEVENT TELEVISION EVENT. WE DON'T KNOW WHO THESE GUY'S ARE BUT WE CAN'T WAIT TO SEE WHAT THESE PEOPLE HAVE TO SAY,

Pleasant Spring Like Day January 12th, 2020

Pleasant spring like day January 12th, 2020

Courtesy climate change
(think global warming),
I would never wish to exchange
unseasonable temperature
way out of range
far to balmy, undoubtedly
ole man winter
weather did shortchange.

Once thermometer readings rise
even smidgen one moost not minimize
Earth way out of balance,
I haint gonna catastrophize
as bajillion acres plus

one after another ocean dries
even the skeptic cannot turn
blind eye and believe contrary lies
when every species practically extinct
and self proclaimed éminence grise

doth trumpet and stubbornly tries
to claim plethora unearthed resources
as sudden goldmine
against wages of sin
former traitor joe redeemers actualize

to catalyze nth industrial revolution
teaching as heresy
ecocentric, which material basket
of deplorables power mongers bowdlerize

Concurrence toward meteorological
trend most all people agree
toward adapting, experiencing,
and witnessing increase -

fair in height degree
bestowed upon Thomas Newcomen,
Richard Arkwright, Samuel Crompton,
Edmund Cartwright
and James Watt first Industrial

Revolution conferred as honoree
appellation not necessarily
in retrospect donned as noble pedigree,
now hundred of years

later downside we see
of belching, coughing,
disorging... yes siree
foul, (née deadly)
cancerous, gaseous, noxious... pollutants.

Decreased dissension 
grudgingly did abate
unclouded protests trumpet
Trump to abdicate
irrefutable proof generates
activist voices to accumulate
linkedin over Green Party 
blessedly to administrate

hoop fully figurative tide
will turn and aerate
political atmosphere whereby
progressive minds will affiliate
otherwise business as usual,
cuz spewing deadly particulate
will only aggravate
dire straits, where series

of unfortunate events will airdate
prophetic apocalyptic fate
especially if nonprogressive
stodgy commander in chief re-elected
flush with bigotry and hate
increased chance (chants) ripe state
for revolution avast swath
of population to amalgamate,

and overthrow anachronistic government
absolute zero survival unless dramatic
nondestructive strategy eschewed
to supplant exploitation and mandate
radical transformation, which dramatic
shift off grid if lucky requisite
Earth friendly manufacturing
can possibly ameliorate.

Premium Member Up Above My Head

1. This ole world is cavalcading escalading, towing down;
Falling down into the premises of unusualness;
Solid confines to the missions hell bent;
Loss in its shame, borrowing time;
Everyone everywhere is swallowing sin;
While the naysayers keep welcoming them in..

Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring;
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;

Up above my head;

2. Image now, how would it be,  could you be free;
Left alone drinking miscalculated teas;
Raisin cane and eat manna breeze from the trees;
What does it mean is it a dream?
And all these things again, mention above;
Where is t he love?, what? where is the love?


Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring?
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;

Up above my head;

3. Missing mountains and trail condescending;
No one is gathering everyone meandering;
What must I do to love and embrace you;
Shovel in my hand standing in the sand;
Feeling the heartbreak of mankind demeanor;
Leaving hatred in a container of oven cleaner;

Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring?
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;

Up above my head;

And all these things again, mention above;
Up, up above my head, up above my head;
I'd rather be living than dying dead;
Heaven is where I want to lay my head;
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;

4. I'd rather be living than dying dead;
Heaven is where I want to lay my head;
Mysteries and non compliances and misguided judgements;
All but a dream, every hates no love in their hearts see what I mean;
I have a motion that we won't judge them;

Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring?
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;

Up above my head;
And all these things again, mention above;
Up, up above my head, up above my head;
I'd rather be living than dying dead;
Heaven is where I want to lay my head;
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;


Written word by James Edward Lee 1974
Arranged music by James Edward Lee & The Corinthian
From demo album "The World May End Tomorrow" 1970,1974,2017 (c)
Form: Lyric


These States United - Part Ii

How someone like you 
 
and me
 
could ever be
 
this forever free

Never say never

Ever
 
Oh say, can you see
 
this valiant righteous fight
 
of the tiny 13
 
against the giant gorgeous gallant might
 
of the Royal Crown
 

into that last gleaming
 
fluorescent
 
effortlessly seeming
 
twilight 
 
as American soldiers fell
 
and died
 
and their women 

and Lady Liberty

rang the bell
 
and cried
 
screaming
 
and the little ones 
 
so sound asleep
 
nestled in their bed
 
so peacefully dreaming
 
whilst their King 

while their King lay dead
 

Hear his deep voice echo over and over in your head
 
You remember what he said
 
You remember what he said
 
You remember what he said
 
You remember what he said

You remember what he said

You remember what he said
 
You remember what he said
 
You remember what he said
 
You remember what he said

You remember what he said

You remember what he said

You remember what he said
 
as you lay there
 
missing and yearning
 
teaching and learning
 
freezing and burning
 
and tossing and turning
 
battledrums slow and become tribal
 
Yes, you too, remembers what he said:
 
"It is impossible to rightly govern a nation without God and the Bible"


 
So trumpeters blew and told 

their story
 
the drumboys rolled
 
out Old Glory
 
My God behold
 
Watch Old Glory
 
so dignified
 
unfold
 
Stars and Stripes 
 
thus signified

an Independence newfound
 

on Sacred, Sacred, Splendid, Sacred, Holy ground
 
Kneeling at ground Zero
 
Never forget
 
My, your, Our forgotten Hero

Ole' Father George pause and take a good look around
 
Ole' Father George steal the stars 
 
just this once

just in between
 
the glare of royal red rockets
 
and hand them to
 
the mighty 13
 
and the red stripes so soaked with blood
 
from our beloved Mother
 
across the pond

Sons no more, oh no, Mother 
 
There isn't any other
 

It’s me now - your new younger brother

Just passing through

the bright white rays of sunlight
 
into the big bold box of navy blue
 
into starry starry nights
 
Ole' Father George, our hopes ignited
 
Your legs so weary
 
Our dreams excited
 
Thank you, Ole' Father George
 
Thank you, God
 
God Bless These States United
© Ron Ryan  Create an image from this poem.
Form:

Premium Member We Go 2 War by Glenn Hughes: Revised

My Interpretation:                             Glenn Hughes Lyric:

In the space of a short span               Mother can you see
the exactitudes that human                I've been tryin' to see you
measure can be achieved if                Cuz the line is free
the powers that be partake                 Now they're tellin' me
within said time of the hour                Stop shakin' like a feather
mind control of its recipient                On the count of three
purposed by the War Dept.

Be a.k.a., War Machine that                 Back in '69
take all known from yonder                 We never learned our lesson
space of a short span, turn                  Down in Vietnam
to short spin of actual news                 I refuse to sign
                                                         It doesn't really matter
calls and worded letters an                  They don't give a damn
urgent warning a nation its
new emperor wears a new                   I don't care what you want
clothes "Hear ye vainglory."                 And I roll with the fear                                                       
                                        
What's here is NOT there,                    You don't hear nothin'
and I am grateful for that                     A sad waste of life
truth, but to spin it in any                     When we go to war
fashion as being anything                     Won't you hear somethin'
but...                                        

NAM undeniably benumb                       Father you cry
death then permeates all                       When we go to war
the patty fields of grains                        What is it for?
of rice guised as desert
grains of sand. Death is                         Brother is that you?
bears out truly that our                         So get a little closer
New Emperor at home                           I can't feel your breath
is as naked as sin can                            We're the chosen few
ever be...                                             Out there in the desert
                                                           There's a smell of death.
Family--Mom, Brother,
Dad, let me be some-
body and not a made
up nobody. I want to
be your Bro. again, I
I want to be your Son
again, I want to be
Glenn Hughes again,
plain Ole American.
© Hilo Poet  Create an image from this poem.
war

The Ruining

You were "blood", & you had nowhere else to go. 
You were the brother of my love, how could we tell you no?

We welcomed you in our home, you and your "escorting" hoe.
He even got you a job, as you stated "I won't let you down, bro".

But no good deed goes unpunished, our sentence was not even deferred.
An Instant hell, we fell and we fell, dwelling in the stench of one little demons turd.  

My love, he lost his job, because, well Josh, YOU know EXACTLY why.
You ruined the life we worked so extremely hard for...you-the epitome of a big 'ole lie!

Our things were disappearing, but you, you thought you were so very, very sly.
On a golden pond of crescent stars, you were floating on a free moon pie...

My dress, my shirt, our conditioner and for God's sake, my deodorant too?
Was there anything else you forgot to take? Perhaps you'd prefer we send it to you?

My shirt jumped from my drawer, grew lil' feet and placed them on the floor...
Ran down the hall, scooping up my deodorant and into your bag they soared...

Your kitten, the one left in our yard, because of you, she'd almost died.
When we saw her deteriorating condition, it was enough to make one cry.

Poor little thing, you told us she would catch her own food outside.
One more being left in your wake, drowning in the storms from your tide...

Nine hundred dollars in fines, that's how much we paid to claim your kitten as our own.
Or the animal control would take her out of the misery of the only life she had ever known.

For a concerned neighbor, assuming we were responsible, was kind enough to phone,
and they were going to take her, & put her to sleep before she was ever even grown.

But I could not let that happen, even as now, we have not even paid our rent.
My love, because of you, he has no income, and we may all end up residing in a tent.

To think, one little brother could be responsible for these rapid, earth-shattering events,
leaving us a tumbling down alone, and for the next ruining, off you went! 

This down-slope of destruction, on and on, has yet to slow for us...
disturbing hatred now swirls inside my belly as this journey has been so rough...

Now YOU have the nerve to question to US, while attempting unsuccessful to act so tough,
The ironic cherrybomb, our sweet icing on the cake, you ask, "HAVEN’T YOU DONE ENOUGH?"
© Jill Allen  Create an image from this poem.

Wild Stickhorse Remuda

Ponytails and blue jeans 
Sat at Papaw's knee, 
Watching as he whittled 
On old branches from a tree. 
    And while he talked of cowboys 
And big old Texas ranches, 
He trimmed away the rough spots, 
While I dreamed of pony dances. 

     A wild stick horse remuda 
Began to run and play,
With every loving stroke,  
As he peeled the bark away.
     Using his "Old Timer"  
And carving in my brand, 
The best that he could find
And cut and shape with his own hand. 

     Now, each one of them was special,
And I felt I was too, 
As they kicked up dust behind 
This cowgirl buckaroo. 
     With reins of pink hair ribbon, 
Shoe strings and baling twine, 
There was "Buckin' Birch" and "Oakie," 
And "Ole Sticky" made of pine, 

     "Sassafras," and "Blackjack," 
"Willow," "Blaze," and "Scat," 
I never did corral 'em -- 
I just left 'em where they sat. 
     But next mornin', on the front porch, 
'stead of roamin' wild and free, 
They'd found their hitchin' rail, 
‘cause Papaw lined 'em up for me. 
  
     Along our trails together 
There were many lessons learned, 
Like bein' a cowboy through and through 
Is something that you earn 
     We'd partner up together, 
And team up in cahoots,
Once he defied my Mama,
Bought me red cowboy boots. 

     And often, when I wondered 
What to do on down the road, 
He'd always tell me, "little girl, 
When you get there you will know," 
     Sometimes you have to let things go, 
Sometimes you stand and fight, 
And anything worth doin', 
Is still worth doin' right. 

     With my wild stick horse remuda, 
We rode the range for miles, 
I knew I'd won my Papaw's heart 
By the way he'd laugh and smile, 
     I still have his sweat-stained Stetson, 
His boots, and his old knife, 
Sometimes I take them out 
Just to measure up my life. 
      
     And hold him closer to my heart, 
And know I have to try, 
To live up to the honor 
Of the wonder-days gone by. 
     On my stick horse remuda,
I learned the cowboy way, 
I’d give up everything I own 
To ride with him today. 

    My wild stick horse remuda 
Was quite the varied band, 
Born and bred with me in mind 
And trained by his own hand. 
     I’m longing for the legends, 
And the way we used to roam, 
With my wild stick horse remuda, 
And the man that we called "Home."

Premium Member High Tech Lynching

"HIGH TECH LYNCHING"

April 6, 2023, a dark and sad day in Tennessee history
Black men striped of their first amendment right to tell their story
The Declaration of Independence, states that "all men are created equal"
But the miscarriage of justice carried out in Nashville, quite illegal

Two young black Representatives expelled from the state house
Wrongfully discarded, unconstitutionally trashed, with many doubts
Simply because of the color of their skin
The perpetrators will never win

Black people in the south, still faced with remmnants of Jim Crow
They continuously want to constrain our voices, don't you know
Systemic racism is still alive and well
Brothers and Sisters open your eyes, because it's not that hard to tell 

The act of expulsion, was a planned strategy
Nothing more than a senseless tragedy
From start to finish, this was all about race
Just a blatant power grab to put two uppity blacks in their place

The nation mourns for the loss souls in the Nashville legislature
Blinded by the darkness of corruption, with a revengeful nature
They rammed down our throats, a historical, unprecedented expulsion
Two black men politically lynched, for a house, decorum rules intrusion 

Modern day slavery, still keeping us down
I am embarrassed to say that Memphis is my home town
Don't misconstrue, "Modern Day Slavery", as victimhood
We're not victims, just oppressed people, with our plight misunderstood

As black people, brought to this country on slave ships 
As we continue to be mistreated, we harken back to those trips
Why are we, refused and denied our deserved respect
Maybe because when we reflect, our opinions are honest and direct

Pulaski County Tennessee, birth home of the Klu Klux Klan 
To overcome southern disenfranchisement, voting is the plan
For us to neutralize that "Good Ole Boy" mentality
As a people, we must realize that it's more than a formality

For, far too long, we have been degraded and downtrodden
We refuse to be your foot stool any longer, we beg your pardon
Many people have lost their sense of civility
Engaging in bigotry and not taking responsibility

When some people present themselves as racists
Don't entertain the negative, just be an escapist 
When some in society dismiss an education
They are easily persuaded with misinformation
© Floyd Neal  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

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