Long On the lam Poems
Long On the lam Poems. Below are the most popular long On the lam by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long On the lam poems by poem length and keyword.
little piper, little piper
oh how fast you skip away
as the morning tide crawls in to taste the beach
briny swishes bring your breakfast
while you prance to greet the day
and they never seem to wet you
like you're privy to a chosen course of each
little piper, little piper
such a ballet you perform
when you twirl and pirouette your dainty feet
darting in-and-out the sea foam
just to keep them dry and warm
all with perfect form and motion
so as not to warn those little things you eat
little piper, little piper
you're the bane of every clam
watching closely for their bubbles in the sand
oh, the hermit crabs are missing
each-and-each now on the lam
and the hot sand gently hissing
as you try to sate your hungry chick's demand
little piper, little piper
all day long your work persists
as your tummy and your wee one both are fed
so with food enough to sleep on
'midst the creeping twilight mists
and as purple shadows deepen
comes the time to sing your little one to bed
little piper, now you dance in dreams ... instead.
Apropos of John H. Doe
A name we all know
Just like Uncle Sam
~ He too’s on the lam
____________________
'Critics Corner'
(A random sample of published reviews):
"Subtly implicative, bigly"
~ Barron and Donald J. Trump, in unison
"Emasculatory Triumph!!"
~ 'Fannie Femdom'
"Lumpen Proletariat Barfola"
~ Karl and Groucho Marx
"Aso. Learry Derightfur Liting:"
~ Shohei Ohtani, (through an interpreter)
"Yes, it IS poetry. So that means it's, well, a poem, written -- by a poet."
~ Kamala Harris, responding to a hardball question from Oprah W.
"I fell asleep reading this... twice."
~ Joseph Robinette Biden
I may be all wet, but I sure ain't no bluenose!
And, while it's none of my beeswax,
Let's have a bull session-lesson !
Take a gander around, and tell the guy with the cheaters
I'll give him an ear-full, if he'll just hang around
There's a gatecrasher here..., I heard, on the level
He's zozzled on hooch, a big lollygagger!
He staggered in blotto, with a ciggy on his lips
Sipping on bootleg, and lookin' for whoopee!
He's the fall guy, (I've heard), for a weird, double cross
Here comes the hoofer, the one with the gams
That vamp is a pushover, a gun- moll, man chaser
A real hotsy-totsy!, she dresses real spiffy
Her toy is a shiv, she's the Jane, Real McCoy,
makes a sap out of guys, who carry a torch
Bumps them off, on their own front porch !
And that's the "Big Cheese", who runs the speakeasy
He thinks he's high hat, but is full of baloney
He gives all the dames, the real "heebie-jeebies"
Just a poor drug-store cowboy... filled with nothin' but hooey
Hard-boiled. they come, gold-diggers and hoods
I've been beating my gums, and I'm dying of thirst
This is the berries, been the real bees knees!
Oh, it has been swell, while chewing the fat!
But, facts are the facts, on the up and up
Well, bye, Buttercup,......the jig is up
I'm serious Sam, in a serious jam
The truth of the matter is, that I'm on the lam
You don't know for nothin', stay out of a pickle !...
Remember my friend, don't take wooden nickels !!
______________________________________________________
For Deb's Contest: Talk The Talk, Walk The Walk (1920's Slang)
6/14/15
little piper, little piper
oh how fast you skip away
as the morning tide crawls in to taste the beach -
briny swishes bring your breakfast
while you prance to greet the day
and they never seem to wet you
like you're privy to the chosen course of each ...
little piper, little piper
such a ballet you perform
when you twirl and pirouette your dainty feet -
darting in-and-out the sea foam
just to keep them dry and warm
all with perfect form and motion
so as not to warn those little things you eat ...
little piper, little piper
you're the bane of every clam
watching closely for their bubbles in the sand -
oh, the hermit crabs are missing -
each-and-each now on the lam
and the hot sand gently hissing
as you try to sate your hungry chick's demand ...
little piper, little piper
all day long your work persists
as your tummy and your wee one both are fed -
so with food enough to sleep on
'midst the creeping twilight mists
and as purple shadows deepen
comes the time to sing your little one to bed ...
little piper, now you dance in dreams ... instead.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Strand Special 2 Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
They flutter and they flitter
Two lovebirds on the lam
Their beatings wings adorned with glitter
Tiny beads of dew reflecting in the sun.
From flower to flower they wander
A constant game of catch me if you can,
No time to wait or simply ponder
When procreation is now their only plan.
Short are the days their mission clear,
Their brief life's work comes down to this,
To live and love is what they hold most dear
One perfect union as part of Nature's bliss.
And while they dance we gaze
Lost in the beauty of their craft
Peering keenly through the wispish haze
As they glide and turn on every breath and draft.
Even the flowers smile at this fine show
Spreading their petals wide in welcome sign
Hoping that their alluring scent and glow
Will lead the lovers there to dine.
And so does nature prove it's worth
When such fine balance yields so much
As the pollen feeds the future birth
So too the flowers create from that gentle touch.
Although I greatly loved socializing, I really enjoyed being alone,
Like ebony evenings of magic, with no ringing of the telephone.
Since my young childhood, I had been, an introverted extrovert,
Like one with eyes to azure skies, for solitary sun's extra burst!
I loved my work as a museum tour guide, as blossoms love rain,
And offish Mars loves twirling alone, in the red days of his fame.
Yet, in leisure hours I was often alone, like a full, alienated moon,
Or stunning, vibrant rainbows, that won't be amassing very soon.
Friends oft invited me to parties, and sometimes I would accept,
As sun is seen coaxing roses, from the beds where winter's slept.
I lived in the house of quiet starlight, each of them roving alone,
Like solitary, jade grasshoppers, when green grass is overgrown.
My nearest neighbor was my best friend, and we were like family,
Ofttimes together, laughing steadily, in the days of golden vanity.
Pleasant summer was in high spirits, with a whistling in the trees,
And a continuous, merry humming, from hives of the honeybees.
One day, I labored in my garden, while marigold blooms sang sun;
And I saw a lone woodpecker tapping, getting his own work done.
It was not the first time I'd seen one, and they were always solo,
Like a total eclipse of the glorious sun, making of him a no-show.
Then I saw a pink hummingbird, flying backward, and upside down,
Reveling in aloof, open air dining, out on the quaint sunshiny town.
This brought to mind adorable koalas, living out serene lives alone,
Like a dramatic, lone shooting star, heading out to zones unknown.
Later I saw a pretty emerald butterfly, more solitary than the birds,
They live and usually migrate alone, past the city's outlying suburbs.
Then there is reclusive, giant panda, active at night and by twilight,
When hued skies remember and review, the golden day's highlights.
Thinking of complex nature's solo acts, I did gain valuable insights,
For being alone is only natural, circumstances defining what's right.
I am no longer feeling guilty, but am accepting myself just as I am.
As the sun accepts taking over, when heavy storms are on the lam.
I still laugh it up at joyous parties, like fireworks and confetti stars,
Yet, I require long intervals of silence, like silky nights of no chaos!
Embracing Poetry
Freedom on the lam, where the poet sings
To hearts that are imprisoned against their will,
Inspires the bereaved mind to spring to life
And uplifts hearts to bloom and burst liberated
When the pain of incarceration ceases.
“Gloria excelsis” in the world.
Frolic away, poet, and tell the world,
Encouraging bosoms to join in song,
Birthing new beginnings where weed growth ceases;
And let fresh hope generate unfalt'ring wills
Smothered with deeds abounding with liberties;
Death is certain, but poetry is life.
Martyrs forced into cages forfeit their lives
While conquerors plant flags around the world,
Stealing wealth, and curtailing liberties,
And muzzling the lips of those who would sing
Of freedom’s great joy without broken will,
With gladness boasting liberty’s song ceaselessly.
Were I to stretch the cage’s bars ‘til strength ceased
And purge authority aspersing my life
And mock their failure to immure my will,
As I sail poetic rhymes in the world
With hearts of fellow poets yearning to sing
Vociferously with new liberties.
But destiny’s path squashes liberty,
And lungs collapse when inflation ceases.
If evil is not rebuffed, who will sing the babe
To sleep with dreams of a future life obtained
Through sacrifices for Erato’s world,
Inheriting bold character and will?
Still, they rehearse scripts to truncate my will
With mulct and abrogate my liberty,
But not you, dear poet. Nix not of this world,
Whose toes skip over bloomed fields while mine cease
To dance in delight to the verse of life—
Ill speak they your name, forbidding me to sing.
Ere my will dims, indulge me with a song
Describing life’s passion for liberty;
Let my heartbeat cease in joy from the world.
***
Notes:
Gloria excelsis (Latin): Glory in the highest.
Erato: muse (Greek mythology) of lyric and poetry.
Urania: muse (Greek mythology) of music, song, and dance.
(Taking headlines from October 1964,
the poem revisits our shared experience ...)
Monday 5: Fifty-Four East Germans Tunnel to Freedom
Back then, it was not in doubt,
(Richard Burton Tony Quinn):
the Wall was there to keep us out?
No – built, in fact, to keep them in.
Thursday 8: Beatles Release “She’s a Woman”
My love don’t give me presents.
East is east and west is west –
Ringo passed his driving test –
Blofeld looks like Donald Pleasence.
Monday 12: The Moog Synthesizer Makes Its Debut
It’s fantastic! It’s so new!
Music made in outer space!
Now we’ll win the missile race!
How we love you, Doctor … Who?
Wednesday 14: Martin Luther King Awarded Nobel Peace Prize
Hypatia, Gandhi, Jesus Christ
and Socrates … he was that good:
and just like them, he knew he would
so very soon be sacrificed.
Wednesday 14: Khrushchev Deposed
Now, here’s a man who really tried.
It’s thanks to him, that Cuba fright
didn’t end in Nuclear Night.
Reward? His thugs brush him aside.
Wednesday 21: My Fair Lady Film Premiere
Can a statue have a heart?
Can what’s vulgar morph to art?
Entertainment as idea?
Tin Pan Alley’s Galatea.
Monday 26: Eric Edgar Cooke Executed, Western Australia
Cleft palate, hare lip.
Bullied here, bullied there.
Mumbling moron, bloody crip.
Then they hang him. Life ain’t fair.
Thursday 29: Audacious Diamond Robbery in New York
Banner headlines in the papers.
Daring crimes, coolest capers.
They’re classy crooks, they’ll fence their loot
in Buenos Aires, or Beirut.
(In the real world, how'd it go?
Look at 31 below.)
Saturday 31: Lyndon Johnson Proclaims the Great Society
Nothing novel, or unique:
his vision was for Uncle Sam
to help the luckless, tend the weak.
One word destroyed him. Vietnam.
Saturday 31: New York Diamond Robbers Caught
Tiffany studs? More Studs L. Terkel.
One rock alone, a hundred grams,
Murph the Surf’s men on the lam:
they didn’t make Columbus Circle.
Saturday 31: Goose Kills Astronaut
Theo Freeman was his name,
test-pilot/astronaut his game.
Ejector seats are not much use
against a full-grown Galveston goose.
I Am a Veteran
By Franklin Price
11/3/2015
I am a veteran growing old
Always went where I was told
Followed orders to the “T”
Volunteered that was just me
Basic training taught a lot
Learned to march to take a shot
Make a bunk exactly right
Pulled KP into the night
Torn down to be built up
Became a dog from just a pup
When I arrived was just a kid
Left an adult you know I did
Trained in skills I did not know
Earned sixty dollars not much dough
Tried to never sing the blues
Even spit shined boots and shoes
Some skipped the draft went on the lam
I enlisted and went to Viet Nam
The year I spent the one of Tet
Of that Asian war I am a vet
My country called I answered it
For four short years I did not quit
I learned so well to handle strife
Not much else hard for all my life
Do not regret a thing at all
If young again would heed the call
Would grow up quick as I did then
Yes, I would do it all again
They told me, "Leave Brooklyn, find the green,"
"Head upstate, change the scene,"
Nature's arms open wide,
So I took that long Amtrak ride.
I knew there were bobcats, I knew there was bear
So I took my pit-bull Chewbacca, any bear would beware
His last victim was a carjacker on the lam.
Teeth clamped on the guy's arm like a giant clam.
In the heart of Adirondacks, fate took a bad turn
We sat on star moss, and admired a fern
Chewbacca sniffed at a critter with predacious design
But it was a badass porcupine
My dog's nose looked like a pincushion of quills
He ran off howling into the hills
I ran after him and into a swamp I fell,
Green goo in my shoes, oh man, what a smell.
Covered with slime, then came the stings of black flies
Already I wondered if the hype was lies.
Yanked my way out, walked on bees in the ground
I thought bees were in trees, but nature had to confound
I say pave the Adirondacks, let concrete reign,
Nature’s wild, and slightly insane.
From swamps to thorns, bees on attack,
Brooklyn’s rough, but these woods fight back.
Off the trail, stumbled through deer remains,
Leaned on a tree but found only pain.
Thorns from the bark, I couldn’t win,
What did I do to deserve this, can't recall the sin!
(Bridge)
I ran screaming, poison ivy on my socks
Twisted my leg among diabolical rocks
Crawled back to a trail, where help was found,
A hiker gawked, said, “Bro, you’re hospital-bound.”
(Chorus)
Pave the Adirondacks, let concrete reign,
Nature’s wild, and slightly insane.
From swamps to thorns, bees on attack,
Brooklyn’s rough, but these woods fight back.
Now I'm back in the city, but nature wasn't through
Doc says I have Lyme disease, I wish I could sue.
Nature’s beauty nowhere near the beauty of a bar
I'll stay on the mean streets and drag race my car.
So pave the mountains, pave the trees,
Brooklyn’s jungle is enough for me.
Nature's call? Just a John Denver song
Here with the homeboys, I can't go wrong.