Long Once Poems
Long Once Poems. Below are the most popular long Once by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Once poems by poem length and keyword.
This Cowboy came into this world with nothing.
So when you said you were leaving, I said
" Fine."
Now, I hope I Find a little Darling.
That can take me out to dinner and fine dine.
That can take me out to dinner and fine dine.
You see, I always paid the bills with my own money,
and you know these times have - a - changed.
So when I hand the bill back to you honey. Please
don't give me that awful look of shame.
Oh, please don't give me that awful look of shame.
I got concerned, when she was spending all my money.
My gut told me, it was time to go, for honey.
So, I asked her nicely, to sign a prenup.
She told me, " Oh Hell No, I'm not!" NO, "HELL NO,
I'm NOT!!!
The look on her face was priceless.
She said "I ain't -a- signing!"
Yelled, "Kiss my Ass Darling!" and
stormed out the room like lightening!
Oh, She stormed out the room like lightening!
So it saddens me to say goodbye to her,
and if you ask her, she'd say I was a Jerk.
Truth be told the reason why.
My credit card balance, reached the sky.
Oh, my Credit card balance, reached the sky.
Now I wasn't born yesterday,
and this Cowboy knows a trick or two.
When a Cowgirl says, " I love You."
Hide your wallet, and Credit Cards too!
Oh,"Hide your wallet, and Credit Cards, too!"
Cause you want to leave this world with a
little something, and not taken to the
cleaners by your darling.
No not taken to the cleaners by your darling.
Please don't think all women are all bad.
It was bad luck, this cowboy had.
Wishing for a cowgirl, that saves, not spends,
so We can ride into the sunset once again.
Oh we can, ride into the sunset once again.
Now you ask me what the Moral of this story is?
And, I'll answer you with one reply.
When you find a cowgirl, and you know she's right.
Hide your money, cause she'll take it, out of sight!
(Repeat)
OH, Hide your money, cause she'll take it, out of sight!
So, when you leave this world you'll have a little
something, and You won't be taken to the Cleaners, by
your wife.
No, You wont be taken to the cleaners by your wife...
This was written in fun, truth
be told women are much more
to be trusted than men...
After church their daughter ran into the house and maps she began reviewing
Mom and Dad walked over and asked…“what is it you’re doing?”
“I’m looking for the town where God works!” she said as only an innocent child can.
“If I find where he works I can go and see him…because I have a plan”.
“I want to ask him why Grandpa had to die!”…here Mom and Dad were taken aback
“I want to ask him, since he’s God…to bring my Grandpa back”.
“And where do you think God works?” Mom asked as she met her husbands gaze.
“Oh, I don’t think, I know!” she smiled….”Father Joe says he works in Mysterious Ways.”
“I’ve looked all over this map. I’ve looked here and I’ve looked there
but as for city of Mysterious Ways…I can’t find it anywhere.”
Mom was the first to speak as a smile crossed her face
“Mysterious Ways is how God works.” she said…”It’s not a real place.”
“So where does he live then?” the daughter asked- still not quite sure what they were talking about
“God lives inside everyone of us.” Mom said…”and it’s up to us to invite him out.”
“God is love.” Dad nodded…”God is anyplace where people care,
and if we let him or her into our hearts…God could be everywhere”.
I know it’s hard to understand…and you might think it odd
but anytime you pray you are speaking with your God.
Their daughter thought for a moment then said excitedly…
“So all I have to do is pray and God will bring Grandpa back to me?”
“You can always pray.” Mom said, “for prayers and faith we never lack
but once God has taken someone she doesn’t usually give them back.”
She doesn’t always answer our prayers but I believe one day
she will provide the answers…for that is her mysterious way….
“She’s so young,” Dad said, as that night they watched their daughter dream…
Do you think she understands…this is so much more complicated than it seems.
“Look at that smile on her face .” Mom said
perhaps it is simpler than it seems
perhaps the town of Mysterious Ways
and Grandpa are alive within her dreams.”
He tries to ignore her,
but she drags him close.
He tries to resist her,
but he needs it to pacify his pain.
His head aches with loud vibrations,
antagonised by her absence.
She is his pimp - he is her willing slave.
Like a fish caught on an angler's bait,
she reels him in, to devour her catch.
He knows her lethal reflection,
but he needs to tame the beast.
The needle tears a purple hole,
but he is now a unicorn flying high,
soaring among eagles,
free from the chains of tolerance.
Temporarily she satisfies his lust,
but once the buzz dies,
his bleak veins throb for more.
A bruise remains and that is all people see.
His face is gaunt,
his eyes yellow and his frame now frail.
Nobody makes eye contact nor do they trust him.
With their ignorant judgmental eyes,
they fail to see, what he really needs is to be saved.
Wounds are healed by love,
addiction is made worse by hate.
Meet the Press
By Franklin price
Written after watching Meet the Press on
4/30/2017
Meet the Press, a good example
Of what is wrong today
That keeps this country on the edge
That someone must have their way
A question I am questioning
Doesn't help us get along
Not only was it questionable
I believe that it was wrong
The essence of the question
Please answer me this rhyme
“Is it Washington or the President
Who's winning at this time?”
To even ask the question
Should raise a knowing smile
Indicates that there are sides to take
No way to reach across the aisle
We're not in competition
If we are we shouldn't be
We need now to cooperate
In common rationality
To say that we are fighting
Waiting for the bell to ring
That someone must be the loser
Doesn't get us anything
We must take off the boxing gloves
Or we'll go down the drain
Must hurry to the station
Or, once again, we'll miss the train
Neither Washington nor the President
Should be allowed to have their way
The winners should be the people
Of the grand old U.S.A.
My dad is mowing the grass.
Along with the other dads-
Seemingly everyone is mowing at once.
Wearing cargo shorts and sandals, like all dads do.
Buzzing from the lawnmowers.
Does not stop me from falling asleep on the hammock.
My dad makes it seem effortless.
So maybe it’s not so bad to let him do all the work…
Until he walks past me and I see him sweating from the heat.
I feel bad, so I make him homemade lemonade.
I tell him, I’ll do it next time.
But my dad is too wise to believe me.
But maybe he really doesn’t mind.
As he always gets done in time,
To enjoy our peaceful patio together.
In the beginning….a long time ago…man discovered aggression.
He lived and survived
then with passing of time
existence was no longer dependent on a combative mind.
But he continued to see power in his macho ways.
Aggression perverted….resulting in malaise.
Barbaric lessons learned
Bullies created….and superiority desires yearned.
And hatred pervaded….and took deep root.
And before its appearance
in the alleys and streets
sprouted in the mind….grew in the heart….and now it repeats.
Violence does not come in only one form.
Real peace and tranquility will never ensue….until they become the norm.
For an onslaught has emerged once more….and if we ignore
Circumstances will ignite….a deplorable war.
And if malevolence continues to rise and advance
Care….love….compassion….does not stand a chance.
So who is to blame?…. Is it you…or is it the other?
This hostility against….sister and brother.
Change is possible in the hearts of men
but perceived strength needs to be reformed….and the questions are how and when?
Leadership….support….protection….should be the true qualities of man.
Now is the time to give birth….to a caring humanity plan.
In the beginning….a long time ago….man discovered aggression
lived and survived.
And now during this moment in time
blissful existence impossible….without a peaceful, noncombative mind.
The mind is an ocean, vast and deep,
Where silent, waking shadows creep,
And thoughts drift by like ships of light,
Upon the endless sea of night.
It is a loom of gossamer thread,
Spellbound by sunlight, hope is bred,
Weaving the tapestry of days
In bright hues and a winding maze.
Within this quiet, vaulted hall,
The memories gather, stand, and fall.
A sudden scent, a fading song,
Can bring the distant years along,
Rebuilding worlds of joy and tears,
Across the bridge of vanished years.
The past is never truly gone;
It lives within the inward dawn.
And oh, the castles we can build,
With chambers by the starlight filled!
We soar on wings of pure design,
To touch the edges of the divine,
To paint the sky with whispered dreams,
And sculpt the mountains, shape the streams.
No gravity can hold us bound,
When in the mind we wander round.
Yet shadows dwell within this space,
A quiet, often lonely place.
The doubts will whisper in the dark,
And blow upon a dying spark.
The mind can be a stormy sea,
Where thought is bound, and thought is free,
A tempest raging, fierce and loud,
Concealed behind a quiet shroud.
I kissed the rain when tempests cleared,
And brought the lucid sight had neared.
A gentle breeze of reason blows,
And soothes the mind in sweet repose.
We sit upon the sandy shore,
And watch the waves forevermore,
Observing every thought that crests,
Until the weary spirit rests.
It is a galaxy of thought,
By unseen hands so deftly wrought.
A universe of shade and shine,
At once both human and divine.
To muse within this quiet mind,
Is the greatest journey we can find—
A boundless realm, forever free,
The mirror of eternity.
There’s civic unrest in Neasden
Which has become a mini hell
The vapours from all those camels
Has caused an awful fruity smell
The citizens are angry and are
Marching off to Westminster hall
Now the novelty has worn off
They’re blooming sick of it all
In spite of the good intentions
Of Lawrence and his crew
You can’t housetrain a camel
And the streets just smell of poo
It’s a simple ultimatum sent
To Tonee ol Georgie’s Vee Pee
Get them moved blooming sharpish
Or next election we’ll jolly well see
They’ve held a cabinet meeting
Old Two Jags came as well
To listen to those pleas
About their urban hell
They’ve reached an honourable
Compromise and Lawrence agreed
He can fulfil his patriotic duty
By going anywhere there is need
So if you are on the channel tunnel
And you think you’ve blown your mind
Because you could swear you’ve just
Seen a camel’s fat brown behind
It’s only Lawrence and his people
On security and safety patrol
Dedicated and dutiful
To the very soul
When a patriot’s a patriot
No task is too great
In the cause and the name
Of the safety of the state
And as Lawrence sometimes mutters
As he enters the tunnel to ride through it
For VeePee Tonee and Her Majesty
Somebody has got to do it
And back there in little Neasden
Things once more are going well
Thanks to the absence of those camels
And their gradually fading smell
TBC
Tom Sharing Aphorisms
(old adages)
Composed: by Miracle Man
11-9-2019
I’ve been told, when younger,
”I could start a fight in an empty House.”
Because often “I would cloud up and rain knuckles,”
and later “was a sight for sore eyes”
Sometimes “I just had a conniption fit” and it ended there.
It’s been said “I was like a cheap gun:
shoots quick but kicks hard,”
Because I’ve told a few “how the cow ate the cabbage,”
and “If they ruffled my tail feathers”
they got “burned like a chicken at a barbecue”
after I’d “give’em what for.”
When younger “I had my ears back and claws out,”
and “I’d start a fight at the drop of a hat”
and I’d drop it myself.
I’ve been called tight and narrow minded,
I wasn’t tight “I just had short arms and deep pockets”
and some said “I was so narrow minded
that I could look through a keyhole with both eyes.”
But I thought “I was tougher than stewed skunk”
Because I drank my coffee so strong
“it would raise a blood blister on a boot”
I once fought this guy
who was “fatter than a boarding house cat”
he was so big that, “he looked like he ate his brother,”
and “his pants could serve time as a pup tent.”
He “had more guts than you could hang on a fence,”
and looked like he could “lick his weight in wildcats.”
But now at eighty times have changed.
I’ve become “so confused I can’t tell
if I’ve lost my mule or found a rope”
I’m “as confused as a goat on AstroTurf”
“my elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top”
and some days “I feel like the lights are on but nobody is home”
Some days are more difficult “than putting socks on a rooster”
so “it’s about time to put the chairs in the wagon,”
“put out the fire and call in the dogs.”
But after spinning this yarn I’ll confess,
“I’m all hat and no cattle”
If you knew me “you’d stick to me like sticker burs to bare feet”
see you next time, “Lord willing and the creek don’t rise”.
Tom
Grandma’s ghost has taken up
knitting rattlesnakes in the drapes.
They hiss when someone lies.
Now, my mother only speaks
in noodle metaphors.
I ask her how she is, and she replies,
al dente, then goes back
to stirring the aquarium water
she'll later take a bath in.
My sister gives birth
to a daughter who levitates
during thunderstorms.
She answers to the name Unclaimed Bag.
In other words, we all gather once a year
to shed what’s left of politeness,
to laminate new rules:
No bleeding at the table.
Far less mirrors in the fruit salad.
All grudges must be gift-wrapped,
left at the door with the shoes,
with the husbands.
And when it’s over,
we nod like diplomats,
swap our favorite spells,
(that is to say recipes), pretend
we don't notice the fresh claw marks
on the floor.
It ends when we remember
our names again, who we are.
Then we leave—
each of us, in a different skin.