Long Pipe Poems
Long Pipe Poems. Below are the most popular long Pipe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pipe poems by poem length and keyword.
In Jan, nineteen thirty-three, there was man called Mick Malloy
At the time he was an alcoholic and a poor homeless boy.
A young Irish fire-fighter out of work
He left his home in Donegal - to find some in New York.
He fell in with five real bad men
Who wanted to cause murder back then.
Poor Mick they had him in their sights
An insurance fraud, they brought to light.
They signed three life policies on Mick
Now they had to kill him quick.
Unlimited credit in a speakeasy, they gave him
To drink himself to death-they went out on a limb.
Although he drank all day long
His life it just seemed to prolong
They switched to antifreeze instead
Expecting Mick to wake up dead.
With turpentine they then did tempt
But no success, so they switched to horse liniment.
Finally a drink of rat poison, they gave the poor lad
But Mick never ever seemed to get bad.
They tried oysters, then methanol.
Bad sardines, poison and carpet tacks
But poor old Mick swallowed the lot,
And still poor Mick kept coming back.
The five would be murderers were baffled
Poor Mick just would not die
The murder trust then knew,
something else they would have to try.
One night poor Mick unconscious, they stripped him and carried him out
In minus fourteen degrees,naked, not wearing a single clout.
Threw five gallons of water on him, to make sure that he would freeze
Poor Mick returned the next without even a cough or sneeze.
Mick returned the next day to order himself a drink
The men were getting desperate they really had to think.
Next they hit him with a taxi and broke lots of poor Mick’s bones
But he had three weeks in hospital, then they sent him home.
The gang had thought that Mick was dead
But when they tried to claim, poor Mick returned once more
And kept on his drinking game.
In desperation in February, in fact on the twenty second
They waited for Mick to collapse, then gassed him in a second
A pipe they pushed into his throat and now poor Mick was gone.
The gang did not win even then, no not a single one.
They squabbled and were caught and to Sing Sing them they did send
Four to be fried on the electric chair what a sizzling end
The fifth was sent to prison, which didn’t seem quite fair.
He somehow managed to escape, Sing Sings electric chair
Poor Mick Malloy has been long gone, but will not be forgotten
Just remember to watch your friends though; you never know who’s rotten.
Bring on the rejection slips and/or lost wager
Though flush with good humor
pun one mock two yields negligible
true cash equivalent value won
dirt poor offspring privileged as prodigal son
pockets bursting with legal tender,
where just yesterday I had none.
All polite declinations
strung together would circle...
(fill in the blank)
matter of fact, I just got a slew of them
today June 9th, 2020, what a lucky man
me haint an idealist...,
but winning poetry (writing) contest
or purchasing lottery tickets...
yeah, nothing butta pipe dream
such improbable whimsical notion
linkedin and tantamount
with milkmaid and pail
Aesop pose fabulous incredulous solution
finally good riddance
hand to mouth existence
hello riches, perchance a dollop
and/or sizable windfall courtesy
drawn PowerBall and/or Mega Million ticket
whereby yours truly suddenly
cursed with chump change,
and/or abundant money
would experience "fifteen minutes of fame"
flush with friends and relatives
I (a misanthrope) never knew existed
(perhaps even marriage proposition,
no matter wedded bliss prevails)
interesting... how moderate
and/or substantial wealth
suddenly finds chock a block
acquisitions (regarding brand new automobile,
custom designed house,
travel opportunities galore
(maybe even vacation to Mars)
(despite coronavirus - COVID -19) prevalence,
nevertheless awareness viz immutability altering
pubescent stunted emotional, physical
and social development
profusely sweating hands, social anxiety
all the while knowing money
can't buy happiness,
yet once and for all at long last
free and clear of grinding poverty
cuz groveling along
the pockmarked highway
avails countless exit ramps
plethora of choices
how to be analogous to jolly Roger
piloting immense ship of state
(approximating size of Rhode Island)
equipped with the latest trappings
matter of fact replete
with every creature comfort
analogous to rich
self sufficient independent country
allowing, enabling, and providing
a warm welcome - think unfurled
Harris tweed Scottish welcome mat.
Meanwhile somewhere in Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania resident
(within apartment B44)...
tenant fritters precious time wishfully thinking
(luxuriant life within theoretical leisure class)
finding this nameless scrivener
invariably hoisting himself by his own petard.
THE PIPER He came from nowhere piping. We danced and danced in his trail. Our eyes popped out as elation swayed us. Suddenly, His pipe creaked and cracked. All feet hung as
sky dimmed her lights...
Silhouettes of Gun -shooting Devils everywhere..
Plodding hands of death lurking in the dark, lurking in the open... like hawk, Hawking chicken... Human heads fallen off as of woodcutters in frenzy.
cutting down trees.
Cry, my beloved Country!, Nigeria! how fast you fade, fading into oblivion, like a soviet. Oh Soviet! I bemoan you; once a cathedral's bell, you chimmed for all nations, now a shadow lying beneath history.
And the Piper! Now a prisoner for his people because he said no to a carnibal system, because he said no to a divide and rule system...
Your music is forever replaying to our hearts.
By Akudolu Ignatius
Our roots run deep into the Philadelphia bells of acoustical waves of your musical melodies, sound in my distant ear, the sailors storm on the wooden ferry I ride, into the depths, of a swamps crossing, saved by the mind, we traveled together with a song in a line, oceans wake we travel across to a hay ride wedding and chowder horns of blessings we dine.
Rings true to the bells of a flashing red nose of St. Nicholas flight we sit and fight occupied by the Christmas Night. Songs we would sing from an Old English Story carried on by our families from generations ago. A musical history of wooden winds along with an Indian Pipe we remember from back then, the long journey of the stalagmites of millions of years you shown to me. Nature we live to see, what's right in front of me, horses we gallop to the lake filled with trout, and into the rivers of the Chattanooga with a stripped root beer of truth in its colors are bound into a saltwater taffy candy entwined.
Built from the foundation, a brick and a pebble, we rise through the years of lessons we learned, the barrel of two guns and logs of fire on a cold night.
A loss so great grief long and hard two people so young and so soon they were gone. Torn apart into a new life and it begins with the truth that lies beneath. From the strength above we pulled through.
Snowy rooftops and a seasons leaf, roaring rapids and a bridge line of cobble, a Water Wheel and Indian Tales in a Grey Stone Prayer of a white candle lit. We move along through it all filled with adventure and love carrying the music within to find ourselves back to the oceans again deep in our hearts. The Tropics we know.
Constructing the intelligence broad waters rise and a house from the 20's you kept alive, hard as it was a paradise you built, home you always were where ever you went.
My heart sank when the news came, I never have thought of a day without you. Brave I was with all that you survived, I made it through, darkness came and they attacked with secrets people never knew, I almost died, but came through because of you.
As years went by then at last comes a son I thought who lives in the memory of you. Lessons we learned will carry on to him too. Bless our lives with many more of you. As I sit here today missing you, all I can do is carry on...and hope to make you proud as I am of you.
As I walk the dirty streets, I look into a crack head eyes,
as she look's up at with surprise.
Knowing I got what it takes to supply them dimes!
She has her high beam's on, and a crack pipe in her palms.
she has no time to speak, as she crosses the street.
I'm her pusher man!
That keeps the past, in the past.
She beg's me for a hit, with her cracked white lips. She say's she needs a dime,
for it's her last time, knowing it's lie just to get high.
As I smile in her face, with a look of disgrace, for I'm the pusher...
I know to never let the street's get to you.
I alway's know rule number two...Never smoke from your own supply!
Rule number ten,... All rule's apply!
I'm your pusher man...
All these other rules, from one thur nine, is for only real niggas that put in time!
Never be weak for the drug's you seek, for she knows what she needs.
She really has no need to plead, what ever she needs, I'm pleased.
For her money is coming to me! If she only knew I was taking her life.
Everything she has, or ever treasured, from her husbend, to a straight dike!
She needs me for I'm here to please. With out an "us"... they'll be no "we"!
She'll give up her home and, her family, she'll never go to far,
I'm her pusher man!
I'll make her dreams a reality!
To reconcile, to feel all she needs is me! I'm the prophecy, she'll live in poverty,
talking with profanity. Selling her big screen to me!
I'm her pusher man. I make her happy when shes sad,
I can get her higher than a kite, she'll be in the streets all night!
Her family wouldn't see her in weeks, her home, was with me!
No need to eat, drugs was the beef!
I'm her pusher man!
She'll rob her mom, just to get her high on.
She'll steal from the police, If she see me in the street's!
I'm her mom, I'm her dad, Im' her everything she had,
I'm her pusher man!
She keeps me richer, my pockets stay thicker!
She loves me more than she loves her self... because the crack, is what it's really all about! I'm her pusher man!
I am what I am, I give what I can!
From the suburbs from, the hoodest of all hoods! I stay with the goods!
I'm her pusher man...
The streets will be watching everthing you do, and one day they might come for you!
For I'm... your pusher man!
Accursed human species
case in point Vladimir Putin,
who strikes terror across globe.
Don't underestimate his hell bent
zeal to attack United States,
one blood sucking infernal
predacious *****sapien
mercilessly bullies, interrogates,
threatens... with zeal.
Considerably less mortifying
constitutes wrathful ordeals
exhibited by adults who treat
thine wife with indecorous jibes
like punks who sat back of bus
or classmates at Methacton
High School, mine alma mater.
No different than typical mean kids
many crotchety residents here
Highland Manor Apartments
majority residents aggrieve the missus
though said counterpart (thee spouse)
exudes standoffish poise
countenance dons and
nonverbally trumpets scowl
body language broadcasts
social graces be damned
easily interpreted as snub
engendering hostile imprecations
cruelly fiendish provocations
undermine capacity to experience
peace of mind
exacerbated by her
figurative cold shoulder
propensity to flip the bird
notched, ratcheted, torqued... tension
courtesy miss prissy heiress,
daughter, she secured management role
albeit (hats off) to nepotism
guarantees lifelong job security
issued thee missus warning
rental stipulation disallows
overt middle finger flashing signal
emotional entanglement ensued
yours truly tasked
to pursue more favorable environment,
yet scant finances (mine)
and poor credit
two strikes against
locating affordable living situation
since sole family income
social security disability
direct deposited monthly
buzzfeeding checking account
regularly near anorexic,
cuz additionally I pay
costs of living expenses
cole king avoiding being homeless,
thus this penniless
among dime a dozen
day late dollar short
low income bracketed
(marching with madness)
mister casts quandary
couched as poetry,
no great expectations,
nonetheless cathartic to communicate
(hoop fully understandable)
present tense plight
projected as plotted trend
fat and/or slim chance
fate will curse me as lottery winner
pipe dream teasing
this word plumber flush with ire,
who feels nsync and drained
scraping hand to mouth
bemoaning apathy, dismal
effort, gross indifference
toward self sums (mein kampf)
plus academic struggles
proffers grim forecast
as coxswain at mercy
rudderless ship of state
edges closer to his waterloo.
Myrtle Parker
Myrtle Parker lived on the Riviera,
That’s the English one not the French.
Her favourite tipple is Red Currant Cider,
Only beverage her thirst would quench.
Never did she marry no husband,
Preference for life single and free,
Though kept two doggy companions,
Twin Westies, Florence and Zebedee.
Miss Parker was a gatherer and hoarder,
Antiques, curios, lots of impractical tat.
Her catchphrase was somewhat familiar,
“I‘ll find a good use for that.”
Tumbledown Cottage name on the gate,
Aptly called for badly required repair.
The man from Devonshire Council,
Shakes his head in anguished despair.
Oh, dear Myrtle what are we to do,
I cannot see the wood for the trees,
Environment Officer is calling today,
He doesn’t like cockroach and fleas.
Myrtle lives close to Muscle shell beach,
Small cove of shingle and coarse sand,
Opposite the Cat protection league,
Where she buys new clothes second hand.
One summer had a house full of Kittens,
That grew into fully grown cats.
They left her in search of new comforts,
Plagued by visits of large rodent rats.
Myrtle decided on a radical clear out,
To make way for a new feather bed,
But could not let go of her treasures,
So continued sleeping on the sofa instead.
Seventy years old, obstinate and proud,
Devon Council man returned to her door.
“This house is making you poorly my dear,
Regretfully you cannot live here anymore.
Oh, dear Myrtle here’s what we’ll do,
Move you into a comfy town flat,
Environment Officer is calling today,
Condemn your cottage, so sorry about that.
Myrtle Parker was born in this house,
Her father he worked on the boats,
Mother stayed home baking bread,
From freshly ground buckwheat groats.
Tumbledown cottage is full of memories,
Though can’t find many for the clutter.
Diminutive rooms two up two down,
Walls dampened by broken pipe gutter.
If I have to go then take me in a box,
She chained herself to the newel post.
I’ll defend my rights for all I’m worth,
Then haunt Council man as his ghost.
Council man arrives excited with keys,
For Miss Parkers new urban home,
But Myrtle had been true to her word,
and perished on the staircase all alone.
Oh, dear Myrtle what have you done,
Your new flat was shiny and clean,
Environment Officer is calling today,
Demolition boss with bulldozer team.
I
A queue to a doorway
No-one knows what´s
On sale there
It could be washing powder
Almonds or diamonds
You think this was some
Yesterday
Look out your
Ghost smeared
Window
This is now
II
Throw stones at the
Motorcade
The pin pricked
Giant will barely
Pause
At banners & petitions
Faded pendants
Worthless paper
Riding out for a
Losing battle
Looking to a broken sky
For some Mon´s Angel
Less an army
More a mob
To the castle!
To the castle!
With flaming
Molotov
You awake in darkness
Hopeful
So many crusades
Begin in dreams
III
Tobolski late summer
With blankets for curtains
Tapestry dust
Stirred into
Koptyski forest soil
The former holy
The highest
Dragged
Splintered
Made human
Or less
IV
Each new dawning day
Spins us up to escape velocity
To be spat out to unthinking stars
Made passive by the weight of reason & history
We stare out into the rain
Believing wolves rule beyond the clearing
Elsewhere there is dancing
Cruise ships leave a wake of
Halved grapefruits
Shirts and skirts worn once
Gilded, seamless they glide
Oblivious to the hidden knife
The newspaper wrapped revolver
Passed under the café table
At the platform´s edge
All are equal to the justice
Of the approaching train
V
Red Emma
Red Emma
Won´t you send Berkman over
With a satchel full
Of dynamite
On a Chicago bound
Train
VI
Part six
In which
I dig a hole
To bury past dreams
And convictions
I brain-grew
At a factory lathe
Always knowing
There was escape
A high window climb
And as any fool knows
The fresh-turned soil
Of any deep hole
Can be easy seen
From the public road
VII
My advice to you
Young devil-cared rebel
Why don´t you climb on the roof
While your parents are sleeping
Try & flag down a passing
Black star liner
The busted sewer pipe
Has flooded the basement
Wet pages spin like lily pads
Stashed furniture corpse-bloats
Full boxes mush-mold
Time is tight
Young devil-cared pilgrim
Take with you only
What your pockets can hold
VIII
Among the defeated
Slack faces on rusted fairground rides
Among the defeated
Eating smoke rain mocked
Among the defeated
Careless cigarettes burn umbrella holes
Among the defeated
Landlocked padlocked frozen out
IX
Don´t
try a handstand
Your coins will
Fall out
X
Under the tar
The chariot ruts
A Golem
Is stirring.
Rosebuds draft in scarlet, crimson, or maroon,
dreams to capture the viewer's point of view,
as its blossom's sheath their basis to its prune,
magnificent achievers rise in rows queue,
as the loss of age cast their field of thorn strewn,
shadows the facades to pipe a distinct tune,
shear away those sharp pokey points of danger,
and frail petals to amend its life-changer.
Amendments trail the housed maxed of tabletops,
of revived rosebuds claim a home as their own,
a treasured wealth trades with the town's floral shops,
then set at one's front wicket by an unknown,
or adorn tombstones as floral wreaths that props,
and crowned on a princess who sits on her throne,
a taxing burden to detain the death masque,
not tiny but thornless as Bonsai craft's task.
The Pyramid steps like the Baguio steppes,
where Filipinos view as their time-out spot,
the other is ancient for tourists who peps,
while an isle serves the rosebuds to sprout and squat,
nature confides stemmed thornless maroon by reps,
students check articles of the course they plot,
as a new breed of rosebuds shelved a terrace,
elegance embrace the solitaire heiress.
Loosely sketched parcels that the rosebud dwells in,
fresh sod fertile and well-sopped sealed neath the sun,
from its current strain, since its birth in Eden,
inspire blossoming with faint buzzes outdone,
coy rumors, green greener, red redder, seeds in,
East rises, and West sets, how the rosebud won,
Bonsai is an ancient craft not deemed as new,
man named rosebuds since their virgin birth, it grew.
Spring sprung sprouts as their healthy roots hug the ground,
a wealth of newborns reach for the warmth of skies,
its outstretched stem hardens merely being gowned,
a promised promenade paramount to rise,
by patrons, the sun, moon, and earth make their round,
a glowing shape as a rosebud is its prize,
the fields are graced with rosebuds color-filled rows,
as they grow in opened splendor till it snows.
Botanical Society best: Sowers.
ranked by their breeds and regions where they were raised,
down to idyllic truths, forthcoming growers,
who take pleasure in their leisure being phased,
where growth is best tended as their height lowers,
promised its dowery by virtuous praised,
reach prosperous glory in you or outpours,
rain or shine achievers within or outdoors.
1971 (Hey Dude)
Hey dude, come in, come in.
Been a long time since we last smoked the peace pipe together.
Hey! I think it was during Hendrix’s set in Bethel, dude!
Here, let me move these Rolling Stones out of the way.
and the Taco Bell wrappers… There. Dude, let’s sit.
First, I need to change the record. Let me look here….hmm,
Iron Butterfly? Naw, too psychedelic. Blind Faith?
Naw, they’re too much like Cream. And I’m tired of them.
Hey, how ‘bout Led Zeppelin 3?... Naw, too new;
Ah! Let’s hear some very mellow Traffic music. This is cool dude!
It’s their second album…very trippy music...
Listening to this stuff makes me feel alright!...
Dude, Here you go. That hole there is like a carburetor;
Put your finger on it and draw in. Then, let go. Boom!
Dude! Welcome to the petrified forest, man!
Dude! I been kicking back here thinking about infinity, man.
My mind is constantly being blown thinking about how big the universe is.
Dude, we are so small, so infinitesimal, so minute,
in comparison to the absolute vastness of the universe.
Dude, here we are, riding on this huge ball of dirt,
turning through space at a thousand miles per hour,
and we aren’t even feeling it as we speed along,
like it’s not even happening, man!
You know, dude, we are so small, so very very small,
we’re all just a very small part of this vast solar system
with these humongous planets circling this huge ball of fire,
which are all just a very small part of this humongous Milky Way galaxy,
which is just one of billions and billions of galaxies in the universe…
Man, it makes my mind bend!...
Here, this purple haze from Michoacán will seal the deal, dude…
I also been thinking about God, dude!
We are all so small; we are all like spiders, just spinning our webs…
in this humongous garden called life!
So I must ask Dude:
What is God? Who is God?
I will tell you what God is! I now know! Dude!
Are you ready to hear what God is? …
Ice cream, dude! Ice cream!
Do you want some vanilla ice cream, dude?
I have a gallon in my freezer!
Think of the millions of people in the world right now,
the people of India, South America, Australia and even in Dinuba, California,
who at this very moment, this precise second in time and eternity,
are sitting there, eating vanilla ice cream.
Hey dude! Be right back!