Long Punches Poems
Long Punches Poems. Below are the most popular long Punches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Punches poems by poem length and keyword.
#Repetition_of_irremediable_calamity
Stare the dark gloomed space of shooting casanovas, blurred with shades of karma, coated with deja vu, I was here the mind says, my hands mired with more dirt, contaminating my hard work and effort to never to pass through this hind streets of lingering pain and regrets, a rotational oozing of ghostlike tormenting shadows of my yesterday, and feel pacing in slow motion in this circles of no exits, no matter the effort pores punches all over my hope, feel drowning, suffocating and my soul ebbing, dilating in volumes I can't contain any further
My calamity takes everything out of me, regret there be nothing to identify me with, after it's taking, invisible blows shatters me from every direction, how can I not give in when I too was made from the very dust of this earth, a human like the rest
Here I'm tested to never rise again or to man up and prove the naysayers and those who have written me off even before my birth, spirit lead my me to faith without borders, pass me a riffle to eleminate every doubt before me, face up, faith on, and irremediable is just a word in my calamity
#Poetic_Ink
Hope begins at night
When the lights are out
While you lay in bed
In the dark
And try to fall asleep.
It’s when all the thoughts
Start to creep in to your head
And you want to grab a notebook
And a pen
And starting writing things down
Like a maniac.
So,
Hold on to that hope
And never ever let it go
Hope begins
Outside under the stars
That shine so brightly
In the sky
As you realize
You need to shine
Your light daily
As much as you can
So,
Hold on to that hope
And never ever let it go
Hope begins
In the forest
Hiking up a mountain
To a gorgeous view
That will take your breath away
And leave you feeling powerful and inspired
So,
Hold on to that hope
And never ever let it go
Hope begins
At the gym
When you throw on the boxing gloves
And start throwing punches
As hard as you can
So,
Hold on to that hope
And never ever let it go
Hope begins
With a spark
Inside of you
So,
hold on to that hope
And start unleashing it
Into everything you do
In your life.
in faces lined like glaciers
sometimes there's loneliness
that cuts a tow line to safety
air of flux and hostility
over dazed eyes
turbulent modernity
sometimes we yearn for elegance
like a warm shoulder
its edge of acceptance
fitted with precision
yearn to heal a heart in straight jacket pain
to know motivation that punches above the weight
of a fragile frame
to relish the faith of a welcoming hand
to find a community
that bends the bar of one's cage into bracelets
shuffled like a deck of cards
lives seldom remain still
yearning to break an existence slurred by off color jokes
reaching for an unseeable light
a homeward wish
smothering woe
I was driving to work on Monday morn
when behind me I heard a honking horn
A guy's middle finger taunted with scorn,
and that's the moment my road rage was born.
Normally, I'd smile and give him a wave
like I hadn't seen the finger he gave,
but this dude continued to misbehave
and almost rammed me. It was a close shave!
Traffic was slow. There must've been a wreck.
We were barely moving along this trek,
as his face turned red, then so did his neck,
but I didn't cause it, so what the heck?
Then every lane came to a complete stop.
He screamed at me on the highway black top.
I opened my door to jab him a pop...
a Mr. Miyagi karate chop!
He lunged at me, with breath smelling of brew
so, I sidestepped boozy punches he threw.
Can't fight a drunk although I came close to
when he gestured again, yelling, "Screw you!!!"
We had gathered 'round the radio, to listen to the fight
A dispute ensued, punches thrown, a bloody fight
Cigarette butts strewn across the floor, some stained in lipstick- red
A broken ashtray by the door where some blood was shed.
By an old typewriter something shiny lay
A gold earring, lost in the fray
It was a helluva fight,
Max throwing lefts
Joe countering with rights
Not to mention our own lefts and rights
But it was Max who wore the crown that night.
Two years later I bought an airline ticket
To see the much anticipated rematch
I thought Schmeling would retain the crown
But my hopes were dashed when Louis ended it in one
A few years later the world was at war
I found myself on a distant shore, fighting the Nazis ......
Blood and gore, horrors of war...
Dead bodies strewn across the fields, stained in crimson red
Broken dreams lay in gutters, where their blood was shed
Another Whistle Stop
Whistle stops wait for lonesome midnight trains
Recalls starlit sentimental journey storms
Shivers in express downpours, pelting rains,
Whistle stops wait for lonesome midnight trains
To sing a litany of train refrains,
Rumbles through restless lullabies forlorn
Whistle stops wait for lonesome midnight trains
Recalls starlit sentimental journey storms
To sing a litany of train refrains
Whistle stops wait for lonesome midnight trains
Shivers in express downpours, pelting rains
Rumbles through restless lullabies forlorn
Recalls starlit sentimental journey storms
Heartbreak punches tickets for hope reborn.
6-22-21
Contest: Write Me a Trionet
Form: Stanza 1 ABaAabAB; Stanza 2 aAabBb
Sponsor: LM Hankins
Swings and hides in the kangaroo court.
The bulldog drops him with one report.
He struggles and fights to stay on his feet.
His fancy footwork skips every beat.
Bob and weave, stick and move.
He floats like a kangaroo with no groove.
Pathetic and weak and nothing original.
He hides in the bush like an aboriginal.
Come on sparky, show me something new.
Are you tired of the bulldog beating you black and blue?
A kick in the rear is what you need.
Your sorry punches are lacking speed.
You think you’re cool with your big mouth.
True north is where I am. You’re going south.
You’ve got no power to your punch.
This Bulldog eats Kangaroos for lunch.
I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles
Such are promises
All lies and jest
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest
Nor is it strange
After changes upon changes
We are more or less the same
After changes we are more or less the same
In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down
Or cut him, 'till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains
Parts of:
The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel
Still Here
I will remain
Despite the strain
The punches thrown
The anger sown
The promises made
The truth does fade
I hear what I want to hear
Disregard what I fear
I bear scars
From life’s wars
Knocked about
But never out
I am still here
I shout
The cows is lowin' in the old corral and all the evenin' chores is done.
Hank scraped the manure off'n his boots 'cause he's a fastidious son-of-a-gun.
He drew his pay, jumped in his pickup and headed fer Clyde's Saloon,
To quaff some brew, grab a gal er two and dance to the fiddler's tune!
There was a hoedown at Clyde's where cowpokes met ever' Saturday night.
There they danced, boozed and let off steam that usually ended in a fight!
There was a band with drums, banjo, fiddle, bass and a steel git-tar,
And the pianer player Mike McGurk (when they could pry him from the bar!)
A gal named Mousy Bush sang with a voice that quivered like Robin Hood's bow.
That's where Hank hung out Saturday nights to blow his hard-earned dough!
Hank was dancin' the Texas Two Step and havin' the time of his life,
When an incident occurred that occasioned another night of strife.
Some dude splattered a Coors on Hank's new Calvin Klein shirt and jeans.
Now, stuff happens and normally this wouldn't amount to a hill of beans,
But this got Hank's dander up and since he never held his hootch all that well,
He punched the guy, bloodied his schnoz and began a-raisin' hell.
A grand brawl ensued with ever'one tossin' punches, chairs and tables.
There was a heap of cussin' with patrons lablin' others with tawdry lables!
Hank arose Sunday mornin' with a poundin' headache and two black eyes,
But he'll be back at Clyde's Saturday next to enjoy a hoedown with the guys!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
(Not for the contest)
Marc Spectar is Moon Knight . . .
the traveler . . . the pathfinder . . . the defender
protecting and avenging the innocent
the son of a rabbi
with D.I.D.
(Dissociated Identity Disorder)
~he is actually a fictional Marvel Comic character,
who worked as a mercenary, until he was mortally injured and died
in the shadow of Khonshu, the Egyptian god of the moon ~
he was reborn . . . The Left Fist of Khonshu
to fight evil and defend all who travel at night
from vampires, from monsters and from super-assassins
Marc's alter ego Moon Knight does the fighting,
takes the punches, he is the one who spills the blood
wearing a white armored costume, well, sometimes
black and white, and sometimes all black
~but they are not alone
Marc has other alter egos, Steven Grant, billionaire businessman
Jake Lockley, the violent taxi driver, and Mr. Knight,
the suited detective and police consultant, and many more egos ~
trauma in his childhood resulted in the D.I.D
he hears the voices of his other identities
has spent some time in a mental hospital
sometimes, he chains himself to his bed at night
and it has be suggested he has brain damage
yet, he is a closed fist . . . made weapon
he is "The Left Fist of Khonshu" protecting the innocent
~ fighting evil with strength, combat, technology,
detective work, tolerance for pain, willpower and experience
with the help of his alter egos who gather the intel
he has died many times . . . but has be resurrected each time ~
. . . he likes his vodka, ice cold, and has a girlfriend too
a pretty normal guy . . . until Moon Knight
The Left Fist of Khonshu is needed . . .
__________________________
October 02, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/The Left Fist of Khonshu
Copyright Protected, ID 10-1491-758-02
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, Moon Knight
sponsor, Robert James Liguori, Judged 10/18/2022
First Place