Long Ross Poems
Long Ross Poems. Below are the most popular long Ross by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ross poems by poem length and keyword.
I am not a politician
I have very little interest for politics
Reminiscing on Diddy’s vote or die campaign
Rallying behind Senator John Kerry Wishing I were old enough to vote
My how things have changed
Obama’s groundbreaking history was scarecrow
No brainer enticed me/I had to cast a ballot
I am still not a politician/I have very little interest for politics
Ruled by Caucasian Republicans and house niggas
Who don’t care about helping the poor
Or restoring a nation/ That seen the horrors of 9/11
Troops who went to war and never returned home
An economy that has knocked down
Some who were atop the financial ladder
To paper or plastic/Cheese with that whopper
Foodstamps and free Medicare benefits
Naive in a way when it comes to our leaders presidency
But I’ve seen the effort Healthcare among other bills
Met by Congress with resilience
A potential government shutdown that threatened
To send us to a modern day great depression
Insults being thrown at the first lady/Quicker than Randy Johnson’s fastball
But hey I’m still not a politician/I have very little interest for politics
Politics that haven’t seem to get past/ Obamas brown skin
The fact that the man be balling/Like he Jim Jones
Tinted lips from blazing Newport cigarettes and herbs Im sure
He is too much of a nigga /And they hate that ****
But what I think they hate the most/Is he's a polished nigga
With a Harvard degree, articulates well
And as Katt Williams so eloquently put it/He has no baby mama drama
He deserves the respect of his colleagues
**** it that he's swagged out like ya favorite rapper
Wears skinny suits and has a strut/
That puts Eva, Tyra, and Naomi to shame
He's a boss, Rick Ross
See this is why Im not a politician
I have very little interest for politics/Rather Im politically correct
Or politically incorrect/Never said I was a politician
My interest for politics lies in the lines of this poem/
Swaggarack capturing America's #1 terrorist
Left him deceased/On that Donald Trump they wanna see a death certificate
Spoof video, you wasn’t messing with Barack's Dougie
No way can I be interested in corrupt politics
Stomaching politicians with no morals
Reiterating again I will never be a politician
And despite my rundown of unjust riddles
I still have very little interest for politics
One winter eve I walked out with my dog,
The way was dark, unlit by moon and stars,
My flickering torchlight failing in the fog,
To pick out tree roots,crevices and rocks,
To cause a stumble, and a muffled curse.
Whatever else was lurking in the trees,
Silent and still, in my mind grew worse,
As an unfolding midnight dream turned sour.
I knew the the path. We trod it every day,
So filled with pleasure and delight 'til now.
My step quickened. I could not shrug away
A feeling of disquiet and unease,
Palpable amidst the encircling gloom.
Nocturnal creatures scarcely made a sound
But it was magnified, a crack of doom,
A falling twig, or rustling dried-up leaves,
Predators unseen, darkly eyeing prey,
Their evil presence almost within touch,
Waiting the chance to carry me away,
To drag me to some foul and putrid nest,
Never again to see the light of day.
With tensions high and senses all alert,
Out of the dark, a touch upon my leg.
Startled and fearing, a step back I lurched,
And then relief. It had been but a nudge
From Ross. Perhaps he sensed and shared
My fright, but then, from out the stillness of the night,
A fearsome roar. My feet turned into stone.
Blood curdling, heart stopping, the monstrous sound
Echoed around us. Frozen to the spot,
My breathing stopped. I could not turn around
To flee. And then again it came, so close, it seemed
To set the very trees a-quivering.
What beast was this, what wild and hellish fiend ?
More furious bellowing, on and on
And on, and still I could not see the source.
Turning to run, the path had disappeared.
Crashing through entangled briars, ditches,
Fallen trees, scratched and bleeding, soon I feared,
Mud-soaked and stumbling now, that i was lost.
Still I heard the creature, somewhere behind,
Roaring, bellowing, angry with the night.
I fell into a muddy ditch, half blind,
And scrambled through the slime, hoping I might
Emerge at the wood's edge, so close to home
But, helpless, I was sucked into the mire,
Down,down and deeper down, now filled with fear,
Breathing in mud, heart pounding, lungs on fire.
No hope, no light ahead, my end was near.
I reached the bottom. Now let truth be said.
What did I find? I'd fallen out of bed !
And that, dear reader, though I am not one to brag,
Was my encounter with the rutting Lyth Hill stag !
WWII has been over for 66 years &
for some reason those responsible for the production of captain america: the first avenger
think that now is a good time to bring back a douche bag
who was originally called “super american”
by his creator, joe simon
(an obviously generic label amongst all the other “super” heroes that was even too much
for the morons at marvel to run with),
& so the captain was born
because
“there weren’t a lot of captains” in comics.
originally this super american punched
hitler in the face & sold almost a million
copies when that first march 1941 issue
hit the newsstands,
capitalizing on a war fervor that was
explosive in the US before pearl harbor had
even been attacked---
super american & his sidekick “bucky” went
on to fight more nazis & the japanese until
bucky died & was replace by “betsy ross,”
the super american’s fbi agent girlfriend---
modeled on the woman who is said to have
sewn the first american flag, betsy did not revive
the dying series,
mainly because the nationalism that was burning bright
during “the great war”
had burnt out during the cold war period &
so the captain & his flag sewing girlfriend ended up
ceasing after 75 issues,
by which time the whole fiasco had been retitled
captain america’s weird tales---
such justice doesn’t happen often,
it is a shame that it took 75 issues to bring it
about.
now that this new film is about to be release out into the world,
given the state of america’s wonderful reputation
(a bit different than in 1941) as the world’s policeman
who stops at nothing to rape this planet of its natural resources,
squeezing every last drop into its own mouth,
one might wonder how the producers of this film expected to
bring in a dime---
isn’t it bad enough that bombs, troops & drones are storming into
other countries?
now we have to throw it up on the silver screen as well?
it turns out that the film’s title is to be changed for release in
russia, south korea & the ukraine
to only the first avenger.
just what exactly is this super american avenging now?
it seems that now the big
bad
boogeyman
is
us & if there was anyone to be
avenged,
it would be
those that we have stomped on,
those that we continue to stomp on &
those
who we plan on stomping on in the future.
Well I went back in time and who did I see?
My old friend Bob Ross who was painting for me
His clouds were so happy and so were his trees
on that magical canvas he mastered with ease
'It's so good to see you Bob, where have you been?
Please come back and make the world smile again'
Slyly he grinned 'From this life I was torn
but there were still smiles before I was born'
He added 'You know that same gift is in you.
So you have to go back, for my time is through'
We hugged one another with no more to say
and slowly he backed up and faded away
I pressed on to visit another old friend
in his beautiful neighborhood just 'round the bend
'Hello Mr. Rogers, I've missed you so much!
You left us too quickly and then we lost touch'
'Would you please come back with me? We need you so bad
to sing and tell stories and make us feel glad'
Fred smiled and answered 'I've missed you all so.
But my time was over and I had to go'
'But you're very special and you must move on'
He turned and he waved and then he was gone
My last stop was back to my childhood home
where my mother and father both entered this poem
I wrapped my arms 'round them, we hugged and we kissed
I let them know just how much they have been missed
I begged them to come back with me and I said
'There's no need for either of you to be dead'
I fell to my knees, I screamed and I cried
Then they spoke these words which I carry inside
'We each have our own little time in the sun
and when the sun sets then our time here is done'
'Nothing can change this, you have to go on
and the old generation must pass the baton.
For we did our part and we hope for your best.
As you travel onward we go to our rest'
'You do have a light that is shining in you
and we put it there to help see you through.
But to shine your light backward cannot help the dead.
You must face it forward and move on ahead'
'Take the best that we gave you and pass it along
and YOU teach the world a happy new song'
And with that last sentence they vanished from view
Now they give their treasures through my heart to you
We must never pin all our joys on the dead
the graveyard has no place inside of one's head
So heed the wise counsel of yesterday's souls
making smiles and laughter your primary goals
2/25/19
"Intermission: Ad Infinitum Lux Vitae"
Intermission
I wait
You call
I have loved
I wait
Lux Vitae
I have loved
Through the Storm
Lux Vitae
I have loved, to love You more
Through the Storm
You call, Open Door
I have loved, to love You more
Ad Infinitum
You call, Open Door
I walk with You through the Storm
Ad Infinitum
My Love is always Yours
You walk with me through the Storm
The Waiting Room calls
Intermission
(Lovejoy-Burton/April 2018)
for "my" Georgia,
who is entirely her own person
The inspiration for my poem -
This "Pantoum" is about Birth, Life, Death. There are all sorts of "Waiting Rooms", in this Life and the next. Of course, this is my belief. The reader may interpret Birth, Life and Death distinctly separate from my belief.
Georgia, the 'True' inspiration for your name, below. x
"I decided to start anew, to strip away what I had been taught.”
- Georgia O'Keeffe
"I had to create an equivalent for what I felt about what I was looking at - not copy it. ”
- Georgia O'Keeffe
"I said to myself, I have things in my head that are not like what anyone has taught me - shapes and ideas so near to me - so natural to my way of being and thinking that it hasn't occurred to me to put them down. ”
- Georgia O'Keeffe"
"Marks on paper are free - free speech - press - pictures all go together I suppose. ”
- Georgia O'Keeffe
"To create one's world in any of the arts takes courage. ”
- Georgia O'Keeffe
"Anyone who doesn't feel the crosses simply doesn't get that country.”
- Georgia O'Keeffe
Artwork, Georgia Totto O'Keeffe (November 15, 1887 – March 6, 1986)
“Ram’s Head with Hollyhock”, 1935
https://www.georgiaokeeffe.net/ram-head-with-hollyhock.jsp
Trent Reznor/Atticus Ross
"Technically Missing"
https://youtu.be/EBaa0k1y57w
"Politics is a dirty business. If you are going to 'write' policy, fabrication is not advisable, make sure you have ALL the true facts in front of you and that TRUTH is delivered by whatever means necessary". Quote, Leanne Lovejoy-Burton to daughter, Georgia - April 2018.
More than two years it be since me old dad had to fly. I miss him you know, he was
my best friend. I miss the twinkle in his Scottish,Irish,American eyes, a kind and
caring Gent was he. Times there are when I sit on the porch and talk to him, like he
was there next to me. If anyone was to hear they'd think a loony man I be, guess I
wouldn't disagree. At the the age of three orphaned was he, placed in the
orphanage with two of his four brothers. Cruel treatment he did receive, still had the
scars to witness the abuse they dealt him, undeserved though it be. Never did
break him, stubborn he was, passed down by his anstery, can say the same for me.
Great depression was on, none could afford another mouth to feed. At the age of
fourteen put out on the street , all because he refused to stay with a farmer who
wouldn't let him finish school. All the man wanted was for dad to be his tool. A little
help from a friend and some kindly Gents, a sleeping room he did get. Worked three
jobs finished high school, I told you stubborn he be. Old Uncle Sam drafted him then,
a soldier they needed him to be. Only five nine one hundred thirty five he was
soakin wet. Balck hair, hazel eyes, a fine looking lad was he. Thirty cal. machine
gunner he was assigned, to everyone's surprise. Little man was he, but the heart of
a lion he did have. From the shores of France to Berlin he did fight. Bronze star for
valor, Holocaust memorial award, battle for Atlantic,European theater,Seinne river
crossing, Rhine river crossing, battle of the buldge, army of occupation, all these
medals he did receive. I know if they'd asked him do you want to fight a war? No
thanks he would have said, for a peaceful man I be. The day they placed him in the
ground, amist his World War II brothers, the sky was crying, and so was I. Taps for
him they did blow, gun salute. Folded the flag and gave it to my mom, in her eyes I
could see that her world had come to an end. Such pain in my heart, I just wanted to and flee. Instead I stubbornly stood there, to honor the memory of my dad.
In Loving memory of my dad: W. Jack Ross : 1924-2009: I still miss him.
Would you pack up and run away with me if I were to ask you to today?
Would you throw aside all the past? The turbulence we shared? Would you forget the screaming matches and remember what we shared?
If I dream of this; is there a chance that it may come true? The answer is too much time has passed, and there’s nothing more to say or do (unhappy face).
But I keep on hanging on, like a worn out Diana Ross song. I blame you; bellowing ”you just keep me hanging on”.
It seems I fell victim to the powers of your kiss. I treated you badly I didn’t realize how much I’d miss.
In this case there are no victims, there are only volunteers, and it seems you too fell ‘victim’, still loving me after all of these years.
I’d like to say I am sorry, but this is a worn out tune. I do have regrets. I blame it all on me. As they say it takes two to tango I wish now that I could see.
But then how could I be sorry to have loved so passionately? I am the lucky one, that someone too loved me.
I still ask would you run away with me? Take me to the justice one more time for a quiet ceremony?
Walk with me through life as if this is something we ever knew how to do. Accept the others faults with no backdoor to escape through.
Grow old and gray together family at our side, the American dream they call it a wild, bumpy ride.
All of the latter is something we will likely never know, but the passion once shared will surely never go.
Its electrical magnetic charge is etched upon my heart. Those times when we were young and would just do ‘it’ anywhere, that heat that drew us like flames we didn't have a care.
I ask again, would you run away with me?! Run away with me now!!! there’s no time to make haste. Life really is short we mustn't let it waste.
My beauty fades fast my love, my lines have become deep, my desires they are waning. Still my love for you I keep.
Run away with me my sweetheart I promise I’ll be fair. I will love you to the ends of time, more than you can bare.
Run away even if you have to wait until the dark of night. Run away with me my love make everything alright.
Piecing together Harris/ Kuritsky tattered family tree
(Betsy Ross would beam at unflagging effort)
Ah, here all along yours truly
thought himself an abductee,
and/or zoologically
linkedin with chimpanzee,
hence imagine my disappointment
flipping laminated pages ye
ja undertook undoubtedly
painstaking effort,
plus wireless subcommittee
stitched together plain to see
helpful input thank you Amelie,
plus unnamed, undaunted,
and informed cousins
contributing to digging
into archives to help free
some unanswered nagging questions
only to generate others re:
garding ahem little feet
legs skinny as spaghetti
this haint no phallus si¿
lodged within me
noggin, which effort crudely
analogous fitting
prosthetic to amputee,
who understandably loosing limb,
would find her/him
screaming like banshee,
which one with diminished hearing
might sound like
suite (sweet) firebird stung
explaining flight of bumblebee
nonetheless, the bundled, compiled,
and detailed genealogy
courtesy eldest sister prithee
perhaps inspire "FAKE"
trumpeted voluminous tome twee
starring pooch donning
windblown heir spade fur -
or sporting canine toupee
with apt title regarding petsmart
bonafide muttering dog gone pedigree
hump backed es
in heat making whoopie
would become best selling fiction,
whereby Hollywood
might come calling
of course anonymous
actors/actresses,
or training one or another Arctic monkey,
where production costs
totally tubular less money
versus famous Homo
thespians portraying
long gone i.e. bissell mishuga
characterizing deceased exhumed
(figuratively) ghosts
might be (like...y'know...really) eerie
yet, a possible windfall
after signed contract
once all parties privy
to dramatize ancestors
unilaterally abide and agree
this unsolicited barkback feedback
countless many shindigs
witnessed predictable
yours truly absentee
soul (and sole) brother pulling
no shows claiming lame excuse
ah betcha I inherited emotional uncoupling
generations ago dirt poor peon,
perhaps unwitting creator
of peanut butter and jelly.
Ah those trips along the Murray River,
taking Tommy the dog for his stroll
is a blessing for Gary and me,
and really quite good for the soul.
And some days we pick up a friend,
whose knowledge is not at a loss,
so conversing is high; at a premium,
when having a day out with Ross.
We learn quite a lot on these trips,
amid language that can be very strong,
but we always feel we are lucky,
on days when Ross does come along.
Of course I should mention also,
those days we go imposing upon,
a young fellow who lives on his own
in his mansion and his name is Don.
We talk about growing our gardens,
the folk club and days of the tafe,
but there is no mention of football.
And girls of the Mallee are safe.
But soon as Don mentioned a drawing
he entered in the Wentworth show,
both Gary and I then suggested
the show is the place we should go.
Don’s drawing is three lovely women,
belly dancing and clothing is sparse.
Don is surely the absolute winner.
Coming second will be quite a farce.
And so before the declaration,
we used the spare time for a view
of the offerings here at the show,
then we met a young lady we knew.
Melissa is a woman strong willed,
determined with ambition and drive,
insisting on everything her way.
Last birthday she turned forty-five.
And Gary with the wit that he has
insisted Don’s seeking a bride,
and Don then responded to Gary,
that Melissa is who should decide.
While debating their fate with Melissa,
no answer would ever be clear,
then with luck I had noticed a sign -
‘fortune teller - please enter in here.’
And I’m sure that this woman of note,
will declare when she acts upon
the facts once they’re laid on the table -
will Melissa choose Gary or Don?
Now Melissa sat first at the table.
(at this point she’s enjoying the fun)
“Two men want to make me their bride,
tell me - who will be the lucky one?”
The fortune-teller took Melissa’s hand.
With a smile her answer begun,
“Melissa - Don here will marry you,
and Gary will be the lucky one.”
The sun begins it's sojourn westward which signals the end of the day...
It is the time at which I run..
The boardwalk outlining the southern coast of Jamaica's shore ,stretches for miles and miles..the ocean splashing onto the boardwalk a fitting backdrop..
And I run, as I run myriad of thoughts cross my mind..as that Diana Ross classic of the 70s asks..
"Do you know where you're going to, do you like the things that life is showing you..do you know'' I ask myself that time and time again...Life has certainly taken me on a journey..the ups ,the downs ,much like the proverbial rollercoaster..at times you feel you have things under control, then the ride begins..hang on!!
And I run..I have always fostered hopes of becoming my own entrepreneur again..who knows ,maybe the adage, age is just a number applies here...
And I run...
And as I run the sweat begins to run..and run freely..
But as I look ahead to where I am going..I remember how far I have come ..and the question hovers ,are there regrets..?
And I run..
The home is to be renovated this year.. something of a Spanish vain..grills, pond maybe..lol..
Look at me ..Paul the designer..
And so I run..
My right knee ,just about bombed out...after the miles and miles..mile after mile..but I continue through the pain..
Car,after car passes ,sure they do not see ,nor do not care of the soul , running in the now dark..
I pass my halfway point, a coconut vendor is packing up his daily sales,I stop, quench my thirst ..
And run..
The ocean seems calming a serenade to all runners.the lights from the city flickers across the bay..like little fireflies..gulls joining in on the concerto...it calls, have you ever listened..? tempting, seductively..
As I run I pass cars parked, couples doing their thing..lucky guy!!
And I run ..an aeroplane thunders in..vacationers arriving for the summer.. My run has paused ..I turn , I look..I have like my life, trodded a very long way..and so I breathe..a deep breath..and resume..
From whence I came..