Long Size up Poems
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So they call me sister
Um hum, they think they know my name
I think I got him now check the game
What’s up baby?
How you doing?
What’s your name?
They call me Exotica cause I roll with a lot of `em
What you know `bout that?
Oh no I don’t need no ride
What about you, hop in mine
I’m so fine baby no he rolling with a dime
You don’t have to call me later lets do this now
No sense procrastinating
I know how you get down
You want my body over my mind
We don’t need to talk intellectually
Everything we do is sexually
Oh sure you can call me tomorrow
And we’ll do it all over
This time I might invite a friend
A ménage à trois
Not just me and you no mo’
You think I’m great
This friend will never let you escape
She’ll be on your mind all the time
She will make you scream
Having pleasure like in a 14 year old boys dream
We’ll even go to the club with you
Help you size up your next victim
They’ll never know where together
Our disguises are very cleaver
We go incognito every time we roll
We’ll be a part of you forever
`til death
do us part
We can travel the world together
Leaving our mark
Making people blind with out inseparable love
Making couples break up
Because
They hate
that we gave them a taste of our
night long lasting burning passion
Some people’s skin will itch
Others will get a tingle
When we welcome them to our circle of forever
Now that we are all acquainted and I’ve found a new home
You don’t have to call me Exotica now that I gotcha
More appropriately
YOU GOT ME
Let me share with you my other names
These are what others have called me
In my previous games
Syphilis
Chlamydia
Gonorrhea
Herpes Simplex 2
AIDS
All STD
And don’t forget to tell your friends about me
They can get me too I’m very contagious
And I don’t discriminate
I take `em 16
25
40
Even not yet born
I run like a river through your blood stream
I make you ache wishing you’d never crossed my path
I sometimes laugh
At people who think they can escape
Because they really don’t want to
If they did they’d pay better attention and break the chain
By communicating with others
How they have suffered
From my wrath
I am STD the sexually transmitted disease
It was a night I'll always remember,
I've told this tale so oft,
Sometimes I forget, and on my 3rd repeat
My friends think my mind has gone soft
But it's way back, maybe "69,
I was but a teenager hanging out,
My young new wife and another couple
Just sitting, lounging casually about
When from the kitchen radio
An advertisement we did hear
The MJQ (Modern Jazz Quartet) was playing that night
It's true, I tell you true!!
Now to put this in perspective
So it makes some sense to you,
And I do here swear
That what I say is true!
Let me enumerate some facts...
See, I was a young aspiring musician
My neighbor a well established one
Percy Heath, bassist of the world famous MJQ
My best friend then was his son
He used to listen to our jams
no choice i guess he had,
Our music sometimes too loud
For that I now feel sad...
So we looked at our financial state,
Not too impressive, be assured
$20 here,$10 there,maybe she has $5, $10 had the last,
It'd be tough to manage this, we knew
But at this point our determination was well cast
We managed to take a cab,
To the NYC Rockefeller Centre, and up,
to the classy Rainbow Grill
The atmosphere so different
It really seemed a thrill!
But, see, we were like country bumpkins
For this elite wealthy NY crowd
Well heeled, well dressed, well mannered,
Well moneyed, most important, they were,
Easily at home here, well above the highest cloud
Now the Maitre d' did quickly size up
Here we would not fit in,
So he'd show those sophisticated others his wisdom
But to me it seems a sin
He seated us behind a thick pole
With the band so hard to see
We struggled with the 2 drink minimum
How embarrassed we should be
But once in awhile the losers win
And God in heaven smiles
For stuck-up rich old morons,
Under "losers" they he files
For when the MJQ took their break
They all came over and sat with us!
My pride, my gratitude, my "up-yours!" wish
Came to us without a fuss
So now you should remember
Don't preen and think you're cool,
Cause once in a while,
The tables turn,
And you become the fool!
As Miss Luby watches from her window
a moving van backs up
the driveway across the street
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
its warning cry has a beacon-like effect
on the neighborhood
arousing interest from all corners
everything suddenly shaken awake
Even the squirrels stop, stock-still
save an occasional flick of the tail
Miss Luby's cat, also
watching from the window
pauses momentarily, paw suspended
before continuing to clean herself
And one by one, the other inhabitants
invent clever ways to investigate
without seeming obviously interested
Miss Luby's next-door neighbor, Fred
flits outside to water the plants
in his front flowerbeds, distractedly
soaking the sidewalk instead
While dotty old Mrs. Pappadopoulos
puffs along, pulling her little Pomeranian
up the street for a “walk”
slyly turning her head, rather owlishly
as she passes by
Silvia, Miss Luby's other next-door neighbor
is still in her housedress and can't go out
so she sends her three beastly little boys out
to play, knowing they will get the inside scoop
and sure enough, within forty-five seconds
they have accidentally-on-purpose
sent a toy airplane across the street
and spend the next half hour retrieving it
following the new neighbors
in and out like so many
playful puppies
Not to be left out
of the hullabaloo, the hoity-toity
housewife from two doors down
high-steps out to size up the new arrivals
over-casually strolling with
her beautifully bundled babies in tow
putting on quite a show
suddenly disappointed
realizing they're just common-folk
not the kind she wanted to know
All the while, the new neighbors
exhausted, amble in and out
of their new home
staggering
under stacks of small pieces
lumbering along
awkwardly lugging larger ones
A teenage boy
silently glides past on a skateboard
giving side-eye to the boring, middle-aged
couple- as he is nearly hit by a car passing by
driver distracted by the moving van
HOW TO BLUFF OFF THE CUFF
You'd better be tough
when the cops and the weather gets rough
here there isn't any flight or fight
that ain't right
it's whatever our godless deities had already willed
it's kill or be killed
because no one here calls another's bluff
just take life off the cuff
because no one ever knows what another is thinking
and for us there is no such thing as drinking
we didn't drink our worries away until arrives the day when there's powder but you cannot get enough
you'd better be tough
scared
you'd better be scared
when a white powder's fangs are bared
and no one gave a damn or cared
size up every situation as if it were your last moment on earth
as you curse your mother's womb for having cursed you with birth
have eyes in the back of your head
lest you end up darker than dead
let your instincts rule
and don't be anyone's fool
so be cool
since the day the white lady first stared
you'd better be scared
determined
one must be determined
to ease the pain
and not end up just a stain
a darkened mark on the ground where you once stood
in a wretchedly and wicked neighborhood
the hood
ain't no good
so find what you need with determination in your eyes
and be wise
be determined not to be beaten, slain or grabbed
shoved into an alley with a 45 at your head or ready to be stabbed
these things will happen, yes, even to you
so be determined to do whatever you must do
be determined
these are all the things you must possess
and allow the feelings of being wounded regress
they start off their teenage years with a lot
until they say yes to that very first shot
© copy write 2012....PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
(a love poem for my son)
Dreams spill out of sleep
sift across the hardwood floor
covers the window
in colors of May
slamming me back towards childhood
or perhaps just to the ashtray.
One forged with labor
in elementary school ceramics;
patient fingers size up,
roll the earthen clay,
pinch it to perfection,
this unusable object
is made with skill,
crafted uniquely for my father.
A tribute greater than mountain carved faces
monuments of life’s reward.
Baseball camps, tee-ball games,
selfless Sunday morning catch,
sitting in question
understanding Auguste Rodin,
your etched piece of history
proclaimed in this ashtray.
The long afternoons,
bedtime stories,
day dreams of musketeers
tree-forts and bandaged knees,
wisdom contained in a receding hair-line
without the restriction of bookends.
This is your medal
placed with vigilance
impatient in time
yes, a five pound ashtray.
Reflections of your accomplishments
schematics of fatherhood, fired
painted with magnificence
useless to anyone but you.
Standing at the door, a lone sentry
hands outstretched boastfully,
here is your prize
an ashtray!
The reception of kings, grins of rum soaked pirates,
you calmly seat me down with the tale of tradition,
rite of passage
generation to generation,
the tribulation of the ash tray
passed from father to son.
Thirty-something
as I lay in bed
the warm morning symphony
shines bright upon my medal
like a polished chrome hood ornament,
I too have taken my place
among the tradition of the ashtrays.
She is in her 59th summers, while he is in his 60th winters
The way they size up themselves
They are what “on” toward redeeming
And regaining each their respective separate lives before
To one lofty and solid momentum in their lives
If they are today an aged wine, they are the savor
They delve and sip on it to quench their dried lips
Their dried throats to their hearts’ contents
For they are still endowed in spirit, mind and heart!
Once more their paths crossed
Forty two years ago of gnawing, searching
And to a halt, they met again
Destiny, they believe in the making then
Finally they found themselves fulfilling
Lost paradise in a kubo (hut) at the back of a hill
Near a sand dune mountain near the China sea in the North.
A love never and never in their far fetched imagination
They cohabited and concocted this love story
Together they trek a new life with hope
A love never in their lives as separated and divorcees
Ignited a new love and a new, good and compatible relationship
That they alone knew.
Witnessing the romance are love birds in one nest
And bamboos swaying with joy acquiesced their longings
Together they drown themselves
And into high potion of endearment
They have not indulged into drugs like addicts
They were likened but this time
They are really HIGH..into LOVE.
Till the reawakening break of a new dawn
And beyond every pages of calendar
Their love will stay forever.
Dalila Agtani 1/5/2012
Entered in a contest
Sponsored by:
Debbie Guzzi
Contest Name
Tell Me a Story
Try this on for size, we'll all exchange jobs,
Having new tasks just might teach us respect?
What of a career
as an engineer?
or a clerk whose books are suspect?
(without cause)
A starter, try serving as a fireman
No, change spots with somebody’s chauffeur.
Work the fac’try lines,
labor in the mines,
swap posts with a president’s go-fer.
(without pause)
Keen understanding of what this world needs -
Skills that bless a people so diverse?
Though there’s no guarantee
we might come to see
our livelihood could always be worse.
(you could get fired)
Look at yourself - a struggling artist.
Imitate the sweetness of a bar maid.
Be a kids’ teacher
maybe a preacher.
Pause to wonder how their bills get paid.
(do they get tired?)
Value the career of mother/housewife
Interceding among five children - quints!
Trade jobs with a cook
who’s writing a book.
Some vocations need a seventh sense.
(or just plain gumption)
Now what if we size up occupations
Go out and find someone worthy of praise?
Our motivation --
ap-pre-ci-a-tion
for the world of people who fill our days.
(make no assumption)
written November 27, 2012
People Poetry Contest, Richard Lamoureux
From my bay window, each pane holds my small world
window leaks anticipation out and in this glassy casement
here seasons show their multi-colored faces in a whisper
Trees liberated from weight of their leaves, I eavesdrop...
wintertime's icy snowflakes tint my windows with glacial frost
a cold paralysis edges over my fingers
All that is past…
my windowpanes grow then shrink conditionally
wintry days take flight under my breath
for now, spring passion comes bursting as beautiful tableau...
Oh look,
squirrel flashes up toward his tree nest hidden in oak verdancy
he carries a corn cob to eat
does it taste of salt and melted butter?
A bird house on the nearby maple feeds my feathery neighbors
don’t tell--but the cardinals are hatching three crimson chicks
listen, the chirp, chirp, chirp... a natural but alluring annoyance
Newly mown bouquet of grass wafts into my room
this essence returns me to a time eating warm rhubarb pie
while watching Grandpa mow our lawn
April showers bring an array of wonderment
a pretty teen girl walks under her bright paisley umbrella
of course, matching raincoat and galoshes… such fun to see
My goodness… alert… alert... feline at six o’clock anticipating
cardinals to take wing for worms; feline slithers toward chicks
what a clever bird... he swoops down squawking at the cat
Life leaps out at me now, casting shadows
no matter--if you are out and about,
come size up the earth
through my window
this story's about a good o'boy
that knows his wits ain't the keenest
and a writer that thought he was cock-of-the-walk
we'll refer to him as genius
genius liked to hang around o'boy
and make fun of him all day long
he would pick and poke and make sick jokes
o'boy would just laugh along
now genius decided to protect his work
so he sent it to washington
said i'll be a star, yea i'm gonna go far
and my songs'll be number one.
well, his head began to swell a mite
when he started to receive
the kind of deals that come in the mail
when you register with the L.O.C.
now, o'boy might be simple folk.
he don't claim to have a great mind.
but he can spot a scam, size up a man
and read between the lines.
o'boy tried to warn him
said be careful or ya might get burned
but the know-it-alls are bound to fall
cause there's nutin else they can learn.
they said they'd sell genius his spotlight
make his name known all around
so he bent right over, stuck his head in the clover
and pulled his britches down.
well i can't really say how it happened
but the story soon spread around
and before ya know it that singing poet
was the biggest joke in town.
now, we can make fun of the downhom'eez
laugh at their back-wood way
make the simple folk the butt of our joke
but sometimes it just don't pay.
I waited all night long for your expected call
Wanted to listen to it ring and ring and ring
Needed to size up what message you would leave me
Sure enough, again just meaningless and empty
Told you I needed a break and would later call
You’ll one day figure out that I will never call
You always thought my time was of little value
Because I gave you all I had and so much more
I heard you clearly laugh inside when I would say
I have no time for people who get on my nerves
You don’t appreciate how my time is precious
After all, you’ve never seen me do anything
Other than cater to each of your every need
I wear an invite to take me please for granted
A big old sign for all to see but it’s a trap
Just once I would like to stumble on the one man
The one who will outwit the ambush I set up
My trap is my one fail proof filter and my shield
Protection from relinquishing my fragile heart
Lose respect for someone entangled in my net
Like some distant relative of the black widow
Watch merciless and leave the victim there to dry
Yet a tiny piece of me dies with each dim fool
That is always the fleeting price I have to pay
AP: 1st place 2021
Submitted on February 11, 2021 for contest MY FOOLISH HEART sponsored by CRAIG CORNISH
Originally posted on January 9, 2018