Long Slickers Poems
Long Slickers Poems. Below are the most popular long Slickers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slickers poems by poem length and keyword.
The air is heavy like a dirty woolen blanket
each colorful strand pulled through the warp.
Horns blare and traffic skids and screeches
as unborn accidents are aborted
by fancy-pants cops.
The city slickers in their posh clothes
zip along toward the outskirts
avoiding those in dirndl-shaped, Polleras skirts
and Monteras hats, as if ashamed,
either of their own roots, or of the neglect.
The road to El Salvador* is long
weaving along rough pacific shore lines
wefting past fishing villages,
and cement factories with tangerine groves,
each lane bringing the colors of modern life.
The oranges, red and pinks of fine fabric repeated
in on the metal surfaces of trucks, buses, and motor cabs.
Each person’s destiny pulled and pushed
by the action of man, earth and tide
forward, ever forward..through
the dunes of Lima’s desert.
The invaders hug the hillside,
thousands upon thousands, of rural poor,
driven from the teat of the mother by earth quakes
and the terror caused by The Shining Path.*
Mao lives on in the upheaval caused by his ideology.
Yet, so does ayni*, the helping hand of neighbor,
the brown-skinned hand, more used
to the bobbin than the gun.
Here they have come in oneness
a finished soul on a back-strap loom,
dyed and drying in the heat
of Lima’s desert
they bloom.
*El Salvador- a shanty-town 45 min outside of Lima
with 350,000 residents. This community was nominated
for a Nobel Peace Prize in 1986 excellence
in social work and community growth
**Shining Path-The Communist Party of Peru
is a Maoist terrorist organization in Peru.[
*** ayni- Quechua culture is centered upon community
and mutual help (“ayni”). Their social system is based
on the principle of reciprocity: helping a neighbor
to be helped in return.
The Girl with the Blackberry Eyes
So there you stand, with your yawn colored slickers,
wishing your life to be more
Fruit flavored fantasies sprinkled with stickers
so much is waiting in store
Someone is longing your destined arrival,
desires held loose in her hand
All that you need to effect your survival,
I promise, she will understand
While sunny the days of a cloudless expanse
in fields lowly rutted with fear
Down footprints of mud in a circular dance,
a garden now beckons you here
A wood picket fence and a hedge overgrown
beyond an old gate bearing rust
That cringes and creaks near the wicked seeds sown
about southern winds once were thrust
Where vines cling an arbor in strangling grip,
creeping like worms neath your feet
Proud of their thorns and the flesh they do rip,
souring fruits ever sweet
Beware of this realm where the petals now bleed
with faces apart from the norm
On barbed wire stems of a nevermore need,
now cast of an unending storm
For here waits a child with a part in her hair
and roots tethered deep to the ground
A bouquet of pain offered up, if you dare,
in silence she speaks without sound
So follow this path of a nightmarish dream,
where nothing that lives ever dies
But hold tight your tongue for she hates when you scream,
the girl with the blackberry eyes
Naked to Nurture. Naked, to Nurture.
Why not naked into woods?
We yank up gumboots.
Enshroud our piggies in wicking and itching sockbags.
Hoping to holdfast against the forfeiture of bought heat.
The city slickers in their shiny slickers
clasp and buckle, zip and bundle
before they trudge and trundle
into the Great Unlabeled, the alien birthright.
An undershirt, a tank, a tee, and then an overthing!
And this in Spring, in Summer. Winter's another thickening:
strappings wrapping trappings, coalgulable clottings clogging
scarf-shrouded and unceremonious cerements.
The gloves, if cold or wet. The hat and muffs, if blustering.
We insulate ourselves from the uninsulated.
Remove ourselves from that which we aim to enter.
To re-enter. To be received by. Naked as we came, now
at our peril, apparently apparelled in unparalleled antiferalelry.
Each civilized entrant into sylvan realms-
textile banished for fear of cold,
for fear of wet, for fear of dirt.
The mind must first give up its notions
of propriety to hope to slake the self in the
sunlit and secreted shimmerings of sanctity.
Be bare of sole, skin to wind.
Be bare of soul, Yin to begin.
Why not naked into woods?
they do, so certainly, come naked...
into us.
The House That Jack Built 3
Frequently we youngest four gathered bottles that were strewn in ditches,
And along the railroad track,
Then glide our feet over well-worn steel rails on the journey back.
We'd exchange empties for jaw-breakers and bubble-gum at Rose’s General Store,
And whenever I agreed to sing them a song,
We’d be given ice-cream cones for the deed that was far from a chore.
On the way home we’d pluck dandelions, buttercups, and daisies,
To present Ma with a colorful bouquet,
I’d add to it a rose or two if a certain neighbor was away.
If walls of home had open eyes and listening ears of course they’d witness and hear,
The muttered complaints and landing though faint of many a fallen tear.
Still, there was no television to carry us to places no child should go,
No boob-tube attempting to make us believe in all that just wasn't so.
We’d no telephone enslaving us in idle prattle-prat,
There was no couch-potatoing, no pigging out and getting fat.
We weren’t saints and some of our shenanigans surely caused the structure to tilt,
Yet we somehow felt all safe and secure in The House They Say Jack Built.
Then one day city slickers arrived at our door,
Said soon we would be living in Farran's Point no more,
The house where Ma had birthed nine,
Our Haven of Liberty that rested amid Willow, Maple and Pine,
Was part of some Seaway Power Project and Jack's House would be torn down,
And we were forced to relocate , to leave our delightful riverside town.
Gone would be the tall, proud trees, wild berries , rolling hills, winding creek and close friend,
Gone the canal that ships sailed through never would I cheerfully view again.
Gone the long tall grass we'd run through barefoot ,
After a swim in the River we cherished dear,
Gone the smiles from the faces of the Lost Villagers as eyes tried to hold back each tear.
by Joan Donnelly Ellis
Note: Farran's Point Ontario, Canada was a small riverside village. It was one of nine villages relocated before USA & Canada flooded the area in 1958 (St. Lawrence Seaway Power Project)
Look Nigel, Boris and Dave are all climbing out of the cave
No longer keen to be an MP - they’d rather freak-out at a rave!
The Commons have driven them sickly
So they’re clearing their desks rather quickly
With no thought for Rishi,
Their hasty escape looks quite fishy.
Well, why would they sit on a bench, in a House with an unpleasant stench?
They recall when an MP had status, but are hardly believed when they hate us. (Nadine, Nadine, Nadine, Nadine, please don’t join them just because you can)
The good people of Uxbridge or Frome
Seem contented if these chaps stay home -
They might be tired of dull conference speeches
And prefer to spend time on the beaches;
Remote from those eager young aides, they’ll draw lines in the sand with their spades;
When life gets remarkably tough, their choice looks straightforward enough.
As member for Selby in Yorks, Nigel Adams was wont to give talks,
For a gentleman focused on fracking his awareness was possibly lacking.
However for Tories he has lost his thirst, so his family’s future came first. Now, the battle to be his successor
Is intense, just ask any professor,
And so candidates now set their sails,
As they roam through the picturesque Dales.
Allegations might well get bitter, especially on WhatsApp or Twitter!
Our supply-chains are creaking in places,
Not helped by glum Brexiteer faces,
So let’s hope the new intake is firm,
For we’re tired of those members who squirm.
(We don’t need boot-lickers, aloof city-slickers, or chancers who won’t last one term)
And regardless of their party badge, we won’t welcome chaps on-the-cadge,
Don’t you fiddle expenses or abandon your senses!
So let’s hope that turnout is high,
As we bid Nigel and BoJo goodbye.
"American Grafitti" took me back again to High School in the 1960's
"Back to the Future's" nifty hot rod took me back in time and almost left me!
"City Slickers" took me way out west, to rustle cows and ride a horse
"Da Vinci's" code, did not bode well, the Vatican did not endorse!
"E. T. " turned out to be my friend, we peddled bikes far past the moon
"Forrest Gump" shared my lunch, and shared his chocolate just past noon
"Groundhog Day" is darn confusing, is it Monday or is it Tuesday?
"Hannibal" is one cruel dude,..........he sharpens teeth so he can chew me!!
"I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry" invited me to toast their wedding
"Jaws" invited me to take a swim! Those who did, were soon regretting!
"King Kong", was one poor ape who climbed too high for past mistakes,
"Lincoln" had too much at stake, but ended war between the states
"Mummy 1" and "Mummy 2" made me cry for Mommy,...PLEASE!
"No Country for Old Men"...but young dudes look, and want to leave!
"O' Brother Where Are Thou?" escaped their chains to play like Ringo
"Psycho's" bathtubs scare me silly, my next motel will be Flamingo's
"Quarantine" because I'm sick? If I stay in bed, they call me lazy
"Rosemary's Baby"...yikes that kid? Babysit....?? Are you crazy?
"Superman" claimed that he could help me, but flew away with no advice
"Titanic" hit a piece of ice, (that Superman was not so nice!)
"Unforgiven" (now is Superman)...Clint Eastwood is the slicker guy
"Valkyrie"'s plot has thickened...Let's all poke Hitler in the eye!
"When Harry Met Sally" I was jealous....her cafe' scene has made me blush
Xanadu had me roller skating.......racing faster, while I'm dating
"Young Sherlock Holmes" was just a kid, I kid you not, he met his Watson
"Zoolander" 's slacks were Cuban made.. I borrowed some and they were awesome!
(and I'm exhausted!)
______________________________________________
For Cyndi's exhausting ABC contest!! Whew!
Moving like moonlight
I am the OG silver surfer
Fleshwalkers, Dry Guys, Land Livers,
Have been around for,
What, 300,000 years?
Try 20 million years.
We eat stingrays.
Literally. For breakfast.
I have a 360 degree field of vision.
What's directly in front of me?
Don't ask.
Listen, Humanoids,
I'm delivering this plea
To your nearest post office.
Luckily I found a stamp
With my photo on it.
The plea is:
We are different from the other sharks
(Uhh: other sharks don't use post offices)
And are undeserved of their
Ruthless, roguish, reputation.
Yes, we are younger
Than our arrow-headed brethren
(Just 400 million years younger.)
But our brains are bigger.
Evidenced by our lack of interest
In Walky-Talky interaction.
Check your stats.
Us Real Heads are considered
"Shy" among you. Right.
You wouldn't believe
The number of karaoke
Joints down here.
The moon now
Has dipped down
From the world of air
While the sun has made it's rise.
I'm starting to tan in the shallows
A tad too much for my taste.
Stay safe, sentient skin slickers!
I must be one my way now
At 20-25 miles per hour.
A chronological anthology
Of legends, folk lore and mythology
There’s no one called Eric
Or Ethel or Derek
For which I shall make no apology
Samson just got himself sheared
Delilah had cut off his beard
She cut off his hair
Then headed ‘down there’
And cut off far more than he’d feared
The Romans detested Boudicca
She never would be a boot licker
That feared Celtic lass
Stuck a spear up their a.s.s
And that made them march a bit quicker
According to legend and fable
Merlin was slightly unstable
His spell came apart
So ‘a wheel for a cart’
Turned into a bloody great table
In years gone by Lady Godiva
Had no car... she wasn't a driver
No licence of course
But show her a horse
She'd whip off her kit for a fiver
Robin Hood’s men were all merry
They'd guzzled a flagon of Sherry
With Marion pissed
Young Robin got kissed
And then they got all missionary
A fella who’s called Calvin Klein
Is a legend in his own time
Those rich city slickers
Wear Calvin Klein knickers
But wouldn't be seen dead in mine
But stand aside Canute and Midas
For legends still amble beside us
Not witch nor soothsayer
Nor some Dragon slayer
But mortals who get rid of Spiders
Perchance it’s your husband or wife
Who acts without sabre or knife
They might be an Eric
Or Ethel or Derek...
(And might be in fear of their life).
Contest: Your favourite legend
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
27 February 2020