Long Stickler Poems
Long Stickler Poems. Below are the most popular long Stickler by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stickler poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh noo' It has happened again.! I thought we had escaped the continual scene:
forever falling down, and ya know what people actually celebrate it..?
and we'd thought we were safe here) a place where you had sympathetic support,
ITS NO GOOD..! that's what it isn't..' at last here was a chance at last to get time to
create our own poems, after being famous for all this time..' and we never had the chance
of creating our own stuff..' at least when we were killed off out there it was only by the
cretins..! now it has happened here, its a spiritual thing, sob.' boo-hoo, I saw the
shadow though..! it was a pale one..and we felt a vindictive force, and then our whole
new world shattered.' I wonder how would some like it? you have been being pushed about since
1643, whoever did it must be a cold hearted and lonely person..' I remember reading
reading some lines somewhere about just such a writer, hmm..' and now I'm a ghost and its
all down to someone..! Dumpty...that is who I am now..And down in the dumps BUT I AM MAD
MAD MAD and determined..! I can get revenge, I shall snoop in on any soup mail & nasty remarks
and so on; I can do that because I am a ghost now..! we had such a hard life early on at
the abbey farm there was ole aunt Patricia she was strict always minding our p's & q's
for us always saying we didn't do enough, then after Dad left us 'I was hard' but I never wanted
to be lost and nasty like she was, oh she was a stickler for 'rules' pashaaaw...! never
changed her life though did they...? hmmm, what to do next.? I don't know though if I
really should go down that road, it would be a contradiction of all I have tried to live, by
even through that nasty war, right up to now I suppose..' look! if I became like that I would
probably be going around with a horrible hot anger inside me, it would be like a big heavy
stone where my heart should be..! Oh you know what I mean.! and what would I do next.?
after I track them down.. after, I DESTROY THEM UTTERLY))) what then old egg? I
don't know what to do I feel as if I am being 'almost coerced ' here.. and I've heard
about the other place..' its hot they say, with a big black iron round thing..' I don't think
I would like it there, Oh if only Humpty and Dumpty could be here together again..'
With a quick competitive descent,
Darling Daffy and his feisty duels;
No sportsmanship? He turns violent;
He’s a stickler for all of the rules;
Makes no difference if it’s a giraffe
or Bugs Bunny banging on that piano,
play the game fair or get cut in half;
This the challengers ALWAYS know;
‘A lower standard will always debase!’
screams a bar sign in ACME letters;
Looking for a fair fight? This is the place.
Who’s fire with melodic measures?
Sly cockatoo sashays in with a grin,
itching to throw in a song that’s fire;
He holds the decadence of a violin,
and claims to be an A list player;
Daffy smugly looks him up and down
‘You win? With that? What fallacies!!’
‘I’m Fuego I play two. Give me my crown.
Known as the best to play Merry Melodies.’
To be continued …
My mother taught me many lessons
First ,about the birds and the bees
Where did I come from mommy?
Oh, I found you in a barrel of Crabs.
Her lessons in decorum were priceless
Walk always with your head held high
But not so high as to drown when it rains.
bless her heart.
She was a stickler for good posture
More so when I wore a new dress
all pretty and frilly
You walk like a drunken spider on spindly legs.
Her lessons in obedience
I’ll always remember
When I say jump, just jump
Don’t ask how high.
She taught me to choose my friends
they should reflect class and dignity
True,God said Love your neighbor as yourself
but he didn’t say, walk with the riff- raff on the street.
Her description of my hair left me baffled
I thought it was always neat
Looks as if birds have been picking out your hair
To build their nests, she often said.
She taught me to be a power to be reckoned with
With words I was to hear often
I brought you into this world
And I can take you out.
To mom, silence was a golden rule
Never ask why just do as I say
Or with one slap
I will turn your face to the back of your head.
My speech was another area she paid attention to
When I spoke her comment came swift and sure
you speak as if you have a hot potato in your mouth.
Lesson on bravery left me in tears
On the day I broke my arm
Am I going to die, mommy? I asked
Yep, like a flea squashed between your fingernails.
She replied.
I still remember these lessons, and smile
I know too that she did this to help me cope
She was the best, my mother.
Spelling, syllable count, vanity, too simple, Simon! Be prolific, cruel, smart, up to par, above the bar, fit for the stage. Tap, tap, tap…
—by poet
The Prismatic Self
See the wooden stage, markers for my feet, bright lights, great expectations, critical analysis. Curtains will open any minute as my words make an entrance. Will my opening lyrics draw a crowd? Who will be in attendance? The theater’s not likely sold out.
Backstage, the sponsors, who are they? ATTENTION! As if a teacher wields a pointer, tapping at my feet. Will the audience throw erasers?
On the palm of my hand, the rules - perhaps strict, but I’m not in fear of a stickler. Trained by the nuns in love and hate knuckles.*
Lots of rules, I might have to practice the act for quite a bit longer. I practice in my dressing room, trying on outfit after outfit - those flouncy forms or something simple and succinct.
Am I a people pleaser? Do I perform at the pleasure of the King or Queen? Or am I my own worst critic?
Yes! Yes! Yes! No!
I desire to be seen but I will yield. There is something more important than being the lead. Still, I must confess, I must run back to my little box, mime my tears, dread my limitations, take a breath and when I am ready - take a bow.
At the onset, I must build my own backdrop, backstory, be vague and understood. I run my lines quickly, slowly, go over them again and again, even as I recite them freely, as a monoku or Shakespearian sonnet; or get even more elaborate.
I labor over each word, its placement, its meaning. I don’t care! I do care! I must feel it practically perfect; though I will let it go. Eventually, it will be a comedy of errors, erroneously erupting past the stage, in the rubber hands of cause and effect. The sponsor’s Marlboro ashes fall on it, without understanding my heartfelt meaning; my wings clipped as I await the list…the dreaded and dreadful list. Most surprised when I am the cream, alone - floating at the top.
**Fastbreast, blushing, aghast, euphoric. That sponsor is exact. I do not grow prideful. I do glow. The tip of the iceberg shows, all other words sunken, below. In leotards, the ships pass by, having a look - one clips itself.
*conceit
**Fastbreast - heart beating rapidly (Neologism)
A pattern? Mom did not need one. She made her own
Like her own jelly, jam, and one time ketchup
When kids came to play, they stuck with her
She was more fun than I was, but a stickler for truth.
She had a sense of humor that would laugh the trees silly
Wasted it on church, perpetually attending everything there
But maybe not a waste. Maybe it was what she needed
Being a mother of twins and a quiet boy
Her quilts were done with tiny stitches
She also quilted, crocheted, tatted,
Loved being a wife and mother
Loved cooking, baking and cleaning
I never figured out how anyone could love cleaning.
She was perpetually vibrant and young.
Youthful in her thinking. A one-of-a-kind woman.
She would do what was right always, stand up to
everyone. She wore integrity like a necklace, not a crown.
We thought she would live to be one hundred and five
like our mean Great Aunt Eudora.
Sadly she did not.
I pick up the phone to call her almost twice a week.
Forgetting she has been gone since January.
It is weird to release a person like this
Obviously, I never can.
It’s often used in lyrics
Since the music cuts some slack
But each time I get to hear it,
I am taken some aback.
For to me, who is a purist,
It’s a point in fact that I’m
Quite a stickler who objects to
Any near- or almost-rhyme.
Sometimes laziness explains it,
Or the closeness of a word
To a rhyming one makes writers
Think a real rhyme will be heard.
Often there is nothing fitting
With the word the poet chose.
Finding others to replace it
Is a job each stickler knows.
There are many who will argue
Even Shakespeare sometimes fudged
Though that knowledge doesn’t faze me;
My beliefs will not be budged.
The Widow
Some time, ago a man went climbing an icy mountain on his own, why? I don't what was on his mind maybe he was the type of a man who had no friends because he was eristic and
fed up with his wife, wanted to be alone.
His name, they found ,was Niels Berg, a German civil servant from Saxony and a stickler who did not tolerate misspellings
At the time he went on his journey, he was 38 years old.
Forty years later, he was found and it is interesting to see had
he lived he would have been 78 years old.
We don't know much about him only that he had been married
but his wife had left him since he could not resist correcting
her when she spoke, which made her silent and a soundless woman is a dangerous woman.
His widow, a retired teacher, inherited the bank account that had never been closed and after forty years she came into a considerable amount of money.
Niels, had broken his ankle, but since he was alone it was a death knell, (ask Margaret Mead) he died of frost
When found, under an ice sheet, had a torn rope around his waist
On a stone, he had with a Swiss knife, tried to write a message to his wife and it read like this: “I love you because you are a good cook, he scratched out cook”
He tried again, but his fingers were cold, got as far as “I love you,” then along scratch
And we shall never know what Niels had intended to say.
Detroit Rolls Royce
Actually a “Cherry Picker”,
A Royce costume,
Disguising Yonah’s rise,
Repairing Balmore’s eruv slicker,
Faster than a Lamborgini volume,
But TA’s Gabbai is wise,
Checking wires needs a “Stickler”,
An observant Jew who doesn’t assume,
Taking pains to apprise,
R’ Ribiat is a George Washington “flicker”,
Both are Fathers, Yonah of the Ribiat Bloom,
Detroit Tiger & Lion prize,
Ty Cobb wore knickers,
R’ Ribiat a “Bekesher” plus reads volumes,
Hears Baila’s sighs & cries,
Eats Kosher, laughs never snickers,
Enjoy to 120! Adar zoom resume!
Chaim & Barbara
Inspired by Mick Talbot’s message to all participants in his haiku contest.
Mick’s maybe a stickler for the contest rule
He’s only helping so you don’t look a fool
If you don’t have any rules it all falls apart
Don’t try and ignore them, don’t be smart.
If he says haiku, that’s what he wants
Not HAIKU, your title or fancy fonts
Updates on his contest page you’ll see
Read his rules and make him happy.
If he wants a poem about black cats
Don’t be clever and do one about bats
You’ll get disqualified and booted out
No glory for you you’re heading south.
Put the date you wrote it, don’t put your name
Or he will ignore it and that would be a shame
Mick’s a generous sponsor, he’s more than fair
You are given a chance to put things square.
Remember he’s doing it for our benefit
Gets no financial reward for doing it
So if you want a gold medal in his contest
Please read the rules and give it your best.
A man still in the darkness
Who has never seen the light
Is better than a man toying with darkness
From the vantage point of light
One knows and lives with the pain
The other sees his own injuries and bleedings
One only reaches for whatever to hold and retain
Another well sees the paths and their leadings
One a stickler for the ways of the ancestors
Better he who remains until he finds new conviction
Than he who tramples on God as one of the gestures
Of one feeling free of need for his accumulation
If the worldly want to keep their worldliness
With cunningness, insistence and assertion
Ye called by God's Name keep your godliness
With faith, the Word, assurance and meditation
Whoever know what to do and doesn't sins
Whoever lacks by rejecting knowledge perishes
Yes, endowment can come to one who gleans
And a gleam can lead to the light that virtue relishes
K. Muitherero