Long Team up Poems
Long Team up Poems. Below are the most popular long Team up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Team up poems by poem length and keyword.
Ponytails and blue jeans
Sat at Papaw's knee,
Watching as he whittled
On old branches from a tree.
And while he talked of cowboys
And big old Texas ranches,
He trimmed away the rough spots,
While I dreamed of pony dances.
A wild stick horse remuda
Began to run and play,
With every loving stroke,
As he peeled the bark away.
Using his "Old Timer"
And carving in my brand,
The best that he could find
And cut and shape with his own hand.
Now, each one of them was special,
And I felt I was too,
As they kicked up dust behind
This cowgirl buckaroo.
With reins of pink hair ribbon,
Shoe strings and baling twine,
There was "Buckin' Birch" and "Oakie,"
And "Ole Sticky" made of pine,
"Sassafras," and "Blackjack,"
"Willow," "Blaze," and "Scat,"
I never did corral 'em --
I just left 'em where they sat.
But next mornin', on the front porch,
'stead of roamin' wild and free,
They'd found their hitchin' rail,
‘cause Papaw lined 'em up for me.
Along our trails together
There were many lessons learned,
Like bein' a cowboy through and through
Is something that you earn
We'd partner up together,
And team up in cahoots,
Once he defied my Mama,
Bought me red cowboy boots.
And often, when I wondered
What to do on down the road,
He'd always tell me, "little girl,
When you get there you will know,"
Sometimes you have to let things go,
Sometimes you stand and fight,
And anything worth doin',
Is still worth doin' right.
With my wild stick horse remuda,
We rode the range for miles,
I knew I'd won my Papaw's heart
By the way he'd laugh and smile,
I still have his sweat-stained Stetson,
His boots, and his old knife,
Sometimes I take them out
Just to measure up my life.
And hold him closer to my heart,
And know I have to try,
To live up to the honor
Of the wonder-days gone by.
On my stick horse remuda,
I learned the cowboy way,
I’d give up everything I own
To ride with him today.
My wild stick horse remuda
Was quite the varied band,
Born and bred with me in mind
And trained by his own hand.
I’m longing for the legends,
And the way we used to roam,
With my wild stick horse remuda,
And the man that we called "Home."
After Bill got Brick’s emergency call about the new find under the Bywater bridge, he downed
his coffee, shoved his files in a drawer, donned his 9mm w/shoulder holster, traded his
Stetson for a NYPD ball cap, made for the squad car, punched the blue lights and headed to
Brick’s destination.
When he approached the bridge , the bus was already there and Brick was talking to the
driver. His car was parked slanted into the traffic slow lane so all had to slow and go around
the scene. He already had it cordoned off with tape.
Bill pulled up behind Brick’s squad car adding blue lights to his. Brick spotted Bill getting
out of his car and motioned him over. They both stepped towards each other after Brick
finished his instructions to the bus driver. When Bill first got to NYC. He had no idea that
the cops referred to the ambulance as the “bus” but it was just another colloquialism he had
to pick up on after his stint in Texas. .and here it was on the scene again. It wasn’t usually
a welcome site.
Above the noise of the oncoming traffic, they shook hands heartily and Brick grinning,
beat Bill to the punch saying “What the hell took you so long? You stop and kiss your horse
good morning on the way over here or something?"
“Nah, I just decided to take the scenic route. I figured you’d have this case all wrapped
up by the time I got here. …How in the heck are ya, Brick. Seems like I ain’t seen you since
back before the Alamo. What all this fuss about here?
“Well let me show you, cowboy.” Bill followed Brick to the blanket laid on the cracked
pavement roadside in the shadow of the bridge. Even before he got there Bill could see
blood oozed out from under the cover in a stilled puddle. Brick slowly pulled the blanket back
to inspect the victim while looking up to Bill to catch his reaction. “ Whaddya think?”
The grimace on Bill’s face said it all. He had seen a lot of carnage in his time but never
anything quite like this. He caught his breath and let it out slowly and quietly whispering the
words “ Holy crap…. It’s a butcher job!... “
(continued on Richard Pickett poetry (Taz)
.After Bill left the station, he made a pit stop down to the local diner, parked his car and
hurried in to get some much needed chow.
“ What’s up stranger? Haven’t seen your lanky frame in this fine dining establishment in
forever” she said saracastically as she poured him a cup of old left over breakfast
coffee. “Made this pot special just for you Bill, after I saw you crossing the street to come
in here.”
“Sure you did, Nette. I can tell by the grounds floating on top. I missed you too, he
grinned.
“I take it you had a good trip…welcome back cowboy .You want the usual steak and
eggs?” She didn’t wait for his answer as she wrote something on the order pad, spun around
and hollered out to the kitchen. “Dead cow..rare and chicken innards Charlie!”
“You always make that sound so appetizing, Nette.” She smiled her welcome at him and
headed off to grab another order. ” I’m comin’, I’m comin’, I ain’t your mother, ya know!
Bill chowed down, left a tip and drove to the police horse stables to see his patrol partner.
When he got there Gail, one of the stable grooms had Redneck on the cross ties lavishing
him with attention that could only be given by someone who was dedicated to these trusty
warm bloods. Redneck pricked his ears forward and whinnied a greeting to Bill before Gail
knew he was there.
“Hello Redneck ole buddy! What would you do without Gail spoiling the heck out of you
here?” Bill scrubbed his forelock and patted his chest while thanking Gail for taking care of
him while Bill was away.
“ No problem Bill. Glad to do it. You know that. He’s my buddy too you know. Glad to see
you’re back.” They exchanged pleasantries and Bill headed back to his apartment to get a
some much needed rest.
The next morning found Bill refreshed and chomping at the bit to get the scoop on
Brick’s mystery murder case. He decided to give Brick a call early before he headed out. (
To be cont. on Richard Pickett site "the team up")
How has it dawn on us so soon when we hadn’t even achieved much?
Why has the marketplace ceased to buy and sell so scanty the streets wither away
The clouds becomes more darkened as smokes ascend randomly our fields are on fire
We can feel the rain but it has lost its coldness
I hear more voices than I usually heard
This time of crying and wailing rather than chatting and hailing
Voices
chanting and singing songs of war
Dust and gun powders like fog fill the air,
with great rumble the battle rages
The long night tarry on nobody has awakened
Some privileged to pass on to the other side
Total transmission from what we see now
Carcasses litter the streets as we run from pillar to post
Yet not so sure where the lot may fall
Great assets lost in hot zones, they shouldn’t have taken the guns,
Gravesides more frequent than bedsides
When did we become such serious foes?
That tears can’t seem to mend?
We let our children die by our own hands and still squeeze our sorry faces
How valuable is this trophy, hope it’s worth the pains we are feeling now?
We match in battalions, onward we go
Faces brimming with boldness and courage,
Though fear still takes its partition
We leave behind loved ones not so sure,
like walking into the lions cave to kill or be killed
Jumping over strip wires, nice try
Only to step on landmines
A time to team up with death taking from one end
While it continues from the other side in its own way
Orphans, widows and widowers we make at will that which we had once pitied
What caused this sudden change?
So unfortunate many fighting ignorantly yet arrogantly
Now we pull down our once fancied walls to build more refugee camps and fill them
We overstretching science and make of men expendables
A time we show how much we can take
What we depict now is wickedness rather than strength
In this game
Winners are
Always
Rude
Your chase!
Reminiscing on the oceans I had to dry up
and the volcanos I had to ice up
just to capture the epicenter of your heart
well protected by strong canines
of your carnivorous standards.
Hanging with the clouds of the highest heights
and combating with the dragons
of the Amazon Forest
was worth all the efforts.
Your Love!
shines in vitality
attracting even the goddess of sexuality
as it preserves the indwelling desires of two hearts.
We stayed isolated in the entire world
at midnight, siting on the mountain top
the moon directly above us
showcasing our shadows
melted together with no space in between.
The stars, singing hymns of love
while the trees danced to the romantic melody.
Just the two of us
and the entire universe
bridged by space full of your praise as I behold my Queen.
Whose beauty compresses the wealth of Europe
and gentleness makes
the Dove and the River team up in envy.
Your absence!
Life endeavours have fixed
putting us in an equilibrium of distance
as I perish in a state; psychiatry has no definition.
In the midst of Adult Buffalos
you leave an unprotected Cub.
You aren't gone, just far away
yet I feel like a member of a loser's club
as love has converted me to a scrub.
Thinking I'd be as worse as
a depression endemic atmophere
with loneliness and plutonic cold its major contents,
unfortunately, my heart is its suburb
completely eaten up and infected.
What can make me lay for days
in the bathub;
rejecting everything beautiful and lovely,
and the ointment of darkness I rub?
To all these my Love!
Your absence is the nub.
But I need to stay strong
as I await the purification of your presence once again.
Scientists claim the big bang was the first sound ever, not knowing how hard milkyway had to beg forever so they could team up to imitate us, first in supernovas, then in rainbows and Pleiades clusters, and they kept trying over and over and over again.
One hundred billion years, two hundred billion trials, three hundred billion stars yet you are my only reason of existence, even before dust, stories, light, sound and distance, even before eternity tore the pages containing our names from the book of constellations and watched how they dangled amidst tragic cosmic stories on the endless skin that streched past the eyelashes of infinity, you were my big bang.
And I'm not saying had it been milkyway haven't got tired of trying, came to me that day and asked how I did it, we wouldn't have been here, for each time my heart skipped a beat was a planet yet to be known, each time you said "I love you" was a big bang of its own, and I'd say your eyes were my Jupiter because I get lost everytime you looked at me like an astronaut in a cosmic zone, but, I always find you, even without Galileo's telescope, like a shooting star touching the hands of the most advanced lens, like a farfetched comet tracing edges of your words and your silence, in everything reflex, like every time you flinch when your maths teacher mentions X. Let it be anywhere, farther than the edges of the compass, beyond kuiper belts or anywhere, there is this maze in the lines of my fingerprints, a room in the dubs of my heartbeats, a street in this memory lane, and I always find you there, as an emblem of sanctuary.
-Mr.X
©26.01.2022
Excerpted from 'The book of Constellations'
GAMES
When we were young we used to play some interesting games
Like “Hide and Seek” or “Colored Eggs,” but we loved them all the same.
One thing for sure when we would play, we didn’t play to lose,
So if the game involved a team, the best friends we would choose.
We would complain if someone cheats or if they’d not play fair,
And when we won, we’d celebrate the game that we won there.
Well, now we’re older, but we’ve found out that games are lots like life:
It has its rules and we aren’t glad when it is full of strife.
Each day when we get out of bed, life seems to say, “Game on!”
And how the day may end for us depends on where we’ve gone.
Did we walk paths of righteousness? Did we in wrong place stand?
Did we become a scornful one or follow God’s commands?
Did we put someone down that day and sharply criticize?
Or did we with compassion help someone with teary eyes?
Yes, games of life we play each day are so important now;
It’s all about to win, not lose, with pleasing God somehow.
For some day we will stand before a judgment seat to see
The game of life we played on earth revealed by Deity.
Gold, silver, precious stones there will be tried by fire,
And wood and hay and stubble, too, will be placed in that pyre.
What comes out of that trial that day will be our just reward:
Was the game of life here played for self, or played here for the Lord?
You can decide each day to play the game of life in prayer
And team up with the Lord of Hosts to treat each person fair.
So, “GAME ON!”—hear the call today to do your very best
To live the way that pleases Him and see your life so blessed!
Him or me
again Im tired
Wake up early to
not get fired
Struggle with my heart
to do What is right
but i'm always Tempted
to stop this fight
I am old
Im Young no more,
winter snow is here
And it is cold,
and my runny nose
With my beanie on
I suppose
Over 40 now
this is how it goes
But i'm not done
I'm in school,
bet I won't graduate?
I will get my cap
And walk the stage
because I set
A Goal to date.
It's not all bad
I mean this new life
After I got wet
and got baptized
But repentance keeps
me up late
My bodies weak
and my mental state
Work is hard
people put me down
And they try to clown
and pour on hate
What is up with him?
That Marine is weird,
he is anxious to
And he don’t smile
They team up on me
the insults pile
But i won't crack
even though it hurts
Put Downs are stacked
from those perverts
It gets a little deep
but I fight on
Got a job to keep
kids Mouth count on.
The dead guys him,
the new guys me,
I got a good life
I am the king
and i love my queen
I'll play the cards
that God dealt me
With three kids to
full house Beats you.
My strength may fail
My character won't
so don't forget
This path i walk
it aint for loss
this ain't no talk
In the battle though
to Lift Him up
and shut the door
On the enemy but
I need to be
On the floor.
As I pray
For my needs
to repent of sin
And get rid of greed
may this Godspeed
Me up to
victory
now you can see
What I clearly mean,
who will win today
Him or me?
By: BEARDEDJARHEAD
Lunarya is a delightful cocktail of creativity, introspection, and sass, served with a twist of humor. A poet at heart, she weaves words as easily as she overthinks conversations from three years ago. She's the kind of person who’ll over-apologize to her houseplants for forgetting to water them but confidently call out injustice when it crosses her path.
Her flaws? Oh, she’s got a few. Procrastination and self-doubt occasionally team up to rain on her productivity parade. But don’t underestimate her resilience—she’s the phoenix type, rising stronger from the ashes of chaos and trauma, armed with a notebook and a fresh idea.
Hobbies? Well, when she’s not nurturing her small, quiet studio apartment sanctuary in the bustling city, she’s hanging out with her chosen family, affectionately called the Rainbow Tribe. Whether she's diving into shark documentaries, chasing Bigfoot theories, or writing poetry about her inner child and highest self, Lunarya finds joy in exploration and expression.
Her goals are as big as her heart. She’s on a quest to heal, grow, and become the best version of herself—a mission powered by love, laughter, and the occasional existential crisis. She dreams of penning verses that touch souls, fostering connections that inspire, and living a life where her past doesn’t define her but propels her toward greatness.
In short? Lunarya is a work in progress—messy, magical, and unapologetically human.
In a land far away, in a time not so far past.
A recession came and the people were poor.
The middle class had lost everything,
The bankers and the rich owned them,
Taking their homes and letting them starve,
Interest, the signature, soul sold, bought.
Marx had come onto the scene and Blavatasky.
Ideas, revolt, change, power to the people.
Crush the bankers and the rich: take their wealth.
Feed the people, empower the ordinary man.
One man came forward, a painter, an artist.
Lead the revolution, a powerful orator.
Hate the rich, hate the evil bankers and business owners.
Free market, competition, trickle down economics, died.
The new key word: Socialism. Steal from the rich to feed the people.
His name was Hitler, loved by the people. Kill the rich.
The rich were the Jews, their religion is designed to accumulate wealth.
No love, no artists, conformity, conservatives, defending their wealth.
Team up with the western capitalists, demonize socialism.
Capitalists start war with socialists. Rationalize, demonize.
The capitalists and the Jews vs the people of Germany.
Germany kills the Jews, just a few, not six million.
Don’t believe the lies of the capitalists.
The final solution, kill the rich, French Revolution.
It will happen again, same story, different time and place.
Modern bankers, Wall street, corporations, raped the people.
The middle class is dying, and our future is already coming.
Form: