Long Third year Poems
Long Third year Poems. Below are the most popular long Third year by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Third year poems by poem length and keyword.
One Horse Town
The boardwalks full of people only two stood in the street.
The showdown of the century counting down to thirty feet.
Black Bart said this towns too small for you and I to both be in it.
Today's the day we found out which one of us will win it.
Handy Randy took a spit and looked up at the sun.
He said yep, the truth be known by the time this day is done.
A hush fell over the town folks mother's hid their children's faces.
The two men in the desert sun walked just a few more paces.
The sheriff called out that's close enough! I'm a countin down from three.
Who's the best in all the west this whole damn town will see.
When he called that magic number Barts face turned black as night.
Handy Randy drew his pencil and they both sat down to write.
Randy wrote of springtime rain and the sound of childrens laughter.
Bart penned a verse about Randy moving on to the hereafter.
Then Randy wrote another verse so quick he made it rhyme.
The sheriff said time is up Bart finished just in time.
They filed into the saloon and they ordered up a drink.
While the judges read their writings and told them what they think.
Again the crowd grew quiet as they eagerly watched the show.
Old Hank from the hardware store said he really liked Barts flow.
The blacksmith from the stable stood up and cleared his throat.
And in almost a whisper said I loved what Randy wrote.
Bill that ran the old hotel said there ain't use denying.
My wife is a Randy fan but she always ends up crying.
The barber from on down the street trembled neath Barts gaze.
He said Barts poetry's kinda dark but he likes it anyways.
Some town folks started clapping you could hear the women sigh.
For the third year in a row the judges ruled a tie.
For some folks love the softer side while there's some that like it deep.
And not all men do their dreaming at night while fast asleep.
Once again the call was made the choice was handed down.
Black Bart and Handy Randy stay in this one horse town.
Edwin C Hofert
HARLEY DAVIDSON
The roar of the victorious twins that spark,
Enigma of the spotless glint in the dark,
The riders, symbolic of rare brood,
Tattooed with insignia and bandana as hood.
Third year of the twentieth century, there starts a stride,
Relentlessly over a century, stands stout in pride,
The post First War years, gave birth to the twins,
Sidecars mated, to the 18 horses’ wings.
“Milwaukee” heaven, created the stars,
In a big bang scatter, they traversed the universe,
The years of the big wars, saw seventeen-inch twins,
Immaculate with epaulettes and battle olive greens.
At the end of the war, God lent a hand,
To evolve a shiny steel armour for the generation, next clan,
The Knuckleheads, the Glides set the road on fire,
Protectors of human dignity, induce fear on felons’ desire,
The low riders of the seventies, launched with a zing,
The world of its class termed it “A mean machine”,
The XL’s the K’s, roll out with a whack,
Its looks and tyres, burnt all tracks.
Then there were the softails, those flew like a dove,
Elevated the pillion rider, for the embrace of Love,
The zing of the V2 and the double chrome exhausts,
Reflects the personality of a star, that rocks.
Out arrived the fat boy who could cruise an endless mile,
Traverse across the continent in elegant style,
The Dyna and the Low Riders with their fiery spokes,
Came in with accessories that included tattooed blokes.
The King of the road with flashers and sirens run,
Vigilant officer in uniform with a holstered gun,
The Buells, The Cyclones, The Lightning and Thunderbolts
Menacing street fighters, up on the roll.
Exotic long forked choppers, on a smooth ply,
The rattle sound merges, with a helicopter in the sky,
It is the character, that reflects, the heart alone,
The charisma, of falling in love with, ‘Harley Davidson’.
By Pradipta Roy Choudhury
From The Transient Soliloquy
published by Notionpress
https://notionpress.com/read/the-transient-soliloquy
the eagles has an new leader who rose to power so fast to lie to the people about where he came from, for in his third year of eight he shall befriend the holy land leaders and deliver lawfully babylon to his friends, for in the second root of his house blood times mars. so by losing his time the people elect a black male (So Wick Is He) for in the second foot of his house he shall ask the children of his armies to be slain of the last chief, lay down the new power of the inhuman srcound, one shall know him and him being about his prophecy and that one shall be beheaded, and the new eagle shall love on to the new house. before the father of nations - between the tree of life - the empire of the russ shall make war with him and shall not be watchful of the east - for not all obeys, six powerful kings shall bow their heads to the eagle by land, sea and air. the religion shall be called 2511141 - The Blind god. all good and bad shall become barbarians when the food of the earth runs out, for time has gone backward to it's beginning, the greed of men now wails in the wind for a long time no woman shall be married, How silly is England to think that the Kinglessking shall bow head to their queen, words said, is it I who bow down to you woman or you I, and the queen shall know him by these words to kiss his hand in vain. let the church in rome know this said, for the voice aid to me to write it. I know the host of your church and of your demons and I know that I come quickly if you repent not, and I shall cast out your demon host and shall i not beheaded the church. but if you carry on i alone shall enter into your heart and conduct the lady outside, and she shall cast out her mouth I. to the same church, election - conflicts and blood, let he who Yeshua know his new name, and let them who shall say we are with Yeshua Beware! and let man choke on his own words and blood, for none know the Yahweh our Elohim, not even his chosen, and I alone stop writing to place my pen down.
Dad and Scott carry the refrigerator into his dorm room
where mom makes the bed, smoothing the sheets
and folding hospital corners with motherly precision.
Corey and I sit on the bean bag chair contemplating
potential line width and dimensions
of releasing boredom and staying out of the way.
Dad has tears in his eyes and Corey whispers-
"that refrigerator must be heavy."
I watch as Scott hugs mom, then dad;
I listen as he tells Corey to practice his soccer skills,
"maybe then you'll beat me next time we play."
Corey heard "maybe then you'll beat me"
while the words that stick with me are
"next time we play."
Scott held me long and tight
like he wanted to tuck this moment away,
or maybe he wanted me to tuck it away.
To a fourteen year old with a high school career
of invincibility to be felt, four years is infinity.
A boy whoops and pumps his fist from down the hall
as we look and see him waving out a window
to his parents driving away.
Scott lets me go and gives a sheepish shrug of apology
for his hall mate because we both know,
he feels the same way.
I hold Corey's hand as we walk to the car
because that is what I need to be these next four years.
In the passenger seat my mom holds a box of tissues,
and in the rear-view mirror I can see dad's red eyes.
I put my arm around the back of Corey's seat
and whisper in his ear.
And now it's me.
I'm gone but I'm not whooping
like the boy on Scott's hall when his parents rolled out,
what noise did he make after a day on his own,
after a week, a month, a year?
I'm on my third year and I'd still take a ride
in my parent's Volkswagon anytime I could,
just to walk through my house barefoot
When Corey looks at me I hope he knows I still think
about that day we became Scott's pen pal
and each others siblings.
It wasn't about Scott leaving home,
but holding onto the four years that me and Corey
still had...
so what is it now?
I have already noted a change,
a deepening analysis
in second year framing of the Trump Administration's
first hazing year in fascist process.
A DOA year ago,
we grew heatedly invested in fake-conversations
about whether the fake-patriotic Republican Party
was really all that more fake-Constitutionally insane
than other U.S First and Only partisans,
other special fat and long-infested interests.
This January
by contrast
we apparently have accepted last year's insanely obvious
supremacy of insanity
held by Republican national leaders,
as the last Wise PatriarchalElder shadows
of Eisenhower AntiMilitaryIndustrial Administrative investments
fade into family multicultural values
associated with stardust memories.
Now our questions
have evolved into which Republicans are most insane
and which slightly less so,
on a scale from ZenZero
through RightWing rabid overpopulated paranoia
nightmares of sleep-deficit caffeinated Western cultures
self-medicating chronic stress
of patriarchal violent secularizing
WinLose
EitherOr
indiscriminate double-binding MADness tendencies;
absence of bilateral ego-eco consciousness.
Hopefully
by the beginning of a Trumpian ThirdReich,
these National FakeConstitutionally InCorrect Republicans
will all be too busy
locking each other up in their insane asylums
and retributive secular courts of punitive law
and lack of moral aesthetic nature-spirit harmonic order,
and then throwing away the keys
to their not-so-divine Kingdoms of Competing EitherOr
Absence of Sufficient SacredGrace.
Such third year fascist distractions
could get them unelected,
and unelectable,
as we post-millennially open
to more organically Green Democratic Ways
and PermaCultural Means
toward Restorative Justice
as also Healthy EcoPolitical Grace
of AbundantLove.
Congratulations! You have bought a new car.
May you have many joyful and memorable rides with your family!
As regards how fortunate you are
to get such a quick loan to buy the car,
Aha, ask me!
Few years back,
in all excitement and overloaded love,
I gifted my husband, umm.... a high end german car -
You see, I have faith in all German technologies-
they are strong and reliable,
'coz one of my aunts is a German.
The first year or two is pretty blissful-
Right? as it is with all ignorant fools-
happily enjoying the rides,
coyly smiling at envious eyes,
holidaying in distant places,
and paying back the loans religiously.
The third year I kept on wondering,
Oooish!....how many more left?
The fourth year I just wanted to get it off my back!
Sorry to say, but- the itch was always glued there,
no matter how much I scratched, rubbed,
mowed the back with a roller-
Oof! -I just couldn't get off the painful itch.
The final year, when a handful loans were left,
my patience was depleted,
I begged, borrowed, emptied my piggy banks,
dug out all my hidden vaults,
squeezed out the last bit to
just pay off the tortuous loan.
Plomp! I fell on the sofa,
and heaved the biggest sigh of relief!
By that time this not so young companion
had travelled many tedious miles with me,
burrowing the largest manhole-
Aha! - even ripping through my last bank account.
The next day I peered at it with raised eyebrows,
shocked to realise that it truly looked
uncomfortably older, scarred and weatherbeaten.
Honestly speaking, I was tired of it,
found flaws in it, and who wants an old hag?
I started eyeing and drooling over other beauties-
Whew!-the youngest and latest models!!
May you have many joyful and memorable rides with your family!
Today I turned thirty years old.
At this age you start and think about your deeds.
Like today thirty years ago,
I showed my mother the way to death,
this was the first thing I did after I came to life.
At the age of five I have two strong memories:
that year I escaped the robbery of an eagle,
who already dared to cut my white hair,
the second memory are two dynamite crates
loaded a red horse,
that were emptied into our yard.
We did not kill any living thing with them,
and we did not use them for war
(although there was no more war)
we used them to dye woolen clothes.
At the age of fourteen
I discovered that women are to be loved.
A year later I started writing poetry.
The only girl who loved me was literature.
For five years nothing is worth mentioning.
When I was twenty I dropped out of college,
the first noble act in my life,
then I tried the curb,
loneliness, responsibility, fatigue,
I wanted to try love but in vain.
At the age of twenty-one I was in England,
or rather in a refugee prison camp.
My twenty-third year was fruitful.
I was in Germany as an (asylum seeker),
then I met my first and last girlfriend:
now my beautiful wife.
I started university again,
and my name was always first entered in google:
that's how you get into history today.
Then come better years,
love makes you dream without feet on the ground:
the pedestal awaits me.
When fixed a quarter of a century,
I thought I was writing poetry.
Three years later I published the first volume,
big event for me,
but not so for the city
(the biggest joke made to yourself
is to publish a volume of poetry).
The engagement started,
after that I felt more prosaic.
Twentynine,
last year with two ahead.
This is where the need to strike a balance begins.
Scared, scared, of success, who will notice, scared of failure, seems more.relevant,
Scared, scared, not sure of who I am, of where I am right now, in life, in this scary painful world.
It's everyone for themselves, o lying the strong willed can prevail.
Scared of going out the door, scared of facing the cold brutal air, everyone else has chin goals and a dream in mind, my mind is filled with self doubt and despair, why should I even try, for only anxiety, and disappointment will be the end result, I know this for sure, there's no doubt.
Eye contact is a must, it is my weakest link, only they still.want a peek, didn't you know the eyes are the door to the soul? Don't bother turning the key, for my soul is empty and poorly occupied, anxiety and self hatred, self doubt has taken over.
Scared, yet HERE I AM, in my third year of college, Andy eyes are set on communication studies,
Of all things, who would have known? If you only knew the reasons behind, their names are Christian Tess and Suzanne White, they push me to be the best I can be, with their extraordinary teaching skills and awesome personality, I never would be where I am right now without them.
Scared, scared, but not anymore, for all I have to do is look in the mirror, and know that I have come so far, I know a lot of doors have closed on my face in the past, but it takes tenacity, strength, and a willingness to stand up and knock on the next door you see, you never know what life will throw your way, because everyone has a place in this world, for being scared just puts fuel underneath you, to get you going, how you choose to do with it is always up to you :-) :-)
April winks and breath to breath,
It prepares to take your breath away, her breath away, his breath
Nothing familiar, but nothing too strange,
Two hearts destined tied in future fate
Strangers no more and lovers no less,
Then May welcomes a new caress
And with wondering hearts, wondering thoughts dance,
So new and fragile fresh and sacred,
May welcomes a new love
Years like birds fly with no shame,
And clouds play, rule the sky and disperse
One year, even year, eight two thousand,
Lovers up and down but still alive, a fire still survives,
Two years, odd year, nine two thousand,
And still nothing can break those beautiful dancers,
Third year, final even, a sound so strange, full of treason
One last laugh September brings with its fall feigned good fortune,
Then in creeps winter, secrets unfold, lovers behold a crossroad,
Let go of the puppet strings, let go of her strings, but no…
Four, and back to an even, back to April,
Love is a time bomb and he plays her with his eyes,
You cried, I know, and no less did I,
Spring roses grow, you gave me one to keep a smile alive,
You laughed, decided a made up mind, swore to never look behind,
But your heart was really closing, and don’t lie, I know you’ve known it,
So you throw a May’s love back in a May’s day,
The second, an even, how could you deceive it?
Swallow your words, you know they’ve been forced, those cloaked swords
I swear to never believe them again, I swear to take no word of your love to heart,
May, an even, with God blessed love, unreturned love,
May, an even, a five however, an odd…
‘Jokes on you’, you say…jokes on me.
Form:
As we’ve aged (tried retirement), sleep-patterns have changed.
I am staying up later! Sleep gravitates, ebbs
less from forces that rule in a drive to work job
(where one must leave home’s relative bliss for eight hours)!
You do not need slave either but still, love your art
as a sculptor of coiffures, a teaser of waves
with their colorful highlights that speak of self-love,
and your ‘chirpiness’ faint hope command with cold cash.
But although we are different, love’s not estranged -
I do poems, NETFLIX, your dreams float on dark webs
sandman spins on the couch near my side (I’m nabob
with a blood-owned heart treasure no phantom-fear sours).
Ah, sleep’s kiss! Let you rest, undisturbed! I depart
to past’s bed where REM sleep, I hope beckons, behaves,
plays soft tune, more aged lighter peace heeds (silk touched glove).
...
Lift sleep’s legs, foot in hand; dawn rekindles from ash!
Brian Johnston
12th of October in 2020
Poet’s Notes:
I’m twelve years older than Kimmy, a Catholic School educated
boat-person emigrant who escaped Vietnam. With just a high
school education, she overcame many obstacles in life! With
deep emotional wounds from her culture, childhood abuse, war’s
dislocation and rape, and from the loss of a son to suicide (he
succumbed to bi-polar depression in his third year as a straight-A
college student), so many dreams escaped her! And yet she
became a successful businesswoman and empath, in my opinion!
And I, (always a lucky, prosperous man with advanced degrees,
an aspiring poet) love her above all others. Lucky me!