Long Thirteenth Poems
Long Thirteenth Poems. Below are the most popular long Thirteenth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thirteenth poems by poem length and keyword.
When Sunday is the First Day
By Franklin price
03/13/2020
When Sunday is the first
Of a month that comes our way
Then Friday is the thirteenth
And that day is today
If you are superstitious
Then bad luck may abound
Wash your hands all that you can
Coronavirus is around
If you're not feeling lucky
Stay at home and hunker down
Don't travel to where others are
Don't take yourself to town
If you have trouble breathing
And you feel a little hot
Call your healthcare right away
To see what you have got
Being cautious does not hurt
Taking care is where it's at
Be alert, it is the thirteenth,
Don't cross the old black cat
You can stare at me with your big golden eyes
or at least until you've come to finally realize
that I'm not afraid of any outrageous superstitions
and I don't need your cautionary admonitions.
I'm not scared of breaking mirrors or of a black cat.
It's foolishness I don't believe, and that's that!
When a calendar says it's the thirteenth of Friday,
I refuse to stay inside and hide my misgivings away.
I've walked beneath ladders and smiled doing it.
And it was just a freak accident when I broke foot
but I still don't think the writing was on the wall
when on such a said Friday, I took a serious fall.
The stigma about Friday the Thirteenth is too weird
so, there's nothing about that date that I've ever feared
but in case you ask why over my shoulder, I throw salt,
it's because if I have an accident, it won't be my fault.
analogous to expending precious Air Supply
embellishing, modifying, revising, et cetera
a poem crafted about fourteen months ago.
I take stock and revisit good ole days of yore
quite conscious undeclared state of war
prevails within body (Electric
Light Orchestra) of troubadour,
whereby creative juices did perforce pour
forth as if sung by one man koor;
now he haply seated at his Macbook Pro
today April 29th, 2022
accompanied with Christopher Robin,
Winnie the Pooh, and Eeyore.
Since January thirteenth of this year
(two thousand and twenty two),
yours truly suddenly feels
long in the tooth, i.e. auld,
he whose decrepit body and
gnarled hands ice cold
senility and senescence doled
rigor mortis virtuous vice grip extolled
coronavirus (COVID-19) motherlode
courtesy geomorphology dynamism fold
analogous to discovered vein of mined gold
grim reaper with scythe doth silently infold
(in Old English, scythe spelled siðe)
ore yonder church bell knolled
anonymous beat nickles less,
dime a dozen, day late
and dollar short sexagenarian
dropped out of Culture Club
(any strong resemblance between said poet
whose Grateful Dead head lolled,
and once living person purely coincidental)
death and decay, I lichen to mold
meself finally nill and void nolde
of unwanted excessive fleshy flab
scant personal possessions outsold
to highest bidder polled.
Dead weatherbeaten and fatigued soul
with absolute zero regret
no longer being alive,
immortality impossible mission to connive,
especially when endurance and stamina
took kamikaze nose dive
formerly earthlinked buzzfeeding
desiccated honeycomb hive
in tandem with former anxiety riddled psyche
need no longer worry
his existence perfect example
how hardship did misthrive
death be not proud penultimate quest
since adolescence (think anorexia nervosa)
he did (unsuccessfully) strive.
Most of my Lix spittle
+ four additional anniversaries
since exiting birth canal
as full term newborn
re: minimally viable existence
post doc severance umbilical cord,
nevertheless yours truly
found himself figuratively
linkedin and tethered to lifeline
particularly in formative years
(primarily academically) adrift,
and malfunctioning blinker
analogous to a boat
without an ankh (clawing
away to stay afloat)
aimlessly bobbing -
and drowning akin
to a besotted drinker
just out of rest to be
rescued by Mister Rinker
sea ming lee without
any hook, line and sinker
despite being gifted with
an above average thinker,
(who calls Lake Wobegon
his birth place)
from without, where two
brown myopic ocular
orbs shutterfly, twitter and winker.
All thru academia
just barely passing grades
nsync with avocations
such as: jigsaw puzzles,
photography, playing piano
weight lifting with free weights
and other endeavors metaphorically
suffered from anemia,
and at my nadir,
thy prepubescent psyche
plummeted lovely bones
into grave state,
courtesy anorexia minus bulimia
mental health also linkedin
shot thru through with
healthy dose of dysthymia
captioned tinker tailor soldier spy
kept awake with insomnia
peppering cerebral
cortex with monomania
buzzfeed ding somnambulant
zombified condition
with a burning
desire toward pyromania
nsync with unmanageable
raging (red dee
and bull lush) testosterone
spawning (when libido
ran rampantly amuck)
satyromania, the above particularly
accentuated, and cresting
with accursed triskaidekaphobia
most agonizing, when
orbitz around Earth
demarcated ten plus three
month date on a Friday the thirteenth,
hence death be not proud
sought after utopia
pleading, longing, and hooping
if I Willoughby
able to sprinkle
cremated ashes across Xenia
after Dayton death.
Je déteste les attaques ISIS vendredi,
Ils etaient ignoble, dégoûtant et le mal,
Au nom de Dieu pour la religion,
Avec les mentalities és dans l'oubli
nous devons justifier structures démocratiques,
En défense, en tuant tous les terroristes
Et la question de l'acceptation de Dieu,
Avec les valeurs humanistes personnes.
Il ya de tout dans la liberté,
De pensée, de parole et d'expression,
Et si vous ne pouvez pas accepter cela
Vous devez apprendre la leçon.
English translation:
I hate the ISIS Paris attacks on Friday
They were vile, disgusting and evil,
In the name of god for religion
With mindsets in oblivion
We must justify democratic structures
In defence, by killing all terrorists,
And question the acceptance of god,
With humanistic people values.
There is everything in freedom
Of thought, word and expression,
And if you can't accept that,
You need to learn the lesson.
About the ISIS attacks in Paris on Friday 13th November 2015
Let me tell you what had happened
When two children's day had darkened
Home alone, fed up with Communism
They decided on some Spiritism.
Naughty brother and his sister
Started chanting a tongue twister
Shaking, dancing,twirling a spatula
Air head kids called evil Dracula
Goose bumps and a lot of laughter
Ended session... Guess What after ?...
As night descended on the "counting sheep"
Fate decided to take a strange, big Leap:
Radio and TV turned on
Sleep, peace and quiet all but gone
Colorful ceramics smashed into sand
Only my brother and I knew that's Grand.
Sunshine erased the real nightmare
But next night I lived in despair
A man stopped in front of my balcony
Raised his hat, saluted me politely
Do you wonder what's so creepy
And why I became so weepy?
I am a poet and I'm not a bore
But all of us lived on the thirteenth floor...
A lot of years have passed since then
Thank God for this contest and pen
If questions would arise please don't be shy
I'm willing to respond ...and laugh... and cry.
Written for the contest on Paranormal
Friday the Thirteenth
By Franklin Price
12/13/2019
Today's another Friday
The thirteenth is its date
Some say that its unlucky
Should take care at any rate
Don't walk under any ladders
Don't let black cats cross your way
If you find a penny, pick it up,
When traveling today
Don't break any mirrors
It's bad luck for seven years
Carry 'round a rabbit's foot
To help allay your fears
The Devil's sign is 666
Bad luck some people say
If you see it, knock on wood
And all will be okay
Cross your fingers, make a wish
Good luck will follow you
If you think, before you act
You'll have good fortune too
FYI
If you want to plan ahead
And superstition is your tune
When a month begins on Sunday,
Friday the thirteenth, coming soon.
If you're counting down to Christmas,
From today it's number one,
I wish you happy holidays
May all your days be fun
"Horticulture is a groping in the dark
into the obscure and unfamiliar " James Tate,
from his poem, The Definition Of Gardening
________________
There is an art to gardening, yes there is
I like to create a beautiful display
in sundress and gardening gloves
I gather all my tools and seeds
and say, "lets get growing beautiful"
and I start to dig and weed and sweat
"this is hard work and I need a break"
so on the porch I sip lemonade . . . .
the cat is digging holes for me, what!
stop that you fluffy pest
then its back to work for me
and finally I am throwing seeds
all willy-nilly with no idea of what will grow
and then I wait and wait and wait
a big thunder storm one night
oh how horrible the pain of destruction
in the morning I am a babbly fool
"are you safe my little seedlings dears"
thank the gods there is no drowning
shrivelling or withering to be found
you see- I am like their parent
and want them to grow up strong
the days pass and the porch swing creaks
and then one glorious day my dream
is a garden growing in rainbow colors
but their is one slight problem
don't ask me what I planted.
______________________
October 28, 2016
Poetry/Free Verse/The Gardener
Copyright Protected, 16-844-160-0
All Rights Reserved, 2016, Constance La France
For the contest, Give Me Your Best James Tate
sponsor, Space Cadet
Thirteenth Place
They scheduled my wedding for Friday the Thirteenth
It was the only opening the scheduler had seen.
I said to my fiancé: I can't go through with this
It's bad luck and bad karma, give you a farewell kiss.
My fiancé started crying, said my love wasn't real-
A bat flying out of my toilet shouldn't break the deal.
But my crystal sends vibrations, there wasn't a real choice
And my fortune cookie paper said, "live free and rejoice."
(chorus)
They say its superstition, its medieval, and it's sad
But I walked under a ladder, tripped over a black cat
A mirror cracked when I preened in front of the glass.
So on this marriage, sweetie pie, I have to take a pass.
So my fiancé took me to Sedona, where the energy vortex lies
I met a red rock oracle, where the green pines frame the skies
He told me I could break the superstitious ties that bind
I could marry my fiancé and I could ease my mind.
So now we've settled in New Mexico, by the hills of Santa Fe.
We've got thirteen kids, and I wish I'd run away.
I take care of them because my spouse has joined a cult
I'm scared to complain; the guru would take it as insult.
So every Friday the thirteenth I count unlucky stars
While thirteen little bicycles are scattered in the yard
So if you meet bad omens, friends, take some advice from me
Run to your Ferrari, push the pedal to ninety-three.
A journey of a different kind
Thirty six (36) years ago, an adventure of a different kind.
On the thirteenth (13th) day, of the third (3rd) month
in the year, nineteen seventy three ( 1973)
I lost my friend Rae, to the flood waters of the Grand,
and as fate would have it – survived, did this man.
Thirty six years, to the day, upon a boulder did I stand,
looked back into a time and wondered if I can ?,
with words on my lips to pray, take the hand
of my lost friend, and the way, help him find
a way to reach, to touch that journey of a different kind,
where peace comes to his spirit, to his soul, to his mind,
no longer reaching, touching, stuck here, left behind
but climbing out, taking that journey of a different kind.
B. J. “A” 2
March13th 2009