Long Thirty Poems
Long Thirty Poems. Below are the most popular long Thirty by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thirty poems by poem length and keyword.
I will sometimes be asked how it came about
that my children have one set of grandparents,
and I know just what you are thinking now,
but hear me out, an all of this will make sense.
I’m explaining this for one final time
to put all these blasted rumors to rest,
the odd position my family is in
did not come about due to incest!
It began when I, Armond Carruthers,
fell in love with a beautiful girl.
Her name is Denise, and she is my light
in this crazy and much-confused world.
See the two of us were high school sweethearts,
been together since our junior year,
managed to build something that could outlast
the blind passion of our teenage years.
But during our freshman year of college
we decided that we couldn’t wait,
maybe we were just a pair of young fools,
but we went ahead and set the date.
Now this is the point the story gets strange,
both of us were raised by one parent alone,
my father died in a car accident
when I was six, mom raised me on her own.
Denise’s mother was out of her life,
she cheated on her dad when Denise was four,
her father George did all the upbringing,
he gave her all of his hear and then more.
We were just nineteen when we got engaged,
her dad George was a fit forty-one,
my mother, Kristen, was just thirty-nine,
wanted to do something nice for her son.
She was us to focus on our studies,
and would gladly help plan the wedding,
that she and George would make things run smoothly,
we both thanked her, and let them do their thing.
They both must have seen something they liked,
though neither one of us realized it then,
they kept meeting up to ‘plan the wedding’
again...and again...and again…
All this time we just thought it was nice
that these future in-laws were getting along,
figured it would make holidays easy,
you can say we both read that one wrong.
Of course they did not tell us all this,
and the wedding was done in fine style,
neither realizing that for two months now
my mother knew that she was with child…
When three months later it became obvious,
both our parents sheepishly let us know,
to say we were stunned does not describe it,
but later to the courthouse we did go.
And as if this surprise wasn’t enough,
when my mind struggled to make some sense,
I received even more life-changing news,
my Denise was also now pregnant…
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
In Jan, nineteen thirty-three, there was man called Mick Malloy
At the time he was an alcoholic and a poor homeless boy.
A young Irish fire-fighter out of work
He left his home in Donegal - to find some in New York.
He fell in with five real bad men
Who wanted to cause murder back then.
Poor Mick they had him in their sights
An insurance fraud, they brought to light.
They signed three life policies on Mick
Now they had to kill him quick.
Unlimited credit in a speakeasy, they gave him
To drink himself to death-they went out on a limb.
Although he drank all day long
His life it just seemed to prolong
They switched to antifreeze instead
Expecting Mick to wake up dead.
With turpentine they then did tempt
But no success, so they switched to horse liniment.
Finally a drink of rat poison, they gave the poor lad
But Mick never ever seemed to get bad.
They tried oysters, then methanol.
Bad sardines, poison and carpet tacks
But poor old Mick swallowed the lot,
And still poor Mick kept coming back.
The five would be murderers were baffled
Poor Mick just would not die
The murder trust then knew,
something else they would have to try.
One night poor Mick unconscious, they stripped him and carried him out
In minus fourteen degrees,naked, not wearing a single clout.
Threw five gallons of water on him, to make sure that he would freeze
Poor Mick returned the next without even a cough or sneeze.
Mick returned the next day to order himself a drink
The men were getting desperate they really had to think.
Next they hit him with a taxi and broke lots of poor Mick’s bones
But he had three weeks in hospital, then they sent him home.
The gang had thought that Mick was dead
But when they tried to claim, poor Mick returned once more
And kept on his drinking game.
In desperation in February, in fact on the twenty second
They waited for Mick to collapse, then gassed him in a second
A pipe they pushed into his throat and now poor Mick was gone.
The gang did not win even then, no not a single one.
They squabbled and were caught and to Sing Sing them they did send
Four to be fried on the electric chair what a sizzling end
The fifth was sent to prison, which didn’t seem quite fair.
He somehow managed to escape, Sing Sings electric chair
Poor Mick Malloy has been long gone, but will not be forgotten
Just remember to watch your friends though; you never know who’s rotten.
Murk Rammer froze as he felt the nuzzle
of a snub-nosed thirty-eight’s deadly muzzle.
Louis The Retch poked it into his back.
“The jig’s up, Rammer. I ain’t cuttin’ no slack.”
Murk had been tricked by a double-crossing dame,
alias “Frigitte,” he didn’t know her real name.
She’d been his undoing, that cute little louse,
undoing the buttons on her bulging blouse,
then slipping out of her slip and her hose,
and her holster too; yeah, she had one of those.
He’d fallen for Frigitte, completely deluded.
She’d come on strong, delightfully denuded.
She’d kissed him hard and let him get a good grab,
but when he dozed off she skipped out and blabbed.
The shamed shamus woke up and found a clue
and went to a warehouse -- a decision he’d rue.
He’d fallen for the ruse, he’d taken the bait,
and walked right in to a date with fate.
That darn dame had put him on the spot.
He was one peeved peeper who’d loved for naught.
The warehouse was full of contraband goods.
They belonged to The Retch, a sleazeball hood --
lead falcons from “Malta” and vases from “Ming,”
dubious diamonds and other blarney-ish bling,
a lading of lies from a smug little smuggler,
who played for keeps and went for the jugular.
And now The Retch had gotten the drop.
No chance for Murk to call for the cops.
“It’s curtains for you,” the Retched one said,
“The only way out is to go down dead.”
“You win,” Murk said, with a little shrug.
He knew he was beat and waited for the slug.
A bullet in the back was the final payoff.
Fat chance The Retch would decide to lay off.
Murk heard the click of a cocked-back hammer
and waited for death in his taciturn manner.
Bang! went a gun – but not the thirty-eight.
The shot came from someone hiding behind a crate.
The Retch went down with blood on his chest,
then high heels approached; you know the rest.
Bad girl Frigitte leapt into Murk’s arms.
She just couldn’t stand to see him harmed.
And that had been Murk’s ace in the hole,
playing so well the Romeo role.
He wrapped his arms around Frigitte’s waist
and their mouths joined together, such a spicy taste!
Then he took her hand and led her out
into rain washed streets where wet shadows slouched.
Did Murk turn Frigitte in to the cops?
Or let love fill his head with mushy slop?
The ending of this tale I’ll leave up to you,
but as for me, I haven’t a clue.
When Mortimer Manders collapsed in the street,
his daughter, Muriel, was with him.
Though now seventy-five,
he’d continued to thrive,
in spite of the irregular rhythm
his heart was now keeping. But this was quite grave.
He hit the hard sidewalk real sudden.
When Muriel knelt
beside him, and felt
to locate where his pulse was, she couldn’t.
Soon, passers-by stopped and gathered around,
but no-one had medical knowledge.
“It’s good, I suppose,
If you loosen his clothes:
I think that’s what they told us in college …”
She looked wildly around, and thought that she’d found
a willing and capable saviour.
A red firehouse lay
thirty metres away –
(might as well have been Outer Moravia!)
When Muriel pounded the firehouse door,
a voice answered back through the panels,
“You make think it inept,
but we’ll only accept
an approach through appropriate channels.”
“But he pays your wages,” she argued with force:
and, pointing to where he was lying,
“You’ve got to come quick –
he’s collapsed on the bricks –
my father is probably dying!”
“You don’t understand how these things are arranged,”
said the voice, from the depths of the station:
“You just call nine-one-one.
If we try to respond,
we are risking adverse litigation.”
Running into the roadway, she flagged down a car,
and the driver agreeably shocked her:
with a white coat and bag
and a hospital tag,
he said, “Yes, you are right, I’m a doctor.”
As the quack pulled away, he turned briefly to say,
in a voice that was suitably gloomy,
“I will not touch that man,
for if I lend a hand
and he happens to die, you can sue me.”
The ambulance came, but things got more lame,
as Mortimer started to weaken:
though the ambulance crew
looked resplendent in blue,
the responders were all Costa Rican.
“We’ve lived here some time and our English is fine,
but we can’t touch our defibrillator.
To avoid getting screwed,
we must talk to him through
an officially-sanctioned translator.”
“But you sound good to me, and it’s peachy, you see,
for my father speaks German and Spanish.”
“But your ganso is cooked.
No interpreter’s booked.”
And the ambulance packed up and vanished.
So the moral is clear. Clear of medics please steer.
Your best course, if you’re feeling nervous, is
lay on linguists each day
in Magyar and Malay
– and don’t call emergency services.
The morning soars with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy, crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,
loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to bother me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow.
The morn's alive with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy, crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds loud,
and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to bother me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow!
‘Twas way back in them days
when the ranch owner’s ways
was just about the only law there was around
Rancher’s money was king
and gun violence reigned
till marshal Ben Miller made his way into town
Well that town was real rough
till Ben said ‘twas enough
that’s when he used his guns to bring law to the street
But there's always that one
thinks he's fast with his gun
would soon find himself face down covered with a sheet
For the next twenty years
Ben had kept the streets clear
of any no-gooders that might drift into town
Then folks started to say
Ben was showing some gray
maybe his old age had started to slow him down
The councilmen all met
said it is with regret
that we tell you it's time for you to settle down
They baked him a nice cake
a few speeches they'd make
and introduced him to the new marshal in town
Town folk gathered and cheered
told him how twenty years
was a long time to stay on this side of the grave
Ben took a look around
rode his horse outta town
with his new gold watch and the few dollars he'd saved
That is often the way
a cowboy's life got played
long ago when the country was still just a pup
When a trusted hired hand
gave his life for the brand
honest and loyal was the way he was raised up
If you think this is sad
or Ben's life turned out bad
well then this might be a little good news for you
Was the very next week
Men lay dead in the street
they had robbed the bank and stole the mayor's horse too
When they tried to get Ben
to come marshal again
sure don't take no book smarts to know how he replied
Well, he asked widow Jones
if she'd like to go along
and off to the wide open Montana they'd ride
Was a day in March when
Jasmine married old Ben
Though they had only been courtin' about a year
Said they was gonna go
where the tall grasses grow
gonna try their hand raisin a few cows and steers
Well they made it alright
through frozen winter nights
mostly cause they hadn't built up much of a herd
When the next spring turned mild
it brought both calves and child
after that first year their ranchin' blood had been stirred
It’s been thirty years since
granpap left Defiance
now I stop alongside his grave near' every day
I watch over his spread
more than five thousand head
as they grow fat right here on the Rockin’ Bar J
I promise I would be a good girl when I go out into the world, I promise to stay out of trouble and return home in a hurry. I promised never to play in the street or walk barefoot, I promise I would stay in school and complete the semester and when the climate changed, I promise to graduate and study at the university.
It’s seems like yesterday when I utter such word when I was at play. I was thirteen and you were thirty-three and I always looked up to thee. You have always encouraged me to hold my head high and never look into ground that hold the dust of shame to its core, and the molten lava spewing through the hole and entering the spot where the disgraced soldier, conceptualize the plot.
I can still hear those words ringing in my ears as I walk the path that everyone fears, it is the moment of truth that is embedded in my youth and the ordeal I encountered on life’s journey comes back to remind me.
I could tell from the start that you are a heart breaker and the season come to remind me that the fault is within me and love is my destiny; when the autumn is done and winter comes along and the snow starts falling, it will fill the lakes and the trees, the ocean and sea and you will come and dance with me.
We will do the river dance on the roof and do the fire dance in a circle, then we will roll in the snow and touch each other dignity, and Boston and Richmond will come alive, Baltimore and Washington DC will take the dive, but New York and Philadelphia will ride out the snowstorm.
It seems like yesterday the climate changed and the clouds start fading away. I stood on those very steps and recited the whole chapter, I stood on that step and grasp every living character, I remember how you cast your eyeballs at me and how the mountain shook beneath the sea when you said, “will you marry me?”
“I am only thirteen, “she said, and I cannot lie in that big bed, “Yes I will marry you,” she replied, she held breath for a while and look on every side and you were still standing looking at her; then a gust of wind came, and you suddenly disappeared, and I stood on the step gazing at the wind.
The daughter's promise was fulfilled, and they walk boldly up the hill after thirty-three years in the making the universe had their blessing, the evidence is in the wind and you can hear it when you are still, winter is chiming in.
Panting, running, paying, fuming,
Bumping, swearing, hurrying, driving,
All because today is the thirty first
Of the month, why are we all nigh to burst!
Got to buy groceries, go the butcher
The dry cleaners, the florist, the baker,
Did i turn on the slow cooker?
Have guests coming at 8.00p.m still
On the road, home in 15 minutes – phone Will,
Darling, Did you collect the birthday cake,
There is a big accident, traffic hectic won’t make
It to pick it up – Yes sweetheart I have
Drive carefully the roads are crazy,
Looks like a storm brewing, weather drizzly and hazy.
As I arrive in our driveway it pours with rain,
And I drop a packet, which had the red wine, I stain
My clothes and the car seat, go have your shower,
Hubby says, relax, everything is under control,
Turned shower taps to their full strength and power
Exhausted, let the water run over my naked body
Till I feel refreshed, get dressed in my
Sexy black number,
And come downstairs, hubby gives me a wolf whistle,
Just wait till the guests leave he says, look at him
From under my lashes!
The aroma wafting from the stove is
Provocatively divine!
And next to the sofa is a glass of room
Temperature red wine.
Table is set, arrange flowers I brought in a vase,
Immediately, the bell goes ding dong,
It’s Cherry and Tim,
She couldn’t wait to show me her engagement ring,
Hot on their heels are Susan and Barry,
He has just asked Susan to him marry,
And last of all my twin sister Rina, arrives she’s wise,
With her new boyfriend in tow she bellows, Hi guys!
Fun was had and wine was drunk
Laughter abounded in the lounge and dining room,
We all forgot how tired we were and
It was end of the month, and all the media forecasted,
Was doom and gloom!
It was my birthday, turning forty, no turning back now,
Don’t regret a day of my life, bless the day I took my vow,
Happy birthday dear Mary, happy Birthday to you,
I felt blest had my hubby and sister present and select
Friends but few,
Mellow and happy and with certainly no one drunk,
Just four happy couples full of zest and funk!
Our guests began departing, in twos they left,
I slipped of my shoes and gave a big yawn,
Will picked me up, and must have undressed
Me – for all I remember is waking up to a peck
On my cheek,
And a scrumptious breakfast in bed,
I always knew I had picked the right guy to wed!
...It was from an old colleague of mine,
in southern Russian working a new dig,
of Proto Indo-European tribes,
he believed it would be something big.
Wanted me to come out and take a look
at the artifacts they had found there,
claimed they had found religious writings,
the pictures he sent of it made me swear.
Writing should not exist that far back in time,
but the etched stones that they found proved it did!
A text speaking of a long-lost religion…
was so excited I bounced like a kid.
A week later I was flying out there,
my assistant Tommy Bains at my side,
we flew to Moscow then rented a car
for a very long and exhausting drive.
The site was out in empty countryside,
there were more cattle and sheep them men,
we expected to see bustling workers,
but we approached and saw no sign of them.
It looked as if they’d just abandoned it,
all of their gear and machines left behind,
there was no note, and we could see no cause,
I felt nervous, unsure what I would find.
After looking around for thirty minutes,
I came across a large plastic case,
it had the word ‘Artifact’ printed on it,
like so many others left in this place.
I did not know why, but I felt I had to
open the box to see what it held,
what I saw in there haunts me to this day,
you’re the first people that I’ve dared to tell.
It was a stone tablet covered in a script
that I’d never seen, all alien and strange,
and then, before my astonished eyes,
the letters all seemed to just rearrange?!
It now was many rows of English text,
what I saw broke all natural laws,
the first line I read, sit imply said:
‘All who read this, these are words from your god…’
My mind did reel, as anyone’s would,
but I felt no disbelief, and no doubt,
as if some power confirmed it was true,
and there was no time for messing about.
My eyes just could not be pulled away,
I could hear a deep voice within, and it said:
‘I left these words so you’d know why you’re here,
and what awaits us all going ahead.
‘You see evolution is the only tool
that can do this in the time left to me,
I’m dying and have but a billion years
to give rise to the next deity.
‘This may seem utterly strange to your mind,
the mere thought that an almighty can die,
but I’m not the first god that there has been,
I was much like you, way back in time...
CONTINUES IN PART III.