Long Ticket Poems
Long Ticket Poems. Below are the most popular long Ticket by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ticket poems by poem length and keyword.
* For basketball legend Kevin Garnett *
~
intensity ... defined
excuses were for gods and gamblers
(lesser giants with fairer feuds)
HE ... was of a wholly-invested mettle and mind
the conscript of a checkered court
dauntless defender of glass and lattice
and the pride of a kingdom
grand and green.
chilled steel above
warm wood below
the thund'rous awe
each mightied blow ...
adversaries wept for his fervency
ability, focus, effort ...
at levels unequaled and as yet unseen
a vitality and resolve
that at times seemed immeasurable
expecting the utmost from his confreres and allies
yet far MORE from himself ...
of rare devotion to his cause and kind
a jaded gypsy who had found his home and heart -
the hallowed ground
worthy of his marrow and blood.
one honored hub
a stronghold land
worth ev'ry wound
each knuckled hand ...
he was clad in shining-yet-simple armor
- béni avec cinq -
that he wore with a generation's honor
and wielded a sword of sinews and strength
noble and knightly, but of ferocious intent
with a dignity, dark ... outspoken
mindful, selfless ... monstrous and mad
the grace and guile of a mongoose
with the hiss of a snake ...
the childish charm of a leprechaun
with the wild howl of a wolf ...
and a heritage that coursed his veins, veridian.
those demons, green
that spurred his dance
brought each his foes
naught e'er a chance ...
his fortress now stands empty
but the ramparts still tremble with his ire
the ether within those sacred walls
yet echos his roar
and strains to press a cheek
all for the sake of his standard and spoils
and thus, soon ...
yes, soon enough, indeed
those rafters will roil with a banner his own
and a kingdom, blessed, will bow in reverence
for his consummation and creed
and the green blood that still stains his flesh ...
and those proud parquet floors.
one day that land's
bright sun may set
still, flames will burn
the name ... Garnett.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Completely Your Choice 2, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Bring on the rejection slips and/or lost wager
Though flush with good humor
pun one mock two yields negligible
true cash equivalent value won
dirt poor offspring privileged as prodigal son
pockets bursting with legal tender,
where just yesterday I had none.
All polite declinations
strung together would circle...
(fill in the blank)
matter of fact, I just got a slew of them
today June 9th, 2020, what a lucky man
me haint an idealist...,
but winning poetry (writing) contest
or purchasing lottery tickets...
yeah, nothing butta pipe dream
such improbable whimsical notion
linkedin and tantamount
with milkmaid and pail
Aesop pose fabulous incredulous solution
finally good riddance
hand to mouth existence
hello riches, perchance a dollop
and/or sizable windfall courtesy
drawn PowerBall and/or Mega Million ticket
whereby yours truly suddenly
cursed with chump change,
and/or abundant money
would experience "fifteen minutes of fame"
flush with friends and relatives
I (a misanthrope) never knew existed
(perhaps even marriage proposition,
no matter wedded bliss prevails)
interesting... how moderate
and/or substantial wealth
suddenly finds chock a block
acquisitions (regarding brand new automobile,
custom designed house,
travel opportunities galore
(maybe even vacation to Mars)
(despite coronavirus - COVID -19) prevalence,
nevertheless awareness viz immutability altering
pubescent stunted emotional, physical
and social development
profusely sweating hands, social anxiety
all the while knowing money
can't buy happiness,
yet once and for all at long last
free and clear of grinding poverty
cuz groveling along
the pockmarked highway
avails countless exit ramps
plethora of choices
how to be analogous to jolly Roger
piloting immense ship of state
(approximating size of Rhode Island)
equipped with the latest trappings
matter of fact replete
with every creature comfort
analogous to rich
self sufficient independent country
allowing, enabling, and providing
a warm welcome - think unfurled
Harris tweed Scottish welcome mat.
Meanwhile somewhere in Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania resident
(within apartment B44)...
tenant fritters precious time wishfully thinking
(luxuriant life within theoretical leisure class)
finding this nameless scrivener
invariably hoisting himself by his own petard.
What Democracy
Democracy, in Britain is nothing but a lie.
From the dictionary the word should be deleted
Whilst democracy’s the slogan that politicians cry
The majority of us feel that we’ve been cheated
With political correctness forced upon us every day
Just in case the casual word may cause offence
If you have a strong opinion be careful what you say
Even though you may be talking perfect sense
When we joined the E.E.U. I’m sure we took the view
It would give a larger market for our trade
Yet now our mighty nation has a legal obligation
To abide by regulations Brussels made
The referendum was denied, the politicians lied
These decisions were decided by the few
It was no doubt understood, M.Ps thought it would be good
With a total disregarding of our view
MP’s pull out all the stops to try to fill our shops
With G.M foods that we don’t want to eat
Whilst cameras check our speed on roads where there’s no need
We’d be better off with coppers on the beat
If when confronted by a crook you land a good right hook
You may think that he deserved it, it’s his fault
When he is on probation you’ll be locked up down the station
To appear before a jury for assault
When travellers leave a mess, you’d be spot on if you guess
That authorities will turn an eye that’s blind
Yet drop a *** end in the street and before it hits your feet
You will get an instant ticket and be fined
If asylums what you seek and English you can’t speak
Benefits are paid for your welfare
But if your British and your old, your property is sold
To pay for any time you are in care
If you chastise your child, because he has run wild
That law will on your collar give a tug
For no matter what you say, do-gooders rule the day
Even though the child may grow into a thug
In the interest of fair play referendums are the way
The majority decide just where we go
We shouldn’t change our laws or take part in futile wars
To massage a political ego
When we are due a big election, parties vie for our affection
Promising the things they have in store
It fair gives us the hump, they should take a running jump
They must realise we’ve heard it all before.
It is hard to understand who governs our fair land
Or who it is that makes up all our rules
Our politicians bore us, or totally ignore us
Democracy in Britain! It’s for fools!!.
.
Form:
Seven Mossad Agents came to Norway a winter day
when a snow drowns the needs of the homeless
asleep in a shop's doorway absorbing the sarcastic smell
of coffee and the aroma of a Napoleon cream cake.
Their mission was to assassinate a man called a terrorist
by them, but freedom fighters by others.
The target had been located, a man of 47 bearded, with
prematurely gray hair, Semitic features, and a nose somewhat bigger than what is the norm in a Nordic land
He works as a waiter at a cafe, and take the bus home
a quarter past ten in the evening, to his bed-sit, about ten minutes ride from the town.
The group needed two taxis to take them to a hotel called, “Larsen's ski lodge” a pleasant little place with
modern IKEA furniture, giving rooms an airy ambiance
the group went to work at once, the leader carrying a
heavy mobile phone, trying to make contact to base, one presumes an embassy, but failed.
One of the women donned a blond wig, walked to the cafe to be sure their target was there
a quarter past ten two men entered the bus, one of them
who spoke a few word in Swedish, asked for two ticket to Husly which was the lat stop before the bur turned around and back to town
when the “terrorist” alighted the bus the two assassins followed.
No point going into details here, but they got their man
and hid his body in a snow drift.
Cooley, they stood by the stop to catch the bus on its return trip, smoking cigarettes of a foreign brand oblivious eyes saw them at the bus stop
The assassins had overlooked one thing, the man had a girlfriend and when he didn't appeared as usual she went out looking for him with the help of neighbors
Her boyfriend was found in the snowdrift
the police quickly knew what they were dealing with
but since they, the local police were not armed, they waited for reinforcement, when in the morning the assassin group came out to go to the railways station
the group were arrested.
Then the bomb dropped, they had murdered the wrong man, another Arab, they quickly insinuated was a terrorist too, what else was he doing in Norway
The court case took a long time, one of the prosecutors
fell in love with the woman with a fake wig, tried to
say she was an innocent bystander, it didn't wash
the case dragged on, in the end, and since the holocaust
was invoked, the guilty only got a few years.
I stand on the highway of hope getting ready for the train to go on a trip to the mountain sphere, the passengers are pouring in, the seats are filling up, and everyone is in a mad rush. What on earth is going on? The passengers have been here before the break of dawn and excitement is all over the lawn. The cities and towns are flooded with lights and everyone has made an early sacrifice, smiles and laughter are everywhere and the people have nothing to fear. The highway of hope is taking me to the show, you can get an all-inclusive ticket wherever you go; you have a ticket for the train ride, the theatre, restaurant, cinema, the football games or just to go jogging up the lane. You have tickets to go shopping or to work out at the gym; there is a bus and a train for everything and there is one reserved only for music, singing and dancing. You can ride the bus or train any time of the day and your mornings and evening will never waste away, every ticket you buy will contribute to the blue sky and your donations will not die. Meet me at the highway of hope and I will show you where to go, the mood has change and joy is spreading everywhere. If you have nothing to do, put some snack in a bag and join the picnic train, and view all the terrain. The goal is to make a million in an hour and leave the sorrows in the showers. You will have something formidable to look forward to at the end of the day and your burdens and stress will surely roll away. Come with me to the highway of hope and join, the campaign fundraising train .Every ticket you buy will raise my ambition; every train you ride will elevate you to the sky, the numbers are growing and the passengers are swelling and my life has just begun. I have five-dollar tickets, ten-dollar ticket, a thousand- dollar tickets and any money tickets. There is a bus and train for every price and someone to show you how to roll the dice. If you don’t want to ride the train, the bus will do the same; a hundred bus and a hundred train is parked up on the highway of hope in every state so buy your tickets and join the masquerade. The goal is to make a hundred and fifty million dollars a day in the all inclusive bus and train ride on the highway of hope in all the fifty states so join the fundraising effort before it's too late.
Meet me on the highway of hope anytime of the day and don't delay.
Every time you walk into my space,
Everything that’s real about me,
Gets erased.
Somehow, it always ends up
My mistake—
Comatose I am,
to my own fate.
I have decades, years
Not knowing how--
Can I fix this ever,
If not now?
Every step closer, you’re closing in on me,
You say cruel things
And then say you’re “helping me”
There’s always Doubt— anxiety needs approval:
I’m still inside this hole and
You won’t hasten my removal.
Will you leave me stuck here?
I bend and bow, and
Bow and bend then try again, somehow-
try once more, again, to get “me” back on track,
Sometimes it feels like “me” is
Never coming back.
Broken me feels lost and helpless,
Ripped with pain,
Broken is still broken,
No matter who’s to blame.
You become a non-person
It happens slow—
you don’t deserve to be respected, didn’t you know?
Everything you say is questioned, your life is made a lie--
You broke their hearts, you nasty person, just lay down and die!
Suffering’s hard, and so is pain,
But there’s no one here to stop me, except me, and its become a game...
Of keeping tabs and hoping you’ll never see how broken I've become-
Yet your words against me are only lies, one day the curse will be undone.
One day, you’ll get a glimpse of your iceberg cold
Heart
The Deja vu police’ll
Catch up to you when speeding on a lark,
And ticket you for lying to GD, pretending--
You were only playing Peacemaker,
Your devotion neverending…..
Oh the Horror of admitting
You were in fact, Ego-sitting!
Then it will be plain,
It was YOU who commanded me to wear the Scarlet
Letter,
Not because I sinned, but because you needed to be
“Better”.
But until then, ‘dear’ Christian(s)
Who committed me to this
Hole,
You currently offer generous condolences to
Yourself, not me, the
“Infidel”…
Parading your mirrored mask,
Your friendly smile--now its on, now its off-- just like a faucet
While behind closed doors you
Spread derogatory gossip—
And there can only be an ugly end to this
Charitable epistle,
I wash my hands of them, and wait for their delusionary lies’ dismissal.
Those who stake their lives on
Crying Wolf may
Seem to have the upper hand,
yet Gd sees through their fake disguises--
and always remains in command.
Patiently waiting
with unseen surprises,
Blatantly ripping off
Their dark, dirty
disguises.
I watch for her after midnight's twelve strokes,
often thinking how life likes to play cruel jokes.
Stilettos clicked on pavers as she walked
a nod on the stairs, but we'd never talked.
Eyes smudged with black liner, like bars on a cell,
She always returns looking like she's been through hell.
I knew her name was Lucy. I heard him yell at her last night.
She trembled past me in the hallway, teary eyes full of fright.
Midnight lady, short skirts, and pouting ruby lips,
street corners for an office as she swings her hips.
I saw her in the morning light when she walked out the door.
Fresh face, pink cheeks scrubbed clean, and nothing more.
In jeans and baggy t-shirt, she looked like an innocent child,
not the kind of woman who got paid to drive men wild.
Lucy - if I tried to rescue you what would you think of that?
Would you have to worry about the guy who wears the fancy hat?
No one can own another, so I'd like to make an offer to you.
I'll buy you a ticket to anywhere if you tell me you're through.
I'm just a stranger, but I know who and what you are...
too young and beautiful to live a life that's so bizarre.
I've never gotten over how guilty it made me feel
for living that life while pretending nothing was real.
I'm offering you the way to get out the mess you're in,
a life of danger, a tangled web of emotional sin.
Dear Lucy,
I'm leaving this note and money under your door
because I don't wanna see you around here anymore.
I wish someone had given me the chance to be free
then maybe I could forgive myself for what I used to be.
You don't know who I am, and it really doesn't matter.
My name once was Lucy, before I was bruised and battered.
Long ago I had a daughter that I was forced to give away.
I'll regret the choice I made until my breath fades away.
Signed: Someone who cares
Someone who dares
I prayed this Lucy was not the daughter I had born.
In her faded jeans and baggy t-shirt she had worn,
I watched her walk away with all she owned flung over her shoulder.
I knew she'd have a better life than I had by the time she was older.
As a tree, my limbs are broken and brittle. My life not worth a dime.
But if she is my fallen apple, out of the gutter I must help her climb.
Wake! and see the extent to which you’re still enslaved
enslaved by your own kind who hanker after conditioning platitudes
the clubby comfort of secretly oath-taking power cliques
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Remember! Remember Haidar Ali his son Tipu and Akbar
remember Sivaji and Chandra Bose and Kattapomman and Asoka
remember O! remember the one and only Mahatma
Wake India! O! Wake!
Wake! India! Wake! and see how your destitute generations are shunned aside
in infested villages sans drains sans potable water sans hope
see how they’re bound in mantric incantating castiron caste strictures
Wake! O! India! Wake!
No where else in the world are humans so in-humane-ly stratified
what proof have the Brahmins to issue forth from Brahma’s head
who proclaimed them the chosen elite on top of the Indian pile of castes
Wake! O! India! Wake!
Wake! and see how your northern brethren have cast off their spiritual shackles
even if they had abjured the path of the just to yoke their bodies
yet for each child a vaccine a soja-filled stomach to keep slavers away
Wake! O! India! Wake!
Wake! O! India! Wake before it’s too late!
for your own kind are about to enslave you once all over again
and the old master needs hardly despatch troops to proclaim his divine law
Wake! India! Wake!
Wake and watch how your elite ape and espouse the ways of the old master
how for an air-ticket a stipend per diem they would do you in without compunction
how for some lions memberships in select clubs they’d betray your own true kind
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Wake! O! Indonesia! Wake and see how the G.N.P. in Singapore
far outweighs that of the former papal Portugal now
how the four fiery Eastern Dragons no more parade in papier maché garb
Wake! Indonesia! Wake!
(Continued in Part One - 3)
Random chain of events
preceded occurrence re:
guarding existence of me
interminable fits and starts
concerning self destruction
inherent within one measly
self important species.
Yours truly synonymous
with any chance reader
(of course inclusive those
untold past multitudes,
who trod upon this oblate
spheroid preceding one
anonymous groveling,
middling sniveling modest
*****sapien) pursuant
upon unknown destination
giving contemplative,
introspective, speculative...
pause every now and again,
asper bajillion prior
bipedal hominids, whose
individual deliberate or
random natural biological
impulses wrought sons
and/or daughters, whose
subsequent call, sans their
wild procreative proclivities
unwittingly begat the
unique chromosomal
combinations inscribed genes
imbuing each of us with
transient occupancy to revel,
relish, reckon very finite
number of orbitz around
nearest star, how longevity
(till mortality – leisurely
and/or vocationally)
expended, yet anatomically,
biochemically, physiologically...
linkedin with avast
gamut incorporating
unknowable determinants sole
fully cobbling wide, whirled
webbing, (albeit skein
microscopic) comprising
resultant Deoxyribonucleic
amalgamations, combinations,
emulations...throughout
untold generations eventually
giving (swell pregnant)
rise to healthy progeny
predicated on an uneventful
tragic mishap in utero
preceding parturition, which
miraculous seminal fertilization
regarding series of
fortunate events delineating
quintessentially strapping
robust tot destined (years later)
to continue human
species, thus I ponder
tremendous steep odds (analogous
to drawing winning lottery
ticket), when reproductive
processes diploid propagating
one after another ongoing
generation, yet in retrospect
every cellular T-Mobile
chance coupling attendant on
haphazard spontaneous
buzzfeeding circumstances
promulgating prolific primal
precedents begetting each
individual necessitating tenuous
fluke (worm hungers) engaging,
engendering, engineering...
(similar to science experiment)
endowing penultimate on the fly
fusion between two haploid cells
impossible to explain convincingly,
(asper in my mind) the notion
predestination intervenes
likened to invisible hand.
Summer of 1990,
Ill winds had blown all year,
I was feeling kind of battered,
I lived in constant fear,
Mother died, left my cheating wife,
Lost my job, no more value to life...
My last lifeline was my father,
In deepest mourning too,
I knew how bad we were hurting,
I knew what I wished to do...
So that summer I drove him and I,
To Montauk, Long Island, under beautiful sky,
With the world's most beautiful beaches,
Restaurants, historic sights,
120 miles away...
Anticipating a bit more than fun
days and nights....
See, I needed no return ticket,
Planned not to travel back home
I would marry the Atlantic Ocean,
No more in pain to roam....
Walk down the wedding aisle,
into the deepest sea....
My only concern, my father,
How much more sufffering would there be?
But sometimes one's own pain,
Overwhelms reason and heart,
I was prepared to be selfish,
And take my chance to depart...
We had some days of fun,
But on my chosen day,
I brought a beach chair to the beach,
Tape recorder, bottle of scotch...
Sat facing the mighty ocean,
Hoping this I would not botch...
Spent all night, and next morning,
Sitting by, and staring at, the sea...
Scotch seemed ineffective,
Maybe too much on the mind for me....
Of course the music was comforting,
All from the 30's and 40's,
Music my father taught me to love,
My mind was racing nowhere,
There was no insight from above...
Eventually I grew weary,
Returned to my seaside room,
My father relieved to see me,
Somehow that eased my gloom...
See, there's still love for me out there,
And lots for me to do...
How could I hurt this injured warrior,
A man who had my deepest admiration,
Love, and true respect...
I had been foolish to even think it,
And later, when I thought about it,
For one to take one's own options,
Is to disdain God's gift of life,
To spit in his face, even...
Perhaps creating God's strife...
So, I survived, and learned much,
From that fateful day...
When all seems completely hopeless,
Somehow God will find a way.
Epilogue; Driving home, radio played the Eagles, "Hotel California"...a song
which has new meanings to me, and never fails to remind me when I chose,
at the last moment, to step back from death, and seek the magic of hope, faith,
and love.
tom