Long Toughs Poems
Long Toughs Poems. Below are the most popular long Toughs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Toughs poems by poem length and keyword.
Pied Piper in the village square – a man
With a wooden flute and a golden plan –
Whatever are you doing here?
Did the elders panic, call you in
To purge the town of salt and sin?
Are you here to blow the bugler’s call
Enlist us for a noble cause
Or show us more of days to come?
Perhaps, at last, to save us all
From what we’re always running from?
Have you come to lead us all away
Or lead us all astray
(At least a few, if not us all)?
Have you a list of names to call
Or have you been instructed
To simply play your tune
And accept all comers unobstructed?
How will you declare success, Pied Piper man?
Based purely on arithmetic?
By the countless heads you lead away
The burglar, banker, drummer
The muggers and the toughs?
Or will one lonely soul be just enough?
-----
I have heard the magic of your song
A siren call that strikes the soul –
Have felt the urge to heed, although
My conscience cries out “No!”
It’s simply that I wonder – no, acknowledge!
That it’s better off to lead, than to be led
(And therein lies the struggle, the conundrum
Which so many men have failed to plumb)
Oh, Pied Piper, piper man, you are charismatic
And your song, sweet and clear
Was once upon a time magnetic
But those who have once been led astray
Are twice averse to being played
And the sound of the pipe is mournful more
Than ever it was when heard before
For there’s nary a tune that you could play
That would leave us less forsaken
Than the staggering loss of our yesterdays
That your wicked charms have taken
I can’t get the moors
out of my skin;
me the indirect descendant of Jim Bowie,
the wild colonial boy
now planted like a
‘Wandering Jew’ in a pot,
in tame Ohio.
Planted in a State
where few venture
far from their high school roots.
The moors grind you
into peat and gritstone,
They keep walking you around
while the open spaces sweep you dry,
even in the downpouring sky,
even under the bitter grasp
of banshee winds.
Who could love such as these?
Who lament
the bone hammering miles
trudged between hags
and toughs, the flat featureless,
rambling, high acres
of heather and mist?
Yet, I find myself to be this longing,
to be this itch to find my own wilderness
here in suburbia.
Here you may find me
strolling along the grassy edges
of Mall parking lots,
spot my shadow
climbing a sunny day;
my head bent into an imaginary horizon,
eyes following paths
that only shaggy sheep can trace.
A sassy moon hangs in the sky,
the bar's full, and you're feeling spry.
And amidst the laughter and jeers,
the waiter shouts, "last call for beers."
This tavern is the best, bar none,
you'd love to stay, but have to run.
And so, you head out to your car
parked in the back; it's not too far.
And driving home whistling a tune,
you floor the gas; you'll be there soon.
And the car screams at your touch,
grinding the gears, you smoke the clutch.
Death reaches in and grabs the wheel,
then everything turns surreal.
For, with the sound of breaking glass,
you're thrown free, landing on the grass.
An infant was killed in the crash,
her small skull crushed upon the dash.
Your heart bursts in an anguished cry,
this can't be so; God let me die!
You are taken away in cuffs
to a jail full of cops and toughs.
And you think on what you've done,
all, for a drunken night of fun.
(Rhyme)
11/18/2017
...The two toughs turned, both their eyes went wide,
then as one they stared in laughing,
“Look at this fool, he thinks he’s a cowboy!
I think his head must’ve taken a rapping.”
They advanced with their blades, not worrying,
from the look of him they judged him insane
Maxon had seen this often before,
modern folks often saw him this way.
He took aim at the thug on the left,
and fired a slug straight into this knee,
the enforcer went down, screaming aloud,
the other thug froze in disbelief.
Maxon pointed the gun, carefully took aim,
the thug dropped his blade and sprinted away,
behind them both the beaten man arose,
he sputtered, unsure of what to say.
He looked at Maxon, his horse and his gun,
his white hat and his vest and his spurs,
he said,”W-who are you? How can this be?”
Everything about it struck him as absurd.
Maxon said,’I’m a man who had many sins,
committed so many years ago,
but the Man Upstairs thought I was worth saving,
so this is the life that I now know.
“This is what He chose to be my fate,
Mm way of paying back all of my debts,
I know some day He will say it’s enough,
but that day has not happened just yet.
“You are not the first that I’ve had to save,
but I warn to you to make better choices in life,
because in fourteen decades of doing this,
I’ve never saved anybody twice.
“Get out of this town, away from those thugs,
from the vices that have taken their turn,
most criminals don’t end up like me,
they just get tossed in the pit to burn.”
The young man just nodded, too stunned to speak,
then scampered off past Maxon’s horse,
he prayed to God that his words had hit home,
then with a heavy sigh, altered his course.
The burning in his gut had subsided,
no more shooting would be done this night,
so Maxon loped off on his ageless stead,
to continue his long, ordained ride.
I can’t get the moors
out of my skin -
me the wild bog asphodel
now planted
in a pot in tame Ohio.
The moors grind you
into peat and gritstone,
they keep walking you around
while the open spaces sweep you dry,
even in the downpouring sky,
even under the bitter grasp
of banshee winds.
Who would lament
the bone hammering miles
trudged between hags and toughs,
the flat featureless,
slog over those high acres
of heather and mist?
Yet I find myself to be this longing,
to be this itch to find my own wilderness
here in suburbia.
You may find me now
strolling along the grassy edges
of Mall parking lots,
spot my shadow climbing a sunny day;
my head bent into an imaginary horizon,
eyes following paths that only
shaggy sheep can trace.
FOR HONOR
The powerful oak doth tower above
while the willow whines and weeps.
The snow bunny toughs out winters
trials the grizzly groans and sleeps
Can the make of a man best be assessed
by the size of the dog in the fight,
or character's bent that can't be spent,
in matters of wrong or right?
A rebel's soul, a wander lust,
a spirit freed, a cloud of dust.
No blame lain, or broken trust.
A rambling man's feet never rust.
The fool without tools, learnt getting burnt,
often lept into the fray.
His lone wish, don't serve empty dish,
like the love on his plate each day.
Was never taught how to be a man.
The streets teach do or dying
If only heard, these simple words,
"The honor is in the trying."
The possessions I pray upon,
Are not meant for me to grasp,
Toughs of becoming a man,
Is unreachable like the stars.
Joy I once had turned into fear,
Prayers, miracles and faith,
Are words that flow meaningless in my heart?
Someday I will plant my seed and watch them grow.
Emotional tides flows in and out like ocean waves,
Knowledge I inherited through family is now a thin line,
It is slowly disappearing into air without of a clue,
What will I be able to find?
Intelligently confused,
About the choices I took,
The mistakes I have made,
I just will know once I die.
I do not really know,
I really do not care,
For now in life I will overcome my presence,
And move on to next lifetime.
If you want to find out what it's all about,
Go to East End, where the toughs hang out;
Where street-smart girls, their skirts unfurled-
Through the wicked streets whirl.
Nights down there-always stark,
Hipcats smiling in the dark;
And the sun shines down through all the days-
Down on wayward ways!
Dead flowers lie in the street,
As people run from the heat.
Rose tattoo and butterfly;
Ruby lips; mascara eye.
Motorcycles in the mist,
Flashing lights; clenched fist;
They move as if in a craze,
Through the city's maze.
In the streets and alleyways, they clash,
Seasons change with a splash,
But, warriors ever, ever advance-
Though they haven't a chance!
If you want to find out what it's all about,
Go to East End, where the toughs hang out;
In leather pant, and faded jean-
It's noplace, if you get what I mean.
In the 1920's labor had fights
Employers hired toughs, both sides ignored rights
Unions hired the Mafia, thought they’d be strong
The tactic was effective, but unwise and wrong.
The Mafia knew that beggars can’t choose
They made an offer the unions could not refuse
Took over, raided wages, extorted the boss
They made the gain, the workers the loss
In Mexico, cartels own a third of the land
Don’t run for office, you might die by their hand
In Russia and China, rulers solidify Mafia ties
Crime helps rulers, and liberty dies.
Cash for the ruthless, recently in the news
Iran paid European Mafias to kill Europe’s Jews
There's no stopping the wicked, they endlessly reach
These warning verses are but a stone on a beach
Your profile may be low, so you see no cause to arm
But get in their way, and then comes the harm
To take an example, I read this to my alarm
Not far from me, Hudson valley, bodies hidden in a farm.
Any tech that helps, bad guys seize the chance.
Like a drug that puts victims in a spellbound trance
That drug: 'devil's breath', will severely confuse.
So it and other drugs Columbia Mafia’s use
From the danger buffet, you can take your pick
Bad guys don't have to kill, they can make you sick
Harmful drugs aerosolized, blown to a face
Your life derailed, a crime with no trace.
So, the picture is this
Governments and Mafias give each other a kiss
Technology for both, that can control you
What a brave new world, nothing we can do.
Many a student sees school subjects like 123... ten
Many a student thinks it a den
Such makes out of each a slug
Without taking note it's a humbug
That needs to be attacked with felicity
Through little weeny ferocity
Many a student works with team
Many a student matches alone with his dream
Thus makes his efforts seem dry
As if he had never for once try
Despite the enlightenment of the town
Should have not mark him drown
Many a student works delightfully with codes
Many a student boasts grotesquely of his modes
Leading his way through the same bush
Which the warries and wears continually push
Ends up to pleasurably park
While the toughs blissfully bark
He is the family's pet
Who no one dears spank
Got him the gut to bet
No troubles bank
But the course of great career never did run smooth
That makes one soothe