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jeffrey conyers Nov 2012
Let me see.
If I won the Powerball.
Just what would I do?

I hire a good lawyer.
And not any accountant he knows.
I hide for wahile.
We know we find kins coming for some dough.

I plan on giving to the church.
Even if it's not one I attend.
God has many worshippers, as friends.

I find a great investment advisor.
And like some rich people seems to do.
I hide some money around the house.

Never.
Never within the mattress.
And not ever in the couch.
I be selected on those within my company.

Yes, I give to friends that helped me out.
You know, those that treated you more like a family.

Besides, a wise mind doesn't spend freely.
Hardly ever at all.
Especially, if it's the Powerball.
Megan Zhao Jan 2016
O what
an exhilarating
celebration
for something that meant to
happen but never did
O what
a stimulation
to the mind with blowing
solar wind
Who says that dream has to be
solid like gold with wings
Mercury, Mercury
that planet nearest to the Sun
volatile and sensitive
charged with heat
my messenger to the God
burned
Now my world is cold
full of silent sound
So gone with my opulent  
submarine boat
But someone in California
is whooping it up
and living it large
His sun will always be
favorable
with those balmy breezes
Let me lament then
to my sunken submarine
My titanic pontoon
My Mercury's cavernous
moaning echoes
My love
for only in grievance
and sorrow, we suddenly
grow old and
bold
Haha everyone was buying tickets yesterday for the 1.5 billion Powerball Jackpot. I wrote a poem in Chinese last night dreaming to win and buy a submarine thereafter to build a castle inside it and write poetry everyday while traveling the world. Haha, I didn't win, so I came up with a different tune today.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2018
I Am that I Am (אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה‬ ’ehyeh ’ăšer ’ehyeh)

for Eléa

the requests are assiduous, regularly arrivaling, some shy,  
some heinous demanding and denouncing,
inquisitors inquisiting this revelation,
as if it could be bought in a Five and Dime,
with a childlike whining insistence

just  exactly who are you?

this is not my name above,
but one of seventy the Father gave himself

He named me in a fit of efficacy and whimsy and in and from, a fit of a deep veined mystery

You Raise Me Up

all this on the ****** side of corny, and would not blame you
if you moved on…

so nominated in honor of my mission, to travel with you in
all the travails that ail,
to raise you up to raise me up and thus salve the universe's cracks,
fill the crevices and the ****** scars invisible,
with the precise refreshment that make my life,
a slave to your thankfulness

I am the wetness of a mother’s lips upon
a thin red tear on a child’s skin,
I am the the rock hard father’s shoulders grasped by a child’s arms, the child does yet understand that human is illusion,
human is human, however strong,
it is the allusion of human limitations
that is our magical

I am the present re-borning come with a morning glory,
the time when the Am and the Pm  future merge in a name
without tense,
past present and what I may be is simply what
I am

when the past is but another sky bright star, untouchable,
but winking at you, to you personally

I am the touch of the untouchable,
a messenger commissioned to remind you when
the reminders are too far apart,
or even too close
and thus make a breathing space
in between for the living and the missing

I am the
no difference
between a newborn’s soft skin cells
relentless multiplying,
that offers the same precise sensation of the
grandmother’s delightful wrinkling cells of smiles of her
relentless dying,
for all, one and the same,
the child in her is you, baby

I am the fall before the rise, the first that defines the last,
the standard, once obtained, nevermore unobtainable

I am the first fruit of the summer,
a tongue blossom, a burst of memory, always recalled,
always the same, that begs for forgiveness for there are no
new words to describe the profound finding of the
simple pleasures that sustains the blessing over all things new that
are recurring and truly
renewable (shehechayanu)

I am the crinkle in the eye, the one that hides in the fine lines
and upon the lips,
when you purchase the hope however fleeting of a
$2 Powerball ticket,
the very same hope preserved when you laugh when you lose,
for there is contentment in knowing one may hope spring eternal,
yet again in a finite
three more days for and too another lousy two bucks fantasia

I am the ruse of happy satisfaction of a man
in the dark of alone at home,
staring at his sizeable bank balance
and the happy knowledge that its loss  it will make it greater someday when it  happy converted to memories and photos that  are worth a thousand times its multiplicity
if only,
or when,
he knows how

I am that pain in the left side of your red sea-parted soul that cannot be dismissed but is religiously ignored,
that you alone know of
due to its persistent existence, and because it is just tolerable,
it is a sad but comforting pain,
an acknowledgment that a companion travels with you
and that in someway is ok and you exist

I am the water on the night table that extinguishes the dry throat of recurring visions in eyes that always end badly
and make the bed’s welcome a fearful thing,
which is a fearful thing for in good sleep is the
re-naissance and re-formation and the salvation
that was given to you as a gift inside thy mother’s womb,
and that
it is I,
whispering the hum of easy soft lambs,
soft breathing you
unto welcoming rest

I am the poem that must end because of our
frailties and impatience to live in
the reality of human touch,
that must be put aside for any novocaine of words

I am the one who can only be alive
when he raises you up and
you begin a new poem all your own,
and then exit it too, willingly,
to embrace the raising up of living

and that is the
who I am
that I am
raising us up
John F McCullagh Feb 2012
I used to have a dollar and a dream-
The dream still lives, but now it costs me two.
I have to ante up, though times are lean,-
my only chance to make my dream come true.
I’m not adept at picking combinations
of numbers that can produce a win
I think my ship is named “Costa Concordia”-
which may explain why its not coming in.
I agonize over number combinations-
while angry people wait on line behind.
I settle on my anniversary date;
Its never paid off yet, but give it time.
My friends all say I pay the “stupid tax”
I wait for that last laugh that will be mine:
A lump sum of a hundred million bucks,
or twenty smaller payments over time.
For many, its the retirement plan
Path Humble Sep 2017
I believe in myths.

Every naturel blonde was first someone else.  By that I mean, she was known as Norma Jean, maybe Katy, in high school (see reincarnation below).

My teenage glory days, when I was the king of cool,
will revisit when I am 75 years old, the man-in-demand (wink), wearing his lucky wide cord corduroys and letting my man-bun,
all the way down, at the prom in the senior citizen home, getting lucky, say once a month...

God, yup, after all, he/she cometh to me regular-like,
when he needs a poet~father to take his confession,
and pays me most excellently for refusing him forgiveness,
with the most excellent poem suggestions or lesser valuable things.

Love at first sight, of course, happens to me all the time,
twenty, thirty times when I am walking home.  I tell ya, it's exhausting, the stress of living in the big city

Not only will I win the lottery someday,
will take down both,  Powerball and MegaMillions,
in the very same week the odds for which
there ain't enough zeroes in HP's servers. (See God, above).

Reincarnation. One time they Hale(d) and then hanged me (my "namesake") and I said: " I only regret, that I have but one life to lose for my country."  Well, the selfies all show oh-boy-o-boy, was I ever grinning and winking.

Only boys are bullies, girls get off easy, by getting called
just mean.

One day my city's teams will win the World Series, the Stanley Cup, the NBA Finals and the Superbowl all in the same year but only after I die and me, well, only after they will have buried me in Wyoming or France, just for spite, and nobody will hear me screaming.

My children will speak fondly of me even after they find out I died broke, well maybe not fondly, but they will most definitely call out my name, regularly.

After my demise, all the typoes in my poems will magically disappear.

All these good things will come to fruition, because I am a believer, and walked the humble path. The autopsy will also show that my tongue was permanently stuck to my cheek.
As I reflect on my reflection,
I can't help but think I'm forgetting something.
Another year,
another birthday,
another love.

But what am I forgetting?

I climbed to new heights,
fell to new lows.
Crawled with crippled arms,
and even fought to stay standing.
Sometimes I was successful,
sometimes I wasn't.

But still,
what am I forgetting?

I made new friends,
lost old ones,
laughed at jokes,
and even cried when I watched "The Boy In The Striped Pajamas".
I felt feelings that honestly,
I had never felt before.

I climbed mountains,
and scaled walls.
I built bridges,
then burned them down,
only to come back,
and build them up again.

And yet I still ask myself,
what am I forgetting?

I gambled,
and beat the odds.
I gambled,
and lost.
Like when I put down twenty dollars on the record high Powerball,
and didn't get any numbers right.

But what of all things am I forgetting?

As I reflect on my reflection,
and ponder upon the year,
I remember,
I'm one year stronger,
one birthday stronger,
one love stronger.

I'm not a new man,
I never will be,
I will always be me.
But I can always get stronger,
and I always will.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
Randy Johnson Jan 2020
It was the worst thing that ever happened to me.
My life went straight to Hell because of the lottery.
I got $100,000,000 when I won the Powerball.
But after just two years, I'm broke, I lost it all.
I bought expensive cars, mansions and a yacht.
I went broke partly because of the things I bought.
I also had family and friends begging at my door.
Two years ago I was rich, but now I'm dirt poor.
When it came to my money, I should've been tight.
But I was generous, I handed out money left and right.
I gave $250,000 to my church but ended up being sorry.
The preacher used my donation to buy himself a Ferrari.
I shouldn't have chosen to get my money in one lump sum.
Now I'm living in a cardboard box because I'm a ***.
I also lost money because the Government made me pay tax.
I wanted to go after those Government Officials with an ax.
The Government took the money and I told them where to stick it.
If you want to avoid being in my shoes, stop buying lottery tickets.
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
He was younger than me.
He was a Prince of the “Street”.
Folks would all stop and listen
whenever he deigned to speak.
To him profit came easy
And with it came fame,
(while I cursed my bad luck
at the Powerball game.)
Yet I’m still living and breathing,
while he’s stiff as a board.
His heirs all lining up
to ravage his hoard.

It’s said he had millions,
yet, as you can see,
they could not buy him health
Or even longevity.
He saw the sun set
But did not see it rise.
Was it pangs of regret?
-Of Thrombosis he died.

First they’ll hold a grand funeral
with much mindless palaver.
Then, like other such maggots,
They’ll feast on the cadaver.
They’ll Jet here and there
To Paris or Rome
Drink fine wines and whiskeys
but seldom at home.
Their meals will all be
Five star and five course
and all at the expense
of one excellent corpse.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2018
for Lys


1. Born and bred
2. Do you like it?
it is: as harsh as a tundra, as dangerous as a jungle, as hot as Singapore on a bad summer Sunday, not as mean as the West Side of Chicago gangbangers random violence, but much more beloved as a target by terrorists, a grrrreat place if u got money to burn, or know how to live off the land on five bucks a day and don’t mind standing in line for days to get cheapo tickets to Hamilton and can learn to like standing room at the Metropolitan Opera

the subways ****, most people are overly wired, highly competitive and peace of mind sometimes come when you cut somebody out of a parking spot or slide into that last seat in a. crowded bus cutting off that little old lady who crowns your success with an eloquent and loud *******, god bless her!

if you slip in the slush and fall to the ground five maybe 10 people will pick u up, call you an ambulance or wipe you down and if you are cute and single offer you their real cell phones numbers

the people are now normal, as in normally crazy, and the average speed is less than 4 mph in midtown and u gotta go five and god help you if you think you can walk in a meandering course while looking up you will be anointed publicly as a ******* tourist

where that gorgeous girl is a Broadway dancer who is likely broker than even you and listens to your spiel and shtick with an open mind if it means you can supply her with a decent dinner and some glimmers of decent possibilities

where romance dies by a thousand cuts a thousand times of day but oft is anew reborn walking home in deep despair cause of that ugly tail that your coat is too small to cover and if you are brave and keen and value yourself  the chances of getting what you want without debasing yourself are much much better than the
Powerball lottery by a city mile!

Do I like it?
it is all I know, shoot no clue, like most places, happiness is 98% *what’s within you no matter where you are
, 1% luck and 1% learning not to give a fk or rather to mastering the skill of letting go of crap quicker and quicker and telling the truth to your heart

3. Could anyone like it?
well new rats arrive daily as thousands depart for less stressful pastures. And who wants to live in a pasture? But the true answer is no, just anyone could not like it but a million someones do...maybe the answer is in of  my 1500 + poems and with a little bit of luck you will find a few where my love/hate for the city comes shining through and get a better answer... so it is past midnight on a Sunday and I looked quickly

try this

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1619503/2-years-ago-manhattan-vignettes/

or this

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/664969/a-commissioned-poem-just-another-nyc-saturday/

or this

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/459773/911-distilled/

or this

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1512685/a-love-poem-lush-is-the-quietude-of-the-early-saturday-city-morn-­true-quiet/

or this

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1621192/artist-working-by-candle-light-neon-lights-coffee-shop-lights/

or this

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/794183/the-creed-of-new-york-new-york/
city of confusion and disorientation
exists not in pixels or imagination,
but in full color absurdity

close upon each other,
we hear remotely adjoining living lives thru thin walls,
humanoids of ilk and kith,
yet say nothing volubly lest we
discomfiture confirm each other's existence

there is much sound, noise, confusion,
masquerading to cover an agreed upon
profundity of silence
between every living individual,
even if blood, bed shared

all silently hum the city's song,
perhaps, hoping someone will hear us,
proving us right, or wrong, or extant,
this being not a credo, but a creed

if no one hears us,
no matter,
we hear our own machinery humming,
loud and clear,
for awhile,
it is sufficient
"I love...to scribe about
the city I love
where I was born,
schooled and fooled in,
by many a woman.

The city where I named
and raised my children.

Will probably die in
this city, and when
I am long forgot,
my name never uttered,

you,

as my designated
rememberer,
will think of me
whenever someone says,
he was such a rascal
Sharon Talbot Dec 2018
Live blog: Romney and Stanton vie for Iowa win.
Dead heat in the dead of winter
What do the Iowa results really mean?
That Romney's less of a robot than he seems?

Oh, by the way: replacing a bulb, can save you 50 dollars or more!
But it'll cost you ten times as much, at your hardware store.
Starbuck's hikes prices despite the lull,
People stupidly betting on Powerball,
Selma Hayek's trending, y'all!
(We don't know why).

But what's all that compared to shootings?
Soldiers flying and not being sniffed,
Suspects nabbed in Utah killings,
And GOP runners had another tiff.

Personally, I'm more fascinated,
In the Aussie hybrid sharks!
This might mean global warming's overrated,
Or that animals are way smart.

Mideast peace-talks stalled, I read.
Have I not read this before?
Oh, yeah, back in 1972.
When psychos killed athletic Jews,
Who might win
And Olympic village was off view,
While the Israelis dragged people in.

That year, Nixon was re-elected
And we thought we'd never see worse,
Yet now the nation is infected
With a yellow-haired, inhuman curse.
Blog goes to sleep...

Begun long ago and finished in 2018
I was just fiddling around angrily during the 2nd Bush election and later, kept adding to this. You can tell who the latest victim of my ire is!

— The End —