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Long Giggle Poems | Long Giggle Poetry

Long Giggle Poems. These are the most popular long Giggle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Giggle poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Richard D Seal | Details |

Recollections of a Reckless Youth

Warning: Mature themes, though at the time.             

             Recollections of a Reckless Youth
                     
                        Walking On Air.


I was young, I was fair, I was walking on air
For tonight was the night of the dance
To the girls I would chat about this about that
In the hope of a one night romance

As I walked through the door  I surveyed all before
And saw, what words can’t express
She was there, she was fair, she was walking on air
As I ogled her little black dress

Then to my surprise, she fluttered her eyes
And I took this to be a good sign
If I played my cards right and she did not take flight
Maybe in an hour she’d be mine

We were getting on fine as I spun out my line
Thought, with drink or two I would ply
She went on about maths and explained all the graphs
As I mumbled dumb yeahs bye and bye

But I soon found the path to making her laugh
And she had, the sweetest of giggles
Which I did not mind cause my eyes they did find
She had the most wonderful jiggles

Took her hand with a tug, on the floor cut a rug
How her hips, she swayed so in time
As we rocked Mony Mony she proved was no phoney
Her moves, I thought were divine

How I longed to hold her, to kiss her pale shoulder
To have her if just for one night
To my will reduce her, to be her seducer 
And love her till cold mornings light

Could it be right it was love at first sight
That drew me to this little Miss
Cause I could not part from the strains in my heart
That were giving my senses such bliss

Then out of the dark, he came like a shark
His blonde hair, fluffy and bright
He moved with such grace, had a pretty face
His teeth, all gleaming and white

Was her that he blamed as the woman he claimed
And was clear, she was going to sack me
Was it me dancing, me Fred Astaire prancing ?
P--lease, don’t say it’s me acne

I stood on his shoe and the air it turned blue
With words here I cannot repeat
The bouncers he knew and out me they threw
With a bumperty bump down the street

Kicked out on my ass, I was walking on glass
And the road home was lonely and cold
There’d be no sweet nuffins or hedgerow stuffing’s
And no warm bosom to hold

So I’d walked half a mile, still found no smile
Realising I had lost my cred
I lit ‘nother smoke, swore at some bloke
When thoughts, they entered my head

Could justice be sweeter, if one day I meet her
Discover, to he who waits
That she had slumped him, finally dumped him
As he told her he was Master Bates

Be something she’s fond, something like James Bond
And I doubt I would see her to thank her
Come to think of it, he’s also a twit
That Bond, he’s just ’nother w****r 

Now hang on a tick and stop being a p***k
Don’t wallow in your own despair
You know she’s not thick and you’ll need a new trick
If this woman your going to snare

Now the cogs they did whirl how to capture this girl
For she was all over my mind
Of this sweet conundrum, the answer would come
Of that, I was sure I would find

As my key hit door I was happy once more
With words, I cannot express
I’d made a good start, into her heart
Now to get her, out of that dress

I was young, I was fair, I was walking on air
For next week was the night of the dance
To the girls I would chat about this about that
And who knows, might have ’nother chance.

As I walked through the door, it was her that I saw
And our eyes, they met with a knowing
Though she was unaware and I could not declare
The plan I was carefully sowing

Just as I’d contrived the bozo arrived
And he started to push me around
With a thump and a whack and an almighty crack
I found myself flat on the ground

Kicked out on my ass, I was sitting in glass
When a figure was stood by my side
It was my piece of skirt and she asked was I hurt
Oh, the joy, I hardly could hide

I swiped off the mud while she wiped off the blood
And decided to home I’d escort her
My plan had worked out and I now had no doubt
That I, had finally caught her

We cut through the park but there would be no lark
Not with, my new lady fair
And all the folk swore we defied Newton’s law
As sailed along, walking on air. 
                  
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY


Long poem by Ray Dillard | Details |

When We Were Young

When We Were Young He left for work each morning, Wearing steel-toed boots and a tin hat. He took long strides that were three times The length of mine. In one hand he carried a lunch pail and a thermos. The other hand was empty, Like his wallet. Bye-Bye Daddy! He returned each day with the smell of oil Embedded in his clothes. Down the grease and gravel road We watched him as he strode. We ran to meet him with the football in our arms. “Won’t you kick it for us Daddy?” “Would you kick it for us,,,please?” He’d take the ball and punt it in a long, high spiral. By the time we could go get it, He disappeared to take his shower. In the house, Mama was cooking. Daddy liked to eat at five. A roustabout worked hard And he had quite an appetite. Once, we took turns wearing His greasy boots and bright tin hat. Mama took our picture. It pleased him to think that Someday we’d fill those monster boots. For now, we looked like clowns. We all laughed. On Sunday we’d go to church Where Dad taught teens the golden rule. He tried to be an example They could follow. He didn’t claim to be the perfect Christian. He was however, The model we all followed. On Sunday afternoon, dad went to the package store To buy a cold six-pack. When he came back we’d meet Him at the door with hope The sack held something more. If we were lucky, and he had the money, The sack might hide a Sunday Treat. Each night after we’d all been fed And showered, we watched TV. Sometimes we’d run hot water for Dad To soak his feet. We scratched his back and massaged his head with Baker’s Best. Then, off to bed. Nighty Night Mama! Nighty Night, Daddy! Sometimes a hug, sometimes a shout We went to our room and Turned the lights out, Pretending we were ready to sleep. We played roller derby and hid under the covers Hoping the big, bad wolf Would never find us! We told stories and laughed and giggled. Then one would poot and We were all in trouble. Daddy would say, “I’m bringing the belt!” Then he’d give it a jiggle. He kept it close to the bed In case it was needed. When morning came, we hurried to dress. Mama was in the kitchen. Scrambled eggs and sausage waited. Bacon, when we were lucky. Toast and milk were staples. Sometimes we ate wheat puffs, Malt-o-Meal or rice. We walked to catch the school bus No matter what the weather. Sun, rain, sleet or snow Out the door to the bus we’d go. No! It wasn’t uphill both directions! It wasn’t always fun, But, I did live to write about it! We wore wet clothes until they dried And still made A’s on every assignment. We walked on ice and sleet so slick The cattle slipped and fell. Then we’d laugh and fall. Somehow we survived. We lived through it all. On Friday night’s we’d sing, “Our boys will shine tonight, Our boys will shine.” We could see the football lights from the house And couldn’t wait for the game. The Warriors didn’t always win, But, we never missed a game. “When the sun comes up, ‘Til the moon goes down.” “Our boys will shine.” Saturday was wash day. We loaded up the car and went to the laundry. Sometimes we went to Grandma Bessie’s to wash. One load at a time, it took all day. We had to be quiet so we didn’t wake Uncle James. Once, Ralph rolled my hand in the ringer! That woke James up! I remember Mama… Always cooking, Always sweeping, Always washing dishes, Always cleaning the laundry, Always helping with homework, Always counseling, and Always pregnant! She taught us how to work When she bought a sack of nails And showed us how to drive them straight. She made us pull the bent nails And straighten them So we didn’t waste a one. We drove the sack that day And had a lot of fun. Mama taught us discipline And patience As well as dedication And love. She expected nothing in return. Her fortune Was our love, when we were young. Now years have past And Dad is gone, He leaves five men to carry on: “Stand tall, stride long and Dance to no one else’s song.” Mom, the Matriarch left alone, Rules a vacant, empty home. She waits to teach one final lesson And all the while remembers… When We Were Young.


Long poem by Joe Flach | Details |

Keeping Poop in Perspective

I walk my dog every day – usually, several times a day.  I probably remember to take a doggie-poop-bag with me 95% percent of the time.  Because she also runs loose in our fenced in back yard – my dog probably only poops on our walks 25% of the time.  But – that 5% of the time that I forget to bring along a poop-bag guarantees that she poops 100% of the time on those occasions!  Or, so it seems.

This morning, I forgot to stick a poop-bag in my pocket for our morning walk.  She pooped.  So, I turned around and went back home to get a poop bag to pick up her mess.

As we returned to the scene of the crime, I discovered we were too late.  Two women, one hopping up and down, steaming mad and shouting obscenities, were standing near, what was now a smashed pile of doggie do-do.

“I am so sorry,” I said as I walked up to clean up the remaining mess.

“Sorry,” the hopping lady shouted, “sorry doesn’t help me now, does it?  Why the hell can’t you people clean up after your dogs?  How hard is it to keep your damn dog from sh*tting on the sidewalk?”

“I am sorry,” I repeated.  “I always pick up after my dog, I just forgot the bag this morning and rushed right home to get it.  I apologize I did not get back here before you came along.”

“Well, a lot of god-damned good that does me now,” she continued to shout.  “My shoes are ruined thanks to you.  God damn it!”

“Look, lady,” I said, trying to remain calm.  “I said I was sorry.  If your shoes are ruined, give me your name and address and I will send you the money for new shoes.”

“Thanks a lot”, still shouting, “but, you’ve just ruined my whole day.  I try to take a walk in the morning to start the day off right and idiots like you have to go and f*ck it all up!”

 “Ma’am,” I said, in as calm a voice as possible, “I think you should keep this in perspective.  You stepped in a pile of dog sh*t and got it all over your shoe.  It’s not like you stepped in a pile of cancer and got it all over your body.  You can go home and throw your shoes out and let me buy you a new pair – your prognosis looks pretty good.  And, it is up to you.  You can allow this small matter to ruin your whole day or you can go on with your day and be thankful that this is probably the worst thing that will happen to you today.  The choice is yours.  I suggest you make a wise one.”

Her friend, whose shoulder she was leaning on to keep the soiled foot off of the ground, although I am not sure why she was hopping around like she had a broken foot, couldn’t help but start to smile and giggle, just a little bit.

The furious woman looked angrily at her friend; looked down on me in contempt as I picked up the remaining poop; looked at my dog who just stood there with her tail wagging madly and, after a minute or two, miraculously calmed down; put her raised foot back on the ground; and, smiled.

“You know what,” she asked, “you are right.”  Her friend winked at me and she continued.  “It is just a pile of dog sh*t.  I can absolutely get over this and not let it ruin my day.  You know what else?  Of all the piles of dog sh*t in this world, I’m glad I stepped in yours.  Thank you for your offer to buy me a new pair of walking shoes, but that won’t be necessary, I’ll keep these, thank you.  And, every day I put these shoes on for my morning walk I will be reminded that I did not step into a pile of cancer and I will think about those poor souls who have and keep my miseries in perspective.  Thank you for that reminder.”

She and her friend turned and continued on their morning walk laughing along the way.

I patted my dog on her head; tied the poop bag closed; and made a promise not to forget the darn poop bags ever again.

(This is a fictional tale.  I thought this story up as I was walking back to my house to get a poop bag to pick up my dog's pile this morning after I forgot the bag.)


Long poem by Wataka Damah | Details |

CHRONICLES OF A PLUS SIZED CHICK

These are the thoughts and 
feelings of a
plus sized chick,
One who is defined as plump and 
thick,
With chunks of fat and extra skin,
Rounded edges and puffed up 
cheeks.
This is her being raw and real
Saying it exactly how it is.
It has never been, not for a single 
day,
easy to be me,
The stares and glances,
The giggles and pointed fingers,
The questions and comments,
The opinions and suggestions,
About going to the gym and reducing 
on the
food,
Even when you have the smallest 
plate in
the room.
Your explanations as to why you 
are how
you are,
Taken as silly excuses of laziness to
change into what they prefer.
It is hard, having to take 
comparison
from parents,
About you being the youngest yet 
ugliest,
Always pointing out how you should 
have
taken tips from the beautiful rest.
Nothing is as embarassing
As having to skip shopping sessions,
Because you are perfectly sure, 
that you
will not get anything your size,
And even if you do...
Whatever it is, ends up looking like 
a
masquerade's disguise.
Having to either become anti-social,
To avoid confrontations,
And cruel rhetorical questions,
Or turn into a tomboy,
And act like you don't care,
All hardcore though inside, 
somewhat
coy.
Staying away from dresses and 
skirts,
Make-up and such,
Because though they may do it for 
the
chin up,
But from the neck down
You still end up looking like a clown.
This is the daily life of a chubby 
chick,
Having to live with the fact that 
she will
probably never date a hot 
handsome guy,
Probably never get married,
And if she does... It would probably 
be to a
guy who is as desperate as she is.
So instead she plans her life:
Read hard, get a good job,
Earn thoroughly, relocate: rather
disappear,
and get twelve different breeds of 
exotic
dogs
Then live happily ever after.
This is about her who has to have a
strong hard heart,
That is able to stand past words,
Words that cut and hurt,
Words that crush her into small tiny
parts,
But like a beggar on the street, who 
has
coins thrown and scattered at 
where he
sits,
Patiently collects one after the 
other,
Because only he understands how 
precious
each one is,
So does she,
Slowly and carefully picks the 
shuttered
scattered pieces of her,
One by one,
Sniffing back a tear,
As she has done so many times 
before,
Because she has to be strong And
strength is not seen in crying.
This is about that girl that does not 
know,
The difference between a 
compliment and
being mocked,
Because from her past experiences,
The two seemed intertwinned with a 
very
thin line between them,
So often she would confuse one for 
the
other.
She has not been conversant with 
genuine
kindness,
And so every word said to her is 
always
frisked for hidden meaning.
These are the insecurities of a plus 
sized
girl,
The empty wishes of her heart,
That maybe one day society may 
stop
being harsh about her lack of 
holdable
waist, and definite curves,
That maybe one dayshe will sit on a 
pin,
And her body will turn out to be a 
pumped
up airsuit and burst,
That maybe one day, just maybe, 
one
day,
Even in the life to come,
She will be able to look feel and 
think
beautiful
Because upto now all that falls in 
her list
of wishes.
She however has
To put on a smile
Hold her head up high
Do all she can to accept herself
Despite how hard it practically is
And love herself to bits
Because she is her own gem
Her own priced diamond
And only she could love herself as 
she
trully deserves.
These are just the feelings and 
thoughts
of a plus sized chick,
One who is defined as plump and 
thick,
With chunks of fat and extra skin,
Rounded edges and puffed up 
cheeks,
This is her being raw and real
Telling it exaclty how it is.


Long poem by Angel C | Details |

Good Morning 01212014

Baby wake up... I wanna hear 
your voice.

Sweetheart wake up...
Can you make a noise?

A whisper... A murmur... Or 
maybe a sigh...

Oh how I wish that I could gaze 
into your eyes...

Just to turn over for once and 
have you there...

Peeking through the stillness is 
my curiosity ensnared...

Your breathing concocting and 
mingling with mine...

The sunlight creeping up along 
your face through such 
unsettled blinds...

Revealing a calmness of far 
away places written across your 
face...

Me wanting to travel within 
your mind at a slow but rapidly 
steady pace...

Can I take in the things that 
ignite... In your eyes... A 
sparkle?

And may I see the things that 
send you sprawling into locked 
rooms with debacle?

Including the things that swiftly 
or even slowly bring raindrops 
and tears?

I'd like for you to wake up and 
still dream of me for years...

Just knowing that I'll be 
around... 

Just wanting me here...

Allocate your lighthearted 
moments and heavily latent 
thoughts my dear...

And when I see that you're 
stirring..

As soon as your eyes lazily 
begin fluttering..

I'll quickly close my thoughts 
and secure my silent notions...

Inhaling and exhaling my 
fascination in slow motion...

As I take in your presence so 
sweetly next to mine...

Falling asleep and dreaming 
along side doubt's decline...

I just want you to arise and fall 
each day with an irrefutable 
certainty...

Of my desires for you as I 
tirelessly drift off into my 
thoughts ardently...

Dreaming of your succulent 
whispers in my ear...

And the giggles and smiles that 
would flow quickly to my 
heart's adhere...

Please let me love you the silly 
ways I know how...

You've peeped farther within 
myself than my heart should 
have allowed.

With a yearning ear as well as 
pensive aspirations...

At night...
Close your eyes with deep-
rooted considerations...

As you fall away from 
conscienceness and protrude 
reality...

I'm arising with thoughts of you
Attempting a fruitful vitality...

There will be a night where I 
will fall asleep encased in your 
grasp...

And a sunrise where I can 
watch as you awake and I 
laugh..

Cus I'm awkward and you're 
cute...

Don't glare at me... I'll go 
mute...

Can I keep you Deonté?
I really do love you.

No need for dismay...
I really do want you...

Just go to sleep darling; cus 
I'm waiting for a big ass hug...

Then wake up and remember 
that I'm still a fuckin thug.

I love you
I love you
Baby...
I do.

I gotta ask one more time...

Babe... Can I keep you? 

I miss your voice... It's ok 
though cus I can't speak.

If I had a choice... I'd come see 
you once a week.

I've begun to grow weary... 
You're special to me.

Shhh to be with you? In time 
but surely... Just wish I could 
have written a better ending.


Long poem by Terry Trainor | Details |

Old Styles Old Smiles

One fine blustering autumn day an old man puts on his boots pulls up his trousers off he goes,
If anyone wondered where he was going it was to a forest a good long walk it was a fine day,
The old man walked at a leisurely pace stopping every now and again pulling up his trousers,
Looking over fences just to see what the farmer’s men were up to and who was ploughing today.

In his days, the prime of his life, he and his old horse would plough the fields from early morning,
Working through the day stopping for a bottle of cold tea a loaf of bread and a large lump of cheese,
The horse had a nosebag and while they rested, eating, the clapper of the bird boy could be heard,
He would work on until the sun went down on a blue horizon and shadows disappeared with the day.

As he paused he took pleasure at the sight of fat cattle and poultry roaming around the farmhouse,
Duck and geese and turkeys busying themselves beside the big barn doors pecking out the chaff,
And he could hear the flail, or the swipple, knocking the corn, as the bails piled high in the barn,
Happy that all was well he carried on walking, smiling and made his way up to the brow of a hill.

As a young farmer he leaped over stiles and ran in the corn, the land was his workplace and home,
There was no job he could not do or did not enjoy doing, whatever needed doing it had to be done,
His arms were so thick, strong, the farm girls giggled but could not get their hands all the way round,
He used to blush as each girl tried, he was a bit shy, but it made him feel good to be so very strong.

He also stopped at stiles, or a rustic bridge casting its arch over water, fish swam in the shallows
Breathing in deeply through his nose, sampling the fresh autumnal air, a bonfire in the distance,
After looking all around he wished he had brought some tackle to catch some for his late dinner,
Never mind he thought it’s another day tomorrow I will be up here to fish at the crack of the dawn.

In his young days he was not allowed to fish the river, so in the moonless nights he would poach,
Beautiful brown trout as fresh as a berry from a tree eaten with warm bread a feast fit for a king,
It would not be long before he stopped again getting his breath resting for a few short minutes,
As his lungs filled with the purest of pure air he restarted his country walk and relived his life.

He passed by clusters of rich, jetty blackberries hanging from a hedge and took time to pick a few,
And clusters of nuts hanging by the wayside through the copse on his way along a little old lane,
And in all this natural beauty the old man seemed to have enjoyment of a child one more time,
The world moved around but this time backwards he saw the things he used to see as a young boy


Long poem by Jimmy Anderson | Details |

The Necklace

     I still blame myself because I was the one to walk away from the accident.  I stare at our 
pictures on the book shelf and think about that argument.  I should have been paying 
attention to the road and ignored your comment.  Instead I failed to see the stop sign and 
now live in torment.  Now days I'm constantly depressed and restless.  I can still see all that 
blood on her sundress, and you gripping your family's necklace.  She's no longer living in my 
physical world.  It's difficult asking to be forgiven when I buried my girl.
       Am I going crazy because I can't let go?  It was 2 years ago.  I desperately want to 
move away from Buffalo;  but selling our home has become a troubling decision.  Especially 
when I began seeing things out of my peripheral vision.  Slowly activities around this house 
became abnormal.  Now I've never believed in the paranormal, but things weren't right.  
Suddenly eerie sounds would go "bump" in the night.  Shadows and strange movements 
would play tricks on my eyesight.  All would be "still" when I would switch on the overhead 
light.  I feel I'm being watched as I sit in my favorite arm chair.  I'm aware her presence is 
here somewhere.  Just the other day our wedding picture fell from the night stand.  I was 
quite sure it was not the "boogeyman."  I'm a realistic type of man.  Oh how I miss Joann.  
Losing her is still so hard to digest, and I've been waking in the night from troubling dreams 
of finding her necklace.
       One night I fell asleep thinking about something I once told her.  I could have sworn I 
awoke to someone or something shaking my shoulder.  The air around my bed seemed 
colder.  I sat up immediately looking all about the room.  I smelled her sweet familiar 
perfume.  I then noticed something in my hand, the necklace...her family heirloom.  I 
remembered where we were, when I first said how beautiful the necklace looked on her.  
Reaching over I turned the light on, on the night stand.  I examined that gorgeous necklace 
in my hand.  I had to double check.  I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
       She knew I loved seeing her wear this beautiful necklace.  I always commented to her 
how much it made her look like a princess.  But I had not seen it since that awful wreck.  
Because the necklace had been around her neck!  Then realization hit me.  Through my own 
misery I could not see.  Her spirit was now free.  Tears ran down my cheek.  Down the hall I 
heard the stairs creak.  I giggled like a funnyman, and called out "I love you too Joann"....


Long poem by Sidney Hall Mad Poet | Details |

That is the name of my bottled water

Ok, I do not know if I should be telling you this,
It is somewhat embarrassing and you will probably laugh and hiss.

I went on holiday to the land of the free
Actually, it was America to the beaches of Miami 
Dam was it hot, I clearly remember the day
Yes, you guessed it; it was in the month of May.

I walked into a shop and asked for a bottle of sparkling water,
The man looked at me funny and questioningly at me daughter.
“Oh I forgot, you don’t speak English here,” I said
So I twanged me words and it registered in his head

I was hot, tired and burned to a crisp,
The man behind the counter had a bad stutter and a lisp
After five minutes hhhhhh he said, “Here’s a bottle of That is the name of my bottled 
water.”
I looked at man funny and questioningly at me daughter,
She giggled and said, “That’s the name of the drink.”
Then said, “I think?”

I was dying to use the loo
You know a number two
So I twanged to the man and he said “Ooo,” Then I said “Over there? Thank you”
I rushed in the loo, put the bottle on the floor near the toilet pan
Pulled down me shorts and sat down with a squeak clash and bang
I slipped off the seat and had a bottle half way wedged up me ass man.

Now let me tell you about that part of the body 
I was violated; it was an act of sodomy
The bottle was ribbed and too painful to pull out
So I pulled up me shorts and walked as if I had gout

Me daughter screamed “Dad?” “I didn’t know you were that way inclined.” 
Through gritted teeth I said “Shut it just cover me behind.”
She screamed again and said “I thought you bought it because you were thirsty?”
Like the Exocist my head spun round and I said “Not now, don’t start with me  
Kirsty.”

It was a long walk back to the hotel
I had to stop many a time and rested for a spell
The heat of the sun expanded the bottle
Which caused me to mimic a ducks waddle

Walking along in agonizing pain 
I heard some Porto Rican babes say “He walk like Juan Wayne” 
Almost at the hotel, it took me the best part of the day
Then it happen, crossing the road, a car almost hit me and I had to jump out of the 
way”

Now the reason I fainted, and like a sack of potatoes I dropped
Was the shaking of the bottle and the cap that popped
I… woke in hospital laying on me tummy
With photographers taking pics thinking this was funny.
next to me was my dear loving daughter
In her hand, That is the name of my bottled water…

**To all Americans you do speak English :-) it's Lisa's fault**Copyright © 2011

**Debbie Guzzi Unmentionables contest**


Long poem by Terry Trainor | Details |

A Trip to Heaven

Sitting working in my private room a grandfather clock ticks and tocks so very loudly,
Like a metronome tuned into my mind my eyes become heavy my lids slowly begin to close,
My mind drifts into very dark places, jet black places with a tiny white dot way off,
I walk towards the dot and after miles and miles it started to grow so much brighter.

Looking behind to see where I started there was nothing just the darkest of dark black,
I have no choice but to keep on walking towards the white dot now confused and scared,
After hours and hours I reach the dot but it is not a dot now it is a new bright world,
There were green fields greener than I have ever seen the trees had heavy velvet leaves.

People walked towards me they were smiling they were happy I wanted to shake their hands,
But they hugged me and held me and talked so kindly my troubles and worries disappeared,
Young children skipping, my new friends laughing it seemed I had known them all my life,
Being with these people was pure happiness we walked up to a white mansion we went inside.

A beautiful girl came running out to meet us she stood in front of me and gave me a rose,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen it was frosted and gilded and drops of dew fell,
A man with grey hair and a white suit sat by a piano and began to play the sweetest tune,
I leaned on it's shiny surface and could feel the beat of soft hammers on wire, pure music.

All smiled and clapped when this maestro had finished my friends giggled as they saw my joy,
They asked lovely questions nice questions I enjoyed answering as they made me feel good,
We got up and began to walk back to the place where I had first met my wonderful friends,
We talked we laughed everything was about nice things I could feel the smile on my face.

Then the man with grey hair and the white suit said it was time that I made my way home,
Still smiling I desperately wanted to stay forever he saw this and said to have patience,
They stood in line by the entrance each person hugged and kissed me tears ran down my face,
The next thing I knew I was in my private room the grandfather clock still going tick tock.

I thought about my wonderful dream those wonderful people and still felt very warm inside,
It was all so very real and was very disappointed knowing it was just a lovely sweet dream,
Those people in that beautiful garden blessed with such loveliness they seemed so very real,
Standing up and stretching I saw something by the door it was a beautiful rose frosted and dewy,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen.


Long poem by Wrulf Gunkl-VonGlashaus | Details |

Jigsaw Puzzle

(Manifesto) 

VIII … stop! - Skid! - Shift knobs, slide gears, vomit numbness, fondle!… the music of 
guillotines!… 

VII … unmannered retching! since everything is a percentage of death in motel prayer-nights 
separated from unholy echoes and junkyard dogs yapping the insanity by disdain mating 
hysterical drools with refried rectitude, masticating giggling shame: “That dog, there, lifting a 
leg, there, back-alley sodomy of wetness in air – Hush, mentioned for headstones only” 
strewn among graveyards, sweet-jeezus jukeboxes purple-trumpeting along the borders of 
Their juice: “Yes, Holy! Holy! Holy!” screaming down the Holy Ghost and Fire in prayer-
gutters backbiting along time of choicely chosen madonnas weeping children dear-jeezus-
glittering through open legs into angst, screaming tilted jigsaw puzzle pizza-glitzy jive for 
crumbling bridges back and forth between us and wrinkles of self-righteously disgusted 
divinity… 

VI … bloodcurse-running! 

V … in dark rain! Red Sea deluges of body burning with love or shame-delight while 
lightnings flash through babies’ mouths giggling thunder rattling screaming jigsaw puzzle 
dripping into gelled pots of leftover Judgement “Not here, not there, not any nor every when 
or now!” “Jilt the proper puke! Go with pyromania! Torch the Dogma State! – the pimps of 
puppy pimple-love!” who juggle governed durges of rote, “Save the children!” - lapdogs 
yipping the absurd reprobation of cloned devotion drowning unwashed questions, non-visa 
versa versus vice: “Dead business liturgy!… 

IV … confessing in whimpers while love returns unwashed by tears of joy with eyes unwept 
and blank - chameleon colors change with choice of sins - the tilt, undropped shoe, The Word 
beyond all words waiting in the hush of The Timeless Whisper, the sighing , yet, of a stinging 
sweetness: blushing dawn draped like a Bridal Veil! Hear it, touch the deep Hymnal-Wraith 
when the darkness yawns and Gypsy-Sun slips mirthy skyward with giggle of wind in birth - 
stallions chasing mares, babies playing the alleys of apple-cider autumn, Soon, amethyst-
glittter of dusk and Gypsy-Sun kiosk-safe beyond; moon, then, perhaps, and lovers’ 
juxtaposition before rooster-purple dawn with All contained in all, 

III … and the why of how, when and where, the where of how, when and why… all we, here, 
in roads, fields, cradles, in streets… 

II … the rain! - the dark rain!… 

I … ascending silence like cathedral-chills of tomb up spine… 

O… oh sweet, snorting jeezus…


Long Poems