Long Bugs Poems
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Mosque cowed covenant I keep Putin off...
and withheld broadcasting
the following communication
tucked away these many years,
when president number forty five
donned, jump/kick started, and tweeted
thru his musky, albeit flabby mantle,
a rallying cry forewarning onset of Mag(m)a
bubbling, gurgling, lobbing, and spewing lava
against backdrop of his trumpeting vitriolic
political preservation, salvation,
and veneration, though with hold
ding temptation tomb mike -
(make) pence sieve lee clear,
the immoral majority mold
toot hoods, (those bajillion
Americans unanimously polled)
did want me to broadcast, communicate,
and declare, sans incendiary fold
drawl (folderol) feigning migrant accent,
(no matter I'm getting older than Methuselah),
nonetheless Ivana trumpet from Taj Mahal
straight to Mar-A-Lago) all told,
plus thank Republicans
(past or present), who extolled,
an invisible grandiose fire walled
barricade (donning, enclosing,
and fortifying) against Carl mauled
din lookalike hackers,
despite one sporting "FAKE"
hook nosed, hunchbacked
adorned, donned with (Turin) shawled,
shrouded, and disguised vagrant, indigent,
double chinned agent - bald
(except for being bewigged),
viz flowing locks of "FAKE" gold
in toe with Amazon heavily funded
unbridled trailing retinue
chanting appellation Matthew
Scott Harris alias Oswald),
no matter said faux
renegade twittering lobbyists
to flock (like lemmings) within his fold,
and will laughably petrify
any vigilantes dead cold,
what with his bugs
bunny eyed (What's up Doc)
intent reader rabbit stare,
that doth playfully scold
any Bare Ladies scantily
linkedin, NOT nsync
with netiquette politesse mold
gobbledygook communication, (asper
my pork chopped message
higglety pigglety divulged)
obeying tacit gold
din rule to hoodwink public, nonetheless
lemme exemplify, how I plan to hold
world web electronically hostage
by secret Ransomware sold,
thru dark wide whirled web
cryptocurrency bitcoin blockchain trolled
under auspices, sans
omnipotent NON GMO
gluten free CRISPR rolled
oat sized INTEL nanobots,
no bigger than mold
spores heavily monitoring
meant to fortify electronic threads
woven into a virtual tapestry
likened to Dickensian chain e-mail
intent to foment pandemonium
at expense to captcha totalitarianism,
whereby democracy imperiled.
What was missing in my life?
You!
I lived many years without you,
not knowing what I was missing.
One day a surprise came to us
at an unexpected late- in- life date,
it was a baby boy.
He smiled at us with blue eyes
and bald little head,
and we were complete.
I treasured the cuddly feel of you,
fitting into my arms so well,
your weight seemed just right,
to pack you around every day,
even as you grew and grew.
You added an element to my life
that had been missing.
I now learned to slow down,
stop at playgrounds, push your swing
and sit in the one next to yours,
leaning back, looking up into
the crowns of swaying trees.
Taking walks, delighting in gathering fallen
red maple leaves, watching bugs
and birds.
Frogs and crawdads appeared in our bathtub,
I emptied your pockets while doing the wash
of rocks, seashells, dried katidid shells,
sticks and marbles.
I learned that stepping on jacks
at night while going to the bathroom hurts.
On your first fishing trip you accidently hooked a duck
and cried because you thought you hurt it.
I already knew of your compassionate heart.
You and I laughed and cried watching " Free Willy,"
"The fox and the hound" and "Alladin."
You brought joy to my life.
I learned that it is exciting to watch you play soccer,
I cheered and hooted and watched from the bleechers,
while you ran your little heart out,
I watched for signs of your asthma acting up,
but luckily you seem to outrun it.
On the first Halloween you were a little
smiling pumpkin that I pushed in the stroller,
but soon you were running with your buddies,
dragging a pillow case filled with candy,
and I had to scurry to keep up with you.
On your first day of school I was nervous,
I had to leave you with strangers.
Several of us Moms were hanging around the hallway
peeping into the door's little window,
until they made us leave.
Then came field trips, help with homework,
I was "room mother" to be near you and help,
and visited you in the cafeteria at lunchtime
on "Parent's day."
Suddenly, you are taller that me!
The braces came off, and you have a summer job,
and you are very good with it, I am proud of you.
You now have a Highschool Diploma and
are getting your driver's licence,
but you will always be my little boy,
and I will love you forever.
Love, Mom
My new husband was a farm boy
who didn't like to roam.
It always took a lot of nagging
to get him to leave home.
But we were newly married,
I hadn't learned all of his dislikes.
I imagined us as travelers
who'd be going on big hikes.
So I was unaware of his sacrifice,
when he asked if I'd like to go
to the Exposition in Vancouver.
He probably hoped I would say no.
But I was more than willing
to go on a short vacation,
and it was more appealing since
we'd be in another nation.
We left early Saturday morning
to drive the one hundred miles.
When I thought of all the fun to come,
I could not hold back the smiles.
The closer we got to Vancouver
and our final destination,
my husband got more nervous
about the thick traffic congestion.
He drove right to the fairgrounds,
and didn't stop at our hotel.
I thought he did it to please me
and perhaps it was just as well.
There were so many great attractions,
we didn't know what to visit first,
and we ate so many exotic foods
I thought we would truly burst.
In the late part of the afternoon,
I said, "If you don't mind,
I'd like to go to our hotel now."
"You're right," my man opined.
They'll probably be filling soon.
we better go and lasso one."
I knew he must be joshing me,
just trying to have some fun.
He kept driving by the nice hotels
with signs "No Vacancy".
He drove on and on and on until
it really frightened me.
"You didn't make a reservation?
I can't believe that's really true.
We'll have no bed to sleep in.
What ever will we do?"
He kept on driving quietly.
Motel rooms had all been filled.
Although it had been a hot day,
I now was feeling chilled.
We were in a dingy part of the city
and were starting to turn around
when he saw a sign that promised
a vacancy would be found.
The registration desk was manned
by a man in an undershirt.
"Money first", he said before showing the room.
I felt like a piece of dirt.
"I think it's a flop house," my husband said.
I didn't like that term.
I though of rats and bed bugs and
it really made me squirm.
There was no way I'd get in that bed.
I chose a big leather chair.
With little to say, my husband laid down.
He was too tired to care.
I knew not what occurred in other rooms,
I heard footsteps and showers.
But you won't be surprised I know to hear,
nothing at all would happen in ours.
I also feel blasé today February 19th, 2024
Linkedin to being lax,
and shirking house cleaning tasks,
which negligence cost us
(yours truly and the missus)
a golden opportunity
to relocate to Hillcrest Village
in Boyertown, Pennsylvania
another HUD subsidized property
under the aegis of Grosse and Quade,
one of the larger residential
property management firms
in the Delaware Valley.
Physical unwellness
(insync with racing heart) arose
because Kathleen Bergen
the new property manager
here at 2 Highland Manor
voiced absolute zero positive feedback,
upon taking lock, stock, and barrel
of appalling living conditions,
her blistering vocalization
(from wuthering heights)
translated as a foregone conclusion
against our hopes
pinned on moving into
two bedroom apartment
referenced above topmost lines.
Said plummeted disappointment
(courtesy blunt admission
out the mouth of
(humpty dumpty sat on a wall)
frumpty recent hire
identified in a previous poem
as new warden)
verbosely predicated upon
gross appearance of living space
immediately dashed cautious optimism
citing unkempt state
within no crater than
moonwalking unit b44,
whereby we wished to skadaddle
far away from obligation
to be mindful of rules and regulations
codified within a binding lease.
Unlikely home ownership
will ever come to pass,
nor the lesser prospect
to rent more spacious domicile
larger than a one bedroom apartment,
no bigger than a bread box
den me and the missus,
(a hen pecking spouse)
might befriend Bugs Bunny,
who might guarantee
adequate sized rabbit hole
constituting large enough wonderland
receiving stamp of approval
courtesy Alice in Chains
subsidized lodging money back
plus additional warren tee
granted by Mister Michael Fox,
who took me back to the future,
when the pace of life
plodded along at leisurely rhythm.
Only within outer limits
realm of twilight zone,
where dark shadows
inch along edge of night
(while two thumbs and index finger
belonging to separate good sports
grab hold the furcula
(or wishbone) structure
formed by the ventral fusion
of the right and left clavicles
and the median interclavicle
silently mouth invocation)
holds at bay, the inexplicable phenomena
moored, harbored, and docked
awaiting lucky recipient,
whose merrythought bestowed
upon he/she, they/them.
Hearing the news of 9/11 again...and it makes me look back at that destructive day
I remember it slightly...it's a sheer memory in my mind, but at least it's sunny today
Reading signs all around me and feeling at ease for a while
Taking a trip in a truck full of food items and I'm clearing up my boredom pile
Pre-ch: Oooh oooh oooh what is this feeling I feel?
My heart is made of the finest steel
These wounds I bear are about to heal
Hours pass me by and I haven't wasted much of it - even if I did, it's no big deal
Ch: I'm fulfilling success and failure all in one package
Pushing my way out...rummaging out of the wreckage
Now I'm approaching the lane of positivity and negativity
I'm playing the role of a hard worker, carrying responsibility
On my shoulders...there's a huge load on my shoulders
The future is knocking on the door of my cranium and the past neighbors of nostalgic restlessness blurs
I'm holding on to the last ounce of optimism
I am the sand of the sea and you're the precious prism
Stacking boxes upon boxes upon boxes...and watching the shipping man stack boxes upon boxes upon boxes
Volunteering is something I should always be willing to do when I am facing my lonely states
The truck is zipping through the street, making a whole lot of movement but I don't mind at all - as long as we make progress
Fearing the worst is something I shouldn't do, but motivation and hope are one of my most prized traits
Pre-ch
Ch
Blissful silence and guiltless essence are wrapped all in one package...they are the vigilant moons and brilliant suns
Break the eggshells of immense shame and throw all your worries down the drain
Refrain from driving me insane, expired guilt that overflows from a truck load of milk cartons
Why do I suddenly feel calmness and gratefulness at this present time? For once, I feel sane
Pre-ch
Ch
Ch
Honestly, my life has produced its lows and highs
Oh joy, how time flies by and bugs me like flies
That hover all around me like the advertisements of the city streets
Coping with the corruptions and temptations that try to get me hooked on sweets
I have planted myself on the front seat of the truck, feeling like I can relate to the products that are in back of us
We are both all in one package - isn't everyone somewhat in the same rowdy bus? I will work a sweat and not fuss
One December Night
(Continuation to the End)
All that year Santa had hoped and had tried to find a child's love that would strongly abide.
But month after month he was given the boot. It didn't matter whether he showed magic or
gave them some loot. Many children were selfish. Not one gave a hoot.
Until one cold blizzard night, in a stormy plight, the frog rang the doorbell and walked
right on in. In the warmth of the house, after ousting the mouse, four children accepted the
frog for his good. It was a happy sight for the frog there that night. Yes, they showed him
great kindness and genuine love, the
spirit of Christmas shown down from above. The purest of love without expectations turned
the frog into Santa who promptly gave each one hugs. “I'll be back with my sleigh to leave
gifts on Christmas night. Thank you dear children for your gifts of love tonight. Leave me
some cookies. I shall eat no more bugs! He laughed as he juggled three gifts in the air.
Then, soon disappeared out of sight by the moonlight.
The children, still laughing and squealing with joy, had broken a spell put on Santa
last spring. And the mean old witch that had made him a frog, sat sadly outside all alone on
the log. She had made him a frog with a croak, out of tune. She wanted his voice instead of
her own. Christmas carols she had heard bring so much joy. She could not carry a tune for
one single song. She had hoped she could sing if she stole Santa's voice. But the love from
the children left her no choice. The spell had been broken by love's sweetest choice.
But while they were happily playing about, they noticed the wand from the brown bag lay
out. So they went to the witch and gave her a voice. And taught her that goodness over bad
is a choice. So together they played with the now happy witch. Who gave up her evil and to
goodness did switch. The gift of pure love and light in the world is a gift to all who give
heaven a whirl. For even the wickedest of wicked have some goodness in them. So,
encourage the right and to evil say, “Take a flight!” (And let God be the judge…)
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009
Inspired by:
Poetrysoup member's Contest Anything Goes!
Sponsored by: Constance La France (I took you at your word... It's a LONG story.)
Here are questions that I would be asking Trump.
have many crosses to burn
why never will take your turn
before start did adjorn
poor things have proposed
why are you being exposed
lying we supposed
with supporters mingles
and why do you have shingles
while dry skin tingles
only lies have sought
why forget to take your shot
beneath collar be hot
burn things to stubble
why do you cause much trouble
face on balloon bubble
have called heart a spade
why are you always afraid
not keep proms made
made bad selection
why start an insurection
need much protection
hearing you am bored
why never pray to the Lord
false teeth you have stored
stolen each mitten
why records have you hidden
which are forbidden
supporters ignore
why do plat golf so poor
steal from local store
questions Trump will ask
why never complete a task
fat body in sun basque
why would you hire
someone you what to fire
and do desire
on head has orange hair
why will you mask never wear
made from underware
questions will ask Trump
why have you been such a grump
on back have big hump
several lies say
why do you mess up my day
for crimes never pay
Trump is surely dumb
while having been a beach bum
with bag full of scum
some say Trump while screech
so why should him we impeach
always lowdown leach
Trump seems full of glum
with you why is only doom
your rot in each room
raises much static
why make things problematic
being drug addict
if you want to more add
when I read them will be glad
news Trump has been bad
Trump has blowing his stack
why would you
want to come back
while making wise crack
Trump has lost his wits
why would you have called it quits
should be blown to bits
If you did not laugh
should take another warm bath
Be burned with much wreath
Trump started screaming
Why no features redeeming
Bright orange hair beaming
never passed a test
why her body did you molest
we were not impressed
Trump likes to linger
Why are you a bad singer
Flipped up his finger
Trump let bed bugs bite
why temptation do you fight
run away in freight
Trump motto he made
why on market do you trade
when of sense not a blade
born without a brain
why did Trump become insane
always will remain
His lies plentiful
Trump why is posture pitiful
and brain miiscule
Yes, our Creator's Love; this always comes and it goes between to good people and or thing, and in and between Him just as each uses this all; to remain faithfully helpful; to this effort of remaining lovesome for Him, and for one another, and for all life; or; possibly not. But oh yes; to share in this effort with a grateful and ever-gracious gusto!
Yes, fond are these memories running parallel with the truth, but to have loved, just once. Though I would want this again, our Creator in His Goodness, tells me not to worry. His goodness is with all of us on this journey.
Because my faith is hopeful and honest and so is fate.
Propitious the rondos' end-bold in their generous concatenation. Yes; frilly whirlwind June bugs caught up all about us flopping around in their daily dallying, teasing, and toying all around and again waylaying around way to way infinitely, have left me rather intrigued.
As the many shimmering Trout billowing up soaring about aloft and afoot each sometimes a foot and a half or two above the waters under the clear skies above us fall back down into the surface to try and catch them as the shadows floundering, and floating around ever gingerly, and ever-swiftly now all aloft within their effort to greet the Sun, and; the Son; cast their jest of all of this effort upon Jamie and me. Yes, and so in their haste to catch a little glips at a meal, out fly fishing under the full moon so bright a part of the glimmering stars with little Jamie now I have faith enough to know, with our Creator being in charge of all our blessings; and luck! One or two maybe three Trout they'll soon be in our buckets tied up hugging the shore there for breakfast.
But still and yet with no bait. To pick up one, then even several more a floating bug, to tie them up as the bugs themselves I know too now follow after a purpose. Yes, this would be to bring, a sweet, honeysuckle to the Trout; and to be as faithful give to all one a taste as fresh a Love Everlasting.
To live I would die to uphold them in their prominence, given the opportunity of this challenge. Because if it all is still a challenge for my faith to embrace the elements and apparent facts; knowing that fate always provides another opportunity; my faith is humbled. Because my faith I know today is as honest as what it follows after, now, here and hereafter.
Except My Hugs
Written by D. W. Breidenthal
You think everything's passionate and sincere
Except my letters, texts and hugs
You think cats are warm and friendly
You think dogs are dependent and full of positivity and vitality
Except my heart, kisses and hugs
Oh, how it bugs me to death
I can smell a stench of lies in your breath
You're lying to yourself - last one to lie is a rotten egg... I guess you are the creator of lies
(it's in your insidious nature...don't feed me lies now)
You appreciate your friends and family and you love their rare embrace
Except my hugs (and that really bugs me to death)
You think everywhere's a place of rest...
Except my shoulders...except my fatigued hugs (tired of not hugging you another day)
You think you are the best out of the rest...but I'll try my best (to think not dismay...not to sink in disarray)
To not be infuriated by you...
Though you accepted people's gifts
Except my hugs...you refused them...long ago...(and that really bugs me to death)
You're heart's as hard as boulders...where's your prudent glow?
Who knows...
Where your twisted wind blows
Only you know...you're as dark
As a midnight crow...
Cawing before the dawn...
And yet, I must drive on...
Must move on with life...(now that's a big must)
Though I'm living with unbearable, vexing strife
(my family tells me to wipe off the dust
Off my boots and bust
Some moves...just cause I don't want my dancing skills to rust)
Oh, how your pride drives me up the walls
Graze in your own maze... (It means"mind your business" - get my drift) You never answered my calls
(I won't offer you a lift and ill just watch you drift...
Away on a ship...with a small rift.
Hah!)
I'll watch you fall
And laugh at your calamity
Hah!
Because you thought
Everything made you feel like you belonged
Except my hugs
Except my hugs
Except my hugs (and that really bugs me to death)
('Sorry' won't cover it - now that really does bug me to death)
You made me draw my last breath...
And I felt like I kissed death...
Literally
Just accept my hugs
But you loved everone and everything,
But my bear hugs. . .
Except my hugs...
Accept my hugs...
I beg of you
Why do you make me
blush blue?
I guess I'm left with 2 mugs
"Let me have a refill of bear please?"
Asked James Dunk.
Maybe a shouldah prayed on my knees, thought he...thought he...now he regrets getting drunk.
Baxter was born in a meadow
under a rotting plank
with hundreds of brothers and sisters
in a home both darkly and dank.
His momma was a June Bug
and he was a June Bug too,
schooled in all the sorts of things
that June Bugs love to do.
He grew up fast, it was time to fly
and leave his happy home,
his momma went to the book case
and pulled out a well worn tome.
She read from a chapter called "Hazards"
to each of her children dear,
“Stay clear of birds when you’re flying
or you won't last out the year."
"And one more thing that you should know,
and this you must absorb,
beware of the light in the evening sky
that's called the purple orb."
So he left his home behind him,
went flying all around,
he saw some birds in the tree tops
and headed right for the ground.
After landing in the tall grass
he met a stink bug named Dwight
who told him wonderful stories
of an light so purple and bright.
"Forget now what your mother said,
I'm here to set you straight,
the orb is just a doorway,
you know, it's like a gate."
"When you enter into its brightness
you're magically swept away
to a lovely world of happiness
where forever you can stay."
So Baxter started searching,
he looked both high and low
and if he found the purple orb
straight to it he would go.
But the light was very clever,
it kept its secret well,
but Baxter kept on looking
as if he was under a spell.
Finally on an August eve
just as darkness was appearing
he spotted a distant purple glow
across a meadow's clearing.
"It must be the orb,” he said to himself,
so he flew with all his might
across the meadow with all due speed
toward that beautiful purple light.
Soon he hovered before it
and bathed in its eerie glow,
what wonders lay in store for him
his mind could scarcely know.
Gathering up his courage
into the purple light he sped,
crackle and zap was all he heard
as he fell to the ground near dead.
He lay in a growing pile
of other bugs who'd seen
a purple orb up in the sky,
but it wasn't what it seemed.
So if you meet a stink bug
who goes by the name is Dwight
don't believe the tales he tells
of a beautiful purple light.
Remember what Baxter's momma said,
"and this you must absorb,
beware of the light in the evening sky
that's called the purple orb."