Long Clark gable Poems
Long Clark gable Poems. Below are the most popular long Clark gable by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clark gable poems by poem length and keyword.
Mach my words, that time travel aye
foresee (rather than being
at a stand still, nee frozen
analogous to cry
oh ja hen nicks, or more particularly
going backwards)
this chap doth espy
great breakthroughs,
asper similar advances this guy
i.e. myself witnesses quantum leaps I
learn (reading The University Of Penn Gazette)
the Burmese doctoral
engineering student Kai
Sir Von Wilhelm Harris
made profound advances within
advanced combined research
laboratory of rocket surgery
and brain science set my
mouth ajar
(with rivulets of drool spilling forth)
constructing a simple
to assemble gizmo (avail able
common household materials
rendered unto YouTube), and/or Cable
Comcast, Fios, Infosys, et cetera
which accidental discovery
automatically codified feign
top secret "FAKE" news to enable
boot (simply for formality sake)
code named Clark Gable
yet in reality (a faux veil of secrecy)
to con Vince sing lee
foster an inimitable
mystique, button truth
for general public to unzip noble
no red bull) knowable
handy escape to past or future
and essentially unlocked laudable
simple "household solution"
to become the latest craze
(synonymous with an opiate - manageable
minus addiction, conviction,
and excruciation viz zit operable
via needle marks of the masses
within a fortnight necessary
supplies sans quantifiable
while Das Donald Trump
could enact legislation satisfiable
knowing majority being
totally tubularly oblivious unalterable
measures permanently infringing on inalienable
rights such as life, liberty
and the pursuit of winnable pacification.
Unquotable quotes – XIV
Don’t trouble trouble until trouble gobbles you ; don’t
rubble rouble until rouble rubbles you.
Don’t marry a woman out of pity ; she’ll make you
regret her lack of fidelity for a ditty.
Don’t lose your temper with any old party member ;
they are all in league licking the leader’s member.
Don’t meddle with paddles if you have never rowed on
water ; it’s not the self-same action you practice with
your partner.
Don’t run to get insurance coverage when you’re
hanging from a ledge ; better wait for the dredger to
empty the valley of sludge.
Don’t go to the cinema to rub or warm thighs and legs ;
what you’re watching is not what you see.
Don’t climb mountains only to be rescued in the public
eye ; there are other more subtle ways like making
naked love to appear on TV.
Don’t crack jokes to make others croak ; crack their
skulls open with a rebuke.
Don’t eat with your fingers noodles soup ; drink the
soup first, then slurp the noodles through fingers.
Don’t tease the neighbour’s daughter for lack of
laughter ; for all you know she may be Bob Hope’s
screen writer.
Don’t turn tables in a fight if you haven’t got the might,
unless you’re John Wayne in a Western with a
broken hind stern.
Don’t squirm in bed dreaming of Clark Gable ; his teeth
kept great actresses crying out for a gargle.
Don’t swim against the current pretending to be Tarzan,
unless you have a Jane willing to put up with any
bane.
Don’t cry for help with a mere yelp.
© T. Wignesxan – Paris, 2016
(Here, Clark Gable is speaking.
Gaylord Langland was the character
he played in the just-completed
movie. "Trotsky" is his nickname
for Arthur Miller and the "little
girl" is Marilyn Monroe. Gable did
not attend the wrap party and died
of a hreat attack the following day.)
Gaylord
Everything just happened wrong.
It'll do that, sometimes.
A movie set is like a ship, I guess.
Some are happy, some not.
I'll skip the party.
I've seen enough,
and I'm feeling kind of rough.
Trotsky? I won't bad-mouth the guy.
He knows so many things,
but he doesn't know women.
It was sad to watch him try.
When a woman decides, inside,
to pass on you, you're screwed.
Not even dynamite will do.
I told him, "Don't cling.
Stop thinking you can change things."
His intellect is all he had,
and he certainly deployed it.
But pain is part of the deal.
Can't none of us avoid it.
The little girl? We had a fling.
She's not like anybody thinks.
The brassy, buxom *****
is some ad-man's creation.
She's a brittle little child.
Her skin is too thin.
You cut your hand, she feels it.
In my philosophy,
it's a simple equation:
they pay me, I show,
ready to go. I don't know
why they need these
analysts and therapists.
Business before show.
She asked a bunch of stuff,
couldn't get enough.
Wanted my suggestions.
Hungry to hear about Harlow,
got me over a barrel
on Yvonne De Carlo.
Even asked about Carole.
I said, "Easy, Harietta.
You'll never know a man better
by asking him questions.
They treated me for bipolar disorder.
I wanted you to know.
Although the doctors later said
it was the Adipex-p and weed
mimicking
an up-and-down disease—
it hasn’t happened since.
I still think it was more than that.
Hard to believe
it’s been more than twenty years—
that fourth of July,
when I read your mind at the Washington Mall,
and ran off to watch fireworks
alone in the grass.
It was wet, and I could tell—
you thought I was magic.
You walked toward me
Christmas morning in the summer evening,
said, didn't think I’d ever find you.
You can see how the backdrop
of that moment conspired
to spell out fate: the night
convincing,
the air exploding in support of it,
I came to—
in a hospital,
you still looked like Clark Gable,
but your mythical gait
was just a limp—
you’d played baseball in college.
My ESP had just been synapses
cracking communal phrases inside my skull,
masquerading as serendipity
in wolf's clothing.
all of it—
an embarrassment.
You stopped returning
my messages, after I underlined
phrases at random
in a Chicago weekend newspaper,
then tried to get you to believe
with me.
I drew a picture of Ganesha
in the margins as further evidence
of our destiny as gods.
When the mind starts shuffling
everything it's ever touched
with Vegas-dealer speed,
it doesn’t take much to get to
a version of the story where we're Holy.
You could’ve easily taken advantage,
but you didn’t. I think you knew
I’d have let you.
Wish you were here.
I read the news today oh boy( beatles a day in the life))
about America from across the sea
bridge over troubles waters (Simon & Garfunkel)
but it never use to be
was always ‘a wonderful life’ (Jimmy Stewart)
It was a place On Golden pond (Henry Fonda)
where liberty stood with its flag in bloom
she now hides her face in shame
we know who is to blame
the man with a’ fistful of dollars’ (Clint Eastwood)
I voted for Pat Paulsen instead
before election, America was great so ‘let it be” (Beatles
soon time will be up to ‘cast away’ (Tom Hanks”
no paddles for him ‘rolling down the river’ (Tina Turner)
(Pink Floyd) made ‘the wall’ but forgot to leave Trump behind it
‘God bless America’ sang Kate Smith when we were very young
we stood up for our national anthem with all among
shame to watch those kneel with empty hearts they feel
let’s ‘heal the world’ (Michael Jackson) who said it well
take ways the clouds with ‘there’s the sunshine’ (5th dimension)
it will be a ‘white Christmas’ again just like Bing Crosby’ said
and it will be in America, when its great again.
follow the bouncing ball (Mitch Miller)
over leaps and bounds will put a song in our hearts
we’ve learned our mistakes , we didn’t have the smarts
furlong to return to the green grass of home
and sing ‘they’re coming to take you away ha ha’ (Napolean XIV)
and we be back ‘in the mood’ (Genn Miller)
with liberty for all and he will be ‘gone with the wind’ (Clark Gable)
(1)
“Darling, don’t you even listen,”
said the mother to Christine:
construction workers, jeering, hissing,
whistling, hooting things obscene,
put them through a via crucis
on their way to buy some jeans.
(That they had to take abuse is
not correct, by any means.)
“Just ignore it. I’m a woman,
you are only just fifteen.”
Mother fielded all the come-ons,
as she oh-so-slightly preened.
“Well, I’m jolly glad that’s finished!”
Safely out of workers’ view,
Mom gripped Christine’s arm, diminished ...
“They were whistling at YOU!
(2)
My glasses have a fetching tint.
I say my name is ‘Otis’:
I’ve trained myself to walk like Clint,
but still the girls don’t notice.
I’ve paid the best who shape and train,
that money can afford:
the meanest-seen is my John Wayne,
that’s ever been ignored.
My lead-off choice, James Stewart’s voice,
when ordering a table:
I ask for rolls (I can’t do Royce)
and grimace like Clark Gable.
I think I know why things are slow
with reference to chicks:
I’m choosing stars that they don’t know
(and women don’t like tricks).
I shouldn’t base my public face
on movie stars long dead:
a younger stud I should embrace
(or be myself, instead!)
They met on line, late one night...
Just looking around on a dating site...
Neither of them knew what to expect...
And within a month they started to text...
The Wi-Fi signal was not one of the best...
So their communication was put to the test.
He asked if she liked to cook...
She thought he said she was a schnook...
Really she asked, how rude is that ?
He thought she said she was an aristocrat...
She thought he was rude...
He thought she was a prude...
But each had a deep curiousity...
So they decided to exchange photos for both to see...
They both liked what they saw..
As each looked like a movie star...
But they each questioned...could this be true ?
Or is this possibly a snafu ?
They decided to meet and make it soon...
Perhaps on Friday in the afternoon ...
At a Coffee shop on Baker’s Street...
See you there and be sure to order something sweet...
She got there early, and was sitting at the corner table...
When a short pudgy man, wearing “bling” and an exposed pierced navel...
Approached and asked, “waiting for someone ?”...
No said she, NOT me and ran to her car...
Driving away as fast as she was able...
It was then a man arrived, and sat down at the corner table...
He looked a lot like Clark Gable...
I wake from a bad dream
Hey there new man
That’s what they said to me
Hey there how’s it been lately?
I stand, look and see
Elvis, Martin Luther King and John Lennon walk on by so casually.
Roy Orbison and Freddie Mercury harmonising with Liberace as the queen mother watches whilst sipping tea
As I walk what looks like on nothing
I see Winston Churchill talking with Audie Murphy as Lewis Collins stares at me
I say hello to Marylyn Monroe or Norma Jean as Tony Curtis politely corrects me
Burgess Meredith tells me to do push ups, James Mason steadies me. Richard Burton drinking with Roger Moore on one round table and on the table next to them John Thaw doing a crossword - difficultly!
I walk on aimlessly as I see Bruce Lee training ferociously. Clark Gable playing cards with Humphrey Bogart and General Custer sipping whiskey with Einstein, Herriot, Tolkien and Agatha Christie - something too mind bending to me!
I walk through some glass doors and a whole world of familiar faces turns to see.
I wake up suddenly.
I sit up and can’t believe how real that felt to me.
It was Clark Gable, who posed the question,
“Oh, Mr., Faulkner…do you write?”
Indeed, Mr. Gable, Faulkner wrote…
About that postage stamp of native soil
In many books and stories did his typewriter toil
regaling about that mythical place he called Yoknapatawpha County
somewhere in the rolling hills of north Mississippi
he penned a tale about Colonel John Sartoris
of Boon Hogganbeck and Lucius McCaslin
taking a trip to Memphis, Tennessee
in “Boss” Priest’s Wynton Flyer
they were “The Reivers”—footloose and fancy free
Yes, Mr. Gable, Faulkner wrote…
of Quentin Compson—“The Sound and the Fury”
the perils of the Bundren family—“As I Lay Dying”
Vardaman said, “My mother is a fish”
Indeed, Mr. Gable, “Mr. Bill” Faulkner did write
about Emily Grierson, her male admirers in “A Rose for Emily”
the trilogy of the Snopes family, such a literary tapestry
Oh, heavens, Mr. Gable, Mr. Faulkner did write
In every novel, every story, all about his native Mississippi
his works a marvelous contribution to America’s rich literary history
--Allen Baswell
© 02-25-22
(In the summer of 1960, filming began on
"The Misfits". Shot on location in the Nevada
desert, the picture was enveloped in a weird
atmosphere of doom from start to finish. For
the three stars - Marilyn Monroe, Clark Gable
and Montgomery Clift - it would be the last
film they ever completed.)
Desert Hearts
What do you think of this?
A motion picture, wrought
in a wilderness, about a woman
loved by Gay, Guido, Arthur, Perce,
a woman who draws men
as thoughtlessly as breathing,
but whose beauty is her curse.
And what of three wranglers,
in the drum of the washing machine,
who live for chasing mustangs -
the dwindling mustangs,
whose fate is to be slaughtered
as food for dogs,
and whose destruction
draws nearer each time
they are chased?
Come with me to Reno,
the town with no water,
the zone of single strangers.
Meet five doomed characters,
moving through a slow gavotte
one deadly summer,
dancing on the spot
finding out anew what
they've really always known: how
to have and have not.