Long Duffle Poems
Long Duffle Poems. Below are the most popular long Duffle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Duffle poems by poem length and keyword.
I was one of the cool set,
navy blue duffle coat, scarf around
my neck, seated at a table
in Pepe's Coffee Lounge
discussing Baudelaire
and T.S. Eliot and the demise
of the political elites.
The conscription ballot hung
over our heads helmeted
in a flowering of uncombed hair
in the winter of 1966.
We thought the world was about
to tip, that the old regime
was coughing its last
on Craven A and Camel cigarettes.
Booze was cheap and jobs
chased us down the street.
In a hundred buried silos,
annihilation was just a push
of a button away.
We partied hard beneath
the threat of that mushroom cloud.
We're old now, sit under the cloud
of our own thoughts, replaying
scratchy, worn out tracks
retrieved from the sleeves
of our neural LP's.
What we tore down back then
has been replaced with more
sinister demons that eat away
at the collective soul.
In the end, everything
is just reabsorbed.
Some of us still frequent
coffee shops and discuss
Baudelaire and T.S. Eliot,
still write poetry,
shed a tear
at the melancholic beauty
of a setting sun.
My god, red bra, orange pants, and green socks, I’m making love to a traffic light.
Get on with it.
I can’t, where do I start.
What does it matter?
It matters a lot, if I start with your bra, do I stop, or do I drive on knowing three penalty points and an eighty pound fine are coming my way. Do I start with your pants, amber gambling, if I start with your socks, then that’s it, I’m away?
Well, what do you expect me to do.
I expect you to dress appropriately for the occasion, I mean, Gok Wan couldn’t fix you.
Well, if we’re in an insulting mood, I don’t like the tiger pants you wear, especially as tigers are nearly extinct.
Oh god, did you really say that, I’m going out with a moron, 0.5 wit.
What does that mean?
It means you’re a half wit.
Well, I was going to get naked, and put my duffle coat on to get you excited, but not now.
Just what every guy wants, a naked girl in a duffle coat.
Some guys would die to see me naked in a duffle coat.
Do you know, you’re right, I've now got this fantasy in my head, put on an orange hat, and wow, pelican crossing.
Get knotted, and I tell you now, that’s the only action you’ll get tonight
Well, in that case I’ll just have to create a fantasy
On he went with it, hallucinating vividly while she stood there, unarmed and furious.
Hell, she was already horny, maybe she could save the situation. She looked down at her pants.
You know, you could still drive, if you haven't already crossed the line.
His eyes opened quickly, as if trying to catch her lying. He considered it...
Lose the bra and the socks
Lose the tiger get up
Both coming halfway, they now stood in the bedroom, one more naked than the other. Still a little insulted, she went on to caress his member.
He, too stubborn to show his pleasure, gazed at the ceiling, feigning boredom.
Furious, she slapped him across his face with a high-pitched shriek, picked up her things and walked towards the door, getting dressed on the go.
Realizing he had gone too far and that he was now all up and running, he tried to change her mind.
BAM went the door.
She'll call.
The humidity was doing a good job of keeping pace with the temperature. Until around 10 AM when the thermometer pushed its way past 100. That’s when 176 frightened kids and a few old hippies staggered out of the crowded cattle trucks. “Alright you maggots, RUN,” voices screamed from beneath wide brimmed Smokey Bear hats. So, we ran…and ran, duffle bags slung over our shoulders. Hours passed before we finally came to attention under the blistering Missouri sun. All the while, the bears circled. Sniffing the air and grunting. “Don’t show them any fear,” one of the old hippies whispered, “they pray on the weak.”
Like nature intends
Survival of the fittest
Do not show weakness
Each is a piece, a small part
of a composite that has come
together in a morning,
the frayed strands of dreams
knitted into a waking timed now
to a slow tread on a familiar street.
Then suddenly, careering through
the center of my thoughts a train
comes with bells at a crossing
clanging loudly and wheels grinding
on rails heading off towards
a distant point in the past. I stop
and see myself, late teens,
leaving home, riding the interstate
with dreams spilling out
of a duffle bag, head in a cloud
of hope. I was Rimbaud on rails,
high on poetry that I took straight.
Six months in a one room flat
I ran out of money and a literary career,
hitchhiked back home to sink
into a wintery despair.
A lifetime has passed
and I have left a poem tied
to the end of each year as if
marking my way. The words
of most have now weathered away
to a silence. I write as a form
of prayer to that greater silence
and on still mornings, hear
the sound of a train in the far
distance growing quieter.
To all the folk still wearing
That choke-chain gambler's collar
Who try to play within their limits
But bet their bottom dollar
To the disappointed hopeful
With his head held in his hands
You heard jackpot sounds that shook the ground
Yeah you were lied to man
To the woman and her duffle bag
With plans to beat the house
They are going to hypnotize you
Its a trap sweetheart, get out!
To fortunes few who make the news
With a big old giant cheque
Don't let them take your picture
You are bait to catch the rest
They don't show that man who lost his home
Free falling to his death
They don't tell you how that woman
Fit a rope around her neck
And they say they want the players
That will bet within their limit
But the house was built up brick by brick
By all the ones who didn't
"Travel light" Santa said to me as I grappled for all my most
treasured belongings. I stuffed them all in a duffle bag, then with the silliest
of grin on my face I said, " Ready"
The ride up was exhilarating to say the least, and the landing well
lets just say I don't recall getting there...
It felt like I was placed in a big glass bauble filled with tinsel,
joyful elves and little miniscule hourglasses containing reflective
light particles that flew out into the atmosphere through
smokescreen windows, tinted with pink magic glass.
I was tired from the trip so Santa led me to this little room made of logwood,
then he handing me a peppermint hot chocolate and said, " good good dreams, my girl "
What did I dream you ask ? Well, its much too long to retell today,
you will just have to wait until tomorrow, when its Christmas day !
23 Line Haiku Hijack
I stole a haiku from the Japanese
Stuffed it in a duffle bag, added 23 lines to make it fat
Fed it chocolate day and night before we started
Threw the 5-7-5 lines overboard in flight
Then placed the new one on the market when I landed
Shrimp and whale tails make for sound haiku
Deliciously raw like sushi
Japan hates my poetry and me. They call it criminal
Call it distasteful, crude and rude and even disrespectful
Complaining it suffered from too many lines and rhymes
I sold the stolen poem to a toothless Afghan man
A Taliban by trade, in need of a wife
He realized the mistake we made
Haiku is not an overweight woman, so he returned it
Calling it bland, loveless and torturously trite
I injected a diaphragm on the haiku 2nd line
To prevent undo pregnancies
When left alone to expand, haiku will multiply on command
It grew from 3 to 23 lines in what Japanese call, disgraceful
Hijacking haiku and adding more lines is wrong
It changes the meaning and is far too long
Haiku will never be the same again
I sent it off to India on a train…a quatrain to be exact.
I have no shame, and that's a fact
the sky darkened with nary a warning
as if a slate of black had been cast down from the sky
in the distance thunder gave us a nod
I saw a flash of lightning near the ocean
what was that on the pier?
I peered out my window
the magician was back!
His gambling cards were flying out of his duffle as he walked.
An owl screeched down toward him, giving him the business
I knew someone was slated to die
this always happens when I see the magician
Maybe it is my turn, I thought
“What is it?” asked my husband.
He is sicklier than I am.
“Nothing,” I replied.
Glad his eyesight was not that great.
All I needed was his heart rate to go jumping up into overdrive.
we entered thee over crowded
chanook lined with duffle bags
and dusty jump boots I catered
to the rear windows focusing only
on the clearing the empty runway
invited solitude while the hearing
began in mid air returning to stateside
offered an abrupt glimpse of incoming
land while waving at the daunting sea
my heart beat drowned the sound
of unwanted chatter clinging solely
to the solid formation sweat covered
my neck my hands dripping wet as I realized
this was an unauthorized briefing
morbidly performed an yet galently
removed beyond such tyranny I'd discovered
espionage and treason apon the joining
of hands solemnly while prayers were covered
as we approached newness throughout
tangible lessons abroad
She is the eclectic cat lady
Pretty in pink wearing a daisy
You be the judge I think she's crazy
Bobby sock chic her scarf's paisley
One big duffle with many cats inside
she will show them off with the utmost pride
In the bag you can hear them collide
Still they never stray far from her side
When the bag opens it's quite a scene
To my great surprise she has thirteen
Her favorite one his name is Dean
the smallest cat she calls Jelly Bean
As for me I am more of a dog guy
If you smelled her cats you would know why
When the cats see my dogs they sure jump high
Boy oh boy does the fur ever fly
I am the friendly dog loving fellow
My dogs love the sound of my Cello
They sing along while dressed in Yellow
Cat lady smiles while feeding us jello.
For Line Gauthier's "Crazy Cat Lady" Contest. January 2, 2018.
My first poem of the new year.