Long Fedora Poems
Long Fedora Poems. Below are the most popular long Fedora by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fedora poems by poem length and keyword.
He drives around, picking up girlz.
Proudly displaying his emoticon bumpertricker.
His vomitrocious personality,
hidden behind smiley face lie.
The master of snark,
with an old man's easy style.
Try not to look into those grue eyes.
His is a pretend wise with a fake smile.
He'll fill your mind with pretentious smog.
Your heart to clog, with consummating tobacco.
He'll blow smoke up your donkey,
from his corngobbed pipe.
Fifties fedora, a bodacious tie.
Hair colored in black dye, he wears a crisp white shirt.
Disguising inner dirt and devious smile.
Don't be blind, he's not worth a dime.
He'll leave you high and dry, you'll wonder why.
Why did you accept that ride?
Debbie Guzzi's Portmanteaus contest.
Emoticon
My word... Bumpertricker
Vomitrocious
Snark
Grue
Smog
My word ....Corngobbed
Bodacious
Form:
My frightful steel helmet is so battered, dinged and frayed
It was issued by the Air Force - not a haberdashery store
I don't suppose it would look very proper in an Easter Parade
But it sure did come in handy-dandy when fightin' in the war
For such things as bathin', washin' drawers and so much more
Camouflage nettin' adorned it in lieu of ostrich feathers and lace
Many fellers preferred civilian life sportin' a jazzy, felt fedora
On the march the dad-gum thing flopped about and fell in your face
Twigs, grass and weeds covered it to blend in with the flora
Four-letter words were heaped upon it - of which there was a plethora
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 3 in Carol Brown's "My Favorite Hat Or Bonnet" Contest - Apr 2011
For Vera, Leanna and Leslie
Today in church I was rapt as I listened to the words of the pastor,
As she spoke about the death and glorious resurrection of the Master!
But I must confess that my mind ran amok and wandered,
As I reminisced about Easters past upon which I pondered.
I recalled Easters of yore when our little girls were small.
How they anticipated the Easter Bunny, ready to have a ball!
Their mother, Vera, was an extremely talented seamstress,
Who made for each of them a gorgeous lacy smock and dress!
She insisted that they have new shoes, gloves and fancy bonnet,
Trimmed with lots of lace and colorful flowers upon it!
Vera wore an outfit including new shoes and hat with dressy flora,
And I of course had to wear a suit and tie and a ridiculous fedora!
Off we marched to church and Sunday School in our fine attire,
To hear the awesome Easter Story and a cantata by the choir.
After, a repast was prepared by Vera with ham and sweet pertaters,
With other tasty fixin's including a salad of garden-fresh termaters!
The girls relished the chocolate bunnies and eggs that they found!
I recall so many Easters with my family when joy would abound!
Fast forward to today when the girls from home have flown,
As they carry on those traditions with families of their own.
Alas, we lost our dear Vera this past July but I have this one consolation;
Today she celebrated Easter with CHRIST HIMSELF in great jubilation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Leaning On a Stone
I was afraid of gaining weight, so I kept on puffing my cigarettes. Filling my lungs, holding that drag as long as I could. I liked that feeling deep in my chest. When I breathed out through my nose, I looked like a smokey dragon. The long silver hair that framed my face, added to the overall effect.
I wasn’t much for them warning signs on the pack. It’s a free country, ain’t it? So I kept my cigarettes in a silver plated case. Kinda looked good with my sterling Zippo. You wouldn’t often see me without a Matinee cigarette hanging from my lip or between my thumb and forefinger.
I loved me them Matinee Large Regulars. When I got a cold I’d sometimes smoke those Mentholated Cools. They kinda soothed my throat. If the cash was rolling in I’d treat myself to a good cigar. I tried a pipe for a while but it was too much of a ritual for this guy. My pops had that vibe in spades. He looked good with his pipe and fedora.
When I started losing a bunch of weight I was a bit concerned. I thought it couldn’t be the cigarettes, I had cut down to two packs a day. Ya, I did have that persistent cough,
even the mentholated Cools didn’t seem to help.
Now it seems the smoke goes straight through me. Taking a drag is a drag. I look like the skull on the pack now. My silver hair is long gone. This dragon ain’t so fierce anymore. But, if you need a skeleton for your next party, I’m your guy. I look cool leaning against a Tomb Stone. Remember though, I’m partial to Matinee Large Regular.
I dreamt I awoke in a 1939 Buick
as it sped into the 40’s,
a decade depleted of running boards.
I wondered
how could tommy-gun wielding
gangsters appear historically relevant
without running boards?
Running boards mark an era
the way hats do.
Then I thought, what the hell
I’m in a 1939 Buick
so every tommy gun toting punk
better watch out
running boards or not.
Some classic cars do that,
you take on their vintage persona.
The 39 is a cool car,
Humphrey Bogart drove one.
He had a 38 special also
and knew how to use it.
When you get to where Bogart has gone
(a star in a greater Hollywood story)
the right car is important.
You must drive the 39
like you’re in a movie
where monochrome fog
makes the hill roads
and their hairpins tricky.
When the road ends
stand with one foot on the running board
until a camera flash
goes off with a flare and a pop.
Pose
while you light a cigarette
tip your fedora at a slant,
and grin like a tough guy.
There's a quaint little eatery in old Colorado City.
It you ain't never et there, dear me, what a pity!
It's crowded an' hectic but here's the scoop:
There ain't nothin' like their French onion soup!
It ain't a fancy place, jes' a few tables an' bow-back chairs,
But it attracts all sorts uv folks, even some millionaires!
They're a discriminatin' bunch - them you'll never dupe.
They'd scale Pikes Peak fer a bowl of that French onion soup!
The tables are rickety an' the old wood floor squeaks.
On its brick walls hang innumerable ersatz antiques.
Orders are placed over the din with a bellowing whoop:
"Hey, mister! Gimme a bowl uv yer French onion soup!"
Ever' spoonful I eagerly gulp, but much to my chagrin,
Stringy cheese dangles frum my spoon, fallin' on my chin!
But what care I as frum my chin it doth droop,
I'll jes' keep on slurpin' that good ol' French onion soup!
I've dined in five-star restaurants all about this sphere,
With haughty waiters, pompous chefs an' elegant atmosphere.
But I'll tip my fedora to this diligent little troop,
'Specially to the feller who brews the French onion soup!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Milieu iconography with flashing lights
Smokey gambling rooms—gang wars
Flashy suits and fedora hats in the fights
Neon signs flashing—this world is yours
Hey, get a name with the next phone call
Surely, he can’t really be all that rough
While hanging out in a flower shop stall
Like bowling pins fall he wasn’t tough
Whistling “Chi Me Frena?” surreal assassin
As Shamrock night club they all shot up
Coin flipping henchman hell risky brazen
Bang—he won’t sip St. Peter’s golden cup
Crosses on bodies from iconic gun blast
Even barking dog can’t stop the tragedy
Tony’s sister like a baby’s toy dances at last
Just seems like a wild circle of comedy
Wearing a scar as one from the war
Nation’s shame 1932 gangsters shown
Killing people to take over, what for?
Whistling assassin your life is blown
© Joseph, 5/29/08
© All Rights Reserved
Honorable Mention
Super Slueth Contest
Fun Free verse on Movies
Sponsor: John Heck
Goodbye Fall with all the auburn leaves of the reddest sunset,
goodbye crackling path where I met the last songbirds,
whose melody accompained me to winter's doors;
and with deep sadness I kept on looking back.
Welcome gloomy winter with short afternoons and long evenings;
watching the advancing shadows and loudly hearing
the furious sound of the squall rampaging the stately trees,
and making them weep when the icy rain comes down with lightining.
Sitting in a rattling, rocking chair, I peruse through pages of sunny places afar,
forgetting the dreariness of this frigid season and be consoled by a warm fire;
and still nostalgia abounds...thinking of the pleasant strolls of a past season,
which thrilled me with its colors, and through delight I justified my reason.
O winter, don't linger as you always have...shorten your stay, avoid foul play;
and could I ever stand a pale sun, hardly giving off with its luminiscence,
in this house hidden among the maples and the pines of a squalid valley?
Old winter, don't mislead me with days without snow...that's utter pretense!
Goodbye explorer fedora hat keeping my dreamer's head cool,
sparing my skin another ugly wrinkle, allowing late beauty to rule;
goodbye iced coffee sipped from my Big Apple plastic cup,
which I bought along Fifth Avenue in a crowded, variety shop.
Ummerciful winter, pity the desperate state I am in,
reduce the wrath of your devastation, step inside and to tell me your amazing tales...
hoping that I will write them down for everyone to read and enjoy for immortal ages;
relentless winter, reduce the dreariness of this frigid season.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
An old man in a tweed jacket stopped by to die
I had never met him before, and had wondered why
My sister and me were lured by candy in his pocket
He showed us a watch and a tiny lady’s locket
“Who is he?” we asked our mom, who was shocked at the door.
She had thought this man was gone for good, and forever more.
At one time, he was my Daddy, she told us. I’d better call my Sis.
This was shocking to us too, they never spoke or reminisce.
So this old dude’s my grandpa? I was surprised, but pleased.
He sunk down on a chair, and spoke to me in a way that teased.
His eyes were deep brown with golden flecks that danced a bit.
To me, this old story teller was an amazing guy, a world hit!
He stayed long enough to tell me about his short marriage.
They did not have money for a wagon, horse or a carriage.
She was part of the notorious Dalton gang he said at first.
His stories were amazing; they quenched this grandchild’s thirst.
A fedora hat, a brown Oldsmobile, and a tweed jacket is all
We have left of him now, for he answered a homeward call.
We would not even have that photo if he had not looked us up.
Storytellers we are he told me; could I make this stuff up?
Picket chitter chatter about posh pitter patter at Henley Regatta scoff for that matter at the natter which does flatter SW19 scene & don't give a jot about that lot at Ascot..the big ticket for the English toff summer is a visit to the home of cricket..
Old father time’s hold over his many wards
Mystery of the history hoards told marauds
Nooks & crannies mould books of records
Symphony scored sold on adored chords
Famed for the gold framed named boards
As teams and bold dreams cross swords
Peruse the queues that start before 8
Members remember the embers of fate
Quest for best seating you can’t be late
Bleating a fleeting greeting at Grace gate
Blazer with crest for their guest do wait
Dearly nearly yearly meeting with a mate
Linen suits competing cahoots see a spate
Die hard scorecard scribe should venerate
Suss a them & us tribe vibe does permeate
Josh subscribe to a golly gosh folly & fete
Farce awash with fuss cloche on nosh trait
VIP pass posh wally with off his trolley gait
Bollinger harbinger scoff do quaff a crate
Just ar*e twee look at me upper class date
Holler that working class squalor will irritate
Elite no blue collar street scholar reprobate
Bacon & eggs hues repeating Test portrait
Prices vastly soared stop ghastly hordes
Boxes chock a block with corporate frauds
No fan roared everyone…politely applauds
Panamas, trilbys or fedora do doff towards
Caveats for toff twa*s cravats Lords awards
Our fancy dress is outlawed caused discords
Sneer at beer from kegs cheer more Landlords
No dregs shaggy hair diadoras & baggy cords
Begs no diaspora from poorer smorgasbords
A ticket to the home of cricket though affords
The chance to roam and to reap rare rewards
Champers is poured toasting the scoreboards
Stored hampers explored boasting the accords
Hosting encores bar detours welcome to Lords