Long Gaudy Poems
Long Gaudy Poems. Below are the most popular long Gaudy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gaudy poems by poem length and keyword.
I anticipate the first rays as morning draws near.
The day approaches with an abundance of fear.
I gaze into the depth of the cold darkness of night,
Shyly waiting for the solace of days early light.
As I ponder what exists below the illuminating stars,
Soon the sun’s rays will stream through my prison bars.
Bent and refracted as they enter, invading my seclusion.
Dust filled spires of wistful mist add to my confusion.
Shafts of gaudy light split by the bars of my prison cell.
Please enter pretty sun beams to my man-made hell.
Yet another day has begun. The sun praise let it be.
Misty light laughs at me, knowing I will never be free.
Written: November 17, 2025
****************
The night used to gargle with garrulous joy—
canorous crickets, a capacious choir
beneath the diaphanous veil of dusk.
Now, only the hissing of wires,
the gaseous hum of machines
careen through the cloudscape.
I prowl the porch at the moon’s behest,
a flaneur of vanished felicity,
searching for the fetching fipple-song
that once gamboled through the grass.
But the calyx is closed.
The petiole wilted.
The elixir of sound—evanesced.
Where once the heron slept
and the wisteria wore its tiara of dew,
now lies a threadbare hush,
a dismal hex of silence.
The garden, once gaudy with chirps,
It is a byzantine grave of elision.
Did we disassemble for too long?
Rake too deep?
Abase the earth with hubris
And flapdoodle dreams of dominion?
Did our egregious hunger
for luster and control
writhe the world into quiet?
Sauntering in the park ,a man remembered
this naughty lad, stuck on a wooden bench
in the middle of carnival hours, yawning…
till the drizzle of rain caught this toddler
alone, while everyone flew off behind
the edges: although his aunt’s red parasol
could cover a messed-up hair, the nimble
body leaned ahead-- watching the myriad
of bright carousel flags rustle along .
Ignoring the yells of kin’s shrill echoes,
he insisted on staying to view a montage
where hued ferris wheel stopped,
the glossy fall of balloons warping
as he laughed at this impromptu show.
It wasn’t the gust that annoyed the child,
not the gaudy umbrella… no, all he needed
was a bundle of cotton candy he longed
for the minute he saw it …rainbow-flushed--
just like the way he imagined such treat
days before the fair arrived. Oh, oh!
His run-down aunt wheezed away into a cloudscape
bringing the sweetened fluff, in the nick of time.
The man grinned at these imprints, replaying
his own prank and innocence on that nightfall,
when moments of boyhood were etched
in a male adult’s heart… his fingers now gripping
one large-sized, bright cotton candy.
Contest: Red and White Polka Umbrella for Eve Roper
9/30/2017
If gold coins and silver dollars
Could turn hollow and float
On the quivering skin of Torch Lake
July backstroke of jingle
Belly rings nipple rings
This would be it
Drowning Japanese Beetles
Tossed by handfuls to the surface water
From jewelry boxes kept by robbers
What better way to give it back?
Bringing justice to generations
Of those who’ve always wondered
What exactly happened to my keepsakes?
Sky
Lake
I am cut in half at my cold waist
Like a poor boy on a rural road
Who’s come across a tipped over Brinks truck
Coughing in the hot dust
Of swimming nickels and pennies
I look around
Then wade through my newfound riches
My beggar’s palms
Scoop up the reflections
Collect to the dock bits and pieces
Of the struggling metallic creatures
And wisps of cloud sun and wind
A stirring gaudy pile
Grows of second chances
To be picked over by my kids
Who say “Eweee. Yuck. and Beautiful.
Daddy
You are a pirate. Captain Bly!”
Ey
I don’t know why I do these little things
Saving these treasures
As coin by coin takes wing
Flies away
To my kids’ great wonder.
Spine chilling velocity
Willing feverish ferocity
Pollution spilling atrocity
Pushes our buttons
Top billing forging
Fiendish drilling pomposity
Gluttons gorging in the isles of muttons
Coining the term “purloining”
Plunder even here down under
Cast asunder..can hear the thunder
In the proud land of
The long white cloud
Scold from the fold to heal
But won’t listen..do a deal
Gaudy gems appeal..glisten
History sold for pieces of gold
Cower to phoney crony power
Dour Parasites roll the dice
Show pony baloney hour
Off their heads...now divining
Mining our whining sea beds..
Palaver of scour..devour and sour
Splice our shining slice of paradise
Vice rather than stories of glories told
Voraciously gobbling veracity
Audaciously hobbling precocity
Generosity wobbling even in the home
Of lengthy Cumulus Curiosity…
Not being funny
In this Land of Milk & Honey
Won’t kowtow to the cash cow
Getting out of hand
Because the answer forever
Whatever will never ever
Be just money!
I am a dilettante of 17th Century Baroque,
loving the elan style of this extravagant;
and avant garde art form full of boldness.
The gaudy ornamentation given wings,
and the artist wild carte blanche.
I never have ennui when at the gallery,
and wandering I am filled with deja vu.
Until one day I spotted an anomaly,
in a painting that I declared not bona fide;
oh, what a cacophony I caused that day.
___________________________
January 17, 2018
Poetry/Verse/A Baroque Dilettante
Copyright Protected, ID 18-9831-63-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, 10 Words, 10 Lines 2
sponsor, Silent One
Second Place
They’ve hauled me into the parlour,
secure in terracotta packed with soil,
to sit awhile before my ritual humiliation.
Soon I will be baubled,
showy, gaudy, tinselled –
the court jester who will keep them
smiling through their feast –
and burdened with things that dangle,
like a tart’s cheap earrings,
and those little wooden reindeer,
hand-painted, made in Korea.
But for now they seem
to contemplate my noble nakedness,
their eyes detained by something
unplumbed in their reality;
and they are silenced, for just an instant,
by a notion, perhaps, of distant green,
a timeless forest that impinges
on the periphery of their awareness,
seeing me as I would remain,
could they but permit
such an insult to their tradition.
Homeward James: by Bill
For the king hath arisen
nsync with royal couture
decked out and bedizened
to the nines resplendent blindingly,
I telly you to envision
colorful dress exploding,
qua gaudy flashy
gold flecked fission,
this quotidian get
up courtesy commoners
copious colossal co-gent
coffers, stoking inquisition
condemning criminals
(predominantly crude
crepuscular Cro-
Magnon like creatures)
amidst a bloody
sea of crimson
and clover, where within usurped
hinterlands, there flourishes
enslavement jurisdiction
hard (heart sell) earned manumission
thru sworn fealty to attend
willy nilly, and
pamper ruling powers,
sans whimsical nocturnal necessitation,
especially eunuch horns
dill agent allegiance,
asper unquestioned prurient qualification
eventually (meaning soul posthumously,
quintessentially, and
subsequently) acquiring redemption,
plus bridging the gulf
between life and death,
viz longed for unification
as penultimate non plus
ultra holy communion
despite disparate, distinct,
and diverse denomination
afterlife automatically bespeaks,
concedes, and decrees equalization
erasing mortal edicts
against fraternization,
whereat atheist and/or orthodox
religious attain graduation
figuratively hewing eternal
(fashioning noteworthy Gabriel)
angelic exhaltation heavenly melodies
exhorting glorious habituation
incorporating individuals
into idealogical institution.
Skookum Jim wuz born the son uv a Chief uv the Tagish Injun tribe.
Ain't much known about his youth - ain't no totem left to describe.
'Tis known he wuz born in the Yukon where man struggles to survive;
Where a man must hunt and fish fer grub - 'tis a wonder he stays alive!
Fer years Skookum packed supplies frum Skagway up the Chilkoot Pass.
'Tis said he was as straight as a rifle barrel and strong as a barnyard ass!
'Tis alleged he toted 156 pounds uv bacon up the pass on one uv his trips,
Strugglin' through sleet, rain and streams - snow reachin' nigh his hips!
'Tis claimed that Skookum Jim discovered gold along ripplin' Rabbit 'Crick',
And started the frenzied Klondike Gold Rush wieldin' his spade and pick!
His sidekick, old George Carmack, who 'married' Jim's sister Kate,
Also takes credit fer the find leavin' the truth wide-open fer debate!
Skookum Jim worked frum dawn to dusk diggin' in the icy slime and muck,
He struck it rich, as the sayin' goes - the more he dug the more he struck!
Many's the night he spread spruce boughs fer his couch in the blowin' snow,
And feasted on beans and bacon fried on campfires at thirty-five below!
He showed up at Mulroney's Roadhouse in loud plaid shirts and gaudy ties.
Jim wuz treated as a white man now and could imbibe in beers and ryes!
As his end neared, Jim made final preparations includin' a coffin and stone.
Alas, few have heard of Skookum Jim who died rich, yet all alone!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
My Kind Of Woman
Now," Lavish" is expensive
'Cause she loves to wine and dine
And going out with "Showy"
Sure won't save me any dimes
"Adorned", is always stunning
But She always wants to shop
Like "Pretentious and Ornate"
They'll spend my money 'til they drop
Now "Leisure" likes her comfort
But it's me that pays the bill
And " Ostentatious " in a second
Can make me promise that you will
"Gaudy", she's amusing
But I'll tell, she's no joke
In the morning when she leaves you
She'll surely leave me broke
Elaborate and Embellished
Will spend my savings with both hands
And when they're through with me
They will find another man
But there's one kind of woman
That I'm sure was made for me
She calls herself just "Fancy"
And we all know, "Fancy's Free".