Long Gogo Poems
Long Gogo Poems. Below are the most popular long Gogo by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gogo poems by poem length and keyword.
I felt a bit like Humbert, or John Proctor,
an ageing vulture drawn to fresh young flesh.
She was a pretty, witty Turkish doctor
(so, not exactly plundering the creche!)
She seemed to like me, though we'd never met.
"Why don't you come to Turkey?" she'd implore.
(You've guessed by now I met her on the Net!)
My mind was moving that way, more and more.
Some hanker for one evening with Stan Getz,
Cafe A-Gogo, in the wee small hours.
My fantasy was always minarets
in Istanbul, those slender marble towers
(which seem too graceful for this ugly world)
and me, enthralled by shape and song and air,
as muezzin's warble hovered, wavered, curled,
calling the faithful to their morning prayer.
One Easter, I had four days with no work.
For once, the bank account was almost full.
"I'll go see Aysin," (thus was named my Turk),
"since Ankara must be close to Istanbul."
One word about the people of that land.
They're nosey. Answer questions, they'll ask more.
They meet an Arab, they can sell him sand.
They're merchants. Sent to Hell, they'd open a store.
Turks want to know two things: the area,
in meters squared, encompassed by your flat,
and please confirm that Greeks are hairier
and darker-skinned than them ("Greek girls are fat?")
Met at the airport by a courtesy car,
I'm gliding through the magic Eastern night,
fielding the driver's questions - "Is it far
from Maine to Malibu? Do I look white?"
I've been me ,
A meepy child accused of crafts .
Tangled in my sleep ,
For waisting time ,
Loved the errors at cloud nine .
And still I made it with no trial.
I've lived in the upside down world ,
Where each dream was taken for word ,
Graded was for worst ,
Still I am an agent on quest ,
Posturing those of abo gogo
Imfihlo zi'mnadi zabo Khokho .
I am still me here undying ,
Judged from my peace when snoring .
That I am for one pictoring .
What I wear is problem to all ,
What I eat is a disgrace to the wall
For I am answering my greatest call.
I owe you no theory ,
I am the one whose heart is drained ,
Whose eyes are dried ,
Whose moods take charge ,
And I am telling you .
I didn't choose this path ,
For my fate was choosen long before the birth of me .
All through the year it's been coming
the months, weeks and days countdown
then in that final month of the year
all the pressure makes one frown
It's the fastest paced month by far
everything's a gogo in December
all pointing to Santa time at Christmas
be ready get all the pressies remember!
Sadly the real reason for the season
has been lost in this materialistic world
God sent His son to be our saviour
instead man leaves the message curled
It can bring a mixture of weather
where ever in the world you may be
of course it's my birthday month
now let's find as real nice green tree
THE GROOVE IS MIGHTY HIGH/ LET’S THROW DOWN AND FLY UP TO THE SKY/
KEROUAC BLOWIN’WORD JAZZ WITH STRINGS/MILES AT THE BLACK KAWK, MAN WHAT A SCENE/ JACK AND MILES WALKED THE WALK AND TALKED THE JAZZ TALK/ NO BLUE NOTES HERE/JUST HIGH NOTES OF BE-BOP KOOL/ MAN I’M INTO THIS JAZZ SCENE/SAY BABY WHATCHA SAY? SHE’S INTO MILES ALL THE WAY/ SO WHAT MILES SAYS/ MAN I GOTTA FLY TO A LATE NITE JAM WITH MONK, DIZ, AND TRANE / WILL SOMEBODY CALL ME A CAB? LIKE I’M OUTTA HERE/
(GUITAR SOLO)
TOP DOWN RIDE/DEX’S BLASTIN’ FROM THE CAR RADIO/THE COAST HIGHWAY LEADS THE WAY/MILES REMAINS HIP TO THIS DAY/BEAT POETS DIGGIN’ DEEP INTO THE NU BE-BOP SOUNDS/ THEIR WORDS FLOWING HIGH/LIKE A CIRCUS ACT FIFTY FEET HIGH/ KEROUAC EVEN GOT BOOKED AT THE VANGUARD NYC/READING HIS BEAT POETRY WITH JAZZ CATS BACKING HIM/ AND SCATTING NOTE FOR NOTE ON A MIES HORN SOLO/ SO WHAT MILES SAYS/ MAN I GOTTA FLY TO A LATE NITE JAM WITH KENNY CLARK, HERBIE, AND DAVE HOLLAND BY BY/( ORGAN SOLO)
MAN THE GROOVE IS MIGHTY HIGH/ LET’S TALK ABOUT BIRD FLYIN’ UP TO THE SKY/KEROUAC BLOWIN’ HIS WORDS ON STEVE ALLEN’S TV SHOW/ MILES AT THE BLACK HAWK/MAN WHAT A JAZZ SCENE ON THE GOGO/SO WHAT MILES SAYS I GOTTA BLOW TO DIG ON A RECORDING SESSION IN NEW YORK’S SO HO/ MY CAB’S HERE I’M OUT THE DOOR
a photo moment for the pretty blonde singer
she is hustled into a tent with soldiers who pretend to be happy
this is Viet Nam 1969
They have seen many young men killed and maimed
But at this moment they paste on smiles
pretending all is well
incase their loved ones see this photo
knowing it might be the last time they might see them in any photo
the pretty blonde singer stands sassily in her white gogo boots
knowing nothing of the horrors these men have seen
she is hustled out as fast as she was hustled in
a five-minute photo op
propaganda to try to pretend it was not as bad as it was
Below the gray blah canopy
Suffering from bad attitude
and seasonal psychosis
The human race sprints
No finish line required
and Everyone wins gold
Music blaring
Bikini tops daring
Exposed guts not caring
Rooftop gogo dancer staring
At me
Ok, maybe that's vice versa
Its a poolside, post-graduate MTV Spring Break
Some of us much more "post" than others
The glaze and haze of Vegas
Sprawling in the manner built for Caesar
Decadence is the Neighborhood Watch
Where every citizen is
On patrol
On Patron
All far gone
Judgment
By them or ourselves
Left town for lent
Or excommunicated at the stake
Where loungers and readers
And tricksters and treaters
are one
Tighter than conjoined twins
playing with crazy glue in Texas heat
And the ways that used to be
And the ways we wish there were
And the ways we can rent by glass
Are included in the price of admission
Guilt not included
As everyone drops their towels
Hoping for someone to pick them up.
(9/7/13)
Manila and Cockles
oh the steamers oh the steamers
Ensis and Razors
Carpet shell clams and Ynghylch
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch
A cold Read and Cattle call
The grounds have Karsted and
surface waters have polluted our aquifers
one said that mussels had attached to the
pipes in his handdugged well
Gaius Suetonius Paulinus,
the speak your name
in Rome
To mock the lovers'
of clams
Oysters: Oysters,
The Worlds my Oyster
mountains and mountains
we shuck
The Squawking shuckers
Bhah and grunt
grinding the day away
seagulls eager for lunch
swarm the skies and the ground
Song By
Sexiigalahgogo DeWhoreofbeddamn
'A two Flute Minimum" written by
"That Ole Gal" from Big-City Music
"What ya'll know out there in the Kuntry?"
Terrible dreams three days running, today's was an unbearable doozy. I woke up in a hotel room and had lost Tsuki and Yukiko. I had to get dressed and go out in the world searching for them.
But I couldn't find enough clothes to wear, and where were my gawdamn shoes, where did all these disgusting gogo boots come from, can't go looking for my dogs when I'm half naked.
Why are wormy afterbirth-slimed newborn kittens and puppies crawling pitifully all over the floor? Did Yukiko have puppies and kittens? Have to find those dogs! What if I never see them again? I won't be able to live.
Why can't I have nightmares about cool vampires and werewolves instead of losing my dogs.