Long Guff Poems
Long Guff Poems. Below are the most popular long Guff by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Guff poems by poem length and keyword.
Now, as a general rule, sergeants are rather decent guys,
Compassionate, reasonable to a degree and uncommonly wise.
But woe to the private who incurs a sergeant's wrath;
That young feller is destined to tread a very treacherous path!
For minor infractions, privates are relegated to the latrine,
To scrub and polish therein to make it squeaky clean!
A prudent private daren't give his sergeant any sass,
Or he'll push a lawnmower, cutting acres of never-ending grass!
If in close-order drill and saluting he is less than deft,
The sergeant will nix his pass, leaving the lad bereft!
Lord have mercy if buttons are missing from his uniform;
That will incite the sergeant into a massive, raging storm!
If he fails barracks inspection, he'd best not make any plans,
For he'll be in the dining hall scrubbing pots and pans!
If his haircut is not up to snuff, that'll add to his plight;
He'll be pacing his post on guard throughout the lonely night!
Although some sergeants are more endearing than many others,
And some it seems could be loved only by their mothers,
A canny private will play the game and abide with all the guff,
Praying his hitch will end, never more to suffer all that fluff!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
When I fall asleep then sometimes, I dream,
of those cowboys that didn’t take any guff.
When dastardly men rear their ugly heads,
they’d step up and say enough is enough.
But now the world has run out of heroes,
no one can teach us what we need to know.
Without Randolph and Roy, Audie and John,
all the bad guys are now running the show.
Now, the black hats are running the country,
they have pushed the gravy train off the track.
Let’s send in John Wayne or Audie Murphy,
or someone we can trust to put it back.
We need a good hero like Roy Rogers,
to come galloping over the green grass.
Someone like the Lone Ranger and Tonto,
who can kick all the bad guys in the ass.
We’re just a bit older than yesterday,
when people always gave more than they got.
Now the pan’s on the stove boiling away,
and we don’t have a spoon to stir the pot.
Nobody believes in doing good deeds,
unless you are willing to grease their palm.
One thing that I can say for sure my friends,
we’re in the storm that comes after the calm.
Bat Masterson was hired as a gamblin' boss at the Denver Saloon in 1891,
In a town high in the Rockies, Creede by name; he took no guff from anyone!
The rowdy saloon, restaurant and gamblin' hall ran twenty-four hours a day;
Bat patrolled the place with a pair of 44's on his hips to keep ruffians at bay!
One night he was approached by Parson Tom Uzzell who asked to preach,
As he was wont to do in minin' camps, hopin' fer errant souls to reach!
With misgivin's a sermon might dampen play, Bat banged a bottle on the bar
And told everyone to "remove yer hats while Parson Tom preaches over thar!"
After the sermon Bat directed a bar-tender to pass the hat for Parson Uzzell.
"Be generous with yer coin, then ya'll can continue with yer booze to guzzle"
"Boys, I'm a-thankin' ye", said Tom, "I'm gonna build a church in Creede!"
"I had a revelation from God; He said a heap of religion is what you need!"
Bat was a notorious practical joker and while the parson slept that night,
He had 3 of Soapy Smith's con men steal the parson's pants on the slight!
When the silver-laden pants pockets were emptied, $348 was tallied!
The raucous rabble agreed to double that amount when again they rallied!
$700 was collected; Bat put the pants and money in a safe in the saloon.
Tom roared into the saloon next day clad in red long-johns around noon!
Callin' on God to strike down the thief who had stolen his pants and money!
They laughed when Bat gave Tom his pants; even Tom thought it funny!
Honorin' the tradition of big winners, Parson Tom bought a round for all!
'Tis Colorado lore about the prank played on Tom in Denver Saloon Hall!
She had no idea what a fantastic legacy of enlightenment she left
She was assertive woman who took no guff from any mortals.
Her self-confidence was well known; she was feared by men.
She gladly overthrew her husband and her cousin to get power
Perhaps she sensed she would only live to the age of sixty-seven.
But she decided she had a lot of work to do. She hired artists and poets.
Surrounded herself with sculptors, dancers, singers and, orators.
She uplifted women in a variety of ways, bringing them out of their darkness.
She created Smolny Institute, the first college for women in Europe.
She wanted the others to get ahead like she had when she became Empress.
Catherine earned her name; she surrounded herself with free thinkers.
Her coup d’état paid off; Russia became alive with culture and new ideas.
Catherine was a nurturer, a mother, soon known as Catherine the Great.
Almost four hundred years ago, and yet we recognize her term as golden.
Still to this day, we call her reign “the Golden age of Russia”.
A versatile, liberal minded woman who traded her wifehood for power.
Dad’s oldest sister, Aunt Jolene blew into town in the middle of the night.
She was armed with knowledge, ready to straighten us up, and make us all do right.
My children would do this and that, she’d shout from Daddy’s confiscated Lazy-Boy throne.
She was a self-proclaimed expert, since she had never had any of children of her own.
Dad thought having Aunt J was great; You are just like Mom, he’d tell her politely.
“No offense,” she replied, “But that old woman was wound a bit too tightly.”
On Wednesday she made the family an outrageously ugly pot of mushroom soup.
The baby got away after gagging while trying to choke down that chunky goop.
She cleaned our rooms while we were in school, and threw away all of my really good stuff.
One look from Dad, and I knew not to give her any of my usual angry guff.
“How long is she staying?” we kids would sneakily yet stealthily and steadily ask our Mom.
We piled into one of our empty rooms, conspiring, hoping the answer would be “not long.”
On Thursday morning we were told at breakfast that Aunt Jolene would be staying ‘til Sunday night.
She cleaned Mom’s kitchen at nine, sorting out the silverware drawer too, and was gone that very night.
No matter what problems come your way.
Your God is with you, to turn them into hurrays!
Even if your best friends, slap you right in the face.
I promise you that is the best gift and far from a disgrace!
God never did create any junk!
So stop feeing low, you are more than a low-life punk.
Comments are by no means, defintions of you.
Your relationship with God, is most honorable and true.
Fifty-five years ago, today I made a life changing decision.
Had I not, my life might have ended, in a tragic transition .
So, when things for you might be going quite wild and rough.
Do not let arrogant, stuff-shirted people give you guff!
In these fifty-five years, I have lived an exciting life.
Mostly, learning it was alright to be imperfect or not always right.
If you are one who never wrote a book.
Know your poetry, gave more to life, than it took!
Popularity, being top dog, is not where it is at.
Really, what you gave, counts on life’s rose mat.
I know my secific contributions to humanity!
And all of you, helped me stick to them, with veacity.
What a stupendous Valentine’s Day this is!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2/14/2025
Hellganya was the busiest young witch I have ever seen.
She knew what she wanted and went after it with guff.
I will borrow bark from the McDoogles and the McClean.
I watched her travel from house to house borrowing stuff.
If it is borrowing, will you be bringing it back? I asked her.
She laughed at my naivety and thumped me on the head.
Like I would return this snake and that mangy cur.
I was entranced by her confidence, which was well fed.
Come on Cat she yelled to her sidekick, we’ve got a potion to brew.
Of course, I knew that it was stealing – borrowing it was not,
But I went along for I have wanted the recipe for her magic stew.
So with cat dog and snake we rode away to her magic pot spot.
I was shaking and swaying to music of the 60’s,
My favorite stuff,
When my grandchildren joined in,
And this is no guff.
I whirled them and twirled them,
We stomped on the floor,
We got out pots,
We got out pans.
We threw them around the kitchen,
Our dance was grand.
Then we ran out to the yard, as we were still on fire.
We danced in the yard, shaking our booties.
We stomped and we chanted, and we rubbed the trees with our cooties.
We were wearing scarves now,
Our treasure trove.
We threw them in the air,
And we laughed, and skipped.
And we watched them flutter, like the sail of a ship.
We preened, and we twirled, and we whirled and we pranced.
The two-year-old got giddily excited, in her underpants.
Then we got out the chalk, and we painted the garage.
All of it, not just the doors.
And the driveway,
And the porch,
And the steps,
And the floors.
Grandpa came out and his face really got red
And we laughed and we danced, and we teased him so bad.
He ran back inside, and covered his head.
It was a fine day,
For the grandchildren and me.
It always is, when they get on this kick.
And no one can stop us, not one little bit!
From his sweetie Dave took lots of guff
'Cause his beard was mighty ruff
Too bad you get fewer kisses, Dave
Try Burma Shave - its all the rave!
Do you sprout a very wild stubble?
Have you heard of the latest rave?
You'd save yerself a ton of trouble
Taming yer mug with Burma Shave!
We feel very sorry for poor Walter
His bride left him standing at the altar!
His whiskers scratched her lovely face
Should-a used Burma Shave to save face!
Is that 5 o'clock shadow giving you stress?
And are the ladies noticing you less?
Then, on yer mug you should slather
A creamy coat of Burma Shave lather!
While they were dancing cheek to cheek
Said she, "Go paddle up the creek!
You scratched my face, you hairy knave!
Next time treat yer mug with Burma Shave!"
What kind of a cat likes Van Gogh? The prissy neighbor said.
My cat, Juice Slayer does, I said. He has an amazing artistic head!
Mrs. McGee rolled her eyes and sniffed a bit of her snuff.
I am telling you, he knows his painters, and this is no guff!
The next day at a quarter past three I took Juice Slayer to McGee.
She gave him some tests on art knowledge, overseen by me.
I did not make a peep, holding my breath, as he finished the test.
He has correctly matched six painters and art, she finally could attest.
But can he come back tomorrow at noon to finish the essay part?
Juice Slayer was not excited about it. Taking tests is not in his heart.
I hate taking essays, he said. My sentences are awful, spelling is bad.
Can you take my mom, grandma, Aunt Pete or even my Dad?
Aunt Pete's spelling is much better, she used to teach school.
She agreed to go, if I would donate a kidney to her mistress Jewel.
Went together Aunt Pete and me, and she passed with a brilliant score.
Juice Slayer named Esteem Art Appreciation Cat from next door.