Long Gunk Poems
Long Gunk Poems. Below are the most popular long Gunk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gunk poems by poem length and keyword.
" Can you feel the soul of an abandoned house; can you hear the whispering?" - Constance La France.
dilapidated and weather-beaten,
looking at this old house
from the outside.
a graffiti artist has paid a visit.
there are patches
of discolored grass on the lawn
full of overgrown weeds.
it's been long abandoned.
the wind whispers unheard secrets.
birds nesting in trees nearby
sing to no one.
some windows, boarded up.
backyard window, smashed in.
the conditions are just about
the same on the inside.
moles galore on the ceilings.
raindrops trickle in
from apertures on the roof
during cloudburst.
some doors creek upon opening.
the walls have seen better days.
syringes litter here and there;
drug addicts have sought refuge here.
some faucets run brown gunk;
do not drink the water.
Writing Challenge - C Quotes - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Date written: 05/28/2023
A battered pier glass, the length of a running lightning,
The width of a Caesarean window,
And next to an agelong, framed
Daguerreotype, lies face down across
A musty room.
Shafts and rods of robust sunlight from cracks and holes
Make it less dingy.
The smell of arrogant tobacco haunts the breath
From the shattered floor tiles to the somnolent ceiling.
Shards and smithereens, curved and piercing,
Hook up on the protocols of stalagmites
Through the affront of invading nuns.
I see hope and despair.
I hear the muted sounds of betrayal.
The shards picture life and stress,
And are far-flung.
A small, earthen gallipot is among the shattered.
Spewing gunk on the platform of a volcano,
The confronted floor charges at my wandering feet.
My right heel bleeds gently.
I look out not for a suicide note since it’s a rare
Occurrence in rainy summer,
But I hasten cautiously to the foot of the room,
Like a worshipper strolls piously to the base of
A mountain.
And right there, I garnered the news of the day.
To begin with, it was a just a tale of a trumeau mirror —
A patented piece of introspective glass,
Part of a speculum.
And someone, not entirely debauched,
Once owned it proudly.
How did I get in here in the first place?
A portal,
The size of an elephant’s bowels,
Opened up and let me in through an
Apothecary’s maisonette.
For some fellows, mirrors crack with lightning’s
Image;
For some others, they crack with impunity.
And my shtick,
(Since the age of the hen and her eggs)
Has been to patch broken mirrors together,
Piece before piece.
(Probably more a short story than free verse
In any case it’s true,
seen through my eyes as a child)
He was a heavy smoker sat by the fire
Coughing and wheezing hacking up phlegm
spitting it into the blazing hearth,
that hissed back contemptuously upon contact
On a rare occasion when he’d miss,
the dog would lick up the gooey mass
with a determined exuberance
A filthy habit I heard some say behind his back,
but he was always happy,
didn’t care less what others thought of him,
a real character,
anyway my whole family and I liked him
He was our uncle from rural Ireland,
we visited him and his wife
on their small farm a couple of times each year,
probably more so, when my Dad had a car that worked,
My sister and I used to make grossed out faces
at each other when he expectorated into the open
hearth of the fire,
we thought it was pretty cool, and grotesquely funny
One spit in particular is legendary,
he spat out a stringy length of gunk
but needed his fingers to help pull it away from his mouth
and direct it towards the fire,
some actually made the distance,
amazingly the dog raised his head
and caught the rest of it, happily wolfing it down,
I mean come on!
we were still in tears laughing, on the way home in the car
On later visits it seemed bits of his face
were disappearing or bandaged,
still he never complained,
his voice was almost gone anyway,
and most unusually he wasn’t smoking
I was only a kid and in those days
you weren’t supposed to ask questions,
but it didn’t stop me asking my dad,
what was happening to uncle?
He told me uncle had cancer of the mouth,
and part of his tongue and lips had to be cut away,
warning me never to smoke,
even though he had one lighting in his hand
Innocent me thought uncle’s face would grow back
and he’d be ok,
but unfortunately he died pretty soon afterwards,
Damn I used to be spellbound
watching him trying to catch his breath
and hoofing viscous gunk upon the fire,
even more so when he missed
I tried to copy him on a visit to my aunt
just after he passed away,
of course I missed the fire on purpose,
The dog never budged
My sister shook her head
I was truly ashamed!
By
David Kavanagh
Rolling, brushing and sand with fury
Does the house look lovely?
Its gone to the jury.
Spilled five gallons on the brand new rug
Scream and holler and grab the dog
Throw him in and his paws a clatter
"Lady your dog," and his prints a spatter
Joe his twin he is a plumber
"Hope she hasn't got our number!"
Goof off,gunk off and clean the carpet
"That lady was keen but not the sharpest."
Paint with beauty and fast the pace
Just paint it , paint it , but have no fear
Does it look fine,"why you gonna live here?''
House of wonder but the yards a moat
"Mam we gave your dog a second coat."
"Base of white with spots a great sensation"
"Look at him now he's a Dalmatian"
"Grab your coats and grab your hats"
"We spilled some more better grab the cat"
PS... these are true stories of events that have occurred for my friend Duke who owns a painting business in Philadelphia that I work and worked for in the past. Some are Urban legends but some I have witnessed... Patrick
Feeling kinda cruddy, yup, that's the word
Too many fries, too many burgs
When will I learn I can't handle that stuff
Stomach rebels, starts causing a fuss
Once could eat nails and all kinds of gunk
Now I eat mush and ground junk
My teeth are all gone, can't chew anymore
Things go down whole, my tummy gets sore
So such is the life of this senior type dude
Head for the washroom, each time I eat food
Food disappears like famous greased lightning
Or I sit there for hours, really quite frightening
Irregularity's my name, I'm “IRREG” for short
Hope an operation, I don't have to resort
An artificial esophagus transplanted in me
So I can go regular like it once used to be
Oh for the days when I could eat all that junk
Those days are gone, who woulda thunk
That one day I'd be eating my morning cereal
Laced with Metamucil or some such material!
I was a negative teen, not depressed -
My diary declared I was.
A complainer indeed, no one stopped me;
Only a sociology teacher
gave me some definitions to ponder.
I was a listener back then -
the friend not the one that needed advice
yet. But
no one heard me; I was cut off
from the world. Sheltered
is what my aunts said.
Seemed shameful, sad.
Pondered for years what it meant.
You really don’t know…
You don’t know what it means…
Then you don’t know how it fits
and then you ponder…
how do I fit?
I went to Catholic school from Kindergarten through 7th.
In 7th grade I had a teacher who told us about a séance
he was in. Who let him through the door?
That year I had a Ouiji board…what in the world
was going on THAT year! Later
I rebuked all of that and more.
I gave it up for the Lord, I adore.
All that gunk clogs up your spiritual arteries.
A steady diet of biblical truth cleans one out.
(Wems Henry Temmy Psalm 81)
Hang me in the mirror
Let there be no intention to fix my egg
Do not detach the mirror from the wall
Black hair shines better in its reflection
Wait till you leave no trace in sight of the actor
Holding the thought firm in flashback to peg
The rare trick behind how its trace forestall
Staring at the old face with a different complexion
But here, we are not alone with no other
Viewing one from enmity but as brother
Tomorrow's greatness for ones in turn
Yesterday's glue gunk its prime to burn
Today's graceful spark may not meet up choice
In favor of the super million duper boys
Difference be marked of background status
We do forget sometimes that the difference is a plus
Working through it, we have to be the best
Tough though readily prepared for the coming test
Liking each to the triumphant glory
Of who is to tell a grass to grace story
Well, it's inspection time again!
The Boys in the Barracks are wiping,
buffing, spit-polishing, belts and buckles...
Lest they feel the Wrath of their D.I.'s Knuckles!
Now, once they're all prepped and polished,
Some may soon find...their world demolished!
silence falls...Quick footsteps down the hall...
Not, One, Soul, Is, BREATHING...At ALL!
ATTEN-SHUN! BARRACKS READY FOR INSPECTION SIR!
AS YOU WERE CORPORAL! What Have We Got HERE?
You MAGGOTS! Look like something that...
Got PAID!, Got LAID!!, and then...Got...FRAPPE'D!!!
YOU...CALL...YOURSELVES...MARINES???
CUZ, I'VE GOT A BETTER DESCRIPTION!... LADIES!!!
PRIVATE KLUTZ!!!, STEP FORWARD!!!
THIS...is what the H, E, double Hockey Sticks...I MEAN!
What the HELL!...is that...GACK!!!...on your RACK???
It looks like...you Lost your PAY...Playing...POKER!!!
Couldn't AFFORD...to get...LAID!...
Couldn't AFFORD...to Get... FRAPPE'D!!!
Then YOU...told...ALL...The Others...YOUR BROTHERS!!!
YOUUU!...FELT SICK...BUT INSTEAD...WHIPPED YOUR WICK!!!
IF YOU PREFER TO BLOW...GUNK!!!...ON YOUR...BUNK!!!
THEN...SAVE YOUR GRAVY!!!...AND...JOIN...THE...NAVY!!!
AS YOU WERE...PRIVATE!!!
The ferryman impatiently awaits
But I lack the gold
So I ask him to wait, as I put him on hold..
I call the grim reaper hoping for a loan
He appeared soon after through my headstone
He's cloaked in all black looking bad to the bone
What is it now? Did you get stoned?
NOoo.. I offed myself in a cornfield all alone
Yeah like how E.T. phoned himself home?
"Please grim I just need a little bread" I begged
Okay, give me a minute but don't hold your breathe
Yeah..well I'm already dead!
After half a century grim returns
He says "sorry bud but you gotta burn"
My jaw drops and i start to run
Without thinking I jump in the river
Soaking in cold green gunk, my body quivers
I stop to look back and think to myself "wow I'm a fast swimmer!"
Grim laughs pointing his bony finger yelling "look at that SINNER!!"
Then out of nowhere, a beautiful angel drys me off and fly's me to dinner
My identical twin and I have little in common, yet we have this one thing.
In order to start cleaning we have to watch Hoarders, a TV show with zing.
It shows women whose houses are cluttered with debris, garbage and poop.
It makes us want to clean, weirdly enough, until we contract the croup.
We watch it in April, when others are opening their windows for air.
I challenge you to watch it, but must warn you, for it is only fair….
You might retch and vomit, you might get sickly and turn green.
As for my sister and I, this horrible show makes us finally want to clean.
I start with a bit of sorting, but then get tired and start tossing away.
My husband runs in screeching “wait a second! Hey! Hey!”
“Those are our taxes, your W-2’s and other stuff we need!”
I do not care, my throwing-away self is now moving with speed.
Don’t just throw things away willy-nilly, he says, bringing back junk.
Stuff he has found in sixteen bags of garbage, all covered with gunk.
My spring cleaning would be so much easier if he would run away.
With the mustached lady from the circus, for what I now pray.
It is your fault this place is a mess, I say, mean as a snake.
He rolls his eyes and cuts himself a piece of chocolate cake.
I see this and stop cleaning, now hungrier than I thought I could be.
I add some ice cream too, and sit down to watch Hoarders on TV.