Long Gunny Poems
Long Gunny Poems. Below are the most popular long Gunny by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gunny poems by poem length and keyword.
I thought I had gotten away from this part of my childhood,
but I turned at lettuce and ran into my cousin Linden
in the grocery store last Thursday.
He was delighted and dragged me back to their house
to observe more of their childish games.
Unlike in the movies where they pop a gunny sack over your head
and capture you,
Linden enticed me in a different whole-hearted way that made me
want to be dragged back into their drama.
With methodical guilt that appealed to
my niceness, and the reminder we are “blood” after all,
my notoriously personable
first cousin coaxed me back into his brother Tweedle-Man’s troubled waters.
I sat mesmerized, watching them do all the stuff they used to do,
when we were kids, only harder and meaner.
This used to be my circus, but I had long ago given up the three rings.
They are going on sixty, acting twenty-two, proud of their inflexibility,
and retention of youth.
I admire their eagerness to never change things
that have never in any way worked for them.
They valiantly hang on to a selfish life that has
never created a fulfillment for either of them, and has helped no one.
I resign myself to the socialized fact
That for a few more hours I will sit here,
pretending politeness. I do not exchange phone numbers or tell
them where I am living or with whom.
They do not care. It is all about them.
The ringmaster and the clown.
It would be an inconvenience for them to reach out again.
They are too inebriated and too high in other ways to find me again
Or even remember who I am or that I still exist.
I sit patiently a few more minutes.
Waiting for them to bring on the dancing bears.
Tweedle-man is wearing oversized glasses that light up. “Funny huh?”
Linden falls off the couch, laughing maniacally.
Just a few more minutes…
Written 3-17-2019
Contest: Bring on the Dancing Bears
Sponsor: John Lawless
Warlords love the crack cackling sound ...
faint vapors smelled worldwide,
when twine toking on the choking peace pipe
Lying lips huffing and puffing,
blowing smoke out the barrel rear end
Frontal sphincter holes
open and close ...
Pre-negotiated spoils fanning the wind
Rub two cancer sticks together,
to start a third global forest fire blazing
Twin Smoky Bear false witnesses,
like Pilate and Herod —
Duo hardcore sworn enemies
becoming so Maryjane best bud friends
Truth is a menthol breakdown,
a Kool summer breeze on a hot, Camel caravan night
Warning of mirage oasis whisperings
filling the Death Valley desert air with nuclear fright
Warlords love doing the iron lung Scorpion crawl,
passing the slim peace pipe inside of the toilet stall
Flushing nicotine hope down the porcelain drain;
huffing and puffing,
with covetous tar face delight
Singing with ember glee in the Inferno dire reign
Smoking jacket pleasure
fills talky polluted atmosphere
with syrupy cough pain
Paranoia beyond measure,
empties womb palpitating fear:
Tick tick puffer insane
Warlords love the milk poppy urn sound,
silent nods heard worldwide ...
when dumping vow ashes from the peace pipe
Truth is a menthol breakdown,
a Marlboro spring breeze on a cold, Salem witch night
Warning of hibernating pyre whisperings
filling the Negev autumn air with nuclear winter fright
Warlords love the crack cackling sound ...
vaporized air felt worldwide,
when chain toking on the cranium choking peace pipe
Lying lips huffing and puffing,
blowing idol smoke out the gunny shark rear end
Sphincter jaw Pinocchio nose
open and close ...
Fungi ‘shroom spittle spores make the sky darken
Warlords love the crystal meth blurb sound,
LSD plan heard dark web worldwide ...
Life-Stopping Detonations
be brimstone smoke coming from a broken peace pipe
Yesterday the sun rose slowly
Over the lake glimmering glistening, quietly,
The calm wind took a wink at the blue jay softly
Flying over the fragrant pine trees and allowed the sun to
Burn in the summer morning, whispering, recreation sport, let’s play today.
The clicking of the gentle waves ruffle the boat’s port side,
Loading onto the vessel from the warm wooden dock,
Launched us slowly into the azure blue water,
With sleepy dreaming heads bobbing above color splashing
Forward, outward red, yellow, blue life jackets; and hats.
Slow no-wake quietly moving past the watcher,
Into the blue water beyond where fish jump,
Engine throttling up the only sound, shooting
Faster further, the red and yellow tent camp under our
Flag beacons, I’ll be here upon your return.
Sun water skis upon the feet water underneath motion moving
Forward the rope pulls and the boat goes in the
Directed direction; yesterday.
Summer in the sun thrilling eyes
Going to amusement parks hosting family
Son, daughter, wife, relative, park comfort
Blasting sparks sphere circle color 4th of July
Big bangs and our little one’s hands on ears
With a smile.
Going west State Fair where monster size slide
Striped color hosts gunny sack riders
With sweetheart and daughter zipping down
Together on hills zipping sliding, little one says
Some screams on each crest all the way down
To waiting loved ones, daddy, who hear from a little mouth
Let’s go again.
Laughing, wow, the slide is one that’s liked; yesterday.
Today the sun rose slowly
Beaming another summer morning
On the green grass lush and tall stepping with the mower,
Rays filtering through the solarium
And a new solar month shoots forth a solar flare.
Today the sun rose slowly
Over the majestic rugged mountains to shine a
Summer welcome and to say, come on recreation sport, you’re
Still never too old to play, today.
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - LXXXII
for Carlos Bousoño, the eminent Spanish critic, poet and professor
who maintained that if you don't like the "humorist",
you're not likely to find much to laugh at in/with his (sense of) "humour"
IF ever I had a country, a country where every TOM-Cat, Dirty-DICK and Royal HARRY wrote what his fellows called POESY
And if ever I were the only SON of a GUNny Sack-Bag incapable of pouting lines to an astronomically non-sensical degree
And as punishment thereof - sans appeal - if I were to be appointed by the Supreme Inter-Galactico-Cosmo-IL-logical Council of the Arbiters of Tyrannic Taste the one and only ARBITER and JURY
And should my fellow-poets ever so much as utter or let escape a squeak on, relating to or about what they cook-up as stew or porridge of
un-hermeneutical ETERNAL VERITIES which they print publish post (ne’er you mind: plagiarize) and/or pander to their pridefully painted images potpourri
I would first and foremost issue an EDICT - nay, even a DECREE - to CONFINE each and every one of my bumble-bee constantly buzzing comrade BARDS, purveyors and promotors of mutually unintelligible verse within their own ivory PENTHOUSES of phantasmagorical (a)musings
under pain of summary banishment - should they ever so much as "peine in poiein » - to the GREAT ATTRACTOR WALL of GALAXIES and so be it, I pray thee
And this, even if I were to be confined to my very own solitary dungeon and be condemned to listen to - against my will, day and night, for ever and ever - the ethereally soul-uplifting poutings of the Poetasters of Isphahan in their wordy giddy swirls of SUFI
And even if I never ever had no country where POETRY had need of mutually EGO-BOOSTING commentary
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, April 5, 2020
Twas the night before Christmas I went shopping suits,
As shoes looked rat-eaten, needed also warm boots;
Sales girls, in malls displayed suits in variety,
Blown up cost and lean purse grew my anxiety...!
Malls are looters, I thought, like the fox and sour-grapes,
Have proprietors, owing greed, have become apes?
In cool colors and satiny shine they sell soul,
Counting cash at the cost of the poor is their goal...!
Textile showrooms, as less showy, could be better,
They might not put me a perpetual debtor;
Varieties, there could be more, in cost less,
After all, to grace all seasons I need good dress...!
American Giant; Peter England; Rouje;
All internationals seemed like dagger and gouge;
Fashions so funny; rough and gunny; yet the cost,
Summing my few notes repeatedly, I was lost...!
Settling to try local stores, I slowly walked,
Shops were numerous like swarms serially stocked;
Each had limits in my sight; in brand or in grant,
Grade low if price less and vice versa if looked grand...!
Some smiled; some giggled; some, like friends made me convinced;
Some, like hooker-women luring actions evinced;
All these shops and show-rooms, as I narrate, not bad,
Within, I know, lack of notes is what made me sad...!
Street textile vendors will help me out, I believed,
By such sure sincere folks I will not be deceived;
With such thoughts, like an athlete I ran to each street,
Challenges like pain and perspiration, I did beat...!
You are late - they said, they pack up by twelve at night,
On Christmas they feast; though fiscally they are tight;
I went back thinking of suits within my wardrobe,
Though they have many holes, they are best in whole globe...!
25 November 2022
The Night Before 3 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Tropical quadra plateau, Amazing bright sunny,
Glided waterfall Carrying happiness in their gunny.
Long nodding flower's joyously plumed,
Everbody waving happily, the herald bloomed.
Eureka, I love this heaven on earth!
Hazy perished hills, houses trenching at the outskirts,
Swaning over to the fluctuating peak of mountains, roosted with struts.
Orchid waftured, Clinging on to the cluster of flowers,
Precipitated rain was about to shower.
Gosh, it Stimulated my soul!
King of beast, sucking the sweet tempting fragranced juices,
Solitary alienate species including Honey bees mused badly abuses.
Fluttered wings, Struggling with them, Leisurely travelling my journey.
Fitnessed physically as if I am in an defensing army.
Situation turned to be horribly muddle,
Tremendously, I wanted to sort and excitedly cuddle!
Proud to have an Airfoiled wings of mine,
Antennate feature you prissily shine.
Rainbowis passion lying inside me,
Resourcefully mingled with music and dance, happening besides me.
Whoa,People got entranced!
People jeopardize the innate beauty,
Relishingly wanna do my duty.
Actuating my arms, Ventured to fly high.
Intended inspiration wanted to reach the sky.
Weaving the web spiderman thirstily trying me to catch.
Escaping from them I ran, prevented myself from getting snatched.
Ohhh,They had a Hostile faction accord!
Nature's beauty aspiringly propelled me.
Blowing wind, tactily sensisizing my skin,
Blushing cheeks, spilled the bean.
Nocturnal creatures will wake in the dark,
Aerophilically dangling around the shruby bed,before they bark
Stopping by sayonara, continuing my next stigmatic destiny!
By Madhavi
Working behind the counter of a bookstore I have a chance to look…
to browse among our shelves and find the oldest books
I love the feel of them in my hands, to gently turn their pages and what’s more
I like to think about the paths these books have taken
before coming to rest here inside our store.
The words written on its pages tell a story…that’s well known
but the book has also made a journey and has a story of its own.
The story within the pages of the book is repeated each time the book is sold
but the story about the book itself…forever remains untold..
I recently came upon a book whose story is not yet through…
a tiny pocket-sized book that was given to a soldier in World War II.
(It’s interesting to note since they were small enough fit in pockets and gunny sacks…
these books helped launch the acceptance…and popularity of books in paperback)
It was a little weathered…its pages yellow and tattered by time
and I had to wonder how…from the hands of a soldier in the war
did it find its way to mine.
Did this soldier see much action…was he injured…did he make it out alive?
In the horrors of a war…did this little book help him to survive?
How much time did it spend in Europe?
Was its journey fast…or slow?
How did it find its way back across the ocean?
These are things I’ll never know.
For that is the dichotomy of a book is it not?…
On its pages it reveals its secrets for everyone to see
but the secrets of its journey shall remain a mystery.
So while I am it’s caretaker…
as I wonder about the adventures it has undergone…
I shall do my best to protect her
before she journeys on.
BURLAP and SATIN
Texture fine, woven design
Like harden tree sap
Rough is the burlap!!!
That's at my finger tips
Smooth is soft the satin as silk
The dress rapped around her waist
Burlap and satin
Give me such touch my reactions
Hard rough the silken liner
Smooth is the burlap binder???
Coarse touch soft brush
Weave me, cling to me of skin
Jute plant fibers touch
Burlap and satin
Just rough on the skin
May combine me with vegetable fibres
Wall hangings made of burlap rough to my eyes
Fibers to make rope, nets
Coarse canvas woven from jute, hemp
Burlap and satin
Browned fiber burlap, used especially for sacking
Sackcloth, gunny, canvas, hessian
Dress making and furnishing burlaps a burlap shirt
Fabric burlap Flowers nation
Can be a rose or carnation
Or woven even turned into a shirt Even seen them as a skirt
For what it's worth, smooth and rough
Burlap and satin
Matters not touch me in the morning
Also together burlap and satin so adorning
Fabric flower bouquet
A smooth, glossy fabric
Satin of silk, produced by a weave
In which this the threads
Burlap and satin
The warp caught and looped by weft cross stitch
At certain intervals a blue satin dress smooth like satin
Oh, also fabric flowers to the bouquet
Satin is a weaved that has glossy surface and dull back action
The satin weave is four or more no harm
Fill weft yarns floats over warp yarn
Four warp yarns floating over a single weft
a luxurious satin look For what it's worth smooth and rough
Burlap and satin
3/24/18 ©2018
For Contest: Burlap and Satin
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
MAN
My eyes are puffed and wrinkled
And I have a triple chin.
My hair, with grey, is sprinkled
And, in parts, has grown quite thin.
My stomach is extending
And where once was a six pack
There’s no use in my pretending,
It’s more of a gunny sack.
My legs are now as thin as canes
With nuggets at the knees
And smoky blue protruding veins
Like gorgonzola cheese.
And yet my time’s so quickly fled
That I still can’t quite see why
That young girl didn’t turn her head
As I went swaggering by.
And it still pains to discover
That the young women I fancy, rather
Than see me as a potential lover
See me as a second father.
But I’ll not be daunted by time’s meanness
While I still have in my life
That chubby, saggy-breasted Venus
Who agreed to be my wife.
WIFE
My eyes are puffed and wrinkled.
I’ve liver spots on my skin
My hair with grey is sprinkled
And I’ve grown another chin.
My waist is twice its former size
(It was once so sleek and svelte)
And the breasts that once could poke out eyes
Are now tucked into my belt.
My legs are now as thick as trees
With ghastly veins of blue
And mighty dimples at the knees
Hiding my toes from view.
And yet my time’s so quickly fled
That I still can’t quite see why
That young man didn’t turn his head
As I went swinging by
And I still get drunk and try to flirt
With young men who feel harassed
But the alcohol can’t numb the hurt
When they turn away embarrassed.
But all of this amounts to zero
Since my life’s been made complete
By the balding pot-bellied hero
Who swept me off my feet.
Alas, we've elected bozos on both sides to again guide the nation!
(Some folks are sobbing in their ale, others are filled with jubilation!)
To rid this great nation of such knaves, here is what I would propose:
Elect retired noncoms who are well qualified to lead, heaven knows!
Noncoms are known for their integrity and by the way, lead from the front!
They don't take shhhtuff from anyone and are known to be rather blunt!
There should be a crusty Master Chief to head the Navy overseeing the fleet,
And a Marine Gunny Sergeant should occupy every congressional seat!
A Staff Sergeant who's been in the trenches should be the Secretary of Defense.
Chief Master Sergeants qualify for the oval office (Obama, take no offense!)
Sergeants First Class would eminently qualify for the Secretary of Labor.
They'd put deadbeats to work so as not to mooch off their neighbor!
There's a horde of Navy Petty Officers who'd qualify for Treasury Secretary,
Who've faithfully paid their taxes unlike some Yale czars to the contrary!
There's a brigade of Sergeants Major who'd excel as the Secretary of State,
Who'd tell other nations where to go if they didn't deal with us straight!
Master and Technical Sergeants are well qualified to occupy a governor's chair.
Their prime concern is the welfare of folks, not just building castles in the air!
Retired Noncoms are a special breed who believe in and uphold the Constitution!
Patriots who'd oust the current clowns, some of whom qualify for a mental institution!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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