Long Gussied Poems
Long Gussied Poems. Below are the most popular long Gussied by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gussied poems by poem length and keyword.
She had been looking in the wrong mirror all of her life.
She thought she was plain, sometimes ugly.
She thought she was worthless, someone to be pitied.
She thought she was untalented, inept, invisible.
He found her, and realized she needed a new mirror.
He polished her up, fancied her up, gussied her up.
He encouraged her, built her up, and brought her to his tables.
She was a beauty, kind, and generous, truly remarkable.
She had been looking in the wrong mirror is all.
She did not believe him, so he had to get her to make her own mirror.
She designed a small pretty hand mirror, and looked into it
Terrified she would be looking into her childhood mirror.
I am happy to say she was pleasantly surprised.
I am pretty! She thought, amazed. Ashamed, she put the mirror down quickly.
She had been taught never to have pride. He saw this and encouraged her
To break the old mirror and pay attention to the one she had created herself.
A friend and I had a rousing argument
around the supper table the other day
He said when them old fashioned poet would write
‘twas hard to understand what they had to say
I told him it wasn’t so much what they said
but how their words danced within meter and rhyme
The art of words is like painting a picture
'stead of a museum it hangs in your mind
I'll tell you all that my friend’s a true cowboy
he prefers actions instead of using words
Thinks people should tell the true worth of a man
from just watching the way he handles his herd
Says he’s pretty sure that any ole nimrod
can scratch pretty words on some paper with ink
If you’re trying to tell a cowboy something
just get on down to the meat of what you think
Stop prancin’ and dancin’ around with your words
just come right on out and tell me what you mean
Don't dress it up like it’s going two steppin'
it don’t need to be all gussied and preened
That’s the day I learned a very good lesson
bout how poetry was really meant to be
Words written down simple and straight to the point
is the real meaning of cowboy poetry
He is my favorite artist believe it big JOHN BUSCEMA- -
He’s my favorite
He is my favorite, artist
None of you could believe it;
He draws women like a dream and…
His name is John Buscema
Pictures drawn not written
Discussing a perfect penciled visions
Master of pencil, pen, paint or brush
Comic and commercial Arts
Studies at this schema
Well ceded hand held my favorite Artist
Again his name is, John Buscema
In his teens developed interest in superheroes;
So comic books and classic
They there adventure strips
Has drawn Hal Foster’s Tarzan first
Then when on to Prince Valiant and Alex Raymond’s Flash Gordon
Shall I not forget Milton Caniff’s Terry and the Pirates
Shewed interest being a commercial illustrator studied art once seated;
My favorite artist freelance at Timely, by now know as Atlas then at Marvel Comics
Drawn for Ace and Hillman Periodicals comics too
In 1966 he became a regular,
Artist at Marvel Comics
The home of Fantastic 4, Spider-man and Thor
He’s is my favorite
Picture drawn not written
Pictures of women drawn all gussied up
My favorite Artist discussing a perfect penciled vision
Comic and commercial arts
Studies at this schema
Were ceded hand held
First drawn comic debuting over JACK(the King)KIRBY
Layouts on Strange Tales #150-“Nick Fury, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.”
He who is my favorite
Picture drawn, not written
The great this grand penciler
Artist whom name is “BIG my favorite artist
Penciler
JOHN BUSCEMA
11/4/19 2019©
For Your Favorite Artist Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
A porcupine, when threatened, will
Let loose upon his foe a quill
Or actually, I have a hunch
That he’d release a giant bunch.
I always knew about that use
But never knew that a papoose
Could find what every baby needs
Where quills are used instead of beads.
Yes, cradleboards and moccasins
And shirts or cloaks made out of skins
Were gussied up with filed-down quills
By Indians with awesome skills.
A new exhibit at the Met*
Has beadwork that I won’t forget
By Natives living on the Plains
Where porcupines shared their domains.
Or that is what I must assume
For every ornament and plume
They used to sew with (all by hand)
Was found nearby on native land.
That’s how it was in times gone by;
The local life could satisfy.
Those Indians, now mostly gone,
Today’d rely on Amazon!
*Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC
Second, third, fourth... stimulus check(s)...
ah... the stuff a dream come true would be made!
Such would constitute,
the closest phenomena
approximating winning the lottery
cuz yours truly never blessed
winning sizable, nor
minuscule amount of money
beset with one after another setback
token scapegoat (no kidding),
plus puny size linkedin
with spindle shank legs
always bullied and
derided as laughingstock.
Whether rich or dirt poor...
since being young unemployed adult
(yupper, poverty mine bane and,
red badge of courage) the end result...
thus, aye cannot imagine state of euphoria
(yea right Matthew Scott), so just halt
such fantastical thinking,
before being totally shushed up,
nevertheless such luck
would invariably catapult
me into doing a sommersault,
pulling my weak back,
(I got a week back) out in the process,
how mine lovely bones would exult
similarly and/or hypothetically
if lottery numbers I chose matched,
more likely greater chance me getting struck
while inside courtesy lightning bolt,
or got automatically generated did score
winning ticket - suddenly this dolt,
would find himself mobbed by strangers
worse case scenario lured
by paranormal and/or occult,
perhaps stunned with
tranquilizing gun subsequently kidnapped
courtesy sinister satanic cult
comprised of rainbow goblins
trumpeting moral turpitude,
hence words of wisdom
occurred best not to insult.
When awakened hours, days, weeks later
parents (if still living at home)
would spring into action
renting out my former bedroom
to another heavily tattooed and pierced
long haired pencil necked geek
sporting dreadlocks
the late Bob Marley would envy
if still alive.
Castles in the air
suckers' poor me,
thought cha might care
to dangle false promises
and deliberately ensnare
buzzfeeding gussied up
glittering essentially bupkis
that doth blindingly glare
finding meek geezer passively submitting
theme of mein kampf -
never ask for grandeur,
which outcome would interfere
with grist crafting poems.
Speed dating if you're a senior , can be an ordeal.
But it would be so nice to have someone to share a meal.
So we get gussied up and head for the venue
and wait for the first gentleman to come into view.
And the first to sit down has ears like Mr. Spock
and the second one is wearing fuzzy socks and crocs.
Five minutes with each is more than enough
as they try to impress us and strut their stuff.
Of course, we're all older and set in our ways
but all of us know we have limited days.
Still we are picky, holding out for Mr. Right.
It may be called Speed dating but it takes most of the night.
So check marks and smiles and X's for a few ,
but we all tough it out hoping to meet someone who
will be the right fit, a gentleman and a scholar.
Not someone who's deaf so we all need to holler .
Now the guy with those ears might just win " best in show"
and the socks and crocs guy, he'll just have to go .
We say our goodbyes and hope we've impressed
and we didn't waste our time getting so carefully dressed.
So at the end of the evening we hand in our notes
with those crosses and ticks to be tallied by hosts ,
and then we go home and hopefully wait
for some tick marks to match so we'll finally get a date .
Hmm...What Discursive Poetic Theme Shall I Write About...
Today (a rather brisk, chilly,
and otherwise sat
tiss factory twirly delightful
December 18th, 2018) matte
her of fact quite
refreshing noontime, while this fat
tend plot of Earthen surveyed terrain
situated over scat
herd modest suburban tract,
(actually yours truly some watt
urbanely sprawled out) at
Latitude: 40.2538 Longitude: 75.4590,
where I sit pat
and think to write
about some reading material flat
touring my "FAKE" status
as king of agitprop for chat
hurrying class gussied up with
artistically crafted rat
tilly done up snazzy razz mutt tazz
(approved by Willard), this expat
lapsed Peterson harried tailored script,
asper previous peculiar
swiftly styled idée fixe
literary unnecessary, rat
tickly tawdry superfluity)
interspersed with dollops of splat
hard logophile, nonetheless gentle
on the eyes, yet feeling totally flat
and devoid of meaning, and quite
convincingly desperate idea this pratt
tilling far amore in the dell doth
expatiate, expound expressively, gnat
cheerily witty, (i.e. hint- please
pretend these humph fat
tickle lee meandering, rambling,
and warbling words) taxing
on mental faculty as bat
tan gruelling death march
physically, when circa
April 1942 Japanese forced
76,000 captured Filipinos,
and Americans Allied
soldiers to march about 80 miles across
Bataan Peninsula (province
in Philippines), where they died
enroute to...during World War II
on island of Luzon, espied
as a spiritual sanctuary hosted
by a knowledgeable tour guide
named Matthew Scott hood dons
genuine (musty smelling)
Tory wig to hide
as an alien alias (from the outer limits
of the twilight zone) incognito
even to himself, and especially the bride
of Frankenstein, who evinces a strong crush
toward said nondescript gentrified
vested gentry groundless thinker with pride
though, dirt poor (at least on the surface),
but deep down rich with
Schwenksville well watered
history harkening back to 1684,
when hoodwinked, jilted and lied
Lenni-Lenape Indians got fleeced
then taken for a ride
this land ceded to (stolen from) William Penn
nestled along the Perkiomen Creek.
From thee over-ewesed too letter word 'up' wee get a lot of mileage.
It has moor meanings than any other word inn thee English language.
Without reelizing it wee weave it intwo hour daily conversashuns,
Oratshuns, knowtashuns, quotashuns, summashuns and exhortashuns!
Wee pier 'up' at thee sky butt it makes know cents two say wake 'up'!
At a meating if a topic comes 'up' wee mae bee asked two speak 'up'!
Politicians ar 'up' four election and beefour exercising wee warm 'up'!
People tend two stir 'up' trouble and wee panic when a drain plugs 'up'!
She gets gussied 'up' fore a knight out and he drives bye two pick her 'up'!
Gluttons work 'up' an appetite, gorge themselves and then throw 'up'!
Wee drive a pick 'up' and if it gets rear-anded wee get it fixed 'up'!
Wee lock 'up' thee house, cover 'up' hour tracks and make excuses 'up'!
Mom dusts 'up' thee room, warms 'up' leftovers and cleans thee kitchen 'up'!
When it reigns it clouds 'up' and when thee son comes out it clears 'up'!
When it reigns it soaks 'up' thee earth and if it doesn't reign things dry 'up'!
A joke cracks ewe 'up'. If things don't go write, yore dey's awl screwed 'up'!
Stores ar opened 'up' inn thee mourning and at knight they ar closed 'up'!
Ewe use thee dictionary two look 'up' words if there meaning is mixed 'up'!
If ewe ar 'up' two it yew mite try two think 'up' moor weighs of using 'up'!
Butt four now my time is 'up' sew eye'll shut 'up' and rap this thing 'up'!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Morality and self-fulfillment
attainable without belief in God
similarly yours truly
would figuratively crane
his credulity to ascertain Ichabod
mentioned in first Book of Samuel
as purported son of Phinehas,
I reject entire Biblical text,
and prefer to remain sacrilegious
eschewing faith no more,
(cuz doctrinaire versus
epistemological paradigm)
disagreeable, thus essentially
resigning yours truly
as token scapegoat gussied
up as heretical nimrod
metaphorically winkin blinkin
nonverbally giving nod
even if deaf mute blatherskite
reduced in one sentence as an odd
ditty, I spout gibberish
while travelling finite orbitz,
whereby one metrical foot
in front of thee other hide doth plod
me along tried and
true value schlemiel totally slipshod
thru and through,
though no po' tightwad!
Growing up amidst paternal
skeptical and cynical dad
in retrospect, I feel moral less glad
to avoid orthodox precepts
foisted when juiced a wee lad,
who peculiarly enough
resembled Alfred E. Neuman
if only yours truly
a figment of imagination,
rather than experiencing being sad
sack these days purposelessly
shuffling within ma rented pad
i.e. one bedroom apartment
listening to spouse more'n tad
annoying if oft times
knows exactly what childlike behavior
finds me getting stark raving mad.
Familiarity breeds contempt,
and the missus (unlike other gals)
unconditionally accepts her sir
vile counterpart (me) unkempt,
where neither of us
once upon a time dreamt
that each the other
would survive foreign attempt
to pledge troth (courtesy
justice of the peace
also known as
Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson of Lower Merion
nsync with fame of Kobe Bryant
As a child, I was never bored
I spent hours gawking
going through my mother's
home decorating magazines
seeing things I'd never seen
that we could never afford
So full of spacious Southern homes
described as “gracious”
all wrapped in white porches with
white wicker chairs, clean, pristine
untouched, untainted
by 'common' people
and poverty
When they said “gracious”
they didn't mean
universally welcoming
But there were other issues
featuring “rustic” things
cabins and sheds, antique folk art
and cast iron beds
carefully curated collections
of antiquated stuff...
and these were my favorite fads by far
Yes, I thought- here was something
a style more attainable
for the likes of me
Rough, aged structures with
cracks in the walls
like my great aunt's hundred-year-old
cabin, except
theirs were prettier
than hers, all gussied up-
without the necessary utilities
utensils and ugliness
of everyday life
Theirs were not
actual homes, but mere display cases
for fancy flea-market finds
a backyard curiosity
not an actual place to live- because
Oh no- they would never consider
actually
living there
For there is nothing picturesque
about poverty