Long Gusto Poems
Long Gusto Poems. Below are the most popular long Gusto by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gusto poems by poem length and keyword.
Against the back drop of green leaf copses, dulcet bird chirp, and bubbling pavement fountains,
that dawning from the azure blue sky a silken whisper,
to follow street signs on my route to work with ample gusto and much verve,
each metal
pointer to destination a micro mirror on its surround,
stoic indicator of direction, that upright unique urban compass,
clustered by behemoth scenic grandeur at its mint spring zenith,
and surging throngs who sashay in brisk step patterns so diverse yet firmly focussed,
as I am whilst counting on that reference point, that fixed point usher,
that deep-dyed friend at each crossroad safe in the knowledge of arrival,
and in tandem with a spotless day’s heroic toil in bright prospect,
how symbolic are these pathway guide rails to one who warms to flagship growth,
in its august transit on foot slog pitfall strewn road of expertism,
pole mounted emblems, silent sentry solid, detail for me on daily passage.
Krampus is coming right up to your bed
He will give you a slap or thump you on your head
He is evil, a devil, and he does what your parents ask.
So if I were you, I would say “yes ma’am” and do this small task.
Krampus can get you
He grabs up the mean
A devil with face of blue
With manners of a queen.
But isn’t there Santa or Jesus or someone to help me?
This came from the small child, an innocent Christmas plea.
If you do what you are told and maybe a little extra too…
The mean snarly Krampus might not be out to get you.
Krampus can get you
He grabs up the mean
A devil with face of blue
With manners of a queen.
The older sister is rolling her eyes at her brother’s tale.
He is just trying to make you do his job, to bring in the mail!
Older siblings began clawing and snarling; little one yelled stop!
The Krampus will come get you, he warned them with a pop.
Krampus can get you
He grabs up the mean
A devil with face of blue
With manners of a queen.
Krampus went on about his business after looking in on them.
They were not the ones he wanted, they were okay with him.
He was looking for the meanest of the mean, the braggarts and such.
He knew he could trade them for slaves with the hard-working Dutch.
Krampus can get you
He grabs up the mean
A devil with face of blue
With manners of a queen.
(Be sure and sing this part with gusto!)
694.
Gusto Ko sa Mamamayan ng Ating Bansa:
Ika-4 na Utos ng Dios Ama
Ang Ika-4 na Utos ng Dios Ama
Ay gusto kong isaisip ng mga mamamayan ng ating bansa
Mga magulang ay igalang nila
Mahalagang biyaya ng Dios sa atin sila
Mga magulang ay igalang ng mga mamamayang Pilipino
Sila ay igalang sa ating mga puso
Igalang ang mga magulang sa buong bansa na ito
At maging saanmang dako ng mundo
Ang paggalang sa mga ama at ina
Ay ipangaral sa lahat sa pamamagitan ng salita
Salita ang kaluluwa ng mg utos Niya
Kaluluwang bibigyang-katawan ng kilos at gawa
Gawa ang magsasabuhay sa Ika-4 na Utos na ito
Gawin ito nawa ng mga mamamayang Pilipino
Hindi lamang sa bansa nating ito
Kundi pati narin sa buong mundo.
-08/26/2019
*Gusto Ko sa Mamamayan ng Ating Bansa
(Holiday: National Heroes' Day…
intended to be in Tagalog for this Buwan ng Wika)
My eyes open to the feeling of the warm sunshine glow
The bed feels so good that getting up will be slow
Peering through my bedroom window and seeing there isn’t any snow
The news report was again a no show
I go into the shower, watching the drain take away the soapy water flow
Dry myself off with a rag towel combo
Get dressed and put on my hand made boots from the people of Navajo
I hop into my car, turn on the audio and begin to drive with gusto
To where, I don’t know
Zipping, passing a few vehicles in a row
Telling myself, hope none of my tires blow
I see up ahead a stop n go
Thinking of a hot cup of coffee or espresso
Definitely feeling hungry for a gyro
A pick up truck passes me by with loud music playing the classic Lionel Richie song, “Hello”
Triggering a memory from a long time ago
Snapping back into reality, looking at my rear view mirror, it is too late, I’ve passed it like a tornado
I quickly feel for my wallet, I forgot it! at home is my dough
Get back home soon without getting pulled over for no driver’s license to operate my pinto
Home is destination incognito
A breath of fresh air, after the table was cleared
we had poured ourselves, one last sip of wine
We marveled a bit over the dip of the sun
An interlude, before the tint had resigned
to the gun-metal gray, and a time to reside
Our solitude broken and it changed on a dime
Unprepared for the guest, which came in a flash
A gash cut by lightning lit up through the dust
without even hinting, as flint hit the stone
A grumbling sky, turned the blush trembling cold
A roar of the wind, where a beast could be heard
all that was peaceful, became quite disturbed
Over rolls of the hills, it stalked like a cat
a monster, of clouds, on gray bobcat feet
with lynx-like eyes, and with billowing fur
that spurned tranquil eyes, on the softer retreat
A fierce witch's brew, uncoiled with wrath
with wind from the breast of sage and the dunes
Gliding in from the fields, to rage and to seize
where pillars and posts would snap, just to please
Eerie sounds whistled through the long window sills
The peace no longer held calm or a still
Angry whips with each breath, cracking fearsome with sound
Pounding with rain, gnashing teeth, with each round
Shingles turned loose to mingle with limbs
The thunder, was plundering, and peeling the plains
Rain gushing down, forging new creeks
pushing fast rivulets and forging new steel
We wait until the wrath has spent all it's worth
With gusto, and grit, .... until a last final vent
A tantrum with wiles, till the cat takes a bow
The monster has gone, to climb to the hills
_____________________________________________
For P.D.'s Contest: "Epic Sightings"
Picture #2
Let's all proxy dance...
Partner up with a do-si-do
Rigged an election don't you know
Proxy with a smiling schmo
Pulled it off with lots of dough
Big Red tried to overturn
Peaceful protest then adjourn
Proxies promote crash and burn
Rigged them scales and justice stern
Stumble, stumble all around
Smiling schmo keeps falling down
Lie, lie, the truth hold down
Angry about the wrong pronoun
Back, back, back we go
Proxy wars we won't forego
Dough, dough, lots in tow
Buying lots of death and woe
AI comes to save us all
There's no tale that ain't too tall
Bow to it like a captive thrall
Turns you into a know-it-all
Big mouth up and little brain down
Wag your finger all around
Hunt down foes like an old coonhound
Lawfare, lawfare, comes to town
"Lord, Lord, we strayed from You
Like smelly little sheep are prone to do
We partnered up with the devil's crew
What we've reaped is no breakthrough"
"Partner up with My Do-Si-Do
Saved by grace don't you know
Faith in My Son is sin's deathblow
Proxy dance with the Spirit's gusto
Now bow to your Partner and begin
To promenade all around with Him
Back you go then forward again
As His proxy you will win"
He was only a sheepdog
But his death has bitten
Into my soul ever since.
As a pup we brought
Him from his home
In Ireland
Where supernumeraries
Are drowned
No small farm needing
More than one mutt.
His reddish brown brother
Had been our first choice
We were left , my father-in-law's choice,
With the black and white collie.
Now his residence would be
A Scottish housing estate
We all grew to love him
I became his alpha male
How his ears would prick up
And he would sit attentively
At the window,
Awaiting my usual time of arrival
With a welcome where,
With tail wagging furiously
His paws would reach up to my chest
As he sought to lick my face
From strength to strength he grew
A tireless walker,chewer of carpets
Chaser of sticks and thief of Sunday roasts
How we all used to smile
When he darted to the opposite end of the room
Whenever my son burst into tears.
This had to be his way
Of saying,"Don't blame me."
He was right at home
Running round the street
With a gaggle of kids
He found his true metier
On returning to the farm
Where he was born
For two days he sat
And watched his brother
Bringing in the cows
And then relieved him
Of his duties
This task he performed
With great gusto
While his brother skulked off
Glad to be relieved
Of his daily chore
He was so much at home
On the farm
Revelling in the freedom,
Enjoying the work
And he was so much bigger
And more energetic than his brother
Tragedy struck
On our return home
Tied to the garage door
To keep him from getting
Under my wife's feet
Meant he could not run away
When a little girl kept blowing
In his face
Self-defence saw him
Nipping her in the neck.
That is what sealed
His death warrant
Gloom settled over our home
That nip might have been fatal
Fatal it was for him
The death sentence was passed
That last long walk
Was our rush to judgment.
We walked slowly
His head hung low
Never had I known
Him so quiet
He entered the killing room
Unflinching and calm
The vet's needle did the deed
Seeing his young body
Stretched lifeless
On that cold dark slab
Has burned my soul
With remorse
Ever since
The man in the elevator was a plump rounded one,
The buttons of his suit almost coming undone.
He chortled with his might when I walked in,
His askewed moustache fluttering like a bee.
Whipping out a comb he brushed his hair barely made,
His oiled strands of four plastering on his head.
Next came the perfume which he sprayed with gusto,
While I sneezed and choked right in tow.
Pulling the belt barely up his tummy,
He cleared his throat quite like a dummy.
Off I ran into the closing doors with a slam,
Before his paunch held them back - followed by an "At your service ma'am!".
It was the time when art was king,
Of artists whose praises we all sing.
Great minds there were in the Renaissance,
Through eons , unsurpassed, with little advance.
Greatness was embodied in the works of art,
In Lorenzo's gardens did Michelangelo start.
But great there was one of Mona Lisa fame,
Master painter, inventor - Leonardo his name.
Contemporaries for sure, one really wonders
Of the two, whose work steals the thunders.
David, the Pieta, Sistine Chapel, and more
Everlasting they are through ages sure.
But then there's the Lisa, Last Supper, inventions galore.
On their ingenuity and genius, the world lays great store.
Can genius be bestowed in multiple men?
Can peace and tranquility be shared even then?
Can two kings sit and reign on one throne?
Or squabble and fight like two dogs with one bone?
And so, these men of unparallel fame
Were set by chance a mischievous game.
Asked they were to adorn the Council Hall
With paintings to settle rankings once and for all.
With gusto did the two set about
A Battle each to prove their clout.
Leonardo chose the battle of Anghiari;
Battle of Cascina was Michelangelo's quarry.
Great was the strife between the two,
Each strove hard for the other to outdo.
Of the rivalry ,I heard, - the worst of all,
Art was the victim - and the two took a fall.
Relates the great chronicler Vasari,Giorgio,
That the nadir of art was seen in the Palazzo Vecchio
As each of the greats thought little of their craft
But dallied and diddled, till the populace all laughed.
The Cascina on naked bathing soldiers was based
On the banks of the Arno it was placed.
But the scene that was rendered was so ludicrous
That his work, sadly, bordered on the ridiculous.
Leonardo's Anghiari was a shade grim
But his chances to greatness was very slim.
He used oils from Pliny the Elder's recipe
But soon these flaked , were smudgy, and drippy.
Be that as it may
To Art's great dismay
What should have been great works
Were diminished by Rivalry's quirks.
Vasari painted over these objets de art
And replaced these with his own from the start.
Now conservators do scan, to see if they can,
Which of the two, Leonardo or Michelangelo, was
The painter of the elusive Magnum Opus.
~18 Jun 2016~
Donning rubber gloves, the wife does washing of clothes and dishes...
(plus cutlery, pots pans, et cetera) in the kitchenette sink.
She started what would immediately become
a first and last generation tradition
(the spouse as washer woman
and scullery maid)
soon after we moved here
eight years ago come July 1st, 2025.
I trumpet her pioneer spirit
to apply elbow grease
(to tackle tough
heavily stained articles of clothing
(after her weary cowboy husband
comes back home on the range
after a hot day rustling cattle)
think underwear of mine -
whereat even bleach
falls short of removing
stubborn noticeable discoloration)
such gusto similarly applied
to glassware or cookware caked
with crusty hardened food.
After washing wearable goods,
she squeezes the excess water
from saturated item(s)
and drapes still moderately wet garment
over drying racks
despite the availability
of clothes washers and dryers
here on the premises
of Highland Manor Apartments.
Though she continues to threaten
with colorful epithets
never to wash my clothes ever again,
her words ring hollow
when some time elapses
and... guess what?
yepper, her hands slide down
into the behavioral sink
and I make sure
to acknowledge gratitude,
yet admit to falling short
of filling in the blank
(with a select response),
when she asks me
what will I give her in return.
Earlier in our
almost thirty year marriage,
we (I more so than the wife)
used to be conditional
and if asked a favor,
the immediate response
from yours truly (me)
just so happened to be
what do I get in return?
That Pavlovian feedback loop
occurred way before
my libido took a kamikaze dive,
into a suicide mission
a strong suspicion arises
(but I dare not utter
a premature ejaculation)
videlicet that being adverse effects
linkedin with one or more
of the nine prescription medications
ingested for mental health issues
such as anxiety, dysthymia,
obsessive compulsive disorder,
and palmar hyperhidrosis
could be the only logical explanation,
and interestingly enough,
I breathe a sigh of relief
cuz all to often sexual fantasies
ofttimes filled every waking
and sleeping hour of mine.