Long Hose Poems
Long Hose Poems. Below are the most popular long Hose by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hose poems by poem length and keyword.
SIBLING REMEMBRANCES*
In the warm, sunlit corners of our childhood
where laughter spills like marbles across the floor,
I hear the echoes of our shared secrets,
each whispered promise a thread woven into the fabric
of our youthful days.
We were explorers,
mapping the terrain of our backyard kingdom,
with sticks as swords, the garden hose our river,
where we splashed and shrieked,
the world a blur of sun and water,
time slipping through our fingers like sand.
You were the artist,
painting our days with wild adventures and colors,
each moment a stroke of painted brilliance,
I, the dreamer,
chasing the shadows of your imagination,
weaving tales from the threads of our adventures,
stories of joyful remembrances
stretching across the endless sky.
Now, as I stand on the edges of my life,
I carry your laughter in my pocket,
a talisman against the world’s weight,
and you, my compass, pointing true north
with every shared smile,
every memory stitched into the fabric
of our shared lives.
*I originally submitted this poem to Poetry Soup in June 2025 then deleted it. The poem was also published on Writer Monk’s Facebook page on June 8, 2025. This is my original poem.
(An Austrian leader learns of the
death of his rival, 1838)
The footman, in impeccable white hose
and pigtailed wig, halts five yards off, and bows.
An under-secretary, in the throes
of studying the Lombard Ruse, allows
the silent slippered servant to slide near.
A silver salver bears a folded note.
He picks it up. Fine ivory veneer
reflects the silver buttons of his coat.
The older man is quiet as the grave,
and just as still. He contemplates the board.
As if they were the marble architrave,
both footman and official are ignored.
Just then, the boy picks up his knight
and moves it forward, capturing a pawn.
Here in the Gloriette, warm candlelight:
beyond the window, evening-shrouded lawn.
“Your Highness has the art,” the old man says,
and sits back in his chair. The tartan pile
of blanket shrouds his knees. His face betrays
the merest specter of a subtle smile.
Prince Klemens Wenzel Furst Von Metternich
enjoys the eight-year-old’s euphoria.
“You’ll make a mighty monarch, naturlich.”
His blanket slips (a gift from Queen Victoria).
The chance the Under-Secretary sought!
He coughs and tugs politely at his cuff.
“The note, Your Highness, which the footman brought …”
It’s almost imperceptible, the Prince’s huff.
“It seems that Talleyrand – well – he is dead.
Two nights ago. Near Tours. Chezal-Benoit.”
The old man grunts. “We haven’t been misled?
He died? I wonder what he meant by that.”
(From 'Searching For Crazy Hose' Published in 2011)
Crazy Horse's final words to me as our search ended....
“My son, you can search,
but without your vision it’s hopeless
Its message I saw before you
so very long ago
You have now searched the heights
and the depths of its border
Finally living inside it,
separate no longer from yourself
You were called by the wind
to climb and go higher
Your soul casting no shadow,
nothing blocked from your sight
That which keeps you from seeing
is no longer inside you
What stays with you now lives
beyond a thousand goodbyes
Your name has been added,
and your place is now vacant
The pipe sits ready in council
for when your time will come
With one foot in this land,
you step beyond with the other
And in my Father’s lodge, all speak
your new name
. . . . ‘Wana Hin Gle’
(He Who Happens Now)
This name that I give you will
protect and sustain you
Guarding you, and you alone,
from the lack of yourself
Others may hate,
and may even hunt you
Killing only what they fear,
while making you strong
Rest easy, my son, for you’ve
seen them in passing
Their blind spot in eternity
not worthy of your eye
You no longer need the West
or my words to console you
The substance of your vision
is now released and set free”
Nerves hang out at the idle pump
Gas don't pump itself thinks Mr. Rich
While Bubba plants himself out front
Like an un-watered flower in the sun
Picks his nose and spits tobacco
Scratches private parts at no extra charge
Snorts, “Talk is cheap.” “What-l-it-be boy.”
The idle rich don't speak hillbilly
The sun-glassed man points at premium
A finger is a dialect Neanderthals understand
Red necks preferred language over clicks and grunts
That comes with understanding inbred afflictions
Eloquently executed elocution with a simple digit
To replace the usual marbles in the mouth chatter
Chewed up words spit out as garbled
Not fit for consumption under a hot Texas sun
Who said anything about manners?
Mr. Sun-glasses just wants some GD gas
Not reptilian conversation
When you don't know English you pump
Petroleum comes from fossilized plants
Formed over billions of years
Why must we wait for man to arrive
Over eons for creation to take place
For the simple evolution of a smile
It's not like there is a line stretched for miles
To buy some petroleum products
From a creature covered in grease
Standing there with hose in hand
Wondering with his best laid plans
How to spell gas and make change
And how to propose to his cousin
(This poem is partially true)
My friend put a radiator hose in his pants and people thought he was well-
endowed.
He seemed to grow over night and women wondered how.
He appeared to have a very big johnson and this was what many women
believed.
But the ladies raised hell when they learned that they were being deceived.
He had women chasing him because they wanted to get him in the sack.
But a man came and told my friend that he wanted his radiator hose back.
When he pulled it out of his pants, the ladies attacked him.
They were really pissed because he didn't have what attracted them.
In reality his ***** was only two inches long.
After they beat the crap out of him, they cut off his tiny schlong.
One of his attackers said he deserved what he got and most of the women agree.
Now my friend has to sit on the toilet when he pees.
Form:
Thinking about the good old days
Reminiscing for a little while
Some memories made me happy, some made me sad
Some brought a tear and some brought a smile
And I wondered
Were we the last generation
The last generation
To put lighting bugs in mason jars
To look at tail lights and name the cars
To lie in a field and count the stars
To go trick or treating in the local bars
Then I turned on the radio
To an oldies station that took me back
Listened for an hour or two
Put my mind right on track
And I wondered
Were we the last generation
The last generation
To drink water from a garden hose
To be proud to wear hand me down clothes
To sneak a cigarette at the local park
To play in the street well after dark
Then I fell asleep and dreamed of the past
Seems we had a Utopia but it didn’t last
And I wondered
Were we the last generation
The last generation
To play baseball and share our gear
To walk at night without fear
To have laws written in black and white
To still be friends after a fight
Then I went downstairs to call an old friend
Never wanting the old days to ever end
And I wondered
Were we the last generation
The last generation
To walk each day back and forth from school
To have parties with friends at the community pool
To listen as a bluebird sings
To be happy without material things
To play the game fair and square
To end each day with an evening prayer.
And I wonder
It crumbled altogether,
yet its black root dug itself yet deeper.
Perhaps I had been grinding
nocturnal jaws together -
excavating bone.
A tender spike remains
above the gum,
it pulls at the mind
wanting to be touched
by a cringing tip of tongue.
The dentist is digging his way through.
a knee on my chest
tugging and sweating.
My face feels like it has caved inward,
I suckle the stale air of my throat
through a mouth washing hose.
He grunts. challenged
by the stubborn stump.
I encourage him with my eyes.
They crinkle at the sides
laughing at a joke
we both shall tell later.
May showers come and go, not loitering,
not lolling about long, to drench and drown
the seedlings you planted, hoping for rain.
Hand watering hydrates, but not like rain;
It's the slow steady sprinkling that matters,
which no hose spray, can ever duplicate.
The pitter patter of raindrops in May
caresses the leaves with moist love kisses,
leaving droplets sprinkled on dampened leaves,
to soak in, like perfume droplets on skin.
The soil below embraces the rain spots
falling gently in splits and splats in May,
drawing the water below to the roots,
to be absorbed, nourishing the dry plants.
The May rain's gentle and gossamer veil
drops like silken shroud on the garden bed
A loving sustaining warm covering.
A moist blanket to tuck the seedlings in.
Showers in May are Bliss!
Blind Date
Lonely for so long now
so excited I can't wait!
My best friend had set me up
with someone on a date.
I showed up a little early
to pick up this date of mine.
I'd seen her face before
in a flick called Frankenstein.
She said she liked my suit and tie
I said I had a tailor.
She got a run in her panty hose
and started cussing like a sailor.
Arriving at the restaurant
where my best friend I spied.
He was standing in a corner
where he laughed so hard he cried.
She ordered the whole menu
she maxed out my credit card.
Suddenly I realized
life alone ain't quite so hard.
Finally I slipped away
and split out the back door.
I got myself a new best friend
and I don't date no more.
May 4th 2015
The air drips over the lake
yet to be thundered awake.
Mirages waver.
Bare feet on black asphalt quake
Keepers on sand tractors rake.
That's summer's flavor.
Swimsuit wearers all partake
of young beauties and beef cake
as love is a savior.
Dip the babies toes, savor
the lake's cool icy laver,
hear her giggles rise.
See the lover's sink braver
and the old ones disfavor
soon to end July.
Scorched red by Sun's engraver.
Father's garden hose wavers.
Soon, summer good bye's.
August crisps the field's allies.
Summer's guests leave compromised.
The lifeguard's gone.
It's too hot for much but sighs.
The town theater's cool as ice,
from the heat in drawn.
Watch the actor's prance in guise
Fall with have it's own surprise,
Too soon, summer's gone.