Long Huh Poems
Long Huh Poems. Below are the most popular long Huh by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Huh poems by poem length and keyword.
“Lenny”----- Woman who you talking to;
Like I’m some sort of fool;
And why you got to raise your voice;
Like there’s nothing I can do?
“Sue”---- It’s you at whom I’m talking at;
It’s simple as all that;
And my point it must be amplified;
Because your ears seem covered by your hat
“Lenny” ----- Look it here miss short ****;
When I put you to your knees;
You might be chocking on those words;
And fighting for a breeze.
“sue”--- Oh really Mr. moldy pants;
Is that something from Art Crumb?
You’re just jealous of my toy;
But you like it when I’m done.
“Lenny”--- So now we’re talking posit traction huh?
But it’s sure to cause a wreck;
And the one thing that I notice was;
It can’t pick up the check
“Sue” Why do we dance this twisted tango;
To this song called stand by me;
And we’re always looking for the truth;
But we always disagree.
“Lenny”--- I don’t know what the answers are;
But please don’t go away;
Without you there’s an emptiness;
That kills me slow each day.
“Sue”--- Fine but No more floating like a butterfly;
Or stinging like a bee;
I know you’re just a stubborn fellow;
But you’re where you’re supposed to be.
“Lenny”--- I know you’re right my lovely;
But I can’t help myself
I keep wondering how I got so lucky;
But I’ll stick it in a bottle now; and keep it on the shelf.
Usually, there are sounds and expressions of grief upon being informed of a passing. Each family member's passing ignited a sound or brief words that identified the emotion of the moment, unique to each one.
Case in point:
My mother's death in March of '98. My pager sounded, and at the next exit, I pulled off the freeway and called my office. When my supervisor said that I should call home right away, I knew that the news was not good. I phoned home, and my wife informed me of my mother's passing in Chicago. There was a calming, numbing, and pausing. Then I quietly uttered my first words, "Mama's gone".
Case in point:
The death of my oldest sister in '99. A call came from a younger sister stating that our sister would not survive the head injury she incurred from being hit by a car on a Chicago Street. She was all but brain dead at the time, and realizing her impending death, words ceased, and I went ballistic. A 'deep gush of grief and sorrow' overwhelmed me with loud crying, and I could barely breathe.
Case in point:
The death of an older brother in the Spring of 2003. A call came from St. Louis, informing me of my brother's death. Very subdued when I got the news, a numbing silence swept over me. The only words I remember uttering were, "Oh Calvin".
Case in Point:
In December of 2003, a call came informing me that a younger sister in Indiana had passed. I was 'speechless'. My grief was deep without a word but a silence of sadness.
Case in point:
Word came in November of 2012 that another sister in Indiana had passed. I was fortunate enough to have spent some quality time with her earlier in the summer of that year. I was with her as she battled for her life during hospice care. Although the doctor had given her very little hope, she seemed to be on the winning side when I departed for home. Four months later, she died. When I received the fateful call of her demise, all that I could utter was, "Huh". It was a grunt of bewilderment. It was a grunt that said, "O Lord, I thought she was going to beat that cancer". I could not speak my grunt, but God read my spirit and understood every word. "Huh".
040817PoSpCtest, Strand Choice N, Brain Strand(3/21/20)
Sonny sat on the floor
in a low lit corner of the bedroom
he hugged his trumpet
as a young man they had had great times
he reminisced of his love for his horn
He was unable to play it well now
not since his stroke nine years ago
had stolen away his embouchure
and destroyed his ability to sustain the notes in tune
He tried to play his horn but too often
the notes sounded like screeches from hell
he recalled his glory years in high school
where he shone like a star
He received two gold medals playing Rafael Mendez’
arrangement of the “Mendelssohn Concerto”
he was 17 years old and felt the future was his
but he was 80 now
and still lugged his old recycled memories,
never realizing he and the world would get old
too soon
Nostalgia, the bane of old folks
was Sonny's saving grace
As a young man he achieved the goals he set
no matter how insignificant they might have seemed
And the feeling of those supreme achievements never tarnished
those moments of struggle made his life meaningful
soon enough the time came to hit the big time
but the big time was not so welcoming
There are those who come into this world
full of aspirations but never get blessed by the hand of God
no matter how great their desire,
then there are the fortunate ones who are born cupped in God's hands
and are given the privilege to reveal the music of the spheres
It was Sonny’s 70th birthday when he had his stroke
he cursed the abomination that had befallen him
though the stroke marred his old age
marvelous blessings did happen to him
At age 24, Sonny fell in love, married a beautiful Irish woman,
had two adorable kids, later to be a pain in his butt
but the kids are married and gone now
and all's well in Sonny Land
Sonny and his wife are still married, going on 60 years
one could say theirs was a union made in God's cupped hands.
An added piece to this story:
Sonny's son had two marriages, one successful one not so
and several business ventures but he was lucky, he gloats with pride
because as glitchy as his life had been he had become rich
"Some guys have all the luck, huh Dad," he said.
Sonny replied, "If that be the case, son, so be it,
Our longevity has made our love real, but we're happy for you,
you have the money but we have real love.
I can tell this story because I stumbled through every chapter of this book.
I know the message and don’t understand from which passage you misinterpreted by the words you took.
You say, to be like me you have to be raped by someone close!
Molested by a stranger, touched by his fingers that’s the quote you wrote.
Not loved by my mother…
Never hugged by my father…
Non-existent to my family!
And you say as a man I am not unique and will always struggle to find a place in my society.
You questioned my love of GOD and stated hell is where I would be.
Funny huh…
What made me laugh is your Christianity leaps out the nearest window after communion on first Sunday.
Called me a female dog traveling the streets with no collar, a *****, a stray, a mut is this what you really think of me?
Look through my eyes real deep and lets just take a quick peek.
My character goes past my sexual preference traveling deeper than my child hood stories.
The quote you wrote was far from the truth.
A little far fetch’d that’s what I think of you.
Because we both know if you were more comfortable with yourself instead of hiding behind your wealth, with me is where you would be.
A lawyer to the community full of lies and infidelity
For some reason it seems you should have took a similar road to me yet lying in a bed full of treachery
Next to a woman with lights off you vision as me.
Lets speak up so to be…
Who are these people you speak of as being like me?
Are you speaking on those who are as comfortable as me in walking the road of life on their own two feet…
Or those who are true to themselves and more importantly their family.
Ones who don’t have to lie
Their spouse don’t have to spy
Nor get their shoulders drenched from their kids cry
When finding out their dads obsession to another guy!
Your quote was very oblique to a guy like me because I have already went through the changes..
Where friends are rearranged,
Family left and came,
Also my community going insane.
But yet I obtained…
Respect for myself which everyone else did the same.
So a man true to myself I remain
Maybe in time you would try it.
To be a little more like me and not fight it.
But to this day you refrain…
And a hidden life you maintain.
You could never be with me…
Because your truth hides behind my comfort ability!!!
We’re on Fall break this week and Peter’s favorite aunt - Lita - is visiting. Lita’s a tall, slim woman (eek! A guess), in her early sixties. She’s nicely weathered and tan. I’m sure she once had Peter’s blue-black hair but now it’s mostly white and styled in a loose braid. I think she rocks the coastal grandma aesthetic with a wardrobe of mostly pale tans, whites and flats.
Peter has all kinds of stories about her - she’s a character. When Peter was 5, on Halloween, Lita pretended to sacrifice a chicken, cackling, like a witch. He was wide-eyed until she admitted she was just making fried chicken for dinner.
Lita lives on property adjacent to Peter’s parents, but hers is larger, more of a farm, where she raises chickens and grows Meyer-lemons and persimmons. This may explain why Peter slices up lemons, dips them in sugar and eats them like oranges (I shiver). Peter told me that Lita always liked fruit, which is why she bought Apple stock in 1997.
From what I’ve learned, talking to Lita, she practically raised Peter’s dad (David). Their parents had a boy before her, an older brother she doesn’t remember meeting because he drowned at a church outing when she was a toddler. Their parents, in their grief, had turned in on themselves, becoming as self-centered as gyroscopes.
They’d left Lita by herself for weeks at a time, to raise herself on a more-or-less trial-and-error basis. So, when David came along 13 years later, he became her responsibility. She started working as an auto mechanic and eventually opened a couple of shops of her own. She describes herself as more well-read than formally educated - as if knowledge had just settled on her, like dust from an old library.
“Teressa (Peter’s mom) is very curious about you,” Lita confides to me as we huddle together over venti pumpkin lattes, “Peter’s very tight-lipped where you’re concerned.”
“He is?” I ask, confused, “maybe he’s ashamed,” I venture, “or maybe he’s planning to dump me?” Lita looks amused, ”uh huh, that’s probably IT,” she agrees.
“Look! I say excitedly, pulling an envelope from my purse, “It’s my first-ever paycheck,” I beam. I make a production of opening the thing, like an Oscar envelope. “$223,” I read, shaking my head in admiration, then adding, with sincere sounding hyperbole, ”he can’t dump me NOW, I’m RICH!”
how many people in your life that have been murdered?
probably none
my grandfather was a war herp
coma tosed
to have his wife a cripple
so i could run away scrambling from bs people for the rest of my life
11 tragic deaths in my life,
my family and friends
and their family and friends dropping like flies
the bills sent for the ambulance ride
leave me wondering why did you even bother come
to pretend to save my life
to wake me up and send me out the door
without being able to thank the people who just kept me alive
4 suicides, and im the lucky one to survive mine
4 murders have taken place in my life
and three tragic accidents
i have no idea what it would belike to see my family smile
theyre all dead
nothing but bs people come to watch me cry
who dont know who i am
never talk to me
and have no time for someone like me
off i go back to the hospital for more poison
and brag about malpractice
my stomache that cant digest any thing without pain or discomfort
but hey off your meds i can finally achieve an ********
love music by the way
the terrorist psychological attack with my name on it
offering me reason after reason to cry
what do i need another excuse to hate you
the politicians i cant contact
the police force harassing me
breaking my door down to ransack
stalking me to hand out tickets
breaking my nose afer a hostage situation
and its the bs people who tell me
trying to kill myself was the right thing
the military doesn't care
but make things happen over night
love watching you walk around in your underwear
at my pity party to be happy for you
but im not
im jealous
i hate you for it
your bs people
like these poetry sites with no clue
nice poem huh?
what a read....
go die
maybe after i get crippled they will have the heart to shoot me
but i doubt it
been raped, and tortured, and drugged, and beat by police, and held hostage
to be cyber stalked and have my accounts compromised
off and on and off and on
for 13 years
go kill yourself
war pig loser nation
what do you want me to say?
i know why people drop bombs now
i truly do
put me in a tank
and suck my d ick
existance is my enemy anyway
i hope he quits bothering to live
screw you face book
and twitter is a terrorist organisation
go ask microsoft
Yo what's up bro, how've you been man? I know I haven't talk to you in a while. That's my fault. I just get so tied up with life and all the negative vibes that I forget to stay in touch with my positive ones. Lord knows (lol oops), "You" know how I get when I feel some kind of way. Yo and I appreciate you looking out for my homeboy Runt no cap. I told you he's good people. I bet he's having a blast. Don't let grandma beat up on him too much lol. But anyway I just wanted to hit you up and wish you a happy birthday bro. So yeah happy birthday. The big 2020 huh? That's a lot of Bday licks lol. I've been meaning to talk to you and let you know what been going on since you left bro, but I'm sure you've heard it all already. IDK what's up with everybody these days. It seems like everybody's feeling some kind of way or another. I think it's mainly cuz we missing you bro... We don't get to hear from you as much as we used to, or as much as we need to. IDK It seems like, the longer you're gone, the less and less we hear from you. Or about you. And that worries me dude fr, You kno how much these kids love you bro. They used to talk to you all the time and talk about you all the time, but not so much now. My bad man, I'm just afraid that they'll forget you, or forget what you about, the love you got to give. They need you now more than ever bro. It just seems like everybody's so caught up with theirselves, there's so much negative. It seems like everybody wants to feel some kind of way and not a good way. No one wants to take responsibility for their actions and the way they treat each other, or the way you would want them to treat each other. Oh man and the crap they're teaching these kids these days, would make your old man spit Thunderbolts! Lol
I'm just sayin man don't forget about us little guys down here, we need us some J.E.S.U.S. fr. Well I can't wait to see you again. Tell everybody I said hey and I miss them plz. Oh and tell the "Big Man", "I'm sorry for the wrong I do, I'll be a better man one day". And I'll try to throw you a line a little more often than once a year bro I promise. I love you bro, (no homo) in your holy name I pray God bless you and amen. ??
PS. Thanks again for the whole "dying on the cross" thing no cap, (a little dramatic but point taken)??.
Love PeeWee 12/25/20
Shuddering awake in a plane
32000 feet above home, family,
Commitment
Right
Clown inside me thinks he's cute
The poet sticks to the shadows
"Laugh and the world laughs with you
Cry and you cry alone"
Tired of being alone
Tired of numb laughter
And superficial appeal
I'll be false
To get your attention
I'll be false to drive you away
You think you want
This bag of crumpled dreams
Look away
And fasten your seat belt
Flying over it all
Gets rough sometimes, too
I don't even know why
I talk to you
We're just each other's fantasy
If you were for me
You would have fallen
Right into my lap
Not into my computer
Not who I want to be
Right now, anyway
And you don't feel like a friend
More like a f**k buddy
I'm too desperate
I want something to hold onto
But something real
Not you
Young and beautiful
Looks good on me
Feels good on me
But it won't stay
And, yeah, I know
I feel good to you
Like an old comfortable shoe
'til the laces break, the leather cracks
I don't shine no more
And what's left of me
Isn't worth wearing out
Uh-huh I'll still be "raging
Against the dying of the light."
But still go into that tender night
Just wish you
Felt more like
a friend
We're so high now
I can barely make out a road
Or a roof top
But I can see shadows
Cast down from clouds below
On Colorado mountain tops
And it's smooth sailing
I need someone to be true to
These words would drive you away
Quit playing
Know what's for me
Not settle for whatever I can get
And I'll be lonely
Like out the window, New Mexico
Desert stretches wide empty
What I'm used to
And you're the East Coast
Lush, pretty, temperate, hydrated
I'd devour you
(Like I just did)
And never want to leave
But I'm still the desert
And you're the trees
How much will we drink of
Each other
The clown's rising
Bad timing
But keeps me from
Being lonely
When life hurts
And too free
When it doesn't
Over the Apache White Mountains
Descending enough to see
Lake's drying up
I don't want go home
Poet talking now
Clown
When we touch ground
If not here, where
If not her, who
We're on our way
Give us a spin
I like you, girl
Gentle landing
Phoenix (a cool 103)
Seems like I'm
Almost
Never
Home
(cont..) He removed his Stetson cowboy hat and placed it gently on the bowling ball he
had mounted just for that purpose over the heater by the door. He probably didn’t take that
good care of himself, ..but his white Stetson; …that was another story. Scanning across
the room he noticed a folder placed on his old wooden principal’s desk which was a carry
over from the school days complete with carved in initials, misspelled cuss words and the
like. Some day he would paint it….. Yeah, sure he would. He had had all he could do just to
scrape the gum off of it. The folder had a few sheets of paper in it dated just after he had
left for vacation. “Dam! That was a short vacation! ”, he mumbled to the folder as he
opened the flimsy cover.
Just then there was two sharp raps on the door and a uniformed policeman waltzed in sporting a big grin and hollered out, “hey there cowboy! Heard you were back. Ya just couldn’t bear to be away from the action anymore, could ya huh? “
“Hey yeah Tom, I just missed you guys ugly pusses so bad I had to get away from all
those swimsuit clad babes in Florida just to come back to see you! How’s everything been
here Tom….and what action you talkin’ about? Same old sweet vice, theft and murder?”
“Yep and more. It’s all in that folder you’re knuckling onto. Hey I see you ain’;t got your
coffee perking yet. What say I let you catch up on your reading and I’ll go grab us a cup a
mud.Be right back soon as I take care of a little paper work of my own on a little hooker bust
we’ve got goin.” …er.. black right, Bill?
“Huh? ..yeah black. That’d be good…thanks.” Sgt Bill Lipton was already absorbed by the
report staring at him in the folder. It was from the twenty third precinct. He knew a few old
boys over there….He was so intent on what he was reading that he didn’t notice Tom come
in with two cups of hot coffee and a newspaper.
“You lost in that folder, Sarge ?”
“Huh?…ah no…I mean ya,. I guess” , Bill said while frowning at the contents of the folder. He slowly looked up and rubbing his unshaven chin he said…
“Tom,……What the hell is a …Shogun?!
(to be cont. in unison with Richard Pickett Shogun/Samauri Story) Taz says" hey all!"
I believe that poetry is and of is was were have has been of as one pretenses a
poetic practical pompous, pro (p) ransomedramatical postenses
pretending to prose promise a
predictive premise primatory practicum politicallty
polishing practcoriam process of primary
preliminary postures pragmatic promulgates
telling the ta ta tumultuous tillo tales of tawdry
banal blog lists calling me to quali-quantify the reso-resolutes
resounding in resilient quo quotients that bear a
breach bridgeborn badge billed
barometer bearing broad billboard
catatonic catashrospies creating caustic crill
coffinistic coiffures canonizing
socio unsettling leo linguistic lies in a somewhat
lovevoid livid liquiditoria regal
ransom based regalia resonating
rawbone residual retinal real time
tombosoties transitioning with
toying transient trio tide tooth
crass cavity craino creep mandibulo master mildew
mold molecular mamsy-pamsy sillopsuedo master of
ever me present I , me , mine, maestro
sitting back and looking at the world as a place to be
not to be, hope to be, wish to be, be to be, in the
proper primer of humino yesnomenclatureculture of that which is u
me us our belief sem radical of our prim-ordeal sociodiscontentselfevident
irrelevant mean fullness, to countercure our quick/quack quotient
umbrella upbringing to say do write feel text tank athink
all that is emo exit everpresent to keep the fecal faces free of
founding father status inquo man although time is time in place.
Mindfulness is a mute place ill unattended by sociocrap everlasting.
Treasure travel inviting innate needs netherly nodding to the primo positive
practitudes of acoustic ancillary annotated awareness, allowing all annuities
ancient archaic to willfully wind wind waveringly wish away intrinsic id-ideas.
It it is what u want it it to be, say, scroll, live, plural, self to self. Use it, lose it,
share it, beware it, con-cure it, it. Know it it's criminal capitol is wary for before
u know it it, life it before it its u, and will its it and
ego ale all eek out the precious profit of its itdom idiocracy illusionary in its
illogical inness so mad made as not to gravely gravitate ungracious griefs
upon your its it.
scary huh. Karma it, Big Daddy.