Long Jacque Poems
Long Jacque Poems. Below are the most popular long Jacque by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jacque poems by poem length and keyword.
Don’t tell Donna that Ted said that Marty
was…..
If I had a dollar for every time I heard some version
of this ridiculousness today, I would not have to
come to work with these gossip mongers.
Ring. Ring. It is Linda, the bookkeeper at the next desk.
She cannot turn and talk to me, because she is
telling tales about Sheila who sits less than ten feet
behind us.
I laugh politely at the end of the tale, hoping
she will let me get back to my bill-paying. But no,
she now has a story about Jacque.
Off the phone I write two checks. Brring Brring
The supervisor glares at me. We are supposed
to get the phone after the first ring. It might be
one of our vendors or our stores. We pay bills
for a chain of stores.
I grab the phone. It is Jacque, who is telling me
stories about Linda. None of them nice ones.
They both want to sit with me at lunch, but not
with the other one at the table. I slink out with
my lunch and eat in my car again, third week in
a row.
The supervisor comes out and raps on my window.
I roll it down about an inch.
"You are not supposed to eat in your car," he tells me.
The ominous presence of something evil that was felt but not eye-seen brought a presage of doom to the already spooky-feeling bonfire in the woods.
The campfire which had been glowing and popping and snorting oranges and yellows, was rapidly turning into an ugly, smudgy gray and black mess.
My friends’ faces were starting to look creepy, lit only by the silly jack-o-lantern light up necklaces Linda had purchased at the Dollar Store on her way to the forest.
I have a weird feeling, Marcia said.
I don’t! Linda promptly yelled.
The rest of us giggled, nervously. I glanced behind me, expecting a werewolf, keeping
Silent, afraid fear could draw the mysterious “it” closer.
We sat in silence, listening to the last pops of the fire, staring, conversation at a standstill. Things that we had been hyena-laughing about a few hours ago, had faded from my memory now. I was feeling
tired, and when I get that way, I sometimes get mean, so I wisely shut my cookie-hole. I wished they were going home, but I was the one who had invited them to sleep in tents with me, so it was my fault they were staying.
Things felt somber, cold.
Jacque was the first to make her way to the pup tent with our sleeping bags, which I hoped
Did not have any snakes in them yet.
Linda and Marcia told her good-night.
I had a weird feeling, so I jumped up just as Jacque reached the tent. “Wait!” I said.
Everyone laughed, as this was so like me.
The next morning, when Jacque could not be wakened, they looked at me with suspicion, like I was the cause.
It was our last campfire.
avid arm-wrestling against awesome Allie
brave Billy Bouncer balks a bit at Ballet.
cocky courage cancelled, civic concentration.
during Des Moines Diamond demonstration
energetic efforts enthuse eager Eddie
facing fearless frog-legged Freddie
gracious Greta grants gorillas gratuities
harry harpoons happy harpy Helga Hanuities.
ignoring ignorant Insignificant Inglewood Iam.
juggling jockey Jacque justifies Jan’s jelly jam
keeping kangaroo kilos in Kalamazoo
linking luxurious llamas left loving the loo
marvelous Maude mixed montana’s merry moo
nevil’s nearby newts kneaded the nightly news
octagonal Oscar ostrich operates an oily ooze
practical pigeon Pete patrols Perry Parkway Poo
queluz quarrelsome questions quiver and quack
rustic remnant of Ruby respectfully resides on the rack
stellar starlight of steeple stallion stares on in the stack
twisting twosome Twiggmeister ties Terry’s Tennessee tack.
universal understanding utilizes utensils in the USA.
varigated variety of venus villians verifying
wild winsome windsurpers willing werewolf whying
‘xact ‘xperts ‘xplaining ‘xtra ‘xpenses ‘xasperatingly
young youthful yellow yaks yawning youthfully
zealous zealots zinging. zipping and zagging zestfully
Wanted : The return of a transparent Silken White Veil
Ecrued edges due to the sands of Lost time : Lost LOVE
No charges filed, no questions asked I have repaired the damage done
The Memorial Garden For my late WIFE LENORE is in full bloom
the shredded Portrait has been replaced ; Thank-YOU Jacque Charbonneau
Lenore's bust, now a polished Marble Emeralds for her eyes
Eyes (I longto see again)Speaking to me from atop Her Headstone
Now You may think me Eccentric, Vain Even Materialistic (maybe I am)
You see this Wedding Veil is the beginning of my Eternity
With My LOVE , My LIFE ,My WIFE LENORE
P.S.I have all of her Handwritten Original POEMS (Noterized) in a bank vault
Still I would like the CD's back
Sheesh! I think there are ANTS IN MY PANTS! The strange kid yelled.
The rest of us started laughing like our HEARTS were going to fall out.
Her annoyance tickled us, she had not been invited, and was not welcome.
We were thirteen, and a mighty group of three. Not four.
SORRY! I apologized. No POKER face, so she probably knew I was lying.
There would be big TROUBLE for me though if her mealy mouth
mama came after mine.
We were distantly related through an OLD MAID aunt,
which does not make sense either.
GUESS WHO would call my mother if I didn’t start back pedaling here?
So I began to grovel. It’s not funny! I said. Then I asked her if she was okay.
She was the weirdest kid LIFE could have coughed up,
and where did she land?
Ha! In my friendship circle, and it was pure AGGRAVATION.
Don’t get MAD I said, insincerely.
I have to GO FISH, my friend Jacque said.
She could not stop laughing as she left.
You don’t have a MONOPOLY on fishing!
Patty yelled after her. They were competitive.
“Did you set this MOUSETRAP?” My mother hollered from somewhere below us.
Mousetraps were TABOO at our house,
with a four-year-old around.
“No, Dad set it!” I yelled.
Knowing he was going to get IT now.
Did you want to play? The strange kid asked us.
We pretended CONCENTRATION, and played a few hands,
just to let her think we liked her.
She was snarly and grumpy, and still dancing around, scratching herself.
No POKER face either.
Written 3-4-2019
Contest: Anyone Game?
Sponsor: Carol Connell
avid arm-wrestling against awesome Allie
brave Billy Bouncer balks a bit at Ballet.
cocky courage cancelled, civic concentration.
during Des Moines Diamond demonstration
energetic efforts enthuse eager Eddie
facing fearless frog-legged Freddie
gracious Greta grants gorillas gratuities
harry harpoons happy harpy Helga Hanuities.
ignoring ignorant Insignificant Inglewood Iam.
juggling jockey Jacque justifies Jan’s jelly jam
keeping kangaroo kilos in Kalamazoo
linking luxurious llamas left loving the loo
marvelous Maude mixed montana’s merry moo
nevil’s nearby newts kneaded the nightly news
octagonal Oscar ostrich operates an oily ooze
practical pigeon Pete patrols Perry Parkway Poo
queluz quarrelsome questions quiver and quack
rustic remnant of Ruby respectfully resides on the rack
stellar starlight of steeple stallion stares on in the stack
twisting twosome Twiggmeister ties Terry’s Tennessee tack.
universal understanding utilizes utensils in the USA.
varigated variety of venus villians verifying
wild winsome windsurpers willing werewolf whying
‘xact ‘xperts ‘xplaining ‘xtra ‘xpenses ‘xasperatingly
young youthful yellow yaks yawning youthfully
zealous zealots zinging. zipping and zagging zestfully
S'more sprawling poppycock
Chock·a·block discombobulated poem
for your reading pleasure
dashed off ad hoc
my final literary endeavor before
hour hand affixed
to intricately carved cuckoo clock
displaying carved leaves, birds,
deer heads (Jagdstück design),
other animals, aquatic militia man,
etc feigns firing flintlock
(announcing onset of
daylight savings times)
said French soldier christened Jacque
dipping paddles of oarlock
into time stream
as the sun beats down,
he doth shockingly unfrock.
Once again modest wily word wizard
sports, struts his stuff inarguably
a blinding blizzard
of poetic gumbo mumbo jumbo,
his convoluted crafted vizard
easily misinterpreted as offal
lee batty, quirky, snooty, trippy...
who honestly doesn't know A from izzard.
The ticking seconds will not wait
while yours feebly cobbles etches
across blank figurative slate
lame resultant impasse I narrate
experiencing disappointment
earlier spurt of balderdash,
gibberish, rubbish... which I hate
yet must suffice impossible mission
to complete satisfactory poem does agitate.
Vainglorious idea to employ
daylight savings time
even a mediocre reasonable rhyme
futile effort finds current strife prime
juncture to breakaway
and resume later nighttime or
call writing aspiration quits
crowded house that for being sublime?
Unlikely literary pursuit or aim
will find yours truly a best seller
never experiencing accolades
nor remuneration to claim
truth be told, cuz I haint seeking
neither fortune nor fame.
The principle impetus explaining zeal
to discipline generic human to hone
his ability, where basic blocks of English
language (words) linkedin incorporating
mental cogs and gears mesh
making (mishmash) as figurative wheel
in the sky keeps on turning
perhaps divine intervention
intercedes as yours truly takes
lock, stock, and barrel of himself, one
bumbling, grumbling, tumbling schlemiel
cue hapless characteristic vagrant tramp
as viewed courtesy black and white newsreel
enroute to meet cobbler, cuz worn out heel
actually kind individual stopped to offer hobo
an uber lyft courtesy fancy automobile.
Get me inside quickly and as fast as you can,
please turn the time travel dial to September 1963
Get me to a post office in Washington, D.C.,
so I can send an important letter to Jacque Kennedy.
The letter will tell her about her premature son, Patrick,
I will give her his four pound birth weight.
To prove I know what I am talking about,
I will tell her about my time travel, and warn her of the fate
And that her husband, President John F. Kennedy
is in grave danger, and that on November 23rd, 1963,
If she lets him go to Dallas and ride in an open limousine,
he will be assassinated at her knee.
Trip number two, will bring me to February 1968,
but I will stay in the same post office. Here is the thing.
I will write a detailed letter to Coretta Scott King,
warning her about the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King.
To prove that I am reliable I will tell her that January 30th,
1956 is the day that a bomb
will go off on her porch, but it will not hurt anyone.
After a little sandwich, and a drink in a cold fountain,
I will now dial up August 14th, 1969, and head to Catskill Mountain,
It will be splendid to be the first to arrive,
At Woodstock, a day ahead of the crowd
of 400,000, now I am feeling truly alive.
I will be civil, not puffed up or proud.
I will spend three glorious days enjoying the music here,
marvel at the hip-hugger bell-bottoms, and dear
black and white dairy cows, staying clear
of the braless women and the minds that are a bit unclear.
My last trip is easy. I will return to two days ago,
and from breakfast re-do that entire day.
I was pretty mean to my husband,
and I would like to stop myself from acting that way.
In My Opinion Jacque Fresco May Have Been The Most Brilliant Man,
perhaps even surpassing Stephen Hawking.
The reality is we can all bring Jacque Fresco's amazing vision,
of a most wonderful world all of us can harmoniously live in,
in only ten years to its full fruition,
if only the masses could unite, and choose to be enlightened.
Everyone, Visit The Venus Project Web Site,
Everyone, open your eyes there and you will surely see the light,
at the end of the tunnel where Jacque Fresco's dream shines bright.
A world beyond poverty, beyond war and beyond politics.
was Jacque Fresco's vision, The Venus Project.
His entire life's work was to provide for all of us,
an attainable world that is absolutely marvelous.
We all owe this great man, in honor of his memory,
to give The Venus Project a look see, at the very least.
Join me and all involved, join all of us,
and support Jacque Fresco's dream, The Venus Project.
WEALTHY MAN: "If you're so smart, then why aren't you wealthy?"
JACQUE FRESCO: "You're wealthy, how come you're not smart?"
The Venus Project
https://www.thevenusproject.com/
Let Jacqueline, Jacque, and sophisticated Parisians rave about the Eiffel Tower
Romantic poets write in egregious excess of their cozy, intimate leafy bowers
Leave scientists and paleontologists to their study of fossils and dinosaurs--
As for me, nothing compares with a home-from-work, end-of-the-day shower.
Political scientists dissect the machinations of international superpowers
Historians pore over WW2 battles and the heroics of Dwight David Eisenhower
Gardeners & green thumbers extol the myriad virtues of planting flowers--
But as for me, no occupation holds a candle to the pleasure of a bracing shower.
The downtown office crowd breathlessly counts down the minutes to Friday's Happy Hour
Bartenders mix exotic drinks like Coconut Pussycats, Lady Godivas, or plain old Whiskey Sours
College professors soar above the mundane pursuits of common workers, in their cushy ivory towers--
Yet as for me, there's no finer pursuit than the anticipation of a relaxing, refreshing shower.
Cooks and master chefs endlessly debate palate appeal of asparagus tips and fried cauliflower
Efficiency experts squeeze the most from a production line's manpower output per man hour
Grease jockeys and auto mechanics wax rapturous about muscle cars and their horsepower--
Whereas all I can think about the entire working day is returning home to a steamy, hot shower.
So please remember, my friend:
No matter how sour your whey
No matter how dour your day
No matter your willpower fade
Your brainpower stray
Even if your boss forgets your pay--
Simply wash all of your cares away
With a shower at the end of each day!