Long Lou Poems
Long Lou Poems. Below are the most popular long Lou by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lou poems by poem length and keyword.
Let me get this straight I said to my Aunt Lou.
He’s a scholar, an athlete, a violinist too.
She nodded. He is always happy too, never blue.
Now you are telling me he can fly? Is this true?
The owl flew in the window seconds later.
He rapidly opened her refrigerator.
Where are the worms I put in here? He demanded.
I was horrified, thought he would be reprimanded.
This is my boyfriend, Tony, Aunt Lou said to me.
Why don’t you stay and have some lemon tea?
She found the worms, and Tony chuckled with glee.
I was so grossed out, I could drink my tea ….barely.
After the meal, he played his violin, and was great.
For a boyfriend, he might be kind of second rate.
But he speaks six languages and can carry a tune.
Best of all, grouchy Aunt Lou is “over the moon”.
Sheila wants to go to Europe, her man, Lou is thinking Mexico.
Just go, said their teenage son, pack up and go! Go! Go!
You would have to come, they argued, but he has a job.
I’ll stay with him said Gram, who was fond of her grandson Rob.
Sheila and Lou hit the road, it was a smooth, happy start.
They traveled through the Midwest, each with a loving heart.
Formidable five-wheeler was packed with the supplies for a week.
They were like teenagers again, on bit of a honeymoon streak.
They went through Mississippi in the middle of the night
Traveled to Georgia, where they saw many an amazing sight
Wandered down to Florida and spied a large gator cross the road.
Oh, this gives me the creeps said Sheila, now in mama mode.
Let’s try Route 66 said Lou, so they turned that bus around.
Traveled through the Midwest, their eyes on boring ground.
When they hit Wyoming, they were cheering at bison who roam.
I cannot wait to get home, said Sheila, so I can write this in a poem.
He was born in Chicago in 1933,
and became one of the best acts anyone could see.
In the fifties, with the “Teenage Kings of Harmony”,
with classmate Sam Cooke, he gained great popularity.
He joined “The Pilgrim Travelers” after the army.
In a South car crash, he was a near fatality.
It took more than a year to regain his memory.
Lou Rawls became popular with his deep velvet voice.
His more than seventy albums with hit songs were choice.
He made his mark in the sixties with a recording
that went to number one called “Love is a Hurting Thing”.
“Lady Love”, You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine,”
and “Natural Man” were his biggest hit songs so fine.
Lou became great with raising funds for some charities
that would help black colleges and universities.
This was a man who achieved so much during his day.
In January 2006, he passed away.
Thanks to wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for valuable information I obtained to write this poem.
Many years ago, I was in a down-heartened funk, after deciding to get a little bit drunk.
Beer guzzling queens won’t tell you, but liquor tastes bad going down and coming back up is truly no joy.
Some will tell you how great drinking liquor makes them feel, happy, and wonderful. But they’re full of bunk
Being wasted, angry, crying, and a bit mean is no way to meet any kind of a man or dating boy
And if you are completely silly, to hug, or touch or god forbid fore take in a sloppy drunk kiss
I must tell you the story of a naïve woman who got herself in a real pickle in St. Croix
If you are already completely wasted, and angry, and mean, this warning you will probably dismiss
This sordid tale of a girl, a boy, a golden pony, a red flute that laughed, and a shiny green Shamrock
The way this tale was told to me, by my gram, it entered my ears totally unbiased and Faultless
There was a pipe, and a honey bee, and a well-intentioned, prettied up edible pink and plump Ham hock
I do remember someone laughing, and a foot being broken, and a yellow three cent postage stamp.
There was a nickel’s worth of lead, and an angry man, and a princess in a lavender and pink Frock
The men crowded around to watch Trixie Lou dance, for she was a well-known, conniving, trickster of a Vamp
In my inebriated state, I can recall but one bit of the story that has any bearing now.
Grandpa’s dream girl was a devious witch of a woman according to Big Ma, a hard-hearted Tramp
Told by Big Ma, Trixie was a flaunter, a floozy, a conniver, a flute-playing nasty old cow,
She had pink cheeks, sky blue eyes, and she wore her red curls pinned with green shamrocks; she was all kinds of pretty.
This information was slipped to me in whispers by Grandpa, who considered Trixie a giant wow.
Naïve Lou
has no clue
about boys
and their toys.
She feels sure
she can lure
Cal away
ANY day
from old cars,
gaming wars,
casinos.
She just knows
he’ll prefer
time with her!
Lou’s his gal.
Clueless Cal
thinks she’ll be
frequently
there for him—
at his whim.
Facebook time
will decline.
Girls’ nights out
will, no doubt,
not be ceased,
but decreased!
*******
Should they wed
or instead
say “Good-bye”
with a sigh?
******
Well, these two
said, “I do”
years ago.
Blessings flow.
Compromise
shows how wise
they have grown.
Each has shown
due respect,
no neglect.
40 lines
September 8, 2020
entered in the Threes, Please Poetry Contest placed 2nd
Sponsor: Beth Evans
October 1, 2020
entered in the Completely Your Choice (20) Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
I'll never forget the dog named Lou,
When he came to us he was no bigger than my shoe.
He was friendly to all , that was his take,
But he was my wife's dog make no mistake.
Of the dog's that I've known,
Throughout their lives as they've grown,
There was an essence of Lou,
That always shone through.
He was a black flash of twist in the air, land on his feet,
A ball chasing gentleman, it was land and repeat,
And when you called he came, he didn't fight,
I tell you that Lou was all right.
Too quickly he grew old, he never liked the cold,
His beard became grey, and he slept all day,
He'd lie in his bed, could barely lift his head,
And when he battled to hear, I knew the end was near.
I'll never forget the dog named Lou
(MaGowen’s Pizzaland Monroe, CT 2008)
The caterwaul of the jukebox blends seamlessly with the screech of infants,
and the fumes of garlic hanging heavily in the air.
The true mama’s and papa’s are here, here where the dough flies
the glasses clink; and the Beatles belt out
Strawberry Fields Forever ....
The roar of unruly children,
bashing video buttons to Roll Over Beethoven
pounds into the diners temples, dulled with Pinot noir, Chianti
and pitchers of golden ale.
Trays, tall, saucer-shaped sit beside cherry red baskets
of pristine white bread, as the fire engine red corvettes pull up outside.
The jet-black and chrome model T’s vie for spaces on the asphalt lot
outside the restaurants doors.
Sweet-hearts wait for the cracked, green-vinyl booths
like penitents at a Sunday mornings mass.
Pizza pies fly by on stainless saucer- shaped plates
landing on cluttered Formica tables
dressed with vinegars and shake cheese
Racecars zoom around the game track;
as kids run pell-mell down the aisles.
And, only Mary Lou knows
“Who’s on first?”
Lou, queen of the witches was astounded when
She was awakened by the lull of an October wind
The elves and faeries had worked on a gorgeous gown
Come on down! They giggled. “Come on down!”
It was a wonderful ensemble complete with purple hat.
My favorite colors! She told them, delighted as her cat.
They had brought M and M kibble for her kitty, Girl.
She put on the gown and gave a happy joyful twirl.
How nice of you! She told them, you deserved a treat.
In the kitchen she gave them some sweets to eat.
They could not stop grinning, feeling respected by Lou.
You are now my dressmakers, she said. No one else will do.
My Pet Poems, Lou
The rains had begun pelting New Orleans.
The warnings were dire. An insurrection
Of weather on the Gulf coast was coming, urging
Everyone to escape to higher ground. That
Meant everyone! Katrina’s on the way!
The highways were halted, bumper to bumper,
While no other plans were coming! Where, oh,
Where is higher ground along the coast?
Lou came on the all-night drive with his family
To Lexington, where Woody had died
And Barkley needed a friend; we called our vet,
Seeking a beagle puppy. He called us next day.
He knew a dog named Lou, who needed a home.
So, Jim went to see the sweet boy, who
Was actually an English Foxhound, very
Like a beagle, but 20 pounds more and
Twice the height, and whose family had come
— now homeless — from now-drowned
New Orleans, leaving behind the Japanese eatery
They owned, but now infringing their escape
On friends, which meant their dear Lou,. too,
Needed a new life’s place.
We became it. Lou, I always thought, became
Our gentle giant (compared to our cockers),
Taking to Jim, who exchanged whispers with him.
Big boy though he was, everything about him was
Soft, from the way he placed his paws when walking,
To his lying patiently on the bed between us,
To the way he tilted his head when
His name was said. I cannot recall
Him barking or charging or begging.
He would receive as each hour brought him...
His life, so he seemed, had become
A patient resolution, plus a pleasant one, where
He gave happy loyalty and endearment
For our love; saved from flood, destitution,
And a New Orleans life feeling
Lost in a midst of starting all over.
He gifted us, in return, the constant peace
Of feeling found and accepted.
*********. ***********. ***********
(c) sally Young eslinger 1/9/2021
Thanks be to God
Loosing (lou sing) the damn rumors...
Torpedo style full speed ahead
keeping me in suspense,
what salacious gossip
gets browned, buttered, rolled
down the alley and bred
into unsavory tidbits,
these souffled ears dread
to hear hard boiled morsels
poached, scrambled, whipped
donning barren falsehoods
zeitgeist spouting dunderhead
trumpeting hex pence heave
signature border wall
inside this weatherbeaten egghead
sponge bobbing squarepants,
whereby passers by some with fathead
steer clear avoiding your truly
wobbly, and zany fountainhead
even atlas shrugged his shoulders
in repugnance at mine R.E.M. bored
heavy slimy algal filled
legally tendered greenhead
thank dog - me noggin
rock solid hardhead
able to withstand falsehoods
pitting this uber capital one
tindered linkedin lyfted loggerhead
with silent springing
black barbs snubbed from lunkhead
argh, those cruel verbal slings
fired weapons courtesy
mass destruction multiwarhead
lobbed, rocket propelled, tear gassed
glancing off cratered moon faced pate
said vicious unfounded nailhead
sharp hearsay twittering
with wingspan outspread
pterodactyl by bajillion miles exceeded
size of Sheepshead
Bay, I knew best to tread
softly, and carry big stick
admonished by Teddy Roosevelt
in conjunction with unifying thread
primarily on issues
in mathematics and logic
advanced by Alfred North Whitehead,
hence we must find another
place to escape widespread
senior citizens acting juvenile,
maybe a place gravely wrested
or willingly conceded
from grateful dead.