Long Maggie Poems
Long Maggie Poems. Below are the most popular long Maggie by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Maggie poems by poem length and keyword.
The dreaded news came from his Uncle Sam with a nice salutation:
"Greetings, Nephew! I need you to help defend the nation!"
He pleaded with the draft board but they turned a deaf ear.
"Your claim of hereditary hang nails won't do, now get outta here!"
At Fort Bleak, the sergeant said, "Your army career has just begun!
Forget Mom, Dad and Maggie Mae, you belong to me now, my son!
Just pay attention, keep your mouth shut, don't give me any sass;
Keep your brogans shined, weapon cleaned, always salute the brass!"
The clothes they issued didn't fit, he looked a terrible disgrace!
His shoes were so big, that in them he could do an about face!
Herded to the barber, he was shorn of all his hair!
Two hours in the army and already sick of the entire affair!
He presented both arms to the medics for numerous injections.
His trembling nude body was subjected to minute inspections.
At last thro' the induction line, his head reeling and spinning!
No sympathy from the sergeants - they just stood there grinning!
The baffled recruit marched to the mess for the evening repast.
Gravy on toast and figs on a steel tray left him hungry and aghast!
The sergeants finally let him collapse in his welcoming cot,
Completely befuddled and bewildered by his hapless lot!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Right Reserved)
Sixty-Six years ago today a very naïve farm-boy left the Hoosier farm,
To seek adventure beyond the horizon since farming had lost its charm.
He enlisted in the Air Force, a knight in blue to keep the nation free.
My gosh! Come to think about it, that unsophisticated lad was me!
Since I was only seventeen, I had to get my reluctant Ma to sign for me.
She came from a Quaker background and abhorred all strife, you see.
Pa was ambivalent about the matter - just one less mouth to feed, said he.
I marched off to face the future, another warrior for our family tree!
Harassment began once I arrived at the inhospitable induction station.
Docs had me bend over, then stand, turn my head and cough for observation.
They probed and prodded and stuck needles in my arms for inoculation.
Oh! The abject misery and humiliation of it all just to serve my nation!
Next came the swearing-in where I vowed to uphold the Constitution.
A fiendish sarge then assumed command and began his nasty persecution.
"Fergit yer Mom, Dad and Maggie Mae" said he, "Yer butt belongs to me!"
Just hours on duty and I was homesick for the farm, pining to be free!
They put me on a choo-choo to Lackland AFB, Texas, for my basic training.
I was shorn of all hair - by now my enthusiasm and patriotism was waning.
Ah! But when I donned that Air Force suit of blue, I stood proud and tall!
If my pals behind a plow and mule could see me now! I was having a ball!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
That naïve farm boy went on to serve 30 years in the Air Force, retiring
1 August 1978.
The Great Witches Bake Off is here again
Bakes so weird some have no name.
So fierce it was to be the winner,
The prize is fame, on Lucifer's underworld twitter.
Laughing and cackling but alert and suspicious
Each convinced their bake, unique and delicious.
Erin was making a blood drizzle cake
Three pints of pigs blood is what it would take.
Weevils were left in that thrived in the flour
Add three rancid eggs for a flesh rotting aroma.
Sprinkles of gun powder to help make it rise
But don't breath it in for your eyes would triple in size.
Val was attempting bubble and squeak pie
Every mouse could be heard, that is no lie.
A bubble collection of freezed dried frog spawn
Mix in some feathers from a unwilling white swan.
A few bunches of hemlock, carrots, turnips and greens
The poison so hot, you could hear screams from your spleen.
Wilma was busy stuffing a dozen bat heads,
With slivers of blood veins torn into threads.
Bat crumble with a topping of air fried bat legs,
Which gives a harsh crunch and a gross looking sealed edge.
Served with a dollop of deadly nightshade ice-cream
So potent you would hallucinate kindness in dreams.
Fairy cakes were made by cousin Nell,
Who was expelled when she was caught casting a spell.
The wings of dead fairies placed on top of her bakes,
Escaped out the window exposing her cheating mistake.
She cursed, swore revenge as she was escorted out
A witch trial there be, there be no doubt.
Who did win? who claimed the prize?
It was Maggie the cat with her eye-spy-berry surprise.
For Frankie Stein Horner had hid in a dark corner,
As Maggies assistant and back stabbing informer.
Their deal was a lifetime of pies, for that was his dream
As Maggie quietly purred whilst licking her got cream.
18.10.24
Sometimes as we age…as we hit the downside of our prime
we have a tendency to forget things…occasionally to lose track of the time.
And even though our memory becomes something we can’t always seem to manage
there are those days…those moments…when we can use this to our advantage.
The other day I woke up convinced that is was Friday…and although Fridays I adore
Deborah informed me early on…that it was the day before.
But because of the way this old man’s memory works…I didn’t feel betrayed…
On the contrary since it was Thursday instead of Friday…
in my mind I gained an entire day
Immediately I decided not to think of how the connections in my memory crossed
but to take advantage of the 24 hours I thought that I had lost.
It made my breakfast smoothie taste better than usual…putting a smile on my face…
Next we decided to play putt-putt in Maggie Valley at our favorite putt-putt place.
From putt-putt we headed to Joey’s pancake house for lunch…
(not wanting these precious added hours to stop)
where I ate lemon poppyseed pancakes with blueberry syrup on top.
For dinner we bought tuna subs from Subway
and took a picnic to our favorite place on the Blue Ridge Parkway to eat…
I even had them put double tuna on my sub…for an extra added treat.
In the evening we sat on our porch…the end of a day I’ll never forget
playing our favorite card game while watching a mountain sunset.
And I went to bed thinking how lucky I was…glad I had found a way
to enjoy every moment, every minute…every hour…of my extra day.
You might be thinking to yourself…that’s impossible…
there’s no way for anyone to can gain an entire day…
but my old brain,
and my old heart…
do not feel the same way.
As a daytime vampire, you achieved great popularity.
Your acting skills have displayed your awesome versatility.
Each afternoon, I ran home from school to see you on TV.
The producer of the show would also bring forth a movie.
In your same role, you would wreak havoc in the community.
In Collinsport, Maine, you were pursuing a girl named Maggie.
She would resemble Josette, whom you were supposed to marry.
Such an unfortunate vampire; we saw you playing the part
of a night creature we would love to pound a stake in your heart!
At first, we all thought you were evil, but you were very good.
You assumed the person of a descendent of Collinwood.
When you were freed from your chained coffin in a mausoleum,
you dwelled among your living relatives as a conundrum.
You would go after the throats of your American cousins.
Who would need Count Dracula when we’ve got Barnabas Collins?
Each day, we would see you get into a new predicament.
For several years, you provided us with great entertainment.
A lazy day
No work waitng for you
No routine
No restrictions
You may not obey the time
No need to rush for breakfast
Traffic jams and crowds become nonsense
Breakfast become brunch
You may cook some maggie mee to start the day
And packaged food or canned food
For the rest of the day
Confined to a self lockdown
You stuck to the handphone or tv
And the world is at your finger tips
Day and night have no difference
The sun never rise and set untill tomorrow
Free of the mind and free of the soul
For one day only
And maybe a prayer for the world to go round
once more tomorrow
Robert Zimmerman
American Poet
Heard the tambourine man play today
as I was knockin’ on heaven’s door.
Like a rolling stone she could not stay.
Her boots of spanish leather made me sore.
I was knockin’ on heaven’s door,
old mighty Quinn had much to say.
Her boots of Spanish leather made me sure,
That like a rollin’ stone, she could not stay.
Old mighty Quinn paid me a visit,
and left me blowin’ in the wind.
Positively 4th street isn’t it,
while I watch the river flow, again.
And left me blowin’ in the wind,
when she told me it ain’t you babe.
While I watch the river flow, again.
Watch her float past as I wave.
When she told me it ain’t you babe,
I had to go back to Maggie’s farm.
I’ll watch Maggie float past as I wave,
when a hard rain’s a gonna’ fall.
I had to go back to Maggie’s farm.
Desolation row had lost its charm.
When a hard rain’s a gonna’ fall,
the hurricane ruined Maggie’s farm.
Desolation row had lost its charm.
Her leather boots made me sure.
The hurricane ruined Maggie’s farm,
I was knockin’ on heavens door.
The children gathered down in front,
All sprawled about without a care.
The preacher gave a homily
While little Susie twirled her hair.
O, to make some moral imprint,
How the preacher tried and tried!
Tommy tracing in the carpet,
Becky, listless, fussed and cried,
Johnny hanging off the lectern,
Billy, underneath the pews.
So it plays out every week as
Little ears receive good news.
Rounding third and losing steam,
With one last chance to bring it home,
"What's the best gift you have gotten?”
Asked the preacher while they roam.
Jimmy says, "A bright red scooter!"
Maggie yells, "big screen TV!"
"Yesterday I got my ears pierced!”
Sally stands for all to see.
"When I got my baby puppy!"
Loudly squealed another child.
"Jesus on the cross for me,"
Said Mary then, and Grandpa smiled.
This poem, which is loaded with math terms, is to be sung to the tune of Subterranean Homesick Blues. What was I thinking?
Johnny’s in the basement
Working on geometry
You’ll see my intent
A theorem in development
Presh is on the website
Hit pause, scratch head
Trick problem, misled
Try another approach instead
Look out kid
Better check it again
God knows man
Another paper in the trash can
You better try trigonometry
Lookin’ for a new way
The man with an isomorphic map
and a toupee
Wants eleven equations
You only got ten
Maggie writes chicken scratch
Paper full of cross hatch
Says she wants to attach
You better detach
You can’t find the hypotenuse
Maggie says you gotta use
Pythagoras or you lose
But the angle is obtuse
Look out mate
This spheroid’s oblate
Get on the rack
This nut won’t crack
Better get back from the ledge
With a compass and a straight edge
No primes, God knows,
Can decompose
You don’t need Terrence Tao
Can’t square a circle nohow
Add y, add x
See the roots are complex
Closed loop, subgroup
You need to jump through another hoop
Let’s see, try three
Take five, relax
Eat snacks, do tax
If you should fail, take an ax
Look out bub
Surely you’ll flub
By blunders, errors
Five-choose-two-sers
And logical abusers
Girl with a slide rule
Lookin’ like an old fool
Don’t copy Euler
Get yourself a lawyer
Ah add four, add five
It rhymes, it’s prime, then derive
One two, buckle your shoe
It’s one-to-one and onto
Square here, cube there, eggs poach
Twenty years of schoolin’
And you’re workin’ on a roach coach
Look here Jack
This nut still won’t crack
Break your hands accidental
Use a tail prehensile
Be inferential
You’ll find it’s exponential
You’re gonna have a fit
You’ll never solve it
Ken Chesebro says
‘Cause Mike Pence’ll take your pencil
Oh Tennessee, bard divine, what gems you've given,
Of truth and pain from your wrecked life riven.
Though critics scorned, your genius shone
In shabby rooms where oft alone,
You typed amid plumes of smoke, your soul's sad cry -
A Streetcar Named Desire, my oh my!
Your plays laid bare the human heart,
Its longing, fear, and rage did chart.
Upon the stage a confessional
For souls as torn as yours, so full
Of doubt and dream deferred. You mined rich ore
From depths of pain to gift us more -
The Glass Menagerie, Night of the Iguana,
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof - your canon.
New Orleans, Key West, and New York too,
Knew the demons that plagued you.
You wrestled words in the lonely night,
Until they shone with meaning's light.
America was your restless home,
Yet no theater bears your name.
Oh, who could write like Tennessee?
His plays revealed his agony.
So let us praise his lasting art,
That bared the torment of his heart.
He made human truth his muse, his fate.
For Williams was a playwright for the ages,
Who filled our lives with his brilliant stages.
Perhaps someday, we will name a stage on the great white way to honor him and his plays, where future generations can go to appreciate and praise the likes of Stanley, Maggie, Brick, and Blanche, and yes Big Daddy.