Long Pegged Poems
Long Pegged Poems. Below are the most popular long Pegged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pegged poems by poem length and keyword.
January 13th, 2023
After wishing upon a star
to garner a handsome windfall
as a positive fated birthday gift
lo and behold, these ears didn't deceive me,
cuz I discerned a partial telephone message
hinting at word winnings to good to be true.
I (a sheepish fellow) nearly got fleeced...
to the tune of five hundred dollars
courtesy publishers clearing house scam
nearly got the wool pulled over my eyes
lucky for me presence of the missus
a force not to be reckoned with,
she madly gesticulated
yours truly to hang up the telephone.
Predacious con artists
flourish thick as thieves
insinuating themselves
with practiced braggadocio
annoyingly swat away
her/his feigned friendly felicitousness
courtesy mine non affirmative action
think my feeble and meek
polite verbal declinations.
Characteristic passiveness pervaded
persona non grata of yours truly,
whether being the "scapegoat"
all throughout twelve years enslavement
constituting skool of hard knocks
reflexively withdrawing within self
seriously contemplating existence
as Norwegian bachelor farmer.
After consuming copious
platefuls of powdered milk biscuits,
I (an ordinarily shy person)
bucked and chucked
conventional behavior of mine,
plucked courage with humorous repartee
off times conjuring
the perfect comeback
versus smarting with absent
quick wittedness ex post facto.
Overzealousness ofttimes finds yours truly
trying to overcompensate
being pegged as quietest student,
whose severe nasality reinforced
(courtesy submucous cleft palate)
impeded communicating spontaneously
even now thinking twice before
interjecting a comment viz aperçu
(ideally humorous) to feel included
among social venue or milieu.
"It learned me and from that beginning I knew
evry thing beyond would do the same.
We have to find away to insulate and buffer
the atmosphere only then would we be in full
control of the internal structure. Wise as it seems
the external structure would be the key to achieving
this." Speaking of the winter, in the gypsum home he
had constructed he refused to believe that with the
thickness of these walls he would still need to insulate.
He chose to do so using sprayed styrofoam on the external
part covering three sides and then staking rebar in a slab
covering the edges with wire mesh and partly filling it with
pea stones. The instructions told the story of his theory. By
doing so he'd have to explain what made him come up with
the idea. He only answered with the these two words:
"Thermal-Mass" by cutting the rebar down on two sides creating
a triangular shape he would then fill the top with a clayish soil,
but first he'd wished to spray concrete over the pegged area to create a stone.
then he knew for sure that all areas were insulated and sealed to create a
walled system that would endure the test of time. the windows
are to the front of the structure where it had 2x4 framing and insulated
the problemed was solved and his goals achieved!
" Modern Thinking"emulate the range: the emotional inflections timbre and tone to illustrate the person. Sounds used like spoken words, an inflection of the human voice. or character.
He’s somebody’s grandpa I bet, we all said.
He had wandered into our family reunion around nine.
Grandma rolled her eyes and set him in front of the TV.
He smelled like chew, his flannel shirt was a bit wrinkled.
He was unkempt but clean, a relative maybe?
No one knew, but we kept our opinions to ourselves.
He lit up a stogie and watched the news past our heads.
Grandma brought him a tray with bacon, eggs and two piece of toast.
As she turned to go he gave her a playful pat on her petootsie ootsie.
We young ones laughed; earning sharp looks from our parents.
We never did find out who the guy was, but figured he was an Iowan.
This was 1962, when children did not know the ways of grownups.
I have never forgotten the pat on grandma’s petootsie ootsie
Or the way the old dude’s face lit up when he looked at me and grinned.
I pegged him as Granddaddy’s replacement, but never saw him again.
Images from a cogged apparatus.
Fingertips toggle milled brass
abreast a concertinaing leather.
Tripodal spread, pegged legs.
Women paused in pose,
a gilded stillness.
A plump bosom peek-show.
Wide-open lens revealing
knee’s, and ankles,
silky ribbons; lace decorously draped
over a connivance of modesty.
A gentleman photographer
throws a dark curtain over
his head.
The models are captured
framed as they are
inside a light-box of silence.
An artist has added a color tint,
their cheeks are rouged
lips glossily red.
A luster and filigree
of bygone corsetry teases the eye.
Posturing in an upper room.
A warm lamp licks Tiffany shades,
shadows halted in mid-flicker.
Feathers and brocade adjusted,
imagination moves, veils fall,
flesh flexes.
Their legacy a démodé,
an optical glow from a yesteryear,
one to be admired in secret.
Singular Sound of Out
nationaldaycalendar.com
It’s November 30th, and I am
heartened that today, is
National Personal Space Day.
But, further weave into the wicked web
knits up duplicity; unravels, in fact,
other sobriquets for the same date like
National Mousse Day,
National Mason Jar Day, and
Stay Home Because You’re Well Day
Might as well be National
Ponzi Scheme Day or
World Polygamy Day, or
Hold the Oral Thermometer
Against the Hot Lamp So It Looks
Like You Have a Fever and
Won’t Have to Go to School Day,
(Which I did once, before I celebrated
National Fess Up to Your Mother
Before the Ambulance Comes Day),
Of course, none of this will be
Reported, but I won’t permit my
personal space to be stuffed
into a jelly vessel, or rubbed
upon someone’s flaky pate just to
spike up their limp doo.
It’s all faux festival, and at the end
of National Meth Awareness Day,
also pegged at Eleven Thirty,
It’s the butt end of a sham ham
invented to dope us into more
greeting cards and bobbles
Because believing is the one thing
we all seem prepared to do, given our
preferred Evening Nosebag feeds.
So, cheers to the International Day
For Tolerance which was
celebrated on November 16th
I missed it; and so, maybe, did you,
but I could hear the Nihilists
and Zealots screeching madly for the high
windows in the singular Sound of Out.
Hollywood squares, we would stare
at the set, as we do now in varying
shapes and sizes.
Now family appears
in quaint little tablet squares - some
sheltered-quiet, or
eccentric with Eiffel
Tower backdrop,
some ogling the others,
one with a gas mask face finding appall
and humor
during this fathomless race,
slow like a tortoise who can’t mete a hare —
time recklessly drawn out,
the finish line
far out there. What will we find when
civilization restarts?
Will we be wearing rags,
our riches bagged up and sent to thrift?
I stare and inquire of the squares —
will we find our round
faces headed
into outer space
or going nowhere
at a fast pace?
Are we raptured? Are we done?
NO!
the session ended, no goodbyes
too - sudden as a hawk
we will find our hands
back in the land of the living
robotic pace of happenstance
have we lost
a career,
gained weight,
kept up the humor
of the Hollywood Squares?
3/30/2020
It’s fall of 1888, the south of France,
In the verdant fields of Arles,
Two artists shared a single dream,
And so began their quarrel.
Vincent paved the way for Paul
With bold sunflower sprays.
Paul dissembled, stating plain,
“More practiced effort pays.”
“Don't smile before December,”
Said the mentor to his charge.
And the student pegged his better
As a bon vivant at large.
So, their tenure at the Yellow House
Grew troublesome and dark.
Their artists’ shared collective
Strayed a long way off its mark.
Dry and cold, the Mistral winds
Spread madness like a plague,
To infiltrate poor Vincent’s mind,
Whose memories grew vague.
Mania, delirium, anxiety, and fear,
Climaxed when the voices told him,
“You don’t need that ear!”
He’d heard no praise, regardless.
Dr. Rey used his sorry portrait
To fix his chicken coop.
Then Theo got engaged,
And Paul sailed away to Tahiti.
Now time’s become history,
And that paint smeared canvas,
Nailed to a chicken coop
Means to claim a hefty sum.
And Le Fou Roux lies cold in his grave,
Unmindful of the legend he’s become.
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
STARRY NIGHTS AT SAINT REMY
A pegged round point gleams a dream as a passerby
pauses briefly at some display of hearts. Creams alot
enchanted in velvety reds filled with sweet treats that
address the same in my deepest fantasies. Employed by
the Creatures that slither their way, shading their point in
passing. Then a heavenly-sent gifts a genteel speaker
drifts a spun floater albeit a dove's solitaire feather.
Angelic hands reach down to gather it up in chorale
chants achieved its disciplined course. In brevity
breathes deeply, exalting with the soothing blessed
Suite, performed by Johann Bach. Toccata, Adagio, and
Fugue in C Major, with cultured ivory chords and refined
pedals as the fantasy seized a day.
Biological parents minted circa December 1st, 1957
Amelie Beth Harris
fresh out womb blurted "ahoy"
melded as genetic
deoxynucleic acid alloy
awkward first time parents
natural affection did employ
Boyce and Harriet Harris
shed tears of joy,
and feted yearly birthdays,
thus much appreciation ye did buoy
bestowed unconditional love,
thus tis impossible mission
to compensate, thus thank... oh boy
so much financial, emotional debt
I Cain never be Abel to repay...
Benjamin McLane Spock
(May 2, 1903 – March 15, 1998)
quickly became Gibraltar rock
Baby and Child Care (1946)
one of the best-selling
volumes in history
mother frequently referenced,
whenever figurative roadblock
dog eared pages testimony
frequency when apprenticed
at tender age very sensitive
if made accidental laughingstock
then in later years came to my defense,
when this younger brother
pitifully relentlessly teased
courtesy daily bullies targeted me
as token "scapegoat"
pitched yours truly into
verbal suffocating deadlock.
Protective "big" sister
not twisted, yet dynamic as twister
(think bodyguard), and during
play school served as kapellmeister
threatening to kick keister
of anyone who so much
as harm hair on my head
tattooing with resultant
cheeky chic bubbling blister.
Well perhaps hyperbolic stock in trade
slight exaggeration regarding above,
though only 407.417 days age gap
between this scribe and his aforesaid
sibling, the psychological maturation
pegged much greater oft times made
eldest sister donned trumpeted role
much higher emotional paygrade
of surrogate mother
quasi maternal aid
amazing thirteen months older
though more frayed
nerves i.e. mine this
middle progeny i.e. me
dependent analogous to preschool grade
kid (taut) with homesickness anxiety inlaid
missing his mommy feigning
happiness as charade.
I was young and innocent and I only had eyes for you
You were my constant companion the whole day through
But you fell into a puddle and mum hurried you away
I was oh so sad, I cried and cried so much that day
I found you hiding from me, high up on the washing line
Pegged up by your ears, but my teddy now looked fine
When I look through old photos its plain for all to see
‘Lying on teddy’ you really meant the world to me
21st June 2015
Penned after looking through old photos of me from aged about two
My teddy bear was called lying on teddy because I used to lie on him in my sleep and he went from a cuddly round bear to a flat bear