Long Shag Poems
Long Shag Poems. Below are the most popular long Shag by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shag poems by poem length and keyword.
Beyond the wave-sacked,
lie the pockmarked dunes, heaps dug
by the claws of scaly thrashers.
Here they huddle, my blood kin
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers.
By a shoaling shale and monochrome spray
one brine-splattered small fry.
A boyhood caught in a swirling freshet,
he whales barefoot in the flounder,
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
a slippage of tugging surf.
Her demeanor soggy at last, mother
goads to be led to the creaking camper.
Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea.
A toppled thermos and leftovers
scooped up and lugged away.
Windswept, the lingerers
trudge from the chilly churn,
while a soused and hectoring bay
records a working-class holiday.
I Remember You
Yes, I remember you,
the dark-skinned girl,
dressed in tight corduroy,
unzipped on the floor there.
You were my lover that night in 1970;
We were wrestling
so smoothly, so passionately,
in the old brick house on Hoover street.
Remember honey? Just you and me
alone in the darkness,
kissing like kids crazy about each other,
listening to Hendrix on the oak console,
Electric Merman on axe in 1983,
Playing like a god from beneath
the fiery pinnacles of the Styx.
Remember? We were 18 and
wild with wordless desire.
I kissed you often that night
in the grey bluesy shadows,
embracing intensely
your perfumed, unbuttoned body,
on beige thick shag
by the open screen door,
with that benign breeze blowing in
softly and silently,
like the breath of whispering ghosts,
watching there, as we groped and licked,
two kneading felines, quivering,
insecure in the darkness,
our lips, slickered and lathered
in strawberry paste and love spit,
and our reaching tongues,
seared and slithering like caught tunas,
found electric connections
in the heaving nets
of aching fleshly onslaughts,
of mad touching embraces,
with esoteric teenage sweatings
at silent midnight, in June,
when the jacarandas are in bloom.
Yes, I remember you,
The girl with the brown perfumed skin,
and those kissing smacking sucking lips
that spoke so loudly,
without ever saying a word.
in streams of sunbeams inviting
my face to turn upwards
I am captured by intangible senses of
nutmeg and cinnamon communion-
candy-coated moments blossoming
As the wizard of memories wakes a dream
speechless and smiling
standing and body turning with movement
I am drawn onto the shag carpet
of blades sprouting green lightheartedness
tickling the soles of my feet
unabashedly bare
naked on an aimless path
shuffling gaited rhythms of a waltz step
striking with carefree muted thuds
on the squishy sod
jumping-running-skipping…
lifting ever higher-a freedom
that only children know
visitors from the ghosts of my youth
appear from the mettle of my core
singing, talking and laughing
each lyric echoing unrestrained
their haunting chimes pasted
in a basket of blue skies painted
with art of clouds
colored like vague stranded souvenirs-
a pictorial imbued across the horizon
a stage-play of our backyard friendships
step-by-step twirling-arms swinging-round
bare feet colliding with smiles
and I…..with great laughter...
I danced with them all!
November 2, 2022
This or That Vol 14 Poetry Contest
Renascence
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Have you ever had
A bag of potato chips
A glass of smoky wine
Halfway through
Wanting for more?
Have the rest of the bag
Drink the whole bottle
There’s wisdom in saturation
Joy in the overflowing cup
Have your chips and eat it too
Let the cup overflow till
Ruby puddles on a carpet
Chiplets scattered on shag
How else do you know
Half-empty or half-full?
How does rock bottom
Know, if you’ve hit the center?
The extra pounds tattle tells
The stain on the carpet knows
When saturation is not enough
It’s dangerous to get it all
Potato chips Grubhub away
There’s always a bigger cup
Let them joyride to you despite
Floods in the brain with dopamine
How else does the spill know the rim
How does satisfaction know the edge?
Boundaries untested will tempt
Saturation will continue to entice
Knowing enough is true wisdom
The stained carpet will tell you
The waistline will confess
You’ve reached beyond saturation
Penury is natural like drought then
Missing won’t feel like missing out
When the bottle is nearly empty
When there are just crumbs
I'll savor what remains
Put them aside for tomorrow
I'll saturate them with temperance
He was asleep on his stomach.
His snoring could wake the dead.
She glared at his sleeping back
wanting to push him out of bed.
She covered her ears with a pillow
trying to block out the sound.
An evil thought ran though her head,
"There were no witnesses around".
She crept out to the kitchen
She could have stomped ... he wouldn't hear.
With the largest butcher knife
she returned to her husband dear..
Right between his shoulder blades,
one thrust ... he snored no more.
She gathered the blankets around him
to keep the blood off the white shag floor.
Then the snoring started again.
She let out a startled scream
and sat bolt upright in her bed.
It had all been just a dream.
He was asleep on his stomach.
His snoring could wake the dead.
She stared at his sleeping back
and wanted to punch him in the head.
10/07/2012
Hes ing homeless, you see him there don't ignore that starved groak glare,
You can see that he's got an empty cup in his hand he looks hungry and you're now aware,
He has no shirt on his back no shoes on his feet, but he's human too, hes no different to me or you,
He feels inferior, he's embarrassed to panhandle for any spare change from any of you,
He's ing homeless but he's human to, he's no different to anyone of you,
It's just your negative attitude that brings that poor man down when he's feeling blue
He's not useless, he has to sit all day he can't just get up and move away he'll get mobbed
And they'll take anything that's left, he's already been pillaged and robbed,
They'll even take his spot where he's currently sitting but it's also where he plans to sleep,
She's sick, her stomach twists she's not eaten in days all her money was spent on a bag,
Now she stands under the bright street light her spot light, she smiles even though she's sad
She needs to turn a trick to get her fix so she's no longer sick, She feels dirty and used
As drunk lads walk past how much for a shag you dirty slag, they holla at her amused
She's still human not a walking price tag, she dosent deserve such degrading abuse,
From let's be honest total ing twats that wouldn't last 5 minutes on these mean streets,
She's ing homeless and needs to score she needs enough cash to pay towards a hotel room,
To go after a hard night on the streets her homies will stay too splitting the bill
A room at the cheapest hotel that stinks, is dank and dark filled with mould and mildew
Blood splatter from previous occupants who have shot up, could pass as art deco from the ghetto,
There ing homeless but there human to there no different to anyone of you.
It's just our negative attitude judging them bringing them down till they feel blue.
~Once upon a rhyme, many years ago~
a charm of wordsmiths gathered on an emerald mountain
took dreamy strolls on piney paths along its golden crown
dipped their wits and winsome in a pastel-painted lake
while sun and shadow played a game of enchanted charades.
The moon unchained a spray of applauding stars
from the muses' hearts, the gemstones gently flowed
like a rush of songs from a bevy of meadowlark
Shakespeare's ghost stirring just beyond the glow.
All the while the old poetess listened quietly
her novella etched in the eyes and beech bark hands
seeing things the green sprigs would never see
her cane tapping stardust into an empty hourglass...
The coals slipping silently into quiet blush
as sonnets wove seamlessly upon a sable brush.
A ruby-throated angel fanning poetic vows
sealing us to our muse in a jaded stand of boughs...
We bid farewell and made promises we'd never keep.
Carving our weighted hearts into the shag bark of memory.
I once visited an old copper town
in the upper peninsula of Michigan.
The U.P. as the Yoopers say
And on the U.P. it winters from
October to April’s end
where saloons and
vacant churches pock each
devoutly sodden block with
a piss-penny for your thoughts.
The hay was made there
in the 1890’s, bronzed and
plaqued in a shag-city square
gray beyond grief
-faced for no reason
it remembers.
It is a compelling obscurity.
that I will visit
again, one day
when I have
less to lose and
more to forget.
There the parking meters
stand away from the curbs
by big brick hollows,
beyond the plow’s carve
so high must pile
the insulating snow.
What a marvelous feeling
Turn on the dance switch
- still a flower in the bud
The spare battery is charged
when Friday comes
I guess you are able
to keep up with my pace
Spinning and twirling
Cut loose,
in boogie, shag or belly dance
- the moon and the stars
will shine all night
- no time to sleep
Stage set: Nineteen Seventy-Two
Enter threshold Jolly Jumper bouncing baby girl
toes grazing the shag
Next scene a little quicker
Clad in plaid she's a Big Wheels and corduroy blur
moving the plot along
Intermission (Orange Crush, Pop Rocks and Pixie Sticks)
Action: The games begin
Go Fish your Fisher Price Little People
out of the sandbox
you're too young to play with Matchbox
so cool until that Etch A Sketchy kid
sends your Slinky down the stairs
Plot twist: the corner store Mexican Jumping Beans
were infinitely more entertaining than Pet Rocks
The End
Well not "The End"
Training wheels are off and so is the star of the show
Careening towards the eighties
With her Choose Your Own Adventure collection in tow
18.02.25
Composed for Line Gauthier's
Where were you in the 70's?