Long Swagger Poems
Long Swagger Poems. Below are the most popular long Swagger by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Swagger poems by poem length and keyword.
"I've been takin' on a new direction, but I have to say, I've been
thinkin' about my own protection, it scares me to feel this way."
From Tina Turner's song
What's Love Got To Do With It
Tina Turner, the singer, the legend, died on May 24, 2023
at her lakeshore home Chateau Algonquin, in Switzerland
on the Zurich Lake, it was her home for three decades
fans lay flowers, lit candles and left messages of love
at the cast-iron gates overcome with grief, she was 83
Tina's humble beginnings, her voice, and her strength
would make her beloved the world over and an inspiration
she had a swagger, a sexuality, an unstoppable energy
wild crazy hair, dancing legs and hips, and gravely voice
born, Anna Mae Bullock on November 26, 1939
a young girl who sang in the church choir and
then, as a teen went to nightclubs with her sister
watching Ike Turner she said would put her in a trance
one night she was given a microphone and sang
and sang all night with Ike and that was the beginning
Ike loved her voice and made her his lead singer
with his band the Kings of Rhythm and girl group, Ikettes
there were tours, albums, hit records, it all seemed wonderful
but behind the scene things were not good for Tina
Ike was violent, abusive, with an unpredictable temper
he hit Tina, raped her, belittled her, instilled fear and
never gave her any of the money that she earned
this went on until one night after a brutal fight
Tina ran with 36 cents in her pocket to a Ramada Hotel
she divorced Ike and began her amazing solo career
there would hit albums, number 1 hits, world tours,
Grammy's, movie roles, induction into the Hall of Fame
so much success it is hard to put it all in this poem
she lost two sons to death, fought various illnesses
for years, but did marry the love of her life, Irwin Bach
she had happiness, she had sorrow and she had strength
and that is how I will remember this incredible woman
a woman who fought to come back from hell and who
would inspire the world with her amazing talent,
rest in peace, Tina Turner
Maybe I’m just being petty
let me state my case are you ready
When we first met your swagger
made me stagger honestly
I stammered over your use of grammar
Like a hacker who was
attacking with your rap....
Your words were so deadly....
Such a clever endeavor
whenever your around
a bearer of wealth and treasure
leaving me bound
Silently you’d sit,
yet righteously you’d come back violently
leaving those who tried you, lifeless
Your very vibrancy excitedly delighted me
How they would think themselves majorly
Lol but truthfully only minor league
Always hittin what you were spittin
don’t you agree
We were a dynasty
I say that modestly
Always being the talk of society
we were their delicious tea
Over time now I wonder
do you still notice me
Or perhaps Im just too devoted see
I’ve promoted my motive endlessly
Lowered my guard just a poetess,
writing poetry
Noted all the unknowns graciously
As I’m steadily trying to
write impressively
Countless pieces I bring in
a myriad unnoticed seriously
So curiously am I petty?
You got me
I guess that’s it
point, blank, period
that’s the tea
Sterile ducts with just a trace
Of fleeting mist at moist base
Passionate reserves saving grace
Digging deep to find some solace
Eyes like telescopic lenses refract the availing light
Alluring images swagger near then purposely slight
Radiant beams refocus my lens; with ideal beauty delight
With loving images entrance; with vivid dreams awake the dark night
Bartered heart now in solitary case
Trying years of palpitating grief to erase
With flowers, symbolic gestures lace
With warm touches, tender words brace
Cold hands stiffened by years of rejection
Longing for pairing heat; spontaneous convection
Waves of electricity to pulse; blanching spark, combustible connection
Token bond fueled by tender caresses; spawning affection
Ears shuttered by broken promises so blithely rendered
Drums reverberate with shallow banter callously tendered
Amorous tunes serenade until love's melody is engendered
Cupid strum your sensual harp until all unrequited chords have surrendered
What movement, what visual rhyme and grace ...
I have watched the old willow on my grand-father's farm
Sway in a summer breeze, sweeping the grasses with a soft movement
As sublime as the bow of a master cellist ...
I have rested in a hammock in the afternoon breath of the Caribbean,
Scents carried from the African plains to mix with sugar cane and brine,
Rocking me gently off to slumber in a flawless to-and-fro ...
I have been mesmerized by the perfect sweep of the pendulum
On my parents' grandfather's clock, the rhythmic back-and-forth of a child
On a swing, the tick-tock of a music metronome ...
The sweet up-and-down of a rolling ocean tide, the swooping flight of a
Pileated Woodpecker, the slow-falling drift of a winter snowflake, and the
Proud waving of my country's distinctive flag in the wind ...
But never in my many years on this Earth, have I beheld anything that
Compares with the flawless, hypnotizing, provocative, heat-generating,
Rhythmic dynamism and undulation ... of your voluptuous hips.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Swagger" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
First Marco Polo your soul - don’t ask.
Shake your noodle until it transcends to pasta,
Twist your noodle, it will only hurt for a while
soon it will become your mother tongue.
Recite the hundred words Italians have
for pork, ham, and bacon daily,
never again just say pork, ham, and bacon.
Imagine that your cheap olive oil is champagne,
Lightly sprinkle your vocabulary -
not too oily.
Tomatoes and cheese’s offer you
endless ways to speak with our mouth full
while still sounding refined.
Say ‘Pizza’ as it were in fact
a much longer word.
Swagger as you babble from the top
of your proudly Italianate lungs.
I remember
the curve in the small of his back
where I fit just right
and where my knees were cupped by his.
They say he’s aged now, tired, sad, silver in his hair
but, so have I, and know this
it was never the chiseled features of Adonis I sought
but that twinkle of eye,
never the perfection of legend
but a swagger of mischievous pride.
I remember
the way he looked at me
like he’d died and gone to heaven
the boom of his laughter, still rings in my mind
beside the hollow in his shoulder where my cheek fit.
They say he’s tired now worn down by time
but I won’t see it…I have memories and the light
I’m sure is still twinkling in his eyes.
.
My dear miss Camella, you move with such grace,
And your lips are so sweet, flies swarm round your face
When you first smiled at me, i foolishly grinned.
Then you puffed out both cheeks, and loudly broke wind.
Like a ship of the desert, with a camel hair coat.
Just letting off steam, with a double bass note.
It was love at first sight, despite all of my spots.
For the touch of my leopard skin, gave you the hots.
I love how you swagger, on oversize feet.
While those knobbly knees, makes my heart skip a beat.
Or the way that you squint, with a glint in your eyes.
When you spit from ten paces, and pick off sand flies.
Well now i must tell you, i'm going to propose,
If you will say yes, and wear my ring through your nose.
We could be a couple, and create our own kid.
While it would be unique, to raise a goofy hybrid.
I'm sure that we could, if we tried very hard.
Well, whoever has heard of a camelopard.
Please don't take the hump, i'm not having a laugh.
But maybe our baby, could be a giraffe.
So my dearest Camella, please make me your beau.
I am yours, ever faithful, your handsome Leo.
11/ 5/ 2017.
If it is of interest to anyone, a camelopard is an archaic
word for a giraffe.
Nagasaki
There are nights when things become clear
when the Pacific Ocean lived up to its name
I sat on deck, listened to the heartbeat of
the vessel, which ticked faster when an engineer
opened a door and came out on the deck
Laughter in the mess hall, no, I was not at ease
in their company, too old at sixty
I have tried the swagger, the misogyny, where
Women were either whores or mothers
The ship was bound for Nagasaki, and I had
been here before when looking for a graveyard
where Portuguese sailors had died when
Japan was an unknown land
When walking down the gangway, didn't
to say goodbye, it was dinner time anyway
before flying back to Europe
Spring pushes ground
to cherished green patches
in sun (splattered)
that breaks the grayness
that winter shows
in its shuttered shops of cold
Daffodils ambush sight
with a snappy smirk of yellow
each with six petals circling an inner crown
soulful flowers
harpooning sadness
like spring deflating winter woes
rumbling in guarded vision
Re-centering a search for comfort
in what breaks through April's reluctance
to find a spotlight worthy
like daffodils' benign seduction
showy trumpets, gush of swagger
in a golden pose of color
When our world returns to focus
unmasking
missing faces.
Poem revised May 23, 2021
spring saunters into the convention wearing his usual hat
a tiny goldfinch dipped in red stares us other seasons down
he is surrounded by flowers and butterflies, I look for his cat
But she decided to stay home, away from this usual clown
He brings an infusion of enthusiasm and glee
we other seasons try to ignore him, but there is no way
He has a wasp today, a dragonfly and a bee
Wearing a smug swagger, a gentleman’s sway
He knows he is all that, probably the favorite season of all
His fans are trailing him, fawning in stupidity
Let’s try to ignore him says my best friend, Fall
He is too full of himself; there is no humility