Long Wag Poems
Long Wag Poems. Below are the most popular long Wag by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wag poems by poem length and keyword.
She was alone in the pen at the end
visibly frighten
Shaking like a leaf
wanting reprieve
So young a volunteer stay by her side
If she could she would of cried
It was free adoption day
and the dogs knew they were on display
Barking loud and clear
someone take me out of here
But she so shy and scared
she seem to need so much love and care
The little dog spoke to my heart
so with her I did depart
Adopting her that day
she was bewilder and afraid
A friend drove us home
I held her so precious to own
She cling to me so tight
Celeste her name seem right
Calm and peaceful and shy
With my two old boys would she survive
Finally at home we arrived
Ghengis waiting at the window was barking with joy
for his master was home such a happy boy
I placed her in a fence area and closed the screen door
I let my boys out and they were shocked and floored
What was this new dog and why is she here
I let them be together but the boys showed fear
She tried to sniff them but they ran away
I realized of her my old boys were afraid
I let her in the house and she began to run around
the scare little dog was nowhere to be found
Within five minutes she evolved from Celeste to Sassy girl
she was so overjoyed in her brand new world
I had to catch her and bathe and clean her good
Gave her a treat she was home understood
She ran and jumped for joy and with the boys tried to play
but each time the fat boys would run away
Now Kublia who wants to befriend every dog a stray
whenever they are at the fence between it they do play
They bark and run along it, sniff and wag their tails
but with little Sassy Kublia heads for the hills
And mighty little Ghengis with anger always on display
with his new sister Sassy he shys away
It was so wonderful for Sassy to come out of her shell
I thought it would be weeks employing all my skills
She slept with me that night laying next to my side
the boys fled under the bed stayed there to hide
Sometimes she softly whimpers as the boys run away
It will take time before the old boys get comfortable enough to play
We were three bachelors living in our house alone
now we have our Sassy girl to make it a home
She is sweet and funny and has energy all day
Lively and cute she's in my heart to stay
My new big puppy is our Sassy girl
upside down she playfully has turned our world.
And ignoble prize trumpeting hubris awarded to...
Bourgeoisie donning ersatz
overstuffed ego freezer bewigged pate
"FAKE" grotesque humanitarian
bribed corrupt judges will vindicate
jimmied cracked corn
land of "milk and honey"
red hot button he spoils to activate
countdown to Armageddon
leaving nation prostrate,
all the more reason to axe electoral college,
now holds electorate
hostage to bully tactics grate
for dead souls – zombie thriller, viz
Putin on the ritz,
whereby Pavlov's dog will salivate
on cue and pony show will titillate,
and worse case scenario, a far more terrible fate
than death by a thousand cuts
equals his refusal not to abdicate
presidency, should voters
get smart to administrate
White House with progressive commander
in chief he/she will adjudicate
decency, honesty, integrity... and acclimate
government toward amity, comity, equality...
oh,... and most importantly advocate
salutary measures affecting biosphere,
where industrialization didst devastate
contaminate by bajillion beings birthrate,
every square inch of Earth
*****sapiens succeeded to abominate...,
prima facie global warming doth correlate,
hence primary requisite mandate
to reorient modus operandi no time to wait,
where carbon footprint negligible
still preserving technological paradigm
fixing low cussed electricity to generate
courtesy renewable resources
else man/womankind will become footnote
atrophied trappings agglomerate
twenty first century civilization
damned, inundated, ossified bridgegate
checkmated, choked, chucked... wag gone wheels
das spare - tread fully tires fuming primate
jammed fruits of loins going bananas
infuriating, exhausting accelerating
no exit (sorry Sartre) to circumnavigate
hardy lee any recourse to extricate
oneself from madding crowd
self resignation minimally doth alleviate,
whereby impatient broods frustrate
inaccessible jackknifed mobility,
thence spark ignites spontaneous eruption
impossible mission to plug
crowdsource mob frenzy translate
pent up fury once loosed doth degenerate
into atavistic pandemonium cutthroat rage
snarling human logjam foaming at mouth
poised to strike ready to decapitate
any remaining shred of salvation barren feeble
slow vac hoovering, milking, and sucking
every last vestige of bondage peoples extirpate.
A tale of two twins ...
Kit: That sure was a mean swing, Dottie. You knocked it out of the park. You’re the Sultana of Swat. I love the way you ‘round the bases doing your cute duckie trot. I love how you stand on home plate, kissing off the booing fans with your sour whispering asinine talk. You sho’ can swat high nonsense spitballs a lot.
Dot: Aw shucks, Kit, you Putin a smile on my face. But it ain’t me really. I just do what you coached me to do. Follow your lead like a good sibling pup pet is suppose to. I can’t help but wag the pig tale. Everybody knows that bare bosom greed sells. Now sis, you know I never vote swing and miss. I just love lip-crushing abetted ayes. Sending those lying spitball kisses flying high. But half-truthfully, girl I love the wet way you dry hurl. Such vomit velocity ... sending that propaganda puke spinning thru the air with such speed. You’re so lassie Vladdie bad amazing.
Kit: Yeah, twin ... we in a beleagued of our own. We don’t never do no wrong, at least none that we personally have to disown. And the Lady Bolshevik tag-team pocket profits are gonna stay kompromat strong. As long as the I-scream flag vendors keep selling the popular patriotic yellow snow cones. I love hearing the synthesized, trumpy anthem blaring sound, when the seventh-inning ruble donation rally hats are being passed around. It jacks me up, to the Nth lobby Molotov degree. My oligarch strong arm do a Siberian burn meddle poll vault sales pitch; delivered decibel stealth low, and so slow curve icily.
Dot: Serve ‘em up good, twin. Twist the grin like Papa Lenin said: “Never let a capitalist sucker get a free lick. Always snatch the purse from a paper chasing hick. Always foxy scoop the golden laid eggs from a sleeping, loose-liberty chick.” All bad things come in good corrupt Communist time. This czar fate injustice demands. I love the smell of democracy peanuts roasting in the ballot stands. I love hot, dog day debate fry cries doing the mustard squirt dance. So beleaguered and bland. I love the pretzel, fixed victory feel of cash register chance. I love being the pink champagne torch lady wearing no morality pants. Slyly, safely sliding home, skirt up ... silver tongue tush fanning kicked diamond sand. Giving a darkside-of-the-moon kiss to the loser Americans.
Rain seeps into every crack and crevice
chilling to the bone
Winter has arrived with a vengeance
and summer is forever gone.
Ice slicks the asphalt, into a
glittering glistening death trap.
Here begins the slow invasion
of the unrelenting cold.
This grubby little mutt follows one day,
His hair matted, claws overgrown.
You take pity on the poor thing;
Starving and probably ill.
(A miserable pup with big sad eyes)
And leave blankets and scraps out the door
You wonder of his owners forgotten
He’s no street dog- well behaved and gentle
Perhaps abandoned, lost.
But maybe not. He’s ugly, scarred
Hairless in patches- He belongs in a kennel.
You don’t want him- and feel an inexplicable deep hatred
The wag of his tail infuriates and the curve of his snout enrages.
You slam the door.
A glass spills and everything is red.
Merlot on the carpet, scarlet on the bed.
You knock over the roses
Deep crimson of condolence
You want to draw blood, you want to destroy
You crave another’s red bloody torment
Schadenfreude, be damned
His whines pierce-
through the cold air of the night,
and the solid wooden door.
The royal blue E minor: the laments of the abandoned
You can’t help but join in song
As the wretched creature
howls expressivo at the starless sky
a symphony of loss.
Violins screech to his scratching
with trills, mordents and turns.
The descending melodic line fades and echos;
As the merciless tonic pedal of time ticking
crescendos.
The clarinets wails accompaniment;
subdominant, tonic, leading.
And with a plagal cadence, the mutt droops his tail
Morning arrives- painfully slow
The rising sun thaws anguished aubergine
And leave only tender lapis of fingers frostbitten.
They struggle; falls a familiar key
As you reach and bend
Moist; a warmth unexpected and wet
As the mutt licks your hand
tongue curling around a corpse’s digits
nuzzling his cold snout into the back of your knee.
Tongue lolling, tail wagging
The mutt never leaves.
The frost on the tree branches promise
Of how you’ve lived and grown
They shimmer like precious silver
and accent the beauty of home.
The fresh biting air,
with great gasping breaths you shiver.
Here begins a new journey
With your most loyal friend.
A summer house-boat party - Matey - toss those cares overboard. The scout boat found a deserted cove so the party can be privately fierce.
The lake's broken reflections of moonlight look like jewels on black satin.
There are all kinds of drinks - ALL kinds - and herbal refreshments flare like lightning bugs. It isn’t long before perfumed bodies are flexing to music in the hot, moist, summer air.
Dance, swim and repeat as needed - cool water evaporates off bathing suits immediately - replaced by prickled sweat. It’s too hot - I’m staying in the water. There’s a group of us in tubes tied, spider-web like, around the boat.
There’s a guy who’s been watching us (Bili, my BFF, is my tube-mate). He’s extremely fair, and he’s gotten a bit too much sun giving him a feverish appearance.
At one point, I meet his gaze - to see what he’d do. His irises are a light blue that, in the lights, reflect like little blue flames - unwavering and alien.
I don’t mind a bit of attention - I think that’s how the system works - attraction, pursuit, investigation, and eventually seduction. But usually from someone we know. A stranger's attention can make one feel as if they're in enemy territory.
He gave me a nod and a smile that seemed like a proposition. I whisper about this “encounter” to Bili who takes command and just rows us over to him.
He’s older than I first thought - 22 - with cream-colored hair - thick, like horse mane and eyelashes and brows so pale they’re almost invisible. His name is “Noud” and he’s from Holland - at Georgia Tech studying atmospheric something or other - and girl watching.
“What are you doing at some random Georgia lake party?”, I ask.
“Soaking up the local atmosphere, of course.” He says. Which makes sense, I suppose, because that IS his chosen field.
I do an Arnold Schwarzenegger impression, arbitrarily, which I think is pretty good (you can’t beat the classics) - Noud, does an even better one.
His, “I’m going to take [pause] you OUT” got a laugh.
His later, “You need to take [pause] that OFF” earned a “nuh-uh” finger wag.
Thanks to vaccinations, the atmosphere around here is a lot more fun.
I'm the family treasure, a Christmas gift
to grant the children's wish.
My first time out I stray away
and start rolling in a fish.
I flap my tongue and wag my tail
looking for a hug.
They're less impressed when I start dragging
my butt across the rug.
I'm really smart but get confused...
not sure how some things are.
Especially when told the litter box
is not a cookie jar.
I have lots of things such as bones and towels
that give me constant joy.
But always pout when strictly told
the Cat is not a squeaky toy.
Are Mailmen food? I'm not so sure
if studies have been done?
They're hard to catch, quite fleet of foot
and always prone to run.
I'm tough as nails, the family's rock,
truly a natural wonder.
But I have my limits when storm's persist
and what's the deal with thunder?
Every Thursday without fail
two bald men looking gruff.
These 'garbage men,' these hounds from hell,
they come and steal our stuff.
I sound the alarm but they seem unmoved
taking all I tend to crave.
Then mock me till my shame's complete
by giving me a wave.
I get no thanks and receive no credit
for spilling from the can.
I'm locked away with no justice here,
a victim of the 'man.'
In puppy prison I serve my time,
they're calling me a brat.
But who shows up to make things worse
but that stupid friggin' Cat.
I hate that Cat who stares all day,
always free to roam.
All he does is eat and sleep
while I'm forced to guard the home.
He does make me laugh I must admit,
he may not be too bright.
As he gets befuddled when Humans use
a red dot pointy light.
It could be worse, the job's okay,
I may not be as cute.
But the pay is good with the People kind
and work's a short commute.
When at my end with a life well led...
I will hear the angel's call.
I'll go to heaven and politely ask...
'Please God, return my balls.'
*For those who might be interested. I will be posting my cartoon 'Bob's your Uncle' on my homepage. A new one will appear every second day.
The SnaffyLaffy Swiger
Looks something like a tiger.
His stripes are big and bright
Just like a rainbow.
They shimmer glittery
Beneath the moon glow
Florescent green, pink, blue and yellow.
SnaffyLaffy is a happy laughing fellow.
In the night he likes to prance,
And he’ll ask you for a dance,
But first you have to find out where he hides.
By my story’s end, you’ll know where he resides!
SnaffyLaffy’s fun and daffy.
He loves sweets, especially taffy.
This swiger, cute and stylish, walks with swag.
His short and stubby tail will start to wag
If you offer him a treat,
But not vegetables or meat!
Remember, SnaffyLaffy likes things sweet.
For a chocolate kiss from you,
There is little he won’t do.
Roll over or do back flips out your door.
I’ve even seen him sweep somebody’s floor!
Yes, the SnaffyLaffy swiger,
Who looks much like a tiger
Can stand up on his feet like you and me,
Or like a speedy jaguar he can be
Because when there is sun,
SnaffyLaffy likes to run,
And in the light of day,
This swiger runs away.
He runs to candy shops the people say.
Running through them, quick as lightening,
He steals candy; it is frightening
How fast he moves.
He never ever stops.
He takes gummy bears and gum drops,
Licorice sticks and chocolate cherries,
Stashing all inside
A secret pouch he carries.
This pouch is on his tummy,
Where he stores things nice and yummy
And this creature has been blessed
With a pouch so strong
It is the very best!
He’s the only creature known that can survive
With only sugar keeping him alive!
When the sun begins to set,
SnaffyLaffy needs to get
Very quickly to his lair.
I’m almost done,
and then I’ll tell you where!
SnaffyTaffy likes the game called Hide and Seek.
If you want to take a peek
At this swiger SnaffyLaffy,
You have to bring along with you some taffy.
He will smell it and come prancing.
Then with Snaffy you’ll be dancing.
Close your eyes and go to sleep
Because his hidden lair
Is in your sweetest dreams.
Dear, precious child,
Perhaps you’ll find him there!
for Get your Dr. Seuss on! Poetry Contest
Fundamentalists
Evangelists
Jihadists
HolyWar and Final Judgment and RoughLove Advocates
against infidels and other, more domesticated, sinners:
Put down your Bibles and Korans,
written to grow love
and not weapons for bleary-eyed bullies.
You spend too much time reading and thinking
and arguing
to let your spiritual emotions swell and grow love.
Instead,
pick up a small recycled brown paper bag
of healthy
fertile
organic mustard seeds.
Learn faith with them,
that together you might grow
to know
this radiant reign of God's Eternal Light and NonDual Dark.
Plant them into Advent darkness,
care for them,
water them
and not the tarish tearing weeds
of envy and supremacy,
hypocrisy and punishing misjudgment,
superstition
and hope for antiEarth anti-logical magic,
nightmares and violence,
anger and fear-mongering,
Old Testament blood sacrifices
and enslavement to false fascist idols
as if these were large enough
to contain the wisdom of one regenerative mustard seed,
sprouting radiant love for God's sun
and MotherEarth's baptismal waters,
fueling our shared root restorative ecosystem.
Harvest these therapeutic cultures of health
and gratitude
and grace,
make spicy brown mustard with them.
Serve to and from your students
and children
and mentees
on homemade 7-Grain ReGenerate Manna.
Wait for Paradise
to flow through your mouths,
down your throats,
into your communion stomachs.
If your kids are faithful and loving goats,
watch them wag their tails,
wages of love and not sin,
in gratitude for Grace.
If human
help us listen to,
and speak,
and write better tales
for restorative healing of love,
omnipresent as a mustard seed's integrity
of each moment's sacred with secular potential.
And if you should learn faith as one of these kids,
your tail
and tales
will wag truer,
and far more grace-filling effective
and affective
and infective
and reflective
too.
Then you may be safe to return
to your holier-with-you gardening books
on how to grow histories of love
without sinning against faith
of a mustard seed.
DEAR HEART
Dear heart, dear guiltless heart,
Do not break where they expected
You to be broken and cry like a child,
Be strong and disappoint them,
Love takes two to journey afar.
Dear heart, dear harmless heart,
Over your dead body shall you weep,
Do not walk gently into that heart again
The game of love might swallow you,
Love is the bones that dog men play with.
Dear heart, dear kind heart of love,
When tomorrow shows up in black,
Know you that yesterday wore white,
Command respect and they will love you,
When you miss a step, no one will pick you up.
Dear heart, dear breathful heart,
On your table shall man dwell
When it is set for the rightful man
But when a folly takes in position,
You might be broken and left naked.
Dear heart, dear humble heart of gold,
Don't judge what you don't know or
What you think you knew but you don't,
Look before you leap and speak cautiously,
Love is formless as water is but dangerous.
Dear heart, dear mother heart of smile,
Only you can accept, reject and protect
Whatsoever comes into you as words or deeds,
Pardon not evil into your domain and weep
Love is mosquitoe that sting more than the bee.
Dear heart, my humble human heart,
House your heart in your heart of heart,
Beautifully beautify by beauty of buttress,
Care and circled in a circular ceiling Can
Love only make one cry when it is bitter.
Dear heart, dear dovely dove heart,
Don't give yourself away so easily,
Watch from afar before you say 'I do'
'I do' has sent many to their early grave,
Love is not a bed of roses and a sweetened flower.
Dear heart, dear honey heart of mother nature,
Watch those you see and welcome home,
Many beings are wolf in sheep clothing
Once they are allowed into a paradise,
They will turn to the ancient serpent of lust.
Dear heart, dear sweetened heart of silver,
Do not get broken in public in folly,
Many mouth will wag and curse when you fall
I know you better when you are joyful,
Love is not as pure as you think it is.
(C) John Chizoba vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016
The officer’s whistle opened the door,
the pain of mortar did greet the damned
and I did nap with death in no man’s land.
In cold of night the stretcher did wake
from peace to hell and burning pain.
These eyes will see the stars no more,
no comrades smile for me.
The darkness has won
for light has abandoned me
and my face is for others to see.
Am I alive? The pain agrees,
my hand can feel this fevered brow.
What will home think?
to only half a man
and will England still respect this man?
The sound of an angel, who talks with God,
a poor soul for sale,
could that be me?
And God condemns
that I am not worthy,
for others deserve better
than half of me.
And in my darkness
Opium’s womb enters my veins
the pain chased away by foetal claim,
while the music of war in shrapnel fragment
screams a tortured lament.
And youth will queue to die in vain
among the ranks of nightingales reign.
These deities who tend this holy fodder
grow distant with bloody rags.
My mind feels the heat of shrapnel’s breath,
the thought of box in foreign field
the feel of sun and breeze denied
and claustrophobia feeds my fear.
Lonely is the grave with no goodbye
and I do not want to die.
But god is my surgeon and he is beat,
the angel will deliver mercy
and death will get his degree.
For compassion was hers to give,
the touch of her hand
will wipe this brow.
The cold of the scissors will cut the tag
and I will join a corpse’s march
obeying the ghost of captains orders
uniting friend and foe in melting borders.
In death I will believe
and hope will leave this earth with me.
My reward is tempered by sword and cross
epitaph is poured over another loss.
And country prepares to count the cost
The drone of the letter
this paper of man
typed in halls by Vatican whores,
delivering their knock on mother’s door.
This pain of England’s son
will lie in empty bed,
silence will be hers to see.
A candle for me in winter’s light
but death will play in mother’s night.
Her tears will wash this wooden cross,
the house will cry for little boy lost
and the dog will sit with eye on door,
never to wag his tail no more.