Life be uncivilized
Some days,
No heads-up-
Still we walk onward like fire
Won't fold us.
Pain
Runs late,
Lurking,
Long- winded existing
But we keep living like loss
Can't lock our light.
Hope
Hits hard,
Lifting
Low Spirits-
Letting lost legends lean
Back into their vigor.
When in that moment caught
Something that keeps me afloat
Whenever l am feeling distraught
A comfort blanket of mine a coat
Whenever it is l am stuck at nort
Or someone had then got my goat
A coping mechanisum of a sort
No matter how ever it be remote
Wheather it is long winded or short
Whatever it is that l have then wrote
Just expressing my every thought
As always making a constant note
Part two to poem poetry written 2013 rewritten 2020
People should be more like dogs
And stop resembling hogs
When at a meeting
They should sniff each other’s seating
And stop the long-winded monologues.
though long loftier are visited much
like space empty needed seeing some stars
your wisdom scales twice thrice at least as such
brings peace ends bloody loud proud wicked wars
less more deeply thought seals the sentence fought
upfront counting costs gains what matters most
asides any passions which wrath has wrought
humbly speaking what all others would boast
exceptions abound all you only one
heart once longing can no longer endure
when love finds disappears passion's deep fun
or holding true forever fixed and sure
falls victim arbitrary disease death
builds wall thick long tall none can ever climb
memory pain lingers each ev'ry breath
capacity drops words cease out of time
quiets all long-winded pseudo gravity
calms hears soothes sighs sees always brevity
Some say...Walt Whitman's the poet's champ!
His works were well read, by dim oil lamp.
But, oh so long winded,
Those words never ended...
Woe, ritual champ of reader's cramp
Where the groundhog has chewed the chain link
I slip through a brittle-boned hedge, and I am there
where geese sail a puddle-deep fog.
We taste the sea in its brine-washed ripples
splash through its salty clouds. Ohio rides on
oceanic currents, the Atlantic gets swept up
on gull wings, surf drifts West for miles,
then flops down and paddles deeper.
The sky has startled fisheyes in it; between the
soggy woods, aquatic scales slide and gleam.
Long-winded showers shatter where mermaids
chase, plunging on through dazed turnpikes,
or pausing to comb their wavy hair at windswept
rest-stops along Interstate I.75.
They are now but cash cows
(a trough in which to quaff)
for the many attendees
who sit on long-winded
Government-funded investigation committees
no one around to hear the sound
(of what falls in the woods)
while their coffers swelled
for all the papers printed on the ecology
more than several trees were felled
the fracking drilling boring too
(found underground)
wastes water in copious quantities
releases greenhouse gas
and undermines the earth in the final analyses
deliberate discussion and debate
('til the cows come home)
to which they are compelled
only exacerbates the issue
of global warming
with all their hot air expelled
ghastly grimy gruesome greedy gray ghost
happily haunts Henry’s hoarder habitat
igniting icy incredulity
jiggery-pokery jimjams justified
kismet keeping kowtowing kin keen
lighthearted lively long-winded laggard laughs
magnifying mystical malefactor’s mysteriousness
Crackpot TheorI-Zer
To Know So Much For
So Little! Turn All
Of These Screws,
I Cover The Bases,
I Spread All The News.
If I Turn On A Dime,
It's My Dime I Lost...
I'm Sure My Name:
"Interesting"
Will Cover The Costs.
No Factor: Intelligence,
When Nothing Seems Dumb...
Oh, That Was My Idea?
Say: "Son-Uva-Gun!"
We'll Serve It Self-Righteous
To Beat Number One.
***
It's A Little Long Winded:
Your Future En-Trusts:
To Say It Was Torture
Would Do It Unjust.
Now Just Pause...
*Your Confession*
Be-Cause:
I Destroyed The World
Since I Was Not Nearly
As Smart As I Thought I Was.
Try It Again, With More
Feeling This Time...
***
Yeah!
Rhyme!
Rhyme!
Rhyme!
-Gray Squirrel
06-10-2025
Planting my flag atop my sonnet’s peak
and outward gazing at the vales below,
I hear the rambling rivers, feel the faux
flow and fumble of their groping technique;
From high on up, I trace the snaky sneak
of weak words—and weaker metaphors,—slow
conclusions, mirroring the so and so…
I am compelled, my judgement thus to speak:
I declare war on free verse poetry!
Ach! scourge on rhyme, blight on rhythm,—I’ll beat
back the long-winded flood of half complete
thoughts. With respect to whom I name my foe,
if here you hear your name,—at least you’ll know:
In the formless form—I find my enemy!
Lit up like a Christmas tree
Is papa after his festive drink
He’s a funny one
Can’t hold his tongue
Dances and he sings
Words that make no sense
Long winded when he’s bent
He gives a Ted Talk
About how to stand tall
And falls on his rear end
Despite his huge blue pride
He knew too drunk to drive
In his sloppy stupor
He calls an Uber
Goes home to angry wife
Sitting waiting, waiting for the light,
anticipating the retreat of the night.
The mallards have gathered awaiting their feeding.
They always appear to be fiercely competing.
A song birds trill permeates the air,
spilling out it's chords, tender, fair.
A boisterous crow joins the conversation.
Flying to and fro with his long winded explanation.
The full moon fades tucked somewhere far away,
as nature greets a brand new day.
But a brush and a touch, one parting more.
Delilah, Moon-girl, you stole my strong light.
I, your Sun-boy, am shorn having blackout,
but remember my close shaves, the honey
and dead days, my foes jaw-struck,
as the long-winded she-ass brays in my ear.
With influence silverish, drowning golden locks,
the egg-eating fish-god wins for a period
till dawn's yellow meets me at the next round.
I shake gold pillars in Dagon's stone temple
where uncut spectators are dying to taunt me
but what do I care for I know you await me,
At noon I burn for you,
at nightfall I sigh for you, O Delilah.
If you were long-winded
but no pun in ten did,
do you lack humor’s art,
or was that a long fart?
Once a pun, a thyme, a sage
got tossed for smoking in a bar;
It seems bad jokes are not in season;
close, but no cigar.
A glutton for punishment -
Never sausage a thirst!
He grinned at the butcher,
Now, give me your wurst!
—————
for the Pun Fun Poetry Contest
sponsored by Margarita Lillico
written 3/11/23
What is it that makes a “man of worth”?
Can it even be measured?
Put into words?
Is it the breadth of his shoulders?
The strength of his arms?
His physical charms?
Is it the expanse of his mind?
Hidden treasure to find?
Intuitive and kind?
Is it the depth of his heart?
Wide open from the start?
His most beautiful part?
Is his measure wealth or fame?
How well he plays the game?
Such a flickering flame?
Is he defined by the classes?
Missed by the masses?
With heads up their asses?
What is it that makes a “man of worth”?
Can it even be measured?
Put into words?
The width of her smile.
Those long winded sighs.
The value of a man in his woman’s eyes.
Her trust and respect his guiding light.
Does she hold down or will she uplift?
The value of a man is a woman’s gift.
Clothed in sackcloth or wearing a crown.
The value of a man a woman’s choice.
The power of a woman is in her voice.
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