Long 1958 Poems
Long 1958 Poems. Below are the most popular long 1958 by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long 1958 poems by poem length and keyword.
Word Sonata in B Flat (in 5 Movements)
You know exactly what you’re doing.
You sit in that short red skirt, and
Cross your shiny tan legs, there. Now you
Lean over with full cleavage exposed,
And partake in another draw of smoky seduction;
You can see the dollar signs in my knowing eyes,
And I can see lovely times at poolside,
In your short skirt, and dark glasses.
So cheers! To us, just a couple of cool cats,
Two old hippies,
With lemon drinks, glass bongs, and feathered toys,
Conversing wordlessly in eye language,
Under the searing unzipping sun,
Embracing the approaching nakedness.
Laying out in a chaise lounge with white noses,
Just drying out our souls and bodies,
Drying out our differences with the holding of a draw.
Pass it over here sweetie.
I feel it too, as you sit there,
Staring at me like I’m the package you were expecting,
Last week when the mails didn’t come through,
Due to the storm, and the mud and the misery.
I enjoy women like you.
As you sit there in your short red skirt.
There is a mysterious gloss covering everything you say,
A gooey gloss that smells of electrical wiring,
Something that might make a person sick,
Or maybe bring back a stubborn memory you forgot about
For decades, because you were lost,
Lost inside a rolled-up carpet,
An old rain-ruined rug from 1958, or so,
When times in the backseat meant something to a person.
Now look at us, just a couple of cool cats,
Two old hippies,
Bored and resigned,
Passing reefer until the stoned moment is realized.
Yes, just sitting here looking at you,
I can tell,
You know exactly what you’re doing.
Michael
Compassionate,gentle,
Singing,dancing,entertaining
The King Of Pop
Lives on!
Dorian Petersen Potter
Aka Ladydp2000
copyright@2009
July,5,2009
Note from the author:
This is my humble poetry tribute, to Michael Jackson.
I am still in shock over his passing.It is very rough! I am griving a lot because he's no
longer with us anymore.I just can't believe still that he's gone and had left us forever.It's so
sad and tragic.This world for sure now is more of an emptier and colder place without him.
He shall
be missed forever by millions of us all over the world.I love you Michael, and always will!
You'll live in my heart and my soul forever.And I'll never, ever, forget you. Now you're
singing and dancing in a better place, up in Heaven, where nothing can ever hurt you
anymore.
R.I.P. Michael Jackson.
1958-2009
And the cemetery was still and serene
A palette of muted greens, browns, tans and warm gray scene
Fence-post with barbed wire surrounds the garden
Seashells and caliza, sage brush, cactus, and mesquite trees harden
Tall cold stones erect sentries
Standing on sacred ground granting entry
In the garden of seashells and sage brush
A cemetery of generations of families
Grandmothers and grandfathers
Their parents and family before them
Tugging at our memories
Whispering shadows of their secrets
All lie with crowns of stones
As their names are etched on marble stones
While others with ceramic photographs of the dearly departed
So they, won’t be forgotten
All with stories to tell
My head down with sadness
My heart skips a beat in my chest
I stand and look at the headstone of my once beautiful grandmother
And lay a bouquet of red roses at the feet of the stone
I kneel and clean the surroundings of weeds that have sprang up
And dust of the ceramic photograph
Wistful thinking
Her smile with a flicker of spark in her eyes
All the good times we used to have
She taught me not to be afraid,
To drive her white 1958 Impala
And the cemetery was still and serene
I know it’s an empty vessel that lay in the sandstone
As her soul grew wings long ago
And in heaven she’s watching over all she has left behind
5/20/2016
Free Verse Form
Contest: And The Cemetery Was
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
Spiritually Fulfilled
Gazing at the sky
Spiritually fulfilled
Cherished memories
I go backwards into 1961, so I can watch Elvis on TV.
He is terrific; makes me swoon. I adore him.
Then for some reason I think of Prince
So I reset my Time Machine to 1982. He is terrific!
What about the Mamas and the Papa’s? Mind suggests.
They were so good! What about the Beach Boys?
1958 it is. What about General Washinghood?
Who is that? Trust me you will love him. Go to 2052.
I get there and I am relieved to see we still have trees.
We are each wearing a hazmat suit with helmet though.
A person walking next to me raises my helmet and coughs in my mouth.
In thirty-two years we have not figured out how to eliminate bullies?
He studies the dinner card,
ticks off the boxes for Jell-O
and fruit cups; anticipates a deliciousness
that he will later swallow mechanically
on a plastic spoon.
He’s fascinated by his own breath;
tasting it on the exhalation, savoring a coolness,
as lungs struggle to filter
the chemical soup of the ward.
He imagines sipping an effervescent sky,
pouring it through a revitalized body. Shivers,
as fingertips recall tactile experiences.
He turns on his side, curls up into himself.
The skin of his curved spine delicately corrugated.
A nurse checks his chart, adds a note.
She does not record
a swaddling pall covering his flesh
within which his wife, dog, even a 1958 Plymouth
coddles him in a chrome enclosure for memories.
At night, he enters a potting shed
A place evolved from sweet tobacco, string
and dark red begonias.
From a gun-metal tin,
he takes a small Swiss Army knife,
scrapes a yellow clay from under his fingernails.
He waters psychic seeds
with the milky drops of his dreaming eyes.
By dawn plasmid tendrils will have sprouted,
they will bind up all his loose ends,
then he will drift like a gibbous moon
over the rib-sprung hollow of his bed.
I set the clock to 1958, and raced to Desilu Studios.
Lucy and Desi both greeted me; I played with Little Ricky.
They took me home with them after the day’s taping.
We sat by the pool and laughed about everything.
They are much more fun in person than on TV.
I asked them a zillion questions, and they answered them all.
I wanted to know about other celebrities, and they gave me tidbits.
They had a swimming suit that fit me, so I went swimming with them.
They were gracious and fed me supper; I loved their food.
Everything was wholesome and wonderful.
Lucy told me that she planned to do back up tapes of her show.
It was Desi’s idea, so they would last longer. I encouraged this.
They asked me about 2020 and I told them about computers.
They were amazed, and could not believe it. So I explained the Internet.
They showed me their Word Book set and asked if it was like that.
It was difficult to explain, for there was no reference point.
There was a rumor that someday the TV shows would be in color.
I told them that this would happen around1964. They thanked me for that.
It was with a heavy heart that I said good bye; I had made three new friends.
It was a wonderful day for sure!
In 1958 we saw the end of an era.
Mused the Curtiss Wright scholar.
he told a crowd of people
that an America that didn't
trust in the newness of creativity
would see a day were only exterior machines
would be looked at as something American enough
to be bought. Standing on the Promises of Yesteryear he
saw using the brands of yesteryear as the way to
move America forward.
He talked of reinventing the way we travel.
By moving the design forward
and never looking back.
Not using the samples of yesterday: but
creating new product under a Brand Name recogniable
enough to create family oriented appeal to modern auto's..
Bringing people together in the ailenment of futuristic design.
Creating quality Auto's and Luxury Products
were people from all ages could be proud to spend and buy.
The aquistion of Parkard motor Company:
to create from the sketch pad, a product
that would rival all companies. Building both
handcrafted timepeices
and the manufacturing of
products that would set the standard for quality
across the globe. He ended his speech
saying" Packard: where have you Been!"
We all have our lives to do
remind ourselves a purpose given
show no selfish mind of thought
fully directed and purpose driven
It's so easy to forget others
selfishness runs through our veins
for self rises far too often
causing so many inward pains
True humanity, can it be found?
since creation man's constant fail
prone to think only of oneself
whether that be male or female
Instructions come to find you
given you the opportunity to know
so that your words will penetrate
to whoever, whether friend or foe
A reward is on the way
which for you is tomorrow
someone gave you their today
bringing it all on with no sorrow
("When you go home, tell them of us and say.
for your tomorrow we gave our today"
- John Maxwell Edmunds
(21 January 1875 – 18 March 1958) was an English classicist, poet, and dramatist and the author of several celebrated martial epitaphs.)
Lee and I are identical twins. We look, sound, and are dressed identically.
It is 1958 and we are heading back to school from lunch.
Sing-song Lee thinks it is a normal May day; I realize it has more potential.
We are not going back to school, I tell her. Her eyebrows start to brunch.
She screams and wails, I have to cover her tell-tale mouth.
She is the dutiful one, but then I remind her of one thing.
I am playing hooky and I am not doing it alone, so I turn her south.
She shakes her tears off, knowing I have her; there is no more sing.
I have been the leader for a long time, boss of sister and brother.
Lee has no idea how to flip me for this role; I am firm like grandpappy.
We return to school later trotted there by our very angry mother
Who has switched us about six hundred times, and is not happy.
Why don’t you ever try and be the leader? I ask Lee, mad now.
I know it is because she is terrified of me, kind of gives me a wow.
She is way too afraid to tell me this, I realize as I shower.
I sleep well that night, recognizing my ultimate twin-leader power.
A 1952s
I pulled the penny from my pocket to toss it
In the change jar. All my change goes immediately
Into the jar upon arriving home. There it collects
Until I go to the bank and have it spun into paper.
Government printing presses have reduced coins
To money crumbs; pennies, more nuisance
Than value except when a clerk says, “That'll be $3.01”,
And not having a penny means 99 cents more for the jar.
Today was different. This time I looked at the date
On a coin. Why this time? The reflex of an old habit perhaps.
But I haven't collected pennies for years. My old album
Is stored away in a box with coins and bills labeled “granddaughters”
In case one of them has a curiosity about money before plastic or bitcoin.
My penny is stamped with the year 1952 and the letter “s” beneath.
“Give ‘em hell" Harry Truman was President then, the war in Korea raged
And the Red Menace grew. My ‘52s, a copper “wheat penny”, is no longer
Minted, but Abe, the Great Emancipator, now on inflation zinc, endures.
Wait, no - that would be too much! Could there be an empty
Space in the album still wanting a 1952s? I admit to feeling
Some excitement digging through the box and opening
The album titled “Lincoln Cents, 1909 - 1958.” But there it was,
The place labeled 1952s - and its empty! Oh, I'm a kid again!
But where has the penny been all these years since leaving
The San Francisco mint? How did it come to be in my “Sooner”
Pocket? How many other pockets, purses, or piggy banks have held it?
In passing from hand to hand it served to purchase satisfactions,
Give help with decisions or carry a wish. The penny gave its youthful
Gleaming to many uses now unremembered, yet the simple coin
Retains the price for my thinking:
“One’s true worth retains its luster, if in our outward dimming
We serve to brighten others”
Copyright 2017, Paul Thomson