Long Aired Poems
Long Aired Poems. Below are the most popular long Aired by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aired poems by poem length and keyword.
The teachers and staff at the special school, Graysmill,
Did what they could to give the severes a life afterwards,
And they presumed I would be accepted to work,
At the CALL Centre of Edinburgh University, for a long time to lurk.
It’s now CALL Scotland, and researches special tech,
Develops assistive software, devices, and communication aids;
It digitalise written exams energetically and with voice,
For disabled kids who need to have their own writing choice.
But I went to Daniel Stewarts nursery, was well accepted, superior,
As I came top of the class for both words and numbers,
And as it is a top private school near Edinburgh’s city centre,
I found the sympathy hard at Graysmill ‘cos I was not inferior.
In the 70s and 80s they thought the special pupils couldn’t interact,
In mainstream schools where the able-bodied were understood;
Most of my friends had a dislike of normal, ordinary kids,
And didn’t understand my perceptions of relationality and brotherhood.
So as it was sometimes an effort for me to be part of the school,
And I just wanted to walk away from all things disabled or impaired,
The moment I started university where opportunity beckoned,
Where my intentions and abilities could be so aired.
I wanted to maybe be a software engineer for organisations,
But knew I couldn’t type all day every day with my foot,
So after uni got a part-time job at the CALL Centre, but felt self-defeated,
‘Cos I'd had blows with my parents about my own mechanism of input.
I did home computing growing up using my hands on the keyboard,
But did my school and homework with my foot, not good,
And since they wanted me to go to university, no big deal,
They forced me to keep using the faster mechanism, the switch for my foot.
So I resented the CALL Centre right throughout my young years,
For not believing or ingratiating me when I told them of my hand dexterity,
And as a graduate able to deliberate upon my case of disrespect,
I can say that my parents should have certainly been certified for neglect.
I did not renew my contract with the Call, was only for four months,
As I didn’t want to put myself through that close contact and innocence assumption,
But think that they do an note-worthy job for severely disabled kids,
And that my case was an exception to their loving, kind gumption.
The Feather of Love:
I aired a stray feather to see it flying;
I gazed it flowing in the wind;
I loved its whitish tone;
I loved the natural print upon.
I don’t know how it managed to come back,
How it never ceases to make me taken aback!
I only marked its return,
It truly turned me on,
It made my heart adorn,
A bizarre cloak of its own.
I penned my feelings with this feather,
From the ink of my heart.
I caressed my lover with its touch,
I attached it to my dream catcher,
It is suddenly my feather wizard!
I added it to a belle’s headgear,
To make her carnival look sheer,
I loved this feather on gala days,
So, I wish its company on a sad day.
I desire its touch to console myself.
I want it to erase my tears,
If that carnival girl sheds my feather!
I gifted this feather to a tribal boy,
He added this on his necklace,
It adorned his neck with stones and beads,
It gave him a taste of skirmish.
To his tribe, feather means ornament,
Printed feather means totem’s presence,
But he wore the feather in his lover’s absence!
I attached the feather to a whore’s anklet,
She caused murmur in my heart’s Brooklet.
I loved to see the feather flow,
As she walked!
She gave me a yellow feather from her bun,
I loved her hairs flowing auburn,
She was like a new dawn,
Amid the darkness of my own.
I exchanged my feather with her,
She was my true dream catcher,
She made my heart render,
In unknown splendor!!
Now I own her yellow feather,
I will never let it wither,
From the fuliginous dusts of air.
I keep it inside my book,
I accompany it on my bed,
It’s the solo companion on my brood,
It raises ripples on my heart’s brook!!
Then, on a gloomy noon the whore returned,
Once again, ‘I’m rocked.
She discovered her lost feather,
Dangling from my dream catcher,
She immediately hugged me into a kiss,
She melted me into total bliss.
Still, she took out the yellow feather soon,
And called me a ‘goon’
As if I never deserved the feather,
As if I am lover of weather!!
When I demanded my printed feather,
She detached it from her waist-dangler,
I loved the fact, she loved my feather,
And kissed on her hair.
So, she promised to remember me as a familiar stranger,.
She’ll now give the feather to her new lover,
I’ll never let her sweet memory disappear,
By the way, returned my whitish printed feather!!
I had just set my headphones
down when the intercom
buzzed and Ruben O’s
voice asked urgently:
“you ready man?”
I’m standing before the
multi-slide mixing board
in a studio dreamily
streaked in amber from
the track lights.
“Eagles Lyin’ Eyes man,
all six minutes and eleven
seconds. let’s go!” was
my reply.
this is a conversation
between two radio deejays
at two radio stations
in the same building
in San Antonio in the eighties.
it’s nearly three
in the morning and were
both bored and wanting
a “bump” to make it
through our night owl
radio shifts.
I crank up the monitor
in the control room
and swing the studio door
open and lock it back
so I can hear the song
play from thirty feet away.
Ruben O’ does the same
to his door across the hall.
this is what is happening
on the other side
of the microphone
as the
listening public
in four southern states
tunes in to hear
the Eagles on KTSA
and “Karma Chameleon”
by Boy George on KTFM.
sister stations in a
clay colored building
at the end
of a 200 yard
driveway off
Eisenhower Road
in San Antonio, Texas.
I’m already waiting outside
the back door where the
jocks park. my foot holding
the door open.
it’s a balmy summer night
and lightning silently shimmers
in the tall clouds to the north
of the Alamo City.
You can’t hide your lyin’ eyes…
You come and go, you come and go…
our dueling aired songs play
loudly and the sound
crashes through the
still air and echoes
boomingly off the
residential neighborhood
two blocks away.
we each take hurried hits
off the moistened roach.
holding the smoke in the
lungs for a few seconds.
two hits is all I need.
I’m already feeling a little
fuzzy. Ruben O’s ready
to go too.
“screw it man, that’s good
enough”
we both sprint back
down the hallway
to our respective
broadcast studios.
such is another night
as an all-night radio
deejay at twin stations
in south Texas
on a summer night
in the eighties.
DIVORCE POEM: ALL DONE NO MORE FUN SON
So now is crunch time,
There is no more entertaining any-more Sunday brunch times!
There’s no more listening,...
To your not so funny, so called comedy show lines!
They always have been and always will be, nothing but straight lies!
As I sit and think with absolutely - no really no alcohol inside my drink…
There really was no sober fun times!
We only pretended to be fine, to front in front of your blood line.
They say the apple don't fall far from the tree!
Tell me then, are u really free?
You labeling every one else but thee!
Ooooooooooooo You keep talking bout the DEITY.
When it's your time to come,
HE gonna look at you dead in the eye and say "WHO IS HE?"
Then where will you be? Not around me!
However, I am now and then deemed to be free!
Hehe You see, I love the feeling of free,
Because I actually learned that to be free- it is ONLY ME!
It’s not cause of HE! Or SHE!
OR to any which one of you that associates with me!
You know as much about me as you do the blessings that come from symbolizing a fig tree.
I learned so much from the trinity and each has a purpose.
And it only blesses every HE and every SHE!
Think of a circle and how it is round.
How it can turn a frown upside down.,
Ya JET’S been around!
It's my own fault I'm intrigued by all you fake a** clowns!
I love clowns cause clowns make me laugh.
With math I learned to equal each half, so half can become a whole.
I know DAM WELL NO MAN CAN PROMISE ME MY SOUL!!
His eyes was so cold and with years just waiting, some say now we become old.
But the stories he told began to unfold.
Truth be told it was me and my children, I chose to embrace with a super hold!
U know my favorite color? GUESS NOT! ITS GOLD!
With the gold in my life I developed a hold and chose to caress ever so bold!
That love is unconditional and will never grow old.
But lyin a** men get sold like fools gold for the devil to hold!
All those lies you told is your world to hold .
SO Embrace it! Might be all you know.
Might be a lil scary. That’s why you drop so low!
THE FINAL SEASON HAS AIRED SON-GOODBYE TO THAT OLD SHOW!!!!!!
2015
Orson Welles did an adaptation of "The War of the Worlds"
book written by HG Wells, on Halloween Night Oct 30,1938.
It aired over the Columbia Broadcasting System radio network.
Directed by actor and future filmmaker Orson Wells. It was an
American radio drama through the Mercury Theatre on the Air.
It was a news bulletin for the first 40 minutes suggesting an
Alien Invasion, by Martians. Causing real mass panic through
out some areas that people were listening. The listening audience
thought it was real, when it was not.
________________________________________________________________________
A farmer and his wife listening to the Broadcast.
"All my God Phyllis grab the shotgun
and make sure it's loaded!"
"The Martians, the Star People, their
craft has crashed and exploded!!"
"I think I saw one out there in the
dark!!"
"For heaven sake Carl, lets hurry
and get in the car!!"
"I'm not going out there forget the
car!!"
"They have Ray guns hon, we
wouldn't make it so far!!"
"I'm so scared Carl you think they
will hurt us!?"
"I don't know Phyllis, it's in God
we trust."
" I heard noises coming from the
roof!"
"Oh my God Carl, what are you
going to do?"
"If I see one I am shooting to kill!"
"Stay here Phyllis and sit still!"
"Your going to leave me here by
myself, no Carl stay inside!?"
"I have to go and shoot that alien
Phyllis, right between the eyes!!"
Carl ran out the door and much to
to his surprise.
Up on the roof there was a Raccoon,
with big eyes.
Carl now realized what he had
seen.
Embarrassed to tell his wife Phyllis,
he smiles, still scared, but with a grin.
Just then over the Radio Phyllis
hears.
"This is not a real event, were sorry for
bringing so much fear."
Phyllis grabbed the radio after
hearing the news.
In front of Carl she smashed the
Radio in two!!!!
_____________________________________________________________________
Through out the Country
people were terrorized.
Those Star People had
made an impact!
They write in the language of perfume
flowery powdered words all layered
colours rising and lowering
in different light spectrums
as if the reader could discern
without wisened translator
their seductive dimensions
conveyed within
their small larger other worlds
notes upon notes, heady notes,
their subtle infractions
like music tinkling through
the brain bleeds, poets
and their otherworldly refrains,
naphthalene aired for old time’s sake
shaken out like clean crisp white sheets
billowing in the translucent lingerie breeze,
bedrocks shaken
the little flocks
small black murders flying
provocatively erratic stirred up
off the cobalt page
into an evocative
higher wider
elusive space
taken shockingly aback
where the heady blast
of Spirit of Hartshorn
shakes buried lover’s awake
to walk barefoot and naked
blindly in love
touching each other
through the long wet days
sugar-coated addictions
tall poppies crimson pimpernels
wading nubile through blades
of silver moon grass
licking their ankles and heels
raising their prim outskirts,
forbidden territories
within the rising mist,
the ever present,
like a breeze,
kisses their ripe
cherry orchards
unending hunger
satiated, all is manna
as they meander
through daze of
dusky dawn valleys
those garden of eden thighs,
the transparent,
slithering like hands
caressing treasure trunks
ivy leaves for plucking
further up above
the high waists
to touch what
wastes away, unheard,
what beats there,
where the crown sits
like some holy being
under its ribbed cage
red ripe like a seeded apple,
that place, just there, beating
singing some kind of hymn,
like a regulated anthem,
they're way up into their feels
like some devilish chase
like heaven's come
calling them away
They write in the language of perfume
flowery powdered words all layered
colours rising and lowering
in different light spectrums
as if the reader could discern
without wisened translator
their seductive dimensions
some things are better
left unsaid
like this Magdalene,
K.I.S.S.
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Unfaithful marital transgressions
self admitted indictment,
crime and punishment,
no longer think high lee
entailing no mister re: demeanors,
I searingly weathered
(George by bushed, albeit thankfully,
no unwanted child left behind),
nonetheless one unforgettable
indelible, execrable, and abominable
professedly owned his
civil warring battle of life
transgressions undeservedly heaped
(Uriah hit about that)
(carnal feral hormonally seething
gone astray nightwalks)
woven by basket of deplorable
emotionally painful selfish object lesson
forever etched upon mine psyche
(left by one bobbing sponge -
cheeses crust station of his life
within sea of human life now
affixes moniker re: mister crabs)
inflicted courtesy yours truly
said marital indiscretion (philandering)
one among many issues discussed,
during treatment plan earlier today
February eighteenth 2020
concerning complex edifice
regarding mein kampf
existential bleak house
(figuratively crowded cheek to jowl)
with and hard times
fraught with many
unattained great expectations
unwittingly accepts psychological fallout
(among kissing kith and kin,
a shellfish chicken and hen thing for sure),
despite years elapsed ex post facto
deploying, incorporating, narrating, signifying...
narcissistic, opportunistic, and phlegmatic
self incriminating doom
visualize deus ex machina
betrayal rendered adopted smugness
invariably set in motion domino effect,
whereby emotional alienation
devastation, humiliation, maturation, suppuration
(yoking impossible mission
to shuck off penitence, the price to pay),
thus rightfully, truthfully, and veritably...
ably, readily, and willingly
allowing, enabling, and providing
incomplete resolution, (hence iresolution)
thwarting rancor thy deux daughters
(livingsocial many time zones distant)
embark quest to guide their own
metaphorical maiden voyaging ships of state
countless transpired hours
at counseling facility, where poetic papa
aired and mulled over bothersome
anguish to complete requisite treatment plan
to receive psychiatric appointment
next (and last) Tuesday of February 2020.
Mister money bags no more
Ah..., how I idolize the days of yore
before June twentieth, and twenty first
two thousand twenty three
when utter senselessness wore,
a trail of woe brutally
ravaging and savaging mine psyche,
yours truly attests gullibility tore
and rent asunder
leaving cumulative finances
decimated, pulverized, and frankly zapped
rendering me poor
as a Unitarian church mouse named Kishore
dirty deed done dirt cheap extempore
courtesy yours oblivious to "red flags."
I still bitterly lament how
the computer/scammer
who called himself "Harvey Specter"
exhibited exceptional faux zeal
and blame myself,
whereby figurative cog and wheel
within sixty plus shades
housing mine gray matter
did not properly turn
ordinarily (when perspicacity,
sensitivity, and acuity optimally function)
setting off an ear splitting squeal
loud enough to rouse
a sleeping Leviathan
when upon awakening would bellow
now cue the giant
from Jack and the beanstalk
Fee-fi-fo-fum!
I smell the blood
of an Englishman:
Be he alive, or be he dead,
I'll grind his bones to make my bread.
Nevertheless significant loss
viz medium of exchange
(enriching the coffers of another -
particularly him that scoundrel
née fraudster foisting financial fiasco
frazzling father most definitely nonideal
modus operandi I envisioned,
hence the gofundme page
(ofttimes sited with
gentility, honesty, integrity...
when crafting previous poems),
yet passage of time did not heal
severe financial hemorrhage,
keeping checking and savings accounts
analogously under critical care
(think intensive care),
whereby heroic measures undertaken
wads of cold cash linkedin
to many intravenous tubes
but ideally capitol offense
aired once again toward remuneration
imposed upon ganef
who bled me dry
courtesy convincingly, glibly, liberally...
sweet talking his way,
and I swallowed hook, line and sinker
(fabrication that Citizens bank employees
scheming to siphon investments)
yielded zilch (the big goose egg),
absolute zero positive result,
i.e. even partial remittance of lost monies,
when yours truly did make an appeal.
My friend Mary C took me to Edge Water Park,
in Mukilteo Washington. I overheard a couple
of people say, "some people buy toliet paper
every other day. And store 300 rolls of toliet
paper. " I interrupted them and said," storing
300 rolls of toilet paper is not storing. It is
hoarding." "You are right it is hoarding and
some people have 300 rolls of toilet paper."
My friend Sherlyn Z told Mary C. and me,"
At Cosco some people buy toilet paper,
and want to take some back. Cosco is
not accepting any returns right now.
There is a long line waiting outside waiting
to get in. They only allow people two hours
inside before they kick people out."
Mayor Cassie Franklin, Everett Washington
has ordered a lock down in our fair city.
Our Snohomish County executive has closed
all of the parks. My friend Mary C. won't be
taking me to either parks, or community meals.
Essential services and activities are allowed.
Citizens' are being requested to purchase
necessary items for them to stay in their homes.
Walking and exercising outdoors is still recommended
and allowed.
Evictions are placed on hold during our
Washington State's COVID-19 pandemic.
Researchers' are working together around
the clock to provide feasible vaccines for
this latest Angel of Death.
There is a furniture company in Mukilteo
having its work force sewing masks.
Recruiting tailors from other business
to come and work for them.
Stay home as much as possible and
keep living spaces aired out by
opening doors and windows.
Is what I recommend.
"Now is the time to come to the
aid of our country" and our
communities. This COVID-19
is a global angel of death.
Say your prayers to God
Almighty! To have this
angel of death pass over
the rest of us.
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
March 23, 2020
We are recommended to have our
shopping delivered to our place of residence.
Homeless people are not restricted, but being
recommend to seek shelter.
Our mayor is issuing white paper to people
involved in providing essential services.
Each poem’s a web that I hang (time-smoked adage
that swirls in the sky) and dream seasons rare eyes!
With no thought of entrapment or hope of ingesting,
rhyme longs more to bless you, verse whispers, “Hello.”
Heart’s a door I crack open, not yearning for new friends
(though some are OK), but in faith, where faults too
(my aired laundry), serves Waylaid, integrity dearer
than platitudes floated that barely mask sin.
My hope’s some will see life’s reflection (not presage,
taste sugar glazed donuts, hear soft lullabies),
feel in spirit less lonely, grok I’m not protesting
God’s judgment at all! Still, it’d be a low blow
to lose Grace (I can’t work for), catch Hell (on free weekends).
Religion first-authored life’s “Catch - Twenty-Two?” (1)
How can ‘Word of God’ be a fresh ‘Truth’ to each hearer
and stay ‘Word of God?’ Is ‘Grace’ all and ‘Faith’ spin?
Are poems groked better than Bible in man’s hands?
Fools try to sell Scripture; there’s honor in that?
Are priests practiced deceivers who break the meek’s kneecap
or servants who look more for truth in blessed lives?
Let us question like children, delight in God’s purview
that floats light as stones when they bounce on time’s lake.
Our God’s Truth is still true though we don’t understand it;
we live in Love’s aspect, find joy in His smile.
Let Ringers walk home or be grist, plate for God’s guile!
To pitch by ‘just’ rules can put me in a snit!
But I’m fonder of Grace now than cat batting snowflake,
no strikes, balls, or fouls called, and no I O U!
Still, I lean towards a title and draft my incentives
for pitchers mean little when muse is on tap.
And if chewing’s your pleasure, then chomp on this format.
A Christian’s the one who won’t bunt God’s commands!
Brian Johnston
Poet’s Notes:
This last stanza was fun. I was not a big baseball fan though (except for ‘workup’ in grade school).
(1) ‘Catch-22’ is the title of a famous book by Joseph Heller. The title suggests: You can’t be insane enough to be excused from doing what needs doing if you’re intelligent enough to know that those already doing it are nuts!