Long Album Poems
Long Album Poems. Below are the most popular long Album by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Album poems by poem length and keyword.
1. This ole world is cavalcading escalading, towing down;
Falling down into the premises of unusualness;
Solid confines to the missions hell bent;
Loss in its shame, borrowing time;
Everyone everywhere is swallowing sin;
While the naysayers keep welcoming them in..
Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring;
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Up above my head;
2. Image now, how would it be, could you be free;
Left alone drinking miscalculated teas;
Raisin cane and eat manna breeze from the trees;
What does it mean is it a dream?
And all these things again, mention above;
Where is t he love?, what? where is the love?
Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring?
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Up above my head;
3. Missing mountains and trail condescending;
No one is gathering everyone meandering;
What must I do to love and embrace you;
Shovel in my hand standing in the sand;
Feeling the heartbreak of mankind demeanor;
Leaving hatred in a container of oven cleaner;
Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring?
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Up above my head;
And all these things again, mention above;
Up, up above my head, up above my head;
I'd rather be living than dying dead;
Heaven is where I want to lay my head;
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
4. I'd rather be living than dying dead;
Heaven is where I want to lay my head;
Mysteries and non compliances and misguided judgements;
All but a dream, every hates no love in their hearts see what I mean;
I have a motion that we won't judge them;
Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring?
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Up above my head;
And all these things again, mention above;
Up, up above my head, up above my head;
I'd rather be living than dying dead;
Heaven is where I want to lay my head;
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Written word by James Edward Lee 1974
Arranged music by James Edward Lee & The Corinthian
From demo album "The World May End Tomorrow" 1970,1974,2017 (c)
Most of my classes suck (by that I mean they’re difficult). English is ok - especially the writing. I’d never want to major in English Literature though. It’s one of the hardest majors at Yale. It may be harder than Pre-med. They make it hard to discourage people from choosing it. If you don’t love literature, don’t live and breathe books and writing, you’ll *never* navigate the major.
Despite English being her third language, Leong is an excellent proofreader (which I need).
“Put an emoji in there,” Leong recommended, “it’ll show you’re chill and not panicking.”
“No emojis! I said, shocked, “This is supposed to be professional.” Still, every time I submit a draft the professor says it’s good (an “A”) and I’m done.
Sir Paul McCartney is at Yale today, talking about a book he wrote, I think. They’re piping his music all over campus. I don’t have time to see him, but his “Ram” album is one of my all-time favorites. I know people have their favorite Beatle, but I think Paul has, by far, the most lyrical solo career.
Lisa and I just arrived at the fitness center (in the residence basement) we’re the only three there. Peter (my BF) got there ahead of us, about 30 minutes ago. He’s been working out on one of the weight machines. He’s tall and fit, with black-almost blue hair and a new beard. Sweaty and shirtless, he’s a take-your-breath-away spectacle. The sight of him jangled up and down my libido. I felt myself groan inwardly. “Put on a shirt!” I said.
He comes over to where I’ve taken a seat. The sun is coming in at an angle which reveals that the air between us is filled with dust motes but now he looks like he’s a model standing in a spotlight. I just look at him and smile wickedly. “Why,” he says, getting very close.
“Because you’re distracting!” I answer laughing, as I push him away, “and I have a TON of reading to do.”
I like to read while I’m walking on the treadmill. He tries to nuzzle me as I step up. “Look,” I say, “If I can finish my reading (~200 pages) by dinner, I‘ll have something special for you.”
“Like what?” he asks, smiling and suddenly interested.
“Something for you to look back on when you’re a very old man.” I whisper.
“What are we standing around for?!” He demands, putting my chemistry book and water bottle on the treadmill and stepping away to slip on his t-shirt.
1971 (Hey Dude)
Hey dude, come in, come in.
Been a long time since we last smoked the peace pipe together.
Hey! I think it was during Hendrix’s set in Bethel, dude!
Here, let me move these Rolling Stones out of the way.
and the Taco Bell wrappers… There. Dude, let’s sit.
First, I need to change the record. Let me look here….hmm,
Iron Butterfly? Naw, too psychedelic. Blind Faith?
Naw, they’re too much like Cream. And I’m tired of them.
Hey, how ‘bout Led Zeppelin 3?... Naw, too new;
Ah! Let’s hear some very mellow Traffic music. This is cool dude!
It’s their second album…very trippy music...
Listening to this stuff makes me feel alright!...
Dude, Here you go. That hole there is like a carburetor;
Put your finger on it and draw in. Then, let go. Boom!
Dude! Welcome to the petrified forest, man!
Dude! I been kicking back here thinking about infinity, man.
My mind is constantly being blown thinking about how big the universe is.
Dude, we are so small, so infinitesimal, so minute,
in comparison to the absolute vastness of the universe.
Dude, here we are, riding on this huge ball of dirt,
turning through space at a thousand miles per hour,
and we aren’t even feeling it as we speed along,
like it’s not even happening, man!
You know, dude, we are so small, so very very small,
we’re all just a very small part of this vast solar system
with these humongous planets circling this huge ball of fire,
which are all just a very small part of this humongous Milky Way galaxy,
which is just one of billions and billions of galaxies in the universe…
Man, it makes my mind bend!...
Here, this purple haze from Michoacán will seal the deal, dude…
I also been thinking about God, dude!
We are all so small; we are all like spiders, just spinning our webs…
in this humongous garden called life!
So I must ask Dude:
What is God? Who is God?
I will tell you what God is! I now know! Dude!
Are you ready to hear what God is? …
Ice cream, dude! Ice cream!
Do you want some vanilla ice cream, dude?
I have a gallon in my freezer!
Think of the millions of people in the world right now,
the people of India, South America, Australia and even in Dinuba, California,
who at this very moment, this precise second in time and eternity,
are sitting there, eating vanilla ice cream.
Hey dude! Be right back!
“i’m only happy when it rains,”
moans shirley manson when she’s backed by
butch vig & an orchestra of overdubbed
distorted guitars enhanced by sythensizers
a la trent reznor
the genius who is credited in garbage’s first album---
one doesn’t have to be a meteorologist to
think that she & her crew may be on to
something---
for the rain washes all the dirt away
the rain replenishes the earth so that it can sustain another day
when damaged endlessly by the
cruel
sun
scorching its surface & all the living things upon it
(during the spring and summer months especially, when all the idiots are
running round with nothing on & with no sunscreen, etc. to fend off
melanoma)---
the rain is what those unconventional people who
dwell in the shadows
feast on---
and who are these people?
they are the ones that choose not to smile when
everyone else does---
they are the ones that are not easily
amused---
they/we
are the ones that run out in the rainstorm &
dance naked in the cold wetness---
whipping our hair around in a rhythmic gesture
a middle finger in the air to any kind of
“creator”
that would shine its face down upon us all and
communicate
destruction with the poker face of
peace---
give us the rain when it comes
give us the floods
the hurricanes
the torrential downpour that accompanies it all
so that on the days that we aren’t struggling to swim
& struggling to float amidst the chaos
we understand how fortunate we are
to even be breathing---
so that our ever-complaining selves
die with the remnants of the wash-away
& you & i can wave goodbye to the old
selves
who thrived only for sun &
smiles
not understanding that in this pubic hair of a moment in which each of us
spend
together
on this beautiful planet
avec all the other plants & creatures who dwell with us,
that
we must savor every second
be it in sun or rain
and let it be known that the rain does so much for us
and yet is always pelted with insults & “evil” metaphor---
rain,
my friends,
is getting the bad rap---
and i don’t think i stand alone on the sideline campaigning---
there are thousands, albeit it
millions
marching for the rain to come
and keep our civilization
quenched---
news flash: without good ol’ h20 we are all dead as
doornails---
so stop worshipping the sun
&
give it up for the
rain.
All of my love is lost, I no longer have a heart now
Too many wounds from being on this battleground
I've never been hurt, I wish I could say that was true
You're who I'm drinking to forget,but my mind always comes back to you
I shouldn't have said that, I just gave you an advantage
I'm just trying to make it through while stranded
Tell people what they want to hear?, sorry but I'd rather speak Factually
Emotional at times, but at other times I suffer from Apathy
Who knew saving the Princess would be a Catastrophe?
She didn't appreciate it and broke me in return
So now I'm using my pen to cause casualties
why would I water it down when you can see my burns?
Depression leaves from time to time, and my mood starts to lift
But then it comes back just as I think I've won, and think it's been missed
But how can I fault it when it's the only thing that came back to me after leaving?
I'm writing a story, but I just spent a whole chapter bleeding
These are just the habits of my heart
When I have one
I need to put my sadness in my art
Where's my pad gone?
Crying over a girl who's probably doing god knows what with the next guy
I was there when you needed me, mended you and offered you everything, how can I not be the best guy?
You made me look stupid when you knew this was something I was scared about
Now I'm out having meaningless sex with females I don't care about
Females I won't care about
Is this too much for me to air out?
I don't believe in secrets, I'd rather let it all be known
Even if it's just so I'm no longer alone
Lately I've cut the world off, But I still answer the girls who are sending nudes to my phone
I've got an obsession with chatting girls up and I find sex therapeutic
Let me be real, that's me hiding because every time I used my heart they abused it
One day you'll wake up and realised you called it wrong
And that I was the perfect guy for you all along
But then it'll be too late, and you'll feel the type of hurt I'm feeling now
Even though I'm hurt, I've began healing now
You weren't a real queen, you were an imposter who went around stealing crowns
With a pretty smile and fake love as a costume
So now I'm listening to Drake's take care album at full volume
You stabbed me in the back, so now you've been cut off
This is why all of my love's lost
Eternal Destiny
You’re a star!
I’m a mere hidden diamond.
I can’t afford to give you to me.
You’ll go far kid, forget about what we could be.
I am not meant to be your Eternal Destiny.
You would soon be bored, if we ever truly hugged,
And showed each other what was in our minds.
I have you inside mine for the rest of my life,
But you need someone you can truly love,
Not this ordinary guy.
It’s easy to love what you have never truly had,
So play it, never mind.
You’ve never looked better.
The sun glasses look good on you.
I’m still here in the rain wearing my Biffa water-proofs.
It looks like you like your drink at 50% proof,
And I am a tea-totaller, former smoker,
With no smokes to pass to you.
That was the best time of my life,
But my Wife left me, before I left.
I will always love you Ms. Right,
But I am not to be your shining light.
I simply love you... ‘nough said.
I never knew you were so unhappy.
If only you would have shown me,
I would have said “We are family!”
And I’ve got my “Sister” here with me permanently.
Down for life,
Down for fun,
Down for good love
And a friend I call a bud.
I always miss you
And I always will luv.
Those times sure were good,
But then everything changed,
And I couldn’t stay.
I had to get away.
So then you were gone,
And I was in the wrong,
For believing we shouldn’t be.
Who knows?
You could have been the one,
But I never gave us a shot,
So I can’t sit here and bemoan your loss.
I knew you’d go for a song,
But then you went and wrote a whole damn album!
All Killer No Filler, of course.
I hope one day you out-sell Thriller,
And I will still be here smiling about your love,
And writing these little ditties,
With a woman on my on my arm
Still loving those ‘mysteries’
You to me are still a complete mystery.
Oh my girl, you are oh so pretty,
And I am but a dweeb,
With no self-esteem.
I didn’t think you could love me,
When I saw you loved him.
I’m still searching for the one love I am yet to meet.
Still searching for new memories for Easy Street.
The Gardens aren’t so lovely now,
I’ve lost the coolest and most interesting.
Those were the days.
I was so in love!
I sure did have a need for you.
It’s my crying shame we never became ‘Us’.
(C)2025 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
“This circus is falling…”
It’s circa 1997; I’m in Charlotte, NC
It’s a 13-week consulting gig, my longest ever
I come home every few weeks
Long days at the customer site
A hostile environment;
they don’t really want us there
A server vendor is trying to make inroads at a bank
I’m there working for the vendor
After a long day, a swing by Harris Teeter:
pre-packaged dinner and beer
“The big top is crumbling down”
And so is my life
Evenings are spent
hunched over a laptop
in a dark 1 bedroom efficiency
Programming late into the night
Until the eyes are too tired
And the beer has run out
Music is a constant companion,
most of it, soulful, sorrowful, some upbeat.
Counting Crows, Matchbox 20, Sting
“These train conversations”
Are truly passing me by
No coworkers here.
No family here
No interactions with anyone outside of work
Just a call home early enough in the evening
that the words aren’t slurring too badly yet
“And I don’t have nothing to say”
Just ache
I want to be home
I miss my wife
I miss my kids
I miss my dog
“You get what you pay for”
They are paying me well
I’m getting all the overtime I want.
I am piling away the money for a nice trip to St. Thomas
For all of us
When I get home
And I don’t care; I just want out
“But I just had no intention of living this way”
Warp forward to today
Life could not be any more different
Life is wonderful, life is good
I have purpose
I have meaning
I have family
I have love
I know and am known by God
I’m working out in the barn
I’ve hooked up the old stereo
I see the “August and Everything After” CD and I fire it up
I set it on “Raining in Baltimore”
“I need a phone call, I need a plane ride
I need a sunburn, I need a raincoat”
And for a brief flash,
I am back at that dinette table
Alone, in the dark
And terribly lonely
When it is uplifting, music causes our spirits to soar
But it can put you right back
in a particular place
In a particular time
And that’s not always a good thing
“But what would you change if you could?”
Uh, August and Everything After…
click.
————
Quotes are from “Raining in Baltimore” off the
“August and Everything After” album by Counting Crows
Golden leaves, sheet music written by the unforgiving hand of time,
Fall in the slow rhythm of years that slip away like sand in an hourglass.
We are violins tuned to the melancholic tone of the eternal autumn,
Playing the ephemeral melody of life on the fragile strings of existence.
The mirror of the lake reflects the leaden sky of memory,
Ripples of water intersect with the wrinkles of time on the face of aging nature.
Memories dance in whirlwinds of wind like ghosts of the past,
Like dried leaves from the faded summers of our lost youth.
The scent of ripe apples and the smoke of burnt wood float in the air of nostalgia,
The final symphony of nature before the long sleep of life's winter.
Each note is more precious than the gold in our dreams of yore,
In the final concert of seasons that succeed mercilessly towards infinity.
Trees, people deeply rooted in the fertile soil of the past,
Some still green with hope, others bare of illusions, all whispering untold stories.
We are lost travelers through the park of collective and personal memory,
Gathering yellowed leaves from the album of life that thins with each passing day.
Spring once lied to us with sweet dreams of youth without old age,
Summer intoxicated us with the bright mirage of a promised eternity.
But autumn, sincere in its golden and rusted melancholy,
Teaches us, with gentleness and firmness, the beautiful and cruel lesson of passing.
We are but fleeting notes on the cosmic staff of existence,
Meant to resonate for a moment and then fall silent in the great silence.
But in this fleeting and fragile melody of our limited existence,
We find the heartbreaking beauty of the moment that shines before it fades.
Each autumn is a priceless gift in the crown of years that dwindle,
An elegant invitation to the last dance with the life that still pulses within us.
We gather precious moments like golden fruits from an enchanted garden,
From the orchard of time that shrinks but becomes ever sweeter and more intense.
We breathe deeply the cold and fresh air of the autumn embracing us,
Feeling how we become one with nature in its eternal cycle of birth and death.
In the violet evening silence, we vow to live each autumn with intensity,
As if it were our last symphony in the grand orchestra of the universe.
Chapter 4
As the weeks passed I finally got an idea,
I suggested she take up his offer,
And in sitting for dinner ask his folks for help
In her quest to just tame their son’s ardor.
For it seemed the best chance she might really be heard
With his family gathered around him.
It was up for discussion for several weeks
Till at last she decided she’d do it.
Well the drive to the country took over an hour,
First surprise was his home was a mansion.
Her friend’s mother awaited her on the front porch
With a welcome that passed understanding.
And as Neethu then touched his mother’s feet in respect
Her heart trembled at what she was feeling.
For the gist of it was it was like she was home
There was no other way to explain it.
With the greetings complete they all turned to the house
To a large room attractively furnished.
“I’m so glad that I’ve finally met you,” she said,
“But so sad about your recent losses.”
Neethu’s eyes were quite drawn to a picture filled wall
Like a shrine to a wonderful childhood.
“Let me get some refreshment” she rose and withdrew,
“It’s her childhood best friend,” her son told her.
As she rose, walked to wall, to view pictures up close
There was something about them quite haunting.
“Does your mom have more pictures?” she quietly asked.
“Only tons,” the boy said, “In her bedroom.”
“Don’t you think that she’s pretty?” returning with snacks,
His mom noticing Neethu’s absorption.
“Always was my best friend and we looked so alike
When we dressed the same many confused us.”
“Could I see some more pictures?” her voice pleading now,
“Why, of course, dear, let’s move to my bedroom.”
“We both loved shooting pictures, it’s why I have these,
Not the same though, as being together.”
With an album in hand Neethu went straight to back,
To a picture of her parent’s wedding.
Her eyes brimming with tears, the boy’s mom’s voice moved on,
For she hadn’t seen Neethu’s reaction.
“It is really quite sad,” she said, “that we lost touch
After she moved away with her husband.”
“In the army I guess that they move you a lot.
But I did hear that now they have children.”
“There’s no good way to say this,” she felt her voice crack,
“But your best friend was also my mother.”
July 12, 2016
Brian Johnston
Golden leaves transcend autumns harvest, contrasted by
Blazoned reds burnt offerings of summers final sacrifice to
The changing of the seasons, oh what a palette of magnificence,
Is nature set to the rheum of our universe!
In the chilling winds of falls grace, does the very breathe of
Winter chase, swooping and swaying through the branches
Of destiny thus to cometh forward, tenderly the trees do cry
Shedding their tears of color airy, brown to tan!
Racked piles of gathered teardrops, lain upon the lawns of
Evergreen yards, that are capture within the freezing breath
Of seasonal appease, for soon nature shall rest at ease, in
A blissful sleep, until awoken by springs warming whispering!
Rainbows harvest of autumn is this Kalightoscope of coloring,
A showering cascade descending in sheer brilliance reflecting
In the bitter sunshine of falls rebirthing, and the simple poet stands
Completely at awe, beneath these limbs of natural beauty,
Left alone to ponder the wonder he’s beholding!
Crushing footsteps smash against the idle puddle, containing
A single leaf trees sacrifice, the forget-me-knots remembrance
Of the summer gone past, and the winters fiery hearth of promise
To come, what a blazing embers of shadow to contrast, to a dreamer
Suddenly awakening from hibernation's spent sleep of illusions,
Now walking in a golden light of this autumn shower of the reflected!
Clinging do the lovers of this timeless season, bathing within their
Gaze lost amongst these trees of beauty, strolling along the lanes of
Passions unforgettable moments, photo impressions memorized in
The human thoughts album, forever to remain untarnished by age!
In the fields the farmer puts his tools of trade to rest at last,
Gathering prides harvest unto him one by one smiling,
He’ll warm himself by the flames of family and tradition,
Until the toiling begins next spring, the man shall sits at ease
At the hearth of hard works fire, as the leaves of autumn fall!
Let the dreaming poet write, allow the lovers to stroll undisbursed,
And the harvester to rest his weary brow at last, for the golden
Leaves of autumn are falling, cascading unto the evergreen lawns,
Gathered together into the piles of leafy teardrops, of summer
Forget-me-knots!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN