Long Allan Poems
Long Allan Poems. Below are the most popular long Allan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Allan poems by poem length and keyword.
Why would someone yearly toast the birthday
of a poet like Edgar Allan Poe?
And on that day toast his grave the same way,
leave the bottle, three red roses, and go.
The man locals nicknamed, "The Poe Toaster."
in the mid-30s; remains anonymous.
But each Jan.19th, like a morbid poster,
Poe's grave and his toasts were synonymous.
Wearing a white scarf and wide-brimmed hat,
he'd arrive there in the early morning.
But in 2009, stopped, just like that,
and disappeared without any warning.
For 60 years, this phantom toasted Poe,
whether friend or foe, we may never know.
(Sonnet)
9/20/2018
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Not For Contest
Today is Edgar’s birthday
And the third year in a row
That the famous caped “Poe Toaster”
Has decided not to show.
From 1949 for sure,
And maybe years preceding,
The Toaster visited Poe’s grave,
And not to do some weeding.
With wide-brimmed hat and scarf and cape
To keep his ID hidden,
He’d sneak right up to Edgar’s tomb,
A visit most forbidden.
He used a cane with silver tip
To navigate the ground;
And in the morning, at the site,
The following was found:
A Martell cognac bottle
With its contents halfway filled
And a trio of red roses,
Which helped make the legend build.
In 1998, a note
Explained the torch was passed;
A Toaster “son” would be the one
To hold tradition fast.
On Poe’s 200th birthday, though,
The year 2010,
The Toaster missed his calling
And has not been seen again.
The ritual’s become, alas,
A faded bit of history;
But Edgar Allan Poe fans love
Its enigmatic mystery.
Accosted many years ago
By the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe
I'm now obliged to come forthright
About that dark eye-opening night.
It's only fair to let you know
I've held a torch for Mr. Poe
It's all because of the ink of his pen
That my love for poetry did begin.
(His sad, sad tale arrested me;
the saddest tale I've ever known.
Small wonder then when he chose me,
an easy prey, home all alone)
Toiling to write like him for years
Happy was I when his ghost appeared.
A tragic figure past, present and now
He entered my room with a humble bow.
And fixed me with a haunting stare
And whispered softly 'life's not fair.'
I nodded my head just to agree
When a strange sensation took hold of me.
Possession felt more than 9/10's of the law
I felt frozen and badly in need of a thaw.
My body, not mine now was his to command;
Just a shell, a mere puppet, at the will of this man.
His voice so melodic, belied malice or vice.
He drew near to the fireplace, the warm hearth felt nice.
There was music, a waltz, seemed familiar {mere chance?)
Embracing the moment we started to dance.
His thoughts were with mine now
And mine were with his
And I swear by my bank book
As long as I live
The unbearable pain of his loss gripped my heart
And the moment I fainted we were ripped apart.
He was anguished at how he had handled his grief,
How his life was cut short by his own inner thief.
He'd wanted to write more
His mind was an ark
Just those few moments with him
Woke the poet in my heart.
And so it happened in just one night
He taught me verse; he taught me rhyme
And stretched my mind to higher heights
That's quite developed over time.
He's never visited my bedroom since
Or with my body had his way.
He left me with this gift or sixth sense
Of a fire for poetry that burns in my veins.
Unfinished business is quite finished now.
Passing on I imparted to him 'quid pro quo.'
'Rest in peace, the whole world
Knows your name Mr. Poe.'
-Reta Pruitt
July 22.2018
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
What are these objects in your frames?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Why must they gotta be the same?
Cars and busses, traffic lights
Bicycles and motor bikes
Crosswalks, signs, and steps and stairs
Fire hydrants everywhere
Boats, planes and parking meters
Tickets, fines, misdemeanors
Why are you so fond of these?
Why are palms the only trees?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
The pictures trapped inside of there
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Depict a world so bleak and bare
Arid, bland, unaesthetic
Barren, drab, unpoetic
Sterile, cold, antiseptic
Unconcerned, apathetic
Somber, sad, and desolate
Woeful, bland, pedestrian
Weary, grim, dreary, hopeless
Grainy, gray, out of focus
It doesn’t need to be this way…
Many things could fill your squares
Why not fill these things in there?
Tambourines and castanets
Bass trombones and clarinets
English horns and piccolos
Harpsichords and xylophones
Fiddles high and Irish whistles
Jingle bells and finger cymbals
5-string banjos, mandolins
Saxophones, accordions
Desmond Tutu and Mandela
Cassius Clay, Cinderella
Charlemagne and Genghis Kahn
George and Ringo, Paul, and John
Twain and Edgar Allan Poe
Wayne and Brando and Monroe
Ida Wells, Frida Kahlo
Steinem, Parks, and Ferraro
River Thames and stormy seas
Winter wrens and bumble bees
Cyprus, ash, oak, fir, and pine
Sassafras, willow, and lime
Daffodils and magnolias
Marigolds and begonias
Cabbage, beets, and potatoes
Carrots, beans, and tomatoes
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
If your pictures must remain
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
How aboutcha change the frames?
Captcha circles, captcha suns
All the captcha olygons
Wiggly captcha twiggly lines
Twisty captcha twiny vines
Captcha diamonds, captcha hearts
Captcha clovers, moons, and stars
Captcha ribbons, Captcha lace
Captcha colored string bouquets
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
We understand you're here to stay.
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
Just be more creative, OK?
Jock Gray, Richard, Old Allan, and others told me this over the years but I never felt worthy to tell it for them, not even really now but time is passing - I hope those who were there understand - I hope I have not betrayed their trust or their memory.
I’ve been on these beaches before he said
Left my blood and sweat in the sand
Fought and clawed very inch of the way
From the sea right up to the land
And all the time the screeching pounding
Battering smashing deadly hurting noise
Inextricably mixed with the screeching sobbing
Moaning of wounded and dying boys
I only thought of my survival
Never thought of my living
Beyond that very second
That second I was living
Held no thought for any others
Silently praying for just me
Not wanting life to end
By that moaning cold green sea
Somehow I survived my arrival
In that alien foreign land
On that last day of my boyhood
That first day of being a man.
That longest longest day
That I ever was to live
And now I’m back again
With nothing now to give
Since then I’ve stood erect
Looked every man in the eye
For I lived my vision of hell
And managed not to die
For decades living with the guilt
Of not dying with my friends
But standing in this place
Somehow brings that to an end
I am here again
I have faced my fears
Have finally shed
My healing tears
For the rest I can be at peace
Starting now here on this beach
Quote: “The healing power of time is not a myth but a reality. Given enough time, most emotional pain eases and eventually disappears altogether.” – Allan J. Adler
Time, the alchemist of wounds,
When my heart is shattered, and despair consumes,
I am imprisoned in dungeons of darkness and solitude,
But time's fleeting touch offers solace, a momentary interlude.
Time, the mender of sorrows,
Weaving a tapestry of healing tomorrows,
Yet the heart remains in fragments, shattered and torn,
Your presence lingers, in every sunbeam and moonlit morn.
It may take an age, a lifetime or more,
To find someone who understands the depths I explore,
Together we'll embrace the blossoms, the birds, and the bees,
Discovering pearls in oysters, on sun-kissed shores by the seas.
Time, the essence that forever slips away,
In my pursuit, I often forget the love that holds sway,
Attachments and desires, earthly and crude,
Peace of mind resides in relinquishing their delude.
For in surrendering to the divine's embrace,
Time finds eternity, a tranquil, timeless space.
Wilbur wasn't always so sure
His horse knew how to be good
He gave him the best directions
And plenty of love and affection
But, Mr. Ed could be quite the comic
Never listening to Wilbur's instructions
Instead, finding amusement in the ones
Who felt like watching his funny sitcom
It was actually Allan Lane
Who gave Mr. Ed his voice
He told of this and that
And every imaginable choice
Mr. Ed was not who we were told
His real name was Bamboo Harvester
A delightful name for a famous equine
Who will forever reign in my heart
As the horse who brought so much
Grace to the part of the famous Mr. Ed
Wherever I go in this world
There will always be assurance
That the famous Mr. Ed was one
Who brightened lives with his pranks
He was a funny, good humored horse
With so much love in his heart
I could never imagine another horse
More capable of filling the room
With uproarious laughter and joy
Mr. Ed was a wonderful old boy!
A Notable Horse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
September 28, 2021
NO MORE LOVE POEM
“”..... Ander her picture when she cut her wrists and so the kid saw the picture and his prick went Whoop Whoop Whoop,,,”
- Trantino. The Great Blafigria Is.
“ … For I dream I know not how¡
And my soul is sorely shaken
Lest an evil step be taken,-
Lest the dead who is forsaken
May not be happy now.”
-The Bridal Ballad. Edgar Allan Poe
Please Stop.
I don’t want falling in Love
& being pretty smart
O mamma mia.
When the Train is Gone
I thrower in motion:
I don’t hit the nail on the head¡
I’m going wild against the Wall
Slap-up meal.
My brain’s been ****ed
When yr love is come
Toot toot
Damn ***** ate my dog.
Then haemin’s yr Ass:
Love is a silly thing
Fancying that
All over the place
And to die
Of a broken Heart, ja, ja ja.
Hey captain¡ Hey captain¡
My arm chaplain is incapable.
Hey Captain¡ Hey Captain¡
I think we’re gonna cum
In the twinkling of an eye:
The end of the love
Lies inside you¡
Do you know Do you see:
All lovers are Rapier pigs
bastard Gentlemen of rape
Looking out at all rissoles
In the churches’ streets
& saying:
” let me darkle
Or let me daze”.
With Langston Huges’ motto
As we live and learn:
“Dig and be dug
In return”
No more Love Poem
Darkly Vampire.
Carry me to Yr Black Ritual
Of bloody Love
Leaning lip-poised.
We tremble to receive
The darkly ****ing Eucharistic
To touch Perceive
Touch Explore
And yet with utmost Sinful care
Slide Melt
Devour.
The *****Cock
And Chicken
In the head of lustful night
Carry me.
In the distance, a soul does mourn,
The Raven caws, a heart forlorn,
Fear grips tight, as life's sun sets,
Having never danced, with wild regrets.
A life unlived, a dream unchased,
A heart that yearns, but feels misplaced,
In twilight's grasp, the mind's despair,
Echoes of 'what if' fill the air.
Lost in the void of wasted days,
The Raven's wings, a somber haze,
Yet, hope still flickers, dimly gleams,
To seize the day, and shatter dreams.
Embrace the now, release the dread,
For fear of death, the soul's true bane,
Carve your path, let passion reign,
The Raven's call, no longer pain.