Long Anthony Poems
Long Anthony Poems. Below are the most popular long Anthony by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Anthony poems by poem length and keyword.
Johnny Thunders… Room 37.
John Anthony Genzale JR, a man that did the drugs and booze,
Not only born to live but ultimately born to lose.
Born in fifty two he loved the game of baseball,
But would never cut his hair that was his little league downfall….
That and his bad dad, but Johnny Volume would soon rule..
Along with the Jaywalkers at Quintano High School.
Then in sixty eight he would go to Fillmore East,
At a bar called "Nobody"'"s"on Bleeker Street
He would learn to drink his Bourbon ice so neat.
Then he was a sales clerk at the Da Nazz Leather Shop,
He would meet some future Dolls, then they were the "Actress"'"s."
But it was just a whistle stop..
Renamed Johnny Thunders after a comic book of the same name,
The New York Dolls were formed
His life would never be the same…
Two critically acclaimed Albums
"The New York Dolls" "Too much too soon"
But both commercially void,
Not enough to buy a Coke spoon..
In seventy five the Dolls broke up
Those trash glams all with attitude ,
Even bands today look back
With nothing but hard rock gratitude.
Johnny then formed The Heartbreakers ,released one brilliant LP
Los Angeles Mother F@kers
Know as L.A.M.F.
What an album I do decree…
Though I still love "So Alone"
A solo of such class..
He drifted here and there,
Then it was alas…
He lasted till nineteen ninety one,
His heroin a complete addiction..
But his death it was a mystery
There should have been a murder conviction!
Many rumours surround his death, I do suspect foul play.
St Peters House Hotel, New Orleans, such a great cliché.
Gangster dealers gave him LSD
Ripped off his Methadone supply..
Pretty sure they killed him,
Such a sad goodbye.
His room number was thirty seven,
It was ransacked of all his possessions,
What is known for certain,
Is there has never been no confessions..
"You can"t put your arms around a memory,
Don"t try don"t try..
You"'re just a bastard kid
And you got no name
Cause you"re living with me
We"re one and the same."
Nice one Johnny..
Sadly missed.
Form:
"Let me tell you a story about a girl
who was used and abused.She had
so many mishaps in her young life.
Self esteem she had none. Don't talk
about courage, it was very foreign as
well.Until this beautiful lady(collector)
came into her life and told her about
self worth. The first thing she got rid
of was low self-esteem, and replaced
it with confidence.Then she let go of
fear and replaced it with courage and
bravery. Next she got rid of hate.You
may say why hate? She carried around
a self hate for years. She let go of hate
and she found love. The special lady
(collector) taught her many things. But
thing she taught her the most was it was
okay to be herself. For she was a garbage
collector of a broken soul".
07-14-16
For the contest, Garbage
sponsor, Anthony Slausen
Burlap and Satin
He labors in the field 'neath blazing sun
below a sky of blue with clouds of white;
his wagon and his farming tools at hand.
With burlap hat and ragged shirt undone,
from dawn to dusk he works the blessed land;
brings life to fertile soil with brawn and might.
His heart is happy in the time he spends
to make a good life for his new-found bride:
to be together, come the sun or rain.
To share in living on the crops he tends,
and bear the long hot days, sore muscles, pain
his work demands in order to provide.
And now he has an angel by his side
attending him throughout his labored days.
Her hours are long with indoor duties too.
And in the evening, both at rest, abide
the coming of the next day to renew
their modest joys of life in simple ways.
So often through the day, she is right there
beside a window, safe indoors to see,
with cat against her satiny-sleeved arm,
her dear strong man, if he is taking care
to work the field without her fear of harm.
His angel in disguise…dear wife is she.
February 12, 2015
Burlap and Satin
~2nd Place~
Premiere Contest: Burlap and Satin
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Judged: 03/30/2018
~1st Place~
Contest: Angels
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 01/01/2016
~1st Place~
Contest: An Angel in Disguise
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Judged: 03/20/2015
Iambic Pentameter, Rhyme Scheme: a-b-c-a-c-b
She was a drug addict,
Had many flings with men,
And as they do predict,
She fell time and again;
She found herself with child,
Was advised against drugs,
Who cared? She got more wild,
When stopped, she simply shrugs;
(Think of the little life
Growing within her womb,
Who has no say - such strife!
She builds her baby's tomb...)
Somehow, the foetus grew,
Abused before 'twas born,
Oh! If only she knew,
That it might see no morn;
A friend saw her (dismayed),
Six months pregnant and high,
She took her home and prayed,
In her bed, made her lie;
Soon enrolled her in a
De-addiction centre,
Cared for her during the
Shakes ~ was dubbed 'tormentor';
Still, she did not back down,
Won her trust, helped her fight,
She who was 'bout to drown
Has since found the "True Light";
Three months fled by, pains came,
She gave birth to a girl,
Beautiful, though born lame,
Survivor of drug-whirl,
Forgiving self is tough,
When she sees her child strive,
But God's grace is enough,
She's glad she is alive;
Her friend has helped her win,
Go back to drugs? Never!
She's been transformed within,
Indebted forever!
1st May, 2022
{This is a work of fiction, written solely for Anthony Biaanco's "U Choose" contest - Theme chosen: 7) Abuse of the unborn}
(There are many other problems such women may face apart from self-guilt... For example: The child, when grown-up, may question the mother on the reason for her disability...)
fine lines sketched into my mirror
how did they get there? weathering
the decades, furrowed brow, creased
eyes with bags am i an old bag -
nonsense.
the mirror crack'd with an angry
whiplash i had to take a look
at my life, evaluate, extenuate
my outlook. hope for this old hag -
that kind of self talk for the birds.
bright city lights, broadway trimmed
my mirror looking extravagant, even
with its pits, spots, wrinkles of time
better lived than alone
am i a crackpot? If i am
i’m sipping from a loving cup
grateful for the full ride
i abide in the faithful arms
of Jesus Christ
his mirror was treacherous, scarred
his countenance was cracked
so much so that he was unidentifiable
except for the blood that loved
that exuded pure love
if i’m proud, my self is humbled
i’ll take those tracks - there is
traction in suffering and giving back
to my fellow man
lightly i cover up those wrinkles
only to blend this well-lived face
i face my reflection, satisfied
without indiscretion’s distraction
3/10/2023
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
Every day, the undercover soldier
Used to buy her big balloons
Red, blue, yellow, green, colourful and free
In those lazy afternoons
She let them fly with a smile on her face
Her laughter ringing around
He watched her do that every single day
And yet bought her balloons round
One day, he had to go for his duty
He gave her pink, new balloons
Said goodbye, rushed off to attack the foe
Missile launched from his platoons
His mission, a success, enemy killed
But some civilians died too
Pink balloons floating far away, cries heard
He had murdered her, he knew
He went to see her, that cute little girl
Just to pacify himself
He found her dead, her body strewn about
He could not forgive his self
Resigning his job, balloons, he now sells
But never rose-pink balloons
A little girl's death, heavy on his mind
In dreams, with her, he communes
In every child, he sees her lovely face
Laughing over her balloons
Silent tears flow from his penitent heart
As he sells "flying full moons"
10th Feb 2023
For Anthony Biaanco's "Balloons" contest
The law says you are where you are
Yet every human creature we touch
We find the Stink and Speech of Hell
So from these vapours we conclude
Where we are must be Hell
But saints don’t live in Hell
So this must be an attack
Of sulphurous vapours
Mists from hell creeping into Paradise
An infestation from THEIR HELL
Like St James surrounded by demons
Or St. Anthony tempted by creatures from Hell
Or Christ descending into Hell before Glory
Everywhere is infected by demons
Everywhere without protection
No place free of them
Like Hieronymous Bosch and the
Garden of Earthly Delights
This is an Earthly Paradise
Filled with demons Everywhere
Every shape and form criminals
They come to you through their garbage
Only standing on the threshold of Heaven
Looking down on these vile things
Do these ghastly beings seem pitiable
Only there does protection and sanity come
Only there is the sight clear and forgiveness possible
Do not touch or re- member them
Do not bring them into your mind
In memories, sights, speech
Have no intercourse with them--- for
Within minutes your soul will be torn and rent
Just let them roam
Soon they will be gone and destroyed
Born the fourth child in a four-room brick house on a large farm in northern Mississippi where cotton was king and hard cheap labor was queen, both of whom were enthroned with little concern for the rights of people or the welfare of children. Educated in second class schools equipped with hand me down books, second-hand furniture, and old school buses to transport children in the rural who lived miles and miles from the campus. In spite of the second-time-around tools of education, from age 5 to 17, I was blessed with the best of teachers. So much more could be said of them and how they impacted my life.
09242018PoSoupContest, Your Life in Nine Lines or Less, Anthony Slausen
My Prayer For Today
Time to Reflect
Your Love I'll Ever Bear
The True Mother
How I Loved You
The Blessing
Being Honest
Silent Faith
Beats in the air
Green Oasis
Love shouldn't be so hard
- we'll all break
Daily Dose
Spread It All Around
One sip of Chai
Do It Your Way
In Flower Fields
You saved my soul
Angel Returned to Heaven
To the one I love
___________________
Poems From : "Best New Poems"
Written by :
Tom Wright
Sandra Weiss
Besma Riabi Dziri
Lady Labyrinth
Kenneth R. Merrill
Kurt Ravidas
Rich Rogers
Arturo Michael
Swetha Vangaveti
Emile Pinet
John Hamilton
Anthony Slausin
ilene bauer
Edward Ibeh
Silent One
Samuel Byrd
Nick Trim
Charmaine Chircop
Gladwin Mathebula
Ikwuegbu Ihuoma
(randomly selected titles)
25.07.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
20 Titles From 20 Friends Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Richard Lamoureux
4th place in the contest
In May of seventeen seventy-nine
Henry Clinton was having a hard time,
so tired of the rebels still fighting,
had to somehow get Gorge Washington
out of the looming Hudson Highlands,
and then force the war to a final ending.
He marched his army to the north
meaning to shut down King’s Ferry,
threaten West Point and draw them out,
determined to up the ante,
no nonsense was he to bandy,
his men took Stony Point.
With the King’s Ferry now block and closed,
across the Hudson supplies couldn’t go,
Washington found himself in a hard place,
with a foothold beneath the Hudson Peaks
the British now could his main camps seek,
he could not let himself be displaced.
From atop a nearby mountain
he saw the British were building
abbatis and gun emplacements,
with scarlet the point was filling,
he knew that there’d soon be killing,
he would retake Stony Point.
But then the British made a mistake,
trying to set bait Washington would take,
sent Tyron to raid towards New Haven,
but Washington was not a damned fool,
he saw what they were trying to do,
and in the Hudson Highlands he remained.
Drew up a new plan of attack,
then Mad Anthony Wayne he called,
a general of temper and great skill,
they would see the British fort fall,
the garrison their troops would maul,
they would take Stony Point.
See when the British had fortified,
they had forgotten the river had tides,
and that a beach would soon be exposed.
It was a long shot, but one they would take,
if they could get behind the lines would break,
so only the best troops were picked to go.
No bullets would be in their guns,
stealth and steel would be their choice,
the only way they could be sure,
detection they had to avoid,
there really was no other choice
to penetrate Stony Point.
Wayne then split his forces into three
to face Britain’s seven hundred fifty
and sent Murfree to face the center,
his job was to raise hell and distract,
while to the north Butler’s troops would track,
from the south Wayne’s main force would enter.
At midnight they would all attack,
Under cover of the deep night,
white papers were stuck in their hats,
so they could see who not to fight,
bayonets set to stab and bite,
they marched for Stony Point...
CONCLUDES IN PART II