Long Big apple Poems
Long Big apple Poems. Below are the most popular long Big apple by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Big apple poems by poem length and keyword.
Silver A is the slot this wet morning
Silver A is the most loved Dude
in the streets of Big Apple
for being Copa best patron
& exotic dancers of the strip
clubs don’t with him at all
Silver A is a larger cultural dynamic
representing a still deeper symbolic stratum
the bird that flies
across anything
SoHo
for being
the most sus lit
no cap
no buggin
book it to link
the next Bronx cheer
you sign the dub coming in
your new Hollywood
I’m feening for
Bucktown
Charlotte and the bear came out of hibernation at exactly the same time.
The bear was irritable and hungry, and she looked tasty.
Don’t even think about it, I’ve killed bigger people than you before breakfast.
The bear hadn't a clue what she was on about, but there was definitely something weird about her.
They both headed into town.
The fishmonger recognised Charlotte from the wanted posters he had seen around town.
This didn’t faze Charlotte, as the gutting knife entered his neck.
She took a bucket of fish out and handed it to the bear.
The bear was grateful, but still left with an uneasy feeling.
Charlotte was not enamoured with the old guy driving the sports car, especially when he made sexual remarks to her.
She did like driving the car, though, and she was sure his body would be found at some point.
Charlotte couldn’t believe the police were on her tail
She headed back to the cave where the bear was napping
The manhunt had begun
They came across the cave and began to move in
Charlotte prodded the bear and told him to growl
The bear got such a fright, it scampered right out the cave into the path of the oncoming police
The officers, shocked, decided she sure as hell wasn’t in there
Charlotte was not enamoured with the choices she had made in her life and decided to turn over a new leaf and get help.
The bear hoped to hell that mad woman was gone because
the strain was really getting to him.
Charlotte agreed with the psychiatrist, electric shock treatment was definitely the way to go.
The psychiatrist sort of agreed as ten thousand volts surged through his body, killing him outright.
Charlotte left the wanted posters behind and headed for a new life in the big apple.
Hopefully, Charlotte will change and become a model citizen.
The bear hopes so too, he wasn’t really enamoured with Charlotte.
this is the story
About a boy from New York city
Injured by an accident wounded by chemicals
They were radioactive
What's the matter???
In those injuries
He was blinded
His dad was a prize fighter
This city so evil
It needed a hero
What's the matter???
Where is Daredevil?
Crimes all around
Evil abounds
Police can't handle it
The Big Apple under target
This city so evil
It needed a hero
What's the matter???
Where is Daredevil?
Matthew Murdock
Self-claim protector
Of Hell's Kitchen
He's on a mission
To serve the public
Crimes all around
Evil abounds
Police can't handle it
The Big Apple under target
Tho! He's now blind
He's not blind sited
What's the matter???
Police can't handle it
The Big Apple under target
Hell's Kitchen burning
New York needs a hero
What's the matter...
Here comes DAREDEVIL...
the Man without Fear
11/13/17
Written by James Edward Lee Sr.
Lights flip on.
Flopping to the aeropress.
Measuring my morning cuppa
fresh coffee grinds,
stirred in my mind
with cream.
Filling pill boxes.
Reading poetry,
writing poetry,
as I glance up
every blue moon
to the patriot-dance
taking place
on my stone fireplace.
Passionate zing
of orange, yellow, blue bombs -
fireworks on the celestial ballroom floor.
Lustrous gowns of a grand finale
over the Big Apple -
the towers still
intact, still
have roots, still
watch over the night life.
Celebration in the harbor.
Lady Liberty still
stands, watching
the city folk glide
with their red and white
gowns o’er the sparkl’ing glass,
with sea worthy class.
Helicopters welcomed still;
no one’s afraid of the hereafter.
Nearby on slightly tinted-teal walls
a nod to Peter Max -
Lady Liberty touches her torch
onto a specific spot on the globe -
remembers the loss.
Clearing the fog with a cuppa joe.
Lights flip on and off.
We can never go back.
Stepping forward into the dark,
the moon shining at my feet,
hiding my distress at the past,
God guides my feet into the future.
6/24/2023
Pedestrians rule the city
Cross-lights are ignored
Rushing to the neon lights
Above the night-life doors
The middle finger is a common response
To a car horn’s incessant blare
Flashing lights from billboard signs
Reflecting on pink hair
New York City on any night
No matter the day of the week
Not a place for the mild-mannered tourist
Or a playground for the meek
City lights replace the sun
As if it never set
Don’t go home before twelve-o’clock
The party hasn’t started yet
Taxi cabs will run you down
It’s just another dent
You have not been pick-pocketed
That money you have spent
You can repeat Sinatra’s line
“If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere”
Just don’t be insulted if we are not impressed
Because New Yorkers don’t really care
New York, NY – Night Time
No ... there would be no happy end to this story ...
No shining horizon or shimmering visions of tomorrow,
No joyous rhapsody of angels to greet us at the end of THIS tunnel.
The Big Apple was behind us now, fallen to the horrors of the epidemic ...
A gestation period of merely thirty seconds,
Which meant half the globe - half of humanity -
Could be firmly in its grip within 48 hours ...
Just two days! (And that was an optimistic estimate).
I worked for the CDC, but was on vacation with my family ...
My wife, two daughters, one son,
In Manhattan to see "Hamilton" on Broadway.
We were headed back to The Plaza when it happened -
When the first infected folks started to turn.
Whatever it was, it increased metabolism in the host,
As though giving people super powers,
Making them faster, stronger, more erratic, more deadly ...
One bite to the skin, and within half a minute, the person would change ...
Transform, into these ... monsters, crazy eyes and gnashing teeth,
With only one drive and purpose - to bite flesh and spread contagion,
(And the possibilities of mutations were nearly fathomless).
Nature always protects itself ... always finds a way,
And diseases and microorganisms are PART of nature.
Like good bacteria, viruses seek out highly beneficial environments,
And this one had selected the most deadly and formidable of hosts - humans.
On the other end of this long tunnel under the Hudson, was New Jersey ...
We were headed south to Atlanta and CDC headquarters,
But that was an eternity from where we were,
With untold dangers and obstacles ahead,
And in the midst of this horrifying and virulent plague.
The tunnel was empty, thankfully, and dark,
But with a tension-filled quietus that seemed ready to explode.
Our one blessing? It was very early Sunday morning,
And there was little traffic on the highway.
Still, there would be surprises coming, we knew not what ...
Surprises and trials, at the end of this long underpass AND beyond.
We could see the light of the entrance as it drew closer,
We could envision the stress and danger, and feel the cold breath ...
Of doom approaching.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Tunnel Vision" Poetry Contest, Kai Michael Neumann, Sponsor.
May it not be uttered and may my lips be sealed. I don't like how it makes me feel. It gives no thrill. It has no appeal. So often, it does not heal and seldom closes the deal. Early this morning, I took the time to record a few lines of muse about a word I don't like to use.
I have often thought about the people I have met and the places I have roamed and made my home over the last 50 years. Many are the things, people, and places that have proven to be most disappointing and have wearied, worn me out, and caused me doubts. There've Been dejections, rejections, and questions, but as I look back, I see no regrets.
I have used a 7-letter word so often that it has become a dreadful thing to consider its usefulness. I should think that heaven is the only place such a word is forever forbidden. Presently, that word is NOT WHAT I'M SAYING to you, you, or anyone else and hope to never find it necessary. But if by chance or providence it should be used relative to anyon9 Ie, it would be among the hardest words I ever uttered to living mortals. I've been as far east as the Big Apple but not to stay; and forty years ago, I came with my wife and kids to live in the City by the Bay. I hasten to say that I've never lived longer nor loved stronger than here in the River City where I only want to say the the 2 lettered word 'Hi' but never the 7 lettered
woord, "Goodbye". I can say "Hi" with a smile, but "Goodbye" only makes me cry.
People say that home is where your story begins, but I've never been one to be bound by what others might say. I only know that the place where I was born was never home to me. I tell you, I did not have to look long and far nor think Hard and deep to figure out whom I might blame for the calm, peace, and poise that I am feeling where I live today. Yes, there is something very special about the people and this place where I'm living today that feels like home to me, and I suspect that The Lord has everything to do with it.
042620PS
El Dorado
by Michael R. Burch
It's a fine town, a fine town,
though its alleys recede into shadow;
it's a very fine town for those who are searching
for an El Dorado.
Because the lighting is poor and the streets are bare
and the welfare line is long,
there must be something of value somewhere
to keep us hanging on
to our El Dorado.
Though the children are skinny, their parents are fat
from years of gorging on bleached white bread,
yet neither will leave
because all believe
in the vague things that are said
of El Dorado.
The young men with the outlandish hairstyles
who saunter in and out of the turnstiles
with a song on their lips and an aimless shuffle,
scuffing their shoes, avoiding the bustle,
certainly feel no need to join the crowd
of those who work to earn their bread;
they must know that the rainbow's end
conceals a pot of gold
near El Dorado.
And the painted “actress” who roams the streets,
smiling at every man she meets,
must smile because, after years of running,
no man can match her in cruelty or cunning.
She must see the satire of “defeats”
and “triumphs” on the ambivalent streets
of El Dorado.
Yes, it's a fine town, a very fine town
for those who can leave when they tire
of chasing after rainbows and dreams
and living on nothing but fire.
But for those of us who cling to our dreams
and cannot let them go,
like the sad-eyed ladies who wander the streets
and the junkies high on snow,
the dream has become a reality
—the reality of hope
that grew too strong
not to linger on—
and so this is our home.
We chew the apple, spit it out,
then eat it "just once more."
For this is the big, big apple,
though it is rotten to the core,
and we are its worm
in the night when we squirm
in our El Dorado.
I believe I wrote the first version of this poem during my “Romantic phase” around age 16 or perhaps a bit later. It was definitely written in my teens because it appears in a poetry contest folder that I put together and submitted during my sophomore year in college.
Keywords/Tags: city, life, culture, society, social, addiction, drink, drugs, big apple, New York City, Broadway, Times Square, dream, dreams, reality
Two moons shine in the morning sky
Join each other as time goes by
Providing light to guide the night
Like Rhoda’s birthday shining bright
From a place so nice it’s named twice
Like birthday cake with blending spice
The Big Apple has sparkling lights
Like Rhoda’s birthday shining bright
Happy birthday to you Rhoda
Drink lemonade and not soda
Celebrate your day as you write
Like Rhoda’s birthday shining bright
Two moons shine in the morning sky
Like Rhoda’s birthday shining bright
© Joseph, 8/20/2007
© All Rights Reserved
This is for our New York Poetess, Rhoda.
The Kyrielle Sonnet is a French form from the Middle Ages. It has 14 lines (three
rhyming quatrains and a non-rhyming couplet). It has a repeating line or phrase
as a refrain in the last line of each stanza. Each line within the Kyrielle Sonnet
has eight syllables. There are times when a French poem links back to the
poem’s beginning; therefore, a common practice is to combine the first line of
the first quatrain and the refrain in each quatrain as the ending couplet for the
poem.
I'm not running races but like most people, I'm going places. I've been gone too long; so I'm coming home from many places. I go away for a while, and then I roam; but I always come back home. I don't take heavy loads of unnecessary cloths when I hit the road. No, it's just me, a small suit case and a back pack, cause I travel light.
I drive a fast car with a big V 8 engine, and take nothing to slow me down.* Those big tires and high powered engine making a fuss are heavy enough.
From the Pacific, it's terrific across the Rockies to the big mid western city. From Chicago to the Big Apple in the summer time, I'm travelling fast and light. My fast driving is within the limits of the law, because I respect the highway rules.
I like going to and coming from places, but I don't like planes, and trains are too slow. My car is old and bold, and when it's time to go, it never folds on me if we travel light.
From New York City in broad day light, to the bottom of New Orleans at the Gulf of Mexico; I then head west back toward the Pacific where the eagles build their nest and the sun always sets. For me, west is best because home is there; and home is where we find the sweetest rest.
There's a story about you and me that only we can write. Part of that story is the light that God shines on us, and no one feels that light shinning on us more than us. Home is where our story begins, and no matter where we've been, home is where our story ends. So travel heavy or travel light, near or far, by plane or by train, by bus or by car, you'll see like me, there's no place like home. Home is always there waiting for me; and no matter how long I'm been gone or how far I may have roamed, I can always count on home.
09192017 PS Contest, Travelling Light, K.M. Neumann
*Fiction