Long Black and white Poems
Long Black and white Poems. Below are the most popular long Black and white by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Black and white poems by poem length and keyword.
Esther’s apartment is almost the same
As it was when she lived in its space.
Her son and her daughter-in-law (my dear friend)
Live there now and her vibe they embrace.
All her furniture’s there and her dishes and lamps
And the paintings of many a child
(Even Esther), plus one of a rabbi and all
By her father, professionally styled.
For the last twenty years of her life, Esther made
The apartment a welcoming home,
Where her family, including great-grandchildren, came,
Never thinking they’d be in a poem.
But my favorite thing was the album, quite big,
Of her wedding, a gala affair,
All the images captured in black and white shots
With a true 1950-type flair.
Esther’s spirit lives on, which would not be the case
If my friend and her husband weren’t there,
But they’ve honored her past as their future is made
Which, to me, seems so special and rare.
I almost lost my balance,
But you rescued me before I fell flat down on the floor
We, in unison, dance
You are the harmony of my symphony...your empathy is what I adore
You are someone I was looking for,
That awesome open door of endless opportunities and more
I'm alright without sleep at night
But you worry that I won't make it
But it's all black and white, darling angel
Your encouragement and you're looking-after-me motive turns me on...now, it rings a familiar bell
I must tell you, you are a heaven, not much of a hell
You are the rare gem that I will never in my dreams sell
You tell me I sing better than Adam Levine and Adele...
Put together...
You are like no other
My future is clear to me now, it ain't no blur and I'm no longer unsure
What lies ahead is meant to be
I bet it's gonna work out with you and me
You and I I meant to say
I don't care about grammar, but whatever...I'm so cra-cra
Odds are that you and I are two peas in a pod
Evens are that we are pleasing to the sight of God
I can't imagine a day without you and every time I think about your absence, I cry myself to sleep and I fear that I'll lose my glow
As Selena Gomez says in her lyrics, the heart wants what it wants...yep, I guess I coveted you a bit
I'm fired up by overwhelming vibes when I am right next to you...it's my fault for letting you go with woe in my heart and my anxieties swing me to and fro
I don't want to waste away your time like I think I do...I expressed my deepest regrets and secrets to you, so DON'T tell a soul or I'll have damage done to me in the darksome pit
I write this poem to you obvious
I hope I don't seem oblivious
I want to hold you and you to hold me back
The aftershocks of being under pressure made me avoid everyone...I'm sorry I am foolish and thoughtless, left to be that lone magazine in the rack
I hold onto these hardships and feelings on my back in a sack
It's like unpaid debt and homework in a stack
I need to get back on track
I need to strengthen all the weakness,
But I need help to make further progress
Hold up, I missed what you just said
Say that again? Am I alive or dead?
In the heart of Melbourne's bustling streets,
Lies a club where every footy fan meets.
Black and white, their colors fly,
A magpie's pride, soaring high.
Collingwood, oh Collingwood,
Where dreams are chased, and understood.
With every kick, mark, and handball,
The Magpies stand, united and tall.
From Victoria Park to the MCG,
Their history rich, for all to see.
Legends have graced the hallowed ground,
With roaring fans, their cheers resound.
They fight, they strive, with all their might,
Under the floodlights, every Friday night.
With every goal, the crowd's roar swells,
Echoing through the city, a story it tells.
So here's to the Magpies, black and white,
In their quest for glory, they take flight.
Collingwood, oh Collingwood,
Forever strong, forever good.
No one in particular (in the wake of our dreams)
We don’t look like they do,
graphic replicas of a life in tatters,
drifting on lonesome clouds
Dove’s wing spread
capturing the wind,
waving goodbye to an existence
that dreams in black and white,
fashioning commercials
like chip and salsa dispensers
Camouflaged by sadness,
greens and browns woven in corduroy overalls
Contemplating the loss
before the beginning creates a title
and words have only meaning
for others who chose to read
and believe that each day
is a jewel in the crown of the month
Floating on seas of discontent
even though heart shaped sails
reflect on horizons
much closer than they appear
but still so far away
that silhouettes resemble unmentionables
as others keep a watchful eye
for anything that even seems
like a tide fueled rumor,
just because they can
Still, we don’t look like they do,
maybe because our visions come through
a brilliant sunrise and we realize
we do need somebody
and we won’t hesitate to cherish,
quietly of course,
those who come to touch us
in the wake of our dreams,
hiding in plain sight,
disguised as no one
in particular
When she was young…just a little girl
when life was more innocent and free
she believed in castles in the sky
in fairy tales…and fantasy.
She believed from the sparks of a campfire fireflies were born
She believed in happy endings
in mermaids and unicorns…
She believed in houses made from gingerbread
that every sentence ended in rhyme
She believed rubbing a lamp could summon a genie
She believed long hair she could climb.
When she was young she believed in Santa Claus.
She believed her grandparents lived in a world of black and white.
She believed in the magic of a kiss.
She believed her blanket would protect her at night.
When she was young she’d play outside for hours.
She’d come home with scraped up knees.
She believed she could see the entire world when she climbed to the top of a tree.
And when she grew up she still believed…
In happy endings..in fantasy…and play
but the duties and responsibilities of life often got in the way…
Which is why now that she is older
she loves to find moments when her fantasies are reborn…
moments when she revisits her fairy tales…
and finds her unicorn.
an atypical poet
an atypical poet
a little of this
a little of that
a dab of daring
a dash of do
super sensitively
hard as nails
the softened heart
of calloused pain
the gentleness
of granite’s grain
worn warrior
of windmill fame
lamplighter
of the darkened mind
the hide and seek
of look and find
the implication
of tongue in cheek
the “I dare you” of
“come take a peek”
follow twisted pen
down crooked lane
from serious
to quite inane
embed within
the common phrase
forever’s passion
still ablaze
torching lover’s
broken dreams
exposing liars
convoluted schemes
the black and white
of ancient crust
cold weathered face
of tarnished bust
writing poetry
in the dust
John G. Lawless
©7/7/2017
Final Prophecy
by Michael R. Burch
Listen to me now and heed my voice;
I am a madman, alone, screaming in the wilderness,
but listen now.
Listen to me now, and if I say
that black is black, and white is white, and in between lies gray,
I have no choice.
Does a madman choose his words? They come to him,
the moon's illuminations, intimations of the wind,
and he must speak.
But listen to me now, and if you hear
the tolling of the judgment bell, and if its tone is clear,
then do not tarry,
but listen, or cut off your ears, for I Am weary.
***
Published by Penny Dreadful, The HyperTexts, the Anthologise Committee and Nonsuch High School for Girls (Surrey, England)
Keywords/Tags: Listen, heed, prophet, cry, crying, wilderness, voice, vision, visionary, dream, prophecy, judgment, judgement, warning, apocalypse, belief, baptist, baptism, proclamation, teacher, black, white, gray, moon, wind, speak, speaking, speech, instruction, teaching, omen, illuminations, intimations, ears, hear, bell, toll, tolling, peal, pealing, tone, I, Am, god, messiah, religion, spirituality, oracle, seer, sage, precognition, foretelling
Note: The poet as a "madman, alone, crying in the wilderness" is likened to John the Baptist, foretelling a momentous "second coming": his own, with no other Messiah in sight.
This was the first seaside holiday that we had
Memories of a happy time with mum and dad
Pictured in a photo in black and white
Faces beaming with pure delight
We traveled from the country in my daddy’s car
The journey took forever; it was oh so far
I can see the sea; I can see the sea
Excited giggles from my sister and me
We ran down onto the soft gold sand
Sat down by the Punch and Judy stand
Punch was teasing Judy, Judy was hitting Punch
Dad brought vanilla ice creams for us to munch
There were donkeys on which we did ride
Then we paddled in the water in the low tide
Watching as the water ebbs and flows
Frothy white waves tickled our toes
Golden sand stretched for miles and miles
We built sandcastles with happy smiles
Then searched for pretty seashells on the beach
Mum and dad sat close by, always within reach
05~15~15
Three-Kolored Ku (Now 10)
1. bluebird’s ear’s to ground –
pink collared worm (casts below)
now won’t grace black hook
2. blue days can have clouds,
yellow sun bursts pierce grey clouds -
rainbow’s arc mocks smile?
3. girls pink with envy,
boys made blue by sexist roles -
‘his story’ just black
4. greyed out politics –
blue and red (views, poop) both suspect
in the fog of war
5. red sunsets portend
dawn’s blue skies to those caring –
black thoughts rarely float
6. pumpkin’s orange loves
tomato’s ripened redness – light’s
short, black cat nights stretch
7. fall topples most green,
revealing vibrant colors -
reds, yellows – drab wins
8. poetry’s greenest
when planted fields change color -
red blood fades to black
9. green planet’s seasons,
the ocean’s blue expanses,
the earth’s spine - beached white
10. time’s future’s more dark
man’s ‘black’ and ‘white’ aren’t colors (1)
Grace – red, blood-cured wood?
Krakatoa Kritic #007
October 29, 2022
Poet's Notes:
(1) Black is the absence of light, hence no color at all.
White is a combination of all colors, so no color also.
Normal people come in packs of six
Some are born in cardboard boxes
In suburbs, in summer, in campers
In the middle of the middle night
In middle class somewhere on a train
Between clicks and clacks on railroad tracks
Rich people shower frequently in power
In God we trust the upper crust to play
Normal people want mobility Up
To supper in good company
To be pretty as a picture on the beach
To frolic in the waves of milk and honey
With apologies to Jesus people sing
Sometimes flat or in harmony
Sometimes in black and white
In dance, in fire, using gravity
Normal people come in from the cold
Candy sweet and happy to be seen
Some come from baby factories
From across the street in greeting seasons
Middle class people love the poor
They love themselves much more
That is why babies are born
Subways are for pedestrians
With no class and in transition
Travelling from left to right
In nature train people are always in motion
Moving on is always right
The mundane remain the same
With Happy Hour and a six pack waiting
Somewhere down the line the land cracks open
It is another earthquake opened with a smile