Long Bradbury Poems
Long Bradbury Poems. Below are the most popular long Bradbury by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bradbury poems by poem length and keyword.
He said, “I’ve tried everything; acid, sandpaper, knife;
I hate these things. I will have them for my entire life.”
You can predict the future by looking at these things.
At night, each of these pictures practically talks and sings.
I worked in a carnival forty-two years ago.
When I broke my leg, was laid up, with no place to go,
I went to get a tattoo somewhere not far from here.
A sign saying “SKIN ILLUSTRATIONS” would then appear.
The artist was an old woman living very near.
She said she could travel through time, and I laughed at her.
She made me look like a fool, and now I know better.
I am covered with these things most people call tattoos
As it turned out, it was I who’d eventually lose.
One minute, she looked young, and the next, she looked quite old.
She returned to her future place, or so I was told.
I’ve been searching for her far and wide for fifty years.
I have the feeling I’ll catch her when she reappears.
When I do see her again, I will kill her right there.
It is her life that I have no intention to spare.
At night, you’ll see all of these images coming to life.
When employers have seen this, it added to my strife.
They would keep me around for a few days, then I’m fired.
It has been this way for so many years, I’m so tired.
There are no images on this spot that’s on my back.
People will see how they die. Having a heart attack,
or any horrible way that will cause their demise.
That is when they discharge me. To me, that’s no surprise.”
I could not believe this man’s incredible story.
However, when it was dark, everything I would see
was coming to life in full colorful animation.
Each image was conveying a prognostication.
I was frightened and wanted to leave, but I could not.
Curiosity made me stay to gaze on each spot.
Based on the short story "The Illustrated Man" by Ray Bradbury
The neighbors gazed at the sky with the nighttime stars.
There is plenty to see while they’re living on Mars.
Since the planet is dry with a thin atmosphere,
so much can be seen because the sky is so clear.
The colony has been peaceful and serene here.
However, concerns about earth clutched them in fear.
The colonists viewed as they sat on their front porch,
their home earth shining brightly like a blue-green torch.
From one hundred million kilometers away,
nations have begun to fight each other today.
One night, they were watching as the earth burned with red.
An atomic war began with millions feared dead.
The blinking light Morse code box relayed a message.
It described a global war with massive carnage.
“Detonations obliterate Australia.
Explosions decimate Cape Town, South Africa.
London, Paris, and Los Angeles are all gone.”
This made all speculate of what was going on.
“Are my parents, brothers, and sisters still alive?
From what happened, will civilization survive?
I have not written to my brother as of late
because there’s a five dollar first class postage rate.”
The new circumstances perpetuated fright.
The luggage store in town stayed open late that night.
The decision to leave was made amongst themselves.
By the dawn, the luggage disappeared from the shelves.
Based on "The Martian Chronicles" by Ray Bradbury
That's all science fiction was ever about.
Hating the way things are, wanting to make things different.
RAY BRADBURY, "No News, or, What Killed the Dog?"
NOT MY BRAND
like being caught with a pack
where authority makes you smoke
one and all.
i read...i read...i read
some more
my workplace, my home.
their stare has followed me home
yes, i must confess
i’m an overachiever,
believe it or not —
given a task,
Waldo, i’ll find you.
i drink Dandelion Wine
until i die —
life and death,
sick to death
of dying.
i sop up Soup
with crusts of bread
cannot waste
a single drop.
i read...i read...i read
some more
and Holy Scripture
the great bounty of crimson words,
the red thread pricks
my articulating tongue.
i read...i read...i read
some more
on the back burner—
Blackout,
which i might —
had a hard time figuring
out which genre’s not my favorite,
whaaaat?
had to ask my husband
from a list,
what do you think, soooo
we came up with Science Fiction.
but
you
never
know
it might just be the read i need it to be.
i read...i read...i read
some more
on the chair, on the floor,
the writing on the wall.
i might just be sick
~ of books ~
when i finally
power walk into the library,
slick.
because there’s always
another book or poem or verse
to smoke, so
i light up my face
and read and read and read
some more.
3/25/2020
Here are four survivors of a rocket that had crashed.
For a great distance, they had walked through rain that had splashed
so long, and so hard, that everything was turning white.
The downpour continued steadily through day and night.
“Does it ever stop raining on Venus?” one could ask.
A journey through the planet’s ceaseless rain is a task.
It requires the strongest earthmen to endure the rain;
a challenging test to withstand frustration and pain.
Venusian jungles are thick with vegetation.
Survival is usually of short duration.
The torrential downpour cuts through the trees and the land.
It is steady and so strong. A man can hardly stand.
It’s continual pelting of raindrops on his head.
It does not take long before most men wish they were dead.
On this planet, there is one thing that they would call home.
It is a round, yellow building known as a “sun dome”.
Inside, there’s a man-made plasma giving light and heat;
where it is dry and comfortable, with food to eat.
Thirty days and nights had passed since their space ship was downed.
They blindly tread through the rain until a dome was found.
However, inside, it was dark and cold with no sound.
Gashed holes in the ceiling proved there was no one around
Venusians attacked here and killed everybody.
These creatures were infamous for their savagery.
On the map, another dome was shown to be nearby.
Only a few kilometers away, it would lie.
They would leave in search of the next dome they hoped was near.
Their compass readings were off; their position not clear.
Suddenly, their ship with two dead crewmen would appear.
They had traveled in a circle, causing them great fear.
A dark, ominous, electrical cloud they would see,
spewing thousands of lightning bolts, a monstrosity.
This caused their compasses to show inaccuracy.
The group’s leader yelled “Everybody get down right now”,
but one man stayed up and tried to run away somehow.
He was struck by the lightning, and was burned quite badly.
Remains of this man were charred beyond identity.
The raging storm cost the crew another casualty.
The three remaining men continued on their journey,
blindly hoping a sun dome was in propinquity.
Based on the short story "The Long Rain" by Ray Bradbury
Nobody could take us on a vicarious journey
like the late science fiction writer Ray Bradbury.
He would place his readers into another time and space.
Words flowed onto the pages with style and grace.
Ray would send us on voyages to the stars.
Readers could walk on the sands of Mars.
We could see the future through a man’s tattoos.
There were numerous scenarios for us to choose.
Children were kept company by a robot grandmother.
That was a short story like no other.
Ray took us to a place where books were banned.
We would often wind up in a fascinating land.
Few have accomplished what Ray has done.
He left the living at the age of ninety-one.
His literary works will always be here to read.
Just open a book and see where it will lead.
RIP June 6, 2012
I hear that woman crying in her room each night.
Why is she doing that? It gives me a fright.
Her husband calms her down to silence.
What they do each night does not make sense.
This is a couple that I hardly know.
They moved into our boarding house a month ago.
An airplane flew over us up in the air.
The sound of it gave the couple a scare.
It's just advertising the local state fair.
The plane won't be dropping bombs on the populace.
There's no need to fear anything like this.
The husband says the President's name is Westercott.
Everyone else knows that it is not.
I have never seen anything stranger while I've been alive.
In their room was a calendar dated 2035.
There were many clocks around ticking away.
A startling realization suddenly came my way.
These two were refugees from a war in a future day.
Based on the short story "Sometime Before Dawn" by the late Ray Bradbury.
I must here expound of ( the Bradbury pound ) so bear with
Me 'soupers' and even share this around..How treasury notes, can any Nation re-deem, its a ladder to exit your
Countrys debt; (thats obscene!) And your treasury's know full
Well how' debt free funds can be put' into action yet the
W E F does not want them to open that book.) How your
Green back dollers are wilting; wasting away..' So i advise you to do
Your research and get your 'emails or even letters off today'
For in Britian a barrage of such soon begins.' Call on
Your representatives to (expose the treasury's sins)
rachel reeves, in the U K, is to be called to explain' why Britian is stuck in a debt trap..It will soon be given her plain.'
And the same in America, in Australia in the world.' Why not
Recognise our debt free assets.?? Its time insanity is
Adjourned.! Or better still cancelled..Like the bi-monthly
Trips to ( Basel again in switzerland ) strange? that country
Never takes a hit !! Yet most countrys reserve bosses go
There time and again.' Where they take un-recorded instructions
( on keeping countrys in schtuk ) with impunity and rapaciousness these ( un-known ?) banksters plan raids..
Boosted by war fundings hook.. Its really that grave.' Like evil
Funeral directors they appear to be moved, by such acts in
Bergen belsen or aushwitz; or many such places so cruel'
They profit from sympathy..And plan the next scheme be
It covid or monkey pox? Or there was thelat 'dark winter theme? Yet there is an antidote ( and its you; people you!!)
So get cracking with the emails..' and you'll finally break
Through.) Break through to financial stability and a world
Of less pain.?? Its all now.! Or never' (Or be happy with nothing )
Just let that sink into.' our brains.)
They met a demise so inglorious.
The culpable agent was the Varicella virus.
We were the vectors. It was none other than us.
Chalk up another deed of man that will be infamous.
The virus spread like wisps on the breeze.
It obliterated a civilization that lasted for centuries.
Any graduate from the college of hard knocks
can see these creatures died from chicken pox.
This once great city is now a ghost town.
First contact with humans is what brought them down.
So will you conquerors strut around haughtily with disdain?
I will see that these Martians did not die in vain.
Based on the set of short stories titled “The Martian Chronicles” by the late Ray Bradbury.
Night rain on the window pane is the night sweat of my fevered life dream. Time bloats like the reflection I try to avoid. Tears on the bedroom floor for however many minutes or hours. I crawled in here, felled like a sick elm, sickly scooped-out, hunger hollowed, word emptied. Hands...hands that feel like they don't belong to me any more. Something moves within them, puppets them: a tingle like lightning.
icicle fingers
too cold to hold a teacup -
wrists are winter twigs
Fingernails mauve-mottled, heart struggling to pump, circulation slow-crawling. Hands are too blue-numb to grip, and I'm watching the teacup slip...
white pottery shards
mosaic of tannin stars -
the carpet is stained
I found an anthology of short stories I first read years ago, before dream winced into nightmare. Opening the book, a slip of paper floats out, white-dazzly as a snowflake. My hospital admission letter, the sudden white shock of it bookmarking a favourite story.
Bedtime stories. Sweating between the sheets with Ray Bradbury, electric singing sentences pressed to my skin. The push and pull of his prose singing my body electric, giving me a word-**** I won't forget.
Ray Bradbury's everywhere, he's in the air, his words rearranging themselves into kaleidoscope patterns; strange lexicon of snowflakes, of stars. But voices are reassuring me It's just a little fever dream.
Strange how the memory sea floods me as the mind becomes ever more disconnected; the past's wisps floating like feathers through the fog. Fever flicker of faces: Sarah's, silver-shimmery through tears, her blonde hair haloed in teardrop light.
Tonight, anorexia's voice is the knife strike in a slasher movie: a killing, shrilling eardrum drilling. It's the chainsaw buzz scything corn, the shadow knife behind the Psycho curtain.
My immune system is failing, body breaking down.
waves of nausea
crashing on my body's shore -
gastroparesis
slow fast slow fast slow
stutter stop start slow stop start -
arrhythmical heart
Sibilant strobe of whispers, voices, the past's echoes, floating through fever fog...We don't think you're looking after yourself...You're a risk to yourself...I'm sectioning you under Section 2 of the Mental Health Act...
The minefield mind-trap closes on a single word: How?
How has it all come to this?
Murky water left to drink
floating particles of death
Erie presence leaves discontent
As something wicked floats in it.
The bone chilling chilly wind doth blow
off Lake Erie with flurry snow.
Late at night off cold dark shores
Shadows of a floating barge
Clouds of soot from steamers clogged
Pollutes the air with killer smog
when something wicked this way blows.
Perverts creep on angry streets
Children homeless are their prey
desperately at the mercy of
She gets plucked like a sweet ripe plumb
as something wicked this way comes.
There were no herbs, left to purge her
This was strictly death by murder
Blood dripping from their lips/
Every scary thing they fling as;
Vampires odors fumigates,
the evil deeds, their gluttony brings.
They've Desecrated the graves of men;
Though we stand by, we cannot extend,
at least a stick to beat the bush;
Or make loud noises and pretend;
While something evil this way spins.
© Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014
Inspired by Ray Bradbury
reposted 2017