Long Burroughs Poems
Long Burroughs Poems. Below are the most popular long Burroughs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Burroughs poems by poem length and keyword.
The Lost Art Of Composition
too often my thoughts and the ability to express them
are taken hostage without a clue to the cause
this is an affliction familiar to many a writer
as if madness wasn't enough
it proves to be immune to every method I've used
to relieve my minds constipation
it enslaves your ideas and duct tapes the mouth of your soul
binds your fingers and hands so you are unable to write
I Whiskeyed and Scotched it self medicated with drugs
the addiction that resulted I thought could be bribed
held a knife at its throat threatened, bullied and beat it
poked and scratched at the eyes
Kicked it in the balls
pleaded and begged even got on my knees and prayed
all my efforts were ineffective
it only pissed it off more and tightened the grip
around my Muse's neck
I had exhausted my resolve to this disease that consumed me
there was no other option but to surrender
I decided to give up , knuckle under call it quits
not answer the bell for the next round
I disconnected my computer and turned off my cellphone
the typewriter on my desk just for show
I've had since college every once in a while I have at it
so I stashed in the closet with books by Sexton, Wolfe and Burroughs
Cisneros, Bukowski and Gonzo
I turned down the lights and lit some candles
sat at my desk to prepare my suicide note
what happened when the ballpoint touched the papers surface
was the key opening the front door lock to home
an energy manifested that I had known long ago
before Technology had deadened it's nerves
it sparked the transfer of thought into a word
forming the shape of a sentence
this cosmic electricity flowed into my hand holding the pen
then designed a paragraph the child of chapter
I touched every noun felt each verb envisioned the adjectives description
heard every "ly" in the adverbs reply and ignored the rules of punctuation
I had discovered the remedy to restore my inspiration
the cure I possessed all along
The lost art of composition was my salvation
my own prescription is what I wrote
the poet is an artist that paints in the darkness
a poems words the colors that create light
a writer is blessed with all of the answers
cursed in the search for what questions to ask
Judge Burdon
Day in, and day out, from the ripe old age of five
I’ve take to sharp objects and whittled at their sides.
Plotting the precise angle with penetrating gaze,
the slant of slice, just so nice, as memory replays.
With curt tongue and tireless ire, I shred the sages
Burroughs, and Asimov, the Shakespeare past ages.
Butchering with rare delight, the language on the page
lancing every metaphor and simile upstaged.
and so I've arrived her in rhythm and in rhyme
killing the English language as other people dine.
*Nibbs are the pointed ends of fountain pens
as well as being an important or self-important person
Downtown moody boulevard chaos with
geometric grid shaped layout and contrasting
zones some fashionable clapperboard happy
comfy with creepin Bougainvillea outer walls
and others dark and lonely dog dirt proud – San
Francisco with its great fishing net big catch clam
mix of Chinese, Mexican, Red Indian stock, the down
and dowdy, the rich and radiant the haves and want
to haves and the opium red eyed living dead – they’ve
been heading out this way for years seeking their
fortune from the early gold rush days and Barbary
coast dwellers, the out of town chancers, all looking
for a free piece of pie, everyone wants the deal, everyone
wants to win on the dollar wheel – walking downtown
along Fisherman’s Wharf with it crab steam pots and
chowder sit easy squats and the huge swaying mass of
touristy camera clicking lot, walking down Obese Pacific
Highway thinking about America land of make it, use it,
chuck it, heaps of expendable disposable commodities –
visited City Lights bookstore shrine where Ferlinghetti
printed Ginsberg’s Howl and the whole Beat Generation
kicked off with the free flow thinkers so new and daring
think Pollack in words so brave and loose now faded with
ghosts of Kerouac and Burroughs in every shadowy bar –
big visit to Frisco Museum of Modern Art and introduction
to Sam Taylor Wood and Ralston Crawford keeping the
flame alive. Yosemite was a silent mountain contrast
hiking 5000 ft to elevated waterfalls on the trail of the
lonesome pine – then along the coast of grow anything
Santa Barbara, Santa Maria, Santa Monica and sacks of
Santa Claus goodies. Looking forward to Big Sur and
more Kerouac dream connections. Not looking forward
to flying home, could stay her, would stay here, if I was
rich or carefree with time, or daring and loose.
A darkened world of dank false dreams,
painted with whiskey to mask my screams,
I'll blame the sun, the moon, the sky,
I'll blame the well wishing passers by,
I'll hide down deep in the sickly sweet,
I'll hide from myself my head to my feet,
I'll run from my body, heart and soul,
holding on to what swallows me,
I'll then swallow whole,
See me create a romance facade,
of every writer spurring drunken retards,
Bukowski & Ginsberg,
Kerouac & Burroughs,
mock their work with your life style,
dead poet brow furrows,
Darkened lines drawn across their face,
your whiskey, their words,
your cocktail's disgrace,
I'll call it art and jump on their wagons,
just to fall off of mine,
as their words pass me flagons,
Watch how I kill myself, long and slow,
spitefully swearing, "oh what do they know"
Borrow excuses to live in a lie,
to see at last truth, the day that you die,
That all this intelligence and power you've used,
was squandered, and raped...genius self abused
By David Nickle Read 3/4/18
All Rights Reserved By The Author
Quote: A man can fail many times, but he isn’t a failure until he begins to blame somebody else.
John Burroughs
________________________________________
Inspired by life’s goals, winners are intuitively aware,
A loss is but a steppingstone, not a reason to despair;
Again and again, with certitude they play the game,
For triumph, they envision, is written in every name.
They never seek to blame others, for own mistakes,
Instead, they course-correct, averting heart-breaks,
Re-learning, deep in introspection, as they re-assess;
Ameliorating ways of failures, reaching for success.
When life is perturbed in adversities, they fear not,
Cognizant~ anything worthwhile must be hard-fought;
Summoning conquering ways, every failure taught,
To attain ultimate milestone, reveries of victory sought.
They accept, they advance, when things go wrong,
Strumming theme winsome, emanating from life’s song,
Echoing a pledge revered, treasured for quite long;
Avowing~ to them, the reigns of future shall belong.
Dreams of passion, dreams coveted, refuse to die,
For resolutely their objectives, driven believers vie;
Until triumphantly, bells-elated, of success chime,
Trumping sad sighs of failures, defeated over time.
Written: August 22, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Regina McIntosh
Quote: "How beautifully leaves grow old; how full of light and color are their last days." By John Burroughs
The pine lines blur; the sun-rays drop and fade.
Across these fields, thick clouds have thrown their shade.
In twilight dusk, a mist of mellow grace—
Folds down, and wraps the world in cold embrace.
A death-sigh stirs the branches of the trees;
Some aged, hushed curse blows inland from the seas.
Under starlight, have a moment to pause—
Black spaces tear above us, clear out maws.
Bare twigs are whipped and broken in the gale;
That salt-spit from the water turns them pale.
The last few frozen flowers nod and bow—
Those bruised blue petals—just a sign of woe.
The summer songs are dead in this display;
Raw, barred-iron ridge chokes the dying day.
Time takes a cruel turn to seal our fate—
A firm, gray freeze is scratching at the gate.
Do you ever think life's long enough?
no matter what things you want to do
time seems to be the winner always
three score years and ten is so few
One's head can be full of thoughts
but still, feel plenty of room for more
they can be good and bad even neutral
it seems you're bursting open at the door
So many miles all over the world
think of all the walks you could walk
many parks and forests to go and visit
mountains aplenty but mind a block
Wish I could read more and more books
many categories like history, bio and the like
how to fit them all in, the hours so few
but exercise the mind never go on strike
People in so many places in the world
many of them are friends so dear
you want time spent with them all
time's all too short this I do fear
('I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see.'
- John Burroughs (1837-1921) -American naturalist and nature essayist.)
A man can fail many times, but he isn't a failure until he begins to blame somebody else.
John Burroughs
bursts of anger once ruined me,
my hopes and dreams, fear and doubt stole,
leaving pain as deep as the sea,
blame the shadows shrouding my soul.
pride, the pleasure of vain conceit,
ruined the truth that did console,
more smugness than love could defeat,
blame the shadows shrouding my soul.
ego preyed on my soft yearnings,
dimming the light that made me whole,
masking warmth with lavish earnings,
blame the shadows shrouding my soul.
tempting me were life’s possessions,
felt like greed had taken control,
selfishness brought bleak impressions,
blame the shadows shrouding my soul.
still, I had only me to blame,
fighting my pride, knowing my goal,
when I failed, feeling so much shame,
blame the shadows shrouding my soul.
Long arm gendarme
My mistake namaste
Backpack bivouac
On the Road with Kerouac
Brilliant stars, silent nights
Fireflies, Northern Lights
Mountain streams, fresh air
Fall asleep anywhere
Small town, take a chance
Pig roast, barn dance
Allemande left! Do-si-do!
Spontaneity here we go!
Long arm gendarme
My mistake namaste
Backpack bivouac
On the Road with Kerouac
Beat Zen's hey-day
Doing things our own way
Nonconformity, anything goes
Kerouac-Ginsburg-Burroughs
Shot to pieces, picking skin
Benzedrine, adrenaline
Don't forget the Phenergan
Notify our next of kin
Long arm gendarme
My mistake namaste
Backpack bivouac
On the Road with Kerouac
"A man can fail many times, but he isn't a failure until he begins to blame somebody else." ~~ John Burroughs ~~
To Blame another, I avoid truths about myself.
So, should I leave my accusations on the shelf?
Do my hurt feelings, I just allow to smother?
I avoid truths about myself, to blame another.
One must rise above the waves of ire,
And rekindle within a righteous fire.
It’s a rule of generosity and fairness applies.
Above the waves of ire, one must rise,
Many whispers of guilt, they fill the air,
There’s no solace found in a world so unfair.
Much trust and faith there must be rebuilt.
They fill the air, many whispers of guilt.
In shadows dark where fingers point with blame.
Each innocent victim has a reputation to reclaim.
It’s on the road to forgiveness we must embark,
Where fingers point with blame, in shadows dark.
In this phase of blame, as hearts turn cold,
A web of assertions cruel and bold.
So, the accused can suffer unwarranted shame.
As hearts turn cold in this phase of blame.
Where truth and justice are, its hard to find
Echoing through chambers of the mind
Where innuendo can certainly mar
It’s hard to find where truth and justice are.
To break away from this cycle of decree,
In the midst of this tempestuous sea,
Exercise diplomacy and come what may,
From this cycle of decree, to break away.
It’s love that your character will frame.
For blame is but a fleeting hollow game.
Forgiveness will fit you like a glove,
That your character will frame. It’s love.