Long Cent Poems
Long Cent Poems. Below are the most popular long Cent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cent poems by poem length and keyword.
Summer swelter on an August night
You can feel the heat in the air
Carnival lights and cars in the grass
It’s time for the county fair
French fries and burgers
Candy cotton sticky fingers
Ferris wheels, spinning wheels
The memory still lingers
Dust on your shoes
As we walked holding hands
Kids fishing for prizes
A line of concession stands
Local band trying to make its mark
Dancing on grass under a tent
Walking around until well past dark
Win a Teddy by pitching a cent
Ice cream soda was a special treat
Greasy pole was a funny sight
Admiring the car with the rumble seat
Fireworks on closing night
Special memories of days gone by
My mind often takes me there
Back when love was a country girl
And we went to the county fair.
Side Order of Regret
by Odin Roark
Some walk the banks of rivers and shore,
Back alleys and deserted parks,
Seeking,
Or
Escaping.
Such are the questions of eyes pondering
The night people of one’s fantasies;
Those entities wiser perhaps
Than some are willing to enfold as reality.
Alone,
Stars and moonless nights
Engulf everyday tolerance,
Embellishing fear and question
With hunger for the un-illuminated.
The open-all-night neon engulfs.
The lost sidle up to decision’s banquet table.
Cold plates on the left.
Hot on the right.
All white.
All right.
The chef of dreams hovers
“Bet you remember 25 cent beer,
Pearl onions,
Pickles,
And the God-awful olives.
Well,
This ain’t a White Horse Bar,
So enjoy.
You earned it,
Even though
You acknowledge survival
As an unearned trophy.”
That’s how it might go.
Those who traverse Stygian gloom,
Happening upon their midnight-sun smörgåsbord diner,
Where alter ego
Finally stops,
Smells the coffee
And prepares to admit,
“Hold that side order of regret.
Having almost everything does just fine.”
They say I inflated
It's they that conflated
Political lies with their version of facts.
The mess they created
Will long be debated
Another attempt to silence and styme.
As often I've stated
Which leaves them frustrated
I'm worth every cent of the Billions I claim.
The reason I'm fated
And by some surely hated
Is my obvious success and the money I make.
Letitia's now grated
Quite a bit aggravated
That her bark is so hollow with clearly no bite.
Not one to be intimidated
My strength celebrated
Let them throw what they will and watch it dissolve.
My lawyers are rated
This case armor plated
Watch these bogus new charges soon dissipate.
In the meantime I've slated
For the fans I've created
More rallies to drive my winning points home.
I'm buoyed and elated
Evermore motivated
For the White house to bask in my presence once more.
Did I bid goodbye to you, or, you said goodbye to me?
Did I know you well as my mother at the age of three?
Your touches and hugs, and kisses seem fresh, even today,
Leaving me alone, why did you, yet, within a grave, stay...?
Why did you not have the patience to live a bit longer?
To lead me to church and school so that I'd have grown stronger!
As calves cry out to cows or kids cry out to goats, I heard,
Infants call out to their mothers as chicks of any bird...!
I found mothers cooking, feeding, bathing, drying their kids,
Didn't kids annoy their mothers with many bothering bids?
To them all, dear mother, their mothers became true heroes,
My father, though could not cent percent, to fill your place rose...!
Choices of friends of their children, I found, the mothers made,
Though birds of feathers, nature knew, sought feathers of their shade;
How much did the cooking of their mothers the kids relish...!
I know, to me, here on earth, you could better embellish...!
I know, as most of my friends are fortunate, I am not,
To tell you: 'You're pretty, or, 'I owe you a lot;
Or to complement your voice, or the universe in you,
Or you're my best friend, and I'm inspired by all that you do...!
All these said I must declare, Mother, your spirit abides,
In every moment of my life and in each step it hides;
It's hence, like the strongest of trees near clear streams I flourish,
I proliferate; because it's in your love I nourish...!!!
20 April 2023
Letter To My Mother Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Rhymes Checked At: Rhymes Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables
Quatre-vingts jours
On Duolingo and I’m still
in the present tense which
is fine as I still make mistakes
masculine et feminine are a bit
of a toss but I’m getting better
lesson by lesson and I have
cent et dix-huit crowns et
trois cent quarante-six lingos
whatever they are.
I’m best at translating français écrit
to written English and am getting
better at transcribing français parlé
but to be honest, I must admit that
mon français oralé is halting at
best and it’s not helped by the
covid-19 self-distancing/lockdown
as my Continuing Education course
FRENCH II is in limbo with every
thing else and we haven’t had a class
for weeks and when I look at the
class notes it seems we’re stuck
au milieu de passé impartait
et futur proche.
I’ve dreamed of you so much,
I’ve walked so much, talked so much,
Loved your shadow so much,
That I have nothing left of you.
All I can do is be a shadow among the shadows,
To be one hundred times more shadow than a shadow,
To be the shadow that will come and go
In your sun-spangled life.
--Robert Desnos
Translated by Christopher Johnston
LE DERNIER POÈME
J’ai rêvé tellement fort de toi,
J’ai tellement marché, tellement parlé,
Tellement aimé ton ombre,
Qu’il ne me reste plus rien de toi.
Il me reste d’être l’ombre parmi les ombres,
D’être cent fois plus ombre que l’ombre,
D’être l’ombre qui viendra et reviendra
Dans ta vie ensoleillée.
--Robert Desnos
How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways.
I loathe thee so that I throw up on sight
Of thee, and when my ire is at a height,
I grit my teeth and plot revenge for days.
My loathing for thee, cheater, takes its toll.
Thy empty claims of innocence, I scorn.
I caught thee thrice! My trust was from me torn.
To see thee broke and hungry is my goal.
I loathe thee with the passion I once spent
On sweet romance when I thought thee sublime.
I’d like to see thee living in a tent.
Indulge me as I tell thee one more time
I'd gladly pony up my last red cent
To have thee maimed if mugging weren’t a crime!
A
Saying that's been around forever
Where it came from I haven't a clue
There's many phrases just like this one
So familiar to both me and you
PENNY
Is a word not heard much these days
Its value's much less than a cent
We'd used to get a big bag full of candy
At the store it was a big event
FOR
Many years its value has decreased
There's a rumour they'll not longer exist
Where's this technological age leading us
The good old days I surely do miss
YOUR
Thoughts are surely “what an old geezer”
He can't keep up with the times
But us old guys lived a much simpler life
For those good old days I still pine
THOUGHTS
Of sodas, ice cream and lollipops
Linger in the depth of my being
Tears can be seen trickling down my cheek
A warm sentimental old feeling
©Jack Ellison 2012
Plight Of Religion
The motion that drives us in religion
Is ignited by the fear of dungeon.
Take this as the first fruit of barren truth,
Or patiently read on, if you dispute:
Pick up a fashioned stone scolded by sun,
Paint it half way with sharp red that's not worn,
Commune with air till you're in India,
Then place it beneath a tree near street light.
Position your Thomas opposite there,
Give keen attention and see cub serve deer.
Fewer minute would prompt mass foolishness,
As you'll see Plato bow and give cent next.
Believe in a god that knows your mind's state,
Not one you made or for whom you dictate.
18:11:07:11:41
Josh Berry. Ancestral Pen. Plight of Religion.
sitting on the bench in the middle of a field
eating properly made cornbread with blue bonnet on it
watching her do yoga and still not understanding
thanking God for putting me exactly where i am meant to be
our 15 year old welsh corgi named ireland asleep on the bench beside me
happy to not be doing nothing and just as thankful to be blessed with love
noticing you watching us with a smile and carelessly losing the focus of your center
coming to join us as if you were being left out of the fray
putting my arm around you letting your warmth and apple cinnamon cent long for a slice of apple pie
you kissing me softly on the lips asking me if i wanted her to make an apple pie
me and ireland coming to attention immediately after the asking of her ironic question
us both looking at ireland laughing as she puts her head back down to pout, knowing she will not being getting any
we both then beging singing the late o.c. smith's 'little green apples'
then, for some reason, we plan a trip to indianapolis for our summer vacation
we feel raindrops giving light, friendly warnings to our fingers
we wake ireland up and quickly head back to the house