Long Chandler Poems
Long Chandler Poems. Below are the most popular long Chandler by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chandler poems by poem length and keyword.
To the Mothers and the Fathers
(for David, Patti and Chandler)
By Franklin Price
To the mothers and the fathers
For the children you have raised
Who went to the Marine Corps
One and all of you be praised
Parents left at home
Were to remain be left behind
Thoughts for the child who left them
To grow in body and in mind
Was a difficult decision
Parents and child had to cope
Would not be physically together
To climb the wall and slide the rope
Mentally and physically
The child had to be in shape
For the stress and strain of drilling
And to stand up to the tape
When the Crucible was over
And the last test had been passed
The Eagle, Globe and Anchor
Would be your child's at last
A child no longer standing
For a grown up now is seen
One who has earned the title
Of United States Marine
STARING DEATH IN HIS CORNER
I'm not the best pound for pound
boxer trading blow for blow
This bout won't end in this 36th round,
battling from the cradle from the set go
when my eyes refuses to behold life's wound,
uninterested in deciphering life's code show,
from when my wailing became a sound,
this boy baby became life's Eskimo
And you death, stare a brother in the face.
Despite the scar from the Diviner's torment,
He who bare in hand the enamor of grace,
The Father of all and the master of your fate,
you came for The son all to number his days.
But this in-ring soldier is born to fight & be great.
Pain you bring is sweetener enroute my eternal place.
IF I FEEL PAIN, I AM ALIVE
surviving like the edge of a knife.
IF I AM ALIVE, I CAN FIGHT,
triumphing over thee day & night.
IF I CAN FIGHT, I CAN WIN
(while trumpet of my victory keeps blowin')
because that's what Victor's do.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Chandler Sonnet
Copyright© April, 2021.
When bombs fall
The defense minister of Israel threatens to bomb
Lebanon back to the stone age
Last time a person said this his name was Hitler
If, the nice-mannered Putin had said this about
Ukraine, the otherwise polite Guardian with the
intrepid Marina Hyde would be in righteous rage,
followed by Jonathan Freeman saying that the
the remarks were taken out of context.
Our Jonathan is an intellectual who speaks softly
and has a great vocabulary
I read in a newspaper about the German migration
began 200 years ago to whiten the country
Having been to Brazil many times, I can't say if
the writing was successful, except for the chandler
whose first name was Hans and had red hair
Muslims leaving France because they cannot wear
the hijab, one notices they are not going to
say Pakistan, but to other western nations, that
allow wearing religious symbol
As for orthodox Jews, they were black coats
and fetching black hats, the enlightened skull caps
they also ignore the dress code
There are many Muslims in France the right-wing politicians wouldn't mind if they all left
........... Continued
He would often say and then quietly follow it up with his own take on the matter at hand. Usually concerning the social being at war with their own creation, society itself.
"Let the cloth of our social fabric rip and tear of it's own abuse and be done with it."
I had just missed Jack. The smoke from his pipe still hung in the room above our heads like a rain cloud. The sweet smell of Sail tobacco met you at the door like an old friend. Jack brought the tempest but left before Allan, not unlike Zeus, would start striking down the ignorant with words, quotes, and musings, like thunderbolts pulled from a literary quiver.
I met up with Jack later that day at the beach. He was sitting on a sand dune, silent and introspective, surrendering few clues to what he may be thinking. He would unexpectedly throw a brilliant but unanswerable query at you. Choosing to stare at the burning tip of his cigarette, while you desperately searched for that one piece of a puzzle you know has gone missing.
He once told me.
"You know, I fell in love with your eyes, not your intellect. That came later."
I wasn't sure if I should feel hurt or complimented. I'm still not sure.
When I think of Jack I think of the human condition. Our need to create clocks and calendars to conquer chaos. But Jack would say ...
"Chaos will never be tamed so easily. It is inherent to the universe as the stars to the night sky. We need it as much to survive as we do the oxygen in our lungs"
Later that summer Jack would vanish into time like a car on the horizon blurred by the heat rising from the cracked and worn blacktop off 66.
As always I found myself alone, with another piece of that puzzle and no where to place it.
- Excerpt from ... '66 ... Chapter 11 ... Kerouac
Published 2023 Harper Collins © - Janelle Chandler. - reprinted here by permission. All rights reserved.
roc ... Just another lost daydream. See less
I was thinking back to better days
When you could sing along to the songs they played
We’d all tune in on Friday night
To see when Lucky Strike brought you the Hit Parade
Cindy Oh Cindy and Chances Are
Perry’s song Catch a Falling Star
Striped shirts on the dancers for Jailhouse Rockin’
And a touch of blues with the song I’m Walkin’
Pat sang about an April Shower
So please come down from your Ivory Tower
Instead of wondering what’s behind the green door
I took a trip with Duane Eddy on a Detour
I heard someone say Please Love me Forever
And a song about the Twelfth of Never
Then Buddy sang That’ll be the Day
All the way to Hernando’s Hideaway
I remember Kenny Chandler singing Heart
And Johnny’s Cry could make your teardrops start
Harry sang Daylight come and a bunch of banana
Paul was singing to his girl Diana
Sixteen Tons was a song about coal
The words to Padre touched my soul
And Fats was singing he found his thrill
On Blueberry, not Mocking Bird Hill
Wish we could return to way back then
Listen to the Kalin Twins singing When
Songs like Marianne and Nickelodeon’s tune
After I bought you the rainbow, I’ll buy you the moon
If only we could be two Silhouettes on the Shade
Just listening to music on the Hit Parade.
I wish I was a tough guy
The kind you meet in books
Made of rock hard muscle
With rugged hard man looks
A Raymond Chandler hero
Exuding macho charm
A super spy or villain
With a beauty on each arm
I’d love to be the kind of guy
That others see and fear
The bane of every coppers life
I'd look at them and sneer
I might fall for a sucker punch
Get beaten up or more, but
I’d meet them face to face
And then, I’d even up the score
Wish I could be like Marlowe
And ooze testosterone
Women falling at my feet
For my heart as cold as stone
I would stand up to the bad guys
When I’d won, I’d get the dame
They would say “who was that tough guy”
I’d say “Rupert, that’s my name”
WEST WIND 2
Be willingly wise with worthy ways as us Westerners
cos winter wind of woes wanders about
like a wandering Wolf windsurfing in wildlife.
Winter windup waves of weird wonder
wondrous enough to bring back Wayne Wonder
and wheeled at will the whole world with wows
which pose pridely like a waddy,
a wacko walking within waves of woes;
Whatsoever west wind wagged we wandered
as we become wanners, wearing wan expression,
warmly staring like a Wagga Wagga wading-bird.
Welcome was the words of windy west
as winsome breeze wapped my window and
wafted her sensuous witty wet perfume,
into my wide Afro-Western nostrils
waving wheats and weeds at will,
twas a whopping war wafture waxing souls warmly.
Why would wingless wild west wind worries
yet still, wags us with it's wondrous waves,
withdraws our eardrums with her windy drums
and whithered the plantation of peace
from the furrow of the fainthearted?
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Alliteration/Chandler Sonnet
Copyright© April 2021.
Furry mice
Many years ago, I was in Houston (Texas) to victualize
a new cargo ship, back then a ship carried a large crew
for all the functions needed.
The ship chandler was keen to show me his enormous
freezer, beef, mutton, pork, and chicken, he also sold
horse meat, but not to the Nordic or the British for
who eating horseflesh was akin to eating your
relatives.
However, the Frenc, the Belgians, and the Dutch had
no such hangups, as did ships with flags from eastern
countries bothered by such sentiment.
He told me they had come over furry mice alive and
well and breeding, I asked to see one of these creatures
they had killed them- after all, it- is- about vermin
I had a mental picture of them looking like aggressive
but tiny polar bears biting my finger when I try to
catch one of them, or look like black bears as long as
they didn't look like rats.
Shipping in Norway was big business, employed
about 50 to 60 thousand people, but when the flag
was internationalized, seafaring history ended
In our time, modern ships are nearly fully automatic
only a handful of computer readers are needed
and for food, a drone delivers hamburgers with hot
fries and soft drinks.
This is the ultimate goal of all industries to function
without staff, selling goods to the unemployed?
Six wonderful people very bright and young
shared a cramped apartment...
is that because they couldn't afford the rent,
or they loved to have fun?
What a hilarious circus, if they had teamed up!
They got angry, but still apologized and made up;
they seemed to have many problems,
some more complex than the others.
Rachael was very pretty and cool,
Phoebe was so naive and not too witty,
Lisa was refined and very beautiful,
Joey was a womanizer extremely funny,
Chandler was the sarcastic guy who loved sensual Monica,
and Ross was the nice dude who was embarrassed by Erotica.
These talented actors have entertained us
for long years fascinating us with their charms;
they were a close family rather than good friends who struggled...
they must have felt deep sadness when the final episode was aired.
Written by Andrew crisci
for Michael Falotico's contest,
" Ryhme Me An Old TV Show "
Chosen show: Friends
I am behind
the large white wheel of an Oldsmobile.
I am a page ripped from a Raymond Chandler novel.
Clipped words curl close to my lips as hot as ash.
Dreamy eyes are cold tonight, there will be death
at the side of a desert back-road.
Revolvers will be shaken until blood spills from a mouth.
I park carefully until the cars white-walls
appear at the four corner’s of the night.
I am on a case, another Hollywood sex scandal.
I sit there smoking until dawn mists
swim into the valley.
Speeding squad cars blast past me;
the City Dicks are tough around here
and most are on the 'take.'
I let the engine idle wondering where
this all fits into a half-written plot?
“Lets move” I drawl to my suit rumpled self,
easing the rim of my fedora over weary eyes,
heading now to where flash-bulbs expose
what we do when the stars turn blue.