Long Chapbook Poems
Long Chapbook Poems. Below are the most popular long Chapbook by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chapbook poems by poem length and keyword.
Every where in the world
When you eat fish
In a restaurant
The restaurant owners
Claim it is salmon or tuna
Or other delicious fish
But the sad reality
60 percent of the time
You are eating fake fish
The fish may be fish
Or may not be fish
But if it is indeed fish
It is probably tilapia
Or some other cheap
Bottom feeding scumbag fish
Filled with toxins
And possibly tape worms
And other parasites
And as you eat your delicious fish
You are eating the fake fish
And helping the fish industry
Continue this con game
But there is nothing you can do
Except for catching your own fish
And preparing it yourself
So, when you eat fish
Pretend if you must
That you eating salmon or tuna
While you eat your tilapia
And pay the salmon/tuna premium price
from my unpublished chapbook, "fake things" available on my web page https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com
A fledgling poet round two thousand three,
I found some friends who mentored me; they led
me to a site called Shadow Poetry.
By mental challenges there, I was fed.
I learned to better write according to
specific forms or themes, and I was thrilled
by all the many things that would ensue
the more time there I spent; I was fulfilled!
The annual big contest, Shadow Ink,
gave not just money, but a chapbook deal.
I paid to enter it and did not think
I stood a chance. How good I soon would feel!
My best friend and I tied. We HAD to call
our chapbook “Friendship Garden.” That said it all!
Note: Shadowpoetry.com was not able to be maintained as an interactive poetry community and after several wonderful years, the owner had to pull out. All our chapbooks were removed from the bookstore and the contests are no longer done. Today it is a website for writers' development only.
When Rico said, Thirty days will go by
and I’ll be forgotten after I die
I knew what I had to do
I’ll make a book for you
At least the cover will catch your eye
I decided to do this in case he croaks
It's a chapbook with his incredible jokes
Double-entendres filled with sex
At Kinko's-AKA-Fed-Ex
Obsessed with Vladimir's power, a hoax
Thousands of words it cost me some chen
Kinko’s gets it—they always have been
Lucky for Rico Leffanta
I have chosen the right fonta
At my source where they make things happen
Mana'o wau e ola mau 'oe
translation: I hope you live forever!
D enver, Colorado was the place that Dave called home.
A fterward, he headed east and learned to write a poem!
V iolins he loved to play and did professionally,
E njoying his years in many a symphony.
R etired, now in Michigan, he thrives on poetry.
A mong the many poets here, Dave’s one of a kind.
U tter fun and introspection in his work you’ll find.
S upport of fellow poets, Daver likes to lend.
T hanks to him I give for being a good friend.
I njustice I have done you, Dave, with these lines so few.
N ine cats you shelter know there’s no one else as sweet as you!
*Daver is the name that Dave Austin goes by. He was among the
first poets here to greet me and become a very good friend of mine,
even doing book exchanges with me and later buying my most recently
sold chapbook online. Daver, I appreciate your support and am very
glad to have met you here at Soup! (also, he loves mythology and
has written numerous poems based on myths.) One of the outstanding poems
of his that I love is called “Brother - Billy.” Just type it in with his name
and check it out! It’s on one of those last pages that few people visit
past our regular 200 poems that are easier to see.
For the Gift Exchange Contest of P.D.
I felt tears trickling down. After so many years. All persevering truce is a magnificent allegory , measuring minuscule salt portions with a grandiose precaution. The immediate call will be the lasting diva:
“When you are finally done, please surmise in return, your chapbook!”
The transportation was arranged, and the vehicle showed up in the morning. The hospice arranged the transportation before. The chauffeur was not that talkative, precise only to the questions asked.
Supplication is an effort here, even in uttering “Rabbana Hablana…” the accessories and the serendipity get involved in nerves and encyclopedic volume and diction , in a wild effort to tear everything apart, the risk management is such a “man-age-meant” portfolio.
I was looking at the machine , the automated device. The loci is in tune with the locus. The orthodox locus is in a fix with the unorthodox worldbuilding, visioning together, altogether. Godly, God knows how to shun too.
On the return trip, the passenger window had swiftly dispersed overlapping montages, urbane, luminaries and delineations with road marks, here and there.
The nurse was simpering while seeing me off .
“Are you a bachelor? Widow?”
I was staring, bluntly. A root cause, even beyond a handle or shackle.
“Many feel nostalgic, overwhelmed or fatigued while the mammogram is in.
Mainly Freudian, “
In an effort to keep my cool, I reply,
“By the will of God, my kids’ father is doing fine. We are on our own.”
“Social, so shall, socialized.”
April 2, 2024
(Poem included in the Poems of Yosemite chapbook.)
Ineffable –
Still, I write these lines
trite.
A scaffold of words
which whence removed
casts only a silence
of long shadows.
To you, the paradigm
of living time,
I write ephemeral
wordless words.
You say nothing
though the wind wafts
words which speak
beyond words to each.
The sound of wind
continues in the stillness
and reaches into
the logos which
spells the visitors
deeper than these.
You speak centuries –
the entire time
of our adolescence –
when you’ve watched
as we wrestle with
the worst of nature.
You were made for fire
and your cambium grows
thick bark and fibers
over the scars.
Does too our tissue
grow over scars?
Wars, devastations?
Will these as well clear
the understory?
But you don’t create fire
you endure it.
Is that the difference?
This is your nature,
share and compare us ours.
We see your exposed rings
and the markers
telling us which ring
belongs to Christ
and the Inquisition.
I see my ring
but not the current
as only the living
scribe those rings
and they are being written.
Poetry overcomes time
and endows the ephemeral
with permanence.
Your permanence
is presence and in
this silence of time
the visitors sense
then understand –
they’ve come not to see you
but themselves.
The poet dreams, and with a simple glance
at trees or sky or at a mountain spring,
begins to write, endeavors to enhance
each sight of beauty with imagining.
He paints midsummer as a day of gold,
the song of birds at twilight as the tune
for his beloved, whose aspect is extolled
and likened to the splendor of the moon.
At times, his heart is pained. It seems that doom
pursues him in that chasm where he grieves.
He finds he still must write. . . and there may bloom
sweet wistful roses on his journal’s leaves.
Though meager be his assets, he bequeaths
to us a treasure with the words he breathes.
Entered 10/22/2020 for Line Gauthier's Have You Published Poetry Contest
From my chapbook: Dancing the Unicorn: Lyrical Blooms 2
I had won a chapbook deal for my Lyrical Blooms 1 entitled Dreaming the Unicorn, and I followed it up with a part 2 Dancing the Unicorn, a 44-page chapbook pubished in 2008 by Shadow Ink. The book contains poems of various themes with about two poems per page and organized by types of poetry forms. Blue roses are scattered through the book. Shadow Ink sadly stopped publishing.
One of the poems from my chapbook #IT'S GODLY
The howling winds depicts no hurricanes
The sound of rains tapping on the stones is no noise
But a reminder that in the fields,
human silence predominates,
In the fields time stand still and troubles distill
Birds hosts with lullabies to comfort and heal
As flesh decompose, a beetles' meal.
Rest and forget! The world is cruel
The gap is undefined, the bond undescribable
Reading the epitaphs reminds how temporary life is
Holding close to the souvenirs reminds how good yesterday was
Crying for you reminds how chaotic the world can be.
But in the fields is where serenity is
Rest still, freeze till
We shall and we will
These boundaries will fade, be erased
And in that beautiful canopy, a mystery, we will enter
For in it there is a life again and forever.
I dream of magic lines but they elude me.
Chapbook on acrylic tube palette, janus-faced cave in
at the crack of dawn,
crescent moonlight awnings turn to circus of the soul,
images that colour dullard pages leave furrow on my
hayrick haggard brow.
Backwater sonnet form leaning towards some meadow compost rot.
Ghost written silhouettes, shatter fragile eggs on
loop pile Berber carpets,
yolk stain and pale brown chicken hash tags.
Tight rope knot escarpment found in tripod camera verse,
cliff edge heart-stop paen is just another
blue-sky canon over billed by birds of prey.
Poetic licence pointer to a learner permit doggerel,
aspiring metre patchwork but a tapered column
lost in grey day whimper.
Guangdong province text in lychee pink for window glaze.
Fleeting notions dangle at the sparrow hawk crossroads,
while grazing skinny red ballon formations overhead.
Mother of invention please shine your convex beam
upon this wellspring drought abandonment I swim in.
Sudden brain cell drafts a Jack-o’-lantern of disjointed phases,
stretcher bear the legless phrases that leave me
wheelchaired and infirmed in woolly states.
Timeline mainstream woofer whose lagging jacket hemline falls apart,
areole reduced branch slowly bleeds its cactus juice of inspiration.
A rush, a fever, quotidian fever,
no greater longing can us writers have.
Thinking about Brian's recent Footle contest (my crazy eyes had been seeing FOOTIE all this
time and just realized yesterday it is called FOOTLE with LE on the end) I proceeded to drive
to the movie up in Salt Lake, only place I was able to catch a showing of Chloe. As I drove
up there, I was racking my brain for a Footle, and suddenly, they started coming to me.
They are so short, I could easily jot them down on paper atop my steering wheel and it was
a great way to occupy my time. Brian's little contest was a great inspiration for me. I ended
up with more than thirty (I thought they needed to be rhymed on both syllables) so now that
I know I can do the first syllable unrhymed, that should make it all the more easier to think
up even more. Please let me know your favorite of the bunch and the ones that are too
stupid in case I ever do a chapbook on these! YOu guys gotta try these. The trick is to
rhyme the words and then make a title to fit the poem! LUv, Andrea
Pickpocket Bunny
Grab it
Rabbit
Offspring of Tinkerbell & Frodo
Hairy
Fairy
Gerber’s Strained Peas
Easy
Pea sy
Shirley Temple with a perm
SURELY
Curly
Mrs. Ed on Laughing Gas
Silly
Filly
A Greeter
Hello
Fellow
Art of Love
Hold ‘er
Mold’ er
Survivor Food
Lizards’
Gizzards
Grape Jelly Kiss
Smucker
Pucker
Sour Lemons’ Motto
Blew it!
Screw it!