Long Chester Poems
Long Chester Poems. Below are the most popular long Chester by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chester poems by poem length and keyword.
What I’d give to wake in the morning and hear those church bells ring
To turn on my old black and white and hear Gene Autry sing
Turn back the time to simpler days with Roy and Dale too
Wait for the Late Show and watch the antics of Bud and Lou
All the girls thought Kookie Byrnes was really hip
Driving a convertible on Seventy Seven Sunset Strip
Kryptonite was the only thing that could make Superman falter
Ramar’s friend Charlie talked to a parrot named Walter
I watched Kitty and Chester on Gunsmoke and listened to Ricky sing
There was Circus Boy, My Friend Flicka and don’t forget Sky King
There was Jeff and Lassie, Davy Crockett and the Wild Frontier
I’d watch Robin Hood and Marian in the days of Queen Guinevere
Remember The Thin Man, The Whistler and The Shadow Knows
Alfred Hitchcock and Inner Sanctum were two of my favorite shows
I remember Milton Berle, Red Skelton, Perry Como would croon
What’s my Line, Beat the Clock and Name That Tune
The Life of Riley, Leave it to Beaver and Father Knows Best
Palladin, Sugarfoot, and Cheyenne in the Old West
Boxing from Madison Square Garden on Friday Night
I saw it all on my old black and white.
Life Of A Canine Named "Pooch”...
Equally Worthy As Mine
No explanation why,
the following unpleasant memory
shocked this systemofadown human vie
bur rent lee, suddenly, and oppressively
as if...a heavy object
fell from the sky
knocking render yours truly
into a crash test dummy
tail spinning vertigo,
where the soul of this guy
at this moment, when
the following misdeed
occurred well nigh
many werewolf full
moons ago, hence a sigh
leant echo with matthew scott
till he doth die!
Nonetheless, to my
dying day I cannot
forget, nor allow
un paw din nub bull sub woofing,
recollection, yet try as I might ow
(the psychological pain
still rubbed red
dully bone raw),
where ring around
the collar of
this paw - pow
whir fully, doggedly,
grudgingly, now
fines me to em bark
with a shrill bow wow
impossibly (even
incrementally) forgive
thy then girlfriend, now
spouse of approximately
deux dozen plus
years Oh my
DOG - "holy cow"
forsaking the beautiful
faithful, and loyal "purportedly
man's beast friend,"
and ideal chow
mate, upon venting still
smoldering grief
when said wife
egregiously, heartlessly, and
indiscriminately, (though not
deliberately) evoked strife
(cross) be still finds me gnashing,
where emotional grief rife
this closing November 19th, 2018
analogous to a serrated knife
tearing, stabbing, ripping,
and gnaw zee ate
ting lee wreck conning
this melon collie life
of mine, no more valuable,
than a unconditionally loving
creature "put down"
at the Chester County S.P.C.A.
leaving this aging puppy
with an indelible frown,
which sad recollection
unleashes sorrow every noun
and again, which
unrelenting hounding
agony, asper an non
healing wound tantamount
to unsolved killings
haunting ghost town.
She came along casually riding a watermelon bike.
I was merely walking down the street on an intended hike.
She yelled “Hey, Pete, or Samuel or Ike!”
You see I am a triplet, and this is what it is like.
I am Suzette, she said, introducing herself in a sweet way.
I wondered how she knew our names in just one day.
They had just moved here this morning from down Chester way.
I noticed that her blue eyes had a tinge of silver and gray.
Want to ride on the handle bars? She asked with a sassy smile.
I did for sure, but flatulence kept me walking on that lonely mile.
Maybe some other day, I told her with a wink and a sigh.
She never asked me again, for she was now dating Cy.
Sometimes in the night I dream of taking a ride on that bike.
I would sit on the handle bars as confident as my brother Ike.
I wake up in a cold sweat, wishing she was my intended wife.
But alas, I am just me in the morning, with a boring dull life.
Written 7-13-2022
Contest: A Watermelon Fantasy Ride to Feed My Imagination
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
In the middle of the night
With sleep still in my eyes
I stepped into my kitchen
And received quite a surprise
As I reached out my hand
And flicked the light on
There were balloons, confetti, party hats
With a banner that read -WELCOME HOME-
I'd caught thousands of roaches
In the middle of song
They all turned and looked at me strange
As if I'd done something wrong
I heard a scream from the crowd
A foreign language to me
The next thing I know
I'm knocked down to my knees
As I'm being dragged
Across the linoleum floor
I see a little red button
That opens up a trap door
I started getting real nervous
The deeper we went
If I was a cat with nine lives
I think eight I just spent
They took me before the king
King Ralph Roach was his name
I only knew that
Cause that's what his name tag displayed
I was assigned a public defender
But that did me no good
He spoke Roach, I spoke Human
Each other we never quite understood
"GUILTY!" Came the verdict
I hollered what was my crime!
"Interrupting a roach in the middle of having a good time"
Came the judges reply
Squishing to be my death
The day after tomorrows last night
I said that doesn't make any sense?!
Hey, we're roaches....we're not known for our timely insight
So here I sit in my cell
Wishing I could take it all back
If I had just not gotten up
For that late midnight snack
Wait....is that a tap, tap, tap
(You didn't think this was the end did you?)
As my hours getting late
A roach we'll call Chester
For anonymity sake
Told me to stop all that blubbering
I've come to break you out of here
I stood and we hugged
Which would be strange if it wasn't so weird
We slipped past room after room
With all kinds of parties inside
One thing you can say about roaches
They know how to have a good time
When we reached the surface
All I saw was blessed heavenly light
I went straight in and packed my bags
And gave the house to my Ex-Wife
(Okay, now it's the end!)
I pride myself on my deep poetic insight..
"Enthusiasm is nothing more or less than faith in action." - Henry Chester
Let’s be propelled toward achievement bliss
showing faith in action from heart’s abyss.
Eagerly, we step upward, soaring high
reaching our dreams beyond cloudy sky.
We prepare with vibrant readiness’ glow
midst jubilant cheerful heart, always on the go.
Doing what is right while smiting fright
let’s leap with all our might for triumph’s flight.
Fervently upholding truth in our stride
we circumspectly negate foolish pride.
Let’s show well our caring partnership’s best
marked by fellowship along kindness zest.
Optimizing grace with our toiling hands
we enjoy work in spite of life’s demands.
Treading along enthusiasm terrain
our commitment thrives driven by faith’s gain.
With thanksgiving, we let joy to prevail
praising God Whose love for us does not fail.
*Psalms 50:14 - Offer unto God thanksgiving; and pay thy vows unto the most High.
June 18, 2024
2nd place, "E Words and Quotation-Based" Poetry Writing Contest Sponsored by Sotto Poet; judged on 6/18/2024
This poem is featured in the book, Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry Paperback – November 22, 2024 by Arczis Web Technologies (Author), PoetrySoup (Author), Mark Pringle (Editor)
The next president of the USA
Here we are on another Sunday; we have survived
the debacle, two old men arguing, none of them
wore reading glasses
Two things stood out, both are adept at lying with
open eyes, not looking a bit embarrassed despite
we know, except perhaps their wives
The one, more senile than the other's wife, said
she was proud of him, able to remember all
the questions without hesitating too much
so much so that when they walked out of the speaker hall
, she bought him an ice cream
One of the elderly gentlemen will be the next press
I must say, I have a sneaking admiration for him
with his bottle-tanned face. I once saw him at Chester Zoo
not unlike him beating his chest
in a bullying manner
in the background, Kamila Harris spoke about
the community and cackling excitedly
after all, she might become the first female president of America
Alas, it doesn't matter who becomes president since
the Zionists (AIpack) bought and financed everyone
on the hill (Washington), whoever wins has to drink
from this poisonous challis and take their cue from
the Mossad in Israel.
Though I posted the following poem
(B)efore (C)ovid, a sense
of glee donned my being
the notion arose to trumpet anew
said literary handily crafted endeavor.
Not far from here – Perkiomen Valley -
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
regular folks going about their business
unwittingly participated in history,
a couple scant few years
after the American Revolution.
Two hundred forty three
(12.3 score) years ago
countless stripling soldiers
strapping farming homeboys
healthy agrarian lads
raised among generations
unseasoned lads in summer re:
offspring original settlers heirs
family acreage encompassed
wide uninterrupted forested swaths
across sprawling vistas
sparsely populated enclaves,
now heavily industrialized
lovely bones occupying
unmarked never known graves
buried amidst avast
cleft rapacious urbanization
long forgotten innocent youths
hailing within then bucolic
Montgomery, Delaware and Chester county
forsook their young precious lives
voluntarily promising sons
risking life and limb
more often former versus latter
sacrificing stripling flesh
encompassing urbanized tracts
quite familiar to yours truly
suddenly made aware
unbeknownst till yesterday
informative literary handiwork
titled "A Glimpse of Freedom"
engagingly written by Douglas Shupinski
details innocently naive country bumpkins
sacrificing potential sweat of brow,
albeit grueling labor
fostering holistic existence
transforming boyz to men
hardened green soldiers
into battle weary fighters
regarding, kickstarting, envisioning
inchoate cause named freedom
emancipating fledgling America
against British throne
awareness percolates,
perturbs, permeates psyche
synchronizing, manifesting, galvanizing
how past historical events
within close proximity,
where I mostly resided
since birth, now experience
absorption, communion, edification...
with dead souls
nearly deathly quiet
only most perceptive can detect!
November 11th, 1938. winter, Sweden
neighbor's pond water is not frozen yet
bucket spilled drops are chilly
grandma Sven's crocheted mittens are not warm enough
younger brother Finn tells me to hurry
family waits for these precious drops of water
cannot fire up cast iron cook stove without stew juice
Chester, our broken down farm pony waits patiently
sky spells out snowstorm
I am shivering now, my feet feel frostbitten
I wish that we were closer to the home
Christmas Krampus is coming, my brother teases me
When I laugh I see my breath, it travels up in weather puffs
if we do not move soon, there will be frosty icicles on our noses
I am grateful for Finn
he knows how to keep my mind off my discomfort
In better times, Anders Throne once was
a good husband and loving father,
married to his sweetheart, Rosie Smith,
who’d grown on the Chesapeake waters.
He worked as a lawyer, was well renowned,
had a little boy by the name Chester,
if fate were just he would’ve lived out his days
and saw his happiness never perturbed.
But when the war with the north broke out
to his country he was compelled to stay true,
he said good-bye and stole away north,
marching to war with the boys in blue.
His father-in-law said "Good riddance!"
and moved his precious daughter away,
to a big mansion deep in Richmond,
where he felt she could safely stay.
The war dragged on, and in the end
Richmond found itself under siege,
all in the city knew things were rough,
that there was no real hope of relief.
Day after day the big guns did roar on,
a crashing hail of fire and shell,
until one April day when the Union struck
and the town of Petersburg fell.
Unable to hold Richmond any longer
General Lee led his army to the west,
but Anders, arched into the fallen town,
hoping somehow to find his dearest.
But cannons and not the most precise of things,
and when he reached her father’s home,
he saw cinders scattered, shards of broken glass,
from the hallway ceiling’s grand old dome.
He found an old slave who explain it all,
that whoever had been inside no was dead,
a cannon-ball had ignited a great blaze,
and they died of the smoke in their beds.
Anders collapsed when he heard the news,
and roared out his agony and pain.
He railed at God,”I fought to free people!
And as thanks you go take her away?!”
Bereft of his son and his dearest love,
he walked away right then and there,
deserted the army and wandered off,
if they hanged him he did not care.
He aimlessly started heading for the west,
and as he walked along he wound find
the ‘truth’ of it all, so clear and so crisp,
took over his grief-battered mind.
God cared not for the trials of men,
nor the world that he had once made.
The beasts had it right, take what you can!
Destroy any who gets in the way.
The only rules that mattered were anarchy,
laws of the jungle, ever cold and cruel.
He was done pretending that there was a point,
manners and honor were lies for the fools…
CONTINUES IN PART II
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Christmas Eve’s finest sin~
a bowl left out,
a dash of gin
mixed with cream
and nutmeg dust.
Chester the squirrel placed
his tiny paws
around the bowl,
tipped it with drunken swoon,
licking the rim with reckless glee.
One sip, two—then thirty-two.
Why is the tree spinning around me?
His cheeks grew rosy;
his tail unspooled.
He hiccupped and wobbled,
declaring himself
"King of Forestown,"
tried to wrestle a lawn gnome
for crimes against
his newfound throne.
By dusk the fence post
wore a Cheshire grin.
The oak tree swayed
like ocean waves.
He misjudged a leap~
(oh gravity!)~
clung to a branch like a wind-tossed leaf,
whispering who moved the sky?
His tail, once crisp as autumn’s snap,
dragged like a half-hearted flag.
The stars, he swore,
were almonds~
if only he could crack…
Dawn found him curled up
in last year’s nest,
dreaming of
nutmeg, cinnamon
and dizzy flight~
while the world
spun, spun, and spun.