Long Chorus line Poems
Long Chorus line Poems. Below are the most popular long Chorus line by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chorus line poems by poem length and keyword.
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Slandered wavelengths
from an old worn out speaker
cracking with each unbalanced bass note
Finding my brain on overload
and a slower heart beat
out of tune
Static becomes the union,
tuning dial gone, volume at high
glowing in the corner of cobweb melodies
lingering on a distant shelf
now sinking lower in this
roadside armchair (Where are the earplugs when you need them)
An empty bottled fortress
protects the pain at my feet,
brown glass soldiers stand guard,
bottle cap mementos flip
like dancing beans on a folding table
at El Mercado
One more for the road
(like I need this)
along crooked dotted lines, weaving nonsense
two at a time, smirking
snickering like children hiding from a babysitter,
mimicking the way
Still the static, white noise,
drowns out the joy and the trees cry,
when birdsong of night haunts with a sound
interrupting the dance of the
beer bottle chorus line
and I tap a painful toe
From sounds heard on eardrums
and hair cells in the inner ears,
we refract and warp their tones
into sound shadow puppet-plays,
in the mind’s disc-jockey's booth,
picking and choosing what to keep or lose,
softening hard edges, to time-warp what we can bear,
bending the ear away from dissent,
replaying covers of old favorites
when we refuse the unfamiliar.
The unwanted drifts into static noise,
we switch off midway,
we look away, hands over ears—
we laugh to force a chorus line.
We get up and dance
to shake away the doubt now stirred,
quick-stepping away sideways
to avoid toes being crushed,
when what’s heard moves up too close—
too close to the bone.
“That can’t be true.”
“Can’t apply to me, surely.”
“Where did you hear such nonsense?”
“It doesn’t really matter anyway.”
“Enough already—OK.”
Midway, the call we're on
strangely is made to fade,
it seems to breaks up—
"Sorry you've dropped out"
"It's garbled"
"Say again, Speak up"
Or the soundproof door
quietly, gently swings shuts
before the message is complete.
Interrupting:
"Yeah, that's Right"
"I Know what you mean"
"That's so True"
"Everyone Agrees, Sure!"
We know what we like
the home disk jockey to spin:
old favorites,
covers and tributes
echoing into sound shadows
along narrow self-worn and self-torn
protected shadow lit pathways.
Dot to Dot
. 2 . Point to point
Painting life by the numbers
A moving chorus line of choice
Random patterns spurned
Unbroken pointillism paints a soul’s portrait
In shades of shadows and sunlight
. 2 . Day to day
In a sanctuary of measured stillness
Sunset and sunrise on a calculated thread
Sun and moon follow precise lines of gavotte
Like a moving celestial stairway
The pilgrimage of each morning and each night
. 2 . Mile by mile
Plumb line for restless steps
Stepping stones of revelation
Crossing over potholes of quick sand
Passing detours of indiscretion
Wisdom’s oasis marks each passage
. 2 . Note by note
Winsome, plaintive, joyful melody line
Rises from the deep eternal’s depths
That reads each note as written
One voicing after the other
The song of each life stitched together
. 2 . Line by line
Stars joined with silk filaments
Sweet ambrosia of constellations
Fiery guardians in strings of astral confetti
When north stars and southern crosses
Make paths through our tangled valleys
12-20-22
Contest: Dot to Dot
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
the town awakes to someone yelling, "save yourselves you fools",
with sleepy eyes I wake to see, some wild stampeding mules.
the cowboys with their lassos, face a growing windy gust,
appear as riding puppets, caught inside a maze of dust.
soon the town recovers, as the carnival arrives,
people seem amazed, to see the expert throw his knives.
caught inside the melee, I have searched to find my way,
back again to watch in awe, the dancers at the cabaret.
Matilda leads the chorus line, she smiles in my direction,
her movements hold me spellbound, as she moves in pure perfection.
I picture her and I, back at the ranch in midnight rapture,
If only her attention, I could find a way to capture.
back to the long and arduous road, I have yet to tread and travel,
until the mystery of my life, has finally seen to ripen and unravel.
when it’s been done, when my life will no longer seem so grey,
on Matilda I will call, and hope she sees that I’ll no longer go astray.
we’ll raise some kids, on Blue Ridge mountains far from town,
where no one talks behind our back, where no one there will put us down.
yes she’s a dancer, in the noisy, smoky, riotous cabaret,
but in my heart, she’s just an angel I would love to take away.
take her to another world, where she can spread her wings and fly,
into my arms and hold me tight, and be together ‘till we die.
Well, I guess I’m finally that cranky
old Slow Poke: the one who does
25 in a 35—the one who rolls up
his driver’s window, when you pull
alongside with your rock-n-roll
blaring. The one who always signals
the same direction whether turning
right or left. The one who keeps the kid’s
ball when it flies in his front yard attacking
the roses--he talks to them, and God alone
can decipher their colorful language.
But the one who also limps from an old
war injury, the reason why we are not all
speaking German, and high stepping in
Bone-crushing boots. No Rockettes
do I speak of. No smiles from that merciless
Chorus Line. He was also the generation
who dropped the bomb--the big one--
and had lived 50 years with that fateful
decision. “It was the right thing to do…
them or us” repeated through the decades
of nightmares. War is something most young
people only write songs about—protest against...
smoke a joint and have a beer afterwards….
While brave young men and women
leave limbs on the battlefield to protect
the right for so many to be thankless
fools….
thy macbook pro
contracted a ungrateful deadly virus
disallowing communication
between you Pink Floyd, and us
Tom MacDonald (the head
hombre honcho) didst tuss
sup hiz hands in utter futility,
and exhausting every suss
stain nibble dollop pa Rob Zombie courtesy
sans himself and Russ
tea (a lifelong four footed
canine companion)
large as a small medium at large
bow wow wing over seer christened Marge
a Jeff Bezos Amazon woman
demanding tubby address as "Sarge"
long days journey into night
without access
to the Pink world wide web,
newt hiz a bless
akin to experience
foreboding check mate playing chess
after one fateful opening gambit,
asper this poe whit doth express
he haint no "Garry Kasparov,
Anatoly Karpov, Bobby Fischer...
or other prominent masters
nee virtual kings
aye coon fess
cuz y'all would
be on target to guess
this chipper chap
(now he iz back in busy 'n Hesse)
hive felt extreme dot com tremens
without recourse the cyber space
e'en though misgivings prevail bing
linkedin within the human race
and nah ver since birth,
hike hood never find my place
until...while very late in my puberty,
which lasted til age fifty and nine
orbitz 'round el sol, twas juiced recently
attained personal
accomplishments sans mine
kempf posse sub billy due to pertinent
Capricorn requisite plan nets
formed a heterosexual
instagram joyus chorus line
October’s Finale
October sets the stage for ghostly goblins – frost on pumpkins;
Black cats yowl on top of fences arching, upstage the moonlight;
Floating apparitions of wraiths soliloquies in mid-flight fright;
Full moons cast eerie – shadows lost in howling ghost light winds.
Echoes of shame like bare skeleton bones, rattle in chains
Specters of spirits roam through crumbling haunted castles
Ghost trains run again then again, over broken gobo trestles
Spooky whispers of forgotten lines in hair raising rains!
A possessed chorus line of leering pumpkins faces night
Tells a hair raising tale of a roaming headless horseman
Breaking through fourth walls to ride in a spine tingling plan
From the wings on a dark and stormy Halloween midnight
Howling hounds wake vampires who escape from coffins –
Hide from mirrors cloaked backstage with no reflection
Bubbling cauldrons cook creepy spells upon prop inspections
While spirits serenade in ad-lib on stringless mandolins.
Brittle headstones speak in lines of green lichen slime
Whispers blow out flickering lime lights of lantern candles
Graveyards draped in flowing scenes of cobweb handles
Heartbeats pound in monologues behind a scrim of fleeing time.
Haunted theater creaks with unseen footsteps mystery -
A playhouse podium for phantom encores - blocking bows -
Until twelve bells closes shut this deathly stage door somehow -
For November’s morning review that laughs at death’s lost victory.
All Hallows Eve call time when spirit sightings seem to occur -
Screeches of everlasting doom run rampant in audition -
Find their final curtain ringing down on their perdition,
Eternal life, the blessing seen, in the finale of October.
10-5-20
Contest: October
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Well I declare!
Gawd, did you hear
the minister just
dyed his hair,
a reddish tint
with purple streaks
to match his flowered
untied “sneaks”.
I do declare!
I saw him there
buying thong-style
underwear,
to match the
tightly binding jeans
that held him in
with bulging seams.,
caressing every
part of him
Dear Gawd, it’s
got to be a sin.
Saw him wiggle,
dance and sway
in a most peculiar way.
Purse his lips
now pearly red
flounce his hair,
toss his head.
I fear he’ll lead us
into hell
at the next ringing
of the bell,
but I must follow him
you see
from aisle 6
seat twenty three.
But I declare,
he’s looking fine
and dancing
in A Chorus Line for
He became
a “sistered” brother
played his part
to help another.
Shook the rafters,
wooed the crowd
made the humble
roaring proud.
Said to those
with faces set:
“I never
should have took
that bet.”
APPLAUSE
CURTAIN CALL
WELL I DECLARE!!!!
John G. Lawless
for Well I Declare! Poetry contest
sponsor Judy Konos
Ironic that the break
Begat her break
Mousy brown
In the chorus line
Third row from the back
Throwing envious glances
At the leading lady
All glory and accolades
Pirouettes and solos
Applause unbounded
Why not me?
That fateful night
A careless stumble
Unsafe props
An unfortunate angle
Forcing a fracture
And exit stage left
An empty spotlight
Top billing wanting
The opportunity to step up
To transform and sparkle
And take centre stage
Though under the greasepaint
Her guilt barely disguised
Not pat superstition
But sincerely said
The meteoric rise triggered
By her prophetic wish
To break a leg
Never took illegal drugs but now I am loaded with prescriptions
Did eat a mountain of sugary sweets and gulped an ocean of soda
Never used tobacco or liked the smell and taste of alcohol
Don't know if my body as any wear for worse, lungs strong.
Diabetes and high blood pressure keep me humble
Kidney failure because of some prescriptions
Good doc helped me get off those my kidneys good again
Thank God for that, miracles still happen each and every day
People just don't see what they see.
Lost two toes from diabetes, stubborn ulcer on left foot
Foot brace weighs me down, wear size sixteen shoe
Nine E wide for that brace. Won't be high kicking in a chorus line
People open doors for me, no pitchforks and torches yet
Goodness still there.
Arthritis the pain that greets you every day. Gout nasty pain.
Specialist doc prescribe drug that ends swelling, hands are normal again.
God works through people, He bless us with those of knowledge
and ability to help us heal. Grateful to God and those he blessed
that make our life livable day by day.
Got three dogs in my old age, two little fellows are seventeen now
Every morning two little miracles greet me. They do pretty good
Kublia walks like me and Genghis has his own prescriptions.
Sassy my big baby two year old. Was she too young for me to adopt
Was Sassy selfish on my part? Who rescued who? Now I see tomorrow.
Funny how the Bible never liked dogs, If we were still adding new books
would that have changed.
Never took illegal drugs, just lived life's flow of ups and downs.
That great roller coaster ride of arm stretching hand waving
loud screaming highs to that big dropping dip with butterflies
dancing in your stomach lows. I need a candy bar and root beer float.