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.
We drank cheap beer in a rusted-out shed.
Buzzing before our 8:00 AM English class.
Trying to be cool- to fit in with the "Ins."
Instead, we're becoming the wobbling outcasts.
Spinning further out from the golden Ins.
Ah, the golden center.
Filled with jocks, cheerleaders.
A chorus line of silver thighs and golden pom poms.
Smirking at my pimpled insecurities?
But your long bomb popularity didn't stop that tree.
From slamming into your popularity.
It didn't move aside as you passed by.
Like I used to move aside as you passed by me.
You were popular in that narrow hallway of slow death called adolescence.
Now your football helmet is yellow and cracked.
Destined for a garage sale. Bottom shelf existence.
At the very center of long forgotten.
You with the pom poms and patented dimples.
Nowhere near that cocky cute kitten anymore.
Turned plump, pregnant, abandoned, aborted.
What happened to that sweet cotton tail and golden lips?
That used to pip "you'll never be with me".
Finally, after forty-plus years.
You're lying with me...figuratively.
Spread eagle atop pom pom mountain.
An outcast on the periphery of everything.
When alone in a quiet space
still the distant slamming of doors,
or the rattle of castanets
confirm that the world is not shut out
but just moving from room to room,
soon it will burst through paper-thin walls,
skeletons will make love on tin roofs,
harpsichords will rattle amid
the bedsprings of sleep.
The need to be alone even when alone,
hides an even deeper want.
Corridors where the days tramp
echo with a ghostly clamor.
Busy junctions behind closed eyes
erupt where the dead and the living gather
to talk louder than thought.
To be the only listener at the water cooler
or in a crowded auditorium; that is the answer.
Alas when the hall empties,
when the last exit closes behind
the high pitched babble and laughter,
there is still a strident chorus line
of memories stomping echoing boards,
a whooping louder than any voice
anywhere.
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.
Quiet weep
This inspiring song strongly reinforces our global beliefs, originating from the depths of Africa. The chorus has gained considerable popularity online. While some may argue that it is more radical than spiritual, I respectfully disagree. It resonates deeply with those who hold these beliefs
“No turning back” comes with a lot of meaning, behind this chorus line
I know of a lot of Genz who do believe in religion
But to see how they react to the chorus “I have decided to follow Jesus
Make us believe that we can conquer the devil.
They took up, they crossed and followed thee
Was it the beat in the songs or the lyrics that inspired so many
Of them to get up and dance along?
As poets, we might refer to this as zigging and zagging,
As Genz will probably say, free up your minds
I would say trust the song, not the singer
Distressing without demonstrating.
Camping without thinking,
Moving gracefully without political approvals
Let them see the youth at their best.
And more things as the Caribbean would
They come to play. No turning back
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
`
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
Orange Meadows..
Sun kissed ..
With a hue of golden yellow..
Warm Sunshine..
Sun beams glowing..
Cascading waterfalls of orange..
Followed by warm golden yellow hues of pure magic..
Orange Meadows..
With a gentle soft breeze blowing..
Floral effervescent infusion of intoxicating scents..
Tremendous stimulation of the senses..
Beyond Orange Meadows..
Where one can indulge in pure mystical beauty..
A cyrstalline and delightful splendor..
Crystal specks upon the orange meadows..
Reflections of a Glorious Universe..
Beyond Orange Meadows..
Where the heart sings an orchestra of sweetness..
Drenced in a vision of stunning beauty..
A chorus line chants heavenly music..
Soothes the soul..
Beyond Orange Meadows..
Nourishment for the heart and soul..
the snazziest boots ever arrived by Prime delivery today
The lid flew off the box, and the boots yelled out “hey! hey!”
They line danced around the kitchen, clomping up my floor.
My husband came to see them and yelled “forevermore!”
“Where did you get these boots?” he asked, scared of them he was.
I truly did not know but they were stomping now like FBI fuzz.
I took a peek at the address, and guess what? They were not mine.
They were now doing a kick that rivaled any chorus line.
They belong one street over, I said, but I wonder what size they are.
You are not keeping them surely! My husband yelled from afar.
I am thinking about it I admitted as they threw themselves against a wall.
These boots were a party waiting to happen, so loud and proud and tall.
Dusty Rain
Puffs of random promise coldly awaken the hope of droughts thirsty ticket holders.
Parched dust joins in pig-like, snout in the trough, dry tongued greeting.
Satiations mud bath ensues
leaves rub their hands together
cupping cool water
soothing the screaming roots.
Flowers lean back
rinse their colored tresses
rejoice in the trickle
of renewal.
Worms lay – Cleopatra-like -
self seeking mud worshippers
freed from their dungeons.
Puddled streets shiny rainbow hues
search for the pot-o-gold
of street signs end.
Dandelions shake golden crowns
mimic the sun,
smile on the dream
of future days.
Garden Buddha,
licks stoic lips, smiles
cool trickles tickle his girth.
Thin groundhog sleeps
knowing his prized shoots
will soon be plenty.
Birds succumb
to the perfume of petrichor,
dance in fence top chorus line
to the dusty drum beat of
Spring rain.
6/5/2016
submitted to – ika-labing-tatlo(13th): Rain, Rain com my way – Poetry Contest
sponsor – binibining P.iNK
Crowded streets awaken,
Coffee cups clutch tight,
Shoes tap a morning rhythm.
Rush hour, red lights
Glare down, impatient.
A sea of faces waits.
Greenlight, then a surge,
Let’s go!” the crowd exhales,
Pushing, never touching,
Horns a symphony
Metal snakes inch forward.
Wide chorus line forms,
Moving to the beat,
The subway doors hiss open.
Bustling atmosphere,
Shoulders brush, a glance,
Words lost in the murmur.
Serious or smiling,
Eyes locked on glowing screens,
Lost in private worlds.
Arms jostle for space,
The air, thick with exhaust,
The city hums its song.
Yellow light’s slow brake,
Another wave arrives,
The crowded street churns on.