Long City Poems
Long City Poems. Below are the most popular long City by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long City poems by poem length and keyword.
I stood on the tip of the top of the cliff and looked down,
Though valleys seemed colorful, scenes deep down were grey and brown;
A few freshwater streams were springing from filmy fountains,
Lo, why these ants-colonies roam on the Rocky Mountains;
The entire landscape looked like a huge monster's mouth yawning,
Are these sounds and noises around foretelling some warning...?
This scene of the yawning of the cliff valley of nature,
Reflected, like a mirror, the rich-poor caricature;
Dining on Ayan Black Chicken, Wagyu beef, Kopi Luwak,
Iberian ham, Moose cheese, Black watermelon, Blue Duck...
Wearing clothes of velvet and silk weaved for them alone,
Adorned with gold, gems, and diamonds - the rich have their zone...!
Does even the Public Distribution System assist?
Each hungry moment of the poor has an ironic twist.
Stories of humans eating grass, lacking food, lo, pity!
Malnourished, lacking jobs, many poor beg in each city;
Fawn-colored messy clothes - only rags they can afford,
Having no house they sleep, like dogs, on footpaths of the road...!
Systems and States, like ladders, aid and abet the wealthy,
To grow, progress and develop through ways, often, stealthy;
Schemes and plans and strategies for the poorest are plenty,
Yet, in reality, do the poor get any penny?
Gulf betwixt the rich and poor, like cliff and dry land cleaves say:
Fraternal love of caring and sharing is the true way...!!!
Patradoot or The Messenger16 /Many
English version by
Ravindra K Kapoor
Description of Triveni or Allahabad known as Sangam city
The moment you see the holy mingling
Of the river streams Ganga & Yamuna, dear letter,
You can make up your mind to take a rest here,
Before you deliver my message to my beloved dear.
The holy water of rivers Ganga and Yamuna,
Would be flowing with the enchanting noise of kul kul,
And its shores would be shining like silver,
When Sun rays would be touching its sand particles.
Ravindra
Kanpur 8th June 2010 to continue in 17
* Kul Kul. The enchanting noise or sound of a river when it flows.
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Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my father late
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932, when he was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994.
She had style she was grace
and possessed a pretty face.
She was charming she was witty
her childhood spent in the city.
Lived her life with a passion
she was never out of fashion.
Make-up placed perfectly
the hair and nails done tastefully.
Oh so smart you could see
any problems wouldn't be.
She was tough also strong
mostly right when I was wrong.
She was neat kept things clean
always nice never mean.
She was kind she was loving
didn't like people shoving.
Liked to party a little booze
and she had too many shoes!
Never early often late
left her greens upon her plate.
Treated friends with devotion
loved the beach and the ocean.
Nursed my cuts when I did bleed
tons of books liked to read.
In a car not great you see
passenger side instructing me.
She was special like no other
super Wife better Mother.
What a woman a special girl
she blessed my life
she was my world!
There will come a day, when a Maiden graces the Glens
Alba is where she'll stand amidst the land of Highland men
For her hand will be chosen to be at this clansman's side
And render her heart to he, forever she'll reside
To a place called Inverness, which will claim her heart
Leaving her hurt behind allowing her life to start
For in this tranquil city surrounded by hues of green
Many times we'll capture these views, oh! to be seen
Along the River Ness in whatever season one walks
It's beauty always abounds allowing us to talk
There's no better place to stop to share a loving kiss
In the background her waters flow, soothing, so bliss
Many years have passed, we still walk the riverside
To my Maiden who graces my heart, and leaves me full of pride
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/lorena-2.php
I know this sounds naive but still I hope and pray
that in my lifetime I will see
A world that comes together to live in peace and harmony.
It certainly hasn’t happened often…(and lately not much at all)
but when it does it is a beautiful thing…and the whole world is enthralled.
July 26, 1963…at the height of the Cold War…
when most of the world was split into two camps (similar to today)
a 6.1 earthquake struck the city of Skopje, Macedonia
reducing much of the city to rubble and clay.
Skopje did not participate in the Cold War…they did not align with either side
which allowed, for a little while at least, the whole world to be allied.
Countries on both side of the Cold War no longer concerned with anger or fear
sent money, doctors, construction workers…materials and engineers.
Enemies put their grievances aside…tabled their animosities and greed
and united to help a fellow country of this Earth in its time of need.
It was an exciting and inspiring moment in our planet’s history…
as 78 countries united in their concern and caring for Skopje’s recovery.
Sadly this spirit of giving by which the world, for a little while, was guided
faded…the Cold War resumed…and we are once again a world divided.
But the fact that 78 countries were able to put their bitterness and hostilities to rest…and act together as one
proves it is possible…confirms it can be done.
I do believe we can all come together…
that we don’t need a global tragedy…
that we can be kind and generous to everyone…every day
like we were once…back in 1963.
In dreams of yonder, wishes wistfully conceive,
A cradle of lost tomorrows, where shadows sway;
To a realm unseen, where hearts believe,
Past where twilight’s lulling lullabies lay,
A world where reverie and reality secretly play.
Through the veil of verity…
…Aisling nocturnally creates,
Mountains of moonlight, rivers of rhyme,
A world untouched by changing tides and capricious fate.
In this land, where we lose track of all time,
A place where voices harmonize; oh, so surreal, so sublime.
A city of silence, a forest of fears,
The cloud-kissed towers, an ocean of sorrow,
Beneath twilight's gentle, silent tears.
An ephemeral world free of yesterdays and tomorrow,
A dreamscape unfolding where sleep freely borrows.
A tremor runs through castle walls,
A sigh escapes the forest deep,
Twilight's tears turn into calls
Of roosters waking from their sleep.
The ocean's sorrow shimmers pale
A canvas primed for sun's first brush.
The mountains, caught in morning's veil
Dissolves to silence, whispers hush.
As a new dawn dances
the dream dissipates
The illusion shatters
reality reinstates.
For the land was an Elysium delight
A mere mirage in the moonlit night.
Dissolving in dawn's delicate dance
…like a mist in morning sacred light.
Fading Starlight sifts through leaves, painting emerald shadows on the ground.
Lost in the morning's mellowness,
a sigh escapes,
the dream departs,
unrenown…
Though dawn reclaims the waking world,
a yearning in my heart resides,
For Elysium's lost melody,
where time and sorrow gently subside.
Pilot dog flew the airplane with ease
Cumulus clouds gave him a bit of a tease
This was his thousandth solo flight
Instrument panel said things were all right
This 747 was fancier than most, a little bit spiffy.
He had some things to say, but his co-pilot was “iffy”.
So, he kept things to himself, and prayed the weather would clear.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief when the destination city was near.
A successful flight captain, said his co-pilot, Barry.
He was a good egg. His constitution was bright and airy.
Pilot dog stood at the door barking a happy good bye
As the passengers disembarked, their spirits all high.
Gently she stopped to enter a cab towards her destination,
And out of consciousness my heart glued to her good looking face.
In a soft voice I greeted her and in the same way she replied with no need for explanation,
This created talks between us with the expectation of graduating to the new phase.
Her beauty is more to be compare to the city of Texas,
Wisdom is her nature and understanding is her being.
To talk of her shape is like turning a wow to a daily song that has been.
Yet that never get beyond her skull to be a vashty,
Humility is her name but when you dare step her toes death is your reward.
Her reward of death is not as our herdsmen and of our government,
For the words that comes from her mouth is enough for suicide mission.
Hear my daily cries that come from a righteous heart,
To make your heart to accept me for an everlasting bliss.
Judge me not with my act or dressing for these I amended but end in vain,
Rather let your judgement be in the truthfulness of my heart.
Hear my prayers rear gem for days count on me daily,
And for my joy to have no end and in this I give you my love.
Gargoyles loom above the streets all around
On every block of this city people mill around
The cafe of the day, classy stripes on the cups
And food so different from those all around
Lost for an age, in the grandest of libraries
They escorted me out for lurking around
I took a dismal bus ride all the way across town
Lost in the view of tree-covered hills all around
Here they sow trash and reap skyscrapers
Not a star in the sky, bright lights all around
At night I rush into my lover’s arms and delight
Arms of hope sustain days, of moping around
The river flows by carrying boats up and down
I, a stranger, watch everyone hurry around
Winter with you snows proposals.
Promises crunch under foot in autumn
bursts of colour on park pathways,
orange into red into yellow.
Summer with you spouts kisses, wet with spit
on a teenage first date - there’s no drought here.
Our Spring blossoms into the shape of hearts along
stems, with rings upon leaves.
There’s a fifth season here in this place called Love,
where it is forever night, forever alight with eyes for stars.
Here, Love is smell: sweaty with tinges of panic.
Love is touch: secretly caressing feet under tables.
Love is sight: mirror, water, glassy reflections.
Love is sound: a shriek, a sigh, a laugh, an intake of breath.
Love is taste: exotic yet homely, new yet known.
Love, here, is a sixth sense: only truly sensed when found.
Our place called Love rhymes and dances within itself
from place to face to lace to pace and the
beat-de-beat-de-beat of a heart,
from love to dove to above to cove to...
stupid English.
In this place of ours, Love is a verb... to love, to kiss, to wed.
Love is an adjective here... I am in love with you.
Love is a noun, too... an abstract, intangible thing
as well as a proper title, a capitalised place.
Love is a city in this country of ours called Love,
a destination for tourists honeymooning -
lovers in pursuit of magnets or t-shirts bearing a slogan
that Love does exist after all. They send postcards
written in red, ink from beating and bleeding hearts.
Love has a body here too. A voice offering a myriad of truths,
a sex as yet ungendered but passionate and open and massaged,
exploded into an altogether new being. It finds itself upon a bed
that spins, spins, spins and turns on fingertips and tiptoes.
Is Love the question or the answer? The chicken or the egg?
Well, there is a place called Love.
I’ve seen it.
Reserved under lock and key
for you and for me. Us.
Here is the place.