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.
Anticipation and hope avail as I awake from a chilly night.
On a sunny morning of calm and clear blue skies,
after several days of rain both heavy and light
and intermittent strong winds, there I stood so far
away from familiarity but yet so close to what used to be.
Fortunately, in these parts, the whole affair has been more normal
than harmful. This morning speaks of reprieve with no intent to deceive.
I bath in the quietness of a gorgeous sunrise as the late February day
unfolds both beautifully and bright. Such awesomeness is often taken
for granted but not by me, and none deems it heavenly as well as me.
To me, it clearly has the feel and touch of a 'haven of rest', 'a den of silence',
encircled by an encampment of trees, wetlands, and many fields of grain.
I must say that I am adjusting from reluctancy and an unwillingness to change as I ascend from decades of city life. In time, I shall become used to this ruralness, and grow to be one with the grassy fields, as haste ceases in this place of healing.
022822PSCtest, A Lovely Day, BJ Legros Kelly. 3P
Outside the city where the pomegranates grow,
I walked into a world on shores from long ago.
Some graves and marble pillars still to this day stand
to guard the ghosts of ancient souls on broken land.
But most lay toppled here where once they proudly stood;
works of the Persian, Greek, and Roman empires would
in shared view proudly lie to honor and behold-
the histories of centuries that here unfold.
Outside the modern Turkish city of Izmir-
the Pergamon lies bare to see and so revere
within its world that here existed long ago-
outside the city where the pomegranates grow.
December 10, 2022
~1s Place~
Contest: Take Me There
Sponsor: Margarita Lillico
Judged: 01/21/2023
(Revised from poem posted 04/21/2016)
Note: Izmir is noted for farming and selling pomegranates.
Since my visit there twenty-six years ago, I learned that
many of the ruins have been restored.
Jack was born in 1981, but at the age of 18,
Was punched in his face so he was out clean,
He fell backwards to hit his skull on the kerb,
Which haemorrhaged his brain to fully curb,
His future as a Birmingham City footballer.
He’d been with the Blues since he was ten,
So after intensive care and recuperation’s den,
He flitted from local club to local club insane,
‘Cos it was so hard with his imbalance skein,
Neither could he twist nor head confidently.
Two years later, in 2011, after that fierce attack,
And after extensive rehabilitation - not to lack,
Because Jack was left with mild Cerebral Palsy,
The charity Headway pointed him to sport by CP,
So he joined the England 7-a-side footballers.
He’s captain of the team with his experience,
‘Cos many of the others were born, deliverance,
With CP, and so they don’t have leadership skills,
Or the training you get from the big clubs’ bills:
Jack is proud to encourage the squad on or off.
He is a mentor on Dame Kelly Holmes Trust, focus,
On the Get On Track program he does direct, locus,
And he’s behind other young people’s programs,
Like AQA Unlocking Potential to give people grams,
To enrol in college or Uni, or to train or to find work.
Jack’s attacker got a sentence of twelve months,
In a young offenders institution to wear the cloths,
But he only served six of them, such a light penalty,
For a sudden life-change, a twist to redirect destiny,
And Jack’s never set eyes on him again, no wish to.
He’s going to Rio to play firstly against the Japanese,
Where he’ll bask in the sun, so different from freeze,
He came 9th at the Intercontinentals 2013, the way up,
5th at the Euro Championships 2014, success to sup,
Then 5th at the Worlds in 2015, an even better victory.
Share your thoughts daily
my fresh start is teaching me
darkness fell to the ground
don't fret, love will be glee.
Relaxation and hospitality
a person who looks closely
Into the world of air charm
Orion is acrid to track
It seems to blow unremittingly.
I sow my own memories
along with human sorrow
harmony restored
I dialed my heart number
I need to heal my soul
the real body is sinking.
Weak influence
decreased resolve
my goal is to draw high.
I connect distant souls.
cut off the root of the
malignant sporophyte.
Have moral fortitude
malicious outer force
deceiving the actual facts
It wrecked the night's vibe
beatific fortune and conflict.
I rush to the stage.
relax, I'll swim
your healing wave
doesn't steer my ship; I'm lost
depressing fields
induce flowers to bloom.
It'll melt the ice out of the city
the wind will howl tonight
I seek refuge in pain
raise your head and scream.
bright and aesthetic music
we are creating a fresh page
and the door to humanity
a fresh way to let the light shine.
angels provide heartthrobs
electronics fans, rise up
you are blessed with free flow
close the deal with a hug
along with a night dive.
Written: January 1st, 2022
Feral
What is your name?
Who are you?
The girl wanders the streets.
She is hungry,
she is cold,
she is alone.
What is your name?
Who are you?
The boy is lost in the city.
He is hungry,
he is cold,
he is all by himself.
The lost have no faces,
that the passersby can see.
They are just shadows against the wall,
too tall, too thin, too much trouble,
to bother with...
for now,
until the viewer sees
from their own eyes,
the images created...
by the passerby.
Now standing in the same place,
as those that came before,
before they all,
passed,
through the door,
of death.
Sultry red,
yellow pillow sky,
teased tandem,
with citric,
?shades afloat oe’r waking town,
mirror bubbly folk in lane
jubilant,
trademark burrs catching,
glad echoes,
urge urban,
tableau of chalkmarked gold stamp,
where sheer pluck triumphs
buses swerve,
rapid rail steel track,
squeaky noise,
hoot … toot…. cabs,
en route symbol’s “jaunty” march,
co migrant orbit
coffee wafts
oh it taunts the nose,
hazelnut,
caramel,
mocha caressing the tongue,
pumpkin spice, mouth swirl
java pod,
a candied bake match,
divers brews,
sumptuous,
lemon slice, muffin, and sponge,
counters dangle taste.
office clique,
skim walnut tables,
“spill the beans,”
shrill guffaws,
azure vault praise from clients,
engulf coffee dock
Loiter oe’r,
toothsome three course lunch,
droll banter,
textured whim,
midday schedules reshuffled,
post noon hectic dash
T-junctions,
coax urban ants verve,
honey pot,
honey bee,
magnetic lure to swarm teams,
gumption on recharge
afternoon,
ablaze on flagstones,
vendors hawk,
stalls ignite, ,
markets swamped by eager droves,
eventide, homebound
The cob webbed city sticks to my dirty skin,
as I pass through its predator strings.
On the corners are hustlers, men with wigs and worn heels,
selling their wares, fighting with women,
over property rights.
Traffic moves slow, crawling along like a large slug,
melting into the blacktop.
Your eyes get accustom to waves of heat,
rising like dragons from the burning street.
The musky smell of filth singes the air,
while old men linger by drug stores and bars,
smoking old cigarettes they found, coughing.
Hey buddy, do you have a light, some change?
Still, I'm alone.
A wanderer, born from tainted soil,
surviving on wits and will.
Stopping at every liquor store and chili parlor,
searching for pennies.
Knowing each minute as a day,
as I stick on the soles of society's shoes.
A reminder they don't want to see.
That young is old when left to fend for themselves,
and evil is a weapon never born from a gentle touch.
Gray days are constant,
as life becomes motion with unintended reasons.
Stopping long enough to disappear in the city's web.
People passing by see only dirty shoulders and backs,
leaning against graffiti walls,
trying to stay out of the rain,
until the doors open and the soup line moves.
It's there I feel human, before wandering back,
to my rags and cardboard.
I'll try to sleep away despair as humanity passes by,
with their cold collective misunderstanding of misery and pain,
carried on the backs of the unfortunate homeless,
as we lay in the garbage of society's world,
crying without tears, holding on,
until we just let go and fall into the abyss,
where our bodies are then removed as Jane Doe.
contest A Poem Time Forgot
I can’t get behind the wheel, I’m disqualified
So I’m on the early morning train ride to the city
There are so many commuters, I join the throng
Down the street as I was drifting with the city's human tide.
We are packed like sardines crushed side by side
Makes me wish I’d never driven when blind drunk
It’s many years before I can get my licence back
Now I rely on trains or friends or take a taxi ride
I wish I could drive my car, that can’t be denied
But I got caught and ended up before the judge
Got banned from driving, I had to pay a huge fine
I’ve lost my good character; and my sense of pride
I began drinking heavily when my dear wife died
It spiraled out of control but I don’t deserve any pity
As being four times over the limit cannot be justified
Fiction poem for Contest
3. Down the street as I was drifting with the city's human tide.
03/09/20
The cob web city sticks to your skin
as you pass through it jumbled strings
on its corners are hustlers
and men with wigs wearing worn heels, selling their wares
Traffic moves slowly, like long crawling slugs
eyes get accustomed to waves of heat,
rising like dragons from the concrete streets
where scents drift from food carts fill
Old men linger near drug stores, smoking cigarettes and coughing
the broke and lonely stop at every bar and chili parlor,
trying to fill empty pockets with pennies, lifted off the floors
sticking to the soles of society's shoes as a reminder,
that young is old, when left to fend for themselves
evil is a cold hand, never born from a gentle touch
Gray is a constant color when life becomes motion,
with unintended consequences, stopping long enough,
to disappear into the city's web
the people passing by see only shoulders and backs,
leaning against graffiti walls, trying to stay out of the rain
until locked doors open, at the shelter
contest Just Down the Road
You’re gone — that’s what everyone says,
But my heart still forgets, most days.
My mind still dials your number first,
Whenever the panic inside me bursts.
You don’t pick up… you never do.
Silence answers — not you.
Jaipur again — I’ve come this year,
They say, “Celebrate Diwali here.”
I went to your house today…
Your clothes still hang the same way. I stealed two of them ..
Your expensive black perfume — Good Luck —
Still breathes softly in every nook.
Every lane of Jaipur whispers you,
Every chai stall, every sky-blue hue.
Bhaiya yaar,
Why did it have to end like that, haan?
This city was home because of you,
And him… now both are gone too.
What’s left here for me to call mine?
Even comfort feels like a lie this time.
I want your voice again —
“Princess, listen to me, eat something.”
“Princess, one photo please…”
“Princess, want coffee? I’ll make it sweet.”
I want them all back —
Those words, that care, that track.
No one to make my salads now,
No one to make perfect my coffee somehow.
No one I can hit and laugh with, and never get beaten .
No one who’ll stay, no matter the myth.
No one who listens for 24 hours straight,
No one who knows my soul’s weight.
You knew me more than I ever could,
Understood the silence no one else would.
And now I sit here, breathing slow —
Bhaiya, please… don’t leave me so.