Long Classic Poems
Long Classic Poems. Below are the most popular long Classic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Classic poems by poem length and keyword.
Like, here’s a poem, painting the mood of these vinyl-warmed, jazz-infused Deep House sessions:
Vinyl Illusions
Beneath the needle’s gentle sway, it's big city cool with uptown funk charm/ Grooves awaken dust and dreams, thumpin' for the ladies, at 118 BPA if you please/ the sound as requested by House Radio Miami/ sunrise poppin on a double shot of java brew, AM callin' the funky jazz crew/
Chords drift like fog on a DJ turntable, Jazzo fingers sketching hazy tales, Basslines thick with boom bap rap vinyl, the smell of weed curls through the air like incense trails, tangled in her hair/
We dig on the playlist for breakfast, I be tossin' a snowstorm of thoughts to come up with melodies soaked in 90s underground hip-hop/ J Dilla, DJ Premier, Pete Rock, DJ Muggs, Nas, KRS One, Rakim, The Alchemist, Griselda, MF/ Harmony rising from cracked drum breaks, high hat laced with analog drums/ man, tell bout it/ all the old ghosts and new beats spun/ Tech house, UK garage, classic techno, jungle, breaks, and beyond/ Built for lo-fi radio streams/ Like Mad Hat DJ spinnin' Dark House dance dreams/
East Side stories echo from the car radio, chopped samples with cassette hiss, shuffled piano-driven energy, and classic dancefloor spirit/ man, every loop a memory, every synth a festival of dance attitude/
Let the music linger, as a blunt cools as the sunlight shifts/ so dig this/ groove is the only language here, and today, we speak in dropin' needle riffs/
Friends follow the fraternal advice of a bosom friend.
The disciples followed each word of Jesus till the end.
As birds and beasts, on divine providence, they did depend
Kingdom's sake, like adventurers, all pains they did transcend
Clasping to their bosoms, with divine love, they healed the sick.
Raising the dead, as though waking the sleeping, was no trick.
Lepers were cleansed. Demons, like leaves in storms, did quickly flick.
God's kingdom, like a classic castle, was built brick by brick.
Like rain from above, they gained well-being and elation.
Freed from mammon's hold, they obtained divine revelation.
Bound in grace, physique, and psyche, attained transformation.
Spun in faith, they realised body-soul integration.
The heaven of existence they found in Jesus alone
Like seeds of spring in fertile fields, graces in them was sown.
the voices are overwhelming
I can hear so many conversations in my head a few good mostly not
all pointing to one subject
her
they talk about her life choices
making mentions of her checkered past.
Just another junkie, might as well throw her in the trash.
I'll say this line I just heard is classic
she is like problems you stuff in basements and attics.
An addict in an attic well that's a new play on words.
one voice cuts through all these conversations with three simple words
She has God.
He has seen every wrong and every wrong made right.
He walked with her in darkness and still brought her back to light.
He has watched every moment when she thought she was alone.
The nights she cried herself to sleep, in the car she called her home.
He seen all these things and still sees her for who she is.
All voices now stopped.
Thank you to the Father
my Savior, my Rock.
Isaiah 55:8-9
"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the LORD. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts."
Life like from a fish bowl, really!
Way ... encapsulated like above and behind, you know?
All those like gilded dado's of peachy-pink, gnarly puff, sweet aye?
All those awesome totally rad houses of
flannel-gray San Fran's Victorian Ladies, classic!
Life all sweet and wrapped in the ledges and overhangs, really!
Portcullis like totally frail, precious, half formed, clueless babes.
Really, half the town is like crazed!
Full of what-evers and dandy duds like newborns
each Lilliputian pop-up a sweet meat, smoked
stoked and toked inside their saccharin selves.
Life's a gay and grodie array of colorful buggers.
A,gag me with a spoon, side show of hard candy colored covers.
Really, like jujubes shaken from raspberry doors...
So take a chill pill, a coffee toffee, a licorice bit, a vanilla sucker
and get your most excellent self
with your killer looks and like surprisingly soft center
to sweet Ole San Francisco's scene.
*internal line rhyme [not end rhyme ;)]
** 1980's Cal i forn i a English
Contest: Talk Like That
Sponsor:Craig Cornish
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Just because television is a bore
writing a poem is less a chore
I can live in a scribble where words soar
Minds that ripple the universe forevermore
Because I am envious of your style
Yours is limitless like silver smile
You are cool like a sculptured rock
Turquoise jewel of classic hip hop
Because I think too much all the time
And want your attention is that a crime
I have no privacy in my purple pages
For ink bleeds are my sacrificial sages
Because you are dark and I am light
Within our red hearts we unite
You build bridges despite dilemma and frown
You lift others up when they are down
Because you've been hungry you feed others
Because not for religion but for the brothers
You march to the beat of your own drum
Because you do others are inspired to come
You think outside the box
You were born from classic rock
Because there is music in your walk
We all lose it when you talk
Because your words can bring peace
Like black bird with a song to sing
Your ancestors were kings queens unique
I love your swag and black destiny
Indestructible, for Johnny Cash
by Michael R. Burch
What is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash is gone,
black from his hair to his bootheels.
Can a man out-endure mountains’ stone
if his songs lift us closer to heaven?
Can the steel in his voice vibrate on
till his words are our manna and leaven?
Then sing, all you mountains of stone,
with the rasp of his voice, and the gravel.
Let the twang of thumbed steel lead us home
through these weary dark ways all men travel.
For what is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash lives on?
black from his hair to his bootheels.
Originally published by Strong Verse. When I was a teenager Johnny Cash used to pop into the Nashville McDonald’s where I worked to buy burgers after the Grand Ole Opry let out. True to his nickname, the Man in Black always dressed in black. I think he’s as immortal now as human beings can become, since someone will be singing songs he wrote and and recorded till the end of time.
Music Trivia: Johnny Cash wrote "I Walk the Line" in 1956. This song, in which he vowed to be faithful to his wife, became his signature song. But seven years later Cash recorded "Ring of Fire," a song about the scorching love affair that caused him to leave his wife for June Carter of the famous singing Carter family. (Ironically, the Carters’ signature song was the gospel classic “Will the Circle Be Unbroken.” Apparently not the one symbolized by Johnny Cash’s wedding ring!) June Carter wrote "Ring of Fire" with Merle Kilgore. Johnny Cash had a dream in which he was singing the song with mariachi horns in the background, which was how he recorded his version of the song.
Keywords/Tags: Johnny Cash, black, hair, clothes, boots, voice, rasp, gravel, steel, guitar, songs, singing, music, mountains, stone, heaven, manna, leaven , country music, folk music, American, Americana, USA, folklore, folk, lore
She had small almond eyes
A smile so bright so shine
Emerging inwardly out
Sensitive spirit what's up she was about
And earnestly
This behooves me
She's a classic
A genuine old soul
Who Grace is has been here before
She's somebody daughter
No she never been nobody's son
Oh! But brother you best not mess with her you best better flee
you better run
She had thoughts of Camilot and Camaroon
She dressed to the nine and sevens too
Just a plain ole Jane yet she is if somebody's daughter
Such a sensitive spirit what's up she was devout
You couldn't just talk nice to her you had to shout
She's somebody's Daughter no shame never been nobody's son oh but love you that's not mess with her because you see She carries a concealed gun
3/19/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
Classy Chassis
Rusted and Busted
I was a classic beauty at my time
Eyes of envy upon me at the time
My body and chrome spit shine
My windows reflected the world’s soul and mind
My sweet smelling leather seats you’d climb
And place your bare legs, feet on the dash
Driving me down Main Street with a sudden lash
Rusted and Busted
Abandoned and forgotten
I adorn
The sun kiss and the smell of rain field
Now green velvet moss conceals,
Air threads through my broken windshields
When once you sat,
The stain and smell of mildew on my crack leather seats,
Brown leaves and twigs rest on old broken springs
Nature’s home of exquisite silence yields
I think of the past and the future
A classic beauty at my time
Now
Rusted and Busted
Abandoned and forgotten
6/15/2016
Meaningless paste of feelings in this artificial path
No sympathetic moon journey to the mute heart
Your shocking tears wraps the demises in classic flu
Gluttonous earth ground now in the happiest foods flow
There comes death obituary as well as birth anniversary
But in the falcon ridge the lute stops to read in frightful prey
No great or small, no rich or poor in this whirlwind of door
Equally lose in gravitational maze of time by man made sore
For long life last evening had no prayer
But this morning healthy sun greets nature
For the shining life still safe walking in four walls
In human hands the greetings must come as hull
08.05.2020 (Chattogram City)
For lunch today my wife said,
husband, why don’t we eat out.
I said, Honey in these Covid times,
that’s not what I’m about.
You just sit back and rest your feet,
and let me worry about our lunch.
I have the perfect meal in mind,
you’re sure to love it, that’s my hunch.
So I pulled a pound of bacon from the fridge,
slapped it onto my heated griddle.
As soon as it hit the pan it started splattering,
I did a little dance to the sound of the sizzle.
I took a fresh from-the-garden tomato,
sliced it thick (the perfect way).
Toasted two slices of home-baked bread,
and covered them with mayonnaise.
Added just a shake of salt to it,
topped that with a crisp lettuce leaf.
Four slices of brown (but not crunchy) bacon,
makes a sandwich that goes beyond belief.
Once it was all stacked together,
I sliced it at an angle from bottom to top.
Add some BBQ Lays potato chips,
and a glass of ice-cold soda pop.
If you’ve never had one before,
there’s nothing better to satisfy your taste.
Fix up a good ole classic BLT sandwich,
trust me, there’ll be nothing left to waste.
Some say the best part of it all,
and I agree with them I must say.
Your house will smell all bacon-ey,
for the rest of the day.