Long Coast Poems
Long Coast Poems. Below are the most popular long Coast by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coast poems by poem length and keyword.
It was a single loving light
That came from a fight
Nowhere in sight
Was there a defending knight
A very sporting miss
Dropping her guard during an emotional kiss
He was a guy
With a faithful image, no lie
It was one thing or another
And not ready to be a mother
Separating the two
No longer saying ‘I love you’
Instead “we are through”
Headed to the other coast
She did post
On her web page
Writing a message of rage
When things calmed down
Wanting to stay tone and brown
She sat on a towel
Listening to the waves howl
A figure emerged from the water
Looking to respect daddy’s daughter
Sandy blonde curl
Flirted with her
Being a Gidget girl
Wanting to twirl
A fantasy in the mind
Definitely worthy of her time
In a minute she decided to explore
Wondering if this tease was anything more
As nature fingered its way
Her voice silent, nothing to say
He gazed into her eyes
And expected, not a surprise
A salty mist
Wiping off both from the single’s list
Oblivious when the calendars flip
Building trust every time they touched each other’s lips
Then he did propose
Giving her a ring and a rose
A wedding under the cross
Later a garter tossed
If there is a broken heart
Pick up the chips, make a new start
Throw out a line
Do not care if it is declined
Discard those delusional magical potions
Since love can illuminate appearing from any ocean
(Snaps fingers rhythmically, leans into the mic)
Ninety. X. Underground/ The hiss of the tape, a constant companion/
Atmospheric pressure, a concrete room, sweat slicked on foreheads, illuminated by a single bulb. These 90's beats… a pulse/
A heartbeat of asphalt jungles. Slick rhymes slithered, a venomous elegance, feeding the bumpin' heads, the Hip Hop heartbeats/
DoggyStyle in the mix, echoes of Snoop, keeping Real Rap alive… in the basement, in the shadows/
Lo-fi grain scratching soul into the speakers, Dope rapping painting murals on the silence?, Gotta keep it underground/
That's the code/ Sampling tech/ Whispers of possibility/. Heated competition… for mixtape supremacy, a coveted breath of airplay, a battle for relevance/
West Coast Wars simmered… then boiled over/ 2Pac. Biggie/ Their deaths… a seismic tremor/ cracking the concrete foundation/
The South rose… a phoenix from the ashes, Notorious. Gang Starr. Three 6 Mafia. De La Soul. Gravediggaz? Deeply rooted enough to call ourselves underground and enough to have to recognize false-friendly-face quasi-liberal racism/
That dazed reflection simmering towards annoyance and agony/ A panic attack set off Booyah! The shout of victory, fleeting Audi 5000… the escape route, always in the back of your mind/
Chickenhead… a distraction, a flash of skin in the darkness/ Def… the purest compliment, earned, not given/
Hoochie Mama… a simplification, a reduction, a challenge? We were Breaking Atoms (1991) by Main Source, building worlds from the wreckage of life/ calling out to legends in the dark. Because underground… is where the real art breathes. (Mic Drop)
Stand under the proscenium arch
Listen to show tunes till doomsday comes
Dawn with the songs of ever lasting darkness
Tap dance your last dance on Broadway
Burn the last lime light down
Take midnight with you
Pay no tolls until you are told to
When leaving New York City
Buy a Hybrid Prius on the road
Equipped with liberal intentions
With a west coast radio and global warming controls
With a turn signal leaning left
Place your index finger and thumb on it
Push down until you get to somewhere rainy
Stop!
Think before you start
Follow signs to California
Wait for a fault line crack to appear
Watch it become a Democrat
Move gently and friendly towards green
Hug a tree for me
Never become an old white man
Elect some one young with hair
Avoid bald spots at all cost
And railroad Catholic crossings
Register as a Liberal
Turn on CNN
Read the New York Times
Just stop! ….. I'm getting car sick
Let me out
Time well spent is behind you
Who needs a mind when you own a Prius
In the shadows of the city, where the beats collide,
90’s underground, raw and bona fide,
Biggie’s flow, Tupac’s fire, blasting through my mind,
Graffiti on the walls, stories left behind.
Gritty streets, heavy bass, drums hit like a punch,
Respect the roots, the essence, the lyrical crunch,
Pure and independent, underrated and true,
This is dope times ten, nothing else will do.
From West Coast G-Funk to East Coast grind,
Every lyric a gem, every rhyme defined,
Chopped samples, stories woven tight,
Hip-hop’s heartbeat, alive in the night.
The Last Poets, Black Panthers, voices of the past,
Echo in the rhythm, built to last,
Raw, gritty, nostalgic, a head-nodding trance,
In the underground’s embrace, we dance.
Heavy gratitude for the real, the raw,
Mad beats, heavy truths, the soul’s in awe,
This is the sound of the streets, unfiltered and bold,
90’s underground, forever gold.
No time to write a sonnet
Tip of my tongue not rehearsed
Might be time spent useless
But that’s ok here’s the verse
In the water you set me free
How can i forget
Sins forgiven once for all
Atonement you had met
You hung dry and nailed up there
That I cannot repay
Unmerited favor on me
What more can i say?
I do not deserve that gift
Gratitude extends beyond
You have bridged the abyss
And grabbed me from despond
I struggle to make you known
To those who need you most
From the suburbs and outside
The city to the beaches coast
Fear of man is a deadly snare
This I know is such
I try to give you my best
But still I lose the touch
Scared that I will not be
Able to finish this race
Started strong and fast
But now can't keep a pace
How can I keep up?
Doubted all my life
And support the kids?
And inspire my wife?
Still believe what I said
I'll follow you for sure
Fallen down to much
Which leaves me insecure
Did not know how hard
To live right and repent
Still trying to figure out
Just why you were sent
Worries and pleasures come
I’m tangled up in thorns
Doubt my salvation took
Was I really “reborn”
Can you heal my disease
A doctor for the soul
As these years pass by
My heart is a dark hole
Deep insecurity
That I cannot shed
Stricken with sensitivity
And stuff inside my head
Slave to what master’s me
I haven’t any to blame
Setbacks trample me
My disgrace and shame
Use a broken tool?
To honor your crown?
A corrupt fool?
One who’s been beat down?
No more running from you
Again same old song
Where can I go?
Back to you where I belong!
Hearing of you I’m terrified
But is also bitter sweet
Need more grace and comfort
Trembling at your feet
How did the ancients do it?
With discouragement and fear
How did they stay faithful?
Knowing that death was near
Sometimes I can’t see at all
Wonder if your close
Sometimes I feel you are gone
When I need you the most
I request that you would walk
With me throughout my day
Please come and fight for me
Hurry don’t delay
I know your voice again declares
“Just follow and obey.”
“Remember that I’m the potter,
And you are just the clay.”
By:beardedJarhead
Whether the weather
necessitates to anchor
myself as a tether
when the frankenstorm
socks the east coast
shredding terrestrial
zone like soft leather
i may end up attired
in esprit de corpse
being tossed hither and yon
to and fro like a feather.
If...the forecast imbues
meteorologists flooded with folly
making a mockery
of humanity run amuck
in panic mode - by golly
this mortal male will don himself as
"the chief garbage" taster
with a garland of holly
shuffling along the
boulevard of broken
tin cans and rubbish
feigning to be melancholy.
This getup a throw
back to a costume
adorned this papa when
he attended grade school
eons ago, where corporal punishment
prevailed in case
student disavowed any rule
such as smoking in the boys' room
cigarette such
manufactured by Kent or kool
or lambasting any unlikable teacher,
(whose bookish face) at
receiving end of
pranks rather cruel.
So...presume that Halloween
will take place without any axe
of nature to grind monster
brewing at sea
and picture this poet decked
out dumpster diving
for the most fetid trash
and materiel with cracks
to be affixed upon
a heavy duty sack
with goop from
sullied foodstuffs -
a cause for glee
rotten meat infested
with maggots, shards of glass,
crushed metal cans,
et cetera to the max
will be haphazardly splayed
(Jackson Pollack like)
on this sturdy cloth
that will drape me
spurring a conga like of hungry beasts
ready go pounce – menacing
ferocious wolf packs
adding to the welter per helter skelter
of decayed detritus distributed
from head to knee
and a set of punishing
pronged antlers spiking out
in all directions upon
ma noggin-hence to tax
utmost fear in passersby, and quite
an abominable sight to see.
the sea winds calling
calling beach tides thrilling
thrilling woodlands for hiking
hiking along streams vibrant
vibrant wildlife still sprawling
sprawling plant life enthralling
enthralling cobble streets for strolling
strolling perfection in a New England town ~~
a New England town of actual living sounds -
sounds like I should permanently settle down:
Leading a simple life are solid folk.
Many fish the sea for their living.
In city life, they would be slowpokes,
but here time is for deep breathing.
Old lighthouses dot an idyllic coast
and fishing boats fill the scenic harbors.
There’s shellfish aplenty for dining ardor.
Many inns are old homes of lace and charm,
reminiscent of America’s youth.
There are old horse bridges and farms
built when pride was America’s truth.
There is much history to relish
and nature that stirs one zealous.
New England is the good life embellished
and an address that I would cherish.
Beautiful Siren from a distant sea
Doctor Donovan wrote of their Mastery
Aquatic, seduction enchants me…
Merman disguised the Light in his eyes
Sang the songs that a heart finds nice
Extending a hand he unraveled his web
And my sister was there after her death
“Wana ride?” was the question he mimed
And I, tempted by his suggestive rhyme
Never hesitated, to enter his mind.
Past the coffee stained collar, I climbed.
Tracing races and faces in the wind
One thousand and One nights I’d spend
Immortal and naked on the ocean
Towers of power in the robes of men
Lighting the coast to see sailors home
Nixie was the name my mother mentioned
And Trixie was the dame
...who bore little attention
The Merrow of the story, is in me.
.... The Scotch is vertical, and I’m a She.Alba….
Merlin, can you see the sight in my eYes?
Form:
With Thanks they spoke of the endearing
and restorating power
of togetherness.
Even in doubt when people wish those chores and tasks done
they will unite
to see things done.
One fella told a story of birds: he said
that for a thosand years
seagulls floew from the west coast of a certain
conteint, to an underground cave in the desert.
They bought oysters and large clams
in stack them in the cavern.
Billions and Billions of seashells
stacked with perfection
miles and miles of shell beneath the surface.
He used this example to unite. He used this example
to draw the attention to the need.
Upon the fish of his speech
he said " with hope we unite that those things in Godspeed
will show a future the need for togetherness!"
She rooled the window down on one fridgit night.
And waved across the yard to her neighbor.
She tied the folds of the long
draping curtain, to drop the shade before she
sat for dinner.
Her neighbor feeling her attempt to be neighborly
came over. First she rapped upon the window and
walked around to the door. When the door opened
she was invited in to supper.
Don't mind me, not wishing the supper to be ruined,
take a go at the piano,Ranchalle has his trumpet
and Stoakie has his guitar,
their are enough voices here
to stirr-up some harmony or
a tune or something.
Those who envy us will wish there were here tonight!
This weekend was never planned
thinking back now it's quite unique
that we would cross every border
in the UK's boundaries never did seek
We came home on that Friday
from a week's holiday in Portrush
having enjoyed being in Northern Ireland
making memories not feeling flush
On the Saturday at home again
getting ready for our next trip
Scotland is the place we love best
despite our travels home's our ship
Although moved by a friend's sad passing
next, our travels take us to Wales
leave on Sunday to Wrexham bound
for Monday's funeral that drew down the vale
Tuesday left for England's west coast
to our favorite spot at lovely Southport
covering the U.K. on a weekend
now Friday leave for our home fort
(This weekend piece tells of us covering Northern Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and England in late April/early May weekend. )