Long Cohen Poems
Long Cohen Poems. Below are the most popular long Cohen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cohen poems by poem length and keyword.
An unsavory man from Montreal
squatted in dim lit cafes
writing of the pain of love
a charlatan
he was the darker lovely dove
he inhaled the smoke of Satan
he sang to the devils army
purist of evil
his grave a urinal
to be used, over and over
his words knelt like prayers
and rose like knives.
Thinning morals
he possesses zero virtue
just a shadow
of the fires down below
he sings for the child killers
the thieves and robbers of the land
he chants of love, he means rape
for those not of his blend
his wishes burnt under
hidden flames of hostility
He may dress in rags
he may play the victim
in the end though
he will burn your flesh
a sacrifice
then he will call you his fool
he sang for genocide
not for the goyim half wit
Dead, he is dead
angels he will never see
At dusk, a brilliant western panorama
displayed off our seventh floor balcony.
Fluorescent colors, clouds of fuchsia, amber,
yummy yellow golden glazes across the sky.
So spectacularly spanning sentient space
a show of shows of unearthly grace.
Looming large clouds block the final moments
of light, tumultuous turmoils of my
little life reappear to slant the final view.
In contrast to my current mind of hope lost
for the future, the world closes in as I fell
into the despairing darkness of sleep that night
to awake in my dream to a gala porch party
on our balcony, attending was everyone,
my benefactors - Mark Twain, Martin Luther King,
Albert Einstein, Leonard Cohen, Rudyard Kipling,
Robert Frost, Maya Angelou and Dorothy Parker.
The "usuals" who would, could draw me close
but I'd have none of it, my mood morose.
Sullen, I waded disconsolate through the crowd
to the rail, reached in the basket I'd kept
for the long hemp escape rope, supple as a snake,
knotted it, put the loop around my neck
heart pounding, they gasped, chatter turned to fear.
Then a white dove flew under our canopy
and sat on Kipling's shoulder peacefully posing.
Clumsily confused, I climbed atop the railing
turned to look at the party - troubled, bereft,
speechless, said nothing, then jumped.
Oh the rushed flying feeling enthralling!
Soaring in the wind, all the while falling -
instantly, I was sorry it would all stop.
The dove descending on me caught my gaze
an iconic spiritual symbol that allured.
Through the dove's eyes I saw the party leaning,
a taut rope, a body swinging below.
Startled from dour slumber, back in my bed;
no breath, panting, panicked, tears trickling,
my wife up to hug me, save me from myself.
Shaken, I knew just exactly what to do
quickly to the balcony, opened the rope basket
to find all in place, then I noticed my hands,
palms bleeding, rope burned and raw,
pinned to my nightshirt was a piece of paper,
on it was this poem that I'd never written.
Bleary beyond belief, a surge force welled up,
a dove flies into the dawn sky bursting new light -
the otherness released finally from within.
I felt new found freedom from dream depths -
reborn, awake with renewed hope,
that memorable morning on the seventh floor.
Written By: D. Collins 3/4/19
A timeline and testimony can bring anyone down.
Even those who seem to think they wear a crown.
Bring in the money man and get him to flip.
Corroborate it with that Michael Cohen ****.
Think back to WikiLeaks and Trump's major speech.
He had a major announcement he'd spill next week.
Then he postponed it indefinitely.
Because he jumped out in front of WikiLeaks.
That's diarrhea of the mouth you can't take back.
When timeline and testimony line up with the facts.
As far as I'm concerned, there is no discussion.
We will find tax, bank, and insurance corruption.
It will start at the top, and trickle down to the kids.
All will be accountable for what they did.
Timeline and testimony is what Mueller already has.
While the SDNY is preparing to tax that ass.
Because you’re a poet, that’s why
Behind the thick crimson and gold thread curtains
he stands listening to the din of the audience
searching their seats for popcorn crumbs
while roaming hands brush against the legs
of those sitting closest
The young girls get the winks
and free drinks as the old men
vie for position, straightening their hair
and flashing thick wallets
from stretched out back pockets
He peeks through the slit in the
fancy brocade drapes to find a full house,
everyone is here, the self imposed mayor
wearing a handmade campaign button
shakes hands and seeks signatures
Mrs. Broadmore assigns seats in her row
as the little people gather around, telling her
how beautiful she is while hoping for a glimpse
of the diamond crusted gin filled flask she keeps
tucked away in her left garter
The lights dim as the depressed sulk to their seats in the balcony,
broken hearts fill the back rows closest to the bar,
cheerleaders in pink lipstick and short skirts, the football team
all stoned out of their minds and the debate club collect in the center
while the pretty people, the wealthy pose in the front rows
He gets the signal as the curtain slowly lifts
to the ceiling on well oiled pulleys
There is not a sound as he makes his way
to the microphone at center stage, dead silence
but he reads his poem anyway
It is obvious he is no Leonard Cohen
but he does his best as he recites the verses
he has penned especially for this evening
Upon finishing he stares out as two people
clap their approval and the others whisper and look away
His shoulders drop as he leaves the stage,
head hung low, crumbling the paper he had read from
and tossing it in the trash as he wonders aloud, “Why, why do I do it?”
A janitor sweeping near the exit door hears him
and shaking his head replies, “Because you’re a poet, that’s why”
I reposted this poem because……..I like this one. : )
The Charcoal Man; Part Two
She went as silent as a night with petrified crickets. It blinked. Then before any of us could comprehend what was going on it swiftly grabbed her by the arm and pulled. She dropped the chalk from the other hand, her tense body hitting the board.
The sound was as harsh as getting a dozen rocks stuck inbetween a lawnmower blade. The pressure from the pulling seemed to have stopped. ''Is the worst over?'' I thought to myself. I must've thought too soon, because as she turned towards us blood poured accross the room like a Jackson Pollick. She mustered up what seemed like a faint squeak saying; ''Help me.''
Right as she finished her sentence we all saw two hands this time emerge from the doorway and grabbed her by both sides of the waist and propelled the woman out of this realm. Ripping her in half from the velocity. We all saw an ominous new world before us through this doorway.
The thing didn't stop there though, it slowly brought back it's bloody hands and opened them up to reveal the entire class. The thing had no face, no nose, no muscles. Yet, just decapitated a grown woman like a pretzel. It's teeth were enormous, it's smile becoming greater with each child it saw before itself with its red glowing eyes.
Cohen and i tried to nope it out of there, but it snapped its fingers and the door locked. ''Bro we're screwed, I don't wanna die in front of you after a scream like that!'' Said Cohen.
We're not gunna die alongside that deadbeat teacher i'll tell you that much, I said. So without saying a word I bolted for the windows and went straight through, like a hollywood movie smashing sugar glass. Cohen ran too but decided to grab the chalk first before jumping awkwardly over the hole i had just made in the window.
As soon as he did i heard another *SNAP*. In an instant the windows had cast iron bars to block the others students off. The glass mustn't have been sugar glass however, because a shard went straight through my calf and I could barely move...
The horrors we saw next as the chalk board opened completely and the Charcoal Man emerged, will haunt us for the rest of our lives. We had never seen a classroom re-painted entirely red in that of thirty seconds.
*To the tune of "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen
I've heard there is a secret floor
That's locked behind your attic door.
But you don't really want to show me, do you?
You keep her there,
A ghost, a fiend -
An angry beast that taunts unseen.
The crazy wife who wants to burn your house down.
You have Bertha in your attic
You have Bertha in your attic
My love was strong, so I needed proof
That she was jailed beneath your roof.
She showed up in the moonlight to betray you.
She lit the flames, she left you there
To choke on smoke and fight the flare.
The crazy wife who tried to burn your house down.
You have Bertha in your attic
You have Bertha in your attic
Edward, I've been hurt before.
I've been condemned, I've been ignored.
I used to feel alone before I knew you.
I've seen her face through the attic door.
I've heard her wails through the attic floor.
The crazy wife who tried to burn your house down.
You have Bertha in your attic
You have Bertha in your attic
There was a time when you let me know
The truth about your scheming show.
But now you wish you'd never told me, don't you?
And remember when she stalked my room
Searching for her cheating groom?
The crazy wife who tried to burn your house down.
You have Bertha in your attic
You have Bertha in your attic
You have Bertha in your attic
You have Bertha in your attic
*Based (lovingly and jokingly) on the story of "Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Brontë
Along a winding weaving road
with trees now half past tall
A rooster sits atop his perch
to sing his morning call
But there upon a twisted branch
behind the barnyard fence
A creature sits and lies in wait
at everyone’s expense
With feathers black, a beak of gold
and claws to hold on tight
I’ve never seen his like before
It’s such an awful sight
I did my best ignoring him
but oh those beady eyes
They followed every move I made,
my fear I can’t disguise
When then I heard a scratchy voice
like echoes in the field
or nails upon a blackboard dragged,
that awful sound they yield
“I hear you are a poet sir,
let’s have a verse or two”
I just kept walking right on past,
I’ve many things to do
“Like Shakespeare or that Cohen guy,
I’m told you are so good
Come on recite a stanza now,
I really wish you would”
“I never mentioned poetry,
I never said a word
I don’t know where your facts come from
or anything you’ve heard”
“You said you were a poet sir
I know that’s what you said
The words you spoke the other day
they rattle in my head”
“No such thing was mentioned here
Why do you spread such lies
Just leave me be and fly on off
to someone else’s skies”
I started running down the path
but he just flapped his wings
Pecking at my shoulders bare
and many other things
I ran, I fell, I skinned my knee
He laughed and wore a smile
“You can’t fool me, I know your type,
I recognize your style”
“The greatest poet in the world,
there only can be one
And I am he and don’t forget,
now get along and run”
If you enjoyed this, please read part 2 for the conclusion.
What a way to begin the week,
A crystal blue sky reflected in a Mediterranean sea.
A Thousand Kisses Deep by Leonard Cohen,
The melody that is, not the words
Waft out from the speaker
Of the beach front hotel
In Port de Pollenca, Mallorca.
I'm biding my time, gazing onto the calm
With, coffee and treat.
There's nothing blue about this Monday
An unexpected moment of,
Bliss and solitude
Takes hold
Where everything is perfect
In a sometimes, imperfect world.
The trumpet players lips caress the melody
of; A Thousand Kisses Deep.
Sending out its waves onto a
Blue Mediterranean bay.
Then a text bleeps,
'Leaving in five.'
I arise, take up my bike and walk
In step and on the right note
For the day ahead.
"The Hummingbird Cake"
The day started bright -
Bright Eggshell Blue
and ended in percussion
dark and cloudy stormed in
thunder pummelled drums
against a backdrop of
bruised eggshell dijon yellow
sweating heavy sage green
spitting spoilt the swollen pride of purple,
a wet abrasion against
Electric Blue
crackling along her lips
like Lightening
Sizzled on
her bitumen
her mind
winked at you...
Splits two
into one
not three
Taken slowly
deliberately
cake digested
swallowed like swallows
nibbling freely on air
a symphony of do you see me
in a Hummingbird storm
stairs to you she stares
upwards forever upwards
at lines of ebony tied tight
words kick and spit
like a cat in heat caught up
in a hessian sack
words in a puzzle
shaken and caste
on a playing board
pure white
not black
She,
Third person,
always Third person,
listens to her own heart
and then listens to the
words you have put on
and slowly worn warm
Revisits in her evening
a conversation with an old friend
Lorikeets on the balcony
Passionfruit cake and their
beaks in honey
a day in the life of Mosman
Carmen the dancer
Blueberries and
Raspberry Banana Bread
and Gold Crested
Pterodactyl Cockatoos
commandeering her kitchen
her gangster lovers
dead ends and loose screws
The day started bright blue
Ended in a thunder clap
boiling over onto a glowing hotplate
of flying embers,
reckless kisses and an unplanned
Storm;
A piece of Hummingbird Cake
was fed through a thread
In dreams while you watched
a movie in bed
Spoken to you
through
mind cerebral
not Reality read
Poppyseed and Honey
Bees buzzing on swollen
unheard lips
that silently bled Red
Words
Meanings
Life
Read
Red
Sugar ingested,
Honey to Blue Horse Flies.
Australiana
Fed.
Sleep,
Bed.
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"Listen to the Hummingbird" / Leonard Cohen
https://youtu.be/hYIeW8bwlWQ
"Meadow" / Liam Gallagher
https://youtu.be/wHVuW7eOPNI
"Cosmic Dancer" / T.Rex
https://youtu.be/GMfjA4gyEcU
"Meadow" / Liam Gallagher, Lyrics
https://genius.com/Liam-gallagher-meadow-lyrics
I was a woke shrink, I sadly write this verse.
My patients came in bad shape, ended up worse.
Today there was Cohen, who thought he was French.
I told him either way, his privilege gave a stench.
I told him skin color made him an oppressor.
He got so upset; he jumped on my dresser.
There was Jane who when I said she was a man.
transitioned, then wanted to undo that plan.
I had told she can be any gender intersection.
But she stays in a state of permanent dejection.
Annie once hurt her head falling off a wall.
Her frantic husband first gave me the call.
I said her deranged thoughts were dealing with life's pain.
No such thing as crazy, a new way of being sane.
Hiroshi believed a film spread across the land,
His scandal on the screen, completely out of hand.
I told him he couldn't change, just accept the shame.
He committed Hara Kiri, it's me his parents blame.
Then came Gino Posca, crying like a child.
He said the Mob sprays him with drugs, the story was so wild.
I really couldn't take this tale; I was having a bad day.
I said I believed him I'd follow up straight away.
Gino was so grateful; he told all his amicos
I was wrong to strengthen his delusions, I suppose.
I drove home, increasing fear, two cars behind me all the way.
Dead bird under my mailbox, an odd whiff of skunk spray
Maybe my being woke was being asleep at the wheel.
I can't tell truth from fiction, can't go by what I feel.
Maybe all I was taught, contradicts common sense.
And who just threw that dead fish over my garden fence?