Long Condos Poems
Long Condos Poems. Below are the most popular long Condos by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Condos poems by poem length and keyword.
Condos are not Cooperatives,
he was quick to deduce,
reduce compassionate opportunity
to democratic annual voting duty.
But, both are co-investments
in residential
and/or commercial property,
preferably humane infestments
with exterior roofs
and walls
and windows
and doors
and halls
and floors,
she responded
all residual night
and most the residential day.
But who's in charge
inside my space?
And wouldn't it be nice,
she responds with grace,
If we invite each Other
to partner with We
in our cooperative journey,
as called
and able,
to invest in residents
without competing worries
Free to sing and dance,
jazz and rock
and rollerskate,
cook
and possibly clean
up outside together
Depending on the weather
Cooperatively free
to pick up the outside trashy
recycling depository
now looking kinda' nasty
Like a neglected laboratory
While we run and walk right by
feelin' fly
on our way in to organic networking gardens
with and without compost buckets
Children playing composite cooperative
deep nature
nurturing outside classroom education
Learning nonviolent communication
across multicultural demonstrations
of multigenerational cooperative intent
to reduce restrictive Othering,
Without claustrophobic smothering
of those who co-invest with us,
wild natured
and mild spirited,
in this condo place and time
where cooperative communication
is our culture,
To economically
and politically
and socially
and psychologically
and ecologically nurture,
as cooperatively desired
but never autocratically required.
Before my wife and I
Broke out of our shell
For spring break in Miami
Just the two of us on our first vacation in 30 years
All our kids wished us well
Though I detected an ache in their voices
“Next time!” one of my boys said in a farewell text
Next time, I said to myself
I’d love that, a next time
My oldest, Hannah, said she remembered a lightning storm
Raging over the evening ocean
From our beachfront condo balcony
And the Goodyear blimp
Swallowing our entire wall of windows
With its silver billow and pilots waving
Face to face
On a sunny day
To us
In the condo we had no business renting
Those long ago times when I was still Daddy
And Kerri was Mommy
Worried about footprints in the sand
And where to hide the Marlboro Light 100s
Remember them?
The good old days
When we were an octopus coordinating seven days
From sunrise to sunset
Those tiny four lives fit to the scale of our hands
I don’t think we ever quite got it right
Nudging our kids through the tide of time
Soaked in salt and sun
And their little drooping bathing suits
Throwing a red ball to the fetching gloves
Of the turquoise waves
Plastic yellow shovels and pails
Hung from their hands
Mimicking the divinity of their very flawed parents
Told them the story of when I was a kid
Down here
My mom and dad let me swim
By moonlight in the ocean
(This is the pre-Jaws era)
And when I came out of the water
A Man-O-War was wrapped around my leg
I screamed in agony all night
My mom saying, I don’t know what else to do
I don’t know what else to do Bobby
So now I remember the welts of the electric tentacles
That storm over the ocean
Dug up from Hannah’s own memory
I could see it too
My wife and kids’ huddled faces
Peeking through the curtains of clouds
The six of us
Sunburned and tired just before bed
Framed forever in that upper floor of windows
The bolts of lightning
Streaking down to the shore
Striking
The turtle shell of the tumultuous sea.
Chicken Chuck Chiggers chose chances of Chow
Changing curly curd curiosities that happened now
Clamping clogging cleats, classifying clones of mad cow
Colorado’s colorful colonists commanding condos of wow
Crusty cramped crullers creeping in craggy crevasses so
Crispy cartooned crestfallen consonants following below
Caroling cartons carefully consternating as catfish grow
Christmas card carolers confusing craggy-topped snow.
Confusing collars commanding colorized classification
Creating confident compact colonel’s consternation
Colliding converse comparisons in curious colorization
Commanding calendars corduroy in cellophane colonization
Back in the day music was good.
We enjoyed ourself no matter what part of town.
From the shotguns, to the high-rises.
The urge that instantly becomes testimonial.
Immediately we'd feel better soon as the music plays.
We'd forget everything else.
Like millions of feet echoing through our ears.
Our body reacts.
The experience of true euphoria when the music takes over.
Suddenly the load doesn't seem so heavy.
From the condos to the slums.
The mark of an era.
Going on down the road.
Nothing to do but walk.
Strut your strut.
The struggle to be free.
The stratosphere doesn't seem all so far.
The absolute rule of thumb.
Coming alive blowing out the dust,
The relationship between artist to listener.
To welcome birth.
The experience of it all.
Nothing but the road in front.
Strutting along.
Living, breathing.
To enjoy yourself no matter what part of town.
From projects to burb.
To step off the curb leave work behind.
Dance the block.
Clocking out.
Stepping to life.
Some of the best memories ever
Scientists describe it as an event
In the hot paradise of Key West
Condos festivals hotels
Dancing feet under bells of lights
I’ve sung Margaritaville there
Myself
Beneath the docks
Pan fish spin in the new green pea sea
Mad somersaults
Alone
To their own kind of tambourine
Bring out your Dead
Bring out your Dead
14-foot Swordfish swish their tails
Beach themselves by the dawn of rails
Swim in the sandpaper sun’s preferable agony
A woman stands by cries and mutters
“I’m so sorry”
Reaches for his folded-over fin
Comfort to the roadside beggar
Sting Ray does the butterfly
Chops atop the ocean’s surface
Charges something unseen beating its wings
Battering the space where waves dot the sky
As if it were an archangel screaming
Stop it! Stop It!
To the Great False Prophet Anthropomorphism
Animals and plants are as human
As we
Without fingers and hands to see
All creatures speak from a conscience
Possess morals
If we’d listen from beyond our own shortcomings
And denial
The Key West fish are calling us
In plain language
Help us help us
We’re boiling to death.
When dark clouds collide and
thunder erupts in shaken stares,
rains fall on unrelenting sorrows
along bramble thorn threads,
screaming leaves crash
into a frozen ground
of broken branches
and disgraced smiles . . .
as cardboard condos
dot the litter strewn landscape
and graffiti drips
in tobacco stained puddles
at the feet of those
standing in an endless line
for bits and scraps
of the life they once knew . . .
while sons and daughters
face the monsters drugged
by beliefs conjured
on sand blasted battlefields
and bibles of their own deciphering,
bridging the elongated gaps
between lies and promises by those
disguised in designer pantsuits
with fingers crossed
behind their backs . . .
and children have secrets thrust
upon them through filthy fingernails
hiding under bed frames
of rusted iron and disgusting touches,
silenced by the horror
of squeaking hinges
and foot steps in the hall,
crying for mothers who don’t believe . . .
the tears of a poet will be revealed,
bleeding through the page
The Phoenix Column was invented
And patented in 1862 by Samuel Reeves,
Vice President of Phoenix Iron Works.
It consisted of sections of rolled,
Flanged wrought iron, riveted together,
Creating a hollow structural column
That was lightweight, but strong.
It enabled the Phoenix Bridge Company,
An affiliate of Phoenix Iron Works,
To design structures that set world records
For vertical height and distance spanned.
They built Phoenix Column bridges, trestles, and such
All over the United States and all over the world.
Until the day they didn’t anymore.
Eventually, everything changes.
The Phoenix column was made obsolete
By the steel I-beam, which is easier,
And cheaper to manufacture.
Foreign competition took its toll.
Phoenix Bridge Company and Phoenix Iron Works
Both went out of business.
Condos now fill the space where
The open hearths and rolling mills once stood.
But the history remains.
And I consider the fact, with no small sense of irony,
That I compare myself to a Phoenix Column.
I'm lightweight and strong, but hollow inside,
And well along to being obsolete.
mountains and valleys, cold streams and tall trees,
corn fields and farm lands, black crows and young bees,
green grass and sun flowers, black bears and ground hogs,
chickens and ducklings, young cats and old dogs,
all of them sharing, this land of plenty, along with the whole human race,
we’re changing the earth, for better we say, but what we are doing, is changing it’s face,
condos are rising, factories spreading, water’s polluted,
progress we’re saying, but in the end, we’re all deluded,
microwave ovens, gas guzzling cars, cellular phones,
making life easier, even the killing, is now done with drones,
to think mother nature, will stand by and see,
her face being changed, to such a degree,
the future will see, the condos have crumbled, sky scrapers tumbled,
we’ll then realize, to mother nature, we’ll all be humbled.
Oval
Orange speckled rock
As large as a giant dinosaur egg
Sat in the scratchy field out back
Of our lakeside A-Frame cottage
Next to McLaughlin’s orchard of cherries
Where honeybees are fanned to clover fields
And Torch Lake swings below
From the corners of the hills
Like a hammock spilling of sapphires.
I suppose this giant rock had rolled for millennia
In the blue pouch of a Great Lakes glacier
Before dropping with a thud and a scar
Right here
Warmed in the sun for another 20,000 years
Unhatched unmoved even an inch
After travelling for hundreds of excruciating miles.
I climbed atop this rock as a thin teenager
Cartoon lizard drawn from the crayon of sun
Chest hard
Hair long and curly
Tongue sharp as an elbow
I must have strummed
A hundred thousand chords from my Washburn guitar
Atop that rock
Trying to find the perfect melody
About sex and forever.
I loved a Florida girl named Wendy
Who read her Harlequin
And whistled tunes to REO Speedwagon.
She read my poems over and over
Folding them in her bikini.
Upon my surprise visit today
With my feet clamped in their wing-tipped shoes
And a dick tucked away more like an after thought
The A-Frame is plowed under
Those fields are stacked with empty condos
Honey bees a legend
But Torch Lake remains painted with tall blue sky
The rock still unhatched next to it
Waiting
After all my few years
A lean
Of my shoulder into its unmovable ache
I step from the land
I slide into the lake.
Santa and Dasher had a quiet talk in the glen
They discussed the elf situation, and the presents so thin.
I do not have to get paid this year, Dasher admitted.
I have condos and townhouses, and my monies well fitted.
That would not be fair, Santa told his generous reindeer.
I could not accept such charity; though your intent is clear.
The other reindeer have investments and wealth plenty I bet.
We’ll donate our salaries to help you make all toys you can get.
The elves were on board, and said pay us in cookies, not money.
Mrs. Claus said “They are wanting to do this. Let’s let them, Honey.”
Santa had forgotten how wonderful the feeling of giving can be.
Finally, he said yes, giving a healthy thanks for their generosity.