Long Coos Poems
Long Coos Poems. Below are the most popular long Coos by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coos poems by poem length and keyword.
Dawn Forever Rising
It starts
Street lights fade
their tiny soft-winged tenants flee
checkerboard facades change
last night's illumined squares now dark
become but yesterday's portals
some polished
some weather streaked
all reaching to reflect first breath
Steam ascends from the city's vacuum
gratings rattle with subterranean yawning
people-movers wind their way
through mazes of starts
stops
Topside tracks
like fixed contrails
glisten with frost
not yet enjoined by speeding transit
their skeletal tributaries
readying the trickle of humanity
into a mass ocean of glass and steel survival
Uptown
Downtown
A street sweeper's tire rubber and swirling brushes
beneath the overalled believer in Lottos
holding firm the wheel and gears of faith
of trust
gathering gutter-lodged disposal
glass and plastic
paper and cardboard
spinning into the vortex
lifting yesterday's careless cast-offs
inviting today's Starbuck anew
reflections of another kind
Leashes strain from anxious sniffing
bladders hold
ready to burst
seeking just the right tree
the right hydrant
the "ah, yes" that only a canine can know
Rays of sun begin spilling down alleyways
the long-tail rodents scamper for cover
their bellies full
seeking safety after a long night of ancient ritual
food of anything
digestion of history
all in a night's work
Suddenly
Full light cascades down avenues and streets
itinerant pigeons and seagulls spread habitual wings
ready to adore the steadies
the loners
park walkers
window ledge dependables
homeless with dance cards of crumbs
envying the moneyed insomniacs throwing chunks
baguettes gone stale
fit for few
a feast for many
senses loving the coos and warbles
the bobbing thank you
the reciprocal bonding
few but the lonely can appreciate
Finally
The steel and glass imitation of nature
comes fully alive
a sun's illumination without reserve
energy's provision for another day
Rich mix with the poor
money exchanges hands
the hotdog vendor
the hedge fund taker
the cookie jar provider
Most become tomorrow's yesterday
knowing little of the other light
requiring no rising or setting
illumination that never grows dim
something as nothing
forever light
never of darkness
Such for some
awakens from a New York sunrise
this dichotomy like no other
forever reminding
our eyes of dawn
one's inner light
is forever rising
Toy collector:
He holds the bear gently in his old wrinkled hands as he gazes into its kind beaded eyes. The toy collector sees love lined in its double stitches and his childhood in the busted toys smile.
There stitched in black thread he can hear the sound of a child laughter, happiness, and growth reviving his memory of youth, like a jolt of life to an empty vein.
The years have passed freely, almost fleeting by. He had no more time to play in grassy school yards or hide from girls wearing satin dress, he had to grow up. The boy eventually turned into a man and was forced to pack away his toys regrettably into a wooden box.
There they sat in the attic awaiting the return of their beloved friend while he aged slowly into an adult.
High school came and went, college, even marriage but unfortunately he was never blessed with his own child. No one to share in the lined pleats of his own childhood. All of this he now recognizes in the bears sandy eyes.
The toy collector hands his most prized procession to his wife, a dazed look covering his forlorn face.
She takes his withered hand and speaks gently in his ear.
“All the memories in the world could never replace the love between a man and his bear.”
“Yes, but even the toy collector eventually grows to old and must let go.”
He replies in woe.
His thin lips force a smile as he repacks the boxes that escaped him long ago and in the early morn of the next day he patently sits alone outside for a bus to come.
The driver honks her horn and greats him with a warming smile.
“Are all of these toys for our orphanage?”
The toy collector regrettably nods.
“Things have been pretty rough but this will surly lift there sprits up.”
She confesses as she gently grabs a random box.
As she stacks them one by on into the now cluttered van his bear falls onto the pavement below.
Unable to pick it up he wrinkles his brow with great sadness.
Suddenly the passenger door opens revealing the face of a young girl and as she draws near she extends her hand and clutches the bear.
“Did you find a friend little Lou?”
His heart melts as she kisses the teddy gently then smiles.
“thank you.”
The child coos softly.
The toy collector lives in the toys he collects, but the man lives forever in the bear the child now possesses.
I Am...
Calvin L. Genereux
I am an infant...
The world around me is full of joys,
Bigger ones like me make funny sounds
And faces to amuse me.
Every moment is an adventure,
I learn colours an words but
Only one thing stands out.
Mommy...
Today she holds my hand as
I take step after step.
I stumble at first but she is there,
She supports me and coos encouragement
As I take baby steps into the world.
I am a child...
The world changes around me now,
I realize that I can't simply
Complain to get my way anymore.
People still make a fuss over me;
Over how handsome I look or
How much I have grown up.
And still once constant remains.
Mom...
Today she holds my hands again as
I step into a new threshold; School.
I sob and plea but she assures me
That everything will be okay
As I take baby steps into the door.
I am a tween...
I hate the label the world gave us,
No longer a child I am often asked
To act my age by those older.
I have learned so much,
Always learning new things from
All of the people around me.
But now only one thing is certain;
Change...
My body changes and I feel new things,
To my friends I am much the same
But at the same time oh so different.
I put on a facade to please them
But never let my true feelings show,
As I step into a web of lies and deception.
I am a teen...
I have experienced many thing,
I've had people die and felt
The crushing pain of loss.
I've learned oh so much,
I have felt true love and
Worked at banishing my greatest enemy;
Fear...
I will be going out on a date tonight,
I really love the person I am going out with
But am afraid to hold his hand in public.
When he kisses me it reassures me,
As I take my first steps out of the closet.
I am a man...
I no longer fear difference or change,
I no longer have to worry about
What other people will think of me.
I have become successful in life,
I am with my true love and have gained
The acceptance of the only person who mattered;
Mother...
Today is my wedding day,
My mom walks me proudly with
Tears in her eyes to the man I love.
The world is not a forgiving place,
We have to learn to get over our fear and live our lives.
As I take a great leap forward with my love.
Mama says this is where
I was born on a stormy night
the benignant horn was where
she'd paused to breathe and reside
The bounteous hollow took her in
and echoed my cries and coos
spiralling down the springs
to protect me as if I were Zeus
I slide along the spirals
to quench my itching thirst
a joyous melody in the hollow
and palatable unceasing food
When it rains we glide to be dry
it shields us from the biting frost
when it snows and humans sing
of the ballads of festive days
At nights I crawl and climb
to the window of that horn
and watch the lavender starry sky
she recites stories of distant worlds
Sweet symphonies of chirping birds
wake me up on fragrant mornings
at times I step outside the door
to wander in some nearby forest
"Do you stay inside that cornucopia?"
A giant cub questioned me one day
I looked at Mama with my little black eyes
and wished to know the same
"Honey, this is our humble dwelling
that nurtures us, protects us, loves us
as if this was the great destiny
of a humble horn of spirals
This is our door to a beautiful heaven
with aromatic clouds and winged doors
this will be the blissful abode of tiny beetles
who lived happily in a divine cornucopia"
9th May 2020
For Cornucopia Poetry Contest
Sponsored By: Kai Michael Neumann
Premiere Contest Winner: First Place
BRIAN'S CHOICE 10,any form,any theme Contest
Winner: Honorable Mention
In a vehicle, once more this month. Though not going as far as the palm trees, my stomach’s lurching left and right. The baby’s alright! He coos from time to time as we weave through lovely soil and vines. My cousin with his bawdy jokes, his wife with eyes like gears, up to the roof of the party van. The pulley of emotions in full range, the laughter and tunes fogging up the window panes.
We’ve been here before, though time changes the “whos.” Dad’s still with us and enjoying beers and grins with the menfolk. Still, I find I stick by his side. This has been so, since Mom died. There is a rhythm and flow to this.
We head up into the mountains of Georgia. I can’t tell you where we’ve been except for the one sign I see out the window. It says “White County” and “Courthouse Museum.” That two-tone image, a bit scary!
Bumping along, drinking soda; and polka, the choice of my Dyngus Day-relations. Holding onto my tummy, closing my eyes on this first leg.
The sight of vines, pruned and neat. Almost to our first stop. Let me out…let me out. Makes us want to shout. The driver of the vehicle is not a stranger. My brother-in-law’s a limo driver. Picks up some big names, but of that part of his life, we can’t participate…who cares. We hear a few stories. How sweet he is to drive us to wine country. Aren’t we the lucky ones. Bulbs still flash to take numerous pics and yes, many get posted, but the paparazzi cares not to follow us.
The loveliness of the day, like bulbous and sweet grapes, picked and prepared to meet our sips, to toast our happiness. This outside venue takes us away on a mini vacation, a treasure to share with our relations.
Snack trays arrive along with red and white. This mini jar of honey, divine, tastes sweet as sugar. We have crackers, meats, even a green-tinted cheese, could be coniferous…
All those sparkling glasses like a family circle, filled, sipped. Later, we do it again, at another vineyard, sitting in wooden chairs next to a woodpile. It is lovely there, as well. All in all, we were out for nearly twelve hours, and there was more, much more time spent.
Thankfulness for this family outing. A sweet memory that will last.
A woman of thousand hands,
Never I could imagine,
When I was just Ten,
My Mother said she has,
At twenty five, after my marriage,
I really found those thousand hands,
Attached very close to my arms,
And I am still pleading god for some.
Before the cock coos my mornings wake,
Kitchen chaos with oil spills and burnt fingers,
Pressure cooker whistles and washing machine grunts,
Coffee to in laws and Green tea to husband,
School bus horns always haunt,
To feed their break fast makes me gaunt,
To pack their lunch and daily books,
And search all around for the little one's missed notebook
The socks and lace of my husband shoes,
Always play hide and seek to choose
His shirt and trousers neatly ironed
To tie his tie he roars like lion,
When omelet and sandwich toasted brown,
His face turns red and gruesome,
When he skips his breakfast for the 8 clock train,
My heart slips a beat to feel his hunger pain
The dinning table chairs are booked,
To serve my in laws with what was cooked,
Mocking stories and ill treating attitude,
Not a pinch of love or pleasing gratitude,
I swallow my tears for no time to wipe,
They always show their royal hype,
Seven years in their home,
They just look me like a servant with broom.
My saree and blouse dumped in cupboard,
Nothing matching and nothing good,
To tie them around with hooks and pins
It pricks my fingers but no time to clean the redskin,
What is left in the empty vessels
Fills my hungry stomach muscles
With little packed in shoulder bag,
And a portion of that to the pet that wags.
I run with heavy heart and soul,
So many thoughts and worries roll,
The bus stand queue shakes my leg,
The crowded Omni with no seats to beg,
Swiped my card but 10 minutes late,
Nothing can change, this is my fate
The ardent boss and flowing files,
Not one day enough to clear those piles,
When I sat on my seat,
Tears rolled down my cheeks,
Like a horse in the Derby race,
I run for life with out rest or space,
The credits goes to the Jockey on top,
Nobody notices the poor horses eye drop,
This is the destiny of working women like me,
Who serve as roots for the beautiful fruit tree.
Vicious and mean those two stray dogs
if not for my fence the female grey would
have quickly killed my two old dogs. She angrily bark
and looked as if she would lunge through the chain link fence.
I yelled at her in a booming voice with authority. She looked up at me
our eyes met and she left with tan behind her tail.
Out in the yard I first saw the robin, lying on his side
teeth marks sunk into his orange breast and back. He looked as if
he was taking flight but alas only his little soul soar into the heavens.
A few steps away by my wooden plank fence, where the day lilies
bout to burst into full bloom, lay the mourning dove at peace.
Dignified by a quick kill she lay the hues on her head glow like
a halo in the sparkle of the morning light. Those dogs just eager for the
kill left them intact. Did their little friends fly to the refuge of tree tops?
I gather my shovel and a small gift box and scooped them up, first
the robin then the dove and buried them in my garden with irises
tall and white had flowered.
On top
I placed a few colorful rocks. Sad? Nature is cruel against her
wondrous beauty. She reminds us how fragile life is. How unexpected
death can be. The earth is a miracle of life. Was this the robin part
of the pair that hopped around my yard? Splashed in my bird bath
and happily chirp together on my wooden plank fence. Yes she was
one of the flock of doves that gather on my grassy lawn to feed
upon the bugs and seeds and coo up in the branches of our
neighborhood trees. Late that evening I saw a single robin perched upon
my plank fence, it's head turn side to side. It looked and stared
a single chirp and flew into the sky. I did not notice those mourning doves
and did not recall their coos. Did they know their friend or mate did not escape? Life goes on the sun still shines, the rain still falls at night
the glow of the moon. My irises that night seemed to droop ever slight
towards the colorful rocks as if in prayer for a lost friend. I like to think
that angels enjoy the company of our little feather friends. So together they can fly upon heavens glorious blue sky, the robin and the mourning dove.
(This time I've quoted my own poem titles. Everything in quotes is a title.)
"Dear reader," again, this monolog persists.
We're no longer "sparring" with figurative fists.
"The blood of an Englishman" is my last token,
"cursive curtsies" for "love unspoken."
"The magic of your arms" is now "unattainable,"
"man glitter"'s sloughing unexplainable.
"Footprints in time" lead to your "home garden,"
now overgrown with common weeds to pardon.
"This is the place" where "pruning" is "timeless,"
and "ballroom backgrounds" are forever rhymeless.
Briars pull me close with roaming stickers.
"The stars in the sky" "wake me" with sharp "flickers."
Doves' worn "coos" sound more like "snoring."
"The shape of water" is a tsunami pouring.
"The balcony bows" like "uncommon courtesy,"
"bolstered" hardwood buckling to be free.
"A safe place to hide" is looking vastly glum.
I cling to the shadows like "coffee table gum."
"Winter contemplations" are an everyday thing,
like "blackout poetry---detached," a missing ring.
"Forsaken" "spiderwebs" hold your "signature scent,"
though they are as broken as bent.
"Winter twigs wither" like a limp "paper boat"
immersed in a "defenseless," old moat.
"All that remains" "for the headstrong and wrong"
is a broken cassette withholding our song.
"I will care for you" like a "scarecrow in still life."
"The widow's pew" has gained a haggard wife.
"Birds through obscurity" perceptively lag.
"Goodbye, love..." I impart to you "freedom's flag."
Don't "call back the curtain" to yesterday.
"Installments of lost time" are impossible to pay.
I'll be as strong and "brave" as the mighty ant.
Then came the "thought thief..." "Will I if I can't?"
"No proper goodbye" would satisfy my "appetite."
A morsel on the path to "winter's endless night."
"Maybe" the "earth meets firmament" on the brink.
A "snow globe refreshment" will be my last drink.
The "typewriter" points "westward," and there it shines,
"clinging to (these last) undulating lines."
9-25-2023
Two of the wackiest guys I know,
live two doors down,
one flight below
Tall is one, the other is short
One chirps loud all the time ... one quietly coos
Tall wears a small hat,
Short sports big shoes
Bird Brain and Pigeon Toe,
they’re two of the silliest fellas I know
Those two ditzy, dunce Dodos
live two doors down,
one flight below
Two Heckle and Jeckle,
warbling so-and-so’s
One spring cleaning time,
my fair sparrow lady and turtledove me
were shaking a dust feather
at what we heard, but couldn’t believe —
Toe tapping on the Brain
with a combination of
Muhammad Ali - Fred Astaire pure artistry
The Pigeon was floating like a butterfly,
stinging like a bee ...
putting pain on the Brain’s cheek
While we kept shaking that dust feather
at what we still couldn’t believe;
we heard hawk flap sounds,
so stark raven noisy —
Bird woodpecking the Pigeon
with a fist pounding of
a knuckle Louisville Slugger, number 23
The Brain was tapping Morse Code bulls-eye
carvings on a tree ...
putting hurt on the Pigeon’s beak
Can you believe —
Two best friends fighting like worst enemies!
When the dust settled and the air cleared,
we really couldn’t believe
what our hummingbird ears just did hear —
Loud laughter mingled with drunken cheers,
of double-burping
out an open window
Coming from two doors down,
one flight below
They’re longtime best buds —
Two of the dimmer bulbs which glow,
that have a peacock taste
for the suds
Now you now know:
A pair of the quirkiest crow chums
who roof perch together,
wing elbow
Parakeet plucky park bench bums
Total cuckoo nest best buds
Fun loving,
boon-docking couch spuds
My neighboring parrot chime fellows:
Bird Brain and Pigeon Toe,
they live two doors down,
one flight below
11-21-20
Two of the wackiest guys I know,
live two doors down,
one flight below
Tall is one, the other is short
One chirps loud all the time ... one quietly coos
Tall wears a small hat,
Short sports big shoes
Bird Brain and Pigeon Toe,
they’re two of the silliest fellas I know
Those two ditzy, dunce Dodos
live two doors down,
one flight below
Two Heckle and Jeckles,
warbling so-and-so’s
One spring cleaning time,
my fair sparrow lady and turtledove me
were shaking a dust feather
at what we heard, but couldn’t believe —
Toe tapping on the Brain
with a combination of
Muhammad Ali - Fred Astaire pure artistry
The Pigeon was floating like a butterfly,
stinging like a bee ...
putting pain on the Brain’s cheek
While we kept shaking that dust feather
at what we still couldn’t believe;
we heard hawk flap sounds,
so stark raven noisy —
Bird woodpecking the Pigeon
with a fist pounding of
a knuckle Louisville Slugger, number 23
The Brain was tapping Morse Code bulls-eye
carvings on a tree ...
putting hurt on the Pigeon’s beak
Can you believe —
Two best friends fighting like worst enemies!
When the dust settled and the air cleared,
we really couldn’t believe
what our hummingbird ears just did hear —
Loud laughter mingled with drunken cheers,
of double-burping
out an open window
Coming from two doors down,
one flight below
They’re longtime best buds —
Two of the dimmer bulbs which glow,
that have a peacock taste
for the suds
Now you now know:
A pair of the quirkiest crow chums
who roof perch together,
wing elbow
Parakeet plucky park bench bums
Total cuckoo nest best buds
Fun loving,
boon-docking couch spuds
My neighboring parrot chime fellows:
Bird Brain and Pigeon Toe,
they live two doors down,
one flight below