Long Corner Poems
Long Corner Poems. Below are the most popular long Corner by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Corner poems by poem length and keyword.
This empty callous country of ghosts
That has drained into a polluted ocean of regret
Where vain venomous demons rise from the constitutional Sea
Swallowing our political fire and passion
Disabling our wounded words to abstain false promises
Suffocating the breath of truth from our desperate voices
Singing the stifled anthem - the ode of passivity
To echo in hollow empty bunkers of helpless intent
With dogma and doctrine that drives our ego
To cannibalize its own usurped power
Played out in the broken songs of sympathy
Slain in the snow covered silent fortress of evil
Our love of life now bitter, frozen and isolated
Like the woes of the blind and deaf
Addicted to apathy and led like sheep to the slaughter
Can we remember our origins - our birthplace?
Where men and women from different beginnings joined together
Working through the potential of divergence
Standing together on common ground for the common good
Forming the brotherhood of man
From every corner of the world
The United States of Utopia
A land of peace and understanding
Of tolerance, forgiveness and compassion
United within our destined kinship
Honoring the union of all hearts, minds and human spirit
Free to be One
August 9, 2019
Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
The bayou sky flies a catfish moon over swamp gators
And cottonmouth vipers. Accordions, fiddles, and rub board vests
Make their ramble through the undergrowth hot on the trail
Of a sultry midsummer house party in Sweat Neck, Louisiana.
All the usual suspects are there. Sharkskin Slim doffs his topper
To Ruby and Rose - the Harlequin Twins. They curtsy in reply.
They came to town to show local folks how business gets done.
Fast Man is fresh from stabbing Satan in the back; same as before.
Snorkel-nose Nelson lays his blackjack on the table.
Pelican-neck LeBeau considers the odds and spits.
A honeysuckle breeze wafts across the terrace.
Eucalyptus, peppermint, and pine tar grace the veranda
Where Miss Bunny Bouche, in her famous lavender velour,
Garners attention from spy boys eying Cajun temptations
With considerably hardened intentions. Several teamsters
Just in from Shreveport dance lively while a claw hammer fiddler
Plays Tee Nah Nah. Essential words are suggested in the space
Between the jug and the mason jar. They speak of collard green
Creole rice served with crayfish in roux étouffée. The snap beans
Are sure enough salted. The shrimp gumbo is suitably spiced.
Sad Hannah sits off in the corner, her motives transparent
As parish politics. She’s been rumored to have dabbled
In arson crafts she’d learned at Magdalena’s Den of Sin,
But no one ever really pays her much mind.
She’s been deliberating the consequence of a life not lived,
And sees a glimmer of hope in the eye of a hurricane lamp.
Her chance of escaping obscurity erupts through the hall.
So now, it’s last call and damn it all, take a left at the crossroads,
And be sure to turn your mattress over when it’s time to climb downstairs.
And as for Hannah, sad Hannah, well, it’s either up Ladder Lane
Then down Hemp Alley, or else it’s just a lonely walk home.
175,000 Corona Ghosts
The corona ghosts get together
The 175, 000 band together
And vow to haunt the living
As the voice of the dead
Need to be heard
In the halls of power
They march to the WH
Surrounding the people’s house
And the Senate and the Capitol
Chanting
We are the voices
of the dead
The Corona ghosts
And our voices
Will not be silenced
We will be heard
And we will overcome
If you don’t need our warning
You too will join us
In Corona hell
The ghosts camp out everywhere
Thousands of them
Fill every corner of the city
Silently starting
The faces and voices
Of the dead
Shaming the leaders
Who still refuse
To do anything
To stem the tide
As General Corona
Continues his rampage
When will this all end
This death
This preventable death
Of the corona damned
Dreamers, sharing a dream, we
fell in love with our soulmate.
Experiencing sex for the first time;
our hearts were filled with anticipation
that energized our excitement for Life.
In our garden, it was Spring;
and love was starting to bloom.
We explored our feelings for each other
and enjoyed the best of times together;
knowing what it's like to love and be loved.
Love blossomed in Summer's heat
beyond Spring's shower of tears.
We lit Life's party candle at both ends,
wanting to live with our eyes wide open,
taking in all the Earth offers for free.
Before we knew it, Autumn
was just around the corner.
And so, we reached our golden years, a time
to reap a harvest from the seeds we'd sown;
and enjoy the sweet fruits of mature blooms.
Aware of Winter's approach;
love finds no need for alarm.
Welcome to Shamukuni Street,
Where the city breathes in vibrant chaos,
Police sirens whirling,
A symphony of urgency and defiance—
Each wail a reminder,
That life here never sleeps,
And neither do we.
Every household boasts a loudspeaker,
Its voice a pulse,
A rhythm echoing through the cracked pavement,
Where laughter and music collide,
Like potluck dinners on a Friday night,
Where stories spill over, and dreams take flight.
The shabeens stand tall, defiant against the clock,
Never closing, they’re the heartbeat of the night,
Where shadows dance and secrets weave,
Where we sip on life, one drink at a time,
Celebrating the neon glow of the ordinary,
Reveling in the magic of the mundane.
Some say this street is dangerous,
But we wear it like a badge,
Our skin thickened by tales untold,
And we who grew up here—
We embrace it, with open arms,
For its embroidery rich in color,
Woven with threads of resilience.
This is where I met Joe Luda,
Our dreams igniting like firecrackers,
The spark that launched our rap journey,
Words tumbling from our lips,
Like confetti in the wind,
Mixing with the echoes of the street,
The backdrop of our youth,
The very air charged with possibility.
This is where the Mafia Zone was birthed,
Not just a name,
But a legacy, a gathering of souls
United by the pulse of the street,
The rhythm of survival,
The melody of belonging.
Here, I found Pekka, his laughter a flare in the night,
Chis Jay, with verses sharper than glass,
And Rita Christopher, her voice a siren call—
Together we stitched our dreams
Into the fabric of this place,
Each beat a testament to our roots,
Each rhyme a promise to rise.
So welcome to Shamukuni Street,
Where danger is just another word for adventure,
Where every corner hides a story,
Every face a familiar friend—
We live, we love, and we laugh,
And in this cacophony of life,
We find our symphony,
Our home,
Our forever.
Form:
I live alone.
I thought it was strange.
The man.
Although,
The middle of the night.
Can be a strange time.
He sleeps uncomfortably.
He is a living yet ethereal person.
Shh…
There’s someone sleeping.
Someone, but not me.
I made my bed that morning, but now it is undone.
I fell asleep on the rug.
I tossed and turned and howled.
We’re all tired in the morning.
I got up to go to work.
Dropping a coffee mug, losing my left shoe.
Throwing a pillow against the wall because I’m late.
I wanted to throw the pillow at him.
I hate that he doesn’t have a job.
He has nothing.
He’s like a ghost, except he dies over and over.
He becomes more cozy as winter goes on and the heat is on.
I live alone.
I had made a promise.
That if my house was haunted I would move.
We all make weird promises.
Thinking it will never happen.
The middle of the night can be a strange time.
I would sleepwalk and make bacon and eggs.
The man in the corner of my room is tall.
I live alone.
I live alone.
I wake up every day.
He doesn’t even sway.
When I throw my coffee mug at him.
Not in anger, but on a whim.
Mostly, I am nonchalant.
I am alive, what else could I want?
Sure, it would be nice to live alone.
But then who would answer my phone?
Sure, I’m the one who goes to the office.
But he gives me the best advice.
I don’t know which one of us is more alive.
We work together but neither of us thrive.
Goodnight, my friend, try to get some rest.
I passed out on the floor, trying my best.
I live alone.
He does too.
Yesterday,
I tuned into my local news channel;
Wow, color me surprised...
There was news about a shooting!
Today,
The same news anchor reported
About a child shot
At some Baltimore street corner;
Transported to shock trauma
Where he tragically expired.
Sad surprise graduates
To shock;
A trauma to my system.
Please, pardon that pun!
How upsetting? A child...
One foot out of the womb, gone.
What the heck!?
Tomorrow,
Oh I know...I just know...
Another shooting will take place,
Even if
It doesn't make the news.
Sickening deja vu
Piled atop another, and another!
Deja Vu Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
Date written: 02/24/2023
Condensation on the windows
streaks and splotches clear,
Silver water droplets
due to chandelier.
Nature all around me
within my very home,
Cobwebs in the corner
Specks of mould on chrome.
Cat is snoozing in her bed
Leading way of sleep,
Ponder him so far away
my honeymoon to keep.
Over-sentimental-
too many nights I've curled
alone and cold to behold
he's somewhere in the world.
With disgust-spot the dust
the time I have much wasted
from a dream to be seen
years ago belated.
Will he arrive and abide
to myself and more
When work shall be domestically
for after from before.
The Ember of Love
As he was walking along the busy shopping street an old woman, came toward him
He knew her but hadn't seen her for many years
once upon a time, he had loved her very much
they both stopped; she remembered him and forthright, as she always was, told him he looked old
She was old also but refrained from telling her
Their hair was white and brittle, and her prominent nose had dropped, giving her a look like a witch.
They hugged, and he told her she looked great!
Behind the thick-rimmed glasses she wore, he saw
a glimmer of her lost beauty.
After some more pleasantries, they parted.
Before turning the corner of the street, he turned around, didn't see her, and knew he would never see her again.
In the corner
Is my pole star
Light and insight
Never blur
In the corner
Balm they are
For wounds of war
When sun is dark
Empty the park
In lingering pain
limps the lark
Inside the clock
Hours of shark
Roads are blocked
Rooms are locked
Sky has fled
Dreams are dead
I look for the corner
The soul warmer
Delight serene
Ever green
The brilliant shine
The mighty minds
The hill fountain
The lovely pens
Immortal stare
William Shakespeare
The world adores
Bard Tagore
Jibanananda
Clouds in calypso
Brilliant tussle
Bertrand Russell
I sit with them
Love the gems
A river shore
Ennui no more
Lovely grace
All silk and lace
Doves umpteen
My bookshelf green
In the corner
Shines the polestar
_____________________________
26/03/2017
Note: Jibanananda Das, a Bengali poet, writer, novelist and essayist, is often acknowledged as the premier poet of Bengali literature after Rabindranath Tagore, and considered as one of the greatest modern poets in Bengal.
As a representative taste, an interested reader may go through, BANALATA SEN in English translation at poemhunter.com