Long Dialog Poems
Long Dialog Poems. Below are the most popular long Dialog by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dialog poems by poem length and keyword.
By the afternoon I was back-on-my-toes.
Almost every night my roommates and I sit around a low table in the common room of our suite, crossed legged, on cushions and do our homework. It’s less claustrophobic than sitting in our rooms alone and we usually have some music on, lowkey, in the background.
We’d just heard “Love Story,” by Taylor Swift.
“I like songs that make love sound easy.” I stated.
“Oh, because it IS easy,” Anna says sarcastically, “grab yourself a physicist and make a TikTok song.”
“Hey! I’ve got a beef with TikTok artists, I said. “At first, they release these stripped down, intimate, acoustic songs that feel personal, and then, if a song hits, they put out a new version that’s totally overproduced.”
“Right.” Leong agreed.
“Oh, yeah,” Sophie said, putting her hair back out of her face with a comb, “and some artists' voices are suited to simple accompaniment and the newer versions just don’t hit as hard.”
“I think Phoebe Bridgers is an example of production done right.” Anna said. “Her material continues to sound intimate and stripped down even though it’s no longer just her and a guitar,”
“On Tiktok,” Lisa adds, “when a new song works, I feel a connection, like it could be me recording a song with my guitar - so, I support them.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” I updogged, “there’s a place for overproduction but sometimes the instruments don’t even sound real, like when they go all out electronic - then they lose me.”
“The big-music might drown-out the artistry we liked,” Anna opined, “but maybe that’s how they heard it, as songwriters, in their imagination, but they couldn’t afford it - the new version rectifies it.”
.
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slang...
back-on-my-toes = feeling back to normal / back in the game
updogg = when you add your two cents to an ongoing dialog.
My twin was delusional, he thought he was a star
He told me people recognized him, near and far
Strangers gave him thumbs up, pretty women smiled
Within him they saw the soul of a child.
I said "Jerry, no offense, you are poor at conversation
People yawn, go away, for the dialog duration
You lack warmth, enthusiasm, any vital spark
You're not the life of the party; the contrast is stark.
Jerry said "that's all true, but once I was a handsome dude"
I winced, "I'm your twin, don't mean to be rude
Nobody looks at me twice, but for each hard-won friend
When the storm hits, on them I can depend."
The psych diagnosed Jerry with delusions of grandeur
He may be my brother, but in social life he's poor
Most crazy people think they are hated, he thinks he sees affection
Maybe that's better, but it's still the wrong direction.
After the mental hospital, we went cycling upstate
We ran into women, they looked animated, they looked great
They gave Jerry wide smiles, men cheered him too
I pinched myself - it's been years since I've sniffed glue.
What's celebrity based on, what makes a fan?
Do they look beyond appearance, at the soul of the man?
Maybe it's based on something like a good heart
A feeling for the little guy, who makes a brand-new start.
So I'll cheer for the crowd, I'll cheer for the fan
They have the right soul but they have the wrong man.
I became pregnant the summer of 2024
I had my eightth son, born
Valentines Day 2025 in Correzz
France. I became pregant one night at
a Music semenarier.
Ten of us partied at the Twig Retreat
in Spain. One song was 2/3 melody.
TThe other was 3/4 harmony.
They deleted the dialog and
fused the grooves. The Circle of
Fifth, "Bangers and Grindin!"
Eglise aint nothing on us!
Jesus is Jesus in Spanish.
So I wanna name him
O'Dey.
it means alot with this meaning,
I wanted to name him Jose'
Putchew-Chitta Rella de acidia
forkio saladiaanchoivous creame!
Dolled up in Powda Bleu rhinestone
she wore ah skirt to appease
her Paw.
He was angry cause she refused
to wear a bra.
He heard the Fella
talking about what they saw.
She grabbed her Tres Cubano and swung it at
until the room cleared.
Amalgam
She auditioned for the role of the guy who makes the burlap bags in the village.
She was casted as his wife.
Rweebuffelsmeleenskotmorscbodgeskietfontein
Mamungkukumpurangkuntjunya
Due to the Scarcity of Walruses
they uses cowhide, shepskin,sealleather
and goatskins snd dell them off as walrus leather!!!
The heavy curtain, refusing to be moved,
is slowly forced aside by those who understand
hidden scenes and private dialog
few audiences have experienced.
Inch by inch the rusty gromets
slide on the rough surface,
where oil has never been,
causing discomfort to tender ears.
She paid no money to sit in her chair
and watch the curtain reveal
what she already knew--
a kinship understood.
The scene was simple--
two daughters standing behind a woman
with a purse hanging from one arm,
while holding two confederate flags
and a sign of hate held over her head,
“ don't you wish you WERE WHITE,”
made her stomach-ache and teeth clench,
as anger of resistance freed itself from flimsy chains.
While the audience responds
with tears of empathy,
she refuses to acknowledge,
will not commiserate,
And immediately posts her feelings on social media,
“Hate comes in All colors,”
revealing a heart incapable of sympathy,
unwilling to give respect or show politeness.
I notice and cannot be silent
with civility dishonored
and pain unaddressed,
by callous and cold remarks
That create new wounds and larger scars.
With new vigor I write to avenge a wrong,
push back to help change gain a foothold
On the slippery slope of bias.
In this beautiful place of worship, the pews are padded but uncomfortable, the sanctuary large, candle lit and cold.
There's a huge glass dome and I can see the stars. Are the stars our fiery heaven??
No, I don't think the stars care about us - they don't burn with affection or passion. And if the stars weren't there we could live with an empty sky.
The Greeks would call our star, the Sun, to perform their acts of God. I imagine most of their prayers went unanswered - not unlike our own??
To me, the whole Jesus story is somewhat sinister and inauspicious, but if Jesus, the son of God, and that whole story were the deepest, truest reality - then why hasn't Jesus returned??
**Imagining heaven's father and son dialog**
God: "Ok, Jesus, time to go back.."
Jesus: "Go back... go back?? Daaaaad... Did you see what they DID to me? Nailed me to a cross! Screw them, there's no way I'm going back. Why don’t you try going back, as an ordinary man - maybe they’ll set you on fire.”
These 20 millennium old bible stories aren't exactly Euclid's logical system.... I mean, the various books aren't even *consistent*. Are these really, I mean really our beliefs? Or are they just kind of *traditions* and good rules to live by?
My parents - unlikely pilgrims of the intoxicating poetry of belief - face front and appear to be listening... in all other things they're so *skeptical* - it's a puzzle.
If Jesus did come back, wouldn't he practically be a caveman surrounded by bewildering technology?
I'm sorry, there's something too rich in creation for these rehearsed responses and fairy-tale fragments from a primitive world to be the answer.
Now I'm not saying there is no God or no life after death.. I.. just..
*hopeless shrug*
So, anyway - I go through the motions, I chant the litanies with the enthusiasm of obedience; just storing up my spiritual loot and hiding my questioning, heathen heart.
Happy Easter Everyone!
Sweet tea and tongues spill the cream.
Loose lips chew ice cubes and a story,
twisting it slightly to fire up a regime.
Unsettling words come out in a stream
becoming more and more accusatory.
Sweet tea and tongues spill the cream.
Getting jollies while cooking a scheme
they sell something as simple as glory.
Twisting it slightly to fire up a regime.
Reprehensible behavior to redeem?
Nope. It never fits into that category.
Sweet tea and tongues spill the cream.
Add sugar leave out a clear cut theme,
providing clarity is never mandatory.
Twisting it slightly to fire up a regime.
Bored so they want to blow off steam.
All of the dialog? I've taken inventory.
Sweet tea and tongues spill the cream,
twisting it slightly to fire up a regime.
We don’t craft and send no more
Penned words residing in my draw
Those dated thoughts and gone events
Scrapbook of yore it represents
Handwritten mood, pain and regrets
Once sunny days, audacious bets
One young at heart, the choices made
Mundane events still on parade
Creased paper, yellowing in time
Cute fading stamps, once worth a dime
Ideas frozen, saved and kept
And people, places somehow trapped
For boys and girls, for moms and dads
Grandmas and wives of spouse-nomads
How stay in touch, to share crave
To savor love and send the wave
The way we were, like photo framed
Re-read those words, yourself reclaim
A little pile, ribbon-tied
Link to the past it hides inside
The world has changed, days flew by
We type, not write, and say ‘goodbye’
To letters, pushed aside by chats
So glued to screens in our flats
I have regrets, as letters gone
The dialog to act upon
Mailbox flag’s up, lagged outcome
And glory, when the letter comes!
September 11, 2024
Designed to be odvious
Which slender finds thee
Might love
Our love
With it's endorsing steadfastness
Echo though every genre
In only these words
Embodied in these words
Speak me as your
and let it's fashion
Repell the ways of a
Mean spotted world
Let our togetherness
Make evil of all those in
Their opposition to us as
Lovers
In the spirit of love
Procreation
Togetherness
en chore
and
Obligation
Mindfully readiness
Then might
a ring be the symbol
Of love
Endoctrinated
Recognized
Respected
And
Envied
Designed to be odvious
Which slender finds thee
Might love
Our love
With it's endorsing steadfastness
Echo though every genre
In only these words
Embodied in these words
Speak me as your
and let it's fashion
Repell the ways of a
Mean spotted world
Let our togetherness
Make evil of all those in
Their opposition to us as
Lovers
In the spirit of love
Procreation
Togetherness
en chore
and
Obligation
Mindfully readiness
Then might
a ring be the symbol
Of love
Endoctrinated
Recognized
Respected
And
Envied
From " Herneedes" A look of love. Naming poverty her enemy and
Her fiance her man. " Working together and committing one
another, they sought tomorrow from the chores of night. Making love
Till the night spoke them as one.
Where there once was heart and soul, now all had turned to brutal shadows of depravity – by poet
Where there once was joy
Now all had turned to pain
Where there once was sunshine
Now all had turned to rain
Where there once was starlight
Now all had turned to darkness
Where there once was grace
Now all had turned to shame
Where there once was kindness
Now all had turned to dread
Where there once was hope
Now all had turned to despair
Where there once was faith
Now all had turned to disbelief
Where there once was inspiration
Now all had turned to discouragement
Where there once was gentleness
Now all had to turned to coldness
Where there once was insight
Now all had turned to cruelty
Where there once was music
Now all had turned to fearfulness
Where there once was dancing
Now all had turned to marching
Where there once was love
Now all had turned to loathing
Where there once was singing
Now all had turned to whispering
Where there once was silence
Now all had turned to unruliness
Where there once was pleasure
Now all had turned to offensiveness
Where there once was intimacy
Now all had turned to distance
Where there once was passion
Now all had turned to excessiveness
Where there once was magic
Now all had turned to tedium
Where there once was happiness
Now all had turned to sorrow
Where there once was expectation
Now all had turned to a dead end
Where there once was beauty
Now all had turned to ugliness
Where there once was writing
Now all had turned to dialog
Where there once was poetry
Now all had turned to prose
Where there once was words
Now all had turned to thoughts
Where there once was promise
Now all had turned to contradict
Where there once was laughter
Now all had turned to misery
Where there once was heaven
Now all had turned to hell
Where there once was giving
Now all had turned to maliciousness
Where there once was God above
Now all had turned their back on love
''W'' New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Theme Word Number 9: WRITING
November 24, 2021