Long Dylan Poems
Long Dylan Poems. Below are the most popular long Dylan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dylan poems by poem length and keyword.
'He fills his glass up to the brim'
She knows what happens when he drinks
He's in an ocean and cant swim
The more he drinks the more he sinks
She watches sadly as once more
He fills his glass up to the brim
She's heard it many times before
These "matchbook songs and gypsy hymns"
His sad "eyes, where the moonlight swims"
Never saw she had left that morn
He fills his glass up to the brim
All that he had left is now gone
He stumbles outside, a sad sight
His "silhouette when sunlight dims"
Cast sad shadows in dying light
He fills his glass, up to the brim
1-9-2024
1. He fills his glass up to the brim' - House of the Rising Sun- Bob Dylan
2. "Matchbook songs and gypsy hymns" - Sad eyed Lady from the Lowlands -
Bob Dylan
3. "Eyes, where the moonlight swims" - Sad eyed Lady from the Lowlands-
Bob Dylan
4. "Silhouette when the sunlight dims"- Sad eyed Lady from the Lowlands
Bob Dylan
Do not go gentle into that good night
of darkness, blight, and disease;
rage, rage against the hour of midnight—please,
with all of your might
until I am at ease!
Do not go gentle into that good night
of solemn, irrevocable sleep;
rage, rage against the wooing of the permanent Deep!
Come to me and to the light—
or else I shall bitterly weep!
Do not go gentle into that good night
of the ebb of your power;
rage, rage against the withering of your beautiful flower!
Deny eternal rest its right
to come before that fateful hour!
Do not go gentle into that good night
that takes you before the day's done;
rage, rage against the gradual dying of your sun!
Before the end's almost within sight,
fight, fight, so life's still defiantly won!
while trying to find
the founding fathers
without bothering
if George W
(not Bush)
separated
female
from
male
i knew that the oh
so what do you
know count
these beans
declaration
was written
on hemp
paper not
because
we wanted to supercede
that what would come
to pass with recent
states saying don't
keep toking cause
i'm jonesin so
pass the
weed
we'd
all love to share Dylan
and the Band singing
Rockin Chair but
i also became
aware that
that same
page of
was in
fact
written with the ink
of the American
pokeweed so
glorifying the
british born
fathers for
their sons
George W
Bush
should thank his
being by the
hemp lines
that kept
Bush Sr
afloat
on the
ropes
of his
parachute
Form:
We were young and full of adventure
Travelling in our kombi van
Burning incense and listening
To Cat Stevens and Bob Dylan
We decided to climb a tourist peak
Slowly making it to the top
Going down was easier
Though there was a lot of start and stop
It was busy on the peak that day
With tourists abound
We had to keep standing aside
On the narrow ground
As we stood aside to let someone pass
There was a buzzing in the air
In a moment bees were upon me
Down my top and in my long hair
Without any thought or hesitation
In a complete frenzied state of affairs
Writhing and screaming I ripped off my top
To many tourists eyes a-glare ……
Joplin was to Southern Comfort
what Hendrix was to smack
Morrison was to masquerade
what Dylan never lacked
Woodstock was to boomers lost
what music is to rhyme
Saigon was to those who stayed
what Auschwitz now reminds
Kennedy was to hopes and dreams
what nightmares are to some
Castro was to leftist thugs
what cymbals are to drums
Kissinger was to Nixon
an Appian Way to roam
Dr. King to civil rights
what kings are to their thrones
Walter Cronkite was to news
what context is to fact
Altar boys to feral Priests
what pretzels are to snacks
58,000 were to die
a wall would then proclaim
58,000 were to all
— what conscience is to shame
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
off the beaten path we go
nothing like the thrill of newness
even when it gets old, something new is discovered like a dylan record
we embrace our respective kid at heart approach to things
it definitely brings us closer and alleviates unneeded stress
we already are graduates of lonely street university both with a masters in isolation studies
now here we go....eager students of professor unexpected
what we learn is more than valuable to our minds and our potential future endeavors
it is like a blank page full of colors with the beautification of water for the purpose of intrigue
when life goes in directions of low places, it inspires you to strive of the highest heights
we are giants....yet still so microscopic in our travails
we yearn to see more, but in the reality of life duty calls in the form of a time clock
however, we bless the heavens for the earnings bestowed upon us nowadays....
....so off the beaten path we go....
At last the day will come, my friend my friend,
At last the day will come-
The harbors will once more, fill up with love, not war,
At last the day will come-
From skies that once were dark, goodwill will now impart,
At last the day will come-
All across this land, my brothers will join hands,
At last the day will come-
From Dixie to DC, free speech will welcome thee,
At last the day will come-
Our zoos will open gates, all life will congregate,
At last the day will come-
The money that we earn, will not cause lives to burn,
At last the day will come-
Now sing it with me friends, your hourglass depends,
At last the day will come-
At last the day will come, my friend my friend,
At last the day will come-
….Inspired by Pete Seeger and Bob Dylan
12/30/10
© All Rights Reserved
Yesterday morning, while waiting,
nursing a too-expensive latte,
I read poems by Dylan Thomas
from a worn paperback of English poetry
that my friend, a poet,
bought last weekend
at an estate sale
for ten cents.
In the evening, at home,
I listened to Bob Dylan
while reading the stories behind
the songs he wrote from 1962 to 1969,
my years of fatherhood, divorce, and radicalism,
rather than watching “The Voice,”
my one and only fall into the slippery world
of “reality television.”
For a bit of balance,
or maybe a jolt,
although that’s not a good thing
to do before bedtime,
I stirred in whiplash verses
from e.e. cummings
before I took my pills
and turned down the volume
in my head for the night.
..But despite his words, Dylan had the skills,
made friends with the hands, kept up on his bills,
and his college learning helped with the books,
squeezed out extra dollars, didn’t even cook!
And as he put down deep roots more and more,
made friends with the folk he used to deplore,
with a dangerous though his mind did toy,
maybe it was better to be a cowboy?
Now Dylan is turning thirty next spring,
and is starting to show the brains that time brings,
having survived the mad fires of you,
I can’t wait to see what he’ll grow into.
Will he stay on the ranch or strike on his own?
Does he want a family, or to stay alone?
Now that his true self he no longer avoids,
he’s much better off being a cowboy.
A Dylan Thomas State of Mind
It’s precisely 2:45am...the time when
~ if I’ve fallen asleep ~
I always awake to find
Myself drenched in sweat.
I lie here beside my beloved
~ as I have so steadfastly since
16 November 2016 ~
Thinking about...wondering...pondering
The end of my existence.
I am not talking about
Taking my own life.
NO!
I’ve seen, heard, touched, tasted, smelt
too much...
I’ve survived too much, felt too much...
I value Howard’s sweet...sweet...
Nurturing soul’s devotion
To keeping me alive these past 40 years
To raise my hand against myself...now.
I AM talking about these things:
Where do we go when we die?
Do I have a soul?
Will I be conscious — at the moment it happens —
That I am drawing my very last breath?
Sometimes, when I awake in the early morn,
Howard is motionless beside me
And I stare at his beautiful face.
Dare I reach out and touch it with one finger?
What if it’s stone cold?
His flesh heavy...dead?
Death.
The End of Living.
The End...The End...The End...
Last January I begged for surcease...
For an end to the pain...
An end to the physical torture...
An end to the psychic suffering...
The constant thoughts of:
“Is there a Hell?”
“Will I go there if I take my own life?”
“What does ‘eternity’ mean?”
Now this morning of 19 October 2017
I am thinking...feeling...praying:
Please...Please...Please...
God/Goddess/All That Is/The Universe/The Spirit
Make my neglected hated scorned body
Healthy and whole.
So I may live
today...
tomorrow...
next month...
next year...
Do not let me go gentle into that good night.
I am alive now...
And I rage...
I RAGE NOW!
....against the dying of the light.
Barbara Dickenson
19 October 2017