Long Editions Poems
Long Editions Poems. Below are the most popular long Editions by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Editions poems by poem length and keyword.
Thought I perhaps should let all my friends see,
How touched I was on finding this letter to me,
Found by mistake, after so many years,
I collapsed into buckets of tears,
A treasure bequeathed to me, was meant to be.
POST-SCRIPT:
As the writing is faint
in the scan above I have typed it out
for ease of legibility.
Abu Ben Adhem
(poem by Hunt, James Henry Leigh)
(1784-1859)
Has been translated in Greek by
Dimitrios Stais (as per manuscript
in possession of his son Panos Stais)
This small note is sent to
Jennifer Alan Hunt, the great
grand-daughter of Dimitri
Stais.
Of course, poems of many other
authors of this "English Verse"
Oxford Book were translated
in Greek by Dimitris Stais,
but I simply make mention of
the one titled as above because
of the author's name. (HUNT)
May I express the
wish, dearest Jennifer, that
one of the future editions of
Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
comprise some of your cherished
poems.
With lots of love
your gd father
Panos
Athens 19th December 1968
MARIETTE TURNER RICCARDO FROM OLD PHOTOGRAPHS FROM MY GRANDFATHERS COLLECTION OF SHOW GIRLS FROM HIS 1968 VEGAS MAZAGINE CHRISTMAS EDITIONS HOWEVER MARIETTA WAS MUCH MORE THAN THAT A JEWISH WOMAN WHOSE HUSBAND WAS CAPTURED DURINGWW11 MY GRANDFATHER TOLD ME SHE WOULD COME TO THE CAMP WEARING ONLY A FUR COAT MY POP WOULD HELP HER VISIT HER HUSBAND WHO WAS CAPTURED BY HITLER'S MEN AT ANYRATE AS I MOVED BACK NORTH STOPPING IN MARIETTA GEORGIA CROWN MOTEL SUFFERING TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY AFTER WITNESSING A MURDER AND FOR HURRICANES I CREATED MARIETTA KEATING A CHARACTER OF SORTS I WAS QUITE DESPERATE TRYING TO KEEP CIRO GARGANO AND HIS CRONIES FROM EXTORTING MY POETRY HE LATCHED ON TO MY POETRY ACTUALLY TRIED TO PAY JOHN GOTTI JR MAFIA DEBT. BY EXTORTING MY LIFE TO FEED TO THE GAMBINO CRIME FAMILY TO SETTLE HIS SCORES OVER THE PROPERTY ON SHERIDAN ROAD HIS TAILOR SHOP IDEA THAT FLEW OUT THE WINDOW WHEN HE TORCHED THE BUILDINGS TRIED TO WRITE AND HIDE FROM A MAD BOMBER USED CAR SALESMAN MILWAUKEE CRIME BOSS ARSONIST WHO LITERALLY BLEW MY BRAINS OUT GARGANO WAS ACTUALLY EXTORTING MY POETRY RACKETEERING MY POETRY TO SETTLE SCORES WITH GOTTI SO I REMEMBERED JOHNNY DEPP SECRET WINDOW HE ALSO WROTE IN A PENN NAME THIS ALLOWED ME TO WRITE WITHOUT THE STRESS OF GARGANO RIPPING MY TITLES HACKING INTO THE POETRY SIGHT AND WELL MARIETTA KEATING WAS BORN SO WAS HOLIDAY BILLIE CPL KING MARIETTA RICCARDO MERLOT YES AFTER A GLASS OF MERLOT I BELIEVED THIS ALLOWED ME A SAFE SPACE TO WRITE IN COMPLETE PRIVACY IT IS TRULY HARD BEING A WRITER PRIVACY IS EVERYTHING THANK YOU MARIETTA KEATING WE MADE LOVELY MUSIC TOGETHER MARIETTA KEATING MY ANCESTORS CARRIE KEATON ISOM KEETON MY GREAT GRANDMOTHER A ROYAL QUEEN CARRIE KEETON CONCIEVED MY NONA WITH WILLIAM MASON ITALIAN MASONARY BEING A WRITING TAKES PATIENCE YOU HAVE TO HAVE SIUTER NYMES TO PREVENT FATAL STALKERS FROM EXTORTING YOUR WORK I LOVE WRITING TRIBUTES TO MY ANCESTORS ALL APART OF MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY I APPLAUD ANTHONY PUZO MARIO PUZO MARIO CLERI IT'S HOW HE CREATED THE LAST DON
GOD BLESS ALL WRITERS
PRIVACY IS SO CRUCIAL IT IS TRULY
A BLESSING TO SHARE MY GIFT OF WRITING
WITH THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD
GOD BLESS AMERICA
Imagination Owl was tired today.
He had collected first and second editions
And kept the wolves and hounds away.
Everyone had heard about his collection and wanted a peek.
He was not against showing them, but he had a tired beak.
Tomorrow they want you to do a reading in Des Moines.
He was the kind of orator and reader that many seek.
He had a gravelly voice, and he rarely charged more than a coin.
Not tomorrow, he stated. I need a break of a day or maybe two.
He was tired of fan mail, suppers with widows and old maids.
He sat down at his fire and played a bit with the annoying flu.
Then opened up some missives and read those that made the grade.
When he finished reading the things that delighted him the most,
He took out a pen and wrote the beginning of a fine exciting tale.
He would apologize to his agent, his mother, and his persistent host.
But tonight he wanted a good book, a fire and some fantastic ale.
Stress!
Knows no laws
A violation of order
A surprise generation
A sudden application
To go to Hell
Stress an emotion
No virus infection
Come,possible prevention
No cure going destruction
Stress like a business
Buying and selling tradition
In retail and wholesale editions
In day to day engagements
Stress a difficult management
Paving way for disappointment
Some sort of weakness
Some where loneliness
Person to person
Season to season
Going stress,no reasons
Patients hard pressed
With medicine high priced
Able to disable
Haves to have nots
Rich to poor
Learned to laymen
Eating stress raw!
OUR LIBRARIAN
I once remember the
Librarian in my college
Meticulous ,and savvy
His love for knowledge
Knows no bound.
I once remember the
Librarian in my University
A man with a large heart for others
His glasses perking on his nose
His Professorial “penkelemesi” like
Grey hair connotes love for research.
But
I cannot but ask which librarian is this?
I cannot but query the insidious sudden
Love of this Huckster for knowledge
I cannot but be surprised at his hubbub
Declaration for his Library launch.
Oh ye people of our land!
Lets all give ovation du applaud to
Our land’s new Librarian.
The very one who rakes in seven
Of a billion cowries in a hurry
In the all looters Library launch.
The very one whose hatred for education
Towers so high and hit all towers of ivory.
The very atrocious leader of the ruling bandit
Whose avidity for money stares us in the face.
The very leading African Chimera whose
Chicanery we cannot measure
Has now suddenly fall in love with knowledge.
The very blood brother of “Haruna”on our campus
Who votes irritating meager resources for education
He is now our own celebrated Librarian.
The very illiterate Mechanic whose
Baleful gaze alone destroys our land’s Library
He is now our dreadful Librarian.
Sorry ,we know our Librarians
Our Libraries , we are acquainted with
Our Libraries are of obsolete materials
Ours is of more archaic facilities
With books and non books available
Two moons ago still branded new editions
This is our own Libraries.
Let the new Librarian disburse the seven
Of a billion cowries to our Libraries
Let him pump cowries into our education
Let their be more modern Libraries in our land
For is it of a nation that values knowledge
That gets the best of knowledge today and morrow .
Alayande Stephen .T
16th April, 2006
05.25pm
For Mr President 's special Library launch.
Acclimatization is a serious matter.
I mean one cannot keep bouncing around
a kaleidoscopic chameleon-like center
can one?
Therefore I have almost absolved myself from
causing all that emotional mayhem
that a youthful spirit engages upon
not having yet acclimatized itself
to whom I was, or to what I would become.
Was it my fault that all those
‘soon to be’ lovers
bought a copy of me,
an unedited work in progress?
Most who waded in the ankle-deep shallows
of those earlier days were but rough drafts,
early editions of what they eventually turn into.
The maxim: “they know not what they do”
has to apply or we would never arrive at that stage
of namely and to wit,
that stabilized imperfection most achieve.
Though I do pity the girls
who bought that knock-off copy of me,
the women who were scammed
by a none-copyright version of myself,
but to be fair,
they also were none-acclimatized
and should have saw
the dire warning: caveat emptor.
BANISH ME TO THE BOOKSHOP
Chain me, so I can roam. Lock me away in this bower.
Banish me to the bookshop - i’ll enjoy this affair for hours!
First editions recline behind smudge-proof glass.
Lock-and-key lick of lips, but I can’t afford the brass
ring, the covet of unopened leather, so I’d dance
through each unshielded shelf, illuminated romance,
the touch like a lover’s touch, before the cover’s
turned down. Miniature to oversized, to discover -
here titles do matter - beautiful, powerful, charming.
Turning over the self-help discourse, disarming
of self-loathing, fear, and bitter soul. Then straight
to a perfumery of fairy tales, feel the weight
of each piece of fruit in the balance of my teeny palms.
Even in the claustrophobic stuffiness of this shop, I feel calm.
Like tickling braille, my fingers glide over each word,
riveted by the familiar scent, I close my eyes, bestirred
by mysteries, history, fantasy, and the coquetry,
the delicious pageantry, vivid hues and imagery of poetry.
Chain me, so I can roam. Lock me away in this bower.
Banish me to the bookshop - i’ll enjoy this affair for hours!
3/10/2021
Bookshop
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
My sworn enemy elect, is the constant profusion of illustrative choice,
even though it bestowed to me this shrewd strident voice,
I have unfeigned gratitude aplenty for opulent options but still,
with itemised information excessive without curb I’m ill,
one can sift through a menagerie of bewitching pros and cons,
skewed point of reflection, adopted pose, other folk dons,
diverse argument galore or hairsplitting please beware,
arch devilish trap covert, that sprung sneaky snare, surplus fact monoliths depending on an ultimate decision, shun bogus trendsetting at once with sheer derision, to be visibly cognizant as transparent courses of action, quite vast indeed and mammoth not a minute fraction,
when I commit to redeem there is an element of risk, but unwarranted deferral frowned on, one must be brisk, in the absolute recess of my mind is this constant pressure, to battle with surplus plethora, items novel and fresher,
with such package, pitch, display, slogans and colour,
choice might emerge to boost mood then banish dolour, broad scope “they” unleash, a nod to the downright plausible, the chocolate de luxe editions are they tangibly laudable, it is not for me to magnify an apparent risible matter, pettifogging, quibbling, nitpicking, pointless chatter,
I must insist on venting as a means to a clear path ahead,
yes, to coexist with at many levels trivial confusion instead,
excess products can be such a grandiose glossy term,
whose prevalence a nuisance that makes one often squirm,
but one can perhaps reframe and reconsider a resolute intention,
with the utmost alacrity in the context of apprehension,
drawing up a permanent peace treaty to empower a cessation,
with this fierce opponent choice as permanent extrication
It was just last night.
I was not sleepy, nor did
I want to watch tv. I had
read the Bible earlier.
I came across 3 old copies of
one of my favorite magazines that
I had not read for some time. I
had 3 editions and read portions
of each of them.
One edition had a story about America's
nicest cities. It was a great story about
how the city came together during a potential
crisis and avoided a potential riot.
I love reading as well as interacting with
certain items of print that I read. For
example, this magazine has a very popular
page that tests one's vocabulary. For the
most part, the words are not everyday words
and are usually very challenging.
Last night, as always, the readings were all
very pleasurable, but my vocabulary score was
not, which made the reading a bittersweet
experience.
My Score? Let's just say that this magazine
is very nice and kind with human sensibilities.
There were three categories of performance.
Genius, Mental Giant, and Prodigy. I was a bit
disappointed with me, but was encouraged
when the magazine deemed me a Prodigy.
020223PSCtest, A Simple Pleasure, Julia Ward.
NOVELTIES
by Thomas Campion
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as pimps praise their whores for exotic positions.
This is my translation of a Latin epigram by the English poet Thomas Campion. In Campion’s era some English poets continued to write poems in Latin and/or Greek. For instance, John Milton and Andrew Marvell wrote poems in Latin, while Shakespeare was criticized by Ben Jonson, if I remember things correctly, for having “little” Greek and Latin.
Not being “versed” in the senior languages was seen as a deficiency in literary circles back then. Shakespeare was called an “upstart crow” for daring to write “litter-chure” without a proper university degree. How could he properly quote the ancients if he couldn’t read them in their original languages? The Bard of Avon was doomed to failure and obscurity … or perhaps not, since the English language was finally in vogue in England (where for centuries English kings had been unable to read, write or even speak the mother tongue, preferring French, Latin and Greek).
My title is a bit of a pun, because novels were new to the world when they first arrived, and were thus considered by the literary elites to be “novelties” not on par with more serious verse plays. Some of the more popular early novels were “subversive” (pardon the pun) explorations of sexual naughtiness, through characters like Tom Jones, Moll Flanders, et al.
Campion probably didn’t have such campy (enough with the puns, already!) novels in mind when he wrote his epigram, since the more titillating (cease! desist!) ones had yet to arrive. But perhaps he would prove to be a “profit” (I’m udderly hopeless!).
Keywords/Tags: Campion, Latin, translation, exotic, exoticism, epigram, novels, novelties, book, books, booksellers, publishers, write, writing, author, authors, poet, poets, poetry, poems, pimps, whores, prostitutes, prostitution, exotic, positions, extended metaphor