Long Ernest Poems
Long Ernest Poems. Below are the most popular long Ernest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ernest poems by poem length and keyword.
The sober drunk
He woke up early, had fallen asleep when drunk
now, he was sober trembling hands and blurred vision
full of self-loathing; what happened once, he had been
a little boy in the Vatican and bathed in Fonte Aguiar
that’s what his mother said, and knew it was
not true, but enough for him to expect to succeed.
Walking to work, he had an unimportant snack bar in town
he stopped at a butcher and bought sliced ham to make
sandwiches also stopped at a shop and bought several
bottles of beer to get the courage needed to confront
young people, buying French fries and soft drinks.
Now that it was winter, not many people had money
came, and he was faced with long hours of tediousness
yet, he was secretly glad no one came.
Since his wife left him, worst of all had taken the dog
also, living at her father’s farm, he had no one to look after
drinking had become a problem, sometimes he closed
early so he could go to the pub and drink hours away.
He had been a seaman with a college degree, a good job
and had read hundreds of books, some of them good, his
favourite writers were Dos Passos and Ernest Hemingway
He also read supermarket books on “how to win friends
and be a success.” This was his problem, he didn’t know
how to get along with people without a drink in his hands.
One day, after buying sliced ham, but no beer, he rang
the people he had rented the snack bar to, told them he
quit, and went to an AA meeting.
At the meeting, he took the issue of what many middle-class
people said those who endlessly spoke of suffering, telling
stories of how drunk they had been and done, which
in his mind was not very much to go on about.
Friendly people they were, but one got the sense that
the down and out were not made welcome.
Since he was not drinking, his hands still tremored
went to see a doctor who said he had diabetes and wrote
out a note to buy tablets; apparently, according to
the medic had had this condition for many years, a toll
on his heart which was not in great shape either.
he lives now, a quit in Portugal and happily drinks red wine
in the evening, he says to himself. “I’m not an alcoholic.”
Righteous smart left hand
Short lived amnesia
(there's no app for that) found
his highness (ha... ha... ha... hm)
drawing a (figurative) blank
today January 54th, 2021,
when the misses asked yours truly
to access Verizon voicemail,
me noggin made a clank,
no doubt forgetfulness potion I drank
helps explain the circumstance
spilled (er spelled) ernest and frank.
After uttering expletive
stronger than tarnation
sought after digital information
re: 1-888-234-6786, I handily
pressed telephone keys right away
courtesy five fingertips,
and thumb expecting standing ovation
course I practiced self abnegation
and adamantly refrained
exclaiming these
bone a fied digits of flesh
the best most intelligent in creation,
my memory recalling telephone numerals
more difficult then acquiring k-ration.
Maybe you - anonymous
dear reader unwittingly applauded
(courtesy butterfly effect -
vibrations felt in Schwenksville)
impacted one garden variety human
comfortably nestled within dwelling
functioning as his remote workstation.
Nevertheless, your friendly martian, i.e. me
(from the outer limits
of the twilight zone
ofttimes analogously scurrying
like dark shadow creeping
along the edge of night)
somehow either discerned
(felt, heard or saw)
aforementioned reverberation
unbeknownst to yours truly,
thought he detected, and
felt atmospheric perturbations,
which I automatically fantasized
indicative of a strange being
housed within alien nation.
Pray tell - soundcloud I sensed
twas thee, a faux Earthling,
who telepathically communicated
to mine overactive imagination
please be courteous and befriend
plus promise to whisk me away
to never never land,
regardless whether cultural heritage
of population constitutes
a cross between
Alsatian, cetacean,
Croatian, claymation, Dalmatian,
Haitian, Thracian, et cetera.
Papa ...
Why build your walls so thick?
Did you fear the world would tumble in on you -
Find you as vulnerable and discomposed as the rest of us?
I think your TRUE battles - your wars - took place within
An Id so ambiguous and at odds with itself
That you drowned it in substance and sin and mortality
The edge of a knife too jagged for shrewd application
Visceral impulse, your fine compass
Those paths and bearings felt the prow of your words
Perchance the movable feast was NOT Paris
But rather the light in you - Paris as you lived it, in the rain
You and she, shining, in tremulous unison
Tapping keys with the lethality of your favorite rifle
The point of your pen invasive as any needle, poisoned
Ravaged and gored by the demons of night
Yet passed untouched by the bulls of Pamplona
Your world was raw on the half-shell
You, with Tabasco and a paring knife
Beauty found in muddy fields and mustard gas
As deep and compelling as a Caribbean sunrise
More taken by the grainy texture of a pear on your palate
Than by all the gods of humankind
And THAT, that easy allure -
That sublime simplicity ...
Is why ... I love you.
Written and submitted on November 24, 2019
For the "Your Favorite Artist" Poetry Contest
Chantelle Anne Cooke, Sponsor.
Come February
This is the last day of January 2026
It has been a long month; my surgery took
more out of me than I thought
I have shrunk the trousers' legs too long. I have
to fold them so they do not fall over
I have been thinking of Ernest Hemingway
He had a gun and knew how to use it
I never had a weapon; one needs a license, but I could
Say it is for protection
If I ask for one bullet, they will say I need
a clip, how many bullets are there, six?
I'm painfully sober, a glass of red wine wouldn't
Come a miss, I'm optimistic with a drink
Again, I think of Ernst Hemingway, who avoided
the indignity of old age
January 20, 1919
My Dearest Ernie,
I don't know what I expected ... this is what I wanted - what I requested, but now that I'm here, I want no part. The screams, the blood, the limbs, stacked like firewood in the corner, it's all I see ... even when I'm asleep. A nurse is supposed to be emotionless, I suppose, so I have learned to hide it well, but in the dark of my tent at night, my pillow gets the worst of it.
Each man who comes through reminds me of you ... of US, and I keep expecting one to have your face. Tell me you won't be seeing action again - promise me - you MUST promise, or I won't survive this. God forgive me I am so sick of it ALL. I have left this hell a hundred times, (I even got as far as the canteen one night), but then I think of these poor boys without me, and I have to turn around ...
Forgive me, my love, but guilt and duty hold me like a cross, and I must remain until the war is over. Hold onto the ring, and get it blessed ... THAT is my promise to you. I dream of when this madness is finally over, when we will see this world together, and share the mysteries of our travels ... inward AND outward. Do you know what I desire most, Ernie?
Just you, love ... and your angry charm.
Truly,
Agnes
( This is an imaginary letter from Agnes von Kurowsky to Ernest Hemingway )
When my journey finally comes to an end
I’ll rest for an eternity
Ransom Elementary, my introduction to this scholastic life
Baskin Junior High any seduction kisses the plastic night
Crowville High School, the big green kennel
Franklin parish high school, Mangham high school
It was all seen and mental
Dark House Productions, my inner sights
The only darkness that kept me above the lights
When my journey ends, I’ll rest for an eternity
From C.D. and Mrs. Mary Smith
To my worst foster homes vary with this wish
My Closest Acquaintance, “June”
Carl was only suppose to sanction us to doom
Neal, Willie, the entire family of Eatons
Change my stars
But this misery I am forever keeping
When my journey ends, I’ll sleep for an eternity
Michael and Jamie, Aaron and Nicole
I swear, I’d want you all around forever, watch me grow old
From hustling to get back and forth to football
To working 3 and 4 jobs
Pushing my way through college to witness the soot fall
Pam, Jennifer, Eke, Ernest, Paul, and Chris
My birth mom, Miss Dianna Townes
It’s the memories we recall in this life we miss
To every I didn’t mention, you all know that
When my journey finally ends, I’ll rest for an eternity
Form:
Pain Of The Night
There is a short story of Hemingway’s
Called “A Clean Well-Lighted Place”.
An old widower in a small Spanish town
Nightly frequents a café until it closes down.
Behind his back, some of the waiters deride
Him, because the widower had attempted suicide.
One married waiter complained repeatedly,
That because of him they couldn’t ever close early.
However one older waiter had more sympathy,
Because like the old man, he had no family.
The old waiter understood that pain in the night,
Could be held back in a place that’s clean and bright.
I remember when I was single and free to roam,
And later as a soldier deployed far from home,
That old message of Ernest Hemingway’s
About needing a clean well-lighted place.
Without love and family, life seems just sleep and work.
Solitude is most oppressive sitting in the dark.
Our connection to others helps keep us alive;
Gives us meaning and a reason to survive.
So if you have nobody, and feel the pain of the night,
Surround yourself in a place that’s clean and bright.
Parody of "Casey At The Bat" with apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer
The outlook was quite brilliant for the high school stud that year—
the senior prom was coming up, and Casey had no fear.
The babe he hoped to take he knew would happily comply,
for Casey was quite popular, the envy of each guy.
And she, of course, was stunning, in a Barbie sort of way,
and any fellow would be proud to date her any day!
There was ease in Casey's manner, a real confidence infusion—
that she would smile and tell him 'yes' was a foregone conclusion.
For Casey was the captain of his high school football team
and she was head cheerleader, with a face that made boys dream.
Deciding he would ask her to the prom with a sweet note,
composed in a romantic style, which late one night he wrote.
Next day at lunch, the courtyard packed with hustling and bustle,
wearing the shirt that he picked out that best showed off his muscle—
approaching boldly, Casey handed her his heart-shaped note.
His dream girl read it, then looked up and softly cleared her throat.
Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,
The high school pep band plays somewhere, and high school hearts are light;
And somewhere boys are laughing, and somewhere schoolgirls shout,
But there's no joy in his world—mighty Casey has struck out.
Written 25 Dec 2020
Seventeen thousand special K
vanished into thin air
in one fell swoop life savings
fraudulent fiend did clear
yours truly duped
courtesy scammer with consummate flair
rowdies in peanut gallery doth jeer
raucous insult to injury outware
any remaining shred,
where peace of mind concerned
unraveling threads feeling victimized
Harvey Specter's lobbed hand grenades
fractured, exploded, destroyed... psyche
how mean spirited and unfair.
Amidst din in noggin
analogous to tower of Babel
meaningless mysterious cable
enclosed holding key
to deliver remuneration
bringing tears of joy
and Hollywood ending
to torturous surreal fable
decrypted applying
following conversion table
7.15 6.21.14.4 13.5
fiasco from fraudster
(fiendish) frazzles father
would elicit flickering salvation.
I still haint reckoned with reality
and shake me head in disbelief
mourning forsaken legal tender
while yours truly merrily
strolling along information superhighway
unexpected encountering grief
sorely missing nest egg
linkedin with devilish scheme hatched
when computer hacker
impersonating Apple technician
lured me into a virtual net.
He (who spoke
with a clipped English affect)
his trust earned,
though no questions I asked him,
thus never double checked
truthfulness of authenticity
regarding his being credentialed
by Apple Computer Company
only after the fact painfully learning
checking and savings accounts wrecked.
Expertise with fleecing
sheepish folks like me
most likely found him laughing
all the way to the bank
donning poised demeanor ernest and frank
allowed, enabled, and provided
being emboldened, empowered
to pull off heist,
which legerdemain possibly refined
playing many a boyhood prank
pull the wool over my eyes
and extracting legal tender
he slyly, knowingly,
and deftly did yank
key personal information
compromising willpower to remain alive,
whereat suicidal ideation
(via prescription medication overdose)
teases as modus operandi to escape
death by a thousand cuts
unsure how I can weather insolvency,
a bitter battle to survive
and bear witness to monies thrive.
It was old Woody that lured me with
Dust Bowl Ballads and so much more
Telling stories of a West
That I'd never heard before.
I was with the Okies as
They travelled down the road
Got a new hero from
The Ballad of Tom Joad.
Then on to Steinbeck
Faulkner, Williams, Hemingway,
Until dreams of America
Filled my teenage day.
The whole world exploded with
The advent of Rock 'n' Roll
And once again Americana
Captured my heart and soul.
I learned of Jimmie Rodgers
Hank Williams, Ernest Tubb,
All founder members in my
Exclusive Country Music Club.
Dylan, Van Zandt, Steve Earle,
Guy Clarke, and that's how I found
The huge variation in that loose
Genre, the Country Music sound.
It's been a part of my life
A very constant friend
Too late to change now and so
They'll be with me until the end.
I listened to those story tellers until
They influenced the way I write my verse
So it's my American Dreams
For better or for worse.