Long Glenn Poems
Long Glenn Poems. Below are the most popular long Glenn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Glenn poems by poem length and keyword.
My Interpretation: Glenn Hughes Lyric:
In the space of a short span Mother can you see
the exactitudes that human I've been tryin' to see you
measure can be achieved if Cuz the line is free
the powers that be partake Now they're tellin' me
within said time of the hour Stop shakin' like a feather
mind control of its recipient On the count of three
purposed by the War Dept.
Be a.k.a., War Machine that Back in '69
take all known from yonder We never learned our lesson
space of a short span, turn Down in Vietnam
to short spin of actual news I refuse to sign
It doesn't really matter
calls and worded letters an They don't give a damn
urgent warning a nation its
new emperor wears a new I don't care what you want
clothes "Hear ye vainglory." And I roll with the fear
What's here is NOT there, You don't hear nothin'
and I am grateful for that A sad waste of life
truth, but to spin it in any When we go to war
fashion as being anything Won't you hear somethin'
but...
NAM undeniably benumb Father you cry
death then permeates all When we go to war
the patty fields of grains What is it for?
of rice guised as desert
grains of sand. Death is Brother is that you?
bears out truly that our So get a little closer
New Emperor at home I can't feel your breath
is as naked as sin can We're the chosen few
ever be... Out there in the desert
There's a smell of death.
Family--Mom, Brother,
Dad, let me be some-
body and not a made
up nobody. I want to
be your Bro. again, I
I want to be your Son
again, I want to be
Glenn Hughes again,
plain Ole American.
'You are the music', the guitar strings of my favourite song.
Your lyrics 'touch my life,' as you are the twin to my soul.
What 'am I' without you, when all melodies sound so wrong.
I'll never question 'what is a woman's role' in rock and roll.
Your lyrics touch my life, as you are the twin to my soul.
My 'midnight flyer' your spirit glows like a 'seafull' of stars.
I'll never question what is a woman's role in rock and roll.
When life 'makes you wanna cry' we can create memoirs.
My midnight flyer your spirit glows like a seafull of stars.
When you 'send me no more letters,' I'll ignore the post.
When life makes you wanna cry we can create memoirs,
I'll follow your footsteps, roaming from 'coast to coast.'
When you send me no more letters, I'll ignore the post,
wondering 'will our love end,' before the ultimate vow.
I'll follow your footsteps, roaming from coast to coast,
until you serenade about 'feelin' so much better now.'
Wondering will our love end, before the ultimate vow,
'it's only a dream,' but you get 'nothin' for nothing,'
until you serenade about feelin' so much better now.
'Your love is allright' when your muse is soft and loving.
It's only a dream, but you get nothin' for nothing.
It hurts 'way back to the bone' when you leave me alone.
Your love is allright when your muse is soft and loving.
'Black clouds' fade to white when I hear your sweet tone.
It hurts way back to the bone when you leave me alone.
I feel like a 'loser' playing solo to a 'jury' of 'back street love.'
Black clouds fade to white when I hear your sweet tone.
I ain't 'keepin' time,' but it's just 'another day' of grey skies above.
I feel like a 'loser' playing solo to a 'jury' of 'back street love.'
What 'am I' without you, when all melodies sound so wrong.
I ain't 'keepin' time.' but it's just 'another day' of grey skies above.
'You are the music', the guitar strings of my favourite song.
21 songs from Glenn Hughes with Trapeze:
What is a woman's role
You are the music
Touch my life
Am i
Seafull
Midnight flyer
Makes you wanna cry
Coast to coast
Send me no more letters
Feelin so much better now
Will our love end
Nothin' for nothing
It's only a dream
Your love is allright
Way back to the bone
Black cloud
Jury
Loser
Back street love
Keepin' time
Another day
Saloon
Squeezed between office buildings
On lower Broadway
Desolate and out of the way
Faint neon sign marks the place
For the downtown art scene.
Poetry readings on Sunday afternoons
Only the regulars show up
Invited or not
Some mount the stage and
Recite a piece or two
To scattered applause.
The beat goes on
Summer nights fly by
No Sunday readings now
It’s Saturday and it’s a different place.
Crowd mingles
Three deep at the bar
A/C working on overtime while
Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On plays
Jazzy and soulful
A monster hit
To no one’s surprise.
A hangout for anyone
Bodies waiting to meet
An Agent.
Or maybe a Publisher.
Or a Rep.
Anybody. Somebody. Anyone know somebody important?
Naw, this ain’t the place
This is St. Adrian’s
A place for
Artists.
Writers.
Sculptors.
Working class dreamers.
Pretenders and losers.
Wannabes.
Lost children and
Casual loners on the prowl.
Carol, alone in a corner booth
Glass of white wine in her hands
On the rocks of course
Smiles at everyone like a Mona Lisa.
Jack Micheline
Bronx’ original Beat
Wrote River of Red Wine in ‘58
Manuscript under his arm
Waits for someone
To buy him a drink
Elaine, beautiful in a peasant blouse
Scent of musk oil like a halo
Motions
To the young men
Who watch her hands
Move like deadly weapons
Stan’s a photographer. Sleepy, one night
Left his equipment in a car
Morning arrives and
Broken windshield screams
You’ve been robbed.
Junior, a sculptor, needs rent money for a walkup in the East Village
Otherwise he’ll live on someone’s couch
Gil does commercials
Until he finds an old lady
Then Hollywood here he comes
And Glenn is a writer with lots of ideas
But no paper and no place to go.
No one asked what I did for money
Or where I lived.
I was accepted with a simple sitdownhaveadrink.
Sometimes there’d be ten of us
Squeezed in a booth or
Around a table
Talking and talking.
Any topic not important
Just to meet and forget for awhile
The nagging loneliness and rejection.
It’s well past midnight
Chairs scrape the floor and there’s an echo in the walls
Left behind are empty glasses and stale beer
As the place begins to empty out.
We leave
Hitting the still streets
Looking for a cab
Or the nearest subway
But before we do
We promise to meet again.
Casting a glance past my shoulder as Chopin’s Berceuse opens into the air
light diffuses across the room with its Autumn shadow
beautiful day … beautiful
shimmers, ripples as dry, shallow water with dancing shades of
lilac leaves
shimmering stream of light across a flaxen silk cushion
nothing special, but yes
the glinty lustre lingers here, simple, playful, randomly enticing
My eye to Autumn light is a relationship beyond my strength
and always has been
there, an unaccomplished lilac leaf, predominantly green with a touch of
purplish blush, just flickered down past the window
Magical dance of Autumn’s delight, my delight
the season’s progression to detritus and Winter’s insulation
of wilted lamium, hardened rose-hips, flattened hostas
Blankets of leaves form pools of musty colour across our back garden
(we were all away in different directions this weekend)
and in this span, the paw-paw simply dropped its voluptuous
leaves, leaving them strewn in an organized un-windswept circle
round its barren form
Oh, the motion, waving, blowing, dropping, to barrenness
who designed this beauty?
not I, it is beyond my conception
conceiving barrenness
nature’s movement to senescence
Only she can create such beauty in this strange and entrancing ritual
Autumn’s ebb-and-flow, dappled light, dance of crisp, rufous
leaves, of desiccated, musty, smudged ochre-paper
Little notes tumble through the fresh air and wood-smoke, notes of
truth:
Beauty lives here
Come see and smell and touch
Rusty impregnation of fluttering, flickering light and leaves
preparing for Winter’s sleep and Spring’s release
(October 19, 2009)
Glenn died less than a month later. I, his mother, made a pledge to him that a book of his writings would be published. It has been - I am Keats as you are...
Creativia Publishing: I am Keats as you are by Glenn Peirson (2016-02-14)
http://a.co/6YmStCq
This will be his online poetry home.
Legend Of The Black Dove
(Part 9) "The Voyage To Where ?"
The weather is cold and the sea calm as the 'Columbia' goes out to sea.
Norrington and Jenkins finally fall asleep in their cabin while on deck
the captain fears something wrong with the ship, the weather picks up
to a squall as the 'Columbia' gains tremendous speed and a strange
mist engulfs the ship. She is travelling an amazing 2000knots and
then suddenly slows down. They are in a harbour once again, but
where are they ? It is now daylight, it having being night just an hour
before going to sea. The jolt from sudden stopping awaken Norrington
and Jenkins and they head up on deck. From the captain, Norrington
finds out the ship has travelled to some unchartered land, he
orders for a boat to be lowered intending to go ashore on a
scouting mission and asks for volunteers, Norrington and Jenkins go
along with Captain Dennis Owens and his first officer Glenn Hill plus
two crewmen. As they approach Dover harbour (is Dover here an
unchartered land?) the passengers and crew behold a very unusual
sight: instead of sailing ships they notice ships of strange types moored
in the harbour, along with the 'Enterprise'- the sister ship of the
'Columbia' which must be brand new, but appears to be worn out and
ready for scrapping. What are these strange ships, what had happened
to their own ship ? The Captain decides he needed some answers
(The Captain wishes to find out) so they all decide to board one of the
strange vessels. When on board they go below deck and find a propulsion
system of strange design on the cellar deck. they are all amazed at what
they see. The captain discovers the bridge of the huge ship full of weird
levers and instrumentation. Owens notices a placard on the ship's wheel
mount on the 'Albatross' built at Newcastle in 1929, as well as a calendar
dated 1930,and it all starts to make sense: the weird mist had transported
them through a time portal from 1750 to the year 1930.....
Is the crew of the 'Columbia' marooned forever in this particular time period ?
Is there any way back to their own time?
Make the discovery (Find out) in Part 10...."The Unknown World"
Posted the first day of each month.
Written 30th July 2013
Behind caution tape, I stand in the shade
watching a wrecking ball, tethered to sway
And soon with a gasp from the crowd standing by
A piece of the past is ready to die
I am seeing a lifetime, as it falls to the ground
the old tenement house, on Avery Street
For years it was home, to folks across town
Rarely do people now straddle it's shores
Where the root-buckled sidewalks lead up to the doors
And feet skipped over the cracks, with swift daily chores
All the chalked hopscotch lines have since washed away
along with laughter and the gold of the day
Summertime colors have withered and fled
Into bruised, battered bricks, of memories bled
Now, forsaken, this dethroned queen
With broken limbs and shattered eyes
of shards of glass, and broken lives
Still haunt the northwest wing
Thick layers of dust, cover the limpid leaves
of an old silk rose, within a vase
and reminds the gloom of dime store trips
when the passing lives, that used to be
were alive with simple certainty
A curtain, torn, hangs by a thread
and shivers, laced within the wind
A haven, built, of brick and clay
Defaced, disgraced, red-brick decay
Each story told, each life it held
Now crumbles with each stone, once laid
There were some who still remember, well
The ones who lived above the rim
By whom you could set the clock
By footsteps walked on wooden stairs
Who made this place a home
Now far away, the gossips say
"Their health had failed, such hell to pay
For now it seems to live each day
Someone has to tell them...
When to eat, when to dress and when to bathe"
People had watched them come and go
It was always with hand in hand...
Their music was heard between the cracks
Mozart, Bach, Glenn Miller bands
They had lived here forty years or more
Or so the legend goes....
No one really knows for sure, but know it was for years...
But now a flower in a vase
Is covered dust to dust
The lights turned off, no sigh, no trace...
with windows black, and lyrics lost
The wave that came, went back to sea
Like the hopes that fade away
Tomorrow's dreams have come and gone
to leave a winter's song
And is the only thing that holds the years
From waning into none....
___________________________________
There is no denying this feeling,
Butterflies fluttering with dread inside.
The melancholy sound of the blind man cries,
Echoes like sorrows in the corners of pain,
Lamenting like a melody so full of angst,
The devil smiling triumphantly, perched on his shoulder.
Sorrows so deep,
Keeping me up at nights,
Searching desperately for an inkling of light,
Listening to Glenn Hughes to help me through the night.
Darkness envelops me in all its might.
When a blind man cries, you know without a doubt
It’s a cry of agony felt from the very depth of his soul.
The one that promised forever is now playing a different tune;
A new lover’s lips are being explored,
Sweet nothings prose-penned to expose
The deep emotions evoked with a certain look—
That’s all it took, no need for goodbyes.
Sorrows so deep,
Keeping me up at nights,
Searching desperately for an inkling of light,
Listening to Glenn Hughes to help me through the night.
Falling on my knees, begging for mercy,
Calling all angels to wipe these tears away,
Promising my earthly life and all that I have
For the return of your embrace.
Not caring, the blood escapes and trickles,
Cutting all ties as I cry along to “When a Blind Man Cries.”
Clutching my chest as the scream is muffled,
Enveloped in darkness, a sorrow so great—
No light within and no light without sight,
A distorted picture of a man in plight.
The danger is so real as he curls up broken.
Sorrows so deep,
Keeping me up at nights,
Searching desperately for an inkling of light,
Listening to Glenn Hughes to help me through the night.
Pulling him from the pit of misery,
His ears straining and feeling a flutter of hope,
As the record player is playing the last hurrah.
A blind man’s eyes still weep,
A blind man’s heart still feels.
He crawls over and gingerly drops another beat.
Sorrows so deep,
Keeping me up at nights,
Searching desperately for an inkling of light,
Listening to Glenn Hughes to help me through the night.
When a blind man cries,
He hears No Stranger to Love,
Released by Glenn Hughes in 1986.
No longer in darkness, the eyes now see.
Music and the legend behind the lyrics
Will always be there when the blind man cries.
Women have married their husbands for financial gain and stuff. Women would tend to kill
their own husband for three reasons: to keep the kids, for the life insurance money, and
to continuing the affairs with the other guys. These deadly women are like the ones I've
seen on the episodes of "Snapped" on the Oxygen Network and "Deadly Women" on ID
(Investigation Discovery). I'm told that the soon-to-be ex-wives are afraid that the
soon-to-be ex-husbands will have found out about the affairs they're having with the guys,
that they're stealing money from the guys' hard-earned business, and/or that he'll have
taken the kids with him, so they will have killed them. These cold-blooded women will have
done everything to have covered up their tracks and the truth. And the next thing the
would-be in-laws know, these deadly women, who'd kill for money, will have been featured
on an episode of "I (Almost) Got Away With It." The ways for these black widows to kill
their husbands are by guns, poison, hired hit men, and by weapons (axes, e.g.). The only
way to have ended all marriages is a divorce, and I do believe in divorces. Everybody
knows that these married women would kill their husbands to cover up their lies and
deceits. But as soon the proper authorities find evidence that these married women had
everything to do with the murders of their husbands, they'll likely spend what will be,
the rest of their lives in prison without the possibility of parole. That's why I'm not
going to marry a woman who's after my money and I'm not going to suffer the same fate
these guys did, especially when Julia Lynn Turner had killed Randy Thompson (the fireman)
and Maurice Glenn Turner (the police officer) by anti-freeze, Jessica McCord and her new
husband killed her ex-husband and his new wife to keep her daughters, and when Michelle
Michael killed her husband, James "Jimmy" Michael for insurance money. and if these men
didn't want to marry these would-be cold-blooded women, then they never should've married
them at all. And these gold-digging soon-to-be wives are now considered cold-blooded
assassins.
Inspired by Glenn Hughes song " From Now On"
In the whispering breeze I heard the birds sing
for you as the sunburst sky flushed your face.
How endearingly attractive you were then to me,
mesmerized I knew, but you had no clue.
In the seamless sky of my fervent yearning,
I let the enraptured songbird of heart soar high,
glide in the spring-rippled amorous breeze
that carried your jasmine fragrance to me.
After the night melts, in your empty garden I find me
sparkle as the opalescent pearl of rare ecstasy,
like a dew drop on the petals of your luring rose.
How my fulfilled feeling of longing lingers you don’t know.
From eternity I get the time that I share with you.
As my desire flares like the blazing sunrise sky,
I am keen to see the day my dreams come true.
When your shadow entwines mine, you do not discern.
My fervor flies to the blue ether of your remote eyes,
where a nostalgic nest I build to become my retreat.
When in the storm I fondly shelter my love there,
how tensely forlorn it is, you don’t perceive.
From the ebony edge of the dense night of despair
storm clouds surge with thunders of tearing torment,
splinter the facade of the sky I call my heart,
where the shards of dream disperse in the debris.
Your rousing voice in the silent air of my yearning
echoes with the melody of my lonely resonant heart.
How complete I am when it delights me to the brim
to get the feeling of togetherness, you don’t sense.
When in the winter’s bare garden of frozen emotion,
I am alone like the unfurled bud between wilted leaves,
you bring for me the sunburst splendor of spring,
bloom in my heart red roses, I make a bouquet for you.
When you leave tracing the trail of melting mirage,
I feel deserted like desolate sands of the dry dune.
How despondently my pent-up words ‘I need you’
I say to me with sanguine whisper, you don’t hear.
From now on your essence makes a lasting image,
fused with the dark void in the abyss of my soul.
How many candles I have lighted there for you,
I am pining to tell you for you to love me evermore.
It’s been 3 years since the low blow of nadirs
As we said hooroo to you..goodbye to our top guy
Still feeling...reeling from the pain
Of all the polished veneers of careers
Which is the best palimpsests of Test contests..conquests
The class...VIP pass..no glass ceiling
Why..has to be the insane arcane Shane gravy train
You know they’re in the hall of fame..like Elvis
When they just get called by their first name
Palpable fears cricket will never ever
Be quite the same game again
Cricketing Gods above showered their love.. on an upstart..
Who didn’t just play his part but resurrected
The respected but sadly neglected.. leg spin art
Vision of befuddling precision & derision lingers
The dawn of Warne
Muddling aplomb of his first ball against a Pom
Fingers flipped…it dipped..gripped..ripped
Nipped..skipped..clipped off stump
Leggy bomb….under the pump
Down in the dump chump
Plump Gatting slipped..pipped
We quipped..ill equipped..standing sentry for
The outstanding ball of the century
Shane twirled & quite simply
Changed the world of batting
Gandalf's celestial staff...walks the walk...talks the talk
On some extra terrestrial path
And at tother end..you're having a laugh..where
When there's then the zen
Of his old friend Glenn McGrath
Warnie’s masterplan of..flair…elan and despair
Devious...mischievous...had plenty of previous
Alright unfair trite slights about hair implants..highlights
Off the square delights…did revel with rare
On another level.. seedier devil may care flights
Done like a kipper by a ripper
Wannabe chipper skipper's flipper again
One of the game’s greatest readers & media feeder
Should've been.. hallowed.. not fallowed leader
Memories never wane of how
Shane did forever entertain
A whizz doing the biz with such fizz
Legendary larrikin of sin & spin
So let's ordain the Champagne
Campaign & Reign of Shane!