Long Hemingway Poems
Long Hemingway Poems. Below are the most popular long Hemingway by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hemingway poems by poem length and keyword.
Losing Paris
The village has been enveloped by fog for days.
The world is shrinking; all I see is our apartment.
And the misery of prisoners of the pandemic.
We are sinking into abjection, and we can´t run.
Do you remember Paris ten years ago, she says?
Well, vaguely I murmured, then she told me of us
travelling there on a bus that took forever.
She had visited family and friend, visited her
brother grave and enjoyed herself.
I had read poetry at a venue and met with silence.
I had gone to a theatre showing a modern play
falling asleep drunk and farting loudly.
I walked the streets, drank in a bar told an arrogant
waiter to off; thrown out.
God, I hated Paris it, was not like meeting Hemingway.
I was 80 years too late.
In the morning I was ill, had to go to a hospital
they stuck a tube up my so I could pee, and now
I sat in the kitchen agreeing with my wife it had been
a great trip; it had been an accumulation of misery
caused by myself, you see, I couldn’t find
the Paris of my dreams
Lone Ranger
Three days are gone, alone in my cabin
Not a word is written in these rooms of silence
Writing in a vacuum does not behoove me.
I need an input someone with thoughts of their own.
Reflecting my own thoughts in the mirror
Are unbreakable cycles like a troll under a bridge
That can no longer see the difference between a goat or sheep.
Starve it does not being able to catch rainbow trouts
As laziness seeps into his bones.
Sore is my head from trying to burst out of this encircling
Of the stale, fearful of the new, I must read more,
Work by writers I don’t care for, but has something
Different to say or a new twist of words. I’ve tended to
Read too much, Hemingway.
Another summer
Summer is over the night arrives hastily
it was a delicious season spent indoors
his cancer didn´t like to sun.
To sit there and dream of summer wine and dance
reading brochure of adventures in Thailand.
Once he travelled to Paris, walked the street
trying to get a whiff when Paris was Hemingway´s
Ezra Pound’s Gertrude Stein’s and James Joyce’s.
Instead, it was another overpriced city
but he went to the house where Edith Piaf lived
her name was on the building and the street
where she had lived had a lived-in patina.
He was not invited, to a literary salon but
Shakespeare’s bookshop took in two of his
modest book
John Hemingway has died at the age of a hundred and five
It was the luck of the Irish he said that helped him to survive
At the age of nineteen he left his home in County Dublin
And enlisted in the Royal Air Force and was officially sworn in.
It was at the age of twenty-one that he took to the sky
After having gained his pilot wings enabling him to fly
He'd gone to England's assistance in their darkest hour
And he never once gave up even when things turned sour.
He was shot down four times but always found his way back
And defended our skies from a relentless German attack
Their brave defence became known as the ‘Battle of Britain’
But for those brave pilots Germany would have won I am certain.
He flew hurricanes and spitfires in combat during his career
Always facing the enemy head on and never showing any fear
Once his spitfire was shot down whilst on a mission over Italy
His parachute didn't deploy fully but his fall was broken by a tree.
Others called him a hero, but he never claimed himself to be
Often said he was just doing a job for the defence of the country
He lost many comrades on missions it was a dangerous thing to do
John and his fellow brave comrades became known as ‘The Few’.
It's people like John who made great sacrifices for their country
And it is because of their sacrifice we live in peace, and are free
We owe those brave pilots a great debt that we can never repay
How fitting for John that he died peacefully on St Patrick's day.
Group Captain John Allman Hemingway
17/07/1919 — 17/03/2025
WHEN I WAS YOUNGER,
I DREAMT OF WRITING LIKE CAMUS.
THINKING LIKE SARTRE,
LIVING LIKE HEMINGWAY,
AND ALL IN GOD'S CONSTANT GRACE.
I THOUGHT I SUFFERED INDIA'S HUNGER
AND AMERICA'S AFFLUENCE,
BUT ACTUALLY,
I WAS CAREFREE--AND CARELESS.
NOW, THOUGH STILL A YOUNG MAN
(31 is an odd age, but safe)
I WANT LESS, MUCH LESS--
FAME, FORTUNE, KNOWLEDGE, PASSION,
EVEN HOPE...
IF THE WORLD IS INDEED DOOMED,
I WILL LOVE IT TILL ITS LAST DAY--
AND IF THE WORLD IS GOD BLESSED,
I WILL STILL LOVE IT TILL ITS LAST DAY.
IF I CANNOT CREATE LIKE A GIANT, THEN
I WILL WRITE WITH A SMALLER HAND
AND UTTER NOISES IN A LOWER TONE.
(This poem was written in the late 1970's)
The Artist
On the terrace in the building across the road
a woman is sweeping her terrace; on another terrace
one the floor up, a woman is watering her plants
There is an endlessness about these domestic duties
monotonous and repetitive from Africa to India
The picture is the same, women need to keep order
and add beauty to their life
Order is important armies know that, but their aim is
to destroy an enemy, in this undertaking, no beauty.
Except perhaps, many soldiers enjoy the tough look
of a military parade, a masculine heart swells
Artists have female hearts they seek beauty whether
in painting, poetry or prose; even the fabled
Hemingway, whose private life preceded his fame
found beauty when seeing a butterfly sitting on a straw.
The journey back
The trail
An Author of books
“FOR WHOM THE BELLS TOLL” my look
From Miami to Key West
The whom being I
4 hour venture to tour Ernest Hemingway’s house in Key West, Florida
Through his writings encouraged me to write
Extending my own words into theory
Mr. Hemingway being the vision of what words can be, and illustrating thoughts
The whom being can
The glance and grasp
I did a critical analysis of my College English 101 Professor’s Assigned I chose “FOR WHOM THE BELLS TOLL”
I got an A for my analysis of the book
Ernest Hemingway was an impact
His words bringing fact
His accomplishments are hard to keep track
Ernest Hemingway write up
Analysis complete.
Far
Away
in space
and time, yet
fixed in memory
we wake in the dark
and climb the spree by
flashlight reaching Gilman’s
Point where we watch the sun rise
in the east over the Indian Ocean, just
like Hemingway, then past Leopard’s Point
where in 1926, Reusch found a frozen feline at
the edge of the receding glacier and no one knows
why was it there but then I’m not sure why I was there
as we slowly trudged onward through the thin air to Uhuru
where I sign the summit list-and will get a certificate at the base
but only on our return home do I discover that the Blue Jays blew a
3-1 lead in the American League finals to KC who won the World Series
The fancy degree from a world famous school
set in a frame that’s worth more
than the paper on which it’s printed
all the awards
the accolades
none of it has taught you
the lessons I learned long ago
before either of us could even read or had ever heard
of Shakespeare or Marlowe
Dickens or Carroll or Hemingway
when we were but larvae of what we would become
when you put on your first pair of patent leather shoes
polished to a high shine
before you toddled to the table for tea
at around the same time that half a world away
I slipped into my sandals
the straps hanging by a thread
the holes in the soles patched with duct tape
before sauntering into the kitchen
to spread mayonnaise or mustard or margarine
onto a single slice of stale bread
so I would have something in my stomach
to see me through until supper
which would consist of a can of some sort of beans
and a ten cent box of macaroni and cheese
with slices of cheap hot dogs stirred in
sometimes cut into quarters
when money was even more tight due to a medical bill
some other unexpected expense
You may be capable of convincing an audience
but you can never really know
You will never understand what that life is
Some things they can’t teach you at Cambridge
Sarah and John, awaiting their firstborn;
a nurse and soldier, in each other's arms,
in war-time setting, were at times forlorn
by their romantic joy fused with alarms.
This burdened Sarah with commingled fears
in expectation of what was to come...
long, rainy days brought forth her anxious tears,
as if, to some sad fate, she would succumb.
In time, more courage made its home within;
with passion, she embraced her womanhood,
and with no fear of tragedy therein,
attained the precious gift of motherhood.
Soon, on that day, when giving birth was done...
the joyful couple welcomed their dear son.
Date: January 4, 2019
~2nd Place~
Contest: Movie Magic
Sponsor: Gregory R. Barden
Judged: 03/21/2019
Movie: 'A Farewell To Arms' - Character, Catherine
Note: "A Farewell To Arms," is a novel by Ernest Hemingway made into a movie. Character Frederic Henry is an American officer serving in an ambulance unit for the Italian Army during World War I. Catherine Barkley, is a Red Cross nurse he had met earlier, near the front, and they engage in an affair, and she becomes pregnant. Catherine's example as an expectant mother was that of a loving, courageous, uplifting, yet fearful one and rainy days were one of her worst fears. However, the end of the movie is very tragic as her child is stillborn, and she herself also passes away from complications. Hence, per contest rules, the ending of my poem is different than portrayed in the movie.