Long Horn Poems
Long Horn Poems. Below are the most popular long Horn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Horn poems by poem length and keyword.
Born in the African horn,
In a village, warn torn,
Tired of life, on a gloomy morn,
Took a fateful decision alone.
Left them behind - my loving family,
Knew they’d cry and mourn,
When they find out, I was gone.
A few pennies and old clothes,
Daring the Sirocco, as it blows,
Through Sahara's blazing sands,
Reached the shores of Fezzan.
Five hundred more were jostling for a chance,
To find a tight place on that boat to France,
My turn, it only came past day twenty,
And they told me,
You will go if you have the money.
Screaming in fear on that dinghy,
Tossing around in the Mediterranean Sea,
It brought me to the camps of Lesbos,
My wounded sanity, I began to lose.
Dirty and grimy, hopeless and morose,
In that flailing broken tent, I froze,
That is when someone told me,
Lovely Australia is the place to be.
Put my life into his greedy hands,
The human smuggler, he took me thru’ badlands,
But the guardians of the sea, down under,
To Manus, they screamed, after my surrender.
A long way had I come, forlorn,
From the violent and dusty Horn,
Through the unrelenting Sahel and Lesbos,
To the hell of Manus and its chaos.
Today with a rose, I’m on my way,
On a plane, to the San Francisco Bay,
I’m a poor refugee and I silently pray,
‘Show me some mercy, don’t turn me away’.
Opus Mysticus
Let us enter... and be silent.
My insanity hangs on the wall with all the other Van Goghs.
Sleeping snugly between semen stained sheets
and saliva creased pillow cases.
Inundations and vivid remembrances
of days dead and hours traumatized.
You and the skinny one behind the wheel.
Whistling depressing dirges in D minor.
Your vituperative Mein Kampf of the ages!
She lifted her skirt and unzipped my soul!
Young children bathing in the quagmire of Eden.
Bellerophone on Pegasus riding through Hell's Kitchen
in the upper east side.
My problems are but pinned butterflies
quasi-embalmed in glass cases
seeking in futile
the sweet revenge of past indignations.
Where are they now?
The artists of Transcript Necco?
Of Zoot Horn Rollo?
They're down on the dark city streets
off in dark scummy alleys
jamming till the lights go out.
Elucidations.
Proclivities.
Paragons.
Intense disaffections.
She lifted her skirt and unzipped my soul!
Hush, what was that on the roof, Can't be Santa Claus, I can hear as I lay in my bed .
Perhaps he as had to many sherry's and crashed his sled.
Took the Elves months to fix it last time, and Poor old Rudolph was seeing red.
He even broke the sleigh bells and had to have a horn instead .
I open the curtains looking over a winter fairy land.
Frosty the Snowman stood there in this winter wonder land.
The radio playing jingle bells , it's the salvation army band.
Christmas presents opened with toys galore the kids are in dreamland.
And then its Christmas dinner all the trimmings and a pud ,I can hardly stand !
Merry Xmas, Everybody
comp entry 05122016
Solitude breeds malignant nemesis
couched as woe seated heavily
within mine angst
riddled quavering psyche
blinding clairvoyance
debilitates enthusiastic frequency
wavelengths propagate unfounded
probable future destitution
predicated upon intractable lifetime mired
within groveling penuriousness
"dirt poor" accursed fate
pervaded plentiful not ready
for prime time playing years
repercussions long fostered anguish,
when offspring begot
(particularly the whip smart eldest)
she jockeyed herself as winner
with good n plenti horsesense
chomped at the bit, albeit figuratively,
when aforementioned progeny
attained age of awareness
underscored by livingsocial
in the horn of plenty
regarding estates generally
dripping exuberant wealth,
where plush domiciles within MainLine
accentuated luckless financial pitfall,
asper yours truly afflicted mental illness
mine generalized anxiety, panic,
obsessive compulsive disorder...
ascribed to existence squandered,
nee imprisoned impenetrable prison
found me captive undermining
ordinary healthy development
sabotaging approximately five decades
constituting better part sans mein kampf,
which total three plus score orbitz,
yet far and away psychologically afflicted
nsync and linkedin with
emotional, mental, and social trauma
(learning difficulty compounded
dilemma repercussions extant today),
now healthily sublimated,
courtesy painful pubescent exhumation
poetry metier write
cathartic, holistic, narcotic...
plus weekly therapy sessions
also exercise in toto with meditation
supplements summoning forth
inner Wizard of Oz
to traverse cratered abysmal pits
gingerly sidestepping death traps
awash with skeletal wreckage
indelible scars perforating
air supply condemning me
aging baby boomer nsync
lead zeppelin plunges
corporeal essence gripped
stranglehold asphyxiates
sputtering torturous undulations
irrepressibly avast impossible mission
livingsocial counter intuitive
rather hermetically sealed simian
accustomed himself being alone.
THE BEST IN SPORTS WRESTLING
UNTAINTED PROMO
Welcome....
Ladies and Gentlemen this is
The A_____W______A
The best in Broadcasted
wrestling!
Sheduled
the arrival of
the AWA Pro Wrestling Guild's
Heavyweight Champion
One note a wait Worlds Champion one half
of the Tagteam Championship team of
"Broadway" Daryl Van Horn
and :Daryl's Devil" Sol Vallis with
there manager "Gillton Minx
will await the arrival of the Guilded Superstar
to tell him he's a secondary titlist
something the Guilded Superstar doesn't want to hear
after being refused a chance
at facing World Champion
"Sy'Borg Yak" aka Saul Grade Muphry
who will face
United Worlds and Pro Chore
Champion
King Kong Kual Maddox
in an attemp to unify three brands
and five different companies
one match will change the course of history
or the losser will leave in "Shame"
the guy who losses will forever be known as the guy who
losed
no DQ, No countout:there will be a winner
the referre is from a ifferent company neutral company mind you
and theone side officail are
from different sports
untainted is what the Night has been called
and we will have a Winner.
If a draw a coin toss will precede the forfeit.
Jealously is visible in these locker rooms
these guys all wanted to be the man
who unified the belts
and some of these guys are in aa mood to
reason. It's a managers night to talk
and the Wrestlers were advised to
shutup and Wrestle.
A new Commision be it temporarily has been setup
and transition from one name
to another has been penciled in
they call the Night "Untainted"
ladies and Gentlemen let's go
to CenterRing with
Mertez Milton
for the first match of the night
"The Standard" Hess Hessin Bert verses " Him Glorious" Steck Beso
Jazz City breathes like a smoke ring in a midnight club/ Rudy Van Gelder at the console, the world’s greatest keeper of sound, Prestige Records spinning stories in the air/
First with the great jazzman, a medium tempo groove that slides from bebop to hard-swing, rails blazing as the jazz Coltrane blows by on a melody that climbs and flies/
Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis, cookin’ the pot, steamin’ with a pocket full of jazz soul/ Clifford Brownie Brown leads a hip Quintet, Max Roach on drums, a harmonic understudy whispering the language of the streets and the back alleys' life and love/
Some cats just don’t give a straight face to the night—high, sad, happy, drunk, angry—moods poured out on the bandstand like rain through a skylight/ The club crowd feels every wave, every push and pull, as these cats stride into something cool, strutting like tenor giants of the ‘50s and ‘60s, leaping on a note at the Half Note jazz club/
Ruth Brown, an R&B queen with a jazz vibe in her voice, comes drifting through the doorway—rhythm and blues calling her name, she answers with a smile that cuts through the smoke and lights up the room at the Surger Shack/ She’s something else, a heartbeat of dance steps in a rhythm and blues night that never truly ends? This is not just music; it’s a city waking up with a horn section for a skyline, a doorway into sound where every mood is a stairway into every solo/
a streetlight, a conga line in every chorus/ Jazz City isn’t a place; it’s a pulse in the air, a memory you can hear whenever the world pretends to be quiet. So lean in, my brother, and get super hip/listen close, let the grooves pull you into their orbit/where the greats walk the stairs of time and the present keeps time with the past, one note at a time."
While I'm reading a poem about it on the previous page
the girls come over to visit their boyfriends and dance
in high shoes and perfume. Their legs are strong and their voices high.
And the guys get high and hard thinking about what the girls are like
behind their eyes.
That says more about me than reality. And it's exactly four lines.
Ken Patchen would say his angel smells sweet and sassy.
I feel the bony fingers of mine who has been working to stay alive.
Enough small poetry. One must conceive of a project--
say a poem about a bridge--or stop writing
and instead walk over the bridge at sunset and see the city in a nuclear
war
the clocks, the Watchtower and the docks gone and no smoke.
I still exist but I'm late for my job. I'm dressed well
in honor of true love and Spring which both outlast the holocaust.
The manager cans me with the cold hard eyes of one who accepts the
rules entirely.
Goodbye to the rows of dead metal desks and goodbye
to those who can take it longer than I.
The guys downstairs do not read poetry and very little prose.
The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money does not
occupy their minds.
The sex pistils of the mountain daisy is no concern of theirs
and the man upstairs who plays the horn is less than a curiosity but makes
more noise.
When I feel like this nothing matters and this is good--
get warm with wine, turn out the lights and turn up the radio--
if only there were a woman who liked the down and out life too.
In the end someone sticks a gun in my face in the South Bronx.
How I got among the fire escapes in the sooty alley I cannot say
but it is one of my earliest memories. Perhaps it is my grandmother
holding my hand
or one of the clowns. I say Drop that goddamn gun and he blows me
away.
I see a day when mankind will say
Let us our differences downplay
when the wolf will lie down with the lamb --
Hearken to the shofar blast of the horn of the ram
I see a day when every husband and wife unite
to keep the bonds of matrimony pure white
when children feel the love and care they so deserve
when families dwell in peace, no stress on their nerves
I see a day when the earth is back in equilibrium
without carbon overload or environmental destruction
when mankind treats our wonderful world with awe
when he respects Nature and Natural Law...
These visions may perhaps sound like mere dreams
Let's make them come true, on wise plans' streams
As Sol slips off of the Earth's edge,
twilight slowly morphs into night.
And Autumn colors disappear
as dusk dims all remaining light.
Wildlife shivers in frigid winds,
contemplating the coming snow.
And dusk smears the horizon red
as crimson rivers ebb and flow.
Hoar-frost clouds, like paper towels,
expunge all traces of blue skies.
And darkness darkens the heavens
till the stars twinkle like fireflies.
Squirrels gather up acorns to
stash in final preparation.
And flurries of flakes hail Winter
in joyous anticipation.
Fall's horn of Cornucopia
gives way to empty fields of muck.
And Autumn’s beauty slips away,
much like the last migrating duck.
(Quatrain)
9/15/2015
There is a folk I know
quite too well,
he does not refund when he owe,
at least that's how well I can tell.
Then came a day
stars littered in the sky,
he left the house again,
To in the same sin ply.
He's such a torn
in the feeble flesh,
and a cowries headed horn
seeped in the quintessence.
But on his way
he met a flaw:
a bus collided with him,
and his consciousness took a walk.
Ribs carved, bones twisted,
joints squat, veins stooped,
mitigating blood clutched lethargy,
confetti of dispersing breath imbued.
None to take him from the spot,
since all neighbors were his sport,
even death ain't interested in taking him from the spot,
but if you're, you could go forth.
19:09:28:06:57