Long Hotel room Poems
Long Hotel room Poems. Below are the most popular long Hotel room by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hotel room poems by poem length and keyword.
We kept our silence in the room as we waited for the verdict to be read an innocent man sitting there with a murder hanging over his head, the image of the blood stained sheet is all over the screen and his only alibi is the woman of his dream.
You cannot be in two places before the horse races, there are four rooms in the house and an exit next to the kitchen, there is a basement two layers below and that is where you prepare for the show. You have a studio and a small study and a rack filled with oldies and goodies; sensational music of the past ring loudly in his ears and a library with an experiment table and newly designed module of a gadget sitting on top.
He cannot imagine himself killing anyone and he cannot believe that he have blood stain on his hand, “I don’t even know how to use a gun and if I did I would probably be on the run”, he shouted as he speaks his thoughts aloud. It is the form of confession you hear when death reason with death and passion run through veins spilling anxiety in the air.
We kept our silence in the room as he recalls the story of what happen that day at noon. He said that he was with the woman of his dreams walking on the beach, talking about the future and how they would spend their lives together; they booked a cheap hotel room and had lunch at noon, then made love the entire day.
He went on and on describing the woman of his dreams and never talked about the murdered man on the screen; his story of love was so convincing he mesmerized everyone in the room, and when he said, “my eyes met with hers and when the golden stature flashed across his eyes the interlude began, and they both became one.”
Their eyes and mouths open wide and raw nerves crashing with nerves and for more than five minutes no one spoke; it wasn’t a joke they were caught up in a romantic rapture and silence broke when the judge read the verdict.
“Not guilty “go in peace the Judge said, forcing himself to overcome the love spell. He brought out the entire old document on the case and throws them in the furnace and watched it burnt to ash.
The accused left the courtroom with his woman holding together their mesmerizing passion burning in the stomach. “I am a free man,” he shouted, I am going to travel the whole wide world and make some money telling stories. Not guilty is the title of his first book.
Passion and love
By Michelle Morris
10/04/2022
Passion and love so often confused
Only time reveals the roads we choose...
Oh-oh-oh, Oh-oh-oh...
Sparks with lovers can pull you down
Sparks with lovers is how you drown
No one can touch you now
No one can save you now
You took a sip from the Devil's cup
Inhibitions dropping with your clothes
The spark between old lovers
Never entirely goes away
Playing with fire is always dangerous
Unless you're a Phoenix rising again
Put down your box of matches
The oxygen always gets eaten first
Moving around the stage like a singer
Putting on a very big show
You always underestimated the danger
Of throwing all your cards in the air
Round and round, round and round
Getting dizzy, getting fuzzy
Seeing double, seeing trouble
Back away, back away
On and on, don't you know
You're in danger, what's the hurry
Get your feet back on the ground
Pull the stars back into you
You keep drinking from the Devil's bottle
Losing yourself with each and every sip
You chase that enticing little spark
As though it will light your soul
Playing with fire is a pastime
That you focus with intention
You keep hoarding all those matches
Like conflagration will save your life
Moving around your hotel room
You are dancing with your Angels
Getting closer to the edge
Remember heights are bad for you
Round and round, round and round
Getting dizzy, getting fuzzy
Seeing double, seeing trouble
Back away, back away
On and on, don't you know
You're in danger, what's the hurry
Get your feet back on the ground
Pull the stars back into you
Round and round, round and round
You're not making any headway
What's your game, what's your aim
Flying high, flying high
On and on, don't you know
You are floating to the edge
Untethered from this earth
You're heading out to the stars
Close your eyes, feel the rush
Look on down, see the clouds
You're out there in the Universe
And no one can touch you now
Yeah, no one can touch you now
Sparks with lovers will pull you down
Sparks with lovers, how you drowned
Yeah, no one can save you now
Passion and love so often confused
Only time reveals the roads we choose...
Oh-oh-oh, Oh-oh-oh...
© Michelle Morris, 2022
Travelling on the road for business gets old fast. The inside of one hotel room starts to look the same as another in any town you name. When you travel by yourself it becomes even more mundane. Customers, clients and/or prospects all have their own after-work lives waiting for them and seldom include you in their plans. So, as you depart at the end of the business day you are on your own, in a strange town.
You do get used to exploring cities, towns and suburbs on your own. You figure out how to avoid always eating in the hotel restaurant and you master the art of dining alone. For men like Josh, that usually meant eating at the restaurant bar. Even though he seldom ordered a beer, wine or other alcoholic beverages, the bartenders were always a willing party to chat with and enjoy some semblance of human interaction.
On this particular occasion, the trip was even more difficult than usual because Josh was having trouble at home with his wife. Whereas, some may think it a blessing to remove yourself from the situation, it just made Josh feel even more lonely not being able to talk to her to try to work things out. So, after putting on his happy and buoyant work-face all day to keep the customer satisfied, Josh donned his fedora and walked out the front doors of the high-rise office complex onto the crowded and lonely city streets.
The fedora was a relatively new addition to Josh’s wardrobe. Not many men wear fedoras any more. Josh’s wife thought he would look good in the hat and surprised him with it as a Christmas present six months ago. Josh was still getting used to wearing the hat, but received many compliments on his appearance while wearing it.
Without even bothering going back to his hotel room, Josh slowly strolled around the city streets lost in thought about the situation with his wife and wondering how they might resolve the loss of passion, the loss of caring and the loss of love in their relationship. Finally, he stepped inside the doors of an enticing pub to get himself some dinner.
The bar in this particular establishment had plenty of stools available to pick from. Josh sat down on one and placed his fedora on the empty stool next to him. On this evening, Josh started off by ordering a beer.
Once upon a happening
there was a family of four
all had different ideas
on spending vacation and more.
Dad thought it best
if they camped in the woods
to go hiking in the mountains
on a trail where they could.
Mom wanted relaxation
and to stay at a resort
go golfing on the green
and play tennis on the courts.
Big brother didn't agree
and wanted fast fun
the amusement park was his thing
where the roller coasters run.
Sister's nose turned up
at all of their wants
back to the beach and ocean
were her playful haunts.
Dad pulled the paper
straight out of the hat
to the beach they were to go
so they hurried and packed.
With the car all loaded
they were ready to go
so off they all went
with swim tubes in tow.
A few hours later
the car started in
it clunked and clunked
and lurched and spinned.
Dad checked under the hood
then put the hood down
called the tow truck
to bring it into town.
The cabin near the woods
was were they had to stay
so they all took a hike
down the trail that day.
The very next morning
they were on their way
heading to the beach
on a nice sunny day.
Three hours driving and
the car started to churn
and do some loud jerking
as Dad soon would learn.
Dad checked under the hood
then put the hood down
called the tow truck
to bring it into town.
The hotel room near the courts
was were they had to stay
so they all played some tennis
at the resort that day.
The very next morning
they were on their way
heading to the beach
on a nice sunny day.
Five hours driving and
the car started again
the banging and clanging
was doing Dad in.
Dad checked under the hood
then put the hood down
called the tow truck
to bring it into town.
The lodge by the rides
was were they had to stay
so they all had some fun
at the amusement park that day.
The very next morning
they were on their way
heading to the beach
on a nice sunny day.
After all their trouble
they finaaly arrived
at Sis' favorite spot
bungalow number 5.
The crystal beige sand
lead straight to their door
the water beyond that
made you want more.
Things may not have gone
as they would have liked
but this family of four
still had fun in spite.
Two Aloha-shirted Hawaiians
of generous girth were strumming
their ukuleles
on a small stage in front of the hotel’s poolside bar
in the late afternoon,
rehearsing for the night’s performance.
It must have been the low season,
as both bar and pool were deserted.
and the singer, unburdened
by a leis-laden audience’s
Mai Tai-soaked expectations,
was going through a mele
as if trying it on for size,
his voice loose-limbed with an easy grace.
Wrapped in the ukuleles' lolling strains,
his falsetto notes tumbled out into an
uncongested airspace,
where no ceiling formed by small talk, disjointed laughter
or tinkling glasses impeded their progress,
so they unfurled their wings,
lifted themselves into the hibiscus-brushed breeze,
and climbed,
hopscotching and frolicking on their ascent,
skipping from Tiki torch to treetop to balcony.
Some straggled, loitered on windowsills.
Some, afraid of heights, fluttered back down
to rest on top of beach umbrellas
next to shadows of palm fronds.
Still others hang-glided out over the sand
and the lapis water,
lured by the marigold light.
So that, when they alighted on my
hotel room balcony ten floors above,
they were fragments,
excerpted by the intervening air
from the upflowing cascade into
a broken yet voluptuous murmur,
a soft, lilting South Seas benediction
floating around my head.
I’d just sat down in the balcony chair, alone,
my wife being inside the room busying herself
with the correct placement of luggage
after we’d checked in.
And so it was that I found myself looking out
at the beginnings of a sky-painting Maui sunset
accompanied by air that quietly sang.
Maybe it was my senses unwinding
after the bustle of the journey,
or maybe it was simply that I was caught unawares,
but the feeling of contentment,
the almost Zen-like awareness of the here and now,
that overcame me at that moment was something
no convergence of sights and sounds
has been able to reproduce in the 20 years since.
It was, to be sure, an experience I’d paid more than
a negligible amount of money for.
The irony is that it was the first time
I truly understood the simplicity of happiness.
Mahalo.
But what of Aysin? She'd be here by three.
What seemed to me the perfect metaphor
(young Ankara was her, old "Stamboul", me)
was not an easy drive - five hours, and more!
It's midnight in my Turkish hotel room.
The good news is, the mosque across the square
is one of Sinan's - soaring through the gloom,
two graceful minarets piercing the air.
The bad news is the teenage Turkish boys,
all three of them, on duty as night porters.
Ingenious at thinking up new ploys,
they pound my door to offer sparkling water
so they can ask more questions. "Is it true
that Elvis is alive? What do you make
in salary? This trip, what will you do?"
"I've got a Turkish girlfriend" Big mistake.
Appalled and fascinated, they demand
to know how come a foreign guy like me
can "pull" a Turkish chick. How was it planned?
I say she'll be arriving here at three.
"What? You, and her - in HERE?" Dark eyes dilate.
"It hasn't been discussed. I just don't know."
"They do like this, the women in the States?"
It's nearly half-past two before they go.
I try to stay awake, but suddenly
there's banging on the door. I must have dozed.
"The Turkish girl is here. She's pretty. See!"
There's Aysin, wearing figure-hugging clothes.
We clinch and kiss. I kick the door to close it,
although this room (no aircon) is a sauna.
Young Aysin is a beauty, and she knows it -
as do three pairs of eyes, around the corner!
She has a brisk and breezy bedside manner.
We'll both sleep here. She's sure I wouldn't harm her.
Comes out of bathroom wearing, like a banner,
both bra and panties under her pyjamas.
But when I want to, I can be persuasive.
Some kisses, compliments ... "Don't be afraid ..."
Although at first her tactics are evasive,
by dawn, impressive progress has been made.
In some old film, Pacino says a thing
that I've found true. We don't recall the sex.
It's details which strike home. Some song she sings,
the angle of her chin, some light effect ...
As things reached crisis-point, she grabbed my arm -
"You hear it?" It was starting! It was there!
The muezzin's song, just like some ancient charm,
was calling Stamboul's faithful to their prayer.
The summer of 2000
stuck in my mind for eternity
A sight that I'll always love to see.
There was a lot of bad
very little good and
I remember the bad
way more than I should
While bad things did happen
without a doubt
That's not what this
is all about
Eight days of vacation
had NEVER been done
Was there any such
thing as that much fun?
Fun in the mist of Chaos at home?
Did we dare pack up
the car and roam?
The vacation was planned
and the hotel paid for
so we finally decided
to head out the door.
An eight hour drive
with a stop in between
South of the Boarder
which we had all
never seen.
It was finally in sight
through the bright sun light
Myrtle Beach here we are
I had wished on a star
that we could all go far,
far away from where
the bad things are.
Were we far from
where the bad things are
or did they all get packed in the car?
The next eight days
went really GREAT
Staying home would
have been such a mistake
A hotel room with a
microwave, fridge and a sink,
plenty of room for cold things to drink
Out the door and down the steps
there was the beach that was truly the best
The sound of the waves
and sand between our toes,
no better feeling would we ever know.
Lots of crab legs
and steamed spiced shrimp
Our plates piled high
we could not skimp
Early morning runs
on the beach in the sun
really were lots of fun
Late night walks in the sand
bought us closer than we ever did plan
An amusement park
with lost of rides
Putt putt golf and
water slides
Go cart tracks
so many to choose
Who would win and
Who would loose
Lots of cars
so many to pick from
it didn't matter,
we all could get some.
As the days went by
we had lots of fun
from the morning sun
until the day was done
Eight days of fun,
peace and quite
Months of saving
so we could buy it.
When it was all said and done,
we had proved that we
could all have fun,
Fun in the mist of
chaos at home?
YES, way more fun
than we had ever known.
No matter how bad
things really are
I'll always remember
that summer by far
Eight days of good things
that will forever be,
the days that went
down in history.
Form:
It’s been 10 years since you last saw me.
I’m softer. Matured. Unrecognizable. And yet
the feeling of your roaming eyes still darkens my skin,
the phantom sensations making me retch.
Your vile intentions occupy a corner of my brain
with no sign of conceding territory.
I can’t go to the doctor
lest that hotel room comes rushing back
and renders me unable to bear sight of my skin for a week.
I swear colorfully,
as often as I did refusing you.
Would you like that?
Would you take pleasure being reminded of the resistance you so toyed with?
Or would you prefer me docile and doe-eyed?
God, I can’t think of a version of me that wouldn’t bring that greed to your mind.
I can only hope my age would shatter your desire
or turn it to ash on your tongue.
You’re a faceless monster,
carefully calculating and breaking down your victims’ walls
without revealing a hint of yourself in return.
I showed you everything.
(I want to gag at the thought.)
I know nothing of you.
You make up too much of me.
I used to find joy in who I was.
Believed my difference to be wholly my own,
an escape from you and the shaming eyes of God.
Turns out you were the cause all along.
You wrecked me, didn’t you?
Is what was once a source of pride truly a stain of ruin?
I am disfigured and discolored,
and no amount of bleach will ever remove your mark.
To add insult to injury, this was never bad enough anyway.
My ache is unwarranted; I’ve suffered so little in comparison.
I was 10.
I was smart enough to log off,
to say no,
to realize no dream was important enough to surrender myself over.
I’m not a true victim.
Your hands never grazed my skin
or caused deeper harm; you scarred me with eyes alone.
Our paths crossed for maybe an hour or two,
not nearly enough to last a lifetime.
So why have you staked your claim on my psyche?
I want to burn you clean from me.
You forced me into a prop for your pleasure,
faceless and inhuman.
There’s no telling if you sold what was never meant to be seen
and then how many times I’ve been used.
I want you to suffer.
I want you to ache.
Maybe that’s immature,
but that turns you on, right?
My name is Spencer Byron.
My first wife Addy died tragically in 1991.
A devotee of surprise. She was so much fun.
The breadth of love is unchartered territory.
Not all loves can be explained.
There are many aspects of love.
Today my wife's name is Amy.
She knows little of this.
She mended my tattered heart left by Addy.
A night this week in our New England hometown
in the crushing crowd leaving the show
I saw a flash and a glance by Addy
between moving heads and shoulders.
Same exquisite, classic, good looks.
Same beguiling presence of my love thirty years ago.
How could it be?
After the crash, in the morgue
I'd sent her off to eternity
with a teary kiss on her pale, sweet cheek
before they took her away.
There are many aspects of love.
Where did Addy disappear to that night?
With an old snapshot the next day,
secretly I went to the hotel near the theater
on a chance. To my surprise,
she and her sister were staying there.
Should we, could we meet?
The sister answered the hotel room door.
I explained that her sister had a haunting
resemblance to someone I'd loved thirty years before.
Then I saw her - same long thin neck, deep brown eyes,
hair up in a twist, surprise in those eyes.
When she first spoke, my heart leapt.
The urban myth is each of us has
an exact double somewhere in the world.
There are many aspects of love.
We talked timidly, as the sister went to make tea.
She leaned forward, touched my hand and said,
"Dear heart, I seem to know you somehow".
My head exploded, I was filled with infatuation
once again. Spinning, it took me over.
How quick it was. I tried not to show it.
Stumbling over rushing thoughts,
I knew to withdraw, to protect myself from me.
"Dear heart" was Addy's pet name for me!
Startled and backing away, I left my personal card.
Later, I got a handwritten note on my door.
It said, "Dear heart, I met you two years ago in Brussels.
Your name was Emile Ibsen.
You were thirty years younger then.
We made forbidden love.
Should we do it again?"
There are many aspects of love.
Colored Pencil Illustration G.Gaul 2023
The Evils Of Drugs Part II
One night I was in My Hotel room laying on my bed and
I kept tossing and turning all night. I couldn't sleep, soon
it became daylight and I steped out of the room. I went outside
and I met an old timer. I told him how I felt. I told him - I didn't
know what was wrong with me. He asked me to explain. he asked
me if I had been using the stuff. I said yes - he said you are hooked.
He told me to go back to the same house and get another capsule
and that feeling will go away. All this was in the time of the depression
and drugs were cheap. You could get an ounce for $ 75.00. I went and got
my fix and my aches and pains were gone.
One day a friend and I decided to go to the Border. We stood there for
a couple of days. When we came back, we went to the shooting gallery
and asked the guy to give us two fixes. He gave yus two decks. We opened
it and saw some brown stuff that looked like mud. We asked what it was? He
told us - this is what is in now. That was the first time that Brown Heroin
was introduced here in the U.S. from Mexico. It later became known as
Mexican Mud.
The reason it was called that was because it had not yet been refined. For
many years - I was a Junkie, but I never introduced anyone to Drugs. One
day I decided to change my life. It wasn't getting me anywhere. Because of
my drug habit I missed a lot of things in life. I now live a peaceful life. My past
life is like a bad dream. I was lucky to escape the Evils of Drugs. Some people
never do.
To the young people - I want to say - think twice before you want to expirment
with something that later may control your life. It is not worth it. You are not
living. You never have a moment of peace and you may lose everything,
even your life, or your dignity...
08/14/2013
Written By Lucilla M. Carrillo.
Note: These are confessions of a once Drug Addict. It wasn't me.
I just like to talk to people from different walks of life. The person
that told me this - asked me to write about it one day , hoping it
would make a difference. I have and hope you have enjoyed it.....