Long Hubbub Poems
Long Hubbub Poems. Below are the most popular long Hubbub by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hubbub poems by poem length and keyword.
I hail each bronze, red, and blue coloured dawn,
as pulsing heart mould torch flame of bliss,
to gaze across some awestruck mint sprig lawn,
that golden birthright never goes amiss
Eye beam urban verve one duly savours,
coruscating joie de vivre street life,
bursts of swift dash coffee’s hazel flavours,
cell-phone upbeat day ahead hubbub rife
Blue robin high pitch chirp from chimney top,
sets the tone for morning wonders brightly,
activate those spark prompt hunches nonstop,
schedules met in narrow windows tightly
In suburb or in city centre fair,
skies and pavements segue with deft flourish,
your dreamland ticket ace broad daylight flair,
groundbreaking spurt fantastic, let us nourish
Dynamic itch to stray amid blind alley,
lurk within some parboiled notion latent,
steel clad zone that mosaic sculpted tally,
animated focus me the claimant
In a small town twenty minutes North of where you live
an alien looks in a mirror and studies your face.
You don’t know it, but he has taken over the life
that you no longer use.
While you were sleeping
your life leaked back into the cosmos
to be re-engineered into a vehicle
that will travel further than just the end of your arms.
The extraterrestrial combs'
your hair grumbling about the thinness.
He is about to leave a rented apartment,
a place psychically ingrained
with traits and characteristics -
your personal underwear.
Meticulously he has borrowed you
while you strove to be
unique among the children of Adam.
You go out to eat. Plans do not go well.
You stop at a Wendy’s.
You like cheeseburger ‘mini’s,’
they are better than the ‘Baconnater,’
which you have to crouch over,
your fingers and lips splattered
with karmic chow.
The alien chooses this moment
to stop by for a chicken salad.
From behind his chair, you watch him
as he picks at the food.
Last week you went to the barber
the visual memory of the back of your head
is still fresh.
You begin to suspect your life
is being gradually usurped.
A scream, a pack of your personal peccadilloes
are running amok in the restaurant,
in the resulting chaos, the alien departs.
Fast food attains the speed of light.
A grill cook has come out from the back,
he looks like the Swedish chef from the Muppet Show,
but in reality, he is a messenger from the future.
In the hubbub and furor,
and despite his heavily accented English,
he demands that you get going anywhere.
You don’t know it yet, but the alien has made off
with your grease-stained napkin,
a document that cannot be disposed of
until you are far South
of your last known position.
The silence hurt
The empty hours
Aching to be filled
With meaningful activity
With encouraging words
The office abandoned
The empty desks
Unread bookcases
Files to be scrutinised
Would things ever revert?
The hubbub of colleagues
The banter in the corridor
The incidental exchange of ideas
The shared insights on the whiteboard
The feeling of team
A form of family
All a distant memory
Not a worthy competitor
Not a godforsaken war
Not a foreign power
But an infinitesimally small
Invisible enemy
Out of nowhere
Has changed everything
Causing a revolution
In the path of evolution
Economy thwarted
Jobs lost
Education abandoned
Caught us all by surprise
Made us hunker in our homes
Afraid to come out
Hiding behind screens
Hiding behind masks
Scrubbing hands religiously
Avoiding those we hold dear
Each interpreting the guidelines differently
Applying tailored logic
Trust breached
Will life ever return to where it was?
It feels like the ship’s half mast
Mystery as history’s been recast
The last ghost of Christmas past
Impropriety savaging our society
Notoriety ravaging the entirety
Fake tyrants make migrants an outcast
Primal survival and tribal bible revival
Mormon iconoclasts in Gormenghast
The nub of pub hubbub have a blast
Cloned then dethroned closing fast
Snub our community hub flabbergast
Crowds roared as bands toured
New names explored heaven sent
Adored venues & events floored
Ignored by deplored property fraud
Hysterical dissent & lyrical lament
Landlord hell bent the rent soared
Even cricket’s oldest format now old hat
Temper at T20’s emperors new clothes
Every game the same just tit & more tat
But treasure troves as in roves the droves
Milk or silk for the ilk of that fat cat twa*
Farce of the hospo carcass hospitalised
Reign of the chain stops Mom & Pop shops
Locavore lair despair flair heirs marmalised
Flops grandstanding bland branding pops
Deranged how we are now so estranged
No one mops up the slops Laptops drop
Changed so fast for many trumpets blast
Hark back to the rose tinted halcyon past
As smart phones are overcome by dumb
Aghast say goodbye to the whole AI lie
The forecast for the future well overcast
Last post of the host & ghost of the past
In this so-called modern world today
There's lots of cause for apprehension,
And all the crazy stuff that's going on,
Like the hubbub up in Washington,
Where no one's getting nothing done,
Is only adding to the tension.
It's not that I don't care about
The cost of healthcare, global warming,
And homelessness, and poverty,
And gender inequality,
But sheer governmental lunacy
Is what, to me, is most alarming.
I express my views as best I can,
Never preen, or preach, or yammer,
Keep disdain in check, reproaches small,
And strive through verse to rise above it all,
But now and then when gentler words begin to gall,
I'm rather glad poetic license lets me call
Upon the recourse of bad grammar.
City life turns to sparse assortments;
Of local pubs and country homes.
Tall brick walls fade into fences;
Amongst hedgerows and mossy stones.
Crowded bustle soon lowers its pace;
Those now free, move unconfined.
Only thoughts spent are of contentment,
Peaceful surroundings heal the mind.
As roads turn to paths unbeaten,
Dipping and climbing, alongside the fields.
Views everchanging, revelling new pastures,
Filled full of beauty from treasures they yield.
Awaking from the brief city escape,
Thoughts soon creep back to the hubbub.
Before it all end though, the passenger pleads,
Can we go for a pint at the pub?
While Up And Adrift In Cloud 9...
Reprieve from damp,
and rainy, or sultry weather,
I schlepped a
light weight Shaker
made folding chair
out upon Jim Baker
Nabor's green acre
and once enthroned
as a " FAKE FAKIR"
in rubberized web
bing (seam ming lee
lapis lazuli trimmed),
this body of mine
lapsed into Quaker
state averse to focus attention,
gnome hatter eyes fixedly glute
to the pages, sans
newsworthy printed material,
to apprise and jute
keeping me astute
with major local and global
journalistic burning hotspots
whatsapp pining (the
most recent issue Newt
about Gingrich commendable
TIME magazine), boot
with rather light
breeze tolerably blowing
temperate, moderate air currents
enveloping this here ole coot,
who aint got Hoot
tee and the Blowfish, nor toot
from no mo' magic flute,
thus by natural
dint cocked mean
looking head (you figure out
which one) between
the devil and the
deep blue seas tureen,
which gaze extended clean
skyward to cerulean vault
populated with strunk
and white tufts
in stark contrast did lean
in to the verdant rich green
sward abuzz within
invisible micro ecosystems
niched and stitched by Jean
E. Huss flora Dean
and endearing fauna
minted quartered gene,
which hubbub of variegated
organisms sound
accompanied motley crue
of each scudding soundcloud
shape shifting bill
low whee near weightless
(cottony ma their) keen
stern preachily mass stir,
then puff (like
a magic dragon),
no more easily seen.
Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell even at this juncture in my life.
Even when spiked brambles
scrape my eyelids or those tender foot soles are being twisted by tooth-like stones. Quaint and angular they cluster mischievously among
green shoots that litter every footpath.
They lie in wait, in ambush for the absent-minded unsuspecting venturer.
It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman of the road.
The labyrinthine landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills rife in my area.
Their rustic heritage now sacrifice to the
orphanage of a malleable environment
Crop farmers obsessed with harvest bounty.
Restless developer pushing limits of an urban jungle. Fellow traveller in league with those fugitives from the cockpit.
The pressure cooker of modern life. Town habitant with split loyalties who clings to tumults of the city but hankers after rural haunts of yore.
Culprits one and all.
A lair from the hubbub.
Dwellings of the strangest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.
Their charm not yet eroded by intrusions of the steel plant genus.
Brick and mortar athletes of homes in a jiffy.
The more alluring aspects of tradition have been fostered and preserved.
Among these are the shortcuts or bypasses of a different more sustainable engagement
Sequestered passages that shave miles off perennial ramblers with a penchant for straying off course.
Saviours of the clueless hitchhiker whose load saps his or her every energy.
One’s eye becomes a lense to all these things hidden or supposedly hidden.
Optic sensor to those trails just slightly out of focus.
Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.
They festoon far flung countrysides at random. Here there and everywhere.
Posted ; April 2nd 2022
Wisdom and understanding do raise their voice
On the stands beside the paths they yell that you make a choice;
At the gates of bazaars both do cry hoarse and loud,
And wonder how orderly the world would be if all fools vowed
To live according to their simple dictates,
And leave all evil and unwholesome tastes.
When shall the simple gain understanding and prudence,
And the unknowing embrace a life of sense?
The Almighty detests deeds devoid of reason,
For His perfect nature is never perverse
But just and fair in His rule over the universe;
He thus like Him wants all men to be
For nothing short of this can His heart please;
Not even valued incense offered my men of hearts remiss!
Choose understanding over quick silver
And understanding over choice gold;
All who these chose in the world of the old
All possessed and lacked not a single thing,
For nothing desirable can be compared with wisdom;
It is the ferocious guard to watch your home,
And your delicious meal in the face of hunger!
Fear the Lord and hate all evil
And it shall not destroy your grain any weevil;
Hate the perversity of crooked and warped speech
And among men of sense carve yourself a niche;
Let counsel and sound speech be yours
For these alone are limitless power
To wield for help in the need's hour;
When troubles and adversities betide,
Wisdom is a sure place for you to hide.
In wisdom are enduring honor and prosperity,
Truest valor and freedom from all forms of temerity;
It's the only scape from all shackles that engulf,
Amnesty from all follies that grind!
They rule with justice and without fear of overthrow
The wise kings and princes who fear the Lord,
Who marked the boundaries of the seas
And demarcations of the dry world!
He who fixed the clouds and the firmaments,
Has with Him all treasured endowments;
Blessed be those that keep His ways
And many shall be their days
That hearken to His wisdom,
Obey His decrees plain and clear,
And His hallowed name fear!
Be not beguiled by the cacophony and the hubbub,
The law of the Lord remains unshaken and superb;
And the fear of the Creator remains the only refuge
In the face of disaster and drowning deluge!
Canopy of blue above me,
Cirrus clouds, like mist on high;
Ripples dapple down the river,
Tiny whitecaps drift on by.
Distant cars flash ‘cross the bridges,
Airplanes glide as smooth as glass;
Joggers bounce on brand-new sneakers,
Seagulls swoop with grace and sass.
Tranquil breezes ruffle weedlings
Sprouting in the sidewalk cracks;
Children pedal bikes in training,
Anxious parents at their backs.
Flag across the water flutters,
Pigeons perch upon the rail;
River traffic’s non-existent –
Not a motor, tug or sail.
Easter Sunday in Manhattan
Is as peaceful as they come.
Gone is all the noise and hubbub;
Missing is the normal thrum.
Sitting quiet in the sunshine,
Soaking up the springtime air,
I’m content to pass the hour
In a mood relaxed and rare.