Long Jet black Poems
Long Jet black Poems. Below are the most popular long Jet black by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jet black poems by poem length and keyword.
My jet-black tresses and the glossy, glass skin-
Ah! Are they the things of the yore!
The silvery strands instead are now a new lure.
Like a model, I wear a crown of gracious gray
For I know, this pearly wisdom is here to stay!
In gratitude flow and sing these lovely locks,
As my radiant face peers through lush, wavy hair
To reflect a seasoned soul, with all its own flair!
Teeming with toil and agony which fueled
The furnace of life, carving the crown bejeweled!
In poise glow and dance these lustrous tasseled tufts,
The bounty of beauteous Lord I do proudly reveal
Beyond rash youth, a class I’d rather not conceal!
Every silver line in the gray is an asset dear,
A celebration of life grown richer each gone year.
The silver silhouette is to my forehead
A hallmark of storms weathered; lessons learned in grit
Imbued with faith, I beam the never-say-dye spirit!
This life in all its ripeness and fulness I embrace
Holding my head high, I call it ageing with grace!
Hi you guys we're Smokey and Jinky
two cats we are Scottish born
one of us is grey, the other jet black
bright and bushy tailed in the morn
Now we lived in the lovely countryside
so free, staying out there on a farm
occupiers were farmworker and his wife
had only son Gordon their only arm
He was a good boy really liked us
no no!, was totally loving S and J
we lay at night at bottom of his bed
so sweet and comfy till the new day
We would sit on the window ledge
Gordon always looked for us there
letting us in out of the cold
so often to be warm inside care
We're now up in our heavenly land
where we often think of days gone by
our buddy Gordon took us in his heart
united we all were boycats! so don't cry!
(Smokey(grey) and Jinky(black) were two cats we had at home on our cottage by a farm, being my two real friends.)
With hair jet black slicked, Buddy’s not your friend.
Oh, he wants you, doll! Watch his music send
you into a frenzy!
But Buddy is crazy —
he’s truly your professor with a blend.
More like Jekyll and Hyde — this is his con.
In the classroom, with gnarly teeth and wan.
He’s a science nerd.
Love is much preferred.
With a test tube he’s turned into a swan.
On your pulse, the melody master voice,
but he’s rude and crude, sorely not your choice.
You prefer the nerd in glasses —
the professor in your classes.
When you find out his secret you rejoice!
3/4/2018
Movie: The Nutty Professor
Contest: Alexis Y. Favorite Comedy Movie
The bigger picture is of a
very young teenage girl
but I have so few big pictures
of that time in my mind.
She was yellow haired
and peachy, kind of ducky also.
After 'little yellow duck'
there was that 'cat canoodling’ witch;
jet black hair
that flew everywhere – raven uncaged,
I gave pagan girl a whirl for a spell.
Then the high-minded pianist,
long on ideals and high heels
(red toenails in bedroom pumps),
too good for me – or anyone like.
At age twenty-three
she, the one called Frances
came and went, heaven sent
but wrongly addressed,
leaving me wishing
I had a little yellow duck to play with.
With a canvas this large, I chose black paper
And fruitlessly wrote with the same ink I did before
A silent voice calling out to the deaf
Smoke-strained and hoarse
Remaining static at 25
The smallest of steps pushed back by quarantine
Losing myself in stories of what once was
Or what could be were I a different person
Three and a half years static
Having climbed dazzling heights
Sweated in the loathsome summer sun
And lived a taste of promised dreams
Have I burnt through a lifetime supply of adrenaline?
Or am I still shell-shocked from years of bombings?
How long do I get to fear her name?
Do exit wounds that bloody ever close?
The credits rolled a long time ago
And sequels were written, canned and derided
What does it take to free yourself from a page
You so gleefully shredded in the first place?
And three years deep, I fell in love with my lover
Only to find the depths of incompatibility
Or merely two viewpoints that reached the same conclusion
With two different formulas
Having returned to zero, such pain is divine
To weep so freely, to feel so sad
The warmest, most comforting pool spills from my eyes
As emotion returns to crack its dam
Will I wake up tomorrow as empty as the years before?
Most likely so, but with salt streaks as evidence
Joy, sorrow, it's all higher than zero
I call your name as proof I can still write
On this space-dyed canvas
My perspective wrote with jet-black ink
But with this single crack
A dam can jot down once with white.
Her friend walks in and takes up all the space
The eyes of most guys would fall on her first
My eye, don't know why, falls first on Her face
Can't deter, a blur, unquenchable thirst
Jet black hair, Her stare, part of Her allure
Can't detain it, nor explain it...Respect?
Her smile all the while is easy and pure
In the end, a boyfriend...far from perfect
Dance and romance, kitchen music we played
Lie or goodbye? This love must be hidden
Please no, don't go, I asked you and you stayed
Resolve not to solve, for now forbidden
She's the real Her, should I steal Her? We'll see
T'night 'til first light, Marya Nisa's with me
My closed eyes have crashed
against an image;
I am a boat moored to a storm.
I keep a notebook on the nightstand,
pencil at hand – life-rafts for thoughts.
A flock of crows
take off at once – they clatter – it’s musical,
it is an hour-long symphony
played in a single moment,
you hear it all but can’t separate the wing-beats.
My Scots grandmother (a natural born Celt),
would talk to me in her Highland tongue;
sounds so beautiful that my brain
would stop deciphering or even thinking.
I can’t now remember her wry wisdom,
not a thing,
I just recall the chanting-chimes.
Mozart must have leapt from his bed often.
I wonder did he stumble around lighting candles,
cursing the dark until he found his keyboard?
Did he lay his sleepy forehead on that forte-piano
willing himself to recall the bitsy songs
of Pipistrelle bats?
My head swings from the pillow.
If I could only reach that pencil,
but it has moved-on,
to a place where Gaelic grannies,
and jet-black crows wait
to enter some other dream.
(MaGowen’s Pizzaland Monroe, CT 2008)
The caterwaul of the jukebox blends seamlessly with the screech of infants,
and the fumes of garlic hanging heavily in the air.
The true mama’s and papa’s are here, here where the dough flies
the glasses clink; and the Beatles belt out
Strawberry Fields Forever ....
The roar of unruly children,
bashing video buttons to Roll Over Beethoven
pounds into the diners temples, dulled with Pinot noir, Chianti
and pitchers of golden ale.
Trays, tall, saucer-shaped sit beside cherry red baskets
of pristine white bread, as the fire engine red corvettes pull up outside.
The jet-black and chrome model T’s vie for spaces on the asphalt lot
outside the restaurants doors.
Sweet-hearts wait for the cracked, green-vinyl booths
like penitents at a Sunday mornings mass.
Pizza pies fly by on stainless saucer- shaped plates
landing on cluttered Formica tables
dressed with vinegars and shake cheese
Racecars zoom around the game track;
as kids run pell-mell down the aisles.
And, only Mary Lou knows
“Who’s on first?”
Tight money, midnight glow,
jet black hustle, feel the flow.
Cool breeze in a house of cash,
chips in hand, ready to clash.
Rolling the dice, fate be good to me,
a fool’s game? I can’t help but laugh.
Swing house boogie band pumping loud,
the losing blues song got the crowd.
Seven here, eleven there,
heaven found in the high-stakes air.
Rent waits at the door, but I smile
one more roll, I'll stay awhile.
At this moment, I’m alive,
tight money magic, I thrive.
Let the world spin, like a roulette table in the wind.
tonight, the odds are all on me.
I'm a gamblin' junkie when will I be free?
Our five year old hound dog mix.
the sweet Southern name of Beau,
jet black, sleek,
white chest and throat,
is living with his brother, Arrow,
and a new family for Beau.
I’ll miss his daffy antics,
and chasing indignant squirrels
in the spacious yard,
but we just couldn’t keep him,
he is still a dog of our hearts,
he’ll always be my granddog,
with his jovial amber eyes
and friendly licks on the side
of my head.
He’d sit at attention when he
wanted a treat,
he and Gus, our terrier mix,
had comical zoomies bounding
on the grass.
But now he’s on a new adventurous
life journey,
getting into mischief with Arrow,
we won’t forget you,
big boisterous Beau,
happy doggie tales to you. ~