Long Kansas Poems
Long Kansas Poems. Below are the most popular long Kansas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kansas poems by poem length and keyword.
~ Corny Narrative ~
Go west, young man, he was told, so he did
He was only eighteen, a big raw-boned kid
His girl still back east, a lump in his throat
A high price to pay to sow his wild oats
So, he plunked down in Kansas, Prairie Land
Just a spade, a horse, and his two strong hands
He carved him a dug-out under the ground
He'd laugh at the wind and coyote sounds
He tilled that soil, and he planted his crops
Corn for millet, then potatoes for hops
For himself, he'd whip up some rabbit stew
He was gonna be fine, gonna make do
Now you're all waiting for that 'shoe to drop'
But there's no 'but;' his good luck didn't stop
Corn sprung up high, potatoes a-plenty
New settlers came, around about twenty
So he sent for his girl the love of his life
They'd marry, have kids, she'd be a fine wife
Well, she took one look, went back to New York
Said, "There ain't any pigs, I only eat pork!"
I will be a princess when I grow up. The five year old announces.
Others are going to be Batman and The Incredible Hulk so this makes sense.
One boy will be a peacock
He announces proudly with confidence
No one laughs or questions these pronouncements
Especially not Sam who will be a fire truck.
I nod my head and smile
Accepting all answers
Glad they are participating
Chuck A. will be a ballerina
He passes the talking stick to Amy, the pretty girl next to him
Amy will also be a ballerina and a cookie taster
There are three more cookie tasters in a row after Amy.
I will be The Kansas City Chiefs Tony says.
Someone laughs.
I remind the children to be respectful and kind.
The laughter stops instantly.
Kindergarten. All possibilities accepted.
Imaginations alive and well. I love sitting among these
Darlings who will be less accepting and less kind next year.
A child drops the talking stick. Everyone scrambles to help him retrieve it.
Kindergarten. A magic slice of time with magical beings.
Mark Halliday
Son of a California Englishman
And a small-town Utah Mormon.
In his youth, nothing extraordinary;
Later served in Europe as a missionary.
Pianist, marching flutist, then a Guitarist;
Enlisted to be an Army Intelligence Analyst.
Speaks French; spoke Spanish, Russian,
Serbian, Croatian, some German and Macedonian.
Has resided mostly in California.
Spent months or years in Makedonija,
La France, le Belgique, Deutchesland,
Kuwait, Iraq; in the USA: Maryland,
Utah, Massachusettes, Kansas,
Arizona, Missouri, and Texas.
Of course, he’s known here as poetic,
But with charcoal, pens, and pastels is artistic.
He’s starting to slow down due to age,
But loves to sing original songs on stage.
During the French Bicentennial, went to Paris,
Where he met his future Mrs.
Has sons Steven and Tony, wife Nelly.
They’ll soon celebrate their silver anniversary.
Like many other military veterans,
He works with Dept. of Defense civilians….
Commuting between Salinas and Monterey
(Defense Language Institute, Presidio of Monterey).
He loves to read (especially military science fiction),
Go to cinemas, and grow food in his garden.
He’s interested in music production software,
And dreams his songs will someday go somewhere.
Written January 8, 2013
The morning blues in a lily on the pond
Wake on the wrong side of the road
Penniless pockets play the vagabond game
Ride the tiger recently tamed
On a long road to nowhere, horizon's stain
All's my name sitting next to me
Lie down with graceful angels deep in the snow
Or on wet grass recently mowed
I've grown accustomed to the scent of your mane
Spelled chug-chuga-chug is my name
Oh why do flowers never bloom in the snow?
They never have a chance to grow
No, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore
The oaks and pines getting clearer
Much to a land unafraid to spread its wings
Listen to Woody Guthrie sing
Bacon sizzles in the rain and sunshine reigns
We've reached the line of no return
Of the big rock candy mountain we will sing
For the next week my phone won't ring
First Annual Poetry Soup Convention shall be held on June 21st at Stonehenge
For Nina’s convenience and to entice Jan, Melani, Brandy, Heidi and Anne-Lise.
M.L., Rhona, Brian, Joseph, and Emile will build the fire, and bring magic.
Jennifer, Michelle, Aditi, Carolyn, Lu and Panagiota will laugh into the night.
Victor, Demetrios, Andrew, Gershon and Chris will build their own cabins.
Mahtab, Brenda and Jim will help construct them, but will refuse any credit.
Directors Line, Eve, Connie, P.S, Ann and Irene will be assigning bunk mates.
Sarah, Sherry and Anisha will create food using M.L.’s epulaeryus for recipes.
Andrea, Gregory, and Kim will be teaching "how to win" poetry workshops.
Peter, Vera and Freddie will bringing along cockatoos to entertain us at night.
Tom will be down the hill re-enacting war stories with a bunch of the fellows.
Maureen will be teaching senyrus. Beata will be holding Bible sessions.
Nette will be coordinating with Susan, Robert, and Teppo to recreate the moon.
Sandra and Maurice will be sneaking onto computers to do their own thing.
Jack and James will arrive without James’ special pal, who is at Mar-a-Largo.
Bobby and Wren will make banners. Everyone will be hugging Line for the idea.
Constance, Sherry and M.L. will bring their cats, who will go from lap to lap.
Charles and Carol will be rich by the end of the night from their cut of the money from Chantelle and Tania's workshops. Arturo will be Grand Marshall.
Winged Warrior, Pixie Dust and Silent One will reveal they have regular names.
We will have so much fun, we will have to do it again next year in Kansas City.
Where Caren can put up all the tents. She does not sleep anyway.
Written 3-8-2019
Contest: First Annual Poetry Soup Convention
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
It is 7:41 p.m.
we are in the middle of the forest
in a meadow, in the country, in Kansas
unnamed insects are cheeping and buzzing
my sixty-two-foot oak is singing with sounds
a half-moon is barely visible
the sky is light, not blue, not gray
my dog nuzzles my hand
he’s a baby, needing attention
fancies that I am his mama
my older dog waits for the puppy’s cue
dog next door is still making noise
in unison they begin their neighborly barking responses
I wait for nine thousand insects to descend on my head
thinking crickets, mosquitos, ticks and locusts
the cheeping and buzzing is louder now.
I wish there where Blue skies for everyone
No Crying, no clouds in my head
Just Red on the roses each day to say
You're not gone or forgotten when Dead
I wish that the Children were untroubled
By the Wars and the witnesses of men
When Gray skies just say all you have is today
And Hope can’t be found nor a friend
I wish I could sit in a Meadow
And Wait for a sunset to see
With lessons like Leave it to Beaver
And Wally don’t be mean to me
Cause Dorothy had wishes like Kansas
And Toto and Somewhere to find
To Ace it No doubt is Embrace It
For a Heart with ahead and it’s mine
Yet as I say this It’s over, I'm under
My pillows have turns for the worse
Yet faith and some hopes are a challenge
Cause you're not on a stage called Rehearse
So, Reverse them your wishes like candles
And make Everyday Just like light
Blow with your Eyes closed no longer
For the Wishes you hope for give sigh
I sing a song of joy
For I have a paintbrush in my hand
My artistic soul is smiling
Excited she is allowed freedom to create
I glide along with a bit of a hop skip
Serenaded by robins whose tweets cannot be recreated
By words or by any other means
They uplift me and make me feel wholesome
There are pink geraniums here, sharing their joy
I feel their enthusiasm and love for the sun
I look up, feeling her too, for the first time today
She winks at me, glad to be of service
It is a fine day in Kansas.
I am excited to be me, living free and carefree.
I pick up a pen and write.
My brain has been polluted from the influence of the outside. Thoughts are mixed, like emotions—Diluted over time.
In a land far-far away, yet a time not so distant, I remember when I had my own beliefs; driven from conviction.
As the clock kept moving forward my mind began to wander. The blueprint of my life resembles that of new construction—Constantly changing to suit the task at hand.
As people came and went, I absorbed their toxins while testing many waters which caused my pupils to dilate towards the direction of my peers—Leaving me wide eyed and all alone yet stuck in a crowd—Where I once reveled in the attention and left an impressionable mark, feeling as if I was an inseparable part. I polluted many. I was an in-the-moment infectious type. A disease of happy good ole me, being me without giving it a thought; this was youth. Free in my own skin not questioning the vibe. Just becoming. Simply following course and expanding it with a huge grin from cheek to cheek.
A rhythmic drum beat constantly kept me on this path. A quest, a journey; for happiness. A time in my life that I wished to last forever. At one point came to an inevitable end.
Although that has demised due to the destruction of my past. It remains in my veins. There's no doubt it will last and hasn't officially left or even passed. However, I can guarantee it passed onto another young lover with sparkles in his eyes. If only I knew him, would he say thanks or hi? Did I pollute him or did he pollute me—From the influence of the outside?
- 3/01/14
Edited -5/01/17
This poem is about music festivals. And to reference a few locations and venues I have experienced. I will recognize Harmony Park in Albert Lea Minnesota, Wakarusa in Lawrence Kansas and Bonaroo in Tennessee...To all these amazing adventures I gratefully encountered, I will not ever be able to duplicate the exact same events as the settings and lineups are forever changing as new replaces old and change happens. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.
If I’d only turned that corner …
or if you’d crossed that street …
if you hadn’t booked that sauna …
How come we didn’t meet?
If I’d joined the Belgian army,
or enrolled at Kansas State,
or if I’d passed on that pastrami …
so – is it now too late?
If I linger in DeSoto’s,
or step out, some freezing night:
if I stop to take some photos …
who knows? We might. We might!
Or must I say, no way, “me rindo”?
Or keep hoping for that glance?
If I gaze in Macy’s window,
will you jostle me, by chance?
So, will you stroll along Delancey
just by the Pitt Street turning?
Or are you, darling, just a fancy,
a figment of my yearning?