Long Kiosk Poems
Long Kiosk Poems. Below are the most popular long Kiosk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kiosk poems by poem length and keyword.
Fruit vendor John was polishing his pomegranates
The green piece of clean poplin was kissing warmly
He once rubbed the pinkish crust with the soft cloth
Would then look at it with a mild pomegranate-care
Is he looking himself into a mirror, I was wondering
Dissatisfied he would now collect a piece of muslin
That too as I saw got into a purple stimulant dance
Now pleased the vendor put it with its other siblings
He was treating every fruit almost in the same way
A floating bridge of friendship in the scented breeze
Above photo, I took yesterday early in the morning
At around five in the evening, I revisited his stall
Found him sitting with his chin held with his palms
Blank eyes face down focused at the flat pavement
What might have happened meanwhile, I wondered
Lips tight he moved his eyes to the empty grey kiosk
All the fruits have left me, Sir, leaving me all alone
No angel in the air, a hollow world in the bouquet
John lived just two houses away from my apartment
Around twelve in the night a sobbing sound alerted me
I stole a look through a window at the revolting scene
He was beating a pretty woman seemingly his wife
This morning I heard a mendicant passing by the road
Singing a folk song of Bengal current through ages
You have no idea my heart you have no knowledge
How many persons live inside you, you have no hunch
August 23, 2019
Wow Me Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nina Parmenter
Off the market I dashed
In search of ingredients
To soup my poetry.
To all kiosk and stall I went
Yet I find none of it.
Fagged out on my fro home
Lost in thought of how
To soup my poetry.
There I stumbled on it
Ingredients of my soup.
On my way I paused
For the first stanza
My thinking personified
With a poetic licence.
I smiled with an imagery of simile
All over me was a pun of metaphor.
Only in consonance with an
Hyperbole of alliteration.
Paradox became my ordeal
With an echo of onomatopoeia
Still in an irony of oxymoron
Dancing with a metonym.
I got home with more
Ingredients from my mind
Then and there, I began to
Soup my poetry in poetrysoup.
Alayande Stephen.T
12.45pm
17th August 2006
On my way to Apagbon in Lagos on the behest of
IPC Chairman,Lanre Arogundade.
Specially packaged for www.poetrysoup.com, as a wonderful family.
At the echoes of dusk
I considered the past- you
The walk every night to the kiosk
And those smiles that were true
A reflection of you.
The girl next door
She has the beauty of your face
I know and I am sure
For in her, you, I can trace
A reflection of you.
Now that I spread
My hands into the dying twilight
Tears force my eyes to shed
For we played together in its light
A reflection of you.
Sitting at the river shore
As I strum the strings
Of my guitar for a key to score
They bring you as floods of springs
A reflection of you
A reflection of you
When I see them on streets
Lovers' hands in love
Lost, enveloped in passion treats
I feel like a lonely dove.
Six men had found a kiosk in a clearing in the woods
They ordered up some hotdogs from the chef of meaty goods
One tried to boost his appetite by going for a stroll
His friends thought he’d gone home… but he’d been devoured whole
Five men were eating hotdogs but one had to take a pee
He nipped into the woods where he would let his pee go free
He found an oak where he could pee and nobody would see
And was eaten by a crocodile hid behind the tree
Four men were eating hotdogs and one missed his childhood friend
A friend more like a brother and on whom he could depend
His friend had been gone longer than he thought he might intend
He went to search the woods and met the croc… then met his end
Three men were eating hotdogs but their number now was dwindling
They’d gone into the woods and they were not collecting kindling
One said they’re playing tricks on us and marched into the trees
The crocodile only left the bit below his knees
Two men were eating hotdogs and they eyeballed one another
Could it be that one was an assassin undercover
One nibbled at his hotdog before getting to his feet
Then headed off and met the croc he didn’t know he’d meet
One man gazed at his hotdog with a newfound clarity
He put aside that hotdog for he knew where he should be
And now he tells the world he’s seen the writing on the wall
His placards say, “Ban hotdogs… for they’re gonna kill us all!”
Cool breeze
Bird soliloquy;
Dawn sparkles
~~~~~~~~~
City fringe
After hours glee;
Beer-guzzling romp
~~~~~~~~~
Roadside mishap
Curious onlookers;
Help arrives
~~~~~~~~~
New moon
Silvery tints;
Dazzling allure
~~~~~~~~~
Strange forest silhouette
Darkness blankets;
Firefly route
~~~~~~~~~
Soft rain falling
Sing-song streams;
Afternoon siesta
~~~~~~~~~
Joy wears a face
Beauty adorns;
Truth reveals
~~~~~~~~~
Playground noise
Small people cluster;
Laughter frolics
~~~~~~~~~
Newspaper vendor
Street side kiosk;
Dreary news sells
~~~~~~~~~
Food centre queue
Meal time crowds;
Happy salvation
~~~~~~~~~
Neighbour's toy dog
Barking madly;
Nobody's home
~~~~~~~~~
Public holiday
Casual dining;
Crowed eateries
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
02 April 2017
Singapore
When first I peered deep into her eyes,
My heart was completely besieged,
By her colour, her trance, her all in between,
Her book I would happily read,
So I steadied my ship, parked on a seat,
And looked at all that I liked,
And gazed at each little feeling of free,
Yet her book stayed closed through the night,
And when I awoke all I could see was her glow,
Her book cover was all I required,
Her beautiful free, emotive kiosk,
While her page would not open wide,
This ravishingly gorgeous beautiful girl,
She displayed a beautiful show,
But I never opened and read in her book,
Who she is I never will know.
If demons had wings they'd find they're way to her heart,
It's a blasphemous affair
She's white linen fabric and I,a pitiable being
Our differences make us beautiful creatures
These are the forbidden thoughts I have of her...
Her father has purchased crutches for the man who is to champion her chambers,
I care less, at this point I died when she grabbed my breath only to give it to me after she exited the room,
Lately my sheets wake up to a fragrance of hope,
A taste perhaps.... It's like she visited tonight
And I tasted her in my dreams...
This is beyond sorcery,complete addiction
She's nicotine and tar, Gin and olives...
The thought of her has me stumbling to the memory of our first date,
As I looked in her eyes and she conversed of her deepest insecurities...
Ice cream dates are great but on this one I left the kiosk with a melted heart.
At this point i can't listen to advise....there's no reasoning with a man feeling love
And when we last touched I licked my fingers
This level of lust is disgusting!
In solitude with eyes
closed, a bell flashes with a
little girl chuckling, chasing it.
In stillness, silence, the bell starts
tolling and the girl intently stares at it,
eyes beaming with glee and a radiant smile
expressing delight. I opened my eyes, shook my
head, thought of the childlike innocence, the display
of honesty, freedom, enthusiasm and suddenly remembered
my own childhood always excited hearing the church bells tolling
for they meant fun, cheers, good times. Hearing the bell at six o’ clock
in the evening for worship or Angelus prayer at our altar, meant having dinner
with my favorite dish or dessert for dinner was served after our prayers. Hearing
the bells after the morning Easter Sunday procession meant fun in the beach
for everybody went there for fun and lunch to celebrate the Resurrection.
Hearing the bells after the four o’ clock morning masses during the
Christmas season, from December sixteen through
twenty four meant eating delicious
rice cakes at the church
kiosk.
THE HOLY WEEK
I reminisce, I miss……
This week is Holy Week and I cannot help;
but to reminisce how we observed the
Holy Week, when I was growing up, that I miss.
Today is Good Friday and I remember
commemorating this day by being in church
at three in the afternoon, when Jesus
died, to recite The Stations of the Cross.
I reminisce; I miss the Holy Week then,
my father decorating the long doubled
strips palms for us to carry to church,
to be blessed in the Palm Sunday mass.
We gathered outside the church at night
on Holy Wednesday for procession around
our little town ending inside the church
to observe the Holy Wednesday mass.
The next night, we went to church
in observance of Holy Thursday and
we commemorated the crucifixion
and death of Jesus on Good Friday.
We continued on to memorialize
with another procession around
the town in the evening, followed
by the lengthy Good Friday mass.
Saturday was observed in silence,
while waiting to exhale and rejoice
the Resurrection on Easter Sunday
with all our town festivities.
Our resurrection procession started
outside the church very early in the
morning, ending at the plaza kiosk
with singers welcoming the procession.
We proceeded to church for the Easter
Sunday mass to celebrate the Resurrection.
We continued on celebrating by going
to the beach having fun and lunch.
How I miss observing the Holy Week then.
I reminisce, I miss….
4/2/21 I Reminisce I Miss Poetry
James Edward Lee Sr.
I’ve been working since I was twelve years old,
But my first on-the-books job
Was as a sailor in the US Navy,
Gunners Mate.
Six years and three Westpac deployments.
Fifty months of sea duty
Changed me for good and bad.
Over the years since,
I’ve had many terms of employment,
Both full and part-time.
My part-time jobs have included
Hanging wallpaper and painting houses.
Building stockade style fences.
Landscaping and more landscaping.
Cleaning commercial kitchen exhaust hoods.
I’ve been a receptionist at yoga studios,
A registered yoga instructor,
A certified personal trainer,
A high school cross country,
Wrestling, and track & field coach.
I’ve been a substitute teacher
At every grade level, K-12.
I’ve also been a supervisor of
Student teachers earning their
Master’s degrees in education.
Most recently, I work as a museum docent.
My full-time jobs have included
Bartender in a low-life country dive.
(Yes, I drank on the job.)
Laborer in a garment factory,
(Yes, I drank on the job.)
A refrigerated trailer factory,
(Yes, I drank on the job.)
And a lamp factory.
(It was too hot to drink anything but water on the job.)
I’ve engraved gift items in a mall kiosk.
Yes, I drank on the job.
I’ve worked at a day camp for disabled adults
And was a resident advisor in a facility
For profoundly disabled adults.
I’ve been a public-school custodian,
And a teacher of high school history and sociology,
My longest tenure at any job, by far.
My final full-time job
Was as a maintenance superintendent
In a seventy-building garden apartment complex.
I’ve also been a writer of fiction
Who draws from experience
Attempting to fashion a plausible tale.