Long Latterly Poems
Long Latterly Poems. Below are the most popular long Latterly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Latterly poems by poem length and keyword.
Early days as a flaneur;
I recall the couple
On the Metro
When I was still innocent
Of its labyrinthine complexities;
Slim pretty white girl,
Clad head to toe
In new blue denim,
Wistfully smiling
While her muscular black beau
Stared straight through me
With fathomless, fulgorous orbs;
And one of them spoke
(Almost in a whisper):
"Qu'est-ce que t'en pense?"
Then it dawned on me...
The slender young Parisienne
With the distant desirous eyes
Was no less male than I.
Being screamed at in Pigalle,
And then howled at again
By some kind of wild-eyed
Drifter who told me to go
To the Bois de Boulogne to seek
What he clearly saw as my destiny;
Getting soused in Les Halles
With Sara
Who'd just seen Dillon as
Rusty James,
And was walking around in a daze;
Sara again with Jade
At the Caveau de la Huchette.
Cash squandered
On a cheap gold-plated toothbrush,
Portrait sketched at the Place du Tertre,
Paperback books
By Symbolist poets,
Second hand volumes
By Trakl and Deleve,
And a leather jacket from
The flea market
At the Porte de Clignancourt.
Metro taken to Montparnasse,
Where I slowly sipped
A demi blonde
In one of those brasseries
(Perhaps)
Immortalised by Brassai;
Bewhiskered old man
In a naval officer's cap,
His table bestrewn
With empty wine bottles
And cigarette butts,
Repeatedly screeched the name
"Phillippe!" until a bartender
With patent leather hair,
Filled his wineglass to the brim,
With a mock-obsequious:
"Voila, mon Captaine!"
I cut into the Rue du Bac,
Traversed the Pont Royal,
Briefly beheld
Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois,
With its gothic tower,
Constructed only latterly,
In order that
The 6th Century church
Might complement
The style of the remainder
Of the 1er Arrondissement,
Before steering for the
Place du Chatelet,
And onwards...Les Halles!
Listen Sister HEARING this makes you WONDER…
I am a PHOTOGRAPHER and I can be a RAPPER...
And If I would; I could play in MANCHESTER…
All I wanted with HER, was to be her, BROTHER…
All I wanted was to take him to a MOTHER…
I can be a BROTHER, and without playing HER, I can be FATHER….
AND I can MAKE my baby in a MOTHER…
NOW may be a train have played your brain…
THIS can makes you CRY also can make you FLY…
To FEEL SORRY to Relieve Some PAIN…
It’s all about playing the brain.. it ALL started in a TRAIN.. when a psychologist told me you are INSANE…
AND I was CURIOUS to know why he was SO FURIOUS..
I had a tobacco I DIDN'T’T say ‘’MAKO’…
Despite I was high that GUY made CRY…
I LATTERLY told him I’m here in GERMANY and I’M not AN ENEMY... ’
I CAME to Europe LEGALLY…
I’m PHOTOGRAPHER and I can be RAPPER…
If you want I can take you to a MOTHER…
despite I was high that guy made CRY…
IT WAS NEVER TOO LATE RUN THE MIXTAPE…
HOW come a PHOTOGRAPHER TRIGGER ANGER and make somebody SAY TODAY I’m a STRONGER…
HOW come a PHOTOGRAPHER trigger ANGER… and tell somebody what doesn't’t kill you make you STRONGER…
he thought I was a FREY..
he told me today I fight my WAY…
every body is smart in his own WAY…
and If YOU think I’m PERFECT,, I can SAY I’m a PROPHET…
THANK YOU for BEING elegant WAKING UP the inelegant may be I’m a bit ARROGANT…
But that’s Okay because one Day I’ll get on a PLANE and will SORRY for PLAYING your daughter BRAIN…
HER BROTHER will come laughing ALL THE WAY… telling us how beautiful she was THAT DAY….
TOGETHER SISTER they will FLY AWAY…
I used to tell people wake up and then at one point when all I could say is that I’m messed up…
I SPEAK what I FEEL and If I want I kill I can’t do IT for REAL,,,
I’m TUNISIAN, AFRICAN, ARAB, BERBER, AND I truly DO CARE…
I SMOKE weed it is not a SIN,, it is JUST a MEDICINE…
VIGNETTE FORM an example
In the base motor pool
See an off-limits card school-
A scheming Bilko takes the pot
Hoodwinking top brass was his game,
Fast talking his claim to fame.
Vignette=a 5 line light verse that tells a short story some further examples as below
VIGNETTE-ALL OF A ZITHER
Across Vienna's old town
In a sewer underground,
They tracked down..Harry LIme,
A Third Man in a crime-
To music so sublime.
VIGNETTE -ON THE BEACH
Prone,lying side by side
Lapped by an ebbing tide,
Together upon passion's ride-
In love's embrace enlocked
This watershed,no longer shocks.
ADELAIDE CRAPSEY-IMAGIST
A well travelled lass named Adelaide
Innovative and never staid,
Unmarried,single but no old maid-
A short life,latterly full of pain,
Her epitaph,the American cinquain.
Tribute vignette to Adelaide Crapsey,the American creator of the Cinquain form
VIGNETTE- STRINGS & HARPS
A vaporetto upon the sea
A love departs that could never be-
Tears trickle down face,
Mahler played at his slowest pace,
Langsum,adagietto-slow.
Scene from Death in Venice
A EULOGY-VIGNETTE
William,lived and died in Perth
Buried now in Scottish turf-
Diarist,poet extraodinaire
I do declare...lived a life of pain
Yet..lasting fame lies in his cinquain
tribute to my favourite Scottish poet -William Soutar note
my book of over 100 of his cinquains FLOWERS OF LIFE (isbn 1 903203 473)@ 25$ remains available to buy
Vignette-FILLED WITH THE SPIRIT
Immersed in the Jordan,flowing fast
In readiness for an awesome task
The Spirit descended like a dove
This man here is my beloved-
He still baptises from above
Full story at Math 3:16/17
In the base motor pool
See an off-limits card school-
A scheming Bilko takes the pot
Hoodwinking top brass was his game,
Fast talking his claim to fame.
VIGNETTE-ALL OF A ZITHER
Across Vienna's old town
In a sewer underground,
They tracked down..Harry LIme,
A Third Man in a crime-
To music so sublime.
VIGNETTE -ON THE BEACH
Prone,lying side by side
Lapped by an ebbing tide,
Together upon passion's ride-
In love's embrace enlocked
This watershed,no longer shocks.
ADELAIDE CRAPSEY-IMAGIST
A well travelled lass named Adelaide
Innovative and never staid,
Unmarried,single but no old maid-
A short life,latterly full of pain,
Her epitaph,the American cinquain.
Tribute vignette to Adelaide Crapsey,the American creator of the Cinquain form
VIGNETTE- STRINGS & HARPS
A vaporetto upon the sea
A love departs that could never be-
Tears trickle down face,
Mahler played at his slowest pace,
Langsum,adagietto-slow.
Scene from Death in Venice
A EULOGY-VIGNETTE
William,lived and died in Perth
Buried now in Scottish turf-
Diarist,poet extraodinaire
I do declare...lived a life of pain
Yet..lasting fame lies in his cinquain
tribute to my favourite Scottish poet -William Soutar note
my book of over 100 of his cinquains FLOWERS OF LIFE (isbn 1 903203 473)@ 25$ remains available to buy
Vignette-FILLED WITH THE SPIRIT
Immersed in the Jordan,flowing fast
In readiness for an awesome task
The Spirit descended like a dove
This man here is my beloved-
He still baptises from above
Full story at Math 3:16/17
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted
Imagists use clear, simple language to paint a picture. Imagery, on the other hand, is use of flowery and descriptive language, and often figurative language, to create an image in the reader’s mind. An imagist would keep things simple, and not use imagery other than specific sensory details.
Wordless lines,indelible impressions with imagination set free to flower in the mind’s eye.Images rather than words remain,colour & space released,set apart,the extra from the ordinary,a moment seen and then heard.
Adelaide Crapsey The apex For me in the imagist genre
A well travelled lass named Adelaide
Innovative and never staid,
Unmarried,single but no old maid-
A short life,latterly full of pain,
Her epitaph,the American cinquain.
For the lovely Adelaide Crapsey
a long life was not to be.
In syllable,two,four,six eight&two
her cinquain made imagism anew
To the heart of the matter
windblown
by gusty amazements
a richness and complexity
fine and delicate
the beauty of verse
speech by ‘ear’
&reason tested
not in arrogance
but humility
& subtlety of form
Questions
alluring in novelty
foreshadowed
by conscious perception
Far and leisured
discerned by a prosody
of rhythm
The contrast of
speech appears musical
&
temporal
in the listener’s ear
We live in a world of time
everything is controlled by the clock
always looking to see where it's at
engagements band meetings in its lock
Social media is not my scene at all
whatever it is Twitter, Instagram or Facebook
people wanting to tell all that they think
nothing is secret not even how we look
What do people want to know about me?
I'm a pretty boring kind of bloke
people are not really my favourite item
they would want instead a diet coke
But having said all that about me
suppose they are things I do too
that when I think about it are a waste
taking photo pics just to show a view
I love to write and receive emails
also, watch westerns from yesteryear
love being retired being just myself
dislike speaking verbally to avoid fear
Now these things latterly others wonder
what a waste of time they would be
but to me, they bring me peaceful content
just as meditating upon Calvary's tree
Being a lover of poetry so much
but good to make time for other things
variety they say is the spice of life
enjoy real satisfaction for what it brings
I've always been a great lover of books
so I still love a really good read
whether history, bio or Christian thought
obviously, poetry inspires me up to speed
Walking is something I love to do
especially among nature colours so clear
among the woods branches and twigs
has such effect to inspire all that's near
Music has always been a love of mine
tastes have changed over the years
at one time in my 20s, punk was my thing
now latterly classical soothes all my fears
In all of this, I've enjoyed variety
brings joy to my life fort each day
so good being alive whatever our years
enjoying these pastimes hoping to stay
(This is a piece to describe what hobbies/pastimes fill my life other than poetry.)
A large green iguana fell out of a tree
onto my head.
Ohio has no invasive Iguanas.
I don't smoke anymore.
Right in front of me
a speeding red van killed a woman.
I have developed an allergic reaction
to all kinds of blind spots.
Latterly,
balding eagles have buried their memories
under symbolic windfarms.
Since moving to where I am,
the mail truck arrives far too late
to do anything about it.
I used to leak over sterile tabletops.
Now and again, a thin lifeblood still drains
through systemic digital aqueducts.
Upon a time, I considered following the ways
of an autonomous wildebeest,
no matter,
an habitual herd instinct
led me to drink from only shallow waterholes.
I have reconsidered.
Ever since,
a rung-less ladder gets me high enough
without the use of heel lifts.
I choose my socks carefully.
Nearly fifty years ago
His life came to its end
And I lost a much loved
And respected old friend.
Born cruelly disabled,
Paralysed by surgical knife,
A calculated risk in the hope
Of a more normal life.
Enjoy your life
The surgeon had said,
It won’t be for long,
And you’re a long time dead.
A bon viveur and raconteur
He spun many a fine tale
Enthroned in his wheel chair
Clasping his pint of real ale.
At first on foot, taxi or train
Latterly in the car of the day
We wandered and forged
Our merrily desperate way.
A sudden blink of fate
And Old Hawkins was gone
Still only in his thirties
As time, uncaring, moved on.
I cried at his funeral.
His loss twisting like a knife,
Celebrating the memory of
His short but well lived life.
“Love is like a rose. When pressed between two lifetimes, it will last forever.” – Anonymous
In vast wilderness of emerald summer, rose blossoms brightness,
Like the moon's latterly visits, in pearly, glimmering contriteness.
Her scent lingers in the hearts and minds, of those who knew her,
Through the precious and golden days, gone by in a piquant blur.
Grace, beauty, and cool elegance, in a thousand delicate shades,
Swirling and dancing in silent places, that honeyed sun pervades.
Unforgettably luscious and languid, visitor to many dreamy hours,
Pursuing on a winding path to eternity, with odd, hypnotic powers!
Written on August 28, 2022
For: Eight Lines of Rhyme - Your Favorite
Flower Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin