Long Monroe Poems
Long Monroe Poems. Below are the most popular long Monroe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Monroe poems by poem length and keyword.
(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?”
Current Events
Frozen pants dance stiffly
to the mad beat of sapless
drumsticks choreographed
by a wicked whimsy of the
winds baton. Birds cling
tightly knowing that if the
gale subsides for but a moment
they will fall over, be blown
like feathered fur balls on
lone unchartered trips. Cats
hiss in meek response to
whistling whine of wind’s
failed grasping at the trees.
Children pick up speed as
parents chase them through
the cyclones of debris
quick swept by nature’s
crazed custodian. Hats,
hang glide in mocking
merriment above the tousled
heads of their former captors.
Skirts balloon Monroe like,
fashion’s flair taking on airs.
Trash can covers play Frisbee,
as barrels beat steel drum staccato.
This wind, this rush of Winter
clearing the table, cleansing its palate,
preparing us for the next course.
John G. Lawless
1/25/2014
I wake from a bad dream
Hey there new man
That’s what they said to me
Hey there how’s it been lately?
I stand, look and see
Elvis, Martin Luther King and John Lennon walk on by so casually.
Roy Orbison and Freddie Mercury harmonising with Liberace as the queen mother watches whilst sipping tea
As I walk what looks like on nothing
I see Winston Churchill talking with Audie Murphy as Lewis Collins stares at me
I say hello to Marylyn Monroe or Norma Jean as Tony Curtis politely corrects me
Burgess Meredith tells me to do push ups, James Mason steadies me. Richard Burton drinking with Roger Moore on one round table and on the table next to them John Thaw doing a crossword - difficultly!
I walk on aimlessly as I see Bruce Lee training ferociously. Clark Gable playing cards with Humphrey Bogart and General Custer sipping whiskey with Einstein, Herriot, Tolkien and Agatha Christie - something too mind bending to me!
I walk through some glass doors and a whole world of familiar faces turns to see.
I wake up suddenly.
I sit up and can’t believe how real that felt to me.
(By the time of the shooting of
"The Misfits", the Miller-Monroe
marriage was in deep trouble.
The Pansy is Montgomery Clift,
The Tusker is John Huston.)
After the Fall
It started as a mental exercise.
I wondered if an East-Side Jew like me
(Richard Rodgers, Brooklyn Dodgers,
Staten Ferry, Tom and Jerry,
Radio City, Walter Mitty,
Buddy Rich, Seven-Year Itch)
could sing the song of Stetson-wearing guys,
could capture something of the poetry
of men who have no words.
But then it grew, as all these projects do.
And then I fell in love with Norma-Jean
(no, Marilyn is someone else). I knew
I had to show the world what I had seen
of men who chase the herds.
(Levi jeans, chilli beans,
mustang culls, rodeo bulls,
Misfit Flats, lariats,
pony carts, engine parts,
happy hour, whiskey sour,
bronkin' bucks, pickup trucks,
buying beers, tying steers,
fancy boots, turkey shoots).
Sincerely? Dearly? Yes. I loved that woman -
the one inside, not on the billboard, pouting.
I cared so much, I guess I had it coming.
I was The Man, the one to take it out on.
A mustang in the dirt,
the more I squirmed, the tighter drew the ropes.
She ran to Gable. Primal passion? Rather,
the one thing that extinguished all my hopes:
he was, to her, the archetypal father.
Varieties of hurt
are infinite. The Pansy, Gable, Tusker -
all sorrowing for something. Norma-Jean
has kept her looks (can't say that for The Husker).
Inside, she putrefied. Love turns to mean,
it's ugly to behold.
The pills? The booze? Or was the problem me?
Or maybe everything just comes unraveled,
but some can hide it where the world won't see.
The consolation of philosophy?
The journey is itself the prize. I travelled
in the realms of gold.
I'm a poet and they're saying I got my own style,
I'm wild and vile in how I lay out the tile, no denial.
singers like Elvis Pressley, there was only one,
only one Michael Jackson, a one not some.
so do it your own way and impress thee,
don't stress if you're not how the rest be.
there's only one Eminem and 2Pac,
the rest just couldn't do that.
I'm a singular impact,
singing like a dingbat.
now on a roll, a male Marilyn Monroe,
head to toe, I'm like no one you know,
rolling rhyme rules and I'm holding the flow.
I'm Nick Trim they took the mickey,
I seemed dim they made me seem silly,
but look at me now..... look at my big willy,
a witty wise guy born and raised in Bath City.
You think I'm stupid, don't forget I was hired,
I won 'The Apprentice,' but I was still fired,
a friend of mine has recently beaten men at darts,
give me/us some credit instead of measuring my parts.
God made us as a friend, even took a rib out of you,
so you've got something less than me, get in the queue,
you shouldn't leave me, it would be good if you believe me,
I'll give you some magic and a good share of mystery,
Don't treat me like a plaything, just respect me boy,
how many times have I been left like a discarded toy,
now it's my turn to deprive you of your dessert,
you have to realize what it's like to get hurt.
One name was Marilyn Monroe, now I'm history,
but just remember that you probably murdered me.
1960 and the world was changing
A time for living and rearranging
Baseball in the school yard with a sponge ball and a fist
Donnie Brooks sang Mission Bell and Chubby did The Twist
Bobbie sox and ponytails, school dances were so much fun
Johnny Preston’s Running Bear. I loved the theme from Peter Gunn
A young senator from Boston was in the presidential race
Marty sang El Paso and there was a theme from A Summer Place
Mr. Custer and Alley Oop were fun songs to listen to
While Elvis said It’s Now or Never and also Stuck on You
Ford came out with the Edsel. Remember the unsinkable Molly Brown.
Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool even Cathy’s Clown
We had air raid warnings and marbles in our pockets
Movies in the park and Cape Canaveral shooting rockets
Gable and Monroe in the Misfits, Perry Mason on TV
And the Drifters were singing Save the Last Dance for Me.
There was a draft to serve our country and we were always ready
A time for holding hands and a time for going steady
Kirk Douglas was Spartacus and Burt was Elmer Gantry
Pies were made from scratch and there were apples in the pantry
Larry Hall sang Sandy and Bobby Rydell wailed Wild One
O Dio Mio From Annette. She and Frankie had so much fun
Lonely Blue Boy by Conway Twitty and Bobby’s Beyond the Sea
Duane twanged Because they’re Young and the Everly’s Let it be Me
Those days are precious memories that I hope will never fade
The world was so much kinder then and I was in eighth grade.
It’s Saturday morning, and even though it’s Thanksgiving break, Lisa and I are in her bedroom, in NYC, studying.
“Ok,” Lisa stops, looks up and says, “give me a 5ex symbol.”
“I.. I don’t have one on me.” I say, apologetically.
“NAME one.” she clarifies.
“Are there “5ex symbols” anymore?” I say, with air-quotes, “Who’s “Marilyn Monroe” today -Kim Kardashian - oooo - or Kendall Jenner?”
“I read Emily Ratajkowski refer to herself as a 5ex symbol the other day.” Lisa says.
“Is that the model that said she was groped at a photo-shoot?” I ask, as I google her.
“Yeah,” Lesa nods, “but it was a music video shoot.”
“Do you think I could model?” I ask, as I pose vampingly. “Be unflinchingly honest.” I request.
“Hhmmmm,” she considers, framing me in a finger rectangle pretend camera. “You’re like Marilyn Monroe,” she says, “in a training bra.” *We burst out laughing*
“Back to the subject,” Lisa says, “name a guy you think of as a 5ex symbol.”
“Humphrey Bogart!“ I say.
“Humphrey Bogart?? No!” she rejects him, wrinkling her nose, “too old-timey and dead, besides, he was a MOVIE star - come ON, a real one - SAY!”
Michael Gandolfini!” I offer.
“??Michael Gandolfini??” she says, sounding stumped as her fingers google him.
*I make a dreamy “mmmm,” yummy sound.
“Oh, my GOD,” she says, and looks up for confirmation. “Humphrey Bogart and Michael Gandolfini - HONESTLY, you have the WEIRDEST taste!”
I was shocked, “No, seriously, don’t you think Michael looks kind of soft, cute and.. LUVable?”
She groans, “You’re going to marry an ugly man someday - aren’t you?” She pronounces, shaking her head.
“AM NOT!” I responded, throwing a pillow at her head (a pillow fight ensues).
Own What You Own
Learn to recognize your own history.
Like the grass before a scythe
Murder is after all
A sort of suicide.
The sacrifice of someone else's self.
Like the granting of a favour
For the sake of your own insecurity.
Or out of jealousy for what we covet
From those in whom we can no longer recognize,
The better part of our selves.
“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.”
? Marilyn Monroe
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0EdRT56WK7Q
“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.”
? Marilyn Monroe
It is a daunting task they ask of me,
Brittle as I am,
A lovely mustard color,
Flitting in the autumn breeze,
Like some Marilyn Monroe of leaves.
They expect me to jump.
The one's that haven't jumped yet.
I've seen they others that have jumped.
Once they hit the ground
They just flop about at best.
Not a good look!
Okay, okay I'm going!
My destiny, they say it is.
There are theories of an updraft.
Shoot you up to higher branch-CHAS!
It happened. I'm falling. Like a leaf.
Cuz I am one.
Oof! Great now I'll flop about like the rest.
This is humiliat-oh here comes a worm
Sliding up my stem in a real
Don't mind if I do manner.
Trying to burrow through
Mmmm--now I get it.
We're all connected.
It's all connected.
I'm not just me.
I'm the whole planet.
What a funny time to learn.