Long Morrison Poems
Long Morrison Poems. Below are the most popular long Morrison by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Morrison poems by poem length and keyword.
Written By: D. Collins 7/7/25
I know the names of some of the greatest to ever dawn black skin.
Dr. Charles Drew, Miles Davis, Malcolm X, and James Baldwin.
Generations from now their achievements will be overlooked.
Due to coordinated efforts to remove them from history books.
There were the Buffalo Soldiers and Tuskegee Airmen.
Maya Angelou and descriptive writings of Toni Morrison.
We had Dr. Martin Luther King and Muhammad Ali.
Who gave hope to a population of people like me.
We've endured the longest deprivation mankind has faced.
You cannot remove something that refuses to be erased.
We've heard broken promises that never came about.
The Caged Bird Still Sings loudly from the top of the mount.
I did not know her music,
But I’ve read of her travails.
It seemed that all her problems
Only ratcheted her sales.
Her concerts made the news because
She barely could perform;
For her, intoxication
And/or drug use was the norm.
Like Kurt Cobain before her,
And like Jimi, Janis, Jim*,
Her talent seemed authentic,
Her survival chances slim.
It really is a shame to hear
That someone is found dead
At the age of twenty-seven,
With a lifetime still ahead.
But tortured souls have got to do
Whatever they are drawn to,
And we can only wonder ‘bout
The places they have gone to.
It’s sad to be so talented
But plainly, quite tormented.
I’d rather have less talent
But be somewhat more contented.
*Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison
“You can’t play on broken strings”
And still you made me feel like I had wings
Until that day you walked away
I had to try and keep the tears at bay
“When you cried, I’d wipe away all of your tears”
For months I help to fend away all your fears
We became one through all the trials
We shared so many smiles
“According to you”
Our time was overdue
You moved on without a word
I once again became a flightless bird
“So I am already gone”
It was written in the stone
Our love was not meant to last
You’re not part of my future, you are my past…
Broken strings – James Morrison feat Nelly Furtado
My Immortal - Evanescence
According to you - Orianthi
Already gone – Kelly Clarkson
07/05/2011
Joplin was to Southern Comfort
what Hendrix was to smack
Morrison was to masquerade
what Dylan never lacked
Woodstock was to boomers lost
what music is to rhyme
Saigon was to those who stayed
what Auschwitz now reminds
Kennedy was to hopes and dreams
what nightmares are to some
Castro was to leftist thugs
what cymbals are to drums
Kissinger was to Nixon
an Appian Way to roam
Dr. King to civil rights
what kings are to their thrones
Walter Cronkite was to news
what context is to fact
Altar boys to feral Priests
what pretzels are to snacks
58,000 were to die
a wall would then proclaim
58,000 were to all
— what conscience is to shame
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Do you want to be a member of the 27 club? - When one asks,
Like snakes hidden beneath leaves - dying at 27 - its grim face masks;
Gifted, skilled, artistic and masterly are its members,
Musicians, stars, celebrities... all gold gone through embers...!
Robert Leroy Johnson, American Blues musician,
Died drinking poisoned whisky, loon-like, losing cognition;
Brian Jones, wood-thrush, British multi-instrumentalist,
Lived introvert; died drowning, like a sentimentalist...!
Alan Wilson, Jimi Hendrix, Deve Alexander,
Jim Morrison, Joplin, Kurt Cobain... all known for candor;
Drug-alcohol-abuse, homicide, suicide, mishap,
Easily to wrath of mistimed death, they did get enwrap...!
Amy Winehouse, one of youngest of Club Twenty Seven,
Singer, lyricist...! Has she gone to hell or to Heaven...?
Alcohol poison! Like many others, a millionaire!
I don't want to die, she said. Did death hear her last prayer...?
Discouragements and depressions that lead to mental-kick,
Hopelessness, helplessness, anxieties... all makes them sick;
Dry branches hold to trees; holding to divine they could live;
Premeditated sins and evils - will heavens forgive...?
12 September 2022
The 27 club Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
MUSICAL PASSION
Music is the living soul
And beating heart of humanity.
It lights my fire of passion
Or tames my restless spirit.
Music calls me to live, taste, feel and see.
The spark of hope and change is ignited.
I hear the voice of the silenced and
Feel the anguish of the oppressed.
The soothing, soulful sounds of
Mangione’s flugelhorn makes me
“Feel so Good. “
The gritty, nasally voice of Dylan
Calls me to listen, for the answers
“Blowin’ in the Wind.”
The rich baritone of Cash
Warns me not to fall
In to the “Ring of Fire.”
Fogerty’s powerful voice
Invites me to dance with Willie and the Po Boys
“Down on the Corner.”
With Hank I can taste that
Home made “Jambalaya”
On the bayou.
Peter, Paul and Mary
Take me to that cherry lane
with “Puff the Magic Dragon.”
I can now call myself “Deacon Blues”
When I lose,
Becker and Fagan tell me.
I can taste the sweet
Tupelo Honey that flows
From the voice of Van Morrison
Jim Morrison said it for me
taking poetic license
music Light’s My Fire.
Anti-Poem — “Snaking It To Venice”
(Poet’s Instruction: Play “The End” by the Doors loudly, while reading this anti-poem)
it’s you and me baby inside this gliding duster
this ’74 green plymouth cruising machine blasting
spit fire and gasoline grenades into the LA sun
snaking it to venice on the santa monica freeway
passing pillsbury billboards and green verdigris
doors music playing loudly on the duster radio dial
taking us past the santa monica civic auditorium
our rock pleasure palace under the ocean stars
fronted by the six high dudes straight as spears—
pylons of steel drum solos and marijuana memories
standing upward like skinny giants waiting to eat
hippie dudes and the bongo kings stand out front
polka-dotted chicks smile and pass running joints
we’re riding the snake babe riding on main street
looking for the rock gods behind beaming glass walls
looking to hear boogie music with the mind jive girls
the van chicks craving a bong hit of columbian gold
looking to groove on organ sonics that weaken you
kidnap you with handcuffs for a ransom of lost time
now jim morrison shimmies into view with a beer
the boys play the end again in 1967 with amps blaring
the vox organ humming out electric mind lacerations
as Ray Manzarek sits upright again on the melting stage
dig it baby, dig it there are no tomorrows no endings
it’s just you and me baby snaking it to venice beach
passing the dream palaces lit up with phosphorescence
the sun pole-dancing there doing the cosmic bend-over
the ’74 duster blasting spitfire and gasoline grenades
Confronting Tomorrow
Persuading
my curiosity
to counter my fear
I looked beyond the fray
Never being sure
I was dead or alive
the crossroads of tomorrow
— to enter or stay
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
Before Fate
How many times
must you lip sync
your schtick
to finally get it right
How many lies
must forever
be told
to block the brightest light
How many lovers
must swim
in your wake
eventually to drown
How many times
must you rebait
the trap
— before its fate impounds
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
Surrendering All
Escaping deep
into my art
without an exit
shown
Surrendering
what’s yet to come
for this one moment
shown
Escaping in
to venture forth
the one-way signs
abound
Surrendering all
to win at last
what prescience
— will impound
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
Sentience
The journey
is the destination
Each step
tomorrow gleaned
All glory
for dishonor’s sake
As sentience
takes the lead
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
Distant Thunder
If Morrison
returned
would the desert
repair
Would lizards
still hide
in forbidden
night lairs
Their King
they await
like groupies
in heat
To re-shed
their skins
then gather
to greet
The one
who had freed them
then left them
forlorn
Who slithers
inside them
the eye
— of the storm
(Joshua Tree National Monument: March, 1981)
Square Root Of The Present
Time is now
whose moment refrains
The instant upon us
— as reference abstains
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
Dreams of tropical beaches
The dead won't let me sleep
Money got me always on my feet
A certain gift a contempt behind closed doors
The sweetness of life illusions spelled out in a dream
The dead won't let me weep
Never ashamed but rather in awe
Some kind of wonder that deulification
To match your hypnotic blame
Just you be certain
I become a cowboy when all around me is shame
I carry a gun to keep your demons away
This pen won't kill me in my sleep
Obscure songs trap me in a theatre with hand puppets and magic wands
To always bring me back to a time without a clock
Just an old cabin a squeaky door and a dog laying on the floor
The dead makes me remember
To wake up early when the sun brings life to its feet
Riding into the edge of dawn
Flying with grace how she wore swan song feathers
When I was 7 I could have been 9
But back then it was the life of a band.
So here I sit
Just waiting for the man
Dedicated to John Cale and Jim Morrison
And 1969
It’s coming can’t you feel it
Something, absolutely wrong
They’re preaching greed and hatred
In the lyrics to their song
The precipice we’re perched upon
Hums! like a ticking bomb
As they herald their New Order
Their Future Babylon
Iniquity in every song
They share the Devils creed
The Puppets spilling secrets
That their Masters want revealed
Biblical immorality
No longer lies concealed
They sign their souls to Satan
Playing out the cards He’s dealed
The Forever 27 Club
Laid open to them all
Each soul is worth the same to Him
The writing’s on the wall
Janis Joplin, Morrison
Winehouse and Cobain
Jimi Hendrix, Robert Johnson
Made a Faustian exchange
The Beatles, Sergeant Peppers
David Bowies ‘Quicksand’
The Great Beast, loyally lauded
Crowley’s led them by the hand
They herald each new master
They applaud the righteous wrong
The Crossroads call at Midnight
Gathering soldiers in their song
Bianca, Cookie, Shady
Sasha Fierce and Luke the Drifter
An exponential family
Ri Ri, Lola, Twisted Sister
As Above, then so Below
Both egos need their names
There’s no-one who they seem, it seems
Duality’s the Game
The Boss don’t like these dizzy heights
Come shake hands with the Devil
The Devil’s in the detail
Hell and Heaven, on one level
Cos Lucifer, He ain’t greedy
Though He likes to thwart Gods plans
Shylock seeks his pound of flesh
Satan, only 21 grams
The sacrificial lambs line up
Like Isaacs only child
A soulless congregation
Cos there’s No Church in the Wild
It’s coming can’t you feel it
Something, absolutely wrong
They’re preaching greed and hatred
In the lyrics to their song
The precipice we’re perched upon
Hums! like a ticking bomb
As they herald their New Order
Their Future Babylon