Long Nes Poems
Long Nes Poems. Below are the most popular long Nes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nes poems by poem length and keyword.
Back in my day shell suits were the latest fashion
And I made sure I wore my diamond socks with a passion
The only sky I knew was the one up above my head
No dvd player, just a betamax had to do instead
The only laptop I knew was the tray my dinner was served in
No sat nat to direct us, just maps and a lot of guessing
My social network involved playing outdoors with my friends
If I had an important message there was no text for me to send
Instead I would simply go and knock on the door
And enjoy a good game of hopscotch, drawn neatly on the floor
If I wanted to listen to music I held my boom box to my ear
And I felt like a millionaire in my latest pair of L.A Gear
No ipod to shuffle or touch just my sony walkman
No google to look for answers, just the library to depend on
No Ipad, no playbook, just a good old storybook
It may even be in hardback if I had any luck
No freeview, no Virgin, I was lucky to even have colour tv
And a rubiks cube would suffice, never mind an XBOX 360
It was all about hammer time and wearing those pants
And the theme tune to Fraggle Rock I would happily chant
No cyber bullying, only cyber I knew was the tamagocchi pet
No loading plates into the dishwasher as it hadn't been invented yet
No cd player, my cassettes were the in thing
And to have a sovereign ring on every finger meant you had some bling
The A Team, crossroads, tiswas and happy days was the programmes I watched
No series links or reminders to watch programmes like Lost
No rewinding the tv or pausing whilst I nip to the loo
Instead I had to ask someone and hope that they have a clue
No Adidas for me, just my trusted bum bag
My girls world doll and scrunche's were things I just had to have
In my day the only kid I wanted was a cabbage patch kid
Not a real one so that in a hostel I can live
No PS3, no Wii, no Vita or Nintendo DS 3d
Just my good old NES on my four channel tv
Care bears, the moomins, playschool and dangermouse
No crimewatch to make me afraid to be in my house
In my days if I was rude I would get a good smack
And I couldn't dare say the clothes you just bought me were whack
No microwave dinners, No chinese takeaway for me
Saturday soup was the best, one big bowl balancing on your knee
The 80's and the 90's I enjoyed it while it did last
But every now and again I take a glimpse of the past
Winston has passed on...
She heard him rummaging, turning on taps
opening the fridge, you know, stuff like that
removing her coat, a black felt-like hat
she set the long table and stroked her sad cat
then calling out as he stomped upstairs
You know that snow has stopped out there?
idly listening to his suitcases click
life, she mused, is cruel, unseemly quick
You see he'd bought his doggie fresh meat
rarely would Winston receive such a treat
she vigorously scrambled eggs with soft butter
anxiously preparing a meal for their supper
their tea lightly milked before she'd reveal
she'd buried his dog in that far orchard field
buried him deep in a Hessian sack
buried him deep next to old Jack
Winston will never again play fetch
eat them damn apples **** dribble retch
how could she describe Winston's demise
how could she prevaricate confabulate lie
they'd constantly worried about it all going to far
those hoops that tunnel that damn see-saw
devilish chicanes coloured balls
Yet round and round he loved it all
so feckin happy before he finally expired
one more summer you know he'd be nearly retired
excessive exertions is what they would say
Vet said so, don't ya know last Wed-nes-day
now poor Winston would run no more
howl to get in before peeing on the floor
don't cry she sobbled it is for the best
but I felt such guilt I must also state this
before I smothered that big head in wet clay
I painted his death mask earlier today
Oh how he wept as he turned sad and broken
Winston's image, a poorly executed token
Form:
Wundorlic' visions of beauty around
Glorious scenes shall unfold
Dazzling splendors surround
When walkin' the streets at night, behold
From time to time on an avenue
Ye' see faintly silhouette expressions
Of other lone·ly people who...
Are threat·ened by your lu·mi·nes·cence
No doubt, as you are by theirs
H'ever, artificial light erases
The difference night and day compares
Mysteriously in the somber light places
Fore' be the darkness,
It is easy to feel disoriented
In the city at the dead of nightness
Especially, if y'all are tired and demented
From roaming its burghal
It is not quite the same googling
In the image on empty street circle
No longer fighting against 'to-ing and fro-ing'
The solitary pedestrian's feet
Begin to recall the real earth show
In all the city's internal concrete
Night time for daylight's dispossessed flow
Who walks alone in the streets at night?
Da' 'sad.'
Da' 'mad.'
Da' 'bad.'
Da' 'lost.'
Da' 'tossed'
Da' 'sleepless.'
Da' 'homeless.'
All the city's internal oppressed
The night has always different
The time for daylight's dispossessed...
The time for daylight's dissident
Walking alone at night in the city
Has been interpreted as an in-vite
Of suspicion, moral and social gritty
Solitary people who walk the night
Mohawk, Mandan, Kikapu, Cree,
Yakoma,Seminole, Crow,Shawnee.
Arapaho, Chippewa and Sioux,
Mystical names to me and you.
Names like Delaware, Fox and Paiute,
Listen to their music on the flute.
Lakota, Macuna, Omulgee, Nes Perce,
Yuma,Nakota,Ossage, Washoe, Hualapai
All names that should never ever go away.
Many now confined to history, sad to say,
Mans greed for land that was not theirs,
Caring nothing for the Indian affairs.
Starved and defeated they were moved away,
Now are conveniently forgotten up to this day.
For 400 years the remainder has cried,
Who is going to pay for this act of genocide.
Man will never right this wrong, or even admit,
To the atrocities that they did commit.
Sacred Lands abused all the way through history,
Hundreds of tribes that roamed from sea to shining sea.
All long gone now lost to you and me
So many nations will be no more,
But their names live on and their spirits soar.
Remember their music and listen to their song,
Then their culture and memory will continue long.
Lest we forget. My offering of Remembrance
for the Native American Indian peoples.
© Dave Timperley 20 September 2016
Living a life worthy/ anticipating a break like James worthy/ typing rhymes in my notepad/ I speculated it would be noteworthy/ glorifying Lord God, praise God, praiseworthy/ what is the, recipe, for success, I'm obsessed, broke like a mortal promise/ They scream can't isn't a word, however/ what's the word when you can't purchase a Hershey/ ya feel me, shooting for the stars, defensive first team I reckon I should shoot for another remedy/ grant a school grant and pardon that am•nes•ty that/ a hundred years like a century/ babies finally huggied up tracking dreams/ no common deaths/ tracking assassinations like John F. Kennedy/ to no degree am I being Moody to history/ no matter the degree, people crave a slice of history/ Uh check it Debit card has a low balance/ immune system is low and on a low balance/ drink a fourth on independence each day is a repentance uh Uh existing off prayer/ have you read the Serenity prayer/ Not my poem Sirenity prayer/ life, I call it a repair/ I'm down like downstairs/ but I know God has my back, backstairs LB
- Loverboi
Choices you make in life, kid, especially abominable
Ones eventually lead you down the road to perdition
Never keep dangerous company; it could cost you your life!
Stay far away from such ilk; look the other way.
End friendships with bad influences, quickly.
Quit handling weapons that could end your life in an instant!
Unsheathe not the sword of damocles for you could...
End up beheading yourself. Remember, safety first!
Nice and easy now...you know swords aren't toys!
Child, please heed my admonitions before it's too late.
End your careless flirtation with disaster, or...
Suffer the consequences. You reap what you sow.
If you live by the sword then you die by the sword Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
Date written and submitted: 12/09/2019
Women, wonderful existing creature like the wren
Obliging ones, sweet and placating, best to make friends
Nevus nymphs, regulating the heartbeats, an ornament to the soul, such flower
Daintily dabbing the heart with sugary delight, such lover
Elegant emblem of future, a land that enclose seeds, bosom of nectars, a mother
Resplendent ray of hope she is, respectable redeemer of tomorrow, the future weaver
Fabulous fairy, such a divine favour to the world, a sister
Unstinting unconditional care, soft heart, vast mind, and many uncountable other
Ladies, lamp of the world...what more is wonderful? They are friends, wives, mothers, sisters, daughters...(the best)
For contest: WONDERFUL ACROSTIC
sponsored by: JOHN HAMILTON
And...
To all women out there...proud of ya all
My parents bought me an NES thirty years ago in 1988.
At the time owning that video game console was great..
But by today's standards, owing an NES is no big deal.
Dad was furious because I played so much that we had a $300 electric bill.
I told Dad to stop being a grump.
Then he took my NES to the dump.
I cried like a baby because I could no longer play Mike Tyson's Punch-out.
When I first played that game, I couldn't understand how it came about.
I figured that Nintendo's employees were doing drugs when they made it.
The opponents were giants and I controlled a shrimp when I played it.
I was so good at playing it that I could beat Mike Tyson during the first round.
I cussed Dad out for throwing away my NES and he knocked me to the ground.
Before he clobbered me, I had all of my teeth but I wound up with ten less.
It's been thirty years since I've played any video games but I still miss my NES.
Milltown, Shawsbridge in the 1980's...
When the sun had possession of the season
and tarmac was treacled by the temperature.
When we went to war with the wasps
and ventured wide eyed in 'the planties'
to the roped thrall of commandoland.
Back when 'mr freeze pops' and 'cherry coke'
was our sustenance against the beating sun.
When real music blared from ghettoblasters
and parents red raw slurped ice cold harp via can.
When shawsbridge was appealing
and patchworked in vibrant beach towels,
folks clustered in defeat of the sun.
Back when the Barclay had an arcade machines
and we cross pollenated each's bedrooms
to play Nes, Atari and Amstrad CPC 464.
Back when our longsuffering knees
were raw to the pavement
and rollerboots were means of transport.
When kirby was played and water pistols our means of defence.
Back when reality glimmered....
And summer shone with meaning.
S.J.C
Beginnings Excite but Are Difficult,
Getting Out of Bed to the Alarm,
Deciding What Needs Doing is Occult,
Showing Up at the Office Can Harm,
The Urge to Exclaim "Halt!",
School Often Makes One a Worm,
Lines Blank on Paper May Scald,
1st Words are Awkward & Squirm,
Like Feet Preceding a Swim, Cold!
But Take the Plunge, Abandon, Be Firm,
"Dive In!, Carpe Diem!" Your Story be Told,
Yet Giving Birth May Affirm,
If Done Right Never Gets Old,
A "Nes", The Newborn Solution Confirm,
Imagine! Curious & Daring as Disney Walt,
Cleaning Up After the Party, Post Partum,
Even Eating Begins in the Kitchen Called,
"Legwork" as it's Needed to Enjoy the Hum,
It's Easy to Overlook Our DNA Spiraled,
Roots, Such as My Loved Little Woman,
If I Can't Anew Fresh Starts in Life Bundled,
The Men in White Coats Will Hunt Me Down!