Long Newspapers Poems
Long Newspapers Poems. Below are the most popular long Newspapers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Newspapers poems by poem length and keyword.
We're the worthless one
The world has no place for us
Street is our business
Under bridges is our palace
Palace of laziness
Addressed and mocked by the privileged
We were name without ceremony
Wayward, beggars, lunatic, fool…
Yet they can do without us
We are less privileged but we’re not less important
The fortunate are fortune in chain
Newspapers bear witness of untold wealth
We are materially deformed not mentally deformed
We are agree to be poor for them to be rich
The just shall judge the unjust
There is hope against hope
Our mouth, hand, brain are fertile
There is a hidden talent therein
We are judged by what they see
We worth more than their foresight
Amidst us talent has buttered our bread
Akon, African China, Wande Coal, are our testimonies
At all state we are vital
Poor state we protect their life at our expense
Our talents graze their occasion
We are not worth-less
We are king in the palace of laziness yet busy to entertain
We are beggars yet command your blessing
You need us more than your worth
Mirror, mirror on the wall, Katrina is the most beautiful of all. Katrina is the mistress
of the glass moon. Hurricane Katrina moves like a great Olympian ice skater, performing
the triple axle. She swirled death and destruction across the New Orleans Delta.
The eyes of Katrina unveiled an unjust poverty that smells like a dead corpse buried
beneath the foundation of our democracy. How can a Christian Nation who preaches God's
Word be so cruel to his follow man? We are all God's children.
Americans of African descent sacrificed their blood, sweat and tears, in building the
richest nation in the world. People of Color never received equal compensation for their
slave labor. They never received the promised 40 acres and a mule.
Lord, why is justice so blind? Where is the home of the brave? Justice falls helpless to
her knees and the glowing light from her touch cannot find the land of the free. Still, at
night, we see the burning stars and the stripes, and all we are asking for is God’s love
and mercy.
America the beautiful, unveiled her torn garment to the world. Meanwhile, the local
newspapers spin fiction into facts. They know how to weave sensational headlines and
photographs for public consumption. Nobody heard the children crying, during the genocide
in Rwanda.
America the beautiful, the world is watching. America, the beautiful, the world is
waiting. America, the beautiful, the world is listening. The world of humanity will
deliver justice to America, and she will be judge by her deeds.
Remember, a divided nation cannot stand on broken promises or broken dreams. History
whispered a secret that all great nations must have great falls. America, America, who is
the most beautiful of all?
"Simon Edy, known as Old Simon, (1709-18 May 1783) was a London beggar who may have served as an inspiration for a popular nursery rhyme. He lived in a derelict "Rats' Castle" in the rookery of Dyott Street. He was born in Woodford in Northamptonshire in 1709 and died on 18 May 1783. He had a succession of dogs and the last of them was a drover's sheepdog called Rover.
He begged outside the churchyard of St Giles in the Fields and was a well-known figure, being portrayed by artists including John Seago and Thomas Rowlandson. He wore several hats, coats, and rings and collected much bric-a-brac such as cuttings from old newspapers like The Gentleman's Magazine, from which he regaled passers-by. As he was a simpleton, he is thought to be a possible inspiration for the nursery rhyme, Simple Simon, which was published in the Royal Book of Nursery Rhymes nearby in Monmouth Court."
Simple Simon met a pieman,
Going to the fair;
Says Simple Simon to the pieman,
Let me taste your ware.
Said the pieman unto Simon,
Show me first your penny;
Says Simple Simon to the pieman,
Indeed I have not any.
Simple Simon went a-fishing,
For to catch a whale;
All the water he had got,
Was in his mother's pail.
Simple Simon went to look
If plums grew on a thistle;
He pricked his fingers very much,
Which made poor Simon whistle.
He went for water in a sieve
But soon it all fell through
And now poor Simple Simon
Bids you all adieu!
Halcyon Shore Lodge, the highlight of each year,
Staying in a cottage by pristine water so very clear.
Dad fished, Mom read, I made many a new friend,
Had so much fun, didn’t want the summer to end.
Delivered newspapers on a jeep around the park,
The driver was the owner’s son, I felt a little spark.
He was sixteen, so good looking, oh it must be love,
We’d sit and talk, watching the shooting stars above.
Around a campfire we built, I sipped at my first beer,
We’d dive off of the steep rock cliffs, I knew no fear.
Taught me how to drive a car on a back gravel road,
"Bridge over Troubled Water" was our own silent code.
We talked about school and what we wanted to be,
Our hopes for the future, our dreams we could see.
It was good clean fun and the best times of my life,
Truth is my dreams failed, I didn’t become his wife.
Written September 7, 2012
For Craig Cornish's contest
Summer Fun
The little humble bean
that found its way into a cup
made a splash upon the scene
after Kaldi’s goat had stirred it up
it travelled fast and well
from Ethiopia to Yemen
some called it the drink from hell
until Clement became a fan.
the aroma crossed the pond
and Boston had to celebrate
once the New World had succumbed
it quickly poured out into states
before old London knew
they served it morning, noon and night
this penny university brew
would see its name put up in lights
in newspapers and magazines
the high street flooded with its shops
a berry rarely seen
in processed form warmed more than pots
served in different ways
from skinny whites to espresso shots
cappuccinos to tall lattes
we toast the goat that time forgot.
Merciless! they died~ blood, bodies on ground,
fired our machine guns with rat a tat sound!
some whimpered and cried calling out loved ones,
it mattered not to us, our hearts were stones!
our soldiers died too in similar vein,
torn asunder by guns, screaming in pain,
we wrapped them in our flags and sent them home,
families shed tears on what they had become,
the killings went on, men died on both sides,
widows and orphans, the ruin was world wide!
Newspapers sold stories, justice was claimed,
loud speeches were made, and each other blamed,
ruling rich sat at home, justified war,
or sat at beaches, in luxury cars,
the wheel kept turning churning them more funds,
their power grew amongst relatives and friends,
history was written, medals were given,
heroes and villains were all lies driven,
in this horror of human games, truth died,
tears ran in silence, some sobbed and some sighed!
civilisation records these events,
Rapes, loots, slavery and such torments
religions and Gods or find some reason,
to kill a human without compassion,
animals do live in better harmony,
than men can do in each other’s company!
We should work for the day when hatred ends,
that day amongst enemies- find true friends!
Written 13/10/2021
10 syllables, a few lines with 11 syllables
I gazed at the tree’s bare stem
alone at the end of the street.
It had aged but appeared
as a twig to me.
Alone, I thought.
an apparition
but I’d seen it before.
In place it stood where it
bore the sun, the wind
rain and snow every year.
Never quite dead
but I could not call it alive.
Burdened with a bag
of rolled up newspapers
I labored, doing what I could do
after I losing a job.
I’d grown to love the neighborhood
blocks staked out for development
when I stayed with my parents
just after college. They passed.
My chest ached and feet hurt
and I wondered how many times
I died, and how many times
I lived. Spring a poetic leap
but now long days of summer
wore upon me. I took a turn as I must
and saw line upon line of houses
that sprouted from wild grasses
and remnants of a farm
lands known when I was young.
In a community deep in the Southern land of feed corn and cotton,
The more basic things of life are best treasured and unforgotten.
Newspapers and Radios, Jack Rocks and Jump Ropes, Pop Whips, Hide and Seek.
In child’s play, we sang our lines, closed our eyes, and did not peep.
Checkers and Old Maid, Red Wagons and Hula Hoops, Boys with pockets of marbles. All these and more, when kids never had to be afraid of armed bandits and robbers.
Rubber Balls and Home Made Bats, having fun running and rolling rubber tires. All these treats and more, when kids watched birds land on electric wires. Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic, The Lord’s Prayer, The 23rd Psalms, and Ten Commandments; A simpler place and time, walking shoeless in the dust and avoiding hot pavements. All these and more, after the chores, were better known as “Entertainment”.
All these and more were ways that we spent our time, long before we owned TV’s or Telephones. I’ve seen the Atlantic in New York and walked the sandy beaches of the Pacific in San Francisco, but Southern memories are fresh of the unforgettable treasures in a place I once called home.
05232007PSCtest, Impress Me With An Old Poem (002), Poet Destroyer A
Social uselessness is a virtue of its own,
Those we cast aside, glance at and then away from quickly,
Lest they notice, and smell our guilt,
Are free to live immodestly,
There being no need for posturing
When one's invisible.
Trees that grow lumpen or misshapen
Are left to live long and go unfelled,
Never to be transformed into pencils and park benches.
They carry on, in love with the sun,
Spreading their arms to embrace the sky
Season upon season;
The children skip over their roots
And lovers loll beneath their boughs,
Their shade relieves the weary,
Their age comforts the old.
No carpenter's ambition
Will ever reach their wondrous hearts,
Then, perforce, transform them.
When they kick you, unwanted
Out of the hospital psych ward,
Your illness not important because you've done
Nothing to make the newspapers,
You can wander like a prophet, complete in yourself
Living your truths without needing an apologist.
So it is with those we look away from,
The odd shapes among us who don't fit our spaces.
There's more to be seen by looking between things
Than can be found by looking straight at them;
The unshaped space around us speaks with an incessant tongue
Interpretable only by the spirit.
So if you really want to slip the blindfold for a change
To see the ones hovering around the fringes,
Start by studying their shadows;
If they should deign to speak,
Listen with your eyes,
If you want to feel them,
Reach deep inside yourself and rub the sore spots
You spend the day denying.
Reflection sustains reality
Like dewdrops on a leaf.
Try to understand this like a lesson and you'll fail,
But accept it without judgement;
It will come to you.
No man finds more truth than he who looks for nothing;
This is writ upon the bark of twisted trees.
Read it, then know what wisdom is.
“Fear Mongers”
Newspapers yelling,
TVs screaming,
Radios blaring.
Is this what we want?
Is this what we need?
Politicians lying,
Preachers ranting,
Black men dying,
Mothers crying.
Is this what we want?
Is this what we need?
Breaking news,
More breaking news.
Shootings here,
Robberies there,
More mothers crying.
Is this what we want?
Is this what we need?
Fear mongers
Marching, Marching, Marching
They’re coming to take you away
Hey! Hey!
They’re coming to take you away.
Battalions of mongers
Armies of mongers
All painted red,
Coming to take you away.
Cool it down,
Take it down,
It’s getting hot down here.
It’s not all that bad
It’s bad for your heart,
It wrongs your soul.
We aren’t like that.
It’s time to say goodbye,
To these days of spitting vile,
To these days of ugly words,
To these days of vulgar thoughts,
To shooting arrows without aim.
We’re not like that.
Too many mothers crying.
Cool it down,
Take it down,
It’s getting hot down here.
It’s not all that bad.
It would do my heart good,
For you to find some good
In this disease infected world.
Take a trip I say,
Take a trip.
Spin your wheels to
Mount Rushmore
Listen to what those
Four have to say.
This is what we want.
This is what we need.