Long Newsprint Poems
Long Newsprint Poems. Below are the most popular long Newsprint by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Newsprint poems by poem length and keyword.
Odd roadside stall
Newsy newsprint;
Brisk disaster sells
~~~~~~~~~
Hardware insights
Self-Help projects;
Crafty poise
~~~~~~~~~
Evening dark
Deserted park;
Empty ark
~~~~~~~~~
Primal pose
Playground excursions;
Kiddy laughter
~~~~~~~~~
Traffic accident
Human error hurls;
Proud regrets shout
~~~~~~~~~
Brisk brush strokes
Calligraphy moves;
Artwork erupts
~~~~~~~~~
Old miniature book
Tells another story;
Beyond print run
~~~~~~~~~
Another tale
Tells on you;
Business acumen
~~~~~~~~~
Line by line
Echoes rhyme;
Poetic impulse
~~~~~~~~~
Joy seeps
Charm knows;
Sublime moments
~~~~~~~~~
Grass verge array
Unnoticed flowers;
Grace attends
~~~~~~~~~
Morning Glory
Floral vines creep;
Warm sunshine styles
~~~~~~~~~
Old memories haunt
Stagnant corridors;
Sepia escapade
~~~~~~~~~
Talk of town
Rumours sublimate;
Non solid state
~~~~~~~~~
Little boy here
Don't ever grow up;
Helpless strains smear
~~~~~~~~~
Passing clouds
Fluffy dreams float;
Cotton candy
~~~~~~~~~
Precious Moments
Cute figurines sculpt;
Strokes heart health
~~~~~~~~~
Morning espresso
Caffeine intervenes;
Sleepy eyes droop
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
02 June 2016
Singapore
Competition
Distraction;
Extension
This May Day pause
Labour rests;
Just a moment
Holiday calm
Before the storm;
Breakaway norms
Slow stroll strides
Mini-mart long queue;
Confront waiting charade
Purchase in tow
Two full hands struggle;
Bear laden stuff homewards
Newspaper vendor waits
Sidewalk corner bench;
Newsprint in stacks
All the printed news
You can buy;
A curious read indeed
Fruit ready-cut
Grab some on-the-go;
Eat as you fly past
Lazy moods fling
A strange sway;
Not much to do
Dogs on leash
Owners chit-chat;
About doggie demeanour
Tiny tots run
Awkward steps taken;
Adults rush to help
Leon Enriquez
03 May 2014
Singapore
Old tree here
Big yet unnoticed;
Loiters lonely
~~~~~~~~~
Dazzling rays blaze
Bamboo pines veil;
Touch of magic
~~~~~~~~~
Stray cat basking
Fat and fuzzy;
Carefree attitude
~~~~~~~~~
Busy feet zigzag
Workday blues;
Sad distractions
~~~~~~~~~
Two old men
Sit watching happenings;
Blank curious eyes
~~~~~~~~~
Poignant moments
Go with the flow;
Dare to live now
~~~~~~~~~
Bank queue
Long time waiting;
Abrupt transaction
~~~~~~~~~
Telling words
Morning highlights;
Newsprint echo
~~~~~~~~~
Primal urge
Focus delivers;
Freshly minted voice
~~~~~~~~~
Walkway journeys
Fresh morning sun;
Dreams chase form
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
14 December 2015
Singapore
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Every Thursday, the smell of ink
and newsprint smudged my fingers
as I leafed through the Green Stamp catalog
feverish with want~
not Barbie’s dreamhouse, not a bike,
but Betty Crocker’s Cookbook for Boys and Girls,
two hundred stamps, crisp as lettuce,
which I didn’t have.
All summer I worked in the neighborhood:
hung Mother’s laundry outside to dry;
ironed Mrs. Thacker’s shirts till my wrists ached;
fed the Schroeder’s smelly basset hound;
scrubbed Mrs. Struck’s bathtub till it shined;
and ran errands to the grocery store for Mrs. Coyne.
Payment came in emerald rectangles,
licked and pressed into rows~
a fragile ladder toward the dream
of being a girl in an apron, frosting a cake.
December gnawed at me.
The stamps in my cigar box sighed~
not enough, not quite enough.
Christmas Eve, I curled by the tree,
counting them again,
spread like sad confetti on my bedspread.
Then Dad, grease still under his nails,
tossed an envelope in my lap.
Got these when I filled up the truck at Texaco, he muttered.
Inside—a cataract of green stamps,
enough to fill my heart with Christmas joy.
The day after Christmas, I woke early~
Dad drove me through slush to the redemption center,
Green Stamp book clutched to my chest.
By noon, flour was blooming in my hair.
you may read the related memoir vignette at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/the_eskimo_igloo_cake_13654
The newsprint bleeds in steady ink,
A current pulling past the brink.
He reads the words, and in his chest,
A sudden torrent breaks its rest—
A river, cold and black and wide,
Begins to churn its heavy tide.
It floods his veins, a rushing roar
Of rushing waves that smash the shore,
Drowning the room, the morning light,
In deep, unstoppable, darkness of fright.
The column speaks of shattered glass,
Of broken steel upon the grass,
A midnight road, a fatal strike,
Two lives swept downward, storm-like.
It names his girl, it names his face,
Lost in that crushed and quiet place,
Struck by a drifting, drunken hand—
Another tragedy to the land.
The river in his mind flows deep,
A mournful and long suffocating sweep,
Bearing the weight of final breath,
The icy certainty of the end and death.
He feels the phantom water rise,
And presses hands against his eyes,
Believing every line he sees,
Sunk in the current, on his knees.
But then the roaring water clears.
The banks recede; away go fears.
A sudden sun breaks through the haze,
And rewinds all the violent days.
The ink was wrong; the truth is spun—
No twisted steel, no damage done.
The driver breathed a sober air,
No alcohol was gathered there,
And on that road, no shadows fell,
Both he and she are safe and well.
The rushing river slows its pace,
A quiet stream now takes its place,
As peace returns, a gentle gleam,
To wash away the waking dream.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The wire rims~
thin as a whisper,
holding the weight of every page he turned,
every clockface he squinted at before dawn.
Now they sit,
empty orbits on my desk.
I lift them,
and the world bends~
not as he saw it,
but as I imagine he did:
The morning newsprint smudging into prayer,
the stubborn lawnmower that refused to start,
my childhood face,
always slightly out of focus,
as if love itself were a thing
that needed adjusting.
I wear them like a ghost.
The bridge rests light,
almost apologetic,
as if they knew
they were never meant to be mine.
Through Pop’s lenses,
the light is softer,
the edges kinder.
The coffee stains on the counter
look like continents he never visited.
The crossword puzzle~
half-finished,
pen dropped mid-clue~
becomes a map of all the words
he didn’t have time to say.
I take them off.
The room sharpens
into my own life again,
but for a moment,
I swear,
the air smelled like his aftershave,
and the light was gold,
the way it is
just before it fades.
Morning newsprint
Wet soaking rain;
Bleak news today
~~~~~~~~~
Play school kids
Stare as I pass;
Curious eyes follow
~~~~~~~~~
New age cakery here
Exquisite creations;
Addictive morsels
~~~~~~~~~
Beggar in rags
Face soiled and weary;
Pleads for a meal
~~~~~~~~~
Our society is well-fed
Yet the poor abound;
Poverty of all sorts
~~~~~~~~~
Molasses and coconut cream
Desserts that enchant;
Another round please
~~~~~~~~~
Evening rain pours
Run for cover;
Temporary refuge
~~~~~~~~~
Worst case scenario
Business venture fails;
Try again later
~~~~~~~~~
Cheers!
One for the road;
Beery ways steer
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
11 February 2015
Singapore
from: "The Calyx of the Oboe Breaks", by Conrad Aiken:
"The calyx of the oboe breaks,
silver and soft the flower it makes;
and next, beyond, the flute notes seen,
now are white and now are green."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The ides of March have gone and come.
Still, strains of vernal music sound
clear echoes, in my ears, of early times,
of other years: an orchestral swell
of oboe, flute, and violin.
The feel of warming wind,
the scents of orange blossom,
daisy, buttercup, and clover
I once enjoyed --
are those days over?
My recent times are flavored
with metallic clank, with oily odor --
my eyes fatigued by newsprint
and small-screen glare.
And music: the blare
of claxon-horn and siren-wail
and, sometimes, noise which
issues from a box borne on shoulders
through the street; an empty, but compelling,
quite insistent, loudly pulsing beat.
I welcome all new, although slight, intrusions.
Pale sensory perceptions bring back images,
now faint, once acute, of places, times,
and pleasures past. Faded sights and faces
and shadowy, unquantifiable pursuits
evoke a time when love, like freedom,
didn't cost a dime.
News flash
Paris attacks;
Violence strikes
~~~~~~~~~
Innocent deaths
Terror unveils;
Death delivers
~~~~~~~~~
Madness conspires
Human debris;
Bigotry unleashed
~~~~~~~~~
Evil men scheme
Distorted agendas;
Self-destruct roams
~~~~~~~~~
Good people die
Bloodbath escalates;
Terror unleashed
~~~~~~~~~
Signs of our times
Deceptive turbulence;
Mortal casualties
~~~~~~~~~
Moods swayed
Fear catapults;
Distorted means
~~~~~~~~~
Uneasy chimes
Violent crimes;
Explosive times!
~~~~~~~~~
Details of gore
News galore;
Killing fest
~~~~~~~~~
Retribution
Constitution;
Revolution
~~~~~~~~~
Sorrow sums
Deadly outcomes;
Cruelty strikes
~~~~~~~~~
Newsprint copy
Headline news;
Terror firms madness
~~~~~~~~~
Propaganda hurls
People fodder;
Bombs and bullets
~~~~~~~~~
Create if you must
Lodge your complaint;
Body bags not included!
~~~~~~~~~
Atrocities
Exclusive news;
Pain sells well
~~~~~~~~~
Face to face
Terror redecorates;
Body debris trophies
~~~~~~~~~
Why do you do
The things you do?
Tell me
~~~~~~~~~
Love hurts
Violence hurts;
We all hurt
~~~~~~~~~
Precious times
Ransoms forfeit;
Sad humanity mourns
~~~~~~~~~
The cycle of circles
Bad and good;
Seeking balance
~~~~~~~~~
Maybe we can
Find tomorrow;
Safely better?
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
15 November 2015
Singapore
THE DUNMURRY INCIDENT
There’s a big row going on in Dunmurry
And the whole place has come to a stop
There’s a war going on with the girl who makes cakes
And the bird in the newspaper shop
They both fancy Taxi man Terry
Though Newspaper Nell saw him first
Yet it seems he’s enticed, by Puff pastry Pat
Now poor Nell is fearing the worst
Pat has been seen tempting Terry
With her big baps, and choice of cream cakes
Poor Nell can’t offer those fanciful things
But she’s willing to do what it takes
Then Pat hit Nell with a doughnut
So Nell thought she’d better give chase
She walloped poor Pat, with an old Sunday Life
Then rubbed newsprint all over her face
Pat staggered back to the bakery
And she brought out a large lemon pie
It went over Nell’s head, and into her ears
Some even went into her eye
Nell made a soft muted whimper
From the sting in her eye I suppose
She reached in her pocket, and that’s when aul Pat
Got a triple A, stuck up her nose
Well the cops, they arrived in a hurry
And they pulled the two ladies apart
So peace was restored to the village
And poor Terry, he had to depart