Long Paperbacks Poems
Long Paperbacks Poems. Below are the most popular long Paperbacks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paperbacks poems by poem length and keyword.
After taking a shot of claret wine
Thackray on a mission to find
And she was not going to be declined
With a blade in hand getting a goal
Thackray did not look old
Spirits very high
Headed to the new castle in the sky
Deciding to meet and give a good try
Seeing Antonio no longer bitter
“I remember you were my movie costume fitter”
Laughing Antonio had a goal
And an honest soul
“Thackray I made you look good
As you should”
Hearing the remark she flashed a smile
And that image is still in her professional file
“That is right we are West Ham United
Ready to handle modern day fighting”
Letting her go through
Hoping today’s royals are cool
She stood before them
Ready to defend
Her influence on men
“You are no longer seventeen
In those dreamy
Blue jeans”
Royals stated
Then waited
For the answer
From the dancer
“I still got the look
Credibility in the modeling book
Relegating zone is following me around
Trying to take me down
A source I was able to contact
Said I still have a contract
I as a West Ham can still get another goal
And would be favorable to the modern royal public poll"
Modern royals looked at each other
Wondering if they were Thackray’s Mother
“We royals truly listen
And concluded you do not need our permission”
Thackray thanked them for their two pences
Accepted this draw ‘as making senses’
Later in the day
Aston was challenged to stay
With a point would be made
Receiving a nice grade
Went to Anfield
To check on a deal
“We are still number one
Writing paperbacks for fun”
Hosts did comment
Hotel rented Aston got it
Drama did unfold
Aston was still very bold
Yet Reds put one in
Stayed back for the win
“Mommy” Aston did say
“I need to talk to you about the Villa today!”
While Aston began to leave
Reality started to breath
When another one went in
Securing the Liverpool win
It was a civil ending
Honesty pending
Modern royals still nice
Gave the West hammy some advice
“You never stalk alone
Just answer the text or phone
Paperback writers are still out there
Needing west ham united to give audiences a scare”
Summer meant playing with cousins
Until the fireflies started to dance and glide
Soaring just beyond our small hands
And, then, sometimes reaching the end
Of a journey inside a Mason jar
Summer meant riding with the window down
In a gold Ford that was dented
Rusting and not too pretty, but sufficient
For rides through a small town
Where the square held a courthouse
Library, hardware store, barber shop
And so much more that I couldn’t see
Beneath the curly lashes that edged
My bright blue eyes
Summer meant dirt and dreams
Little things like laughter and happiness
Whispers into ears who listened
With a head held down for attention
To the details that were voiced
On the other end of vibrant emotions
Summer meant Granny’s cornfield beans
Fried okra and crooked neck squash
Delicious yellow cornbread and glasses
Of cold milk from the fridge
Where all the leftovers hung out in
Emptied butter and cool whip containers
Summer meant sunshine and laughter
Music that lasted through the night
And happiness floating
On the voices of kindness and hugs
That came from hearts
Who were so alive they actually
Breathed love from their blue veins
Summer meant ideas that were new
Fresh and moist as the dewdrop morning
Clinging to the dreams that smiled
Through thoughts of paperbacks and words
That gripped my young mind
Winding their way through my thoughts
Until I knew that all I wanted to hear
Were the miracles and fantasies
That came alive for me
Beneath the pen of some author
I knew must have hung the moon
With their brilliance and imagination
Summer bee stings and daydreams
Lifted my heart to new heights
And taught me about believing in the love
That grew surer and wiser
With the passage of each summer sun
A Meaningful poem poetry contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
March 24, 2021
I see you hipsters in rustic coffee shops with pictures of Marlyn Monroe and contemporary art,
the girl in all black with a black beret to make her look more avant-garde and red colored hair that was obviously bought from a drugstore. Strolling through the downtown streets wearing swedish backpacks that are a statement piece for impracticality for they are not large enough to hold textbooks but are meant only for small sentiments of music and poetry. Their fishnet stockings that only go up a little past the ankles to be seen out of the tops of Doc Martens shining against the sips of a blue moon witbier brew. Drinking lacroix which in my opinion tastes like a substitute for watered down alka-seltzer or more like sprite without flavor. Listening to their radiohead and pink floyd and nirvana in a fervorous rage against conformity or simply riding a chill wave through the early 2000’s. The boy with his colorful button downs buttoned all the way to the very top- which is somewhat strangulation because I have tried it myself. Where they occupy their bookshelves with paperbacks of Jack kerouac and John Green while looking for Alaska on the road travelling through paper towns. I see you modern day rebels wearing your frown with a fedora or newsboy cap which never looks as good as you think they might because newsboys no longer exist like that. Beanies that hang off the back of your heads while you wait in line for your frappuccino to condense. Hanging from the ceiling are small cactuses and crystals among bouquets of dried roses and daisies. Flowers and succulents are to be cherished like baby from dirty dancing who never gets put in the corner along with the Buddha and Billie Eilish although no one ever really went through with the eightfold path because it took too damn long and besides Kurt kobain turned out to be a saint anyway.
A pool table lined with blue felt
sports a lively, raucous game,
ivory cracks, the men drink,
shoot the bull while they play.
A humidor lined in fine wood
stocked with Cuban cigars,
a smoking lounge grandiose,
ceiling painted like the stars.
A bar right out of the Wild West
serves beer and old whiskey,
an insurance guy loosing at darts
to a bookworm with a PhD.
A library stocked with real books,
no paperbacks or e-books there,
classics vaunted alongside the
spy novels and western fare.
Gym in the basement, no windows,
where everyone toils and sweats,
a sauna large, and no member
has grown tired of a steam yet.
Upstairs is the banquet hall,
used once a month for feasts,
where steak is served bleeding red,
no concoctions of soy or yeast.
On the third floor, rooms to crash
if you’re visiting from out of town,
or if you’ve drank a bit much,
relax, and lay down you head.
Fixtures in brass and mahogany,
reminders of more elegant times,
side rooms for talking business,
a cellar filled with fine wines...
This is our place, our shelter,
when the world rears and ugly head,
yet at least once a month feminists
show up outside and wish us dead.
They like to shout and chant a lot,
with their one word, ‘patriarchy,’
never seeming to realize
their protests are pure malarkey.
This world had lady-only gyms,
and female-only hair salons,
they never decry that as sexism,
they just go along to get along.
Turn-about must be fair play,
so we made ourselves this place,
what really bothers them about us
is the mere existence of male space.
But this club is a private affair,
so they’re wasting their powers,
they have places where men don’t tread,
so this place, this is ours.
Books
I went to the Frankfurt Book Fair the other day.
It was mind-boggling..Books!
There were fat books, thin books,
White books, black books, tawny books,
Paperbacks, hardbacks, beautifully bound books,
Pure books, lax books, learned books, lay books,
Plain books, books of many colours,
Books on every subject under the sun,
Not to mention other books on
Distant galaxies, pulsars, quasars, black holes,
Books on any theme you can think of,
Or on themes you can’t even pronounce, from:
Art to Arthropods,
Bees to Biochemistry,
Cats to Catastrophes
Drugs to Decadence,
Energy to Ergonomics,
French Cooking to Frescos,
Guns to Gout,
History to Hippopotami,
Internal Medicine to Icebergs'
Julius Caesar to Justification,
Kulturkampf to Kinetics,
Lace to Logogriphs,
Man to Manchuria,
Nietzsche to Nonsense Rhymes,
Opera to Ophthalmoscopes,
Poodles to Pollution,
Quantum Mechanics to Queen Victoria,
Russell to Rabbits,
Shaw to Shingles,
Tao to Torts,
Urdu to Ultimatums,
Virgil to Vivisection,
Whales to Witchcraft,
X-rays to Xylographs,
Yoga to Youth Hostels,
Zen to Zola,..
By closing-time my legs were giving out.
A voice, it seemed, was saying:
“Of more than is taught by these, my son, take care.
Of making many books there is no end,
And much study is weariness of the flesh.” 1
I don’t know about making them, I thought,
As I commenced my get-away from the Penguin stand,
But it takes something of an athlete just to glance at them.
On reaching the gates I felt crushed,
First by the crowds, and second,
Under the sheer weight of unfathomable ignorance.
1. Ecclesiastes 12.12
I went to the Frankfurt Book Fair the other day.
It was mind-boggling..
Books! There were fat books, thin books,
White books, black books, tawny books,
Paperbacks, hardbacks, beautifully bound books,
Pure books, lax books, learned books, lay books,
Plain books, books of many colours,
Books on every subject under the sun,
Not to mention other books on
Distant galaxies, pulsars, quasars, black holes,
Books on any theme you can think of,
Or on themes you can’t even pronounce, from:
Art to Arthropods,
Bees to Biochemistry,
Cats to Catastrophes
Drugs to Decadence,
Energy to Ergonomics,
French Cooking to Frescos,
Guns to Gout,
History to Hippopotami,
Internal Medicine to Icebergs,
Julius Caesar to Justification,
Kulturkampf to Kinetics
Lace to Logogriphs,
Man to Manchuria,
Nietzsche to Nonsense Rhymes,
Opera to Ophthalmoscopes,
Poodles to Pollution,
Quantum Mechanics to Queen Victoria,
Russell to Rabbits,
Shaw to Shingles,
Tao to Torts,
Urdu to Ultimatums,
Virgil to Vivisection,
Whales to Witchcraft,
X-rays to Xylographs,
Yoga to Youth Hostels,
Zen to Zola,..
By closing-time my legs were giving out.
A voice, it seemed, was saying:
“Of more than is taught by these, my son, take care.
Of making many books there is no end,
And much study is weariness of the flesh.”
I don’t know about making them, I thought,
As I commenced my get-away from the Penguin stand,
But it takes something of an athlete just to glance at them.
I felt crushed, not only by the crowds
but also by the weight of my appalling ignorance.
Was round about the 60's
And I a budding teen
Was influenced and touched
By a program I had seen
Rod Sterling was the narrator
Of a series quite well known
With weekly visits to a world
Named the "Twilight Zone"
And to this day one episode
The best without debate
Has taught me 'bout the frailty
Of Man against his fate
A short meek man from Queens, New York
Henpecked by his wife
Found his joy in reading books
To assuage a bit his strife
Voracious was his appetite for
Tomes and all that's written
Yet blind without his glasses
He's as docile as a kitten
In the vault under his bank one day
While making a transaction
The world above was subject to
A nuclear reaction!
When he surfaced to the top
To view the mass destruction
He found that only he'd survived
And came to this deduction
No wife! No rules! No one to shriek
Or tell him what to do!
Only stacks and shelves of books
To read, peruse and view
Paperbacks and hardcover
Pamphlets, primers, scrolls
The whole damn New York Library
With him at the controls!
Then as he pictured life
In a world with voices hushed
He bent his head to grab a book
His glasses broke..........................
All crushed.............
Piles upon piles of dust and mold
Gather in a large closet up in the attic,
Where junk of memorabilia resides
Untouched for years as I scan the heap
Of treasures accumulated: a prom's corsage
At 17, shelves of dresses, high-heels that
Tell me now I have grown four sizes larger!
Paperbacks circa 1980, eaten by bugs
from a Literature nerd in grade school...
Journals theater souvenirs looking like
Fossilized antiques from medieval ages,
Along with broken Parker pens and oil
Tubes defying a frustrated artist,
With drawers of lace, beads, threads
As glue guns ( in yellow) stick on interior- design
Folders: then to reach out for music records;
Dollars saved in a jar as a novice in advertising:
Oh the thongs , underwear kept in cedar boxes--
A vision of dates with sleek metro princes,
Discoing on till they turn into wimpy frogs...
How chlorine scent jams my nostrils as I clear
The unwanted pile-- mounds of pile that
Stain my dingy face my hair a rocker's mop.
Die as I flood you with ammonia !
Not the keepsakes...but those stinking fungi!
3/2/2017
Unwanted Guest Contest
Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
The jumping jellies in wellies are singing like la la la
Space suited shells are quite adept at leaning through cubby holes and travelling for a long time. A long time is a lengthy length leaning. But not leaking for leaking is akin to leering and leering belong to lecherous old whales in suits sat on many benches in rows. Rows reaching raiding retching rumps. And rump steaks are mashed to a pulp by a size six hundred shoe having a hop down a stairway. Never mind the beeswax ear drums and kettle fish dance for ot is merely a movie shown here on a screen. A flat screen is often displayed on a suitcase isn't it? Wow how often the occurring jam configured jar invites the ham to a sandwich party. Quite often. But a table top clap is a riot of absolutism that abolishes apple pips. Eradication eating eggplants. Oooh mystic moo tune. Great. Dance then. Hahaha the sponges are riding the paperbacks. Hahah swan dip in the cup. Xxxxx colonisation z z z z at nineteen herrings hearing harpsichordists' to fourteen financially dynamic dynamited digital dogs. Z so why wobble wobble with curd then z z z z z z zbhvq at platform five six seven. Z
Form:
Such a yearning in my heart to find a one
No, find the one
With the appropriate prerequisites
The right experience
The proper internships to complete my externship
The perfect applicant
Just right for the job
After many interviews and several orientations
I was able to convince myself you didn’t exist
Until…
That long conversation we had on that night off
I didn’t know what it was
Maybe it was your voice
Or maybe your laugh
All I know- is that at that moment,
The idea of the perfect applicant,
No, employee, rushed back into my mind
You may possibly know this, but I’ve never told you
So I guess now is the best time
Your cosmic beauty and your angelic sound waves
Bring my black hole to the brink of bewilderment
You send my mind on expeditions to another galaxy
Yet, like the roots of the oak tree, you are so grounded
You know not how you have impacted my life
At times, you fill me with the vivacity that I thought I could only find in the fiction
paperbacks
I live in awe with you
And like I said, you may not know,
So simply put…
I’m feeling you