Long Parade Poems
Long Parade Poems. Below are the most popular long Parade by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Parade poems by poem length and keyword.
I visited New Orleans years before hurricane Katrina where hundreds were killed and
eighty percent of the city was flooded. I saw the Mardi Gras Parade, I listened to
jazz music on Bourbon Street and I took a tour of the French Quarter, the Vieux
Carre, the oldest and most unique neighbourhood in New Orleans. I saw lots of
great architecture, unique treasures, but I was drawn to the Creole townhouses.
courtyards and arcades
balconies with steep pitched roofs
speaks of history
There was one townhouse dripping with green that touched my soul. It spoke to me
of the struggle and poverty and racial strife and of the vibrant history of this old city.
The falling foliage spoke of great pride and was exquisite to behold, so picturesque.
Timeless was the beauty, alive and reflective of history. After Katrina, I worried for
this house of beauty, but I heard that, The Quarter suffered relatively little damage
from flooding, although some were damaged from wind. Oh what became of that
beautiful townhouse? I wish I knew.
oh did brick save you
you were high above the sea
do the plants still drip
___________________________
December 29, 2015
Haibun
For the contest, A House In New Orleans, sponsor, Lin Lane
Third Place
Word Trio in D Minor
Who? Me?
Dude, I’m just a confused star-watcher like you.
The movie of life continually plays before us,
Here in the cinematic darkness of another dying day;
Celluloid memories dressed in black parade before us like lost ghosts;
We sad souls, hopeful but hopeless,
Scan the heavens for a distant voice, a silent nod,
Even for a faint whisper of response,
From the Giver and Taker of all.
For the *****, dressed scantily in baleful blue,
Continues to turn and bend like Eden’s snake;
Moist, slippery oozing scenes take place once again in the leafy palisades.
We star-watchers know where to gaze,
We choose which stars to kill with an empty barrel.
The asphalt avenues remind us of the nights ahead,
They veer as a woman veers,
After bitter recognitions in the morning,
After anguished eyes have seen the drooling truth;
They confront us as dust confronts the dead,
They guide us as lanterns in the cold fog.
They know the truth is hidden in plain sight.
Who? Me?
Dude, I’m just another lost soul like you.
Lost as men without contemplation or reconciliation;
Lost as women without gesture or spasm, but
We star-watchers will bring roses for the dead,
We will sing the songs of submission and survival;
We will dance to the music of madness,
And we will continue to scan the skies and the stars
For a distant voice, a silent nod,
Even for a faint whisper of response,
From the Giver and Taker of all.
The black dog sleeping in the corner of my mind
He's keeping a watchful eye on me, ready to steal my mind
well black dog I'm leaving you at rest and making a break for bliss
I'm dreaming of laughter filled days away from the grief
No black dog barking orders at me
I'm descending from the mountains of madness
And entering a valley at peace
No more worries about money, wars, or relationships
just what sort of ice cream should I have with this cake.
Wait can I hear barking, the black dog not waking from sleep !
No its the sound of marching band , the victory parade
ALT ENDING YOU PICK DOES THE BLACK DOG GET HIM
No its the sound of the train that's just ended my pain .
me and the black dog are dead.
The idea for the poem come from watching the invictus games soldiers coming back from war zones effected by what they have seen .
The Guildhall clock chimes
Eleven times this special day,
A great silence descends as
The two minutes tick away.
On parade at the Cenotaph,
An old man among old men
(Where did the years go for
In my mind I’m young again):
Not in best battledress
Or even Regimental Blues
But I’m booted and suited
With not quite bulled shoes,
And the old drill moves come back
So i manage to get them right
But age won’t quite let me stand
To attention, back ramrod straight.
Mixed in with the younger ones we old
Men marched with swagger and pride
Through the applause of the crowds,
Who lined the streets on either side.
For each of us in our way
Have walked that special walk
And we all still today
Can talk that special talk.
With pride and emotion we accepted
From those crowds at the parade
On behalf of those long dead
Recognition of sacrifices made.
I shall not march again, this
Time I just needed to appear
To show my respect in this
One Hundredth Anniversary Year
Watching the parade long ago on Memorial Day
Visiting the cemetery, stop and pray
Goose bumps appearing as our flag was unfurled
A child dreaming he could change the world
When did it stop, This dream of change
When did they take and rearrange
So we no longer see the honest truth
Squashed are the dreams of idealistic youth
We kill unborn children and we cannot pray
The blood on our hands will not wash away
For our own good they destroy liberty
Squashed are the ones who would disagree
A liberalized society with no where to go
We are becoming victims of the status quo
Laws don’t exist for them to undermine
When will our star begin to shine
Victory is ours if we will make a stand
Before our freedom is forever banned
We will overcome what we all despise
Squashed will be the deception and alibis
A night in Venice (in sotto voce)
Moonlight shimmers over the Adriatic sea
Stars dancing on the waves in perfect symmetry
We talk of ancient adventure and gallantry
Masquerading dancers begin to fill the street
Smiling as they parade by, shuffling their feet
Unconsciously, we both are swaying to the beat
Inside the trattoria*, the music man plays
Vivaldi's concerto #4, in piano forte
We whisper murmurs of love in sotto voce*
As Casanova visions keep flooding my mind
Vivaldi's music syncopates in double time
Decoding my glances, your eyes begin to shine
We took a water taxi, back to the Hotel
We kiss under the Rialto bridge, passion swells
What we did the rest of the night, I'll never tell
Our night in Venice was a passionate affair
Put on your black dress and pearls, and take me back there.
*trattoria small dining establishment not a full menu like a restaurant
* sotto voce in an undertone, literally low voice (pronounced vo chee)
December 14,2016
amethyst, amber, agate, aquamarine
barite, bauxite, beryl, soon seen
carnelian, chryophrase, cool citrine
diamond, dolomite, delivered by Dean
Emerald, epidite, elusive by far
Flourite flowing next to Feldspar,
Gemstone hit parade, setting the bar
Hematite holds us hostage, said Mar.
Isis calcite showing up imperial jade,
Jasper enters the fray with his own maid.
Karats counted in diamonds, making the grade.
Lapis Lazuli opening your third-eye, a spiritual aid
Moonstone and malachite dancing in tune
Niccolite, and nambulite against the moon
Opal and obsidian making fun of a rune
Pearl, pyrite, periodot doing a swoon.
Quartz comes up rosy, all pretty and pink.
Ruby and Rhodonite sitting on the brink.
Sapphire, serpentine, sodalite sharing a drink.
Topaz, tigers eye, turquoise skating in the rink.
Attention now goes to uvite and unakite,
making friends with vivionite an valencianite
Don’t speak to wulfenite cautions wavelite.
‘xtra dazzling, ‘xtra special gemstones delight
Yeoperite says come meet yowah nut
Zeba jasper and zircon run right into the hut
These are not all the gemstones, but they are a few.
I would like to see a bit of each of them, now wouldn’t you?
Invasion of the Bums & Scarecrow-Soldiers & Pretty Ballerina’s
By David J Walker
What are you gonna be
I donno
Maybe a soldier or a bum again or a Martian
My sister wants to be a ballerina
But its way too cold for that
The most memorable year was when my mom turned me into
the tallest paper mâché octopus
Every seen
in a 3rd grade class.
The Halloween parade would begin at 10 on the school stage that hosted
the most ghosts & goblins
bums and ballerinas
and store-bought Cops & Cinderella’s
soldiers and white-as-a-sheet spooks with big cutout eyes
& bums with bones
black magically coming out of nowhere
After dinner & Its the Great Pumpkin Charley Brown
We are out terrorizing the town
Winter coats covering our prized costumes
Timidly
Begging for candy
Until our big brown bags could hold no more
Sorting
Chocolate with chocolate
Suckers with suckers
Candy bars of all kinds
Candy lips & candied apples
Candy cigarettes & Popcorn balls
The next morning
Moan/Groaning
But still
can’t wait for school to start &
The retelling of the last nights Halloween Haul &
Haunted adventure
Down the steep mountains and into the slopes,
Darting divine etched twixt duration and existence,
There run the graceful gazelles and fiery antelopes,
Until their breath retreat watching other presence.
Wildebeests rushes by ceasing the opportunity to gain,
Nature’s bare feet turning brown sand on the beach,
Big pebbles not indelibly seen as the smallest sandy grain
Leaving the prints in the ambiance of moments they reach.
On naturally crafted street hides the African talisman,
An indivisible Art where halo glows from a graceful arch,
Sheen shine covering emblem moonlight glowing skin,
Fears not the forces of evil camouflage on parade march.
Lucky charm, African talisman within the veil well-armed
Beyond this man is a distinctive phenomenal spirit,
Striding out against human endurance already formed
From the bloodline history, ancestral traits inherit.
We of mortal multitude find ways to survive and strive,
Sometimes the heart run, walk and mingle in the crowd,
A silent portrait shroud the pride unfolding in the Hythe,
The future is bright but the course takes a grim road.
We are all going to wear khaki pants to the parade.
What’s khaki? I ask, knowing, but wanting to see his reaction.
He is new, and I love to toy with the new guy.
“You know,” he says, “Um, tan, plain, dull, plain, tan.”
“I don’t have any pants like that,” I tell him, “But I can do purple.”
I read his face, his cheeks pink up fast.
I am going to have fun with this one.
“Oh, I am sure you have something khaki,” he says confidently.
“No, she doesn’t!” all three of the others in the lunchroom shout nearly simultaneously.
His nose is pink now. He looks down, and I realize the minute it registers that
I am wearing my red, orange, black, gray and purple owl pants.
“Do you have PLAIN?” he asks hopefully.
They are all shaking their heads ‘no’.
I am so proud as I leave the lunchroom,
They know me here!