Long Parquet Poems
Long Parquet Poems. Below are the most popular long Parquet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Parquet poems by poem length and keyword.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I tapped my keyboard, my eyes bleary
As I tried to write a novel that was no bore
I looked for inspiration, how to avoid clichés temptation
I’d write about rejuvenation—hope for the lonely lass Lenore—
An epic tale of a maiden born anew named Lenore—
A blockbuster for evermore.
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
“I have writer’s block, Mr. Raven, perhaps thou might be a maven.
Though you be ghastly grim and ancient wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me can a modern writer craft prose that’s not a bore?”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“My idea that just can't lose, a crippled, homeless guy who likes booze
He’ll rise to fame and glory but I worry on some phrases in this story.
This and more I plan I’d write but the DEI staff might fight
On the plot’s blood and gore that tells life’s authentic core
Where from zero to hero, he’ll wins the fair Lenore
Wins her love forevermore!
The Raven looked pained and croaked "Nevermore!"
Then, the air got denser, this bird was a woke censor
A ghastly leftist bird who drifted over my parquet floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “who appointed thee—to impoverish my vocabulary
Give me respite – let me write my way the story of Lenore;
Don’t dilute my novel to be a crashing bore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
Is it possible nowadays to write a novel at all?
Can I earn more than zero, if I include a macho hero
A macho hero to clasp a demented maiden who won't be sore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore?”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the underworld’s dark shore!
“Don’t use ‘dark” said the Raven, “use BIPOC instead” as he continued sitting
On the pallid bust of Obama just above my chamber door;
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out my body that lies contorted on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
It was raining and so great to play,
outside- though the blue sky was gray.
Oh, an adventure to embark,
to run and fly like a skylark!
But, my sister blocked the doorway.
So, I thought up a getaway,
quiet, I tiptoed on the parquet.
Dotted 'brella and me to park!
It was r a i n i n g !
I walked fast on the crossway,
yes, I was bad to disobey.
A park bench was my floating arc,
I was flying free as a lark!
Sister, found me with kisses gay.
It was RAINING !
______________________
September 25, 2017
Rondeau/The Boy With The Dotted 'Brella
Copyright Protected, ID 942530
Written for the contest, Red and White Polka Dotted Umbrella
sponsor, Eve Roper
First Place
* an updated version of a piece I wrote for my favorite baller, Kevin Garnett *
~
intensity ... defined
excuses were for gods and gamblers
(lesser giants with fairer feuds)
HE ... was of a wholly-invested mettle and mind
the conscript of a checkered court
dauntless defender of glass and lattice
and the pride of a kingdom
grand and green.
chilled steel above
warm wood below
the thund'rous awe
each mightied blow ...
adversaries wept for his fervency
ability, focus, effort ...
at levels unequaled and as yet unseen
a vitality and resolve
that at times seemed immeasurable
expecting the utmost from his confreres and allies
yet far MORE from himself ...
of rare devotion to his cause and kind
a jaded gypsy who had found his home and heart -
the hallowed ground
worthy of his marrow and blood.
one honored hub
a stronghold land
worth ev'ry wound
each knuckled hand ...
he was clad in shining-yet-simple armor
- béni avec cinq -
that he wore with a generation's honor
and wielded a sword of sinews and strength
noble and knightly, but of ferocious intent
with a dignity, dark ... outspoken
mindful, selfless ... monstrous and mad
the grace and guile of a mongoose
with the hiss of a snake ...
the childish charm of a leprechaun
with the wild howl of a wolf ...
and a heritage that coursed his veins, veridian.
those demons, green
that spurred his dance
brought each his foes
naught e'er a chance ...
his fortress now stands empty
but the ramparts still tremble with his ire
the ether within those sacred walls
yet echos his roar
and strains to press a cheek
all for the sake of his standard and spoils
and thus, now -
yes, and none too soon
those rafters roil with a banner his own
and a kingdom, blessed, bows in reverence
for his consummation and creed
and the green blood that still stains his flesh
and those proud parquet floors …
one day that land's
bright sun may set
still, flames will burn
the name ... Garnett
thank you, KG!
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, September 2, 2020
Let me get r o m a n t i c, cross my legs,
pucker my lips, slip into your shadow.
You say, “It’s a bit hot in here,” as I draw near.
You're pulling at your collar, releasing your tie.
My scarf, silkily and seamlessly, slides
onto the parquet floor, next to your shoes,
kicked off. My s t i l e t o s join yours
on the ballroom floor. They’re ruby red.
We are not ready for bed, Mon amour.
For now, we are in this for kicks. High
riding our stallions through the m e a d o w.
Enjoying our tricks and treats together.
Our wet skin, pearlescent, in the moonlight,
swimming with p l e a s u r e in the dark.
We get closer and closer to the t r u t h
of who she is; who he is; we’re in the depths.
The mistletoe overhead reveals a mystery.
You’d think it is a k i s s, but it is a knee.
The d i a m o n d brilliance of cerise cheeks,
and a “yes, oh yes,” and yes, comes the kiss.
Let me get r o m a n t i c, in snow of negligee,
looser lips, and a slip b e t w e e n the sheets.
It’s never been h o t t e r as you draw near.
It’s time we know no bounds, my love.
The teachers’ voices were loud and shrill,
but there was just one message,
“everyone sit still!”,
though it was hard on the parquet floor,
in polyester trousers,
bought the week before,
the first year head took to the stage,
like his long black cloak,
he was from another age,
our welcome to school it wasn’t the best,
being told we were failures,
in eleven plus tests,
brought up on praise for autumn verses,
I was shocked to hear,
we’d never be silk purses,
talents and abilities didn’t get a mention,
from the stretched and burnt out staff,
longing for their pension,
all around the system was failing,
I looked out of the window,
to life beyond the railings.
"Another Man’s Treasure"
Jetsam tumbles
broken doorbells
no one
answers
anymore
ironing boards
pressing to imprint
something of significance
a life, your life
droll and predictable
it all sinks
to the bottom
of a bad dream
with yesterday’s
stale tears
sharp heels
clicking on a parquet floor
like knives ripping words
jagged scratches on old wallpaper
like a warning thrown at a wall
Sundry feelings furry
ageing inevitable
intimate moments blurry
moulding green against a new life
you prophesy diamond clean
their part in your life
half-state now
pill swallowed
like a bad dream
forgotten
and
there you sit and twirl
grinning from ear-to-ear
on your swivelling black leather chair
before a glowing screen
lighthouse revolver ready
evolving
glowing prisms adrift
blue ribbons of seaweed green
tangled in your wide Sargasso Sea
morse code blinking reverie
lost memories pleasantly drowned
like a murderess you pin them down
then, the tight grasp of possibilities
rise to face the horizon
eventually, they are Marco Polo found
and
there you are
midpoint
hovering
poised
waiting
Unconditional
Singular
One man’s trash
Another Man’s Treasure
(LadyLabyrinth/2020)
"Wonders of the Deep" / Chemical Brothers
https://youtu.be/xHEgT--jJLk
They (wife and children) are scared to see it,
As though Dinosaur made another writ;
Hearing its rudely vexatious squealing,
Each found corners feeling unappealing...!
To me it seemed a pet, like dog or cat,
Though I hated the way on wall it sat;
And when its number increased like sea-sands,
I knew I cannot chase them by my hands...!
Bad Omen - My kith and kin said firmly,
Destroy them lest they destroy you warmly;
Pesticides or parquet - anything works,
They are, often, mere mentally-ill berks...!
I could not decide; I have heard often,
They get soften and squeeze into coffin;
Make human body mingle with the earth,
Bring about resurrection and rebirth...!
I felt numb when one such fell on my head,
It causes illness within mind, they said;
I prepared myself: Lo! One day, two, three,
I could never find myself less than free...!
Keep peacock feathers in rooms; they will die;
Spray petrol; they will surely soon bid good-bye;
Why trouble, some said, Just naphthalene balls,
Smell of these any such realm overhauls...!
I could not, having tried, many great ways.
I thought, they are just God-given sun-rays;
That try to teach us humans something strange:-
Courage must exceed any mountain-range...???
23 October 2022
not soon enough, will winter go away
taking with it all that white and gray
waiting for the sun to thus betray
remains that frozen vestiges array
warming temps arising day-to-day
winter's final gasps thus making way
for such a bright and colorful display
exploding in an emerald green ballet
a Cardinal in his crimson red beret
sings the morn his romance resume'
a little "peeper", each dusk's protege
and groggy hibernators join the fray
dancing 'cross a lawn of grass parquet
the squirrels making mischief, so risque'
thus worthy of a brooding Hemingway
all these things to chase the cold dismay
of a long and somber winter's disarray
and if allowed an old and trite cliche'
I wish we had the power to make it stay
then every day could be a spring-tide day.
( Written March 28, 2018 )
In the middle of the night,
When I’m struggling with sleep,
I come up with many plans
That I know I’ll never keep.
I’ll replace the sagging couch,
Sand and buff the parquet floors,
Get new valances and shades,
Paint the ceilings, walls and doors.
Add A/C where there is none,
Trade the bunk beds for a queen,
Go through closets, drawers and shelves
Like it’s part of my routine.
As I toss and turn and think,
With a vow to make each change,
I’m aware that what I’m planning
Doesn’t seem so very strange.
But as soon as I awake,
My resolve, a tiny flame,
Fizzles out and so my world
Stays unstylishly the same.
A swinging sixties chick was I dressed head to toe in Biba
Miniskirts my mother loathed and free love too, so I was told
Music of choice was Motown and Soul that played upon my radio
At weekends tuned to Saturday Club a programme never missed
Radio Luxembourg each night, though signal crackled and hissed
Reception was weak as twilight approached, with my radio under my sheet
At the foot of the stairs Mum’s voice could be heard
“Turn that radio off, and go to sleep”
In ‘62 a pirate ship launched off the Essex coast
Radio Caroline was her name, with young DJ’s as programme hosts
Innovators of their time, played songs we loved the most
Enjoying the challenge, but taking a risk each time they went ashore
Deemed illegal ~ no license had they, so were technically breaking the law
Trailblazing times enhancing our lives, playing songs never heard of before
these songs were the soundtracks of my youth
these songs I love and adore...
Tony Blackburn their first DJ; a handsome young fella back in the day
The first DJ to spin his discs whilst bobbing around on the pirate ships
At 77 still playing his songs and boring the nation with corny quips
on ‘Sounds of the Sixties’ every Saturday morn
he plays the tunes
I singalong...
I sent a request for his 'Magic Moments' spot
feeling sure it would end up in his 'magic melting pot'
Our 'Magic Moment' in '63, as we danced the night away
at the Regent Ballroom, Brighton, on a floor made of wooden parquet
was it love at first sight on a midsummer’s night
by the light of the silvery moon...
As we danced to the Chiffons 'He’s so Fine' it became our special tune
When Tony played our 'Magic Moment' on his radio show
I could hardly believe my ears
then my eyes filled up with tears
for my darling he has gone ~ for he died ten years ago
Written on 1st December 2018
after hearing my request played upon the Radio...
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