Long Peyton Poems
Long Peyton Poems. Below are the most popular long Peyton by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Peyton poems by poem length and keyword.
If every man, ...ceased to hate and blame every other man for his own failures and shortcomings, we would see the end of every evil in the world, from war to backbiting.
-Grace Metalious from PEYTON PLACE
It happened on the fourth floor
Where there is no one to console
And every man feels sure he’s lost
The heart of his own dancing soul
It happened on the fourth floor
Where intimacy quiets the spirit
And candlelight muses are aware
There is truth beyond their conscious
It happened on the fourth floor
Where gentle waves of compassion sing
To those who share the blessings there
Amid a forest of sweet dreams and ideas
It happened on the fourth floor
Where there are echoes of truths abiding
Creating promises of love forevermore
Praising God for His unending love
It happened on the fourth floor
Brothers and sisters and mothers and sons
All came together to shine in the sun
Beneath God’s touch of unconditional love
The Fourth Floor of Nowhere Poetry Contest
Sponsored by craig cornish
September 15, 2020
“Dead folks can't hurt you none. It's the ones that are alive,
you have to watch out for.” Grace Metalious, Peyton Place
THE FOURTH FLOOR OF NOWHERE
The back room on the 4th floor of nowhere,
nowhere but our love, hidden from the lips
of those hustlers and backbiting peasants.
Spring to Winter, we’d get our kicks and kips.
We’d stash water bottles, cash and her
stare, where no one would bother to look.
Her blackmail ended our tryst and her life.
We played her game but not by her book.
We knew one day they’d go room to room,
key in hand, a skeleton to find, no remorse.
We’d have goosebumps near each other
but be careful to keep our eyes off course.
Forever is a long time of regret and forget.
A tongue that dared to cross our path, so
unimportant, forgotten, a regrettable life.
A backroom hush but a ghostly shadow.
We don’t dare recollect our lust of youth.
The handholding, the kiss, rose petals in bed.
We are unhappily married to our secrets.
Life in Peyton Place is to keep promises dead.
9/8/2020
Craig Cornish’s The Fourth Floor of Nowhere Poetry Contest
Ella is overjoyed when her friend Peyton comes to play
They have a special bond; it has always been that way
You’ll find them having fun together on a sunny day
Playing in the park where on the swings they’ll sway
When Ella has a sleepover then Peyton comes to stay
The last time it was special as it was on her birthday
They have a secret code but mummy knows the things they say
If Ella says a certain special word then Peyton must obey!
Ella says he’s her boyfriend and they will get wed one day
Nick is saving hard for their wedding, as he’ll have bills to pay!
Fictional write based on photo
Laura Loo’s contest Personal Memories Monorhyme II
05~26~16
Like cats and dogs they love and fight
Then giggle through the beam of night…
Ellie plans a game, how fun and right
Along the grass where moon shines bright,
When naughty cousins fly a kite
Its tassels blazing, red to white;
As Peyton holds the strings real tight.
The wind dives low with forceful might
Kids tumbling like their toy’s low height.
Suddenly, a rush brings them fright
Is it a creature dark or light?
Without thought, they run from the site
Into the yard, the gang on flight;
Inflaming laughter, what a sprite!
Personal Memories Monorhyme II
Contest of Laura Loo 6/14/1016
Since humans surfaced from the slime,
our art has always turned on time,
on measurement, and not on rhyme –
so Solon says (I’m with him):
the heart of art is rhythm.
You want to waltz? You need three-four.
And verse that’s truly free’s a bore!
The drumkit forms rock music’s core,
and Rhapsody in Blue has
wrought classical anew (jazz).
Our architecture, uninspired,
was looking – feeling – somewhat tired.
Then Frank Lloyd Wright, completely wired,
transformed it, not for profit
– have you seen his soffits?
The painter had become a monkey,
just reproducing portraits (clunky)
and soulless seascapes. Things got funky:
what stirred the stiff Sargasso?
A samba called Picasso!
Those Western movies grew so dull,
the steers were ready for a cull:
Italians dispelled the lull,
while Hollywood said, smugly,
“no-one wants good, bad, ugly!”
So, whether you sculpt or you sing,
you groove to The Beatles or Bing,
you think Nat or Elvis is King,
it don’t mean a thing
if it ain’t got that swing!
My dearest husband,
Happy 40th bday my love,
Today I celebrate you,
I celebrate your life,
God surely knew I was destined to be by your side,
May you always never doubt the love Peyton and I have for you,
No words can describe the appreciation we have for you,
I know I tell you all the time how proud I am of you,but I can never say it enough. I am proud of the man you are.
My wish for you,
Live life to the fullest with us by your side,
Laugh,Love, No regrets, Health and Prosperity,
My dear love life is so fulfilling with you,
Never change who you are,
You are truly a God damn awesome person!!!
You rock 40 ,aging gracefully, even more handsome than the day I met you.
I hope you feel the love I have for you,
I am truly enjoying my life with you by my side.
Thank you for making life worth living .
I may not have big ass gifts for you,
But all I have is My love,My life and My soul,it's all yours forever.
Peyton and I love and adore you.
Our little family that we have created means everything to me.
We have faced the toughest challenges in life,now it's time to enjoy each other. When I look at Peyton I see some of you and me and I'm soo proud to have shared life experiences with you my love.
Dont ever forget how special you are my love. Life is brighter with you by my side. The love I have for you cannot be measured. Every moment spent with you is very special to me.Sometimes I catch a glimpse of you and I smile and am grateful to have you in my life.
Here's to the next 40 years together my sweet love.
Love you babe now and forever.
There's no goodbyes only sweet love.
Happy bday my love.
The escape commenced.
The endless drive from middleclass suburbia
ala Levittown; across hill and dale,
packed in a 1947 black beauty
of a Lincoln Continental; to the land of Peyton Place
and Steven King; Maine.
Lemon up and tangerine down, Dad drives.
We wiggle and whine, Mom scolds.
A leg cramping journey made longer by
one too many pee brakes.
The dirt road pinged rocks of the chrome bumper;
we near the amorphous clapboard dream.
The violet light of the dash shows nine o’clock.
The ramshackle ashen white farmhouse
full of kissin cousins, cows and chickens;
Madonna’s home. Uncle Ken a mere decorative necessity;
Uncle ken who could charm the pants right off ya,
and obviously had, voila; cousins Georgie and Wayne.
Uncle Ken of the sweet smile and Chiclet teeth;
beer bottle in hand with his concrete company hat cocked to the side;
one long, tall, strawberry blonde, drink of water.
He was a God to us, two little girls, Snow White and Rose Red.
His only rival his son, gorgeous George;
Georgie boy, first cousin, first love.
Nights saw us hunker down under patch work.
Kissin cousins in twinned rooms.
Meeting for body heat in the frosted dawn
in a single wrought iron bed, scrawny eight year olds.
Heads under quilts breathing in and out to warm the pocket of air
we were the only heat on the second floor. With a mighty dash;
reminiscent of our favorite mouse [Mighty]
a charge was launched across the unfinished attic
to the backstairs to country kitchen.
Barefeet dodge raised square nails and splinters.
Bark bits impress frozen soles, as the stove's in house woodpile is jumped.
Twin dynamos skate across the linoleum to a copper kettle's whistle.
A white Windsor landing achieved, Aunt Madonna pours
cornflakes in porcelain white china bowls with a laugh.
Hey, Peyton, remember the time
When the snow was melted along with the rime?
When the sun was mild and the weather sublime?
We went out on picnic away from the dust and the grime.
We all took our hampers with fruit and some lime,
(I brought along some candy, bought out for a dime).
Momma packed some sandwiches with bacon which was prime,
And some very fine chutney of rosemary and thyme.
While my cousins and mom played charades and mime,
Off we both went for the grassy knoll to climb.
Our laughter peeled, tinkling like wood chime,
You were the prince, I was your heim.
Peyton, I remember that it was close to lunchtime,
I rode piggyback for no reason or rhyme.
You slipped of a sudden as you stepped on some slime,
We tumbled and rolled down the slippery 'cline.
I am sorry, dear Peyton, real sorry I 'm,
It was in fun, in those days of playtime.
I'd've done it again if there was another time,
For kid's to be prankish is never a crime!
(How's this for Mom's contest of Monorhyme?)
~25 May 2016~
Car 54, where are you?
Is a horse still a horse, of course?
Who today considers Denace a 'menace?'
Do you yet play 'The Glad Game,' Pollyanna?
Kryptonite get you in the end, Superman?
Mayberry more like Peyton Place? ~ Such a disgrace!
Does anyone ever listen to those 'Talks on Ted?' *
'Mr. Putin, so 19th-century,' Bill Clinton and John Kerry actually said...
Not everyone gave John and Yoko, nude in a
department store window, sitting in a bubble-
bath, back in 1968 a glance ~
'Cos 'NOW' is never the time
to just 'GIVE PEACE A CHANCE!'
_______________________________________________
* For rhyming purposes, I changed the name of 'Ted Talks.'