Long Pop Poems
Long Pop Poems. Below are the most popular long Pop by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pop poems by poem length and keyword.
Her ears below the water, smiling eyes above on me
A shiver on my shoulders, wet fringe to prison sight
I speak bubble-pop talk into the river and she laughs
"That's gross! Say something nice you egotistical idiot!"
A shiver on my shoulders, wet fringe to prison sight
My mouth below the water, my eyes above on her
"That's gross… Say something nice you egotistical idiot…"
"Repeat after me: I love you because I got you wet."
My mouth below the water, my eyes above on her
I speak bubble-pop talk into the river and she laughs
"Repeat after me: I love YOU - because I got YOU wet."
Her ears below the water, smiling eyes above on me
As requested here is another episode. If this is your first time reading, check out the first one it will make more sense. Let me know if you would like me to continue. Those who are following the tale, thanks!
When I awoke Ricky was fast asleep, being a pop bottle I have no way of keeping my eyes closed. Mind you I'm not complaining, I got to see the most amazing sunrise. I so wanted Ricky to enjoy it as well so I refracted the light and shone it on his eyes. I could tell he was a bit irritated but it had the desired effect, he got out of bed so he could move me. As he walked over to the window I could feel the irritation turn to wonder as he saw the beauty of the sunrise. From that day forward he became a morning person.
Ricky stood there for a while with me held dangling by his side. I no longer needed my glass, I could see clearly through his blue eyes. It was a very nice street and Ricky particularly liked the house across the street. The house had bright white siding and a manicured lawn. There were also planters with all kinds of pretty flowers. The house was owned by an older couple and they didn't have any children. It seemed a rather big house for only two people.
Soon Roy and Teresa were also awake and they all fought to use the one and only bathroom. Mom and Dadio had already left for work, Dadio to cut hair and Mom as a waitress at the Coffee Cup. Their baby sitter's name was Mrs. Burns an older lady that seemed very fond of floral print dresses. She had made her way up the stairs because the kids didn't seem to hear her call them for breakfast. They all ran past her to the dining room table and waited for her to slowly make her way back down the stairs. She may not have been fleet of foot but boy what a great breakfast. Bacon eggs and saugage as well as orange juice. Ricky tried to pour the orange juice into me but got almost as much on the table. Still it was quite a treat for me to enjoy, after all breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
in the drab grey wetness
of a cold november morn
barely awake
making his way
through sluggish traffic
crowds off to work
his mind a blur
operating on automatic
a tingle comes over him
an aroma reminding him
of the first cup of coffee
he’ll grab out by his office
before starting to wake
first sign of brain activity
out of the corner of his eye
a pop of yellow
a sign of joy
a blond little girl
with the loveliest of smiles
and brightest bluest eyes
wondering who is this angel
curious about her secrets
and her enchanted world
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~CAFFEINE INFUSION~ 2020
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2020, 1st place 2021
I used to love Elvis's songs and watched all of his fine concerts;
then the long-haired Beatles came from England
and he was almost swept away in his own land!
Suddenly, new artists names appeared on the Billboard Charts,
I couldn't stick to a specific artist:
I guess they all sang to the heart!
Because of my age, people think I am a square,
I listen to Maroons 5, Lady Gaga and Katy Perry;
I can name more vocalists whom I enjoy on my Galaxy phone,
but what really matters is Pop Rock influence on me lately.
Does it mean that Pavarotti is out of the picture?
No, a great performance is still a delight to hear...
even Bocelli sings pop with a conservative style:
I embrace them all, did I forget fashionable Cher?
It was on one early summer morn
that the voice of a watchful Mama Corn
told a frightful story, meant to warn
her son, Pop, just recently born.
"Pop", it said, her darling boy to save,
"Once, in a cornfield, I too would wave.
In the sun and breeze, I was brave,
but you must listen up and behave.
You're a special kind of corn you see,
the 'zea mays everta' variety,
in everyday speech, 'popping corn'.
You should be proud, but I forewarn:
Special dangers lurk for folks like us
You're old enough now, we can discuss.
If, at the door, your darling greets you
for a movie date, she wants to eat you.
All corn loves to dance in the hot sun,
but be careful how you have your fun.
If you go to the beach from dawn to dusk,
please remember to wear your husk."
Instead of listening with respect and fear,
Little Pop would not lend his...ear?
So, while his mother's ghost did beseech,
the sun popped Pop all over the beach.
Hockney the ultimate experimental artist
Painter, printmaker, photographer, stage designer, draughtsman
Always challenging traditional elitist art
No barriers, no preconceptions, eyes always wide open
Bradford boy whose roots always prevail
1962, demands to be judged on his art not his writing
Submits Life Painting for a Diploma
RCA considers and changes regulations
Diploma awarded, so art wins
Continues his artistic quest
Vibrant colours capture people and places
His vision reaches beyond everyday reality
Unconventional proportions and perspectives
Fresh new takes on vistas of old masters
1980s, he arrives at photo collages
Painting ceases for a while
Creates two hundred plus patchworks of joiners
Photos, manyfold, of a single subject
My Mother, Bolton Abbey epitomises his experiment
Embraces technology using phones and iPads
Bending it to his artistic aims
No texture, no brush strokes
But still his take on life prevails
Locked down in France during COVID
Chinese scroll painting and Bayeux Tapestry feed fertile mind
A Year in Normandie results
Two hundred and twenty iPad paintings enlarged
Ninety metre chronicle of changing seasons
Salts Mill exhibition, back where it all began
Visitors immersed in a linear experience
Hockney pursuing a lifetime of artistic exploration
A contemporary art virtuoso
My heart is ready to tell me something.
It is up to me to glean what it is.
I wander into the bathroom,
And then the tick-tock of the kitchen.
Knowing my truth more than any other time of day.
It is always at exactly three a.m.
The only other time of day I notice is 5:38 p.m.
Because that was my friend Stan's store number.
I was a bookkeeper for sixteen stores, and Stan was a favorite
Manager for me. I had worked for him when I was a teenager.
He was the nicest man, going broke, could never pay his bills.
I was sorry for him, as his bookkeeper.
He was lovely, always promising to pay,
Even though we both knew he could not.
He died so young - age 42, of a heart attack.
The world's nicest man, father of three, dead at 42.
Three a.m. always reminds me of those who have past over.
Wonderful people like my friend Duno and Stan.
Three a.m. is my favorite time of day, reminding me of
Duno also, who laughed and chuckled in spite of cancer killing her.
Three a.m. is my daily wake up time for memories.
To remember people who made a difference in my life here.
Angels who are still with me now. Loving me from heaven.
Three a.m. I look forward to her daily.
Around the corner of lolly purple pink
Mountains rise suspended in the air
Immortality circles by the sea
Soft and pleasant is the weather
Treacle company in bunny love set sail
Cling to one another warm and cuddly
Ships with golden light unfurl like doves
Wings to heaven open wide, come alive
With cozy dreams, fireworks exploding
Blue sky and sea merge into one soft drink
White clouds on cotton thoughts
Will sip until they sleep
Dreams appear to map out candy lands
That pop up on bubble oceans to bob about
Marshmallows know what's coming
Their place atop hot chocolate cups
Cinnamon cake horizons rise on waves
Too smooth to understand the crazy
Bunny love and company are coming
To watch hot air balloons drift into nothing
With just enough color to take them there
Author Dana Redricks
September 22, 2023
Pop and sizzle, I could hear the sound of the hot iron as it Cascades through my thick thick dark hair, Don't move, Don't turn, are you might get burned. Was our weekly ritual. As we sat there hoping this moment would soon be over. We dare not get it wet, or over again the torture would begin. Pop-pop sizzle, the sound of the hot iron, which seemed like it was for hours in that chair. This was the challenge of being black girl with thick hair, but it was all worth it, because we went out knowing we looked good and we made sure to flaunt it. Heads held high, looking proud. We're black and proud out loud.
Intro
Turn a popstar into a metal head… I’ma change the game/
Have a popstar rocking to guitars and bass… make ‘em bang/
Verse One
Popstars get tired of hearing that tune/
So they turn to metal heads and now they wanna rock/
With the best, and who the best, we the best/
We the best like a D.J. Khaled track/
And I won’t stop till my casket drop in the ground/
As long as I got a voice, you gonna hear my sound/
And I’ma put it down, and rep for my peers/
With nothing but heavy metal, trap metal in your ears/
I’m a metal influencer, and I highly influence ya/
Whole career and have you wishing you switched sides/
Now you working a hard 9 to 5 just to get by/
Your contract expired, they don’t want to hear you/
At your concert, they don’t wanna get near you/
Now you at my concerts, your career is dead/
That’s how you turn a popstar into a metal head/
Verse Two
Rappers wanna be popstars, it’s part of the game/
Popstars turn into metal heads, it’s part of the chain/
We bang and swing until we blow out our brain/
They copy and watch me. Now they doing the same thing/
It’s all the same game, we chasing the same ring/
But my league is different, we entertain the same/
I hit the stage, they scream my name, I’m the MVP/
And they envy me, because I’m who they wanna see/
I’m who they wanna be, a Pitbull metal head/
But feeling like a bull, because all I see is red/
And all I feel is rage, and you gonna feel my wrath/
One plus one is me and you, now you do the math/
My rhymes are different, my sounds are different/
My style is different and even Popstars feel it/
So, when you speak, hear or read my lyrics, you know the deal/
And when you speak my lyrics, you know just how I feel/