Long Pratt Poems
Long Pratt Poems. Below are the most popular long Pratt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pratt poems by poem length and keyword.
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vacant control tower hisses in static~
a Morse code signaling the absence of departing flights.
B-24s dissolve into prairie stars,
fuel streaks fading like old film burns.
Midnight mechanics still roll toolbox shadows
across tarmacs swallowed by prairie crabgrass.
a windsock flaps—empty, always empty~
counting dead radio waves as prayer beads.
barracks hum with old Glenn Miller,
though the record needle’s been stuck for decades.
midnight taxi lights still trace the runway,
guiding no one home.
airfield ghosts wear leather bomber jackets,
not shrouds, sighing at how quietly war forgets.
*“The southwest corner of Kansas was once home to Liberal Army Airfield. For 27 months, from April 1943 to September 1945, the desolate plains of Kansas were alive with the deep throaty roar of the B-24 Liberator. The Liberal Army Airfield trained approximately one-quarter of all B-24 commanders. Residents of the area recall few days and nights in which they did not hear the familiar roar of the big Pratt & Whitney engines flying overhead. What was once a wheat field, a symbol of peace, became thousands of feet of concrete runways used to train pilots for vital World War II missions. To this day, many of the runways and structures of the base still survive. Years have passed since the inception and closure of the base, but its history will always be a part of Liberal, Kansas. (Source: frugalfrigate.com/book/9781467162289)”
The Liberal Army Airfield was also where my father spent his wartime years servicing the B-24 Liberators. My mother was working as a civil service clerk at the airfield. The two of them met in August 1944 and were married in November 1944 at the Airfield Chapel.
you may read the related memoir vignette at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/ill_be_seeing_you_13598
Conley Pratt slouched over the horn
of a battered and trail-worn saddle,
been on the run for several hours now
after being caught rustling cattle.
His side ached, caked in fresh blood
from where a large bullet had struck,
he heard a gurgling rasp in each breath,
and knew he was running low on luck.
He’d never expected to end up here,
a hunted, desperate, ailing rustler,
but times had been hard, he’d made a choice
and now rode, despondent, for the border.
He saw it ahead, just a small stake
that stuck out of the dull, desert ground.
Then somebody shouted,”Look, there he goes!”
Conley did not even bother turning 'round.
He spurred his old roan, pushing onwards,
each step painfully jarring his wound,
He gritted his teeth, and kept up the gallop,
he would be reaching safety soon.
He crossed over then, be he didn’t stop,
not knowing they’d give up the chase.
Shots rang out, and one caught his arm,
but the posse did not push on his way.
Moaning, and bleeding from a new gash,
he struggled hard to maintain his path,
But he’d reach her, he’d reach his Marlena,
and then there’d be no looking back!
He could see her now in his mind’ eye,
tanned skin, dark eyes, and straight hair,
his Mexican beauty, she had pledged to him,
with Marlena there would be no despair.
And now since he could never go back,
he would take her down before the priest,
But first he would have to heal from these wounds,
by ministrations she’d give tenderly.
Her two-room hut came arose in twilight,
And from within it came a soft glow,
bathing in lantern light an adobe wall,
and a small, rectangular widow.
Conley slumped lower, horse trotting on,
having reached the place just in time,
His stomach throbbed, his lungs labored,
without help he faced the end of the line.
He dismounted slowly, then limped on up
and through the window did he see
Marlena on her back, long legs spread wide
while a tall man thrusted vigorously.
Conley’s strength flagged at the mere sight
and he slumped against the hard wall,
his vision faded out to the sound of her cries,
The fates really had taken it all…
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Hmm...What Discursive Poetic Theme Shall I Write About...
Today (a rather brisk, chilly,
and otherwise sat
tiss factory twirly delightful
December 18th, 2018) matte
her of fact quite
refreshing noontime, while this fat
tend plot of Earthen surveyed terrain
situated over scat
herd modest suburban tract,
(actually yours truly some watt
urbanely sprawled out) at
Latitude: 40.2538 Longitude: 75.4590,
where I sit pat
and think to write
about some reading material flat
touring my "FAKE" status
as king of agitprop for chat
hurrying class gussied up with
artistically crafted rat
tilly done up snazzy razz mutt tazz
(approved by Willard), this expat
lapsed Peterson harried tailored script,
asper previous peculiar
swiftly styled idée fixe
literary unnecessary, rat
tickly tawdry superfluity)
interspersed with dollops of splat
hard logophile, nonetheless gentle
on the eyes, yet feeling totally flat
and devoid of meaning, and quite
convincingly desperate idea this pratt
tilling far amore in the dell doth
expatiate, expound expressively, gnat
cheerily witty, (i.e. hint- please
pretend these humph fat
tickle lee meandering, rambling,
and warbling words) taxing
on mental faculty as bat
tan gruelling death march
physically, when circa
April 1942 Japanese forced
76,000 captured Filipinos,
and Americans Allied
soldiers to march about 80 miles across
Bataan Peninsula (province
in Philippines), where they died
enroute to...during World War II
on island of Luzon, espied
as a spiritual sanctuary hosted
by a knowledgeable tour guide
named Matthew Scott hood dons
genuine (musty smelling)
Tory wig to hide
as an alien alias (from the outer limits
of the twilight zone) incognito
even to himself, and especially the bride
of Frankenstein, who evinces a strong crush
toward said nondescript gentrified
vested gentry groundless thinker with pride
though, dirt poor (at least on the surface),
but deep down rich with
Schwenksville well watered
history harkening back to 1684,
when hoodwinked, jilted and lied
Lenni-Lenape Indians got fleeced
then taken for a ride
this land ceded to (stolen from) William Penn
nestled along the Perkiomen Creek.
To my little sister,
Who is not really small
It’s just that she is younger than I
And she’s not very tall
The other day she had a bang
Unfortunately on her head
There is a good side to this
She could have ended up dead
The trouble is the bang has rattled
What brains she does possess
At least the scans did find some
But they are a vibrating mess
They say she will improve
But that cannot be
Because my little sister
Is already perfect for me
She may struggle talking
But I can feel for her
With her new stutter and my daft voice
We sound a right daft pair
We think we’ll start a chat line
But not sure what it’ll be
We might begin an auction site
We’ll have to wait and see
GGGoing GGGoing gone
She would be good at that
But with my alternating voice
I just sound like a real pratt
Between my highs and lows
And her struggle with her words
There’s’ one think we both know
We are not a pair of nerds
So to my sister Dawn
I send you all my love
Get well soon sweetheart
You are the hand that fits my glove.
Mandy aka GG
19/12/2013 ©
To those that know us they know we are both struggling with speech but for two different reasons.
If you ever find yourself feeling low
Remember that you are no 'ordinary Joe'
You were truly always there for me.
In 1988, when things weren't so great
Separated from my family
You were truly there for me.
I was living in a fetid flophouse
A place meant solely for down-and-outers
Be they men or be they mouses.
You had mercy on my soul, Joe
Helped me move out of that hole
You were my sole damage control
You were truly there for me...
When I finally got my first teaching job
A full-time gig for part-time pay
You were there, Joe, to save the day.
At 2635 W Pratt you gave me a room
Saved me again from impending doom
Joe, you were truly there for me.
Then you delivered the coup de grace
Referred me to the director of a place
With a part-time teaching opening
That led me to a whole new weltauschtang
You rescued me living-wise twice, and that is nice
But even more than that your referral changed my life
As the faculty and student body of BRISK Academy
Led me to a place of clear thinking and sanity
And eventually paid me handsomely.
Joe, you are not one for accolades or praise,
But if I could, I'd give you a million-dollar raise
Because you were truly always there for me.
Thank you, Mr. Joe Bulgatz
Whenever I was in need, you were truly a friend in deed.
April 24, 2018
Multitudes enter the venue
all know there's something Entre Nous
You Take a Friend to find your place
it's time to just Cut to the Chase
All Losing It, the lights go down
Signals a start to the Countdown
Vital Signs race to Larry, Curly, and Moe
a Distant Early Warning that starts the show
Can't Resist that sound, distinctive
while The Stars Look Down it seems instinctive
The Spirit of Radio starts (with an attitude)
up on your feet you're In the Mood
Making Memories with a Headlong Flight
and straight on into The Color of Right
Might they play The Necromancer
or maybe even Fancy Dancer
Tom Sawyer starts a wild frenzy
One Little Victory follows unrelentingly
No Ghost of a Chance they'd play Cygnus X-1
but books one AND two - they aren't even done
only Intermission
Presto - back with 2112
how far back will they delve
A Passage to Bangkok brings you to Tears
then showing four aspects of their Fears
While Mystic Rhythms start to grow
O Baterista is next, as we all know
YYZ, Working Man both kick ass
Natural Science and then The Pass
Makes The Body Electric and Time Stand Still
knowing you are Here Again of your own Freewill
They Test for Echo seeing all still alive
Red Barchetta makes sure you can drive
Trees stand tall in Cities of Gold that are Seven
swaying themselves under the starry heaven
Limelight shines in La Villa Strangiato
Wish Them Well for it is time to go
But We Hold On....
Malignant Narcissism starts the encore
Spindrifts into The Snow Dog and By-Tor
One can only Hope it's not the last tour
Closer to Your Heart than ever Before(and After)
In the End you know
you are Finding Your Way back home
endlessly rocking
endlessly rocking under starry heavens
As the Caravans travel onwards
riding out into a heartless sea
Remember what, to you, brought these words
Dirk, Lerxst, Pratt, and the lonely letter of E.
song/album titles/partial lyrics-Lee/Lifeson/Peart ©
I worked in an Insurance office and loved my job
But the manager was an idle fat slob
He’d put in expenses sheets for work he hadn’t done
And was out of the door in front of everyone
But I digress…
He asked me to call two people on the phone
Could’ve called them himself but I didn’t moan
When I saw the names of the people I thought it was a joke
Surely these couldn’t be real names of these unfortunate folk
One man was called Olaf Pratt
I saw his name and laughed at that
The second was called Mr Erdogdu
It made me think of doggy pooh on my shoe!
I picked up the phone to dial the first number
But I started to laugh, it was a real blunder
I was unable to call; all I could do was giggle
My tears flowed and how my shoulders did wiggle
I composed myself to try and make the second call
Pressed a couple of digits, but I couldn’t dial them all
For I started laughing at Mr Erdogdu’s name
I’d failed at my task it was a terrible shame
The boss came in and asked why I hadn’t called
When he saw I’d been laughing he was quite appalled
I was as red as a beetroot and had tears in my eyes
To me the names were SO funny, this fact I couldn’t disguise
Snatching the piece of paper he gave me the cold shoulder
I cringe at this memory even though now I’m so much older
Since then I’ve had friends with surnames of Moron and Looney
I’m glad I’m more mature now and not that lass that was gooney!
This poem really is based on true events but I had to make these calls on separate days and not together as in this tale … but the result was the same I couldn’t make these calls for laughing at these unfortunate names.
My most embarrassing moment Contest Sponsored by Cindi Rockwell
07~15~16
Anger- what is it?
what color is it?
And, what can we liken it to?
Is it the thing that we feel before counting to TEN?
Or is it why many Buddhists reflect in Zazen?
Could it be White, like The Pillar Of Salt that became of Lot's Wife?
Was it Black like the GLOVE Of Geronimo Pratt
Or Silver like the Bullets which laid Amadou flat?
The Blue Of Uniforms of those who Protect and who Serve?
Maybe the pigment of a person who killed a sick perv
Shaded Brown like the Projects, with no Hope/locked inside?
Welfare Yellow like Cheese when you're stripped of your pride
Surely it's the Green Of Saudi Arabia's Flag
New York Gray like the Beggar who's treated like slag?
Actually, it isn't manifested in colors
Nor can it be defined
Go now
Entertain what I've said
Remembering the Paradox is that we claim to see RED
I got up it was way past noon
Thought I’d go for a walk.
Then, it started to rain
I’m talking heavy rain
The rain that soaks you rain.
I saw my neighbour Mrs Pratt
She was out walking her little dog.
You’ve guessed, they were wet too
I’m talking really wet.
They were both dripping.
I said "hello" and she grunted a greeting
Not happy I thought, but it’s only rain.
Then a bus drove by and hit a big puddle,
And then Mrs Pratt screamed as the puddle
engulfed her.
Strange I thought, she is already wet.
But then I realised why she had screamed
the poor little dog was not moving.
I went to the pub and the barman said
“You look wet”
“Do I” I replied, " I just saw a dead dog".
Written on 21st of September
For contra poetry contest sponsored by Jesse Rowe.
Feeling like a lost soul I sit, as the train rocks me to and fro
the woman next to me is jovial and pleasant, with a glow
We chat and pass the hours sharing amicably without restraint
then she tells me she is heading for London to marry, oh how quaint
Perhaps your marriage will be blessed from heaven? this I say
as the gentlemen across from me smiles, cool as the month of May
I can see from his polished shoes and his gray fedora hat
that he's a man of well to do, much accustomed to small pratt
Later in the evening as I sip my tea with clotted cream
I notice how he stares at me, as if I were a dream
Feeling lonely and quiet daring I invite him to sit down
it is then that I do notice, that his eyes are chestnut brown
"Going to London to visit my grandma" I say, "she lives by the sea"
"I can escort you Mademoiselle," he says, then tips his hat at me.
Chose # 3 a passenger on a train