Long Profile Poems
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by: Poet destroyer
I investigated many poems today
Friendly people on this (Love Boat)
Everybody different in their own way
The evidence I found is hidden in every poetry line
Mysteriously, one poet comes from (Fantasy Island)
I am filing charges on the lady
Who welcomes you to the soup
Leaves you a comment, without reading your identity
Today I read a report on the supernatural.
Billies demons vs' (Charlies Angels.)
Investigating a woman who poets you advise, gee's how nice
I will give her a ticket, for making me feel guilty as can be
How about the clown who does not wear a rubber nose.
He puts on a show with his pen and paper (THAT IS TALENT)
He is using his ego another way
He makes us laugh, with one whip of his Belt
I will not release the name on the depressing poem I read
For her, I will stop traffic, and move everyone out of her rain
Her words made my heart bleed
A warrant goes out to the girl who used too much imagination.
I actually got to see tongues to tongue vividly.
I will never ticket the poet queen
Murder she wrote and got away,
I do not know who is the John Doe I found today.
I will be reading his poetry file.
To make sure, he is not misleading this investigation.
I also confiscated an old antique or two
Unique skills found in their retired war shoes
I did my undercover work on a serial killer case on the soup.
That is one report I did not want to picture
I hope the writer will bargain for a life sentence
In a paradise so Green.
I will soon end my file, and turn in my report about Big Foot
After I arrest them ladies who write about butterflies
It is against the law to lead us on a goose chase
We are nowhere near (A highway to heaven)
I have to go join a (S.W.A.T.) team.
To raid the aliens who invade (The little house on the prairie)
I call this group the (A team)
You know A-liens team who you are.
Someone just posted bail
For the girl who blinded us all
She wore her neon converse a straight ticket to jail
I am on a manhunt locating a molester
Every time she is spotted in a pick out line
She comes back and deletes her trade
Erasing her only profile, just to edit all over again
This coming from a crooked cop, (Magnum)P D
Reporting live on the poetry soup
Pablo...according to me (Part 1a), read Part 1b to finish
Re Pablo Picasso printmaking exhibition at Bellagio Hotel's Fine Art Gallery.
(1) Left Profile of a Woman with Blue Hair
The lass you slay here rebukes your dogma while submitting to greater cause. I wonder if her soul preempted her locks in route to this blue oblivion.
(2) Woman with a Yellow Necklace
I don't blame you, I'd chase her too. The untamed lass -- part figurine, part conundrum, part hurricane -- who pried, cried and tried your fervor until committing to the menu and after-party.
(3) El Greco's Portrait of a Man with a Ruff
The patience you must have had, I never would. Slicing, dicing, razors slashing this debonair freak, and from the misery of linoleum too. Seems like you took 3rd Grade stencils, dipped them in the blood of barbarians, and chased it with a cocktail of speed, habanero grits and rancor. Well done.
(4) The Painter and His Easel
So it's me, watching you, watching this painter, watching and coloring the world in hope that someone is watching. Eye drops, anyone?
(5) Reclining Woman
If my wife looked like that on the sectional, maybe the dogs might behave, and I might get peace and quiet every once in a while.
(6) Head of a Woman Next to a Window
The pink streak grabs my gut, saying trace my face with grace, then maybe you tackle what I see, what l need. On that note, Windex ever?
..to be continued in Part 1b (because the Soup won't let me post it all here, ugh)...
(8/1/15)
I hadn’t seen her for ages,
But I’d know her anywhere,
With that finely chiseled profile
And that mass of golden hair.
We’d had a rollercoaster romance.
I remembered the thrill of it all,
As I raised my hand in greeting,
Across the crowded hall.
“Sold to the man in the back row,”
I heard the auctioneer say.
“If you’d like to sign the contract,
That’s twelve hundred pounds to pay.”
The girl I’d waved to came across
And I realized my mistake.
She was a perfect stranger.
An expensive error to make.
The day was a calamity
And ruinous at that.
I’d bought some garden furniture.
And I live in a tenth-floor flat.
WITH REGARDS
We have a common platform to perform
in Poetry Soup and so are souper friends.
He is an Earth-Scientist holding high profile
with academic proficiency
and owning a poetic heart
with excellent expressive efficiency.
having profound command on English language.
I have learnt so many tough and strong words
going through his poems,
seeming rare gems
to enrich my limited vocabulary.
Both being Indian, we possess same origin.
Some inter relationship, our ancestors can claim:
As my paternal title is same to his surname.
He is senior to me: I pay respect.
As Geologist he traveled lot doing hard hazard field work.
I guess, he carries special fascination on Meadow
which exhibits his Avtaar.
In list of contestant poets at present
he sits on third rank.
To be frank
I have not met him, but I admire.
To conclude: A glimpse of poetic touch by him:
“The feeling of emotion, the beginning,
The meaning of emotion, the end.”
09/23/19
Third Place
'Pick A Friend From Soup' Contest by Bobby May
I won't look for you if the apocalypse arrives
It's those like me with the least reason to live
who will survive to continue searching in
vain for anything of value as we did before
civilization as we know it ceased to exist
when the finer things in life become
a tin of beans, clean water, a warm blanket
tinder for a fire and a safe place to sleep
when names mean nothing and money
is merely worthless paper printed with
portraits of monarchs and presidents
so precious previously to those with power
and influence who didn't give a damn about
people like us though they'd make a pretense
if it would be easy and to their benefit
when it was convenient and didn’t conflict
with the next high profile black tie event or
champagne soirée where the income
of the guest list for a single year that they
pissed away on the puerile and frivolous
would have ended world hunger and poverty
Life won’t be all that different honestly
struggling to stay alive though we don’t know
why as there’s nothing in it for us but
another Dickensian day of hopelessness
I love to keep a low profile
And avoid the limelight
Flamboyance is not my style
I’m fiercely loyal, fair and giving
Looking for ways to please loved ones
By subtle random acts of kindness
I wish I could grace the whole world
With melodious joyful entertainment
I even bought a piano once
Because I wanted so to learn
Only to discover as much as I love music
I don’t have one musical bone in me
I dream of leaving behind a legacy
Born of some creative bit of me
I’m struggling 'cause I just don’t know
If I’ll run out of time to finish off
Everything I’ve sketched and planned~
I dream to leave the world more beautiful
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~TO BE YOUNG AGAIN~ 2023
AP: 2nd place 2023
Some rights or your life?
The question's put to us all
What would be your choice?
We need to profile
Trading some rights for safety
Small inconvenience
To locate the nests
Of these cockroaches and to
Exterminate them
Arguing over
Our Constitutional rights
Is a waste of time
If our Forefathers
Could see us now, they would say,
"Destroy them all!"
Then we will have time
To live, to talk, to argue
To enjoy our rights
They fought for freedom
They gave us our civil rights
We can't let them down!
So called "intellects"
Who have over analyzed
The Constitution
Have caused us to doubt
What should be plain common sense
Thomas Payne would cry...
George Washington would
Be dismayed at how slow our
Nation was to act
Thomas Jefferson
And Benjamin Franklin would
Frown and shake their heads
But ghosts from the past
Can't lead us into battle
Can't save our future...
Written By: D. Collins 3/1/2016
It feels good omitting adjectives and verbs.
And, stepping right into soul-shaking words.
Not penning drama, but getting right to the root.
I love being able to pen only the truth.
Cutting every stanza to it’s imp-degree.
Keeping the reader active in the story.
Because deep within it, there’s a bit of vintage wine.
The education I received, and secrets only mine.
I love doing this, passing along history.
Showing young people how to get as old as me.
If they paid attention and kept a low-profile.
I guarantee, most of them will live quite awhile.
I love doing this. Getting in a “Young’unz” face.
Showing them how to exist among the human race.
They may not like it, or may not wanna be pressed.
A man dressed in knowledge, is dressed at his best.
I am seeing your photograph,
I feel the love once again,
I am seeing your smile.
I am falling all over again,
I miss it and I'll save it,
I saved it and it's story,
It's story and its's questions,
Like,How did we just end?
It was never a third party
nor the simple jealousy,
It was not the distance , time ,
and space,
It was not envy , doubt ,
and distrust,
because you said it was love,
We did end because of love,
we did end because you said you love me,
we did end because you cannot stand hurting me,
we did end because you said you love me,
''I love you that's why I'll let you go'',
I think those words aren't true,
because if it is you won't let go,
And if it is just me,I won't let go of you,
Only that moment I realized,
How did we just come to end,
How did the love we shared ended us,
And I think it ended us when love left your heart,
From that moment love still stays with me,
Time to time I browse at my phone
and check your profile,
But this time I am seeing you
and her in a photograph,
Are you inlove ? Are you with love?
PAINTING
I fascinate
to draw and paint
since my childhood
in depressed mood.
I love to visit
(not as a critic)
Art Exhibition.
Just relaxation!
In an Art gallery I chanced to venture
to look over world renowned pictures.
Each specimen in perfect profile
was unique in its specific style.
On my every blink
I had to sink and sink.
As if my desired dream
reached full to brim.
It was almost proven
I was wandering in Heaven.
In a gilded frame at the exit,
a broken guitar kept as exhibit,
with a torn piece of paper
seemed to be hand written letter.
I apprehended,
Guitar must be played
by the artist,
torn letter might
be personal letter
recovered later.
I searched for notes, if displaying,
but found no clue or nothing
Suddenly I noticed, broken guitar,
dull pale torn piece of paper
both are paintings,
not real things.
05/06/16
Note. Twenty years back I visited the Art gallery on my first trip to America. I could not recollect the name of the Artist