Long Prom Poems
Long Prom Poems. Below are the most popular long Prom by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prom poems by poem length and keyword.
Taking the bus down the Clyde coast
to the lovely coastal town of Largs
where there is a walk along the seafront
often the winds blowing so many flags
There are nice grassy slopes around
bringing greenery to the fore
also, seats are periodically placed
for the not so fit who can't do more
Let's get walking and enjoy the views
there's so much to see that's all the rave
all along the path, there's sea to see
so glorious a sight of deep blue waves
Now there's the pencil within your view
this large stone shaped like a pencil
it goes right up to twenty-one metres
protected as a listed building not coincidental
Now we've reached our destination
it's turn around to walk the way back
enjoy all the views again will see
a lovely afternoon spent on the track
(Largs' in Scotland most famous monument is The Pencil, situated at the south end of the Prom, near to Largs Marina. The Pencil was built in 1912, to commemorate the Battle of Largs 1263, when the Scots defeated King Haco of Norway's troops on the shore at Largs after the 160 longships got caught in a storm.)
The poor boy's got a temper, Rottweiler style
With cigarette-loving parents and a mind full of worry
When the lunch bell rings, he lets out a chuckle
"They'll never mess with me again and they'll be afraid"
Locker room tussles turned to punches and blood
Black eyes became his signature makeup style
Snapped his innocence like a freshly fallen twig
Nobody would crash through the persona he'd build
Glock in his art project, ammunition in pockets
A trench coat blanketed his skinny, pale body
When the shots rang out in cafe, his peers rushed
To the closets, the small classrooms, the temporary havens
Blood's on the young man's hands, but it isn't his
Belongs to the peer who told him boys can't cry
To the girl who rejected his invitation to prom
To the football player who always managed to outshine him
To the harshest, crankiest teachers
And even that of the fellow man who clothed his back during hardship.
And with a touch of his gun to the roof of his mouth
A quick demise met the boy who chose violence
While his name appeared in legislation and internet forums
The ones of his victims turned into bright monuments
For the athlete
For the young girl
For the educators
For the bully
And lastly, for the best friend
The boy who chose to kill won't feel so godly
But the victims, they live in our hearts like deities.
I’m pretty sure cringe is the most modern poetic style
Med-school freshman year is over - finals are over,
and if they aren’t already forgotten they’re fading fast
- my relief feels like achievement.
We haven’t gotten our grades yet, but I’m full
of aggressive patience and prom optimism.
One suspects the grades will arrive soon, but if they’re bad,
I hope they’ll have the decency to wait a couple more weeks.
The thing is, I’m no longer spiraling!
My moods changed from high-anxiety to summer itinerary.
Peter (my bf) and I are swiping-right on freedom, messy as that is.
Our mission is to re-write the entirely accurate school-year emotional-math,
from studies 100, boyfriends 0.
No more lectures, labs, and computer screen-time malaise,
we’ll tackle the ‘loneliness epidemic’ in a hundred ways
- because freedom always begins as a decision.
We’re on our way to the sunny-fair beaches of Heraclee
- on the French Riviera, where heaven’s in easy reach
and life can unwind, unburdened by consequence.
Our mornings will be sun splashed and surf-adjacent - I say,
“If youth must be wasted, make it a littoral squandering.”
In the evenings we’ll chase the dusk on rented bikes,
and watch the local kids flying 3D, sculptured kites.
There’s a rickety old merry-go-round that we can ride all night
on garish, multicolored sea creatures from B-movie features.
Busy Saint Tropez is right down the street (11 miles)
where there’s a rainbow ferris-wheel lit by 160,000 LEDs,
Hawaiian ices, neon lights, dance contests, and cotton candy.
It’s very festival-like, and while music spills from local bars,
we’ll sip umbrella’d concoctions under the stars.
I’ll be wearing cheaply purchased, beach-merch tank-tops,
that I didn’t own last week and I’ll donate in the fall,
with prada silk-mini-skirts so short that they’re practically earrings
- no fashion Interventions please.
.
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Songs for this:
Hawt Heart by Born At Midnite
Celebration Lover by Chuck Senrick
Smash by Born At Midnite
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littoral = seashore
Two toddlers laughing and playing in the sand with balls and toys.
Their sweet friendly nature, being together, each one enjoys.
As the two friends grew and are now all of seven,
One’s parents are loving, the others are in heaven.
One has pretty clothes and views the world with delight.
One yearns for kind words and a hug at night.
Life goes by and now the two are turning eight,
Watching for someone to love her, one child will wait.
Music and dancing and parties are all part of life for one.
One is lucky to be an orphan when all is said and done.
For her life could have been worse with an addicted mother.
But its outings and dolls and making a fairy garden for the other.
Life mooches on now they are ten, life is glitter and ballet shoes,
Or its second-hand clothes and pre-loved toys to amuse.
Wonder there is now, being a teen, with jewelry and brand name jeans.
For some that is, and for others, growing up fast is what it means.
One looks forward to prom dresses, friends and dates with boys.
The other looks back to playing in the sand, laughing with balls and toys.
In late January, I met them. It was a corner that I finally turned in my life. Shy… that was never me until I lost my friends. And when I found new ones, I was still that.
But friendships are sweet.
We acted like we'd known each other forever after a month, and it was almost a honeymoon period. I was learning inside jokes and the tea about all the guys.
See… friendships are sweet.
Prom was exactly four months after we met, and we all were in our gowns and new at this, being freshman that year. I left them for a bit, to talk to my crush, and they kept cheering me on. I love them so much.
Friendships are so sweet.
Never forget that.
They'll grow into a tree that bears many aamazing fruits, and you jus have to be patient with it.
Old people look like raisins with hair
Perfumed in mothballs and vaporub
Ready for the prom which waits for them
The mirror tells the elderly they are teens
Sometimes the mirror lies
I was once old but now I am not
I threw the mirror to see time fly
But it always comes back more cracked
Certainly a reflection on things to come
The elderly walk in an angular momentum
Guided by a cane which swings at children
Children should apologize to the cane
They should know better than to offend
Crossing lines turn into wrinkles over time
Each night old people pitch their tents closer to the end
If they pitch them too close they will fall over
At this rate they will reach the sun by morning
There was an old seagull named Freddie
Who had loved his companion called Betty
But sadly one day the love of his life
Died - eating a bowl of spaghetti
So Freddie he searched for a new gal
As they flaunted themselves on the prom
One particular gal stood out from the rest
She had style
She had beauty
She had such aplomb
Her name he discovered was Sinitta
And Freddie so wanted to meet her
But he was much older
Young males were much bolder
Old Freddie retreated
As his energy depleted
So towards Beachy Head
Freddie flew there instead
He was sad
He was lonely
He had lost his true love
He wanted to fly where birds go when they die
And perched on the lighthouse staring up to the sky
He saw Betty gaze down
With a twinkle in her eye, she said
Fly off to meet her
This gal named Sinitta
She will fall for your kindness and charm
For she came from above and is looking for love
And I know you will keep her from harm
So Freddie soared back unafraid
With hope in his heart that he could persuade
This beautiful sea gal to share his life
To bear his children and become his wife
For seagulls can live to be thirty five
Although Freddie was just twenty three
And Sinitta was many years younger than him
But she was the one
It was meant to be
When Freddie arrived she was no longer there
And dismayed Freddie fell into deepest despair
But as he flew closer to the Golden Pier
Was that her calling he could hear
Sinitta was perched watching over the crowds
With the sun glistening down from above
As Freddie emerged from out of the clouds
She knew in an instant that this was true love
They were happy gulls together
But sadly nothing lasts forever
When mindless morons carried out the most odious of crimes
As reported in the press
We live in very violent times
But not before they pecked those morons till they bled to death
Did Freddie and Sinitta finally take their final breath
14th October 2018
Sponsor: Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
Competition: 'Fiction - October 2018 Writing Challenge'
Contest Strand Choice Q
Sponsor Brian Strand
2nd Place
I’ve made a few mistakes in my life. I can say that with aplomb
I wore a blue brocade tux with a top hat and cane to my junior/senior prom.
I once let a beautician curl my hair...now that was really astute!
I thought a curly head of hair would do wonders for my new blue leisure suit.
She said a perm would make my baldness seem fuller and my love life it would prolong.
When it was over it took but one look in the mirror to know that she was wrong.
My hair looked like a rebellious Brillo pad and I’m not being indiscreet
when I say the only female attracted to me was a French Poodle down the street!
In college while out drinking with friends I pretty much sealed my fate
when I cozied up to a pretty cheerleader and asked her for a date.
Was it the alcohol or was it love that made me forget I’d have to contend
With her boyfriend…sitting next to her…
was he the quarterback or a tight end?
I don’t remember, but I know my distilled confidence made me feel bold and brave and brash.
What happened next is a bit of a blur...
I woke up face down in the trash.
The point here is we all make mistakes
they await us around every turn.
We shouldn’t be afraid to make them
because from them we’ve so much to learn.
Without mistakes we wouldn’t have the chocolate chip cookies so many of us crave.
The slinky would have never been invented...
no post it notes or microwaves.
There would be no penicillin,
no fireworks would ever be seen.
Without mistakes we’d see a straight tower in Pisa
and miss that beautiful lean.
We will try and fail many times in our life,
sometimes we’ll crash...
sometimes we’ll fly
but the biggest mistake we will ever make...
is when we fail to even try.
True I didn’t get a date with the cheerleader
but I still remember to this day
Her smile and that wink she gave me
as her huge boyfriend dragged me away.
I remember that moment with fondness...
I know as a couple we would have been cute.
She, the beautiful cheerleader,
and me in my blue leisure suit.
The vast array of colored lights illuminated the jovial faces of the youthful teens
As Ms. Durmstrang antiquely waltzed with Mr. Chestwood.
I sat alone as I watched my velvet red date swiftly fly through the crowd,
being swept off her feet from every well-dressed, cordial gentlemen.
The cushioned chair was soft, though.
It provided me with all the comfort and support I needed.
I didn’t care that she left,
I didn’t care that my feeble heart was shattered once again.
So I left.
“She can find her own ride home,” was a mantra of mine on the way to the car.
I sat for awhile.
I don’t know why, but I did.
A strong aroma of roses plagued my nose,
Swelling up from my blood-red boutonniere.
The blood-red boutonniere Valerie deceived me with.
“Why am I crying? I never cry.”
I drove home before my emotions could consume me further,
listening to melodic tunes to calm my inner most concerns.
When I arrived home it was nearly midnight,
and right above me were thousands of stars mocking me with their vibrant glow.
All the stars, nestled in the ambient twilight, sitting, staring.
“Shut up!” I screamed as insanity pumped vigorously through
my veins.
The brown hue of my eyes were flooded with fiery rancor.
I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take the pressure.
I couldn’t take the cold-heartedness.
I couldn’t take the aching.
I couldn’t take being mocked.
I couldn’t take being, being
Used.
Used for my father’s money,
Used as a punching bag,
Used for my empathetic ways,
Used for my unwavering ability to never say no.
I sat in the dew covered grass, illumed by the pale moonlight,
and as I gazed into the endless eyes of the sky, I became empowered.
Perhaps with my own fear, or eccentric thoughts, but I felt electric.
“No!” I screamed.
“I said no! I will not go to prom with you!
No, I hate football!
No, you cannot punch me!
No, I don’t drink!
No, dad, you cannot hit me!
No, mom, you cannot get wasted tonight!
No, God, you cannot keep me here any longer!
No. No.”
I did it you know.
I stayed true to my word.
I did it.
Rusted Steel,
I said no to life.
"The clock is a useless tool, measuring mortality,
narrowing vitality. Don't let it tick-tock away the waning moments
and fine components of your final days." (last stanza of Heather Ober's "Clocks")
A brand new day
Tick tock tick tock
You grow, you learn
You take that walk
To get your fine diploma
Fond friends get left behind
Blink one eye
To keep a tear at bay
Tick tock tick tock
You get a job
Or first you go to college
Find a mate and settle down
Tick tock tick tock
Surprises come
So soon your first child’s prom!
Blink both your eyes
Try not to cry
Tick tock tick tock
A grandchild’s birth
And then a whole lot more
Folks you used to know
Have passed away
Tick tock tick tock
Blink back those tears
Of joy and pride
And also tears of pain
Tick tock tick tock
Changes happen
For the good and for the bad
You must adapt
Or fade. . . . . .
Tick tock tick tock
Sit back in your recliner
And simply close your weary eyes
There will be no more tears
To blink away
For Tracie Edwards' Homage Poetry Contest