Long Quentin Poems
Long Quentin Poems. Below are the most popular long Quentin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Quentin poems by poem length and keyword.
Not everyone has houses or lands, gold or silver, stocks or bonds, IRA’S or CD’S, Cars or cash, insurance policies, etc. But that does not mean we have nothing to leave behind when we depart this earth. The best things in life are still free, and there can be great qualities in our lives that are well worth the leaving. So why not make a ‘None-Material Possession Will’, and describe from A to Z what you wish to leave behind. i.e.,
TO AL, I LEAVE MY GOOD ATTITUDE
TO BETH, I LEAVE MY INNER BEAUTY
TO CAL, I LEAVE MY COURTEOUSNESS
TO DON, I LEAVE MY DECISIVENESS
TO EARL, I LEAVE MY ENERGY
TO FRANK, I LEAVE MY FAITHFULNESS
TO GWEN, I LEAVE MY GOODNESS
TO HARRY, I LEAVE MY HONESTY
TO IVAN, I LEAVE MY INTELLIGENCE
TO JAN, I LEAVE MY JOY
TO KEN, I LEAVE MY KINDNESS
TO LORI, I LEAVE MY LOVE
TO MARY, I LEAVE MY MERRINESS
TO NANCY, I LEAVE MY NICENESS
TO OLIVER, I LEAVE MY OBEDIENCE
TO PAM, I LEAVE MY PLEASANTNESS
TO QUENTIN, I LEAVE MY QUIETNESS
TO RON, I LEAVE MY READINESS
TO STACY, I LEAVE MY STABILITY
TO TOM, I LEAVE MY TIMELINESS
TO URSULA, I LEAVE MY UNSELFISHNESS
TO VINCENT, I LEAVE MY VIBRANCY
TO WENDY, I LEAVE MY WILLINGNESS
TO XAVIER, I LEAVE MY XENIA (Ze-ni-e [Greek = Hospitality] )
TO YOLANDA, I LEAVE MY YOUTHFULNESS
TO ZACK, I LEAVE MY ZEAL cj071507PoSp(Posted 3/23/20)
It is the third of June at San Quentin in 1955.
A death row inmate will soon no longer be alive.
She has been dubbed “Bloody Babs” by the local press.
Barbara Graham is a convicted murderess.
For killing widow Mabel Monohan, she will pay.
Barbara is sentenced to die in the gas chamber today.
Barbara’s young life experienced many a convolution.
She had been in and out of jails for petty crimes and prostitution.
Never experiencing a proper upbringing in a peaceable home;
between California and Nevada, Barbara would aimlessly roam.
With two other men, into Mrs. Monohan’s house she would go.
Reportedly, the victim’s skull was cracked as she was smothered with a pillow.
Graham was executed after a second stay.
“Good people are always so sure they’re right” was the last thing she would say.
Inspired by the 1958 film “I Want to Live”
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
In a world of make believe
Inside my T.V. screen
I was mesmerized by a show,
The likes I'd never seen.
Barnabas, Quentin and Angelique;
Inhabitants of Collinsport, Maine
Lived a life like no others.
To miss it caused me pain.
This tale of a heartbroken vampire
And the witch obssessed with he
Held me enthralled for years,
Their lives unfolding in my T.V.
Long before "Vampire Diaries",
Long before the movie "Twilight",
Barnabas Collins was the man
Who walked as a vampire by night.
It's been over forty years since
The Collins family came daily to call.
Of all the shows I saw in my youth
Dark Shadows was the best of them all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By Francine Roberts 12/01/2012
for Michael Falotico's 'Rhyme Me an Old T.V. Show' contest
"Dark Shadows"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Dark Shadows" ran from June 27, 1966 to April 2, 1971.
It aired Monday through Friday. A supernatural soap opera with a
vampire, a witch, a werewolf and so much more.
Johnny Depp is reprising the role of Barnabas Collins in a
movie version of "Dark Shadows" based on the series.
It is set to be released this spring. I will be in the audience
the first night.
Find xanthium' squeeze in a sigh
asking a righteous void, hear my entreat
hand to heart, in a beggar's sky
not just for myself,
not just for why...
Can a heart devoid of hope
seek to find salvation
from a Quentin Tarantino film
in a strange pulp voice
that sounded just like mine.
Your sin, my sins
vowed never relent..
nor let cementing cold take you
so don't despair..
Place two fingers, just beside your neck
feel it pulse?
it's you,
and you still care.
Search the world's underbelly
the meek and mild
little mouse infirm, the whooping crane strong, all us
no longer beguiled.
Roaming streets and back alleys
afraid to meet my neighbor's eye
I, the guilty
waiting a just reply.
It's a quarter past two,
last train leaves at three..
the sign at the platform's final end
stands glaring,
waiting a reprieve.
A proud primping Whooping crane calls out
'it's justice'..
All a lowly titmouse discerns,
'it's just us'.
The scene opens mid-sentence—
blood already drying on the dialogue.
No establishing shot, no mercy,
just a cigarette burning itself to death
in an ashtray shaped like California.
He says he’s done.
Yeah—done like a revolver with one round left,
done like a jukebox that only plays heartbreak
and B-sides nobody remembers
until they’re bleeding out on tile floors.
“Quitting,” he says again,
like it’s a clean word,
like it doesn’t drag chains behind it—
film reels, severed timelines,
women with vengeance in their eyes
and men who talk too much before they die.
The camera circles him, slow—predatory.
You expect a twist.
There’s always a twist.
But nothing flips.
No trunk pops open.
No hero walks out of the fire.
Just silence—
long, uncomfortable,
the kind you don’t trust.
Because in his world,
nobody really quits.
They monologue.
They reload.
They come back wearing different suits
and call it something else.
So when he drops the word “quitting,”
it lands like a bad line reading—
too neat, too final.
And somewhere off-screen,
a record needle scratches,
waiting—
for him to change his mind.
Certain directors, expecting to see
Their names on the nominee slate,
Might have been shocked, as the rest of us were,
‘Cause omissions are cause for debate.
Kathryn and Quentin and Argo’s guy, Ben,
Were snubbed or forgotten or worse;
Rumors were floating with people to blame
And reasons both strange and perverse.
Though all of their films got a “Best Picture” nod,
Perhaps all the voters believe
Directors don’t really contribute that much
Or at least less than those three perceive.
I know I’d feel slighted if it had been me,
But grousing out loud’s not allowed;
Still, to Quentin and Kathryn and Ben, I must say
I saw all of your films and was wowed!
A robot known as Robbie
Well he came to stay at home with me
And during his vacation
He began to show frustration
For he saw to his dismay
Piles of dust hidden away
Beneath the beds
Beneath the chairs
Beneath the tables too
Most probably had been there
Since nineteen seventy two
For that is when I read a quote
By English writer and raconteur
Quentin Crisp that was his name
Of ‘Naked Civil Servant’ fame
He said that after just four years
One never needs to dust again
At the touch of a button dear Robbie woke up
For this was his signal to suck up my muck
Such an innovation
A mind blowing creation
Having a Robbie at my beck and call
He is so obliging
with the service he’s providing
No matter the hour
when his name I call
Loving to clean
never minding at all
All the dust and the mites
well he sucks them all up
then into his truck
he empties my muck
Returning to his docking station
there was no sign of jubilation
I began to wonder
I began to ponder
Has he a life somewhere out yonder
For dust is dust it's always there
and surely always will be
I called his name he came to me
and through my door
set Robbie free ~~~~~
Written – tongue in cheek - on 13th August 2020
after a friend lent me her robot cleaner…
Contest Strand Completely New (21)
Sponsor Brian Strand
N/A
Zealots are totally incapable of any emotion other than rage. It is an unalterable law that people who claim to care about the human race are utterly indifferent to the sufferings of individuals.
— Quentin Crisp
ZEALOTS
The raging machine, storms of zigzagging arrows, fueled by each word that bounces off the trampoline of their eardrums. A zealot sage, an oxymoronic knight, not a saint. Stained not with tears but billowing eyes and cheeks.
emotional wreck
concentrated on one theme
no deviation
The heave and the ho of heavy sacks. Teamwork in torrent. The zealot doesn’t stop to hear a prophet, except Simon. Simon will buzz in their ear about a diamond but the team has their eyes on the gold. With cold, strong hands, they sharpen their swords, meditating on the prize. They want to topsy-turvy, throw out the law, upturn the tables of dirty coins.
if one turned his head
a scene of perfect substance -
heals blind, deaf and dumb
Does the tyrant trump the zealot, or is power the point? Both explode. Not on their sides, you will be imprisoned or stomped out. Simple Simon was a zealot whose ears steared toward the Son of God.
Simon the Zealot
apostles known by their works
one’s tax collector
Zealots loose whilst hell’s hammer wills the fastening of cruel suffering. This innocent has the right approach to rid the world of tyrants though the chariots have not entered the course. The zealots would still be wielding their swords as the stone was kicked away in a powerful way.
Zealots have their way
the martyrs follow Christ’s way
Simon chose wisely
Tom's Cat Tom
by Joan Donnelly Ellis (intended as a picture story book for children)
Some cats are really ugly and others are really cute, like mine, Bart. Bart can be bad though. He is sometimes up to no good. One day he ate my dad's goldfish. Bart likes goldfish. They don't like him back.
Wanna know something funny? My friend, Tom Murphy has a Tom Cat that he named Tom after himself. Tom gets bored a lot and so does his lazy cat, Tom. He just lies on the couch all day. At least that is what I first thought., that the cat was lazy, you know. Then I started to observe him more closely. After a week or so I realized the feline just pretends to be sleeping but he really doesn't close his eyes all the way shut. I think he is not as lazy as he makes out to be. Often it seems that the cat Tom is engaged in serious contemplation. He might be planning some mischief. Yes, Tom has something up his sleeve I decided and as soon as he's left alone in the house BAM! He'll be off getting into trouble . Last time he was left alone the Murphy's and I believe Tom terrorized San Quentin, the Parrot. We found a mess of Quent's feathers in his cage and on the floor below. Not only that but whenever the cat Tom was near Quent would make frightening noises. I told Tom, my friend , not his cat, that we ought to get those fellows from Forensic Files to do an investigation. Tom didn't like the idea much. Said he didn't think ruffling a few feathers was a serious crime.
I glanced at Quent who was curled up on the window seat and I swear he had a "Nice Try" smirk on his face as he glared back at me . In response, I
walked to the kitchen, and lifted Quent's Temptation Treats from the counter.
He jumped off the window seat and hurried to the kitchen. As he gazed lovingly at me with his bright green eyes, I stepped on the peddle of the trash can. When the lid opened I dumped the treats in and closed the lid. Some kids are really ugly and others are really cute. Since I'm a bird lover, I don't give a hoot.
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