Long Radio Poems
Long Radio Poems. Below are the most popular long Radio by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Radio poems by poem length and keyword.
Our break up song plays on the radio,
Plays continual, crushing, it destroys me.
The song sings how perfect we were,
How our perfect relationship was perfect debris.
Debris we knew was a beautiful destroyed,
Sculptured art, scattered over a perfect ground.
How I could never have you and you could never have me,
Yet we were both spellbound.
Our break up song is in my earphones, on replay,
Playing throughout my soul every day.
You’re now my perfect kind of sadness,
My perfectly broken, never to be mended bouquet.
Entered into "If it hurts so bad, why do we do it" contest 7/14/2016 , Ranked third place
I reckon I'm revealing my age when about radio days I pen,
But I fondly recall listening to our Philco radio 'way back then.
What wondrous tales, mysteries and pure comedy from it flowed,
By simply tweaking the tuning knob on the dial that brightly glowed!
I sprawled upon the floor nigh the Philco letting my imagination flow,
As cowboys, pilots, pirates and comedians performed their show!
I laughed as Jack Benny struggled to play his screaky violin,
And thrilled to the music of Glenn Miller and Irving Berlin!
I followed the escapades of teacher Eve Arden as Our Miss Brooks,
And the family sitcom starring Fanny Brice as Baby Snooks!
There was Hopalong Cassidy, The Cisco Kid and The Lone Ranger,
In shootouts with the bad guys protecting the good guys from danger!
I felt tingles along my spine hearing Inner Sanctum's creaking door,
As Richard Widmark began his weekly series with scary tales galore!
Red Skelton's Clem Kaddidlehopper and Sheriff Deadeye kept me in stitches,
And the eerie episodes of Lights Out nearly scared me outta my britches!
The Life of Riley and Fibber McGee and Molly aired on Sunday nights,
And later I enjoyed listening to The Bickersons and their perpetual fights!
Happily, I have many of those old shows on tape that I play now and then,
When I tire of the inane rubbish on TV due to my short attention span!
"i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go . . . "
ee Cummings
We walked along the beach under the moonlight one summer’s night
Hand and hand, feeling the excitement and anticipation of new love
The waves crashing loudly, smells of salty brine air mixed with sweet roses
Warm sand under our bare feet as we found a spot on the deserted beach
The moonlight lit up your face and your eyes sparkled as you smiled
We sat on our blanket for hours and talked about our life and our dreams
It was a magical night, you were my first love, I will always remember
You caressed my face, and kissed me softly, it felt like time stopped
Passions ignited, our bodies embraced, danced to the rhythm of the waves
We laid on our backs, while looking at the stars, as the ocean waves calmed
We fell asleep for hours and woke to reality, we had to leave and head home
It was a start of a whirlwind romance that only lasted for three short months
We got back to my car, parked under the street light, it was three am
A romantic song, came on the radio, you took my hand and we danced
I felt like the luckiest girl alive that night, my dreams came true with you
Three months later you broke my heart, when you no longer loved me
11/15/19
Writing Challenge, November- Some Kind of Love
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
Out here in the outpost
I guard the borderland
“Over and out” – I lose the call
And you are out again
This is my shout out
From the hinterland
“Roger, Roger” at my post
But you are – out – again
You do not deem to call
While my receiver’s on
I fiddle with the dial
But – static – is the tongue
Cold the rime upon the pane
That crackles to the sound
Of Solitaire I muster out
– And the hand that I put down
Is a winner, at its best
– It seems the Ace is high –
– And here my friendly guest
Just winks an evil eye –
The creaking of my little hut
Is charged with energy
Buffeted by winds about
– thou art mine enemy! –
Cold the outer fathoms
And in the frozen stasis
White is in the noise
And silence in the spaces
The dark outside is deep
Did I just hear a knock?
– it’s just the knock, knock
Knocking of my beating heart
– Cornered as a winter mouse
Frightened from its nest
I startle to the voice I hear
And flee my inner guest
There was a time when i believed i could be the best dj ever
Then a professor says you have no voice for radio
There was a time when i could be the best poet ever
There was a time when words where fake and staged
The plan is not realistic to make money on a writers dream
To find the words to create the world you wish to portray
I write what i write with in 20 minutes
The words just flow i don't second guess
I don't worry about punctuation
I make words work that should not work together
I take this gift and change someones life
I am not the greatest of all time
I am not the master of poetic thought
I am just i man who writes to cope
I want you to read i want you to feel
I want you to see you could do this too
But i am no expert i am just a dreamer who dreams
Maybe someday they will know my name.
Its time to face the truth croons the singer on the radio and I die
Curling up in to a ball pulling my hair out and screaming
Because I know this to be true
I will be there again when it snows and snows
I will be there again if you call
I will be there again if you whisper out my name
In the eyes of my memories you're beautiful
In the breaths I stole with my camera you're beautiful
Across these lips that will never touch yours again you're beautiful
I thought I heard you call out my name tonight
But I knew you weren't home
In the cold under the city lights beneath the blanket of night
What if it was you I think now as I linger
But you weren't home
And still...
I wish I had turned around
To see you standing there in the gently falling snow
But I thought you weren't home
I have lost sleep tonight and I may never sleep again I fear
Because I don't know what to do
I don't know where to turn, where to go
So that I may, I might,
Dream of your smile and your eyes across my soul
You're so beautiful,
I let slip this pen from my fingers
Staining these last few lines I know it to be true
And I don't really care about that now
I will never be with you I know, I know...
And this is the truth I must learn to face
Maybe it is because of the loneliness of listening to opera on the radio by myself too many Saturday afternoons. It might be due to the sadness of seeing autumn leaves dripping tears outside my bedroom window after the rain on too many occasions. Perhaps it is those unsought memories of happiness that appear with random cruelness in my mind from time to time, like old photographs buried in a desk drawer that I never mean to come across, but always do, having forgotten for an interval that they were there. Or is it just the unending torment of living isolated and static amid a world throbbing with vibrant relationships. Whatever the reason, I now make my intentions known in no uncertain terms that when I die, I do not want anyone to be in attendance at my wake or funeral. I want no memorial service to be held. I desire that not a single individual, family member, friend, or acquaintance be allowed to pay their final respects to my memory in any public forum. No one whom I cared about bothered to seek my company while I lived. I shall not desire to have anyone’s company when I am being laid to rest. I do in fact prohibit it. I wish to be no one’s excuse for a reunion, an afternoon buffet, and a few cheap drinks. Damned be to living hell those who choose to defy my wish.
Funny how independence
Can blind lack of choice
The feel of wheels
Silencing the roaring voice
Yellow, plain, drab
But it got me to my destination
Blaring the AM radio
While I chalked my delineation
Finally, graduating my goal
So I got myself a present
I wanted roast duck
But the dealership gave me pheasant
My partner wrecked my present
And took my decision power away
Every body I got was good for a time
Then turned to clay
Finally, free to be me
......WHO'S THAT......
Blindly I walked onto lots
Expecting care and compassion
They just wanted to sell, me,
A body decked in the latest fashion
Upside down, Topsy- Turvy
Became my new way of existence
No wrecks to report
In my system resistance
Finally, my wheels were given back
My name swiped with black ink
All that I tried to build
Now with dirty dishes, in the kitchen sink
I'm left with ME
Without deceit running about
The journey is arduous
But I'm finally finding out
.....I'm worth loving
Written by Trudy Schrader on 11-24-2024
In junior high, one day a week
The radio would play
The top hits, 25 of them
And so, without delay
My friend and I would hurry home
And hang out in her room
To hear the countdown, which,
Like m&m’s, we would consume.
I kept a notebook, writing down
From 25 to 1,
The songs we heard and wouldn’t leave
Until the list was done.
Today my radio is tuned
To classic QXR,*
The countdown, from 100,
Very beautiful so far.
When midnight strikes to end the year,
They’ll play the final choice
And like I did in junior high,
(If I’m up), I’ll rejoice.
*WQXR – the classical music station of NYC
My bathroom has a radio
Connected to the switch
That controls the light, so people think
That there’s some kind of glitch.
But whoever needs to use it
Hears the weather and the news
And the traffic and the sports
And some instructive interviews.
Now those voices, so familiar,
Will be missing since I’ve learned
That the station, CBS-AM’s
About to be adjourned.
Also called News 88, it’s been,
For close to 60 years,
Keeping all New Yorkers up to date
With news as it appears.
I know change is bound to happen
But I will not have a clue
About all the latest news if I
Don’t hear it in the loo!