Long Record Poems
Long Record Poems. Below are the most popular long Record by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Record poems by poem length and keyword.
Marriage is a joke.
Under moonlight we spoke of an exchange of new sensations;
In the secrets of loves code, we created a conversation.
Into a series of unknown’s, we allowed ourselves to fall
And all in the hope of finding ourselves in love.
Musicians know the score is strumming my pain away;
If a she-devil wants to take me for a ride, then I shall happily go.
We are all lonely on the inside and waiting for just one big day;
Congratulations to you all! I shall raise a toast!
To the bride and groom;
Let their love be doomed!
To the drunk father of the bride; have another drink!
To the best man, the worst of us all.
Get on with it, we need to consume,
This terrible food the groom’s mother has made;
What is this?
Is this really true love? It will never last.
I give it a month before they are creeping behind your back.
Again she smiles, in denial,
Like she did when she first lied, on the day that you first met.
Now she is losing you from her memory; a drink and kiss takes it all.
She could have stayed with you,
But the more you do, the less is said.
A regular in a pub and a regular in love;
The last time you truly loved, it broke your heart; remember that?
Oh look there is your new love, being asked to dance;
Put a slow record on, get nice and close
And forget the love that you have.
She wants new things;
New lovers and a new reason to smile.
So your love is no more
And this thing you have always believed in, will only last a little while.
Beauty is forever fading and it will soon die.
In the days of our lives,
People always do as they please and they are empty on the inside.
You will never find true love, no matter how many times you try;
The phone rings, the lie stings…
I hope you live a long and bountiful love life.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Dangerously cold Canadian front insane
sweeps down upon the Great Plains
Record temperatures of thirty below
honestly folks it's too damn cold
Icy roads so very slick
driving slow is the trick
Drip the facets so pipes don't break
stock up on groceries before it's too late
Wear layers and cover skin
protect yourself from icy hard winds
Snow piles in six foot drifts
hoping that the weather shifts
Hunker down stay inside
pets indoors to keep them alive
Frostbite a real threat
as those temperatures continue to dip
Drink hot chocolate sip by sip
cozy under blanket pile to avoid chilly nip
Global warming feels like a tease
as we shudder in the deep freeze
There Is No Little Red Wagon
The professor, the priest, the psychologist commanded me
Do not think about the little red wagon.
My tormentors and captors yelled at me
Do not think about the little red wagon!
In turn they all question me ever so sweetly
“Did you think about the little red wagon?”
Naturally I respond, “No.”
I think I have them on the run this time, just for fun
Perhaps they don’t know
But when they asked again like a friend and a foe
I had trouble remembering
And said, “Could you repeat the question please?”
“Did you say something about a little red wagon?”
They turned on me, responded arrogantly
“Say that thing you just said one more time for the record!”
I said, “Sure.” “My pleasure.”
And repeated, “Did you say something about a dribble and a dragon?”
I guess that fixed their little red wagon.
This is such a bore so I can say no more about that thing on wheels.
This is one of the most famous “girl groups” anyone knows.
They began in Passaic, New Jersey as the “Poquellos”
The four members were Shirley Owens and Beverly Lee,
along with Addie “Mickie” Harris, and Doris Coley.
These four young girls had a huge stroke of luck for a fate
when they had Mary Jane Greenberg for a high school classmate.
This start of some great careers took place in nineteen fifty-eight.
Mary Jane’s mother operated a small record label.
Florence Greenberg knew these girls were quite talented and able.
Now known as “The Honeytones”, they recorded their first song.
“I Met Him on a Sunday” was a hit. It did not take long
before “The Shirelles” became a popular recording act.
Their success in entertainment became a solid fact.
Everything with their careers seemed to be going quite right.
“Dedicated to the One I Love” and “Tonight’s The Night”
along with “Baby, It’s You”, “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow”,
“Mama Said’, and many other hit songs some people would know
boosted their popularity and brought them much joy.
However, their biggest hit was a short one called “Soldier Boy”
This intended B-side song brought them their greatest success.
It went to number one, and brought everyone happiness.
That little song they did not care for helped them on their way.
Success and fame continued for this group from day to day
Music from this girl group is still played and enjoyed today.
Thanks to both wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and allmusic.com for information I obtained to write this poem.
.
What is a black man supposed to be?
How is a black man supposed to act?
When is a black man supposed to talk?
Why are all the answers hidden?
“A black man is supposed to be-“
A sentence being said by someone
Who’s skin is paler than snow
Instead of a skin darker than night
The standards they set for black men
Is like walking through pins and needles,
The path wasn’t made for black men to succeed
The path is to drain their life slowly.
“A black man is supposed to act-“
Being said by those as dark as him
They excommunicate the black man
Because he is the nail that stands out
The same black man wants to be comforted
Like how his mother held him and whispered
Into his ears, “Everything will be alright”
Those who look like him treat him as a stranger
They will only accept the black man when
He comes back with something pleasing.
This isn’t a community, it’s a pack
Who prey on the weak and young ones
“A black man is supposed to talk-“
Being said by those who want a reaction
They keep provoking the black man and
Record where he messes up to make excuses
The black man has to keep his feeling in control
If he explodes and looses control everyone sees
He’s labeled as a wild animal who needs to be locked in a cage
Everyone mocks him as he sits in the cell
Everyone wants to mold a black man.
They try to shape him as an inferior being
They try to shape him as a black thug
They try to shape him as a wild animal
What is a black man?
“Someone who acts as themself”
Stop telling me I should be me
What is that supposed to mean?
I just wish I knew all the answers.
Technological marvel:
who’d have ever guessed?
They went to the moon,
powered by less.
The thing receives phone calls,
it’s got GPS,
a mindfulness app
for when you are stressed.
It monitors heart rate,
can produce EKGs,
prompts you when it’s time:
take your medicine, please.
Blood-oxygen levels,
hours of REM sleep;
If you’re under the water,
it knows just how deep.
If you’re lost in the woods,
it will help get you back,
or blast a loud siren
if you’re under attack.
The steps that you took,
the stairs that you climbed,
record a voice memo
to capture a rhyme.
Listening to music,
or receiving a text,
keep up with your groceries,
so your wife won’t be vexed.
For the gals, tracking cycles,
and for all, track your phone,
keeps up with the NASDAQ,
and the stocks that you own.
But it doesn’t record
all the things that you missed -
Life in arrest,
watching your wrist.
SPOTS
A leopard's a leopard, make no mistake,
He'll always have those black spots;
And if you think for a moment he'll change,
Clear thinking's not something you've got.
A leopard's a creature who seeks tilll he finds,
A good opportunity.
Don't think for a moment 'cause you've scratched his ears,
You've gained some immunity.
He is what he is and always will be,
He'll never be anything else.
Don't turn your back on a leopard, my friend,
His track record speaks for itself.
Judy Ball
If you catch someone in a lie time after time how can you continue to trust him to
tell the truth?
If someone says he is FOR something to you and says he is AGAINST it to someone
else, which do you believe?
If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, makes a noise like a duck and hangs out
with a bunch of ducks chances are it ain't no swan.
Dad in a chair in the dark
in a room of wooden walls
and dusty DVDs
and an empty glass
by his sensitive feet
My sister slashing colors,
and redefining direction
on canvas
in a house by a highway
a fat cat looking bored
by the door
My other sister
never made
the same mistake twice
a teacher, a wife,
a lady who barely touches
tequila
or thrives on sarcasm
(like me)
I run in circles
on a vinyl record
on repeat
comforted by redundancy
and the even turns
of an even road
of an even life
Mom, when you are telling a story
you don't stop between sentences
to breathe,
so, you run out of air
I love that about you
The sky scattered her shards of clouds
this afternoon
the cicadas rattle for the sake of living
Leaves drop undramatically
from crepe myrtle trees
Each Day Is A Clean Canvas
Written: by Miracle Man
2/20/2021
With a paint-less canvas we’re blessed each day,
where we record our works and each word we say.
With routine matters our days become packed,
sometimes what we’re painting God deems abstract.
Each brush stroke made, to God and others we display,
His blood on the cross was to wash our sin away.
Many times as we paint, obstacles seem insurmountable,
and yet, for each brush stroke, God still holds us accountable.
Often during each day’s portrait, is a faith building test,
God sees in our painting, what to others, we’ve professed.
“Opportunities are never lost.
The other fellow takes those you miss.”
Anonymous
Have you heard the national pundits scream?
Joe Biden won the election all clean.
But the numbers look crazy
And if you are not lazy
You can take a look and see what I mean.
Observe Allegheny, see what is meant;
Hundred thousand more votes from shrinking tent;
People are moving away;
Democrat county decay;
Record Dem votes implausible event.
See Maricopa, in Arizona.
Look at Kent, Oakland, Wayne, and Washtenaw.
None of the vote counts make sense,
Look; you’ll not be on the fence;
Vote fraud more damaging than the Rona.
Check out Gwinnett, Fulton, Dekalb, and Cobb.
If you can explain it, I’ll shut my gob.
Voter participation,
Would hold gratification.
If it was not so constricted, but broad.
Examine the vote count and you will see,
Numbers you never see in history.
Vote by mail, horrible plan;
Feast for a dishonest clan.
The numbers shout out, there’s no mystery.