Long Retro Poems
Long Retro Poems. Below are the most popular long Retro by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Retro poems by poem length and keyword.
Our son and wife and grandkids
Came to visit, which is rare,
For their lives are full and hectic;
To our own, it can’t compare.
It was cold and it was snowy
But our house was nice and warm,
Filled with music, food and board games,
Plus we danced up quite a storm.
Yet the Scrabble, Life and Pick-Up Sticks
And dominoes and Clue
Were competing with the I-Pads, Switches,
V-R* headset, too.
It’s a world that we can’t conquer
And if kids were forced to choose
Between retro games with Nana
And this tech, we’d have to lose.
Still, at least they made the effort
So we did our very best
To provide a fun-filled visit;
Now we need a week of rest!
*Virtual Reality - Google it!
A simpler time of simpler rhyme.
Filled with romance simply sublime.
An angels voice from yesteryear.
Sounds oh so nice in this boys ear.
A love of love for love's sweet sake.
And dream's for two a future make.
In today's world the past is pale.
So nice to hear love's not for sale.
Crackling and plinking mix so succinctly.
On a record recording done so distinctly.
An era gone by reminiced in the air.
So glad that they did so that we now can share.
It's funny to think of the people gone by.
It almost always brings a tear to my eye.
So to think that Dear Doris is still here today.
Give's promise that everyone will find their way.
For the sing to me contest/ Doris Day's Tea for Two
Take the months out of a year,
take the weeks and days out,
just follow what you see
not what clocks and calendars tell you.
Then we would have to relearn
how to judge time and read the seasons -
that would not be a retro step
but a step into a greater reality.
We would still have machines
but only those that did not rule us
but served.
The world would slow down.
Computers and televisions,
which are also clocks and calendars,
yet not anywhere as interesting
as watching the mind
as it creates all you can imagine,
or watching the earth and sky changing,
knowing when to do and when not to do,
and when to work or when to relax,
when to let the land rest,
or when to go at it.
When to listen,
when to pray,
knowing there is a time
to be joyfully loud
and a time to fall silent,
a time even to make love.
Time is only time
when it is 'the' time,
and Nature is only natural
when it is both worshiped and feared
as it should be,
then it would be our perfect guide,
our unfailing timepiece.
However, a dream is but a dream,
the past was brutal and life was short
there is no way back now,
we have taken too many steps
into a mind-blinding technology.
The unreal is now more real to us,
we can only race forward
into the darkness,
counting the seconds.
Your avant-garde home fills a crucial niche
ensures the perpetuation of outrageous kitsch
The painting on the wall entitled 'Insemination'
keeps this admirer on the brink of regurgitation
That chlorophyll-fish oil drink your butler foisted on me
helps me every fifteen minutes or so to pee
As for your 'petrified out-of-water deep sea plants'
Don't look now; they're on fire with carpenter ants
Then there's your 'mahvelous' retro pet rock collection
pinched, no doubt, from the local House of Corrections
I must confess that your house is, indeed, quite impressive
~ considering that your compulsions are beyond obsessive
Celebrating the Adventure of Advent
Universal elegy grieves and yet embraces shifts of paradigm
New beginnings consciousness initiates comprehends and thus proceeds from
Illusion’s delusion collusions misconceptions in the irritating
Vortex whirlpool immanent void of false containment
Enlightenment modern postmodern retro visionary futuristic aspirations
Resound in dialectical rebirth rejuvenation germinate constructive
Sense meaning reflect serenity’s tentative confidence that the
Agony of climate change greed warfare ignorance destructive apathy
Liberates fusion confusion necessitates Aquarian communication of
Antagonism’s polar opposites contradictions complements
Cycles spheres of influence of grave repression gravitate
Revolve resolve with pushing pulling moons in metaphorical
Orbital mental psychological initiation shape incidences
Synchronicities collateral communal reason feeling responsibility
Transformation of the global madness inhumanity conjoins
Idealism and the darker side’s fallacies of fabrication
Conspiracy of muted spirit silence violation fade away transform to novel script
Communication courses discourses concur in co-operation
Obvious obscurity in the blip of human race’s evolution delimits
Limitations iron cages hopes for new time place of reason beyond
Laissez-faire and hippie psychedelic stream of consciousness afar from
Anarchy self-righteous slavery rebellion mindlessness
Big oppressive bangs big brother’s obliterating over-information with
Onslaught of technology fail and falter when simplicity and esoteric
Rationale comprise enhance encompass the necessary world view shifts
Ascent and ever changing climax revitalizes humanness thus gifts
Truth deriving comprehension from ‘objective’ communal subjectivity with
Intuition insight inclination outside from the rigid boxed conformity
Order may be found again in the chaos of our time of misrepresented bedlam
New Age Aquarius delivers acts upon fresh constellation contemplates the Universe
Kai Michael Neumann
07th June 2016
The clown juggled his feelings in front of an incredulous crowd
Life is a circus and even a fool’s manna does not fall from heaven
He had balls to impose his mask and mascara onto instant applause
Was not sure though about who was the jester of standing ovations
His delusion was the illusion of reality in preposterous meaning
An existential artist he seemed to be in retro postmodern nostalgia
Intermezzo personified with endless beginnings entombed in a grin
Cut with a razor tattooed on his skin facing an ignorant audience
True to his script he stumbled and fell short and flat of intemperate desire
Gobbled up sand mixed with elephant poo and regurgitated misplaced pride
‘I sold my soul to fake laughter but even the kids are stuck on their phones’
Past his best like a relic he assembled dust of anger and fear for the future
He had turned into a proverbial slurve a slipped metaphor of fading delight
An imposter of joyful exuberance in a tedious world that could not care less
A projection of resentment a nuisance and overdue reminder of innocence lost
He was real to himself though like a hole in a bucket draining trickles of faith
As he gathered oblivious agony and immeasurable shame and contempt
He whipped one last sphere of hope high into the canopy of sad gloom
Hoped that the contorted trapeze artist might catch his final effort to escape
She twisted dangled reached out then crushed into a net suspended in yearning
With the show over ungrateful spectators left the miserable dishonest display
The tent was locked up and the onlookers retreated into self-righteous boredom
As lions horses fleas impalement and con artists took to their cages’ containment
The clown and the acrobat slipped off the road and eloped into a promising night
17th June 2019
In my World of Yuletide Contentment,
My mind wanders and loses sight of all current memory.
I lay back flat while flying through the full fresh air of aged time
Thinking of Christmases long preserved for the purpose of
Personal Therapy.
All the time the buttons dissipate.
Every moment the touch screens recreate.
Wishes become emotional rescues.
Genuine laughter magically appears at its most grand and best cue.
As I sit in a little corner avoiding the typical kisses from the limelight,
I consume myself under the Mystical Mistletoe of Imagery and let it all kiss my blissless blues away.
The light festivals in my mind inspire candy cane smiles too sweet and spicy to ignore.
Then she comes….so Peaceful in her bathrobe of Serenity.
She teases me to teardrops that fall like a pebble toad escaping a predator.
Everything seems so Retro Better.
All darkness’ nucleuses are drained with the warm ignition of a Love long deferred.
Now when I express joy, she adds decorative ornamentations of Sassafras Sunshine.
Resurrected Tradition is the warm cocoa for my tinged soul.
I begin to Remember Me when Bountiful Flavors of Zest were freely skinny dipping from the Spirit within me.
I am blind to modernization’s sleeperhold cutting off the oxygen and blood supply to my personal effervescence.
Newly Inspired, I begin to celebrate.
However, just as soon as the festivities start,
The alarm of reality rains down on my snow angel creation.
A new, but routine, poetic emotion in motion clocks in and begins to construct.
Nevertheless, what remains is the buttercream taste of Her Saving Grace.
She leaves with me a Recipe of Merriment for next year.
Inspired, I refuel….exponentially excited in Wait….
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You refuse, refusing the salvant call,
laying there in fetal position,
enthralled by my hex of vinegar and scrawl of liquids release that just seem to pour out of me organically.
Hissing in Wormwood's frequency dwelling, Hollywood "your signature home" learning-annex-auxilliary.
My park and recreation facility.
Reserved, this space taken.
A dump, next to unopened salve
and not knowing your own, side-bar-by-law$.
An unlived, contrived existence, of litigation before dawn.
So shine on, shine on,
Dear: ) (Newton Star blink out before the gravity of
persistence, taken aside, the watchtower of your keen eyed media straddle, beacons a distress
call, to your final hour.
The time your nightwatch is voyeur
procured.
Humpty Dumpty asses with sulphur in their saltwatering laffy Taffy maws, fixed, agape, ajar."Give me some sugar baby."
Jezebellians, you shunned, the truth, when it was audio visually- bore.
Gored yourself on the posts of a grinding of mandibles and dripping blood upon the crucible stone and forbidden bindings.
No white night when a guiding light
doth shine on dead eyes.
No silver linings filling those cavities.
Only self, depravity.
Will be mouthed from the still-shine forever moored.
Uttered where windmills churn electro
Codes of algo-executionary tables
to turn.
Churning the butter of temptation
with pouting maid determination.
Mitigated, my starlings it is for,
the ungrateful scored.
Cookie cutter milkmaids of
factorized words.
Music for Nations.
A union of the snake said Plato.
Fall from the night.
As an Nova of unbeknownst, essence,
implode yourself of something more,
lost in the mire of the ignorance of indifference, onloaded to fill an emptiness void of frivolous showroom and commercials shined core.
Enjoy the aftermath in my garden.
Take another bite of my lore.
Rise, a new creation, in new age culturism,
the retro- reel of Humanism, of illusionary-fusion of pride and behind the scenes thrones.
Slavery algorithms,
my Holograms of flesh and Bones.
Burning out on the Threshing floor.
The lollipop lady and laborer,
Driving to work we can see who it is.
In bright fluoro orange and yellow
Retro reflective people wearing high vis.
There’s vests and jackets and singlets and bibs,
Worn by these people like a fashion design.
Drivers of forklifts, bulldozers and utes,
For safety all day and night time.
Every worksite embraced this vogue of a trend
Begun years ago by a single fire fighter.
Years ago when people just wore normal stuff
But now we all appear brighter.
Call me old fashioned, I like normal work gear
Denim jeans, overalls or blue tops.
Covered in grease or mud you could see
They look good in the mechanic workshops.
But alas we live in an age where we’re blind
To what’s aesthetic, beautiful and nice.
Replaced with high intensive colors of vivid,
We evolved to walking flash lights.