Long Rims Poems
Long Rims Poems. Below are the most popular long Rims by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rims poems by poem length and keyword.
Money….
What can you do with money?
Well let’s stop and think; Money can buy you all the stilettos or marble sinks
A new Bentley fully chromed and tricked out
With the rims sitting 26 inches and you’re wondering what the fuss is about
People are stealing your rims and all you seem to do is replace them
Money can buy you all your hearts desire
From expensive wigs, weaves, clothes,
To cell phones, booze, and whose
There is nothing good that comes from money
Gambling it all away loosing is never funny
They say money makes the world go round
But all I’ve found is the world to be upside down
I am discussed and dismayed with money today
Money always seem to find a way to send you to an early grave
Money will forever remain the root of all evil
For those who love, the money making believers
Form:
In the time zone of history where sound and Jazz collide
A cosmic voyage begins inside, electronic pulses, psychedelic waves, Jazz’s spirit, unbound, unchained, enslaved
A mind trip beyond the cool, the known, where the beginner's mind is freshly grown, Acid jazz whispers in the dark, opening doors with a lunar spark
Digital frontier, a space unknown, shapes of sound, a world of tone
Funkalicious grooves that move your feet, A wonderland where rhythms meet/
Wall of sound, atmospheric dream, Layers of funk and jazz collide and gleam, Hip-hop anthems, dope and raw, Deep drum loops, the primal law/
Sleazy cuts, a chilled blade slicing tight, Rhymes and words ignite the night, Experimental jazz, a landscape vast, altered states, the die is cast/
Masters of old, their spirits soar—Sanders, Ayler, Coleman’s roar, Free jazz, avant-garde's embrace, Fuhgeddaboudit, in vinyl’s grace/
Reflections of Gil Scott Heron, Tyner’s quest, vibing off Albert Ayers’ cosmic zest, The Seeker, the groove, the acid trip, in this sonic universe, let your mind flip/
What we wouldn’t do without vinyl’s might, Echoes of giants in the night, From France to the world, a timeless blend, Music’s journey has no end/
Rusty, raw, hazy, trippy, down-tempo snare and rims, and cranky modern spins/ are thrown out like yesterday’s newspapers/only to be found again, as a revolution in jazz fresh
I love the rims on the wheels of my car,
Each rim that’s made out of steel,
And I love the spokes tightly holding these rims,
I love how they each make me feel.
Hundreds of tangential shiny small spokes,
Crisscross from the hub to the rim,
All of them a dark, metallic bright blue,
Makes the car all slick, sleek and slim.
Together they make her big, bright, distinguished,
An air of grace, style, and poise,
And when I drive her, I become all gentry,
No longer just one of the boys.
And then there’s the torque, her true pulling power,
Owned by each wheel dressed in blue,
Simply measured by the number of men that gappingly gawk,
And say that they all love her too.
There's a place in the cabinet for all of my colors
Cans that are battered, have cluttered the shelves
Samples are chipped and are dripping with childhood
splashed to the edges, with castles and dreams
A small can of white holds a picture of weddings
with long satin dresses, and pearls like the dew
A small can of pink, another of blue,
sketches sweet babies, in lullaby hues
There are pots filled of brown like the land of ancestors
with black rims of sorrow that darkens the soul
There's gold in containers, like the stars of the evening
that will shine into windows, when the darkness is gone
They are sprinkled with silver, 'till they light the horizon,…
becomes brighter than ever…..and the new day has come
There is yellow like sunshine, that bursts into flowers
that bloom in abundance, like the first day of spring
There's a can without labels, with the color of rainbows
It remembers the sun on a cold winter's day
Color brings life to a world that was gray,
......where the magic is one little brush stroke away
________________________________________________________
3/20/18 Contest: "Mind The Wet Paint"
Sponsor Viv Wigley
It's an area totally different from the rest
From the language to the people's style of dress
Kids young in age but wise with street smarts
Teens sagging and hanging out at liquor marts
Shoes on power lines showing various drug spots
Girls playing double dutch in empty car lots
Loud music blarring from a car with chrome rims
Men lifting weights in a yard turned into a gym
The smell of marijuana just as loud as cigarettes
Where colors worn communicates you with a set
Run down apartment buildings ran by slum lords
Where complaints are registered but go ignored
Businesses looking horrible due to graffiti
Where you always find bootleggers selling dvds
Everyone you meet goes by a strange nickname
Where the less fortunate ask for spare change
Well known people grew up with this background
So the hood isn't as horrible as it may sound
Its helps people to be grateful and to improvise
To get their education and to become wise
Not continuing the cycle but finding a way out
This describes hood life and what it's all about
The trap is what they call it, bait the cheese, but please don't wait on me
So they polish it, put the chrome and rims on it and I abolish it
Am I strong or mostly lucky, considered threatening only when they rush me
Now was we, ever did you trust me
Like Justice, who in the hell's got the custody
This is a must list
As I drop a bold statement "Trust no one"
I heard so many lies i could never sow one
But as I fold one, to put it in the back of my mind, I froze once
thought about it some more and you know what
Take the pieces and connect them, make some theories and test them
Then resume as if they spoke the Truth
Give them the room to hang the noose
These used items: have collected and united
The Truth is silent, listen close and you will find it
I am the Master of my Fate and the Captian of my soul
But unfortunately I wrecked the ship, layed my title down and invested in
My purpose and my destiny
I sought so much control it eventually got the best of me
And as I'm picking up from ashes, How have I lasted?
Truth be present, I report this abuse if your not veiwed in this message
As my veiw adjust it's fittingly, Agility is verified so crushed is every lie
And as I'm brushed by the hands of Love I take a look deep down inside
Will my wounds heal as I find your wounds will
quatrozain
The year is nineteen hundred eighty-six,
the biggest action, music, plots play through.
Behold the crowds are raving, buying ticks!
Top Gun, the movie’s here and overdue.
While brave Tom Cruise, the hero, rims the sky,
it’s really only stuntmen on those planes.
And to be sure, a romance follows nigh -
the female fans expect that love will reign.
Parental guidance warns some shoddy talk,
which gives the picture young adult appeal.
The sexy scenes are clean as new white chalk;
a final song provides nostalgic feel.
The mix for Top Gun 2, as yet unknown -
they must incorporate a role for drones.
Reason A. Poteet
09 Oct 2014
iambic pentameter for Giorgio's Contest III
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The wire rims~
thin as a whisper,
holding the weight of every page he turned,
every clockface he squinted at before dawn.
Now they sit,
empty orbits on my desk.
I lift them,
and the world bends~
not as he saw it,
but as I imagine he did:
The morning newsprint smudging into prayer,
the stubborn lawnmower that refused to start,
my childhood face,
always slightly out of focus,
as if love itself were a thing
that needed adjusting.
I wear them like a ghost.
The bridge rests light,
almost apologetic,
as if they knew
they were never meant to be mine.
Through Pop’s lenses,
the light is softer,
the edges kinder.
The coffee stains on the counter
look like continents he never visited.
The crossword puzzle~
half-finished,
pen dropped mid-clue~
becomes a map of all the words
he didn’t have time to say.
I take them off.
The room sharpens
into my own life again,
but for a moment,
I swear,
the air smelled like his aftershave,
and the light was gold,
the way it is
just before it fades.
Fog is a folded shadow cast on a concrete wall
Dim lights fall to the dirty pavement drains
As rain sweeps up around the gutter rims
Along the open cracks a mist fills in
In currents rippled, diamond tumbled days
To the streets as steaming sheets of white
Streams gather into water falls they carry off
Thin channels form umbrella shadows black
Mimic life, silhouette solid images of passers-by
In puddles muddied at a time designated by the weather
Prevailing conditions as predicted become a ripple
A wrinkle as a shield deploys
Informed by such knowledge born before the storm
Precipitation bounces over plastic sheets of linen
Stretched to their limits, thoughts, images
Roll over a framework of skeletal remains
Metal on plastic for their protection
Dancing down about their feet are rubber boots
Fog creates a film, a mist, a cloud on glass
A gestured finger, invisibly smooth to its touch
Rolls over wet forget-me-nots as surface tension
Prints a name remembered only by the window
Separates smoke from mirror
In a single stroke it disappears
Imagine that
Tributaries run randomly, continue to the river
Streams rush with white, clear as diamonds bright
The sun is blotted out by gray meanderings
Gathered false images shimmer in the mud
As they become the puddles
Rain separates, splits into currents
Channels water falls into the ocean
Cascading over umbrellas folded up
And over linen as is there luck
Streets receive so much information
Feet still get wet beneath umbrellas progress
Before the flood comes in to drown the innocent
Blackbrush -- Coleogyne ramosissima
the dominant understory shrub
in the pinyon-juniper canyons.
Mountain-mahogany -- Cercocarpus montanus and ledifolia.
Single-leaf ash -- Fraxinus anomalus
and possibly a western hophornbeam
by the small birch-like leaves
and the shredding bark
in a moist stretch of joint trail.
The joint-fir, green ephedra
looks like an ocean plant.
Could the wind or white water rivers alone
have shaped these sandstone, red rock forms?
Network of canyons, inverse of mountains.
It had to be ocean
ebbing and flowing, emotionally, like wind,
moving atmosphere, thicker
shaving, scraping, polishing, gouging, digging
fish canyons
then, shallower, dinosaur swamps
now, dry, rock gardens.
Explain the human history with water:
did the Anasazi visit neighbors
along the canyon rims and deep within,
combination caves and red-rock houses
small windows, doorways, just crawlways,
with corn gifts on summer evenings
when the canyon bottoms held permanent, not intermittent,
streams? After them
came the Ute and Navajo, Spanish and English.
Ravens dine on road kill.
A few long red roads connect some canyons.
The unprotected flats are overgrazed, rabbitbrush.
It is interesting
that as I learn the woody and herbaceous plants,
walk the desert foothills, I too could stay.