Long Rinks Poems
Long Rinks Poems. Below are the most popular long Rinks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rinks poems by poem length and keyword.
Remember stuck on
band-aid brand,
Because band-aid
is stuck on you?
Remember when
the furniture was
Made from wicker
and bamboo?
Remember three
on a bike with
the banana-seat.
Remember the
Magazine called,
Tiger Beat?
Remember putting
playing cards
On your spoke?
Remember everywhere
There was second
hand smoke.
Remember when a
man cost six
million dollars?
Remember eating
at Farrell's Ice
Cream parlors?
Remember the woman
that was bionic?
Remember all the cool
New Electronics?
Remember the TV
went off the air?
Remember watching
Sonny and Cher?
Remember playing
Red Rover, Red Rover?
Remember the kodak
Camera Instant exposure?
Remember playing tag
And dodge-ball?
Remember black light
Posters on the wall?
Remember at ten pm
the TV would ask,
Do you know where
your children are?
Remember riding around
with no seat-belts
in the car?
Remember watching
Don Kirshner's
Rock concert on
the Weekends?
Remember how
you felt about
Your friends?
Remember the Oscar
Mayer wiener song?
Remember watching
Up In Smoke
With Cheech
and Chong?
Remember shag carpet
And Tupperware?
Remember the
bowl cuts
For your hair?
Remember putting
aluminum foil on the
Antenna to get
better reception?
Remember your moms
green chip
Stamp collection?
Remember with a
note from Mom,
You could buy cigarettes?
Remember the 1970's
Chevy Corvettes.
Remember tie-dye,
A pair of Dittos?
Remember rolling
skating rinks,
And disco.
TURBO1904?
Burnt CDs, black marker spinning,
Discman walking through the seasons.
Ford Tempo losing ground,
feet dipping through the rusted sound.
On the bus I felt protected,
public-transit bubble, youth connected.
Till the night the danger shifted,
instinct sharpened, whole world twisted.
News broke, breath broke,
shape of everything revoked.
I blamed my feet,
trampled dreams, incomplete.
But I still hear the soundtrack calling,
even when the sky was falling.
Girlhood stitched in ice and steam,
ringette blades cutting through the dream.
My burned CD,
my lifeblood, my mythology.
Spin me back to who I was —
fire, danger, music, trust.
I was dancing in the room,
between despair and breaking through.
If all that’s left is memory,
then let it ring —
my burned CD.
Girl-power spice on frozen rinks,
tweens spliced between the ice and instincts.
Cutting habits meant to break us,
rage for show, but truth remakes us.
Gloves off, kick it, tape and stitches,
es get riches, survival switches.
I got the deal, sealed it tight,
peeled the dream down to the light.
Acid truth to clear the bruise,
systems built on old abuse.
Cheshire grins and Garbage nights,
In Utero and failing rites.
But the beat keeps pulling through,
rap and blues in every hue
Saturated food for thought,
gum-stuck rhythm I never lost.
My burned CD,
my lifeblood, my mythology.
Spin me back to who I was —
fire, danger, music, trust.
I was dancing in the room,
between despair and breaking through.
If all that’s left is memory,
then let it ring —
my burned CD.
Lineage laid out on a tray —
Elton John, Lion King days.
Foo Fighters stalking teenage nights,
speed and roads and manic rites.
Lock it up, pack it in,
get thin, detonate within.
Cut the joints, remove the bones,
pressure carving through the tones.
Jelly heart, but still I’m able —
wobble steady on the table.
My burned CD,
my lifeline, my identity.
Spin me back but let me be
the girl who learned her alchemy.
From rusted floors to northern nights,
from fear to rhythm, wrong to right —
if all that’s left is what shaped me,
I’ll let it ring —
my burned CD
Hooray!
Wet grassy feet fill my soccer cleats.
Hot sweaty teens run fast track meets.
She skis down sugary mountain tops.
He begs his coach to play shortstop.
Footballs, field goals, fumbles.
Touchdowns, tackles, tumbles.
My mother keeps warm with hot brown drinks,
as I learn to skate on chilly rinks.
A sadly splintered hockey stick, from a two-quick hat trick.
A winning catch is cradled in a well-loved mitt.
Tiger wins with a hole in one.
Miniature golf is much more fun.
Double dribble the whistle blows.
Excitement on the court grows!
Busy balls dunked in their hoops.
"Hooray" the three cheers for the ALLEY -OOP!
W I N T E R
B R E A K S
N A T U R E
A W A K E S
G A R D E N
A S L E E P
&
an oldie reposted
Fields flooded into skating rinks
into which each footstep sinks,
cracking under body weight so
not the best place to skate.
Thawing February of twitching noses
in tussocks of woken primroses.
Rummaging on hazel boles,hibernating mammals
poke from the holes.
Leafless hedgerows , buds now form
a carpet of white corm,
Badgers forage food near their sett
renewing the bracken scented couchette.
Nature pair off in twos
lengthening days come into view.
aconite open in rays of sun
below, yellow catkins tails fine spun.
Osier shoots in green corn camomile
early Spring mornings begin to smile.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
*
On
This
A blessed
Winter Day
Dressed for the
Holidays. A pure blanched
Vision awaits me so I reflect out loud.
Satin white angel hair snow, sleeps light on our street,
enriches the raw pines in a virginal base coat of flurries.
Families dressed for the holidays, lovely, quite the treat.
There are voices singing, travel soft on a passing breeze.
My senses are ablaze on this blessed winter day.
Children's faces bright red from play rekindle memories.
Remembering crafting sculptures, the element, like clay.
Snow fights, where we'd take refuge behind shrubberies
Lights energized, dance with the dark as their partner.
Colors, tints the nights complexion in a luminesce glow.
Smoke from pillow covered roofs make my heart flutter.
My days of improvised ice rinks, skating with the flow.
A holiday surrounded night ignites passions deep.
Making snow angels, pulled on a toboggan down my avenue,
Picking a frosted pine then wrapped and thrown into our Jeep.
Heading home with that years tree to dress and decorate anew.
But it is now and time to play in this our new frosting of snow.
With my two baby girls we use it to bake as if it were dough.
Life is different now, as an adult with my children, I go slow.
Savor every moment, their youth a gift, repeats like an echo.
03~12~2014
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Contest Name: Winter Poems #1
I would fly down the cement sidewalk, wearing my silver skates upon my shoes. I was off for everyone to see, as I flew by with my hair in the wind. I dreamed of ice, ice I could skate upon. I watched the Olympic ice skaters, jump~twirl and then spin around. We had no ice rinks, it was way too hot here. My ice had to be, hard hot gray cement. A young girl can dream, dream ice was beneath her silver skates.
Date Written: 12/27/20202
2 Place
Poetry In Motion Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
It started with the freezing rain,
the curse of winter time,
turning all into slick black glass
on every road you find.
Then came on all the pelting sleet,
pins and needles outside,
you can hear it as it hits home,
adding mass where it lies.
The skier wishes it was snow,
while drivers hide in fear,
linesmen get ready to go work
when outages appear.
They know branches are coming down,
the roads will be a mess,
the governor says please stay home,
being safe is the best.
The next day the world is transformed,
slick ice coats everything,
long branches bow under the weight,
Clad in crystalline sheen.
Like diamond melted on the trees,
catch light and sparkle bright,
a prism when the sun’s rays hit,
flashing colors of light.
A tinkling sound as wind blows by,
thin ice cracks in the breeze,
like tiny hammers striking glass,
both scary and serene.
The cars idle as defrost runs,
ice much too thick to scrape,
some struggle to open the doors
while loudly cursing fate.
New icicles on power lines,
dripping down like a fringe,
where wind was strong they go sideways,
kind of a bizarre thing.
Driveways have become skating rinks,
ice shingles coat the roof,
the snow is now a hard concrete,
what once was soft and loose.
The great plains have their tornados,
earthquakes out in Cali
Florida has the hurricanes…
it’s ice in the northeast.
To the most ardent fans, this year has been hell.
There are plenty of idle hockey rinks throughout the NHL.
With season ticket holders, this has not been nice.
They want to see their favorite players roughhousing on the ice.
The team owners have been staging a lockout.
Will there be hockey games this year? There is increasing doubt.
In the National Hockey League, nothing is coming up roses.
No players have been losing teeth or getting broken noses.
Nobody is slap shooting that hard rubber hockey puck.
We want to see the games played, but we are out of luck.
We are stuck with watching basketball games around here.
Perhaps both sides will come to terms and play hockey next year.
Snowfall so heavy in 'eighty-two
reproduced a Christmas card view.
A biting wind swirled in one foot drifts
over hanging in bridges..makeshift.
The fields flooded into skating rinks
into which each footstep sinks,
cracking under body weight so
not the best place to skate.
Thawing February brings twitching noses
in tussocks of awakened primroses.
Rummaging on hazel boles,hibernating mammals
poke from the holes.
Leafless hedgerows where buds now form
a carpet of white corm,
Badgers forage for food near their sett
renewing their bracken scented couchette.
Sparrow and robin pair off in twos
as lengthening days come into view.
aconite open in rays of sun
below yellow catkins with tails fine spun.
Osier shoots in green corn camomile
as early Spring mornings begin to smile.
The ocean churns, deep in the bowels of its great stomach
A scurvy, a barnacle, a flag flung high amast
From deep, deep down inside, below pressure boiling
Bones exploding, windpipes constricting
Where no human soul should inhabit
Down, down, down, where illuminates
All manner of unseen creatures
With crooked jaws
Electric lights of blaring neon green and soft sparkling
Pinks
And the color of glow sticks, that children wore ‘round their necks at skating rinks
Where no child goes now, the pull and the noiselessness of the silty bottom, where hagfish twist themselves over
carcasses like women scouring the streets for loose change
I imagine my body down there
Blue veins and stuff new
Resting in the Mariana Trench
Supine, arms floating upward towards light
sans soleil
A water dream, I am awake, fluttering eyelids!
All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel the…. I don’t remember the rest
Tears and sweat like the ocean
My heart is like the ocean
Yet I have columns of flame around me
And I pull on my t-shirt over my pale body
And drive myself to the ocean, letting cars pass
Wondering why
And when my bare feet hit the sand
My hazel eyes (or were they half blue and half brown? Nobody could ever decide!) are drawn to the expanse of water
Limitless possibilities, as the sun crowns the horizon
I reach out my hand to grab something
Across the eternal shocking blue
And what I grab is another hand
And it is my own