Long Rockefeller Poems
Long Rockefeller Poems. Below are the most popular long Rockefeller by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rockefeller poems by poem length and keyword.
10 crabs together in a plastic bag
A friend who brought them for dinner to take home
Crab feast
Subway ride
MTA NYC D train to the Bronx
Observed one of the crabs maneuvering through the subway car
Fast mover that got far
There’s your dinner, after it
Get that crab
However, the crab was spotted by several commuters as one woman screamed and total chaos began
I wanted to laugh, but didn’t make it obvious
So I just held back, and acted like nothing happened
Before I got off to change trains, I told my friend, good luck crabbing home
I changed subway lines at Rockefeller Center for my fantastic F for Queens, New York
Once I got home, I called and asked my friend did she make it home with her bundle of crabs minus one
My friend said yes, but she stated when she unloaded them, they were fighting each other
Crabs will be crabs I responded
Such a crabby scene.
You know her
You feel she mingles in your reason in rhythm
Not with your possible pain of angina in arrhythmia
She is a calm serenity prayer
that knows your tear and that needs to run down on your smile lines
she is a kitchen cookie baking sheet
tracing paper cyan heed
never a plotter, never a san Juan never a San Francisco
But she is there too, with things on the verge of unsayable , she is there, too!
not to announce i am possible
but to possibly remind
even an ounce meant!
Rockefeller center and Rockford too
hit hard rock bottom with your pain
with all her pensive boon!
the 'MOTHER'S DAY' Poetry Contest entry
I am the Boy Scouts who become
Official.
I am Charlie Chaplin film that
Makes you giggle.
I am the triangle shirtwaist
Factory fire.
I am Margaret Sanger the birth
Control supplier.
I am the Titanic sinks in
The ocean.
I am the Spanish flu
In motion.
I am the Red Baron takes
To the sky.
I am Rockefeller that
Billionaire guy.
I am the Coast Guard's first
Day on the job.
I am the first crossword
Puzzle to solve.
I am Tommy submachine
Gun in supply.
I am Mata Hari the exotic
Dancing spy.
I am the first Indy
500 race.
I am the Oreo cookie,
Can't wait to taste.
I am Mexico and Arizona
Become states.
I am World War One starts
To take shape.
I am the National Hockey league
When it was formed.
I am Daylight savings time when
It was born.
I am the international telephone
Line.
I am prohibition no alcohol
Or wine.
Turbo1904
People from all over come to see the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.
Men, women, children alike – all say it’s a most beautiful sight.
Every year they search for the tallest Christmas tree
And decorate it so carefully.
There is nothing left to chance – there must be bulbs on every branch.
This tree is a symbol of our right to be free Put up each year for the world to see.
It has become symbolic to us like the Thanksgiving Day parade
New years on Times Square which are the things
That AMERICA shares.
Every dream that you perceive – in NEW YORK CITY can be achieved.
There are centers of every kind- where dreams become alive
The diamond center, the garment center, the art center too
And that’s just to name a few.
The United Nations was built on these grounds
Where every language can be found.
NEW YORK CITY where I was born and raised
I give you thanks and I give you praise. © LRams
IT WAS DECEMBER 23RD 2003 LIVING IN FORT MYERS FLORIDA MY POEM WAS AWARDED PRESTIGIOUS EDITORS CHOICE AWARD BECAUSE IT DISPLAYS A UNIQUE PERSPECTIVE AND ORIGINAL CREATIVITY WHATS AMAZING IS THIS WAS 3 MONTHS AFTER MY TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY THIS POEM CONTINUED TO RECIEVE THIS AWARD AFTER RELOCATING NORTH DUE TO FOUR HURRICANES CHARLIE LISA GENE HUGO I CONTINUE WRITING OF COURSE AS PUBLISH TODAY OFFERED TO PAY ME TO PUBLISH MY ANTHOLOGY THIS POEM THE WRATH CONTINUED TO CAPTURE READERS ALSO IN 2006 IT'S TRULY AMAZING FIGHT FLIGHT MODE FIGHTING FOR MY BRAIN AND JUST LIKE HARRIET TUBMAN CONTINUED TO LEAD INJURED ILL PERSONS OUT OF SLAVERY I THINK OF VIRGINIA WOLFE WRITING DURING HER NERVOUS BREAKDOWNS BOUTS OF DEPRESSION THE BEAUTIFUL MINDS OF MYSTERY DURING SEVERE ILLNESS WE I WAS IN MY COMA I COULD OOEN MY EYES BUT POEMS CAME ACROSS MY MIND ONCE I AWAKENED I WAS ABLE TO PUT PEN TO PAGE DESCRIBING WHAT OCCURED WHILE I WAS FAST ASLEEP UNRESPONSIVE GOD BLESS NASA RADIOLOGY IN NAPLES FLORIDA AND GOD BLESS THE POET THAT LIVES AND CONTINUES TO WRITE AMONG US
THE WRATH WAS WRITTEN BY
YOLANDA NICHOLSEN 2003 I RECIEVED
AWARDS DECEMBER 23RD 2003 RIGHT
BEFORE CHRISTMAS DOWN THE STREET
FROM THOMAS EDISON HOME WHERE
ROCKEFELLER FORD AND EDISON STATUE
SITS FORT MYERS FLORIDA
She wore a tiffany hat with a bow and six big plumes of red and white,
it had an ultra wide asymmetrical brim that rolled up to one side.
When it came to dames like this I believe God ran out of humble stock !
She wore pompadour shoes, like she had nothing to lose
and rouge so red it made the cardinals have fainting spells !
Her hair was soaked in henna, elderberry & radish extract,
and I believe her dress was stitched in the boudoir of coco-channel!
She was a nouveau riche reveling in her new found fame
and everything in her life was right as rain until that fatal day,
when her hat expanded 10 x its size, growing past her shoulders
like a great big beast, of leavened yeast!
Her hat pins strained from the strain of those great big plumes,
moaning and groaning from her lithe walk and all that perfume !
Then First World War arrived and suddenly it was unpatriotic
to be concerned with one's appearance !
She was no Rockefeller and didn't own a rupee nor a heller,
so she became a steadfast loyal dame, like dear old Helen Keller .
What happened to that big old hat, with the plumes of red and white ?
She stewed it, brewed it, boiled it down then poured it in a flask,
and yes she drank it slowly,... just in case you thought to ask !
March 30/ 2025
Many Christmas Trees are seen
around the Yule Season in my city;
they all are very tall and beautiful,
but the Rockefeller Plaza's Norway spruce
is the most gigantic and spectacular
with its multicolored lights that resemble stars.
Christmas is a wonderful experience on New York's City busy streets:
stores, pubs, restaurants and shops dress up with decorations so dazzling;
where else can you find a Santa ringing a bell and spreading good cheers...
wishing New Yorkers and visitors a Merry Christmas with a tone so thrilling?
On Christmas Eve, Saint Patrick's Cathedral echoes with joyful hymns,
and Child Jesus smiles at children as they caress His soft and divine face.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Many Christmas Trees are seen
around the Yule season in my city;
they all are very tall and beautiful,
but the Rockefeller Plaza's Norway spruce
is the most gigantic and spectacular
with its multicolored, gleaming bulbs.
Come to the city, where kids turn into angels:
they seem real cherubs being sent by Heaven itself,
and these angelic messengers love to play
their carols to announce Jesus joyful birth;
come closer, look up and hear those voices greatly
rejoicing in this bright corner of the earth!
Sit down in front of it and dream
of the gifts stacked underneath your pretty Christmas tree,
but the most precious is this one, only decorated with lights;
and its green color and sheer simplicity,
can begin making a glorious memory!
And which carol will you sing for the crowds?
Christmastime is a wonderful experience on New York City's streets:
stores, pubs, restaurants and shops dress up with dazzling decorations,
every street has a Santa ringing a bell and spreading good cheers;
where else can you find kind folks wishing strangers a Merry Christmas?
On Christmas Eve, Saint Patrick's Cathedral echoes with hymns...
and Child Jesus smiles at children as they caress His soft face.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
I left out riding my bike down
first street over looking the
wildly calm river artist's lined
bicentennial entrance way where
Thomas Edison Rockefeller
and Ford feasted on clams
my mind wandered about
the timing of the dem lights to
brighten the garden lofts above
the streets soft jazz from
Billie holiday rang out down
old Hendry street my heart strings
mingled with the Sunday drivers
passing by after mass fondly
trying to pick me up leaving
the shops it was noon it was
damp the sun peeked in behind
the gulf today a few children
skipped by carrying balloons
while the fishermen tossed nets
near the shore sand collected
beneath my toes as two boats
docked this was home my life
an yet the Caribbean whispered
to me waves slammed against
the stone walls I felt a few sprinkles
I quickly dashed into the book store
on the corner while the aroma of fresh
French bread gather all of my senses
luring me to a sit down with brunch
tiny raisin bagels diced mangos
inside a vintage wine glass
one thousand sparrows flew
backwards within the breeze
as I rest on the steps of St Francis
When I visited
Lagos,
the city
of demigods,
I walked
through the wealthy streets
of Banana Island.
And there
I met
Aliko Dangote.
The richest man
in Africa.
A man
who built mountains
from ambition.
When I looked
into his eyes,
I saw fire.
I saw resolve.
I saw a man
still climbing
after reaching
the summit.
In a gentle voice
he said,
"Nigeria
is a sleeping giant.
And Lagos
is its first step
into destiny."
The city
never sleeps.
The markets
never rest.
The streets
breathe business
day and night.
"If you seek
entrepreneurs,"
he said,
"go to Nigeria."
For in Lagos,
survival comes first.
And survival
teaches wisdom.
The men of Lagos
dream with open eyes.
They build
while others sleep.
They risk
while others fear.
Then Dangote smiled.
And softly said,
"The men of Lagos
understand multiplicity.
They are sleeping lions
beginning to awaken."
I answered,
"Some say
Nigerians are criminals."
His face
grew thoughtful.
Then he replied,
"And what of
the mafias of Italy?
What of those
who rob nations
in daylight
while wearing suits?"
For a moment,
silence spoke.
The kind of silence
that history understands.
The sun
was setting.
And the city lights
began to rise.
Then I knew.
The men of Lagos
are not merely
the future of Nigeria.
They are part
of the future
of Africa.
As we shook hands
and prepared to part,
I said,
"Dangote,
you are the
John D. Rockefeller
of Africa.
The Mansa Musa
of our generation."
He smiled.
And walked away
into the evening.
While Lagos,
restless,
hungry,
and eternal,
continued dreaming
of tomorrow.