Long Row Poems
Long Row Poems. Below are the most popular long Row by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Row poems by poem length and keyword.
Eye for eye; tooth for tooth,
Age old key to old hitch,
Justice’s way; known from youth,
Consciences’ vexing itch.
Few know death’s row bower,
Lowly know its bare scene,
Some escape through power,
Rich blood trumps poor man genes.
Time goes in ticks and tocks,
Hits midnight and then chimes,
From the jail house wall clock,
Cell opens for last time.
Con, warden, and guard walk,
Chaplain reads from St. John,
Not much need for small talk,
Judgment due; praying done.
Go on stage behind glass,
Viewers wait for the show,
To see con breathe his last,
Justice’s false golden glow.
Curtain pulls, they walk out,
Press reports; mourner’s cry,
No joy or vict’ry shouts,
All left to question why.
Yet another dismal day, there are no children here to play;
Are they at home is it a holiday;
No children laughing, playing s winging;
And on the swings no one there, they're empty;
No swinging, just a row of swings unoccupied;
No one running, no one on the slides;
The basketball court is empty;
No one is jumping rope;
All the ponies are still;
I wonder are the kids at home;
I see a row full of swings not moving;
I 'm used to a playground full of children playing;
But alas I transgress;
Now even the wind is moving the swings;
It's clear ever so Nobody here;
Just a row of swings
11/01/17
Festive, elegant nights,
And toy soldiers in a row.
Multi-colored Christmas lights
Reveal eyes that seem to know!
They gleam by the fireside
With Nutcracker and Drummer Boy,
And all so solemn, dignified,
As if under command to deploy.
Toy soldiers, tall and brave-Oh my!
Dressed all in dark blue and red.
Brave soldiers never cry.
Brave soldiers have never fled.
Toy soldiers, how well they look!
Upon the varnished, wooden floor.
A secret mission they've undertook,
In a most secret war!
Silent soldiers, under hidden command,
So somber and all aglow!
The festive hall so grand,
And toy soldiers in a row.
In a crowded room filled with high society, and
In the facade of decadence, plays the Back Street Symphony
Winos falling asleep covered in yesterdays news
A lone saxaphone player, playing the blues
Neon signs and desinger lines are giving him his cues
He says "I've paid my dues"
I've got front row tickets to mainstreet
Walkin' by, don't know who you'll meet
A freak show on every corner
A broken heart walks on as a mourner
In a darkened alley you can hear him pray
Searching for a Savior with some words and a brown bag
Can anyone spare some change for me?
There goes the prom queen, is it a dream?
Hell is open twenty-four hours a day
I have front row tickets to main street
Watching the devils' choir earn their keep
There tearing down the walls in LA
There's a hooker on display, on main street
Tom Thumb got caught peeping
Now his life is on the run
Little Bo Peep lost her sheep
On a gambling junket she was on
Little Miss Muffet is having to tuff it
Out these days in jail
Selling ecstasy to undercover police
And now can't pay her bail
Little Jack Horner took him a corner
Of the Mafia drug trade
Once you are hooked on the Meth that he cooks
There's no way of escape
You think that's bad you ain't seen nothing yet
That even comes this close
Since Mother Goose started hitting the juice
And ended up down on skid row
Humpty Dumpty's more than broke
But not from any fall
He couldn't pay his bookie
And his legs were first to go
Baa Baa Black Sheep
Where forced to sell their wool
To pay for all the damages
While they were in school
Jack pushed Jill down the hill
When he caught her cheating with Little Boy Blue
Now he's paying her doctor bills
Which has left Jack blue too
You think that's bad you ain't seen nothing yet
That even comes this close
Since Mother Goose started hitting the juice
And ended up down on skid row
Counting birds at dawn
before the sickness arrives
numbers toll victims—
a ledger of feathers, wings
a census to count the loss.
After the virus
moves unseen through stricken flocks
silencing shorelines—
we count again what survived
absence, entered row by row.
Still some birds remain
carrying something unlearned
an old resistance—
their blood remembers a way
through their freak immunity.
So we count once more
not merely bodies and graves
but the remnant wings—
that become the vital seeds
for new flocks waiting to come.
What is a virus?
unable to live alone
it enters host's cells
steals their means to replicate—
using host's machinery.
A speck without life,
inanimate chemistry,
what right to exist?
no purpose, point, or reason—
a plague within the living.
Is a virus life?
no breath, hunger, cell, or pulse,
inert when alone
yet it mutates and evolves—
where does living, truly start?
I count the living,
knowing most are on death row,
I will count remnants,
I will watch the numbers grow,
mourning such senseless dying.
I count the living,
knowing most are on death row,
I will count remnants,
I will watch the numbers grow,
rueing utter senselessness.
we paraded behind him
he in a fawn casual jacket
military badge right breast pocket
over a maroon v neck cardigan
even in summer
dark blue trousers
sharp crease
hands behind back
hair neatly slicked down -
stiffly upright
me next aged 7
gray flannel shorts
gray slipover
clunky brown lace up shoes
newly scrubbed
eyes round as saucers
mum last
head down
brown slacks
white blouse
sandy blond
vacantly beautiful
I would keep turning to look back
at mums place
mum had a place
last was here place
not wanting to fall back
trying to keep up with long striding dad
occasionally trying to get in front
the sharp knuckled rap
on my head
from an unyielding god
people looked at us *****
as we marched down the road
all the way to the park
to sit on a bench
dad on one side
me in the middle
mum at the end
sitting silent
pigeons drew near
seeking breadcrumbs
we had no bread crumbs
when it was time
(dad always decided)
we stood up
then filed back home
to listen to the radio
listening
dad nearest to the set
nothing to say
me on the floor fidgeting
mum in the kitchen
fading away
Waiting Anxiously To See,
Choreography Created by Me.
Where Did It Originate From?
I Can't Say That I Really Know.
Music Seems to Provide The Flow.
At First, I Might Do It a Certain Way.
The Next Time I Might Add a Sway.
Will It Meet My Approval?
Only If The Dancers Dance
Better Than Their Usual.
Dancers Say That I'm Hard To Please.
Just Dance Full Out, Don't Just
Give Me a Tease.
Make Every Step LIVE.
Show Me All That You Have To Give.
I'll Be Watching, IN THE FRONT ROW.
Dance From Your Heart.
Show Me Passion, Emotion, Let It All Go.
Make Me Feel Something Beyond My Expectations.
Capture Me With Sensation.
I Want To See You Glow.
Thats Why I Chose To Sit In
THE FRONT ROW.
not getting
to decide
his last
meal
but must have
been liked by
the great
give her
in the sky for he
was lucky to be
pardoned twice
in the past four
weeks squeaking
by debaiting a
topic even de
bated by peta
but luck is just
luck and just
that in that
time has
a way of moving
at the same pace
but catching up
all the same
so after nights
of gnawing
wood it's
under
stood why he
would have not
fought for a better
meal then peanut but
ter when his mind's
palette was surely
filled with expenes
ive cheeses before
the mouse trap
snapped last
night right
before
midnight
Form:
When you’re sitting in the theater
‘Cause you’ve come to see a show,
How come the people coming late
Sit middle of the row?
Each person in the row must stand
Just so that guy might pass;
You can’t stay seated in your seat
‘Cause that would look too crass.
So everyone pops up until
The late one finds his place;
Then we all sit back down ‘til
Intermission’s bathroom race.
Soon each of us does this again:
Stand up, let pass, repeat;
And when the person does return,
The cycle is complete.
It never is the aisle patron
Getting up to leave.
Those people in the middle
Have some mischief up their sleeve.