Long Soho Poems
Long Soho Poems. Below are the most popular long Soho by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Soho poems by poem length and keyword.
It was all about a grim,
Foggy, smoggy, old Thursday night
In Hithergreen,
London’s belching south,
Below Europe’s icy, dark trees and
In the silence of grieving mornings . . .
Bulbous clouds bleeding with strained oomph
Would stir the ingravescence of patented ills.
The trains always come railing!
Railing loud and silly
Like heathen bandits with no shame.
But before such mornings,
A half-distilled liquored, low-brewed
Evening caused me tears
When I chopped onions.
A spruced up harlot was coming to dinner
By the way!
Oh, yes, from London’s bleached Soho,
Venue for awesome sex.
I may have forgotten to tell you, brother,
But through the insistence on cutting further deep,
There it stood!
Ilse Koch!
An old character!
She piled up arms against ashen flesh,
Fomenting tears to rain down on the faces of many.
And with each stare,
I asked for permission to be laconic
Just to preserve the dews
Of the heated stove near the chimney of an
Age-battered window of a grey, frazzled winter night.
Water circulates somewhere in the US
Where rain isn't left to condense,
To well, like life leaves space for time.
I'm fanning my hands on a street in
London, Soho, where we never went
But an unplaceable conversation is in the tides of heat, one that spoke of Her.
I decided I needed something disposable -
A balloon-buoy swayed with an unease that carries -
Eyes that make mothers cross the road.
I bought one and he gave me two more, haggled, too hot to... fight. Paid, left with this in my hand.
On the bridge. Wish I had a weight.
It's a pain to hold but I don't want to watch my money sweep past Big Ben and the disgustingly scenic city scape.
Water circulates like these e-bikes.
Round the pre-plotted roads -
I think of the Romans, dead in the ground.
There's probably a few still in the Thames.
Death feels so historical.
We discovered clouds that hold rain forever.
I have everything in my pocket.
Within arms
Reach
An Artist’s Dream
NYC Culture Collective August 2018
The SoHo District – imagine –
Art center of Manhattan!
Trendy upscale boutiques and
Restaurants, “Ms Yoo” in this plan
It was in August when the art show
Daughter and friend designed it all,
The friend had her book signing,
Daughter kept the event oiled
Watercolors placed artistically
Realistic florals and landscapes
Imaginary scents of roses and lilies
Lined the wall of plenteous space
Ellen and Michael there to sing
Keyboard, guitar and pretty voices
Heightened the evening’s experience
Music softens the day; one rejoices
Thirty or more persons from over the world
Some met for the first time as music played
Many were art knowledgeable;
Friends and guests came, mingled and stayed
It was amazing to think of artwork
As being viewed, discussed and praised!
And, yes, a few originals were sold
From the very spot they were displayed
A thank you to Lance the owner,
Lisa, the daughter and planner,
Patti, the author and friend, and
God our Father, the master designer-
The evening was magical
A make-believe came true,
An elder, budding artist-
A solo art exhibiter sharing anew
Vincent Van Gogh said, “I dream
my painting, and I paint my dream”;
On that night in New York City,
A thought, a dream –blended it seemed
Poetry, a patsy mourner here, would you be the churn?
Tamanna Ferdous
Poetry, a patsy mourner here, would you be the churn?
Tamanna Ferdous
I cared for the beauty spot , her left trickle salt takes oath there in bittersweet chime
The smile and the smile line , a mystic rhythmic rhyme.
Her smile and the wind catcher , assonance, anaphora , anapestic and the trochaic, as 100 hair fall after a comb
The streak of moonlight, a droplet of beauty , submerged in homesickness, border less and home , in exile home.
Her toddler fingers , gone yesterday, broth of a messed later , growing up
Modulation and a flight of a tune, a journey to rhythm back to the rhythm , superb
Poetry that bits with heart beats and peaces , will you break free to tame the words, misfit, they are gods' hands ?
In glum, in tears , rejuvenation of the easier love, the placid affluence and all right throughout the caravan of timely rounds..
I adore you, I breathe into thee, homegrown soil, my distraction, my homeland, that forced to zoom out to Babylon, tragedy
Phantom would lure me to cuff again into the evangelical oxymoron, key mono-Lilith to polymath-a Murfreesboro prodigy
The fathom of the salty water step, and Soho, and an easy simile
They static, they enigmatic and they empathetic , not for, anymore, than seely!
Copyright Tamanna Ferdous | Year Posted 2025
A respectable girl was she; or so she appeared to be
Living alone in her dear little cottage at number seventy three
Each day she left home bright and early, as she walked to the railway station
Awaiting the train she would ponder upon her total transmogrification
Travelling first class to London, dressed in a suit and leather brogues
She was the picture of respectability, but nobody really knows
Heading straight for the club in Soho, where she was paid to perform
Descending the stairs, she took a deep breath, as she completely transformed
Into a girl named Sinitta, where dirty old men queued to meet her
She danced with seven fans and with carefully positioned hands
In her copper coloured wig, for she had nothing else to hide behind
Dancing in a trance, she would escape to her unconscious mind
She danced her eyes shut tightly, giving a zombie like display
Her only way of getting through the dance each working day
Whilst traveling home she calculated monies she would earn
For she had reached her breaking point; it was the point of no return
All monies that she’d earnt so far, went to support her dearest Ma
In the best asylum she could find; for sweet dear souls who’d lost their mind
Written 31st October 2018
Contest No 512
Sponsor Brian Strand
1st placement
New York, New York, the road in the fork
of the events, the places and folks who've buttered the pork
Like Rockefeller, Moynihan and Andrew Cuomo
Frank Sinatra, Louie Armstrong, John Lenon and Yoko Ono
Lenny Bernstein and Lenny Bruce
Cookie Monster, Rocky and Bullwinkle Moose
There's Radio City, Central Park and Carnegie Hall
Coney Island, Yankee Stadium -- Let's Play Ball!
The Brooklyn Bridge on the Hudson River
Lower East Side and the Village, for swingin' livers
Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle and White Ford
Don't forget Casey Stengel and Yogi Berra -- Oh, my Lord!
Marilyn Monroe, Madonna and Phyllis Diller in curlers
Archie Bunker, the Meathead, Anne Meara and Jerry Stiller
Stooge-mania, West Side Story and Annie Hall
Kramden, Norton and the Honeymooners
You've seen or heard of 'em all
There's Madison Square Garden and the NY Philharmonic
The Times and Wall Street Journal -- news junkies tonics
Malcolm X, Dr. King, and Abe Saperstein
Julius Erving / Dr. J with a case of Afro-sheen
Baldies like Kojac and Yul Brynner, the King of Siam
Sam I Am, Son of Sam, Green Eggs and Ham
Harlem Globetrotters, the Apollo, Kareem Abdul Jabbar
Jay Leno, Ed McMahon and Johnny Carson, the great Jack Paar
There's Broadway, Times Square, Soho and Fifth Avenue
Isaac Stern, Pavoratti, Willie Nelson and Ray Charles singin' the blues ...
Make a list from the Statue of Liberty all the way up to Mars
~ You still might leave out a legacy of constellations and stars!
In a squat way at the back of high street
Lived a blue-eyed soul, Orpheus his name.
A blues and roots minstrel of rock and beat,
He was a living legend, with fame aflame.
Eurydice was his radiant star.
They sang and danced clasped together tight.
In duet jives, beating twelve to the bar.
But cruel fate ruined all this one dark night.
Eurydice was drugged by a snake.
She died, her spirit falling without trace,
Into the Hades dark arms at daybreak.
Orpheus loss gutted, missed her embrace.
Orpheus, maddened sad by love's despair,
Entered the underworld, to get her back.
Reliant on songs of hope and prayer,
To free Eurydice from the attack.
Orpheus' music pierced evil ears.
With his words of sorrow, lifting the shades,
Making the underworld weep, and shed tears,
Making the guard dog, slacken its charades.
Hades hood-winked by the sad sorrow song,
Agreed to let her go on the proviso,
That Orpheus would not look back along
Their journey back from Hell's gate to Soho.
Hades knew well that the urge to look back
By Orpheus would grow and grow too strong
As their path grew lighter from gloom doom black
Love would no longer postpone their duet song.
As light was in sight, journey's end so near,
The longing to see his love one triumphed!
Whispers of doubt echoed drones in his ear.
Surely the pledge he made could be defaulted?
As he looked back and smiled, his love faded.
Eurydice shrunk to ghost, slid away.
Orpheus left alone, gutted and jaded
Was tormented by remorse, tears could not allay
His music now has a somber sad tone,
Seeking some solace in each note he plays,
With his black heart blues hoping to atone
For the love he lost, for wanting love's gaze.
Silver A is the slot this wet morning
Silver A is the most loved Dude
in the streets of Big Apple
for being Copa best patron
& exotic dancers of the strip
clubs don’t with him at all
Silver A is a larger cultural dynamic
representing a still deeper symbolic stratum
the bird that flies
across anything
SoHo
for being
the most sus lit
no cap
no buggin
book it to link
the next Bronx cheer
you sign the dub coming in
your new Hollywood
I’m feening for
Bucktown
In this dirty old city that never sleeps at all
West End walking looking 'round for thrills
West End talking meeting all the girls
lights come up as the sun sinks under
East End spending money comes and goes
East End bending breaking all the rules
bright lights blaze on the avenues
dark alley doings going on too
back streets side streets circus or square
striptease sordid Soho sleaze
trains in the underground resound in the air
don't get me wrong like the river life rolls on
opportunities are there ~ there for the taking
never mind another grey rainy day
possibilities are there ~ there for the making
you can't win unless you make your play
London town never lets me down
The richness of life, its most intimate associations
are shared with a partner
as the smiles shine through and the laughter breaks out
yes, the Grand Canyon may be the perfect backdrop
but so may be a nifty dark little alley in the heart of Soho...
and when the tears well up in our eyes, it matters not
that Niagara Falls is in front of us, or whether we're on a park bench
somewhere
recalling loved ones who've stumbled and fallen prey to mortality
because the bond between us is unshakeable and without it
we can no longer imagine pressing on with this road trip we call Life