Long Sour Poems
Long Sour Poems. Below are the most popular long Sour by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sour poems by poem length and keyword.
Old Mr. Nicholson
totters across the town square
to the barbershop where
Clive has cut his hair
for the last forty years or so
Not hardly needing
even a trim
but pretending
he has a reason besides
the gossip waiting within
Inside, the shop smells like hair tonic
shaving cream and old leather
and the only noticeable things
that Clive's changed
in the last forty years
are the calendar, magazines
and gumball machine
Tall and gaunt, Clive stoops and
shuffles around the shop
a bit slow and shaky, but still
the cheapest and best around
as he drawls out the latest
scuttlebutt from all over town
Harry Van Hoorn leans
sideways in the old barber chair
hanging on every word like an old hound
ears flapping in the breeze
making an odd squinchy face as he
holds back a sneeze
bits of loose hair tickling his nose
While old Arnie Bruner
broods in the corner
his usual sour-faced self
like an old prune
all wrinkled and dried up
without a single good thing to say
“Well, hello Ed!” Clive stops and says
as Mr. Nicholson sidles in
he amiably waves his comb in the air
continuing to work on Harry's hair
thoroughly ignored as he
continues to speak
“Long time, no see!” Harry sings out
even though they were both
in here just last week
“Hiya Harry!” Mr. Nicholson says
in his high-pitched little whine
“Have you heard about-”
“Oh wait, lemme guess-” Arnie breaks in
in his growly bass
“...it's about that place... next door to-”
“Jim and Grace” Harry cuts in
“No, I was going to say-”
Mr. Nicholson chirps
a bit snappily
“It must be about Jenny Mae...”
Harry chortles gleefully
“No, it's gotta be about Faye!-”
Arnie belts out grumpily
Meanwhile, they're missing
all the scorching details
of the greatest scandal
as Clive croons on
amid the din
of his gabby, blabby customers
each desperate
to get a word in
Back and forth, in and out
with bickers and shouts
hums, warbles, trills, groans
solos and accidental duets
their crazy cacophony has become
a funny (albeit gossipy) kind
of barbershop quartet!
Lily was a gorgeous maiden with an unusual hair color.
Men gave her more attention than she deserved.
Plenty of plain women were ready to turn her in.
Calling her witch, declaring she had cast a spell on them.
Some of the more jealous ones twitched violently.
Calling upon the good Christian soldiers to banish her.
She was about to get burned at the stake.
Something the ugly girls were glad to see.
But along came the witch hunters; Hansel and Gretel.
They had weapons and were not afraid to use them.
They rescued Lily, and warned the good people to leave her alone.
It was a sad day for the plain, ugly, sour-faced old maids.
Hansel and Gretel knew the power of good and bad witches.
Their mother had been a good witch; so they had an inside track.
They had experienced the wrath of a bad witch while young.
It was imperative they keep saving good witches, so they did.
Mush-mellows and Cream
Sweet cream and butter,
sugar, milk and eggs,
the treat to eat,
and no one knows,
the secret.
“Mush” is a funny plant,
It flowers in strange places.
Where hearts cry, birds lie,
and the truth,
is well known.
Not everyone has been,
where they need to go,
or be…
But the bees in the trees,
near the rows of planted vines,
are colorful, and electric,
spending energy to make
the stars shine,
even during the day.
Crazy, wild and somewhat sane,
the idea of crushing things,
to make them sweet,
is not new.
Mush-mellows just come,
that way.
Like people,
that are happy, that know life is short.
They come to the farm for breaks,
in the day, to get away,
from the hard oranges
and treacherous tangerines,
filled with sour citrus,
confusion.
It's known as the 'Grand Old Party',
But now it seems the GOP stands for
'Grab Only Power'.
Here, it is simple greed that drives
False narratives, where residues spoil
Before they sour.
Little remains, from this once honorable
Party of Lincoln, where he himself
Would not recognize it today.
Since those ideals of a single nation
And its people, have seceded from a
Union, with a fractured display.
Now I believe in our two-party system
And feel both sides have value
That we need.
Yet I'll never find the reason in creating
A further divide, as the privileged
Cause others to bleed.
So for those that might remember,
Who it is that they truly serve.
My prayers will ask only that you find
Courage, and hopefully a democracy
to preserve.
It was deep dark, silence roaming outside
if I couldn't see and hear, it is myself to chide
the urge within pushed my fright aside
time to open the gates of my soul wide.
My journeys I used to have on my own
seeking sheer thrill in my serene zone
for what I painfully miss, I strive to atone
thriving when every ounce in me is full and grown.
The lure of a wonder seized my powers
breaking through my walls and towers
an ocean unearthing my grain and flowers
weeding out what is in my soil ugly and sour.
What reached my soul was so profound, so austere
it is beyond my feel, something I awe and fear
the mysteries in books were to me so clear
and in life, through deep darkness unable to steer.
To raw Nature I carried my tribulation
along with a torturing silence and lamentation
seeking spiritual guidance and revelation
Almighty God, help me not to succumb to temptation!
And here I am, with my words touching my solid earth
carving a clear voice of woe and mirth
aspiring to feed an inner sense of worth
as an avid reader accords my poetry a rebirth.
He made me float…he made me beam with glee
I was once so sturdy…so robust with reverie
but, now I’m a sunken ship…everything’s gone unfortunately
Sponging in misery that I thought has disappeared into the reckless sea
Oooh…I must get a grip
Get a grip, man…
Oooh…I must take a dip
Take a dip into warmer waters
I don’t know what…I don’t know what to think anymore
Without you warming me up like a blanket,
I’m basking with bitter regret
Oooh…I must get a grip
Get a grip, man…
Don’t be a downer…(get a grip)
Don’t imitate me or you’ll end up like a loner
I’m a lonesome ghost…(I need you to take things in your own hands...you got the power!)
Hopeless in love…Our love is sour on a very unsettling hour
Trying to find friendship (on another level no doubt),
Overflowing with love…(something to marvel about)
I gottah get a grip someday!
(Get a grip) x3 Love is so overrated…
God’s love is so underrated
Worldly love is overstated
And I’ve waited for true love…
But my time was wasted
~~~Chorus~~~
I don’t know what to think of this
Might as well…might as well slip into the abyss
Kiss tragedy and wave a farewell
I miss you already…I’m under your wicked spell…
Oh well…I’m a boy and a loner,
Hopeless in love
So hopeless in love
Dealing with so much pain
Dripping continually like acid rain
Dealing with extreme separation anxiety
Ripping apart your ribcage, so I can be set free
So I can crawl out of captivity
Look at me…
Just look at me for a second or two!
Have you any empathy?
I see your eyes, soaking with tears, so blue
Don’t be a downer…(get a grip)
Don’t imitate me or you’ll end up like a loner
You’re a mind-blower! You got the power!
~~~~~~
Shower me not with
Such sweet sour emptiness
From your wagging tongue of lies
For this earth beneath my foot
Could be a sinking land for loot.
Like you did told our fathers
To drop their brains back home
And walk upon your shores empty headed
For you to replace their hollow heads with yours.
Your pot of lies never ceases to boil
Like when they sat around that round table
And you dished to them meals of deceit
While their bulging bellies replaced their heads.
I can see why we the children
Like Almajiris still run to you for grains.
If I shake my head
Like I was paying heed
While you try to beautify
The essence of being a tenant in my own house
And your firework makes a mockery of the fire-fly
We shall soon see which of them outlives the other.
We have always relied on you
Like we have always relied on our legs
To be as swift as that of the fastest antelope
We even murdered our own
On an ideology over blown.
Now you are back
With the storm in your hands
And fire in your mouth
To enshrine or to consume
Of what we have left of our toil
This time we didn’t go to you
But you have decided to come to us
With Larger or is it Lagarde in your hand
Possibly to get us foolishly drunk
For this time we won’t accept a re-lie.
GREEN, GREEN, GREEN!!!
My name is Jade Shamrock Green.
I will not eat one single green bean.
When I get mad, I turn green!
I am wearing my favorite colored green jeans.
Hypnotized by the Irish color green.
Not every green path leads to a flowing stream.
I lay on the frenzy grass so warm and green.
I won a jackpot of green.
To visit the Green Mountains in Vermont is like a dream.
My eyes are shaded green.
My jealousy comes in the color green.
I diet on green veggies that are lean.
The Green Bay Packers are my favorite team.
I believe all frogs should come in green.
It’s a family gift to carry a green thumb gene.
My garden has the greenest life I've ever seen.
Lemons are yellow, but limes are green.
Not all Irish believe in wearing the color green.
My plants in my greenhouse sway with good self-esteem.
I'm the jester who wore a green beret for the king and queen.
The unripe sour apple is moldy green!
Flicking me a green bugger is gross and mean.
Why do all leprechauns wear color green?
Not all clovers have three leafs of green.
Green is the middle color of the rainbow team.
Good Luck, Care Bear's charming eyes are emerald green.
My favorite color has always been green, green, and green!
This is all about wearing green on March the seventeen.
:-) Happy March 17,
he remembers the autumn of 1942 when the troops moved forward
before Stalingrad fell and winter crushed bodies and minds under fire
tanks pulverizing soldiers and some falling by the wayside on purpose
to end the war and find heaven or hell which one did not really matter
food parcels from the home front and letters to family or sweethearts
but victory had already become sour and Heils and raised arms tired
he survived with scars and vowed never again to be hungry or cold
the pantry always full and heating in summer full blast at 28 degrees
the will to live planted some sort of serenity though emotions and pain
would be never expressed to his offspring for the shells were still there
when final defeat was sealed and an innocent youth had been stolen
he played hide and seek with fellow survivors young men by that time
in the end seasons were kind and soothed guilt and following orders
he learnt to appreciate the turn of events and spinning of the earth
changed ribbons and medals for flowers and bees in the hedgerows
and promised to fight for peace instead of rape pillage and murder
21st August 2020
I
Ah what thrill’s life if guts we’ve to get lost!
To lose way once in a while is no sour sauce—
But way to live. Lose way haply pay cost,
A stone that goes about gathers good moss.
Let challenges dare to confront man’s life,
Life gets lived well in its serpentine length,
If it walks on edge of what we call strife—
A way to reach height, due depth, all the strength.
Two ways define passage of life to track:
Easy winds an oft trodden path to walk,
But he that creates one, confronts roadblock,
Enjoys thrills of the testing times to crack.
Life’s not to carry keys for the locked doors,
But to find it when faced with locks on course.
II
So, look for keys when needed, not before,
Nor resolve a problem ere facing it,
Nor care to know what future has in store,
Cook your own dish, enjoy it as ye eat.
In climbing an often-scaled mountain crest,
One can add to odd statistics, not joy,
Adventure there’s, nor thrill of a contest,
One grows an old boy, life gathers no buoy.
What use utilitarian attitude?
Where romance is, nor sense of adventure,
Write poems good or not, mind your own mood,
Let wild new winds through wide windows venture,
Look at life as a challenge to surmount,
Get lost for thrill, try on rainbows to mount.
____________________________________________
Crown of sonnets |02.01.2024|life, adventure
Poet’s note: The New Year is in its first week. The daily newspapers are full of how it might unfold. I hardly find anyone talking on how to tackle it and be ready how so it might unfold. Life is to try out a new, least-trodden path. It is lived well when one can throw away the roadmap and venture on still. As Lao Tse said: Walk on where there’s trail, nor track, nor a towpath. This two-piece crown of sonnets wonders what’s life without any thrill of adventure of the unknown.