Long Streetcar Poems
Long Streetcar Poems. Below are the most popular long Streetcar by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Streetcar poems by poem length and keyword.
Downtown
Dirt, cobblestone, brick and asphalt
Trodden on by horses, kids and others
Driven over by buggy, streetcar and automobile
Past shops, restaurants and theaters
It was the center of a town
A place where life took place
A million memories have been made
Couples who had their first dates
A child who sees their first movie
People who worked the shops
They were all part of the memories
They made the history that we remember
Now, the shops are gone
The restaurants have become rundown or closed
Converted into ghetto bars with all of the gangs and crime
The theaters died when the multiplex was born
Sixteen screens each without a personality
Everything changed with the passing of the years
The beautiful architecture of the past has been replaced
Carved marble changed into sheets of sterile glass
It disappeared as the world progressed
At least the Downtown of the past still lives
The couples, the child and the people remember
And as long as they do...there will always be a Downtown.
Clang, clang, clang, toots a trolley: X-s-teams,
though it's not the same San Fran by the Bay,
remembrance connects, perspective redeems,
sound stirs, 'Mathis', "It's Not For Me To Say".
Maintained posture as my observance probes,
heedless complacency, schemed convenience,
the prate news reader provokes our earlobes,
heroines chat as a girl grasps missed-chance.
Tram's next stop, the conductor ring updates,
abides fixed whiles, a life away smokes forth,
traffic noise flowing, like manmade primates,
shrieks giving birth...streetcar desired...part.
Ding, ding, ding, went the bell; attuned Judy,
"Voices of Spring", scratched slippers of ruby.
Pursuing more than a fair rightful need,
Man, thou hast cornered every craven toy,
Coveting vulture-like that grabs with greed,
Indulging more, way far less to enjoy,
Chasing false thrills on thy life’s every shore
To gratify thy voracious desires,
Fuelling around furious forest fires,
Yielding less and less, fielding more and more.
Thou hast far fewer brain spots of pleasure—
Those that fuel in thee a raging fire,
Beware, Nature has a rare erasure
On thy streetcar with a brake-less desire
That darts more dots O driving thou to strive,
Yet, satisfaction does seldom arrive.
Beware O man, ye covet in excess
In hedonic hotspots’ frantic mad chase,
Attempting to get more, enjoying less,
Amidst all boundless bounties art thou blasé!
…..
What ancient wisdom of ours long ere knew,
Science endorses now its weighty view.
________________________________________
Happenings | 01.04.2007 | desire, joy, pleasure
Poet’s note: A scientific study shows that wanting and liking are separate spots in brain controlled by different circuits. Only when these urges occur in sync, is the impact on brain powerful. But there is a catch. Brain has fewer mechanisms for pleasure than for desire. Hence humans are susceptible to wanting more than they can actually enjoy. Alas, science is only now beginning to understand the Indic thought spiritually and philosophically divined long ago, that too much desire which always frustrates man is not good. Minimizing one’s needs is the key to happiness.
This poem has four stanzas, progressively reducing in size— from eight, to six, to four, to two— the hedonic spots for desire must gradually reduce in sync with those to enjoy.
The world is angry with you just for not been you
The world is angry with you, for wasting the time of your youth
I have waited for three decades just to have a conversation with you
But you keep coming and going hoping and procrastinating
While the questions keep floating in my head,
and reality move closer to the bed and the orchestra
is screaming above me sending ripples into the sea.
I have waited for three decades to have a conversation with you.
And know about the things you do and to listen to your praise,
as you grow stronger in our age.
I have waited for three decades to have a conversation with you
Just to say how do you do, but you keep dodging all the time
And sending codified message through the grape vine
I never get them; I only hear people talking about them
but I don’t understand them.
I don’t really know who is who and who is wearing your shoe
But I heard that you have more than a hundred of them and jewelry
Box that is stacked to heaven, with a message from Queen Elizabeth
the second on her first visit to Elysee Palace in Paris
with a secret growing in her belly date May 1948.
It time to come out of the shadows
And returned what you have borrowed
And have a conversation with me
before the wave takes everything back to the sea.
We have to talk about many things that are hidden in the dark
I cannot phantom them all, for if you are taken too seriously
It will cause a global brawl; the investors understand it all
And you must wait for the call.
This conversation is long due,
and the whole world is waiting on you,
work up the courage and Mother Nature
will accompany you and show you what to do.
We can meet at the bar, in the streetcar,
or in cozy restaurant at the corner of the street
Or at the park with water running down the stream at our feet
I must have a conversation with you
to roll back the dark cloud that exist between me and you
I didn’t know what I did for heaven was watching me and you
A conversation will help me to do my best
And the heavens will cover the rest
Best seat in the place
puts a smile upon my face
'tis so comfy
softest velvet
the deepest shade of red
I sit back
so relaxed
as I await my treat
I am happy to be resting
my poor old aching feet
Awaiting with pure joy
Escaping is my ploy
Entering a world I love
This world ~ a world of make believe
doth take my breath away
Both dreamlike and bizarre
I watch Tennessee’s Streetcar…
Witnessing fine acting
as characters are portrayed
Some they will play happy
Some they will play sad
I sit inside this grand theatre
it truly cannot get much better
Giving a standing ovation
for 'tis time for celebration
And now for me ~ you see
the greatest yearning for to be
upon that stage ~ an actor's life for me
Written 4th May 2022
Contest A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE
Sponsor Brian Strand
3rd Place
he was on a tram looking for guidance
travelling alone for that is how it was
quite a fancy carriage a very new occurrence
an advisor spoke to him full of conviction
stating things need to be proven beyond any doubt
science and research would answer all of his questions
then the streetcar was gone and the leader had disappeared
his belongings had gone and he was bare of material possessions
yet a kind and beautiful woman had retrieved
his woollen blanket the one his ex had had crocheted with love
seashell lines on a now lonely beach ready for rediscovery
undulating waves of pleasure and passion dissolved in the sand
the image receded and he was aware that the throw of the past
would not be abandoned as it held the keys to a future
of some freedom and impendence of change and of growth
the lady of his dreams fainted and romantic relationships
became far down the line of his novel experience
when he meditated and prayed on the surreal visions
he knew once again and for certain beyond any doubt
that only a true spiritual counsellor would reveal
when and how he would be able to find release
closure and the aperture of beginnings and serenity
These are my favorites thus far,
but Gaia's known for Her beauty
and Mother Nature's a cutie.
Sparkles, trailing a shooting star
as it falls, setting skies ablaze,
a rare spectacle, nowadays.
And the pluck of a bass guitar
resonating deep in my heart,
as tears spontaneously start.
The rumble of an old streetcar
carries memories of my youth,
a time of innocence and truth.
And catching fireflies in a jar
is a magical kind of thing,
like capturing love on the wing.
These are my favorites thus far,
sparkles trailing a shooting star
and the pluck of a bass guitar,
the rumble of an old streetcar
and catching fireflies in a jar.
(Constanza)
July 30, 2020
I was at work in Chicago when shots were fired in Memphis. I had no idea that shortly thereafter, cities would also be on fire.
It was close to quitting time when my boss said to me, "He's dead!". I do not remember my reply, but no doubt confusion filled my head.
So I boarded a city bus for home from 'The Loop' to the Westside. But before I made it home, the flames had already lit up the night sky.
I have had many a peaceful dream as well as some horrific nightmares. This was clearly not a dream but a living front-roe-seat nightmare.
From the streetcar, I could see mayhem and a city out of control. Aghast, bewildered, filled with disbelief, eye to eye with hopelessness.
There had been progress, but the wilderness wandering would continue.
A young man of 18, I was both sad for Dr. King and shocked for America.
Massive violence had erupted upon the violent death of a non-violent man. Irony defied imagination as logic, reason, and sanity bowed to emotion and passion.
Presently, as I write this on the west coast, it's 5:30 PM in Chicago, just about the time that I received the news 50 years ago. 50 years ago today, the voice of 'The Dreamer' was silenced, giving way to the alarming siren sounds of fire trucks and police cars.
04042018cjPSFB
Little Miss Ruby cannot keep still
Little Miss Ruby is running up the hill
Little Miss Ruby is going around the circle
Little Miss Ruby likes the color purple
Little Miss Ruby is playing smart
Little Miss Ruby is drawing a flow chart
Little Miss Ruby has a bold spirit
Little Miss Ruby is a bigot
Little Miss Ruby keeps changing the tune
Little Miss Ruby love the tycoon
Little Miss Ruby has a big king bed
Little Miss Ruby love the color red
Little Miss Ruby is banging the door
Little Miss Ruby is peeping through the key hole
Little Miss Ruby is looking for a loophole
Little Miss Ruby is out of control
I walked quietly through the back door
Seeking solace for my ripped up soul
I tried to get a sip of whisky
before I join the invigorating dance floor
But something magnetic ushered me away
And took me to the ground floor
unscrupulous men puffing big cigars
gather around a table in the streetcar
Half naked women serving vodka
Big men with big stuff playing poker
Big pocket big hand
Big money big land
Empty chairs, empty bed
Empty house, empty head
The thoroughbred is leaving the shed
And here I am penetrating the letterhead
They kept moving it from pillar to post
until it end up on the ivory coast
I like the shape of that big horn
It was on the wall before I was born
Something spectacular is carved inside
little miss Ruby is full of pride
Little Miss Ruby is coming clean
Little Miss Ruby has spilled the beans
Q: What would Roy Rogers have been called if he had been a singing farmer?
A: King of the Plowboys.
Q: In the Beowulf saga, who was a male child of the hag Grendel?
A: A real sonofawitch.
Q: What's the slogan for an ad campaign for a certain fabric in Copenhagen?
A: "Something is cotton in the state of Denmark".
Q: What is fear of joining a fitness club?
A: Gymtimidation.
Q: When she worked onstage in a comedy, what could actress Elaine do for an audience?
A: Keep it in Stritches.
Q: What might you call the LGBT version of the glass slipper story?
A: "Transgenderella".
Q: Also for theatre and film buffs--What would you call public transportation in a ghost town?
A: A streetcar named Bizarre.
Q: Why did the man tell the 911 operator to please send help quickly when his spouse appeared to be choking?
A: It was a matter of wife or death.
Q: What is someone who hitchhikes across the country studying different dialects?
A: A roads scholar.
Q: How did the Glasgow "Evening Times" reporter headline the story of the party boat that sank after hitting an iceberg?
A: Scots on the rocks!
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