Long Streets Poems
Long Streets Poems. Below are the most popular long Streets by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Streets poems by poem length and keyword.
Wander the streets of a place unfamiliar
Looking for somewhere to eat.
Deal with exhaustion, the heat and the crowds
Which make disorientation complete.
Suddenly someone's materialized,
Like a genie right out of Aladdin,
Inviting you in...the best seat in the house!
And your out-of-sorts mood starts to gladden.
He asks where you're from and you tell him New York;
He knows that he's reeled in a live one.
You start to talk films and his heroes are such
That you realize this guy is a jive one.
Yet he's charming and sweet and adept at his craft
As you notice him casting his net;
And the restaurant surely must be well aware
That the crowd's left them so in his debt.
It's really a skill to be friendly and warm
And quite cunning and slick all the same;
But our dinner was lovely and so, after all,
He deserves only credit, not blame.
Screaming sirens pierce the silence and wrench me from my deep, trance-like sleep. The wind grabs them and slams them into the night sky, whipping them into a panicked frenzy. They echo furiously through the air as they wind around the city streets. The dogs all bark in unison as random lights begin to dot the neighborhood one by one. Who is writhing in agony or cowering in fear? Somewhere a life may have just ended or is hanging by a thread; or perhaps a new one is just beginning.
Where are they going? What is wrong? They sound so desperate! It must be something very bad for there to be so many. Dear God, please take care of whoever they are going for.
When I went to school in the city
my friends though I was poor,
but I didn’t understand
wasn’t really very sure;
I only knew that
when I got home
I had all those miles
of fields to roam,
and every long summer
within easy reach,
half hour’s walk,
was Cowden beach.
They may have had running water
and toilets that flushed
but I hated their streets
their lives that rushed.
I was never ever at ease
when I was there,
hated the noise,
the very air.
They had the cinemas,
I had the sun.
They could play in the parks
I could walk with my gun;
and very special, I had two lives.
My friends known almost from birth
village folk with families like mine
mostly living from and with the earth
and my newly found city friends.
I kept each in their own part of my day
the best of both worlds,
I liked it that way.
A man’s not poor
if he needs to be told
what he’s missing
out there in the cold
My life may have been considered lacking
by those friends back there in the city,
from my position it was they
who needed my pity.
Summer's heat will soon retreat as autumn takes the stage
The scene of green on the hill turns to red and gold
Cool temps rule as a season turns the page
The summer breeze that swayed the trees will bid adieu
Autumn's shawl are leaves that fall, so it's told
Within time's quilt flowers wilt as Halloween comes due
Mostly ghostly creatures then roam the streets
From door to door to each home they go, so bold
As they wander through the night for treats and sweets
8-26-2024
Example For My Contest
Tuesday by the bay,
Garden tour dazzles;
Wonder now portrays,
Profound joy dangles.
Our first visit here
As monsoon rain wets;
Yet we feel good cheer
Greeting our mindset.
Stroll these spacious grounds,
Eco-friendly space;
Feel earthy surrounds
In timely embrace.
Take the audio trip
As the tram ride springs;
Glimpse a new-found grip
As a message flings.
There is a pulse here
In the atmosphere;
Vibrant garden steers
An amazing sphere.
My love and I feel
The swirl of fond fest:
A vital zest heals
Trials in journey quest.
This green agenda
Tells of plant foliage;
Flora and fauna
In sculptured passage.
A garden city
Comes alive right here:
Elegant beauty,
Poise and prize appears.
There is a deep soul
That waits for each man
To feel once more whole
As eyes search and scan.
Curious eyes caress
Walkway paths and trees;
Slow time can address,
Inner child set free.
The magic of awe
When wonder fills mood;
Watch nature now thaw
A grandeur that's good.
Round and round we go,
Mix and mingle sights;
Loiter with calm flow,
Reach a core delight.
Time once upon yore,
Babylon in myth:
Hanging gardens bore
That fabled fond wreath.
Now within our glimpse,
A touch most telling:
Gardens once a dream,
A sanctuary springs.
True worth speaks tons here,
A tribute to zest;
Earthly presence cheers
The radiance of quest.
Our sojourn tells more
In visual impact;
Primal pulse galore,
Indulge wit and tact.
A certain charm calms,
Mind and heart feel glow;
A firm healing balm
Streams a pretty show.
Curious eyes now spy,
Blooms and colours tint;
Flowers speak and sigh,
Rare and myriad mints.
Variety adds spice
To sensorial sights;
These gardens feel nice,
Craft and work surprise.
Words can only hint
What feasting eyes see;
Experience fine tints
Come to seed beauty.
A picture tells more
Than mere words can say;
Let gardens bring store,
Touch you on the way.
Now our weary feet
Falter with fatigue;
Leave for other streets,
Bear glimpse of magic.
Leon Enriquez
06 January 2015
Singapore
(Sir Frederick Treves, Victorian surgeon, has the
following claims to our respect: (1) he discovered
and cared for Joseph Merrick, "The Elephant Man":
(2) He followed the route in Italy of the characters
in Browning's "The Ring & the Book", taking
priceless photos: and many more things!)
The Eloquent Man
Sir Frederick Treves enjoys four claims to fame:
the lifelong friend of Thomas Hardy, who
supped with him in the King’s Arms snug: the name
of Joseph Merrick (Robert Browning, too!)
is intimately linked with his: he’s due
a place in heaven for his healing feats:
and yes, he lived here, on the street of streets.
It’s Dorchester, or Casterbridge to some.
And Treves, a native, knew its ways and whims
as well as Hardy did. When he succumbed
to his appendix, genteel pseudonyms
were dropped. Tom Hardy chose the funeral hymns.
He also honored Treves in gentle rhymes,
to mark his passing, in the London Times.
The wretch named Merrick, or the Elephant Man,
could well have lived his loveless life untended,
had Treves not found him. Merrick’s mortal span
was made more bearable, being befriended
by one of London’s foremost. When it ended,
poor Joseph Merrick, long reviled and scorned,
found home in Wimpole Street, where he was mourned.
King Edward feels a grumble in his tripes,
and sends for Surgeon Treves, the kingdom’s best.
“You mustn’t operate,” the sovereign gripes,
“My coronation’s looming.” “Which seems best,”
asks Treves – “a crowning, or cremation?” Pressed
to give an answer, Edward takes the knife –
and Treves the genius saves his monarch’s life.
The poet Browning wrote some novel verse,
or rather, a verse novel: ring and book,
Italian murder tale. Treves was immersed
in it, obsessed with it, completely hooked:
went off to Tuscany, made notes, and took
some photographs, made sketches, thus preserving
the base of fact. The man defines “deserving”!
A seagull on the railing
And a pigeon on the ground
Were surveying their surroundings
And were pleased at what they found.
“I have the better life,” thought gull,
“For here, along the river,
I have a view and all the food
The river can deliver.
Poor pigeon has to scrounge and peck.
He’s on the grubby streets.
He has to dodge the moving feet
Of everyone he meets.”
The pigeon, on the other hand,
Was thinking as he strutted.
If he had heard the seagull’s thoughts,
He’d likely have rebutted.
“I love my urban habitat.
My world is rich with choice.
On sidewalks, statues or in parks
I burble and rejoice.
There’s plenty here for me to eat.
I’ve got a million friends.
With all the teeming humans,
People-watching never ends.
The seagull, sadly, must rely
On waterways for food.
His meals are raw, while I indulge
In morsels barbecued.”
The pigeon cooed and bopped his head;
The gull took to the sky,
Each convinced that his existence
Made him quite a lucky guy.
Frank Osgood
1870-1919
I was the great wanderlust of Whittier!
From 1890 until my last days,
I followed my nose,
And other body appendages,
To distant earthly destinations,
Both sensational and disgusting,
From the calm tranquility of a secure home,
To the chaos and uncertainty,
Of traveling with heavy bags, aching feet,
And certain fears, I, nevertheless,
Decided to break out and seek other lands,
Other people, and other vistas.
Sickness did awfully afflict me many times,
As I lay retching inside many a tent,
But always I was learning, and thriving.
To far-away Rome I traipsed,
To Paris, Venice and London too.
From the streets of Madrid to
The far-away shores of the Mediterranean,
Where The Christ founded a mighty religion,
I ventured and saw, and tasted!
I hunted on safari in Eastern Africa and
Shot a gazelle from a standing position.
In beautiful South America and Asia,
My restless feet found another universe,
Of unworldly sights and strange rituals.
My friends!
It was amazing indeed to drink it all in,
Like a cool fruit drink from Rio.
But my thirst for wandering was never slaked.
And then it ended,
Like the quick waking from a dream,
When I died at home of a measly fever.
Most ironic indeed.
And so, as for my epitaph,
This is it:
“‘Tis a heap of profit to travel.”
I don’t like what they say
They won’t see it our way
They rave and squawk
Proceed to talk
Shut them down, they’re hateful.
They do not go along
With History’s true song
They shout and bray
Cling to their faith
Shut them down, they’re hateful.
I never can explain
Why they think they’re John Wayne
They all own guns
Often more than one
Shut them down, they’re hateful.
They’re ideas are quite beserk
They fetishize hard word
They’d force the poor
To hard labour
Cut them down, they’re hateful.
They think that money spent
Poorly by government
Should be their own
And spent at home
Cut them down, they’re hateful.
So we’ll march in the streets
Punch them when we meet
We’ll put the fist
To those fascists
Cut them down, they’re hateful.
Don’t look at me like that
Don’t talk behind my back
You know I ride
One with the tribe
You cannot think I’m hateful
Think of what we’ve endured
Who are you to say ‘impure’
No one can sate
All those dictates
You know that I’m not hateful
You must resist the urge
Don’t put me in the purge
I heard the call
Marched with you all
I swear that I’m not hateful!
Bang.
When I sit back and look at my life
I think how far I came and everybody
makes mistakes but really no one's to blame
and on these streets ain't much done changed
but suddenly after all I've been threw
to get thru you gotta go thru
and why I'm worthy of his grace
is what I'm trying to show you
but honestly, truthfully, who you
and just like that I know your perception
of me just drastically changed
but pain is love and love overcomes all
if it's the right kind anyway, and thru my
life I always had to deal wit that petty he say she say
and I'll continue to speak the truth until on my tombstone
where I lay but ay, I know you don't like what I became
and it's a shame that we as people don't wanna
see the next man or woman prosper, but thats society
it ain't the white man but my own kind that wanna see me locked up
maybe even shot up, and America's attitude is
nothin can't stop us, but life is something ain't it
now look who's vision is tainted
now look who's holding the stainless
so suddenly it's the same sh!t just different places
same young niggas living Dr. Kings dream
wit more knowledge, but brand new faces
put me in Jesus place
now I'm literally bibically trading places