Long Stucco Poems
Long Stucco Poems. Below are the most popular long Stucco by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stucco poems by poem length and keyword.
Classical infusion, Beethoven’s “ode to joy”
playing on blaring audiophile speakers annoy
purposely looped to destroy vagrants with electronic music
blends of subversive elements and anxious acoustic
the solution to loitering the bodega doo dropping
spicy Shiitake broth smelling pissy store front,
jaded daily stunt, at midnight wino corks popping
abruptly segway into a film from one music scene
to a melting hallway, a lipstick alley with animate occupants
disconnected unmoored, appearing eerie and dormant
fluorescent lights unleashing a hum buzz in duress
hissing sizzling hornets’ nest of unsettling unrest
illogical levels of unease, an iniquitous den
such madcap absurdity is beyond my ken
not a shack, mall, nor a Holiday Inn,
a queasy Quasi-Moto mood which lies within
backrooms filled in with discarded filets
of fishy maceral that have no place,
frolicking pixella's in a glossy abyss of liminal space
plump puce brushed lips affixed
swollen browns and purple mixed
deep maroon and dusky rose,
make-up art is what they pose
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
Crescent shaped moon portions mounted in pseudo walls
mounted upon the glare in unpleasing patterned halls
side by side quagmired half discs dawning a contorted face
in a half dazed-half-moon crest loon’s invisible phase
not unconscious but in some in-between state
bored while in transition and abandoned as they await
whimsical moldings who see me try not to take a peek
an exit to this madness is what I and they seek
maybe re-evaluate my sleep number, for gravity defying rest
What insight imports this encounter and what test?
what it means for a doomed generation Xer or baby boomer,
tacked in stucco, Silly Putty it seems, in a warped sense of humor
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
Tall and narrow,
the houses stand,
wall against wall,
hunched together
on the edge of the
cobbled street,
as if armed against
the unknown.
Tiny balconies
Where laundry
Used hang on railings
To dry, now bursting
With potted plants
Walls bright yellows,
greens and blues,
stucco and stone
mortared together
hundreds of years ago
by stout men in
leather aprons
with the rudest of
implements,
they lean inward
over the street,
which once ran with mud,
the contents of
slop jars, and wash water.
Now teeming with tourists
who hobble on the cobbles,
peering into first floors,
converted into tiny shops
crammed with hats
and shirts and sandals,
soaps and wine and bracelets,
postcards and paintings,
candy and local delicasies.
Oldtown suddenly finds itself
squarely in the middle
off the twenty-first century.
The church I went to as a teenager
was full of sex.
It seeped through the worn wooden pews
into the pours of our hands.
It sluiced around the stucco walls
and fake stained-glass windows.
The aroma of young girls at prayer
was overpowering.
On the surface older people
seemed oblivious to this sea of sensuality,
yet when I looked closer
peeping over the edge of my hymnal
I saw folks with closed eyes,
backs arching, many
holding onto some unexpected
yet well-known arousal.
A stirring gravity enthralled us
as we orbited a magnetic divinity.
That day I knew intuitively
that the holiness of life was a passion
gifted to us by an even greater passion -
one that loves us.
A palette of sounds, smells, and colors;
Spring fills the canvas of my mind
with Her stoic beauty.
And once more, Her fabulous frescos,
fuel my passion for impressionism:
when She dapples Winter's wet stucco
with vibrant splashes of color.
And my heart is stimulated
by Her earthy sweet-scented breath.
Nothing feels as refreshing
as a Spring shower;
the feel of renewal
is encapsulated within each drop.
Robin-Redbreasts and daffodils;
early harbingers of Spring,
magically, change the landscape.
Flowers bloom in copious colors;
and songbirds add a vibrant pulse
to the heart of Spring!
I cherish Spring's sweet smile;
for smiles are made of hope:
and hope is the promise of Spring.
6/5/22
Underneath the night sky
No more Mr. Nice guy
My my, how time flies
F*** all these white lies
To you it seems out of this world and Sci-Fi
To me it's natural like a hippie wearing tie-dye
Another high tide
Rarely on the sidelines
Hardly feeling likewise
Much to accomplish in a lifetime
Took some tumbles
Held on didn't fumble
No longer puzzled
Disgruntled
I often mumble
Liquor I guzzle
Then smoke some diamonds or sugar, f*** crumble
Around the corner is often trouble
Feathers easily getting ruffled
Leading to a rumble
We'll see who is the king of the jungle
And who is humbled
Go ahead and chuckle
But how quickly you'll struggle
Then buckle
Before seeing double
Me and a bucko
Finished the job with stucco
Just know
Can't afford to be a Dumbo
Need to do it with gusto
House needs to be jumbo
Bank account needs to be Mutumbo
Got to keep it a hundo
Or I'm donzo
We’re all just Scattered splattered rainbows on Skyscraping Walls.
That’s some graffiti, the graffiti is the name.
There’s graffiti with some face paint
Looking out us all, with eyes on everyone... peeking thru city walls.
A palette of colorful dots mixing with the stucco.
MIssed it, turn arounD. I know it's there for sure, Bucko.
My naME captures my eYe. (peakin thru) There I AM! I see it Now.
Flashback-wards. I'm closer still. In a second's flash it can be gone
But there it is before my eyes my gigantic great BIG sign
In BIG GIANT RAINBOW letters high up in the Sky. Squeezed in Between.
Brick and mortar are its seams and frame. Take-a-left. I see it Now.
I AM everywhere as I meddle through this traffic madness.
Almost missed it but there YoU ARe tiMINg it just RiGht.
City sounds: horns cursing, sirens screaming, an overhead plane roars, tires screeching!
There’re splattered rainbows splattering all over Earth’s walls!
“Are you an Art Meddler?” ARt MEdDler wonders.
Graffiti can be food. Eye candy for the soul.
Graffiti can be paint that paints the world with color.
Graffiti can be playful to keep us young at heart.
Graffiti can be sprayed to mark your spot.
Graffiti can BE A LIVElihood. Expressing ones meyend freely.
Graffiti can be words, use your words, then act. But always think first that
Graffiti can be whole universes from a Universe of curves.
Graffiti can be music to those who cannot hear.
Graffiti can be poetry that lasts for years and years.
Graffiti’s on the subway walls where there’re no rainbows cast at all.
We’re all just splattered rainbows casting shadows on the wall.
Art is meddling in the arts.
Art is being there and true.
Art is doing what art does best
When Art is really you.
Auto-da-fé at Plaza Major
Sixteen-Eighty was brutal on saints and their hissing cats.
A turgid June, thickened as it was by an immature sanguinary wine
that failed to quench the civil mob.
Above the birthday cake façade, the pink and cerise porticoes,
the heavenly-frocked casements, the stucco -
a tiered sibilance rises where the throng in a sportive sweat,
begets its feverish desires.
The accused stand center-stage, as hairless as Sphinx
garnished with sheen's of fear.
Some contemplate the ornate state of their theatrical ruin.
Some already lash their minds behind unfocused eyes.
That was then; I see all this through a blood spattered prism,
the square still seeps
through a crimson varnish of time.
Evening now flaps a checkered flag.
The plaza is now a pitch for celebrating revelers.
Real Madrid fans have surged out of the barra.
Soccer balls are dribbled over cobbles.
I imagine my hapless head plunging in and out
of the heedless crowd. I am their sport,
a candidate for a mocking inquisition perhaps?
Meanwhile, the cats stare patiently,
squeezed as they are into strips of sunset,
a pink Iberian tongue of light that streaks the floodlit scene.
This place could be a plaza for jubilation, were it not
for the sotto voce hissing of these time-stretched
unforgiving shadows above us.
Tired War,Release the Monkeys
They tried to nail my boot to the floor
No nail puller
My influence won the day
I was the monkey man
Earn the right
I want to ask
Just for a little more time
Growing life growing tree
just to lose it
Can't you see
Life got to be better
Once I lit that cigarette Ocean of tomorrows
Swells
Fasten our belts
There's air escaping This world has a leak
Just before a cats shadow beyond the hill
Against the grayish stucco plastered wall
Fortune of forever
Now its in your face
Fear fear fear
its all coming together
Together
Why I fear completion
Or falling apart
Put your mind in another place
Seeing the sun cut out to shade
I promise to do enough
oxygen enough empty space for you
To have another cigarette
Well I can't say that you suck
Unless I can do better
But even then
I saw monkeys
Hooked up to masks
I wondered who is actually murdering their ass
Well the monkey mysteriously went away
Hope take me away from tragedy
My old friend stayed
Giving death sentences like belonging to some hell bent regime
The trumpets sounded
I let it finish
I faded into forget
Pink flamingos prance with Hooper cranes
high above a vaulted mall ceiling,
a China-blue sky paints fluff upon stucco clouds.
I hold your hand playing hide and seek,
intimate inmates in our open cage,
we are concealed inside a crowd of glitter tramps.
There are rampant plaster angels,
there are neon rainbow fountains,
there are screaming cherubs.
Eyes mob shop windows.
I lose you in the crush and crowd.
Jewelry dazzles on blue velvet carousels.
Spied you on the edge of a mirror,
you’re seeking my fractured reflection
yet too many fake diamonds impede.
Murals crumble under a thronging press,
exit doors spin, spun by a midday sun
no one but I can see the ghost riders.
Found you under a plastic palm.
I thought you carried a child in your arms -
it was just my love that you held so tight.
Indigenous woman—rarely accompanied by their
white sisters—or their men enter
through the side door
of St. Peter’s Church.
Here they are boxed in cool stucco,
and stained-glass. A flock of Mexican
Madonna’s shift today to encompass
their fairer sister:
Dios te salve, Maria. Llena eres de gracia: El Señor es contigo.
Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres. Y bendito es
el fruto de tu vientre:,Jesús.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is
the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros,
pecadores, ahora y en la hora ...
drones on—and on—and on
within the heavenly heights of gilded frescos—bleeding—
rainbows prism the room in false light, kaleidoscoping upon
the walls—murals of brocade, gold-threaded catch random rays.
Woman anchor the pews with their desires—
Pliant and pleading these mothers beseech Mary to intercede:
for first class citizenship (inside and outside the Church)
for work, for health, for a better life for their children.
Voices of the lamb bleating; dinner for the wolves, they pray.
SHORT SHRIFT-little or no attention or consideration