Long Television Poems
Long Television Poems. Below are the most popular long Television by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Television poems by poem length and keyword.
A sleepless night is nightless sleep
An awakened night
Sound of the fan
Sound of silence
Scare of the still
Thoughts of thinking
Thinking on thoughts
To past; future
Timeless moment – the present
Faces come, events pass
Come back to the present with a shriek
Fear dawns
Sounds dance in hounds
Screech of the flight passing by
Woke up from the awake.
She crawls on
Not found me to hug
Continues to fast asleep
I start counting one to hundred
End up to a thousand.
Took up an old half pornographic magazine
Scarcely dressed women to scare
Appalling gossips
An affair of minister with an actress
Charged in an interview by his wife
A meticulous murder of a History sitter
Opium of the people- terrible journalism
Move on switch on the Box (television)
Fashionable women in modern trends
Libido boosts up
Twist, swings of the Beauties
Swinging rhythmic bodies
Who is that?
She puts her hand on my shoulder
And went on and on.
Sleep got defeated,
Dawn comes the sleep
Down goes the night.
The loneliness of night cloaks a desolate sky.
Drizzling rain clings to devitalized windowpanes.
Staring, longing for an escape from reality.
Ruminating thoughts keep sleep at bay.
The flicker of the television hums in the other room.
Dragging myself, I sink into the doldrums of a discarded sofa.
Turning up the volume, the weatherman describes a tempest coming from the northeast.
Burnt out, silhouettes of notions run rampant.
Even the soft glow of the TV has become too much.
The wind is starting to howl now.
I can feel it whip around the boards of this old house,
Like ancient bones rattling through the ages.
The porch blinds suddenly, violently thrash.
Getting up, I close them before slipping into my pajamas.
Preparing for something just out of reach,
Always a centimeter from my grasp.
I lay in a desperate bed.
Ever-expanding darkness shrouds me.
Yet no relief arrives.
Swollen eyes no longer produce tears.
Vocal cords no longer produce sound.
Just silent screams going unheard into the mattress,
As sanity finally slips through the threads of unyielding fabric.
Do you feel the chaotic concerto?
The cloaked and clandestine composer
Plucking at the ivory keys, exactly eighty eight
With even more ways to tangle those
Countless red strings of taut linear fate.
To be a being, we first must begin
To begin, we must be born, then torn
From the lively, slick, loud, and slimy link
Of mother’s umbilical cord, now
Cut.
Cartwheel your baby body from the delivery room
To sitting criss cross applesauce atop a cedar stool
It’s snack time at age four,
Celery sticks, peanut butter, milk in a plastic cup
Chug whatever lies before your youthful eyes-
Slam the glass down, now look at you, twenty two
Disillusioned with the notes you hear, but cannot play
Plucking the strings, now we all sing to the song
Of a puppet on a string dancing, dancing
To the melody that is tied to us as we trudge along.
“And now here we are at eighty eight,
Did you think you would make it to the retirement home?
The fuzzy television screens, the dementia, the barely palatable
Food that nearly slides itself off your plate, look at you
Still slimy, still newly born.
Let me cut your cord
You made it, this is your reward.
Is this all that you have hoped for?
Well it better be, for this is the sound
Of your string’s final, echoing chord”
Snap.
Break your celery stick betwixt
The anger you feel, your fear,
And the peanut buttery memories
That stick to the roof of your mouth,
The ones you hold so dear
Bed
Shakes and slumber alike
Float upon me
Wet emotion
Soaks through and stains
For her smiles
And his furrowed brow
Imprint
The laughter and pain
Mirror
Me, the shine and prism
Of her hatred
Endless hours of
Not good enough
And his reassurance
Of loveliness
That will never
Be understood
Carpet
Pounding thrashing
Of their two loves
Upon me at two am
Smiling after the
Sound of play
Echo the hallway
And wake the neighbors
Laughingly unashamed
Television
One no two
No three
Grabbing at differences
In perception and
Personality
Rolling eyes
Grinning heart
Oh just take it
Closet
I contain both of
Their many faces
Of characterization
For each other
And the outside
The demons and
Faults swept in me
Obsession and Impulse
Curtain
Shades of truth
Hidden delights
And detriments
Behind my mask of
Sunshine shrouded
Cotton obscurity
Enough peaks through
If you really look
Lamp
Groans and sighs
She adores me
Perhaps his consciousness
And her fear of darkness
Will come to terms
And leave me at peace
One day
Till then I never rest
Shower
Pearly suds cling to my walls
When they are happy
Songs penetrate steam
But oh how I am neglected
Dry sadness
For the majority
I take too much energy
From helpless souls
Couch
Sore and abused
An alibi for each
His quiet savior
Her supportive friend
My popularity increases
As creativity disappears
And common ground
Is rarely evident
Fridge
He frowns
As she stuffs me
With poor choices
Reflecting regret
With life all around
But I feel empty
When they are joyous
For they are no where to be found
I have met a lot of people in my life
some are profiles on the internet
others are names in books,
others are pictures on television
others live in paintings
some I read in obituaries they were a picture in a magazine
some were names mentioned by papa in the stories
others we were born in the same house
others we grew in the same house
others came with that house
some we live within the same neighborhood
and others live on the street
They always remind me to buy them tea
some we went to the same school
some I met at work
these are too many people to remember
yet I hear there are another 7 billion
who can make other people
they all live the same story
all wake up, all sleep
like the same things
fighting the same wars
dying the same deaths
by this measure
as the camel driver told Santiago
Our life stories and the history of the world
are all written on the same sand
Theme from the ABC television show
"TAXI"
i ride the streets of New York
both day and night, Hey..
Hail!
Hello taxi;
and with every street I pass by;
I see a different site;
I don't know if this is right/
I don't know if this is the right way
I don't know if I should tell the driver hey!
Look over there,
what have we here;
there has got to be a better way to see this town;
there has got to be a better way to git around;
Pull over man I think that I would rather walk;
(read or sung to the music of Bob James composer of Taxi)
09/14/82
Lyrics written by James Edward Lee ©1982
Composed music by Bob James
I listen to the news each day and read the papers too.
And what I hear or see can make me sad.
Like, innocent kids and civilians killed by air force strikes
How is this travesty justified? Where in this crisis was their choice?
I wonder why I care; but I do.
Five teens went through a roundabout and smashed into a tree,
And now their families face this tragedy.
The driver killed was fifteen years, his friends hurt critically.
Scenarios like this each day, no lessons learnt from them.
I wonder why I care; but I do.
Elections looming throughout the world, chills me to the bone,
I fear our future is in jeopardy.
With narcissistic candidates, others who lose the truth.
Choices are poor, I have to say, are they really the best they have?
I wonder why I care; but I do.
And child abuse in all its forms, now coming to the fore,
Just who allowed this wickedness to roam free.
For innocence of childhood loss, can never be reinstated.
With suicides and hatred rife, this price is too high to pay.
I wonder why I care; but I do.
Kidnapping and brutality against young girls I have heard,
Their lives destroyed, enslaved by cruel men.
Now they return with babes in arms, the legacy of rape.
Forever more their life changes, we see sadness on their face.
I wonder why I care; but I do.
If there is a God who is looking down, he would weep for all humankind.
I am sure that none of this was in his plan.
Is it too late to begin again and make amends?
With each man free to live in peace, or is that just a dream?
I wonder why I care; but I do.
I wonder if I should not read the words or watch Television again.
Nor listen to another piece of news.
And then I would not have to hear about constant tragedies.
I could be free from other's woes, let them not worry me.
I wonder why I care; but I do.
Stance Thinclad a lead promoter of Company One Promotions
and Tensill "Tallcat"Mossinger of Genere Media Group were
said to have had dealing that were clearly visible to fans and nonfans
of the Mat Game. The Pro Wrestling Guild and the Ole Grapplers club
united to seek remedy to what had made their sport not be trueist.
"Entrudism is a term in Rasslin that all rassler honor."
Entrudoism is the practice of promotional honesty. Meaning
that a clear line is drawn from
having one promoter
helping another unless the union is
contracted and spoken of in a business sence.ving the same guy
wearing a mask in two promotions
fooling both the fans and future opponents isn't Truest or a practice of Entrusism, it's ah " Song of Fasetto" which means someone must stand to Jeer!
But Ole Stance Thinclad was smart he opened a new company
with a New World Championship and Champion. He allowed his company
to show the champion on television and recognize the championship, as an independent company.
His champion unified the new title and
he spoke of the revival company ( which he was part owner of)
to engage into a champion verses champion where he
would lose to the revival company. But honestly he would sell the new company to
avoid dealing with his main competition. Did it work?
Garbage planet with hearts broken,
walking death all over trying to prove us wrong,
understand the mind that hates your ideas,
nothing in this silence matters, but voices,
where do we go this isn't just a game,
turnaround and witness these human machines,
cubical on wheels follow your dreams,
broke television from the past,
hear you own ideas whisper covered lies,
break and protect, forever hide, am i fine,
big ideas and small rocket ships just not enough,
simply just ugly filthy life, greed will feed
give it all, make it grow, existence potential fall
guard your ideas and look up craters on the moon
something within its darkness
one day we will all walk and bark like dogs.
I bought a Martha Stewart pan and liked it very well
now for my cooking needs I have ten or twelve
I used to drive a big old Ford Galaxy it was colored brown
now I have a green Chevy truck to get around
Once I only drank Coca Cola to cool me down
now a Pepsi even RC my thrust to drown
Blue jeans were all I wore that was a fact
now I am more comfortable in a pair of slacks
Once I always slept in PJ's to dream the night away
now in loose t-shirt and boxers on slumber's sleigh
I once watch network television for shows and news
now its all streaming for entertainment woos
I used to pray at night before I went to sleep
now I pray anytime of the day or week
The more things change they really do
but the one constant I keep as I love you.