Long Transistor Poems
Long Transistor Poems. Below are the most popular long Transistor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Transistor poems by poem length and keyword.
Re-live the nineteen-sixties? Don't! We all
imagine mop-tops, surf, free love and sun,
conveniently forgetting Watts, De Gaulle,
the Tet Offensive, Audrey Hepburn's nun.
Imagine! Mop-tops, surf, free love - and sun!
Transistor radios, Italian suits!
The Tet Offensive? Audrey Hepburn? None
of those can overshadow kinky boots!
Transistor radios. Italian suits
the spirit of the age - la dolce vita!
No woes can overshadow kinky boots,
The Fugitive, short skirts, the parking meter!
The spirit of the age! La dolce vita!
Your Normal Joe thinks former times were "swell":
The Fugitive, short skirts, the parking meter!
To get to know Uhura, really well!
Your Normal Joe thinks former times were "swell".
He wants to join the Enterprise's crew,
to get to know Uhura really well,
and satisfy that inner yearning, too.
He wants to join the Enterprise's crew,
conveniently forgetting Watts, De Gaulle,
and satisfy that inner yearning to
re-live the nineteen-sixties. Don't we all?
Ice cream and ices, ice cream and ices
Get your fudgywugies here is screamed
Heard clear emerging from the tunnels
Under the boardwalks promenade shadows
Loud and clear come good humor men in white
Ridiculous in their black shoes heavy like iron
Trudging through hot sand like mad men
Hunched over with the weight of Summer
Ready to huckster the kiddies for money
Already waiting with quarters in hand
Radios dial up Beatles for transistor sisters souls
Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band plays on
Over sounds of ocean spray and cozy blankets
The surface of the sun smiles on happy afternoons
Cones melt chocolate droplets on wet bathing suits
Blue lips of children, their bodies shiver, after a dip
They toss peanuts at pigeons who leave droppings
As presents after target practice then continue cooing
Colorful kites fly with the seagulls and dollars
Waved to entice those who come out from the shadows
Sun lotions and potions of peace and love sold at a price
Not always a bargain
Pretty tan girls in stunning string things
Left to the imagination as clothing
Dotted bikinis in yellows and pinks on parade
Follow life guards into the surf for protection
Held together by muscles and love
Not only tides wave good-bye to Summer
Mobsters wear concrete shoes for a dip
Smoke their last cigarette before “falling in”
Go for a swim with the fishies
Sink to the depths of the city
The summer of 1961 stays with me in small, steady ways. Bare feet on hot Texas sidewalks, jump-rope songs drifting between houses, mothers calling from screen doors—all of it part of the quiet world I grew up with. The box fan's low hum, the sharp crack of ice trays, the porch light warming the dusk—ordinary things that felt like the neighborhood holding itself together.
Rock ’n’ roll floated out of transistor radios, bicycles waited in the yard as if they knew we’d be back, and fireflies stitched their brief gold through the evening. I didn’t realize then how memory was already gathering these moments, saving them without asking. I only knew the slow stillness of night settling in and something larger than childhood holding me close.
dusk in my bones~
old summers rise like prayer,
soft and unbidden
Quote: Bring forth the music dear lover of soul, she's waiting for a drop
A Conducter's baton fills the air with caresses of passion and zest
as a black patent leather shoe taps gently on a varathane wood plank
it sends a sensory cortex vibration to a deaf infant child, pure elation.
With a suave wave of his delicate hand the conductor brings the music
to a regal Orchestra who is finely attuned to a child's ears like fine sand.
Waltzelettos to the heart, the child doesn't hear not does she cry
when a salt and pepper haired man raises his tuxedo sleeves in the air,
the heart pumps blood and resurrects her once more.
Staccato notes each detached and separated from the other,
the newborn listens, lost in a paradise of movement and sound.
Infinite notes from a seasoned Maestro,
head is sewn to the carpet next to a transistor radio,
the toddler remembers louder days
He was a German Maestro/composer and his name was Carlos Kleiber,
today he sleeps in a quiet memorial room, in beautiful Slovania.
Re-live the nineteen-sixties? Don't! We all
imagine mop-tops, surf, free love and sun,
conveniently forgetting Watts, De Gaulle,
the Tet Offensive, Audrey Hepburn's nun.
Imagine! Mop-tops, surf, free love - and sun!
Transistor radios, Italian suits!
The Tet Offensive? Audrey Hepburn? None
of those can overshadow kinky boots!
Transistor radios. Italian suits,
the spirit of the age - la dolce vita!
No woes can overshadow kinky boots,
The Fugitive, short skirts, the parking meter!
The spirit of the age! La dolce vita!
Your Normal Joe thinks former times were "swell":
The Fugitive, short skirts, the parking meter!
To get to know Uhura, really well!
Your Normal Joe thinks former times were "swell".
He wants to join the Enterprise's crew,
to get to know Uhura really well,
and satisfy that inner yearning, too.
He wants to join the Enterprise's crew,
conveniently forgetting Watts, De Gaulle,
and satisfy that inner yearning to
re-live the nineteen-sixties. Don't we all?
Trying to recapture the joy of those winter days is difficult. School cancelled: sun shining through the sheer, white, curtains into an all too girlie room, the sound of a tea kettle's whistle, the ice cold feeling of oak boards on bare feet, between scatter rugs; I ran to the kitchen. The transistor radio sounded, still calling out school closings. The snow sifted down.
bright sun
sparkles on snowflakes –
the plow roars
Quick phone calls, punctuated with giggles, roused a gaggle of neighborhood girls. White skates in hand, I burst out the door. I rushed toward the swampy area behind the neighbor’s house. My rubber boots crunching crust above the powdery fluff. At the edge of the watery wood, I stood staring. Boys, I see the boys in there. They have their skates on already. Tommy Maloney, my crush, skated toward me.
his black waves
dusted with snow –
whoops of delight
A hummock of snow-topped grass served as a seat. I removed my boots from beneath the zip sides of snow pants and try to tie laces new white skates. Once done I stood wobbling, weak-ankled. Tommy laughs, as knock-kneed I attempt a glide toward him falling on my butt. Oh how his eyes sparkled, an Irish rogue at twelve. Kneeling, Tommy began to re-lace my skates. I remember wishing, so much, he would kiss me.
First Contemporary haibun online Fall 2013
Published in Winter Legends 2014
It's a final sale, no exchanges, no refund; grab anything that you like...
all items sell for a dollar or less, even grandfather's four-wheel bike.
Over forty two years I have collected transistor radios, vinyl records, ceramics dolls
and plates with famous faces on them...oh, Debbie from The Wizard of Oz enthralls!
I am making room for new furniture, and must get rid of them...
it's sad to give them away when they offered much excitement!
In those boxes and crates, you'll find many commodities...
soap bars, bathing towels, curtains shower and perfumes.
Take a look at some funny clothes that I wore in my teens: tight blue jeans,
wool sweaters, cowboy's shirts, boots and hats, trying to look like sexy Elvis!
Browse and find that item you couldn't afford...is it Marylin Monroe's furry shawl?
If the final sale is not complete by early evening, I will draw a winner to take it all!
*Image of Globe Earth Map Of The World by Pixabay.
The Geo-Whiz
It is my second day in high school and I had signed up for Geography.
Nearing the end, our teacher gave a simple pop quiz test
... guessing that she was gauging us. She said to get out
our pens and paper and list down the alphabet's on the
left side of our paper.
She stands next to the classroom globe pointing at it and told us to write down any place on there that we may know about, except Hawaii, then write our answers to the corresponding alphabets on our list.
I live out in the country, far from the village high school.
We have no electricity but an AM transistor radio, basically,
it's entertainment for the adults. Now, that left us kids to
do whatnots. Mines was reading ... comics to encyclopedias.
(The completed tests were turned in, graded, and returned.)
Marked in red, she gave me 99% and an A.
The lunch bell rang and I went to her desk and said that she made an error and that she had crossed out my 'O' and replaced it with an 'I'.
I told her, "I did not write about a country but about a city in
Algeria that is larger than Honolulu." After showing her that
place on the globe, she changed my grade to 100% and an A+.
In regards to that correction, just add 'ran' to those alphabets to know what had occurred.
2021 July 02
language — the threshold of the universe
tracing hidden membranes
each word, ganglion
where starlight settles into semantic scaffolding.
we are nerve-endings
where it shivers into tongue
quickening drum of chest.
white space exhales corona-fire
self expands, exoplanetary —
each firing a solar flare
reaching stellar drift
where rift becomes gift.
body tessellates —
flesh dreaming treillage sleep
deep in dendrite-forest
the universe yore-wakens
never separate.
intimacy resurfaces —
lowercase, unannounced
sharp as transistor-click
the universe leans closer —
a soft swirl into wrist and star.
the last synapse
burns backward through fuse
recognition in wristwire
recognition in starlace.
the universe
inscribes first
hieroglyphic axiom.
Way back in the mists of the 1950's
Transistor radios were really quite nifty
I saved for such a long time
Spent every last one of my dimes
Bought me a red crystal-set 'rocket ship'
A radio custom-built to take a long trip
Under the covers I'd dive about nine
The reception on WABC, New York, just fine
I'd stay up way past my bedtime
Thrilling to sportscasts in my secret shrine
You can probably guess how all this ended
My parents caught me, my secret upended
Yet they saw how I cried over how they'd pried
And pretty soon they too were so teary-eyed
They backed right down -- my dream hadn't died
~ Tears of laughter all three of us cried
January 13, 2021
The Good Old Days Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose