Long Van Poems
Long Van Poems. Below are the most popular long Van by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Van poems by poem length and keyword.
To the proud parents, Anna and Theo
A serious lad, silent and thorough
A clan of preachers
And dealers of art
From the southern Netherlands came Van Gogh
When sent to school, he did not want to go
The separation led to much sorrow
But he learned to draw
Whatever he saw
Sent off to sell art in Paris, Van Gogh
His happiest time, and now in love, oh
Till the landlady’s daughter told him no
Now a broken heart
Surly to sell art
Fired from his job in Paris, Van Gogh
Vincent sought out a coal miners’ burrow
A priest of sorts, but a squalid fellow
The church was appalled
And cursed his resolve
To the asylum for crazy Van Gogh?
His father baffled, on the verge of foe
Art interest, once again, began to grow
Back to school again
This time, in His name
To paint in the service of God, Van Gogh
School’s out, back to his parents he would go
Using neighbors as subjects to ditto
Proposed to his cousin
Which she found disgustin’
Burning his hand to see her, holy Van Gogh!?!
Now off to The Hague, a family furlough
To live with Sien, a boozing bimbo
A man to see ya…
Caught gonorrhea
Three weeks in the hospital for Van Gogh
The pain of loneliness drove him back home
Once again, a failed love with fair Margot
Then Vincent’s father died
He grieved deeply inside
The tragedy further refined Van Gogh
Finally, Vincent’s work was in the know
“The Potato Eaters” made an art show
Just add more color
Said his dear brother
Rubens brightened the dark gloom of Van Gogh
Vincent’s diet: coffee and tobacco
Mixed with absinthe began to take its toll
Though he kept on painting
Then Paris, more training
The end was getting closer for Van Gogh
The masters: Monet, Degas, Pissarro
Cezanne, and Seurat in his studio
Influenced his style
Learning all the while
That time was running out for Mr. Van Gogh
Then he moved to Arles, bad health in tow
Completing great works the whole world would know
“Sunflowers” (in vase)
“The Café Terrace”
Minus one ear, the frail, ailing Van Gogh
With his tattered mind, and mournful woe
Committed to the asylum, Mausole
With his final works
“The Church at Auvers”
“Starry Night” was painted in pain, Van Gogh
“At Eternity’s Gate”, he was sorrow
Wandered into a field, farmer’s fallow
Put a bullet in his chest
In hopes of peaceful rest
“The sadness will last forever”, Van Gogh
I am a basset hound and I love to play
I can run and jump all day
I really love magic and tricks
I also love chocolate bics
Yummy! They are so good
I would eat a packet a day if I could
My name is Lady and here is a story all about me
I'm a funny looking dog you see:
Lady was home alone
All she had was her green plastic bone
Her owners had gone out for the day
And Lady really wanted to play
Miserable, she lay on the ground with her long floppy ears
With watery eyes, it seemed as though she was about to burst into tears
Suddenly she perked up when she heard a squeaking sound coming from the house
Lady became excited, she hoped it was a mouse
She barked out loud and ran towards the sound
Lady was such a clever basset hound
With her long nose, she sniffed out the little mouse in his hiding place
The whole morning turned into a playful ‘dog and mouse’ chase!
The mouse was too fast for her and escaped through a small crack in the wall
He was terrified of this funny looking dog who stood two feet tall
Exhausted, Lady flopped down in her basket to rest
She had tried her very, very best
She closed her eyes and had a long nap
And dreamt that she managed to squeeze through the scary dog flap
When Lady woke up, her throat felt dry
She needed a gallon of water to drink and she alone knew why!
The sun was shining and it was hot
She found her bowl and gulped down the lot
Lady looked at the new dog flap
She lifted up one of her paws and gave it a sharp tap
She took a chance and pushed herself through the gap
Relief flooded through her, she had made it out of the flap
Out in the sun
It was time for more fun
Lady headed to the beach
It wasn’t far, within her reach
Calm blue sea with the tiniest of waves
Grottos and amazing caves
Lady’s paw marks were all over the sand
She loved to play by the sea and on land
Cool air blew around her as she splashed around in the sea
What a great feeling it was to be free!
The aroma of food was all around
She was always hungry, this hilarious hound
An ice-cream van was parked nearby
Lady drooled and just stood by
A young couple spotted the little dog sitting down on her own
Her sad brown eyes caught their attention, they each bought her a cone
Lady wished that she could shout
She clenched both cones in her mouth
She licked off the chocolate ice-cream and wolfed down the rest
Memo time
I was stopped in mid traffic
with my daughter inside of my van
Then all of sudden
A car came from behind
Hit.. smashing right into us..
As then my van
was thrown
Into the car infront
of us...
There was nothing I could do
To stop... this from happening
smashing Us like in a Sandwich
As I memo..
My daughter
Praise God
She was fine
Then I heard a man state
I am truly sorry for tis was my mistake
I hit the excellerator instead of the brake
But then
I memo
All of sudden
I was strapped
down..
I couldn't move
Nor make a sound
around my neck
was a brace
then was like a mask
across my face
but then as I felt
myself.. drifting away
I said then Oh Lord..
Am I going to die
Where am I..
then I heard a bunch of crys
Then I said.. Oh my Lord
Where am I.. did I die??? I see..
All the people whom been in car crashes
and have died.. but yet Never knew.. YOU
Where they be??? They are gone... for all Eternity
They Not Born-again.. Then they Not able to Live again
They gone..
Oh Lord Please.. Save me
As I heard Crys.. of spirits.. whom died..
without knowing.. Our Savior..
I said.. Oh Lord.. Please don't let me die
for I shall tell all.. about You
Then I started to come to..
Then I saw.. twas like a cage
across my face
my neck still in a brace
then they moved me to a table
Then I wanted to say Please..
take this stuff off of me right away
I am fine.. Truly I am..
but I couldn't for twas strapped
I was unable to speak.. because of that
Then the doctor came in
he removed tis mask
and removed the neck brace
Looked at me.. and said
move your head
I did.. I was able to
I even then sat up
I said.. I must leave
For I am Fine
I must tell others
About Jesus
For He is Truth.. He is Divine
For there are many whom not know
Whom die everyday.. in car crashes
do you know where they go??? they are gone..
For they not belong.. to Jesus
Then I got up.. and said..
I am Fine.. for tis you see I am Not dead
I am a christian.. and time tis be
I shall be Eternally Born-again..
Live Eternally
Come to Jesus
For you never know
When tis be Your time is to go
Then where will you be?
For all Eternity
Come Live with Jesus
While You have time
Don't be one whom don't know
then dies.. and spirit is gone
For has nowhere to go.. no home to Live.. again
Come be Eternally Born-again
Form:
From Chicago to Tampa Bay in a Ford Granada some time in the mid- 70's. Unfortunately, we were not interested in mountains, because we took interstate 75 and drove through Tennessee 'at night'. We felt the elevation but never saw the Smoky Mountains.
As we proceeded south, our four year old kept asking, "Are we there yet?" Can you blame her? We should have had at least one mountain story to tell; and why did we not take time to enjoy the healthy smoke? We arrived in Tampa by way of mostly 'flat lands'.
On another occasion we drove from northern Mississippi to Atlanta. While there, we not only viewed, but also trekked until we grew tired. The visit on 'Stone Mountain' was a good one as we also enjoyed the beautiful water fall.
Fast forward to 1981, and find me driving a '79 chevy chevette from San Francisco to Lake Tahoe. Oh, what a ride! From just above sea level to over 9,000 feet and the worst head ache of my life. Our second child who was then four was on board, but he was head ache free. Nice sceneries, and mountains aplenty, but I should have had my head examined; not because of the elevation, but because I had the audacity to drive a Chevette.
Later in the early 80's with my entire family on board, I headed up another mountain in Marin County, Ca. This time there was plenty of room and power in an 8 cylinder full sized Chevy van. Just beyond the Golden Gate is Mt. Tamalpais, but we never reached the top, because my wife changed her mind.
My most recent mountain experience was a scenic view from a Jumbo Jet. Returning from a vacation by way of Portland, I had a nice view of *Mt. St. Helen 36 years after the mountain blew its top in 1980. No, that does not make me a 'Mountain Man'; but from where I sit 30 feet above sea level, it is rather refreshing.
08052017PSContest, Mountains, Julie Rodeheaver
*Or Was it Mt. Hood?
I’m just having a good laugh while I still can dude before life takes its heavy grip
Until the community of clowns in disguise tie my tongue to their altar of reason
You think of a genius in the making but I just blew bubbles from my backside
Need some counter balance as not to think I’m off parity before the next photo
For the record I’m a bit sick of all those Rolling Stones songs on your play list
I can get satisfaction and you will be dancing to my tune as long as I tell you
Not yet silenced I am and you can’t always get what you want but will receive
What you need and moss could grow fat on that stone if you tried hard enough
I am your American dream or just pie in the sky for pi is a resolute number
And while I look like a young Einstein I favour the arts and a poet I’ll be
‘Baby’s got blue eyes holding back the pain’ reflecting the glow on your face
Give me face paint and Munch’s scream will look like Monet’s water colours
And those cute little ears I hear you marvel such fine complete composition
Soon they will find an audition of rebellion ignoring trite shallow advice
Craft verses and rhythm deliver fine words you never dreamt of hearing
The comedy will be shattering with a bit of existential philosophy in the mix
You can project dadada’s and incy-wincy spiders as long as the cows mew
I drink from a fountain of pleasure and spill ink on your canvas of conditioning
Think that I am overanalysing but that is what you do when I smirk and giggle
Canned laughter comes in Campbell’s soup cans and better Warhol than wars
Innocent facial composure lies in the eye of beholders and dreams are for real
Let me play for that is the best I can do when drama and tragedy loom so soon
I’ll have my dreadlocks in plaits and you must not be scared of Sylvia’s mother
Van Gogh had one ear but a writer needs only one incisive tongue to critique
My stream will be subconscious when I write about the meaning of imagination
When naïve contortions depict a world with smiles laughter and freedom
I will not change much from when the photographer took this digital image
Blue eyes stuck out tongue two ears one voice whatever you make of it now
25th April 2019
Written for contest: Baby Face What's You Thinkin
Sponsored by James Edward Lee Sr
Photo 2
It’s a quarter after seven, a cloud of silence immerse,
Six frightened souls, the situation a constant curse.
The candle burns dim, it’s almost out,
Dinner was scarce, not enough to go around.
The kids are edgy; the mother’s heart rapidly beats,
They hear his anger in a distance, way up the street.
The swearing gets louder; they can almost feel the pain,
“All jerseys on “mom says,” again we sleep in the rain”.
In through the gate, the stairs he doesn’t see,
Falls to the ground and curses, for bruising his knee.
Kicks the poor dog on his way into the house,
Punches the door open and throws himself on the couch.
Calls for his trembling wife, the mother of his children,
Just to punch her in her face, to let her know of his presence.
He shouts for his kids and tells them he hates them,
But it’s nothing new, as they’ve heard it all being mentioned.
He’s meal is served the last glass dish around,
He flings it onto the floor, a thousand pieces on the ground.
“I want food,” he screams, but that was the last,
“Eat off the floor,” was his wife’s suggested blast.
A million stars was then what she saw,
As he played football with her head against the wall.
Her screams died slowly after the third bounce,
No heart he had, not a shred, not an ounce.
The children run for help to the neighbors they implore,
They slam the door on their little faces, their plight to ignore.
With no one else in sight, their fate they do not know,
No brave soul to help, their hearts all sank low.
Six frightened faces, all abused and torn,
The eldest just ten, with the youngest just been born.
In darkness they stand, the rain steady and cold,
Where quietly they wait for events to unfold.
A thin lanky passerby called the police by chance,
When he saw that evil man, he knew at a glance.
Something had happened, danger was imminent,
No more screaming was heard, damage was evident.
An ambulance came hurriedly with loud sirens blasting,
While the evil man being shoved in the police van swearing.
The unconscious wife bleeding profusely from her head,
To the hospital they take her, where she lay almost dead.
Six little children, scared, cold and tired,
Enter their home slowly, that’s dark and quiet.
They sweep up the glass pieces and scoop up the food,
And take care of each other, cause’ it’s just another day of Abuse.
Do not be self-conscious or anything, but I have got my big ,rotatorof an eye on you.
I know your mama and yourdad, and I’m willing to let them know if you are not being true.
I cannot tell you that it is never odd or even, but I can tell you that it’s midway, and blue.
Eve, Bob, Otto and Anna are ready to jump right in that kayak and stack cats if they have to.
Don’t pop your eyes at me, young lady. I do not care if we are at the civic center; I feel free
To do whatever I have to, to keep Evil Olive in check, and you also, my little bumble bee.
Who is looking for a nut for a jar of tuna? There is no lemon, no melon, and it’s 9:03.
The radar gun is in the van with Hannah, anyway it was at noon, so I thought that it still might be.
Someone is outside the civic center is yelling, “No garden, one dragon!” What does that mean anyway?
I brought this 6th grade level field trip with me to have an interesting, fun-filled, learning challenged day.
I don’t need some nut-bucket ruining it for me, on every level, this is totally wrong, and I don’t play!
The mirror rimis brushing against the tailgate of the bus we brought, but that is for the driver to say.
Now where in the Sam hill crazy town, is that blue nylon solokayak that was attached to the top of our bus?
I thought we could have one blasted solo-inspired field trip to the civic center without a bunch of fuss.
I realize it is noon, and people are hungry and crabby, and the blue kayak is a big fat muss.
But you have to realize that Eve, Bob, Otto, and Anna were the ones assigned to straighten this big tuss.
I always get the blame when things go wrong, as everyone blames the poor old mama.
The dad is just as much to blame, but there he goes, taking off on a fat llama.
I’m ready to pop my cork, and pitch a fit that would shock the Dad, so much.
Aha! Here he is, back to chow down his fabulous, hand-stacked pepperoni lunch.
Bob, the cat, lives in the room number 13 of the sixth avenue.
He likes fish, rollercoaster, ice cream cones and Sunday papers.
He's an artist. He's a painter. When people ask him about his latest work, he answers:
"I'm painting the meaning of life. I'm coloring it black, but my inner self keeps telling me it's green."
He has gothic way of seeing materials and articles.
He wishes everyone to speak in fragments of literary lyrics, and then he would spend all his days tangling these fragments making an abstract form out of a puzzle.
He goes for a walk before breakfast; walking on two legs, wearing a leather jacket, and whistling after big ass women are his forte.
He passes Mr. Pumpkin floral shop, turns into the eighth avenue, and enters his favorite café called "Your Favorite Café".
He sits on the second chair at the second table, and orders a coffee:
"Black, dark and bitter like a cat's soul", he says to the waiter.
He sits there all morning, sipping his black coffee, dreaming about how it would be if his past, present and future selves exist together, thinking in sync, and communicating through a common medium of artistic sense, saying words in the silence notes of Van Gogh.
He dances all the way home. If anyone cares to ask, he says:
"I'm drunk in Coffea Arabica, a perfect weed to make you tantalize with Arabian dreams and gives your nerves a breakdown."
Dancing along the pavements, he counts the roses in beats.
One, two, three, four… two, two, three, four… three, two, three, four, and so on.
The number of roses is directly proportional to the number of steps he's gonna salsa in the bathroom.
He sits on the toilet bowl, and deciphers the problems with human rights.
He stands on one leg on the bathroom floor, with arms spread like hugging the air, mouth wide opens.
He squeaks like a mouse and tries to hop like a rabbit.
He falls hard, crashing the cold bathroom tiles.
He bleeds red like the color red.
He says "Perfect".
He runs into the bedroom. There stands his actual latest work, the heart of a vampire, portraying himself with a deadly cat fangs and a wicked mustache.
He splashes his blood all over the painting, and shouts "eureka".
He starts to hum Yankee Doodle through his nose.
He falls asleep, and dreams about dinner.
"Scramble eggs with tomatoes".
The Master Artist Pt 1 --Pt 2--the ending, is the next posting
The artist’s tray was loaded with colors, each pastel waiting for its turn:
Hues of indigo blues lie impatiently, sparks of carmine seemed to burn.
While English chrome colors lay in anticipation for the Master’s touch.
The yellow ochre pansies readied to fill the void on the painter’s scene.
Each hue was waiting for its turn but chosen first was the yellow green.
Winds blew lightly against the canvas and upon each color that he lay
Each sound had a melodic lilt as the grass seemed to grow and sway
Under a fountain of colors, each strike radiant upon the colored field.
Cerulean blue skies lightly painted waited for a stray, pearl-grey cloud
To float above the lively meadow, yet no spring rain would be allowed.
The artist was tired, yet couldn’t wait to return quickly the next day.
Morning came and his fervent fingers reached for the pastels that lay
Undiscovered upon the palette—more hues waiting for their chance.
He painted a sapphire blue creek moving snake-like up then down.
The artist smiled wisely, painting groves of trees of Van Dyke brown.
Afternoon came and pastel shades were glazed upon the flowing water
As the creek rippled over the violet stones painted on by the Master.
He seemed to lose all sense of night and day as each hue told a story.
Colors flew from left to right and the meadow seemed to come alive
Ruby hues were topped upon the phlox as fragrant flowers did thrive.
His hand would not cease until he had painted the bluebird at its song.
The misty meadow was melodious as he painted crickets to sing along.
The artist looked upon his growing scene and knew what it still needed
But his hand was weary and the pastel scene would wait another day
For colors that still lay brightly unused upon the Master Artist’s tray.
The next day he painted against the sky purple hills gently sun-kissed.
His hands worked with great passion as twisting trees seemed to tryst.
Pastel colors floated upon the land as pink butterflies flew here and there.
Sounds of songbirds were singing as his meadow seemed to nearly burst
With every color and every hue that the great artist had fervently dispersed.
Part Two has the Master Artist poem ending that I posted after this one--
(PoetrySoup doesn't allow enough space)
11/4/1991, KENOSHA, WI – Police say a man wearing a fake goatee burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you wearing a fake goatee?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not a goatee, it’s a van dyke,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
12/9/1996, IMPERIAL BEACH, CA – Police say a man in a Buster Keeton mask burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you wearing a Buster Keeton mask?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not Buster Keeton. It’s Buster Crabbe,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
6/26/1998, ODESSA, Texas – Police say a man affecting a Spanish accent burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you affecting a Spanish accent?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not Spanish. It’s Catalan,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
11/25/2006, SHREVEPORT, LA – Police say a man wearing a Mitt Romney campaign button burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you wearing a Mitt Romney campaign button?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not a campaign button. It’s flair,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
3/6/2007, SEATTLE, WA – Police say a man wearing a satin vest burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you wearing a satin vest?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not satin. It’s velour,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
2/12/2008, VIENNA, MO – Police say a person dressed in a nun’s habit burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you dressed in a nun’s habit?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not a habit. It’s a vocation,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
6/18/2009, MARLTON, NJ – Police say a person riding a scooter chair burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you riding a scooter chair?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not a scooter chair. It’s a civil right,” then punched him in the nose and fled.
3/27/2010, KING of PRUSSIA, PA – Police say a person holding a bottle of urine burst into a restaurant and assaulted a customer. The victim asked, “Why are you holding a bottle of urine?” Police say the attacker answered, “It’s not urine. It’s mine,” then punched him in the nose and fled.