Long Volume Poems
Long Volume Poems. Below are the most popular long Volume by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Volume poems by poem length and keyword.
we’re always surrounded by art, i realized this as a child walking through the massachusetts city’s. i remember seeing your everyday buildings with the beautiful moonlight and being in awe- how could we forget something so simple yet beautiful exists all around us? as a teenager i took photographs of buildings- cars and the heavens above. i never totally understood how others couldn’t- how you could see something so beautiful and simple and not be in complete awe? i remember hearing people say “she’s taking another photograph of the same sky!” and feeling a bit sorry for them- that they couldn’t view something so treasurable and beautiful as me. i felt sorry they lacked the volume in there souls to admire the soil we walk on. the simplicity of it all, how could one’s soul never yearn for a deeper meaning in life? how could the poets forget something so simple around them? the grocery store owned by your neighbor- the park near your house. if you look for it deep enough the beauty is always there surrounding you in a shield of emotions and empathy, how could someone never yearn for more of the beauty around them?
A laugh is a soul's explosion of insanity.
Knowledge of acknowledgement in vanity.
A crazed affinity with deja vu timing.
Taboo of thought in neon silver lining.
An out of body experience welcomed within.
Micro possession in a miming obsession,
with dilated dial in audible font style
and expression.
A laugh is a pseudo lust in pseudo love.
Headlining, silver tongued language of
squealed wink, grunting blink, snickering choke of drink.
from above.
A syncing of honed thinking in volume linking
the brink on.
Wave of notes confused bang of gong,
in mode-icon.
Surge of mental drowning,
with smile singing mused
connection system of its own downing.
we date we love we marry
but the backlog speaks volume
any misunderstanding reminds one of the ex factor misfortune
when one tries to be pleased a comparison arises of the same ex factor
i mean we are in love with people who are trying to move on
instead of falling in love we are confusing lust for love
we have never taken time to free ourselves from our toxic relationship
but like matatu that leaves as soon it's filled so is our love life
the next available person is the best
if we would go to reset mode then realize fixed marriages worked then we would care about what we have
it's pains a lot for one to be in love with someone who is in love with another
the ego is too much to apologize for any wrongdoing but we don't care for sex is above love
we tend to care about career more than our families
we value money and worldly pleasure above love
women come in all sizes but the love is the same measure as measured by God
fill your cup and thank God for that
but we tend to please all yet we loose all while thinking about all
please if in love do not compare but just submit and built what God has given you
if you are in a position to ask for help then let God guide you to full recovery
one day we shall examine all our lives then vanity will be our gauge as we reglected the simplest task in out lives
love one another as it's the greatest commandment
how do we please God if we do not know how to love one another...
this ex factor and comparison has to come to an end...
#made from Africa
#chui munga the poet
@2020
Altos and sopranos
Blend - songs
Are heard in the distance . .. . . . .. . .
bass and tenors sings songs of joy
Noises...(pleasant noises to be precise)
Musical noises increase in volume
Some people talk and sing at the same time
Some are having the time of their lives
Then...something breaks the innocence of a professional choir -
Bad language! I bet you didn't expect that, did you!?
People speak freely now
It's as if the teacher is saying, "Go ahead, class, and cuss all you want now!"
Very loud - the commotion is banging at my ear drums
My ears are sensitive to the noise
Yearning to hear songs instead of chit-chatters
I wanna hear music, not the latest gossips!
Songs and noises get my full attention in a good and bad way . . .
Just sayin'. Now, I'm hear payin' the price.
I'm obeyin'. Now, can I roll the dice?
There it is singing in my soul so loud and so clear
Like good time rock and roll and things held dear
Each day, I tune it in as it bellows from the inside
Drowning out sin as so in losing that sense of pride
On the rainy days they sing and the sunny days too
And the joy that they bring in each day being new
In the hearing of His Story and knowing the price
Start picturing the Glory in so seeing His Sacrifice
Everything around reverberates as His Hand You see
All of nature celebrates but God only made you Free
To unleash that church choir and let it sing His Praise
Before things become more dire as will be the last days
But it's not over yet there's plenty of songs left to play
The sun hasn't set which means there's still time to pray
There's still time to sing and turn that volume up higher
He made you free, you really should dust off that choir
Pulp fiction had nothing on him. He was a man’s man. A protagonist
of his own making, self-reliant, and self-assured. Marlow kept his wisecracks
to the bare minimum when meeting a new client. Dames were not as compliant as they used to be, and they carried their own derringers now.
More dangerous than ten years ago. He leaned back in his chair, enjoying a swallow of nicotine from his favorite cigarette. He had heard this woman was stacked. Mrs. What? He reached for his paper. Mrs. Stanton. She sounded stacked, a real femme fatale. A harsh knock came on his outside door.
not a woman’s knock, and yet, there she was.
“she’s a murderess
This mattered not to him now
Private eye smitten”
Written 4-29-2019
Contest: Pick a title, volume 4 – Haibun
Prompt #2: The private eye and the femme fatale
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Johnny Thunders… Room 37.
John Anthony Genzale JR, a man that did the drugs and booze,
Not only born to live but ultimately born to lose.
Born in fifty two he loved the game of baseball,
But would never cut his hair that was his little league downfall….
That and his bad dad, but Johnny Volume would soon rule..
Along with the Jaywalkers at Quintano High School.
Then in sixty eight he would go to Fillmore East,
At a bar called "Nobody"'"s"on Bleeker Street
He would learn to drink his Bourbon ice so neat.
Then he was a sales clerk at the Da Nazz Leather Shop,
He would meet some future Dolls, then they were the "Actress"'"s."
But it was just a whistle stop..
Renamed Johnny Thunders after a comic book of the same name,
The New York Dolls were formed
His life would never be the same…
Two critically acclaimed Albums
"The New York Dolls" "Too much too soon"
But both commercially void,
Not enough to buy a Coke spoon..
In seventy five the Dolls broke up
Those trash glams all with attitude ,
Even bands today look back
With nothing but hard rock gratitude.
Johnny then formed The Heartbreakers ,released one brilliant LP
Los Angeles Mother F@kers
Know as L.A.M.F.
What an album I do decree…
Though I still love "So Alone"
A solo of such class..
He drifted here and there,
Then it was alas…
He lasted till nineteen ninety one,
His heroin a complete addiction..
But his death it was a mystery
There should have been a murder conviction!
Many rumours surround his death, I do suspect foul play.
St Peters House Hotel, New Orleans, such a great cliché.
Gangster dealers gave him LSD
Ripped off his Methadone supply..
Pretty sure they killed him,
Such a sad goodbye.
His room number was thirty seven,
It was ransacked of all his possessions,
What is known for certain,
Is there has never been no confessions..
"You can"t put your arms around a memory,
Don"t try don"t try..
You"'re just a bastard kid
And you got no name
Cause you"re living with me
We"re one and the same."
Nice one Johnny..
Sadly missed.
Form:
I bought an amazing book and introduced it into my bookshelf,
It was a bit larger in volume so couldn't fit well and cried for immediate help.
Other books were displaced and disturbed due to its sudden appearance,
The books with rigid covers suffered a lot and carried the immense pain.
Those slightly thinners still adapted and won this fitting battle,
Rest of their neighbours which are relatively larger faced structural claim.
At last everything went wrong and some of them were halfway out from their row,
A very few were still attached to their own slots to provide the knowledge to grow.
It is interesting how TV commercials,
are now more vacuous, more entertaining,
more unconvicting, more annoying than ever,
yet
he was often in-the-thrall of
their invasive noise
it was a background,
mid-ground,
and foreground,
unintelligible babble,
but
when he turned off the plasma visions
he realized
that they were a tonal band-aid
over his own mind-chatter;
now his self-talk had to turn up its volume
to compensate
for the dead-air space
that would rushes inward
to fill the sudden void.
He had to retreat into that place he was
before
he switched off the screen.
Most of the shows and news programs
were still pointless inane gaps
between the hard sell,
but
something like an elephants ear
spun around in his brain
picking up extra celestial signals
from this alien world
which strangely enough
comforted him.
When I am only an almanac of belonging
left behind
I will leave a son who will move on
allowing me time to pick his pockets
of the sins of his father.
There will be grandchildren
tucked away in kindergartens,
my stick figure and bloated face
peering adoringly at them from
nursery walls.
The fridge door is a temple to
all I love and their absurd rate of growth,
also the shifting dunes
of windblown years.
To leave a wife who loves me,
will be the hardest and easiest.
She who has agreed to forget me
just as soon as she can
will stick to her word,
for she has forgotten already
what a great lover I used to be.
All else is already showing
the telltale signs of old love affairs,
their sweet regrets loom large now
cumbersomely so.
Some rooms are for such things
peculiar to me alone.
My interests, my collections,
once desirable objects
now bearing a false and
incomprehensible witness
to holes in my life I tried to fill.
There’s more baggage in the attic and garage,
where a kind of surgery known only to
collectors of hollow meanings
has taken place.
Music I will take with me
for it has saturated my being
and cannot now be located in flesh and bone.
Then there is the poetry and my first wife
both have been filed away untidily
on an internet cloud,
where she still critiques my words
with a jaundiced eye.
I fear my purchases will go the way
of all such impulsive fantasies
notable only for their volume
and not their content.
I wonder if those that will pick through
these accumulated impedimenta
will they consider for a moment
what great need overtook me,
what my intentions could have been?
Truth is,
I cannot recall intending
any of this.