Nightclubs Poems | Examples

1950s Housewife

the 1950 housewife wears her best dress to clean
and pearls from Hawaii with a slick dazzling sheen.
In her polished high heel shoes, she prances in the kitchen.
Making food for her family without help and never ’n.

The 1950’s housewife cleans and vacuums with delight.
If there are any messes, she keeps them hidden from our sight.
She is gloriously giddy to spend her day mopping and scrubbing a sink.
In the evenings she goes to nightclubs wearing diamonds and her mink.

The 1950’s housewife never complains a bit about her marvelous life.
So eager and thrilled to be called Tony, Larry or Dickie’s little wife.
Anticipating her husband’s needs, putting them in front of her own each day.
If you cannot find the 1950’s housewife, perhaps she has run away.

BON VIVANT FANTASTIC TOUR

   




       In those streets of buildings
       by Frank Lloyd and Corbusier
      I dreamed of my dry landscape...
      In those temples of sumptuous
    mystery, I dreamed of the little chapel
            of São João...
  On the fast High Ways, I dreamed
     the trails of xique xique...
    In the monumental parks,
  of those megalopolises, I dreamed
   of the backyard of the caatingas...
     In those exploded Meccas,
     I dreamed of my shotgun
          of soca-soca...
       In the nightclubs of
     high society, I dreamed
      of Zé Lagoa's relaxation bal masquê...
     I confess that I lived in those worlds,
         but I never left home...!

division

The division

Here in this landscape of bushes and crippled trees
the grotesque peace of daylight ghosts
grey boughs stretching upward appeal to a soundless god.
“Give us today a new life.” There is only one deity
the almighty one, go under the name of Silvanus.
Those who do not understand this are doomed to
a life of empty pursuit of pleasures.
Crowded nightclubs and casinos, people trying not to be alone
 in the night and face the truth
we are mortals and infrequently remembered as a photo
a black frame, seeing you, seeing through
you and into an ever-expanding void.

Fifth Avenue

From steppes remote
    luxurious mink coats
  Fine leather boots
    tailored suits

  Fancy shoppes
    five-star hotels
  Back of splashy nightclubs
    exclusive brothels

  Rolls-Royces
    and Bentleys
  S-t-r-e-t-c-h ... L-i-m-o-u-s-i-n-e-s
    cafes serving the finest cuisine

  Wide-eyed with wonder
    passersby gape
  Dreams of Fifth Avenue 
    from tottering fire escapes

Kind of Blue

Ebony thoughts of misery paint my soul
from her silent brush of leaving
and led me on a road of disrepair
where I live each lonely night
opening and closing doors of nightclubs and bars
in long empty nights of escape
from the constant drizzle of pain
with continuous small glasses of liquor

hey bartender! how about another round

the pungent scent of sweat fills the air
from bodies in motion, I can not see or hear
so I leave
and walk between the doors silent and confused

the streets are a dark lonely world of shades and shadows
melting into a black emptiness lined with broken streetlights
with no way out of my realm of madness

each time my palm feels the cool glass of a door
that reads welcome, twenty-one and over
I laugh inside from the irony
with no will to stop
each step, each night, leads to a door
where I drown in sorrow
trapped in the music of my life

Night Club

Club nocturnal

In Bilbao, on a warm evening, he walked past a nightclub 
walked in and had a beer; he could have gone to 
a Guggenheim Museum and be culturally minded, absorb
and mention it later in a passing conversation, “the other
day at the Guggenheim.”
At the club, a group of people sat drinking affluent bubbly
wine, thinking it was champagne, the group laughed a lot
and apparently had a fine time, although, he thought they
were a bit frenzied about the fun
The people around the table didn’t look prosperous and
the women looked like office tarts, with too much lipstick and 
mascara, flashing eyes and giggles.
He knew (had been there) that the one footing the bill
would feel dreadful in the morning, sensing the futility
an ice cap on sagging shoulders of hopelessness.
No, it was not the drinking, real drinkers do not frequent 
nightclubs, but drinking at modest places, was about feeling swanky
 a man about town.
He paid for his beer and complained about the price 
the waiter pointed to a pricelist hanging high on a wall, so there!
Along the boulevard, he bought newspapers went to a café, 
had some wine and spent hours enjoying himself.

Antisocial Humanitarian

I only worship at my own altar
I do not even go to nightclubs 
I do not even know the Kaaba 
Or kneel for a word of prayer 
Not even a chant in the stadium 
I do not even like talking to others 
When I do 
It always comes back to me, Karma 
I feel stressed to see a banker 
Its even worse with doctors 
Unless I am dying, Nirvana
and my lips are all chapped 
That's when I call for mother 
To heal me rebirth me 
Madonna, Miracle worker
What kind of man? I wonder 
But my poems are a way to reach ya
Hold your hand, touch ya
Share myself,  appreciate ya
Show my dirt, entertain ya 
Heal your heart, medicate ya 
Share my thoughts, Liberate ya 
Make you like me, Imitate ya 
It is always with love, I seduce ya
And when your are  lost, Calibrate ya 
So without going Further 
I do this for you  with care 
If you find it in you  return a favour
For an Antisocial Humanitarian

The Parting

The partition 

Here in this landscape of bushes and crippled trees
the grotesque peace of daylight ghosts

Grey boughs stretching upward appeal to 
a soundless god.

“Give us today a new life.” There is only one deity
the almighty one goes under the name of Silvanus.

Those who do not understand this are doomed to
a life of empty pursuit of pleasures.

Nightclubs and casinos, people trying
not to be alone in the night and face the truth

In a black frame, seeing you seeing through you
and into an ever-expanding void.

The Night Owls

I live in a city that never sleeps!
Notice people moving here and there…
Engaged in their routine activities…
Minding not their surroundings!
Those who love burning the midnight oil…
Found busy working night shifts.
Those who are pleasure loving…
Found visiting pubs, nightclubs and theatres.
 At night they don’t sleep;
In the morning they don’t wake up.
Aren’t they the creatures of the night?


Creatures of the Night Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Date: 18-06-2022

place: 3rd

Division

The division 

Here in this landscape of bushes and crippled trees
the grotesque peace of daylight ghosts, grey boughs 
stretching upward appealing to a soundless god.
“Give us today a new life.” There is only one deity
the almighty one goes under the name of Silvanus.
Those who do not understand this are doomed to
a life of empty pursuit of pleasures.
Crowded nightclubs and casinos, people trying
not to be alone in the night and face the truth
we are mortals and infrequently remembered.
Faces in a black frame, seeing you seeing through
you and into an ever-expanding void.

Immortal

If you had the option to be an immortal,
would you leap at the chance, or just let that go?
It sounds like a question that’s easy to answer,
but I’d recommend that you take it real slow.
Are you the only one who lasts forever,
outliving all of your family and friends?
Do you think you would be able to stomach the
funerals of grandchildren meeting their ends?
And what of your health? Are you just like you are now,
receiving a body that’s twenty years old?
The former, depressing, if movement is limited;
the latter is one on which I’m not quite sold. 
Who did you hang with when you were just twenty,
and are these the folks with whom you’d spend your time?
Nightclubs and dancing for the rest of the ages
sounds more like hell than a slice of the divine.
I think I’ll pass and just live the remainder 
of the days God has allotted for me;
then when I’ve been ushered into His presence,
I’ll sing out His praises for eternity.

—————

For the If I Were Immortal Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Written on 04/18/2022

Falls Flowers

Falls flowers

On the road to Bolequeime on the way to a German supermarket
that sells proper Teutonic sausages as autumnal flowers blossom,
some of the blooms sit on white plastic chairs wearing shorts.
Sometimes a car stops, no, not a man in a white van, a big car a businessman
on the way from his office stops getting quick blow-jobs.
Best this way no need to undress an act that causes people to stare.
The human blooms have water bottles the gargle; no one here smells like rosebuds.
They used to, in the summer gone throng nightclubs and the beach
but only slow walking men fill the bars and beach.
Like a beautiful weed, they trek inland, sit by the roadside and wait.
The flowers look nice in fading light, but not if you know what love is.
the weed of autumn sits by the verge, sells despondency

Pure Love In My Heart For You

you have left me behind
I, who have nothing
who am nothing
who will never be more than me

You are taking her to nightclubs
To fancy restaurants
Paying for elaborate meals
I, who have meatloaf and homegrown vegetables, am left behind…..

You are living it up in the city
You who have forgotten how much you love the country
You are transforming into her toy, her play thing
While I sit, waiting for you to come running home

You will eventually come back to the garden vegetables,
To the country air, to the simple living, to the love of a good woman.
How do I know?
You always come back to me, always have, always will.

Enjoy your time in the city.
I am in no hurry.
I am not demanding or commanding.
A woman who has pure love in her heart for you.

Bar Scene

After nightfall I hear the loud rumbling mufflers of youth
On their way to the hottest popular downtown nightclubs
Where they imbibe too much, dancing, cruising the night away
After midnight, the sotted fellows become more uncouth
Some girls pair up for safety’s sake and hail a waiting cab
A few hover with drinks in a carefully concealed booth
Waiting for a boy, a set of keys, to stagger over
Let them take advantage of his inexperienced youth
Did they spot earlier, ignored, one of those boorish chubs
Cruising the night away, where they imbibe too much, dancing
Slip away late in the morning like a successful sleuth.


Written March 18, 2021
Using abRacadabRa rhyme scheme
14-syllable per line

Glorious Sweden

Glorious Sweden

When the virus struck the virologist 
put their faith in herd immunity six thousand 
people died mostly those over sixty which
is a high number for a small country.
Sweden has been able to stabilize the number
of affected people but the virus is still there
regrouping ready to strike again,
This time it will target the younger generation 
will fall victim of this deadly disease now 
when winter comes, and nightclubs are 
an alluring place.
The virologists have failed to see this virus 
is not your common flu, that also is here to stay,
but we have a vaccine for this.
Now that all the elderly are dead we can say
Sweden is a young country but, alas, not a better one.
What do I know, perhaps this was intentional.

• Short Nightclubs Poems
• Famous Nightclubs Poems
• Best Nightclubs Poems
• Read Nightclubs Poems
• Long Nightclubs Poems
• Nightclubs Quotes