Short Radios Poems
Short Radios Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Radios by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Radios by length and keyword.
once upon a
time-peace
a sigh-lent
whisssh's four
times for-tunes
like the muse-hics
and their radios
stay-shuns
like spirits in a glass
without the rum-bull
stan sand
The last of snow had fallen
It's slushy underfoot
Cars in the dirt keep going
With radios on mute
The northwind close its tour
Plays final show today
The nearest dates I’m sure
Are booked by spring to stay.
god coughed
& deafened
thousands
sorry he said
but by then
it was too
late
many shook
radios
slapped
the sides of
t.v. sets
thinking the
fault was
mechanical
none were
prepared for
the sneeze
of extinction
that
followed
Form:
Till our sun falls from the sky
The weather was frigid or she was,
reminiscing daydreams convulsed May.
Gray Dodge Omni parents backyard,
baseball players in a hotel room.
Graduate weed university age 16,
Stoned in the coffee shop,
high at the state speech tournament,
Ginsberg foggy and oblique,
country music radios.
Rivers rinse rocky riches
Rockets race revolutionary reaches
Rudeness rusts royal rewards
Righteousness reflects real ranks
Radios recreate retro refreshments
Relaxations restart revolting ranges
Roadways route routine regulations
Rational rage renders realisations
Restaurants reap ripe reviews
Readers remember robust resources.
ah...the fm radios old rock
and classical stations be
my mind for the day...
then...the news cast echoes
of the dark shadows of
an all out war over...
the...whole middle east with
real possibilities that it
may include use...
of...the nuclear weaponry from
many different sources for
profits and or power...
stan sand
“Till the sun falls from the sky”
Either the weather was frigid or she was,
reminiscing daydreams convulsed May.
Gray Dodge Omni parents backyard,
baseball players in a hotel room.
Graduate weed university age 16,
Stoned in the coffee shop,
high at the state oral interpretation tournament,
Ginsberg foggy and oblique,
country music radios.
Caterpillars are transforming
to butterflies
Dead thousand-year trees
are now infested by mushrooms
Analogue televisions are being
replaced by digital television
Radios and CD Players are being guided
to the technological graves by ipods
Post-offices are being wiped out
by emails and facebook
I am almost reaching thirty
tears of age!
It seems that everything
is aging
Pink inks of dawn glow
through a dissolving fog
lifting botanical shadows
alive with enchanting birds.
Rustling leaves stir the world awake.
Over the horizon a bustling city throbs,
a million or more people
going to their jobs,
missing this quiet solitude.
Radios thump. They drive
bumper to bumper,
eyes glued to the freeway.
Another jewel sunrise
slips right by them.
Listen to poem:
Summer days
Great expectations
Torrid sun
Cool ocean breeze
Lounging on a sandy beach
Suntan lotion and bikinis
Scattered towels
Transistor radios
Picnic coolers
Fun and games
Flying frisbies
Bouncing beach balls
Laughter fills the air
Come on in
The water’s great
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~RANDOM MUSINGS VOL.1~ 2020
AP: Honorable Mention 2020, Front Page Pick 2020
The winter darkness falls before the day
Has run its course, long ere the eyes of those
Who labor seek surcease from weariness.
The home-bound traffic winds its halting way
Beneath the moon-bound Evening Star and slows—
A mess.
And so I sit with promises to keep,
Ensnarled within a concrete wilderness
As news and music streams from radios.
At last the exit home—to eat, to sleep,
And rest.
Back Creek Sounds
Rhythmic wave crescendos,
Like dynamic static of radios,
Tinkling and gurgling noises,
As liquid over rocks poises,
Ospreys shriek at laughing gulls,
Slapping water on slicing hulls,
Burping diesels add staccatos,
Winds strum mast-stay legatos,
Sails fill or flap by whispered pressure,
Bouys gong in the background with hauture,
As my toes on the sand go crunch,
Shouts my stomach, “Seafood for lunch”.
understanging nothing
of radios,
cars or aristocratic
intentions.
...weslipped...
past to
alter
w-/ out figures
turning from
an ambigious image
To suggest
it is easy to concede
vegence
behind barbwire fences.
...Years ago ; memory....
sober in the spotlight
saw
Facts that
are for once
cherished in a world.
Reluctant to
proceed
beneath democratic
government.
So
just Hold you
Breath
&
Break
a foreign face.
Paul was at the office when the
first atomic bomb fell and when
Muntz TVs replaced console radios
and the first man landed on the moon.
He saw the first big computers trucked in
and locked in a top-secret room.
Paul was an accountant for 50 years
but the day came when he was told
he was part of a reduction in force.
Two guards carried his boxes out.
They told Paul in the parking lot
he was the only one reduced.
Donal Mahoney
The crack of the bat
but no crackerjacks
The game we held dear
without a beer or a cheer
The ball sails into the stands
where it's empty of fans
Radios pick up the players talk
and their cleats as they walk
The 'boys in the booth'
may not be long in the tooth
Yet once-exciting plays
just don't thrill or amaze
"The runner slides into home!" --
where we watch all alone
Sigh... The 'old ball game'
~ is just not the same
Sorrow is the spawn of rich, elected meisters;
the Arms Race, the silent wars, and particle colliders,
The climb of Sputnik, the fires, and the importance of Geneva,
but the radaranges and spy planes have given us amnesia.
The world has gone silent, despite being littered with radios,
the wordless conflict being observed from orbital telescopes.
The end of this rock is coming all too soon,
and the last tears to be shed will be shed from on the moon.
Apart from the worn stone-step
where drunks still topple,
or the hand-painted sign,
all has changed,
now a neon glow backlights a plasticized fascia,
all ‘local color’ painted over.
In the car park,
two frizzy blondes face off,
The smaller has plastic bangles,
she rattles like a Zulu warrior,
fingers stab through cusswords.
Youths shout
over the clomping-thump
of their car radios.
"I used to come here often"
I explain to my incredulous wife.
"Good times."
Something really grossed me out
While walking down the street;
A stranger cleared his throat and spat,
Just inches from my feet.
I think it is illegal
To just cough up phlegm and spit.
In society, it’s something
We should really not permit.
There once were signs in subway cars
Announcing prohibitions:
Loud radios and spitting
Both had fines for inhibitions.
Some people, though, do what they want
No matter who’s around.
I guess I should be grateful
That that spit stayed on the ground.
Girls grow up wearing dresses and bows,
playing house with dishes and dolls,
soon into lovely flowers they grow,
sharing weekends at the local malls,
Little boys grow up playing with cars,
trucks, trains, flashlights and radios,
gazing telescopically at planets and stars,
spending weekends at the picture shows,
All children today share the future to be,
fostering the knowledge they primarily learn,
thus to uphold tomorrows true destiny,
what's taught should be of Godly concern.