"nightlife" poems
National Liberation Day Of Korea
Freedom means August 15, 1945.
Koreans celebrate their day of liberation.
Freedom is like a Magpie,
Flying in the morning sky,
Above the ancient palaces of Seoul,
Freedom is like the Rose of Sharon,
Growing in "The land of morning calm."
Freedom is like a river named Han,
Unstoppable!
Freedom means flying the Taegeukgi.
Outside and high!
Freedom is Lively,
Freedom is President Moon Jae-in
President of South Korea,
Freedom is vibrant!
Freedom is festivals,
Freedom is unhindered!
Freedom is a Buddhist monk,
Everland!,
Freedom is unbound!
Freedom is tasty Kimchi,
Deoksugung Palace!
Freedom is lively parties,
Freedom is dancing,
The greatest Palaces of Seoul!
Freedom is treasured!
Freedom is a green bottle,
Soju!
Freedom is Arirang!
Korea's song,
A gift to the world from Korea,
Freedom is Queen Min; Still remembered,
Resting under a cherry blossom tree,
Freedom is Seoul!
A wonder to be seen on the Han River!
Freedom is luminous,
Busan Nightlife,
Changdeokgung Palace!
Freedom is unchained!
Freedom is sports,
Jeju-do!
Freedom is escape!
Freedom is honor!
Battle of Inchon!
Freedom is rising in the sky,
One of the most dynamic cities,
Seoul!
Freedom is no longer
Imprisoned,
Freedom is camping,
Freedom is priceless!
Freedom is one's honor!
Deoksugung Palace!
Freedom is treasured!
Freedom is the miracle,
Seoul!
Freedom is food,
Freedom is Kimchi,
Freedom is hopeful,
Freedom is Yu Gwan-sun!
Long live Korean independence!
Freedom is a Buddhist monk writing,
Freedom is thinking about your dreams,
Not looking behind your back!
Freedom is a child going to school,
Freedom is ultra-modern,
Seoul!
Freedom is escape!
Freedom is music,
K-POP!
Freedom is Arirang playing,
Freedom is essential,
White Day!
Freedom, people, shining in the sun,
Freedom is loved,
Yuna Kim!
Freedom is essential,
Freedom is "The March 1st Movement",
Yu Gwan-sun!
Freedom is shopping,
Freedom is walking our dogs,
Freedom is writing what you think,
Freedom is Sejong the Great!,
Hangul!
Freedom is bringing your dreams into the world,
Freedom is poetry,
Yun Dong-ju!
Freedom is traditions,
Freedom is wearing Hanbok.
Freedom is being empowered!
Freedom is.
Freedom is.
Freedom is.
A United Korea!!!
Copyright © 2013 - 2017 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 6:00 AM UTC
I stand here;
outside my balcony
amidst darkness
in the company
of loneliness
My soul impertaburbly
trapped between forlornness
and peacefulness
Yin and Yang perhaps,
Forlorn because the soul,
wounded and damaged perniciously by loneliness..
And peace;
because the herb...
well the herb heals
to some extent
My vessel the arena
On a forbidden course
Yang battles Yin
the odds are in his favor
THC to Yin is like aconite to wolves;
And so he weakens with every hit
The melee ends
like it was destined to
tranquil and pure bliss prevail
At that moment;
the wind starts to sing her song
Calling, whistling to his lover
the king of the night
she whistles a beautiful song
that sounds of a gentle breeze
zephyr like pushing aside clouds that
guard his majesty;
grandiosely his image is revealed
in the nightlife
Observe they all gather under the nightsky;
selenophiles
far away from each other
all in different worlds
but it's this energy that coheres them here
together
The wind starts to sing
the song of halcyon,
ogling at the moon
in veneration and exhilaration
selenophiles danced away into the night.
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 7:39 AM UTC
With a body wrapped in a crimson dress, she bears a violent temper.
Shining daylight, raging bewitching, captivating cunning.
You arrive with starry eyes and cheeks flushed like a ******
In her curly hair, autumn curtains hang—roaming rays hot.
She glows in the night like a pictorial wall with hieroglyphics concealing madness.
You step elegantly, but you're a dangerously stealthy predator.
Grassy hills in floating flames burn beneath a voluminous haze.
Her look describes fabulous waterfalls, endlessly flowing and shining in the coming dawn. You associate with robbers and kings, but they do not understand, and no one will save you.
Lovely eyes sprinkle enchanting rays, her lips intertwined like a rose petal.
Her heart enticingly calls with her fruit to be drunk.
You hide in the nightlife, dress up, and do your love magic.
Neck fashioned in autumnal garments, wearing scarlet ruby earrings.
Her pink skin smells of perfume, inviting like a grape on a vine.
You invite visitors with your charm to carelessness, forever forced.
Her lips are flowing bewitching rivers—intersecting strokes of crimson. They bring a dream to taste her deep soils and her artfully carved forms.
You are determined to captivate without marrying— you stay lost in rebellion.
Sep 25, 2023
Sep 25, 2023 at 6:19 AM UTC
Malice ripples
lying low, under
penetrating nightlife strobe.
Repercussions?
None to show.
Limp bodies
'getting loose'
In truth,
injected with poison;
a slow-acting noose.
Repulsive actions of the
vile & depraved
****
endorsed at raves.
Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 4:56 AM UTC
I’ve never understood the pull of the nightlife.
I was always content to hang in my cave and enjoy the homelife.
Every now and then I do wag my tail and purse the trail of the pack,
Always lingering right at the back of the queue.
I follow their scent when they descend into the night,
While they ascend the social status stairway.
From my perch at the bar I watch the social sheep dancing to the beat of popularity:
The girls show off their twirls and brunette curls,
Inviting you into the funhouse down under that never shuts for festivities.
The boys weigh up their options with the biceps on display and perfect quiffs held up by ten tins of hairspray.
Hunting through the flocks of feet trying to find themselves a piece of meat for an all night feast.
When he finally finds his muse he bites her lip and grabs her hair, pulling her in without a care about those who stop and stare.
They kiss for seconds and he whispers in here ear,
“I think we should get outta’ here.”
She giggles grabs his hand and leaves through the exit at the rear.
His friends give him a clap and cheer, whilst his jealous rivals sulk and sneer.
After a few too many drinks I leave through the front, holding my head low to avoid a fight.
Bearing the brunt of another unsuccessful night with no young light to take home and ignite.
I fall on my floor with a case of helicopter head as the room spins in circles and squares in front of my eyes.
My lasting thoughts are of the day ahead; hanging dry and feeling as if I’d rather die.
It's just another day in my nightlife.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
Innocence in the sunlight
Lose all your inhibitions in the nightlife
A feeling so freeing
Intoxicated with the moonlight
Drinking in its radiant beams
Such a feeling
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 9:01 PM UTC
Tropical blue
Cool night breeze
Ocean tides and Red Lobster life
Tropical blood
Swimming with crocodiles
Chomping on left over Cubans
Tropical view
Wind chime serenade
Second hand smoke grenade
Tropical blue blood
Ocean wave recedes
Water and volcanic sludge
Tropical blue blood view
Nightlife in all its brilliance
Late night moonlit romance
Jun 11, 2011
Jun 11, 2011 at 8:46 PM UTC
TELL THE MOON SHE’S BEAUTIFUL every time you see her:
in the too-early mornings when the sun is starting to rise,
in the late afternoons when she’s settling in the clear sky.
Tell the moon she’s beautiful, that she’s more than just a reflection of the sun’s light.
Tell the moon she’s beautiful even when she is bathed
in the red bloodstone shine of starry brethren.
Tell her she is beautiful even when she hides herself in phases.
Notice when she’s gone.
Look at the constellations and tell her that you miss her. She’ll hear it anyway.
Pepper her with compliments to lure her back to her full glory.
Howl with the wolves in your adoration.
Has she made you nocturnal?
How late do you stay up staring?
Is she brighter than any star in your sky?
Tell the moon that she is beautiful—
tell her how she lights up your nightlife.
Tell the moon that she is beautiful.
Tell the earth that she deserves better—
that she and the moon are beautiful,
too beautiful for your ink-stained fingertips.
Tell the earth that she is stunning,
from her deepest oceans and across every mountain.
When you tell the moon that she’s beautiful, sign each love letter with Mother Nature’s signature.
Seal the envelope with kisses of sun rays,
and send your words up to the sky on the backs of meteors.
Tell the universe
that she
is beautiful.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC
Nightlife scene
no high life seen
in every window, boxes with screens
people obscene
can be seen
in the nightlife scene
horizon queen
on the railway scene
the skyline of could’ve been
and maybe a has-been
roams the high life scene
in the nightlife scene
and lonely old Jean
a thought-to-have-been
roams innocently her scene
and maybe she did too her high life scene
can be seen
are the tears on her cheeks
in the nightlife scene.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 11:02 AM UTC
There's a city glowing in my ears,
biting blur of the nightlife.
Figure I've been here for a while.
My supplies were piled high,
now they're in short supply
and I'm high.
The walls of my
apartment are red.
I wait until the streetlights
flick on before I flip into a
somersault, I wait until the
streetlights flick on before
I call you out tonight.
The walls of my
apartment are red.
Dead presidents, don't
answer for me,
I paint the walls red.
Dead presidents couldn't have
seen it coming,
I paint the walls red.
Dead precedents, don't correct me.
Could have been a fool,
could have been a rule
you didn't know, so
when your friends are
wrong sing a song that
won't offend anyone.
You kept me waiting for hours,
you were shining. In a dress like
blood and flowers, you were shining.
You better sell it hard tonight.
The walls of my
apartment are red.
Mar 16, 2011
Mar 16, 2011 at 8:55 AM UTC
They were not interested in the forests.
Or how many Asians died?
Nam Viet was a restaurant
Open from 8am-11pm each day.
And summertime in Hue,
means cheap ***** and handmade suits.
All around the girls in golden tight dresses,
who can hardly walk in their six inch heels.
Sell cheap cigarettes from table to table.
Always with a smile and a look at their *******
On trips to Hanoi and Hoi An,
the code to Vietnam's literary treasure.
They asked thin questions with no light
“What about the Women Andrew”
“What about the nightlife and the girls”
“Do you think they’re ****
"How expensive are they?"
Someone in ** Chi Minh City asked me
"Why do people think like this?"
I guess it is easy, if ugly is all you know
Calling to nothing, and the fall of the future.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 5:02 AM UTC
latenight feelings
over daily existence
nebulous thoughts
under clear eyes
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
Nightlife
Where you find other people
and lose yourself
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC
Another sleepless night spent restlessly.
Another night unfamiliar with peace.
Another counting of the hours.
Another cup of chamomile tea.
Another dream gone awry.
Another swollen face and glued-shut eye.
Another head of hair resembling nest.
Another morning, trembling cold sweat.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 4:36 AM UTC
A quiet life
A country life
Where the grass sways in the breeze
And the hues of green signify the beginning of balmy nights
A far cry from the city
Gone are the endless vibrant lights
Gone are the 2 a.m. trips across town just because they make the best doughnuts
In this place of air almost too clean to breathe
They stroll
A traffic jam is four cars at a stop sign
Battling rules of the road with polite hat tips of "you go first"
Fast feet and hot dog carts
Italian ices on every corner
Fifty-six blocks to a destination
A world of choices
A billion footprints at a time
Stoplight crowds of sneakers and pantyhose
Everyone is invisible and naked at once
The green haired freak and the business man
The limos and the gypsy cabs
The excitement only felt in a world of possibilities
The difference between pick up trucks and bike messengers
A hundred miles for supplies
Or fifty-six blocks of everything under the sun
Soot filled pores and too much traffic
Street sounds to sleep by and a world of opportunities
Crickets and junebugs
The world closes at eight
Nightlife turns into Wal-Mart and Taco Bell
The slow pace of growing grass
The warmth of a winterless Summer
Wishing for a trip across town at 2 a.m. just because they make the best doughnuts
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
Hanging around the old cabaret,
where nighthawks steal glances
at the curators of tired eyes,
the walking dead take leave
of their senselessness
entering blurred reality
Someone calls for another round
shouting fire down his throat as
A dart nicks the narrow space between
two fates and falls to the floor
avoiding both,
leaving him in a rage
She pockets the change they left her
or forgot, while
laughs infuse the acrid smoke,
ricocheting into nothing
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
Where skin meets pole,
In low society.
Is where I thrive.
This isn’t the right choice.
Singles hustlin.
Join me in these dollar days.
This is your light switch entrance.
Sitting at a marble bar
Loveless love, pay by the song.
Selfish fun, ***** talking on the jukebox.
Jazzin’ to the music.
Standing up on that marble stage,
Showing the world whats yours is ours.
Drunken memories lived to the fullest.
I’m out trying to discover America.
Stripped down to its rawest form.
This road is laden with fallen philosophies.
Tasting of ***** money.
Bitter.
Fully **** girls flashing. (lights)
Blow in the bathroom.
The nightlife you’ve always wanted.
Movie star lifestyle.
Dimly lit.
Have some backroom privacy.
Conversations with strangers.
This is naked in all sense of the word.
Sensual seduction.
Classical redemption.
Primal ecstasy.
Trying to make amends with myself.
This is a haggard lifestyle.
Society frowns upon us.
Shameful scandals.
Fake lovesick mannerisms
Paid for in advance.
Exposed on stage.
You’re in love with a stripper.
Kitty, Desire, Destiny, Velvet.
All the love you’ve been looking for,
For the price of admission.
Just sit back and watch the girls on stage.
This is it.
We’re searching for love.
And if we cant find love,
We’ll settle for lust and luck.
You’re well taken care of here.
Don’t you worry about a thing.
Just don’t run out of money.
Superficial lover for a pay as you go one-night stand.
Never lonely here.
Late night tonight.
In the back of the club.
Are we having déjà vu yet?
You’ve been here before.
You’ll be here tomorrow.
Just a little longer now.
Climbing up the pole to the ceiling,
Only to slam down in the splits.
Don’t worry it can only get better from here.
This is the right choice.
Bright light flashing.
You’re finally in the spotlight.
Sold out, checked out, cashed.
“Let me do all the work sweetheart.”
We must live the way we feel is right.
We’re all trying to make our way in this world.
Lets not forget each other.
Cocktails anyone?
Is this wrong?
Living in this life.
This party
that never ends.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC
I like my headphones for the
Insulation. Sometimes my ears
Take in too much stray noise,
Dredge up too much disorienting
Mud from the depths of a TV
Screen or an iPod. Then I can
Always snuggle into my headphones
And be silent - and silence is a
Dear dear commodity, to be sure,
When every other scene-
Stealing, pudgy-mouthed buffoon
Has to put his ten cents in. So
Much sound should be a sin;
Background music, ambient noise,
Music for airports, and pubescent
Boys screeching from tinny silver
Speakers near the wall. I don't
Want it, not every bit, not all
The hate and the slippery tongues
That speak and salivate and don't
Say anything human. I want to reprimand,
To excommunicate them from
This Holy rite of sound. (And really,
I would be content to never hear
Music if I could block out the roundabout
Fights and the sultry nightlife descriptions
Gushing from my screen, if I could
Use my headphones to keep
That liquid crystal from pouring in
My too needfully silent ears.)
Maybe I'll follow a painter's path:
All visuals and open dripping wet
Wrath with a noisy race. I can be a
Terrifying girl. Cut off my ears and
Be deaf to the world. Wrap me in
Canvas and chase me back into the
Woods on a starry starry night.
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 5:29 PM UTC
She said I was her second favorite.
Not that she'd met a better man,
but that way she left room for
improvement.
She wanted to believe in fidelity
like someone wants to believe
in Jesus or pure justice.
She asked my complex thoughts--
the wordless ones. I asked for an explanation.
She only stared, and I realized I
couldn't tell if her eyes were
green or blue.
She stabbed her ice with a straw
and told me to stop calling it love--
what we were making. That was
fine. I had a few other terms in mind.
She said nightlife and fanfare were
for homosexuals. So, we spent
most evenings eating Chinese takeout
in a rented room.
She vomited on the Fourth of July,
while fireworks erupted. I sat in
a lawn chair, and tried to remember
how she looked in that black A-line dress.
She needed to know my plans for our future.
I said there were endless open doors in front of us.
She said she only heard the sound of a door
closing behind.
She was a free spirit. And I "put it on trial."
She said she needed me
to change the channel.
She said when we ended -- and we would end --
I'd learn a valuable lesson:
a woman is the only creature
that doesn't have to die to haunt you.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
Oh, you got your politico pals
Posting stuff about them blues-and-reds
Oh you got your new-age pals
Posts about their chakra dreads
Oh you got your pervy pals
Posts about their whips and spread
Oh you got your journal pals
Posts about their EX and meds
Oh you got your comic pals
Posts of grumpy cat in bed
Oh you got your trendy pals
Posts of food and celeb weds
Oh you got your gossip pals
Posts about what so-so said
Oh you got your music pals
Posts of bands on every thread
Oh you got your mother pals
Posts of how their babies fed
Oh you got your nightlife pals
Posts of each local they’ve tread
Oh you got your righteous pals
Post of what you need instead
Then you got your artsy pals
Oh someone shoot me in the head!
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
The clicking sound of the car door locks is quite audible as we round the corner and drive through the city night. Fear doesn't strike the heart but it lives in the mind. It casts a long, dizzying shadow like a charcoal mistake staining the page. It can't be erased but lightens only a little. Its dangerous claws try to grasp at all it can latch onto. You may slip from its grip physically but Fear still has a hold on you mentally.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 7:26 PM UTC
And they say she’s got the fellas
Well aint she just a Bella
Wasted in the dawns of time
Another margarita, another lime
But she knows she’s got her mother
Who won’t put up with another
Record score of sixty nine
She keeps them waiting in a line
She won’t let down her guard again
Won’t be easy for another pen
Fifteen, she’s off the rack
Now she’s gotta make it back
Alive, in her tattered dress
Walking alone on the streets a mess
Listening to drunken shouts
Just trying to find her way out
Head up tall
Make sure you don’t fall
Promise yourself you’ll be better
Next time they’ll be no more keggers
Because this girl is not who you are
You don’t ditch your friends for a guy at the bar
It’s time to get your **** together kid
Because next time may not be undid
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 11:48 PM UTC
We were a whirlwind of things
We were passion and fire
but we didn't mind getting burnt
Knowing that kind of love
Knowing what it's worth
We were the nightlife and the fast car that would ride forever
We were the crash and the crushed bones that never seemed to heal right but
We wouldn't mind all of the wounds
They would heal
Knowing that kind of love was worth it
You’d assume
love is always worth it.
Right?
You were my wildest fight
m.d.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
Sunday Morning blues
RIO DE JANEIRO all nights or LAS VEGAS nightlife
After two-three glasses of twisted Ice lemon
Or was it an Alabama Slammer which cut like a knife
My days and nights felt like a freight train ride
And that no lie!
I remember the Cuban Bulldog who bite me
three years ago, in Kissimmee;
which left me more than a little weak
those feisty drinks
Or was it that wicked, wacky Long Island Ice coffee
Which almost has done me in?
After, watching a news clips of Momar Kadafi
or was it an episode of Friends
Luckily, for me I met my sweet Marlin Brando
And it was hallelujah and amen in Key Largo
So many bartenders, so many smokes filled rooms
So, once again here I am nursing
Another Sunday mornings blues.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC