"welles" poems - Hello Poetry

High above dear Maple Street There looms a cold iron curtain of fear That dares to drop and let all the monsters Unleash their dreaded promise of chaos As in Europe despots gift a new World War Trembling parlors hug the radio Hallows Eve: the radio Begins to sing throughout dear Maple Street The Seventh Trumpet declares all out war And that heavy iron curtain of fear Eclipses the sun and invites chaos In vacant hearts of men into monsters Halloween Night: the monsters Now dance to the tune of the radio Raiding the stores, jumping bridges, chaos Entombing the stretch of this blood strewn street Parlors gorging on endless waves of fear Riding hysteria, imminent war O great catalyst of war Twisting the minds of men into monsters Diving your hands in that great pit of fear Now throbbing with screams from the radio No fences nor faces can save Maple Street Now plunged in the throes of sweet sultry Chaos And we call it Chaos This boiling of minds all stewing with war Once masked with humanity on this street Now reveals good neighbors make great monsters Skies of martians (n)or men, the radio Hissing, twists the knobs and tunes in to fear And when that curtain of fear Draws, and shadeless light casts on the chaos And the broadcast fades on the radio And mere fiction rescinds the throne of war What will we make of all of these monsters Scattered about in a daze through the street Where there are minds of fear and war, Chaos reigns and calls to the sleeping monsters; Tune in to Welles’s radio on Sterling’s street.

0

Oct 30, 2018

Oct 30, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC

jarjarrhine

The Monsters are Due on Maple Street

High above dear Maple Street There looms a cold iron curtain of fear That dares to drop and let all the monsters Unleash their dreaded promise of chaos As in Europe despots gift a new World War Trembling parlors hug the radio Hallows Eve: the radio Begins to sing throughout dear Maple Street The Seventh Trumpet declares all out war And that heavy iron curtain of fear Eclipses the sun and invites chaos In vacant hearts of men into monsters Halloween Night: the monsters Now dance to the tune of the radio Raiding the stores, jumping bridges, chaos Entombing the stretch of this blood strewn street Parlors gorging on endless waves of fear Riding hysteria, imminent war O great catalyst of war Twisting the minds of men into monsters Diving your hands in that great pit of fear Now throbbing with screams from the radio No fences nor faces can save Maple Street Now plunged in the throes of sweet sultry Chaos And we call it Chaos This boiling of minds all stewing with war Once masked with humanity on this street Now reveals good neighbors make great monsters Skies of martians (n)or men, the radio Hissing, twists the knobs and tunes in to fear And when that curtain of fear Draws, and shadeless light casts on the chaos And the broadcast fades on the radio And mere fiction rescinds the throne of war What will we make of all of these monsters Scattered about in a daze through the street Where there are minds of fear and war, Chaos reigns and calls to the sleeping monsters; Tune in to Welles’s radio on Sterling’s street.

39

In the annals of New York City An amazing hero is acclaimed, Known as "The man in the red bandana" Welles Remy Crowther was his name. Born in Nineteen seventy seven, This New Yorker, born and bred, Could have escaped death's destruction, But chose to rescue folks instead. All his life he cared for people, Loved his family, kept them dear, But on that day of 9/11 His higher purpose became clear. An Honor Student, Lacrosse player, Former fire fighter, too, When explosions rocked the building, Welles knew what he must do. Rescuing with calm authority, Directing people toward the doors, He found a woman so disabled He carried her to the 61st floor. In the end, before death took him, Twelve people were brought out, saved. No one knows where Welles is buried In his 9/11 grave. Later, when his mother told Of the red bandana Welles had, The survivors saw his picture, And knew Welles was the brave lad. Only 26 years old, Welles Crowther manned up in strife, That young man is New York's hero... ... for twelve gave HIS VERY LIFE. Soul Survivor Catherine Jarvis (C) September 11, 2014 13th anniversary of 9/11

0

Sep 11, 2014

Sep 11, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC

SoulSurvivor

The Man In The Red Bandana [Hero of 9/11]

In the annals of New York City An amazing hero is acclaimed, Known as "The man in the red bandana" Welles Remy Crowther was his name. Born in Nineteen seventy seven, This New Yorker, born and bred, Could have escaped death's destruction, But chose to rescue folks instead. All his life he cared for people, Loved his family, kept them dear, But on that day of 9/11 His higher purpose became clear. An Honor Student, Lacrosse player, Former fire fighter, too, When explosions rocked the building, Welles knew what he must do. Rescuing with calm authority, Directing people toward the doors, He found a woman so disabled He carried her to the 61st floor. In the end, before death took him, Twelve people were brought out, saved. No one knows where Welles is buried In his 9/11 grave. Later, when his mother told Of the red bandana Welles had, The survivors saw his picture, And knew Welles was the brave lad. Only 26 years old, Welles Crowther manned up in strife, That young man is New York's hero... ... for twelve gave HIS VERY LIFE. Soul Survivor Catherine Jarvis (C) September 11, 2014 13th anniversary of 9/11

36

Hemingway said, There is quite the difference between kissing goodbye and kissing goodnight. I wanted a "See you later", but instead got the "Goodbye". Steinbeck stated that Nothing good gets away, If it's right, it happens. If that's the case how did we always end up feeling so wrong? Salinger suggested that after falling in love you never know where the hell you are. This, I can say is true. Where the hell are we? Dickens declared that The truest wisdom comes from a loving heart. Yet a heart in love can sometimes turn out to be the least wise. My friend, I think I'll just stick with Orson Welles' theory: "We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone." Anything else is simply illusion.

0

Dec 22, 2014

Dec 22, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC

dotdotdot

Ode to the Greats.

Hemingway said, There is quite the difference between kissing goodbye and kissing goodnight. I wanted a "See you later", but instead got the "Goodbye". Steinbeck stated that Nothing good gets away, If it's right, it happens. If that's the case how did we always end up feeling so wrong? Salinger suggested that after falling in love you never know where the hell you are. This, I can say is true. Where the hell are we? Dickens declared that The truest wisdom comes from a loving heart. Yet a heart in love can sometimes turn out to be the least wise. My friend, I think I'll just stick with Orson Welles' theory: "We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone." Anything else is simply illusion.

30

Why is it that drinkers of wine All fancy themselves connoisseurs; As they sniff, swirl, sip and spit- They’re all Robert Parkers I’m sure. They talk about bouquet and fragrance, hints of chocolate they find in the wine. I sip on the wine and I’m puzzled as I never find chocolate in mine. My brother’s a beer connoisseur Pour ten different beers in good light. Though he may drink them all to be sure, He distinguishes each upon sight “There are different shadings of gold and some give you more head than others.” -Who would ever imagine that beer would have something in common with lovers. So go have your new Beaujolais You Francophile drinkers of wine I’m sure Orson Welles would have told you They’re selling it way before time. Back at the bar named McCullagh’s They’re playing pool in the back room Uncle Jimmy is schooling some suckers It happens once in a blue moon.

0

Dec 23, 2011

Dec 23, 2011 at 7:29 PM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

The Beer connoisseur

Why is it that drinkers of wine All fancy themselves connoisseurs; As they sniff, swirl, sip and spit- They’re all Robert Parkers I’m sure. They talk about bouquet and fragrance, hints of chocolate they find in the wine. I sip on the wine and I’m puzzled as I never find chocolate in mine. My brother’s a beer connoisseur Pour ten different beers in good light. Though he may drink them all to be sure, He distinguishes each upon sight “There are different shadings of gold and some give you more head than others.” -Who would ever imagine that beer would have something in common with lovers. So go have your new Beaujolais You Francophile drinkers of wine I’m sure Orson Welles would have told you They’re selling it way before time. Back at the bar named McCullagh’s They’re playing pool in the back room Uncle Jimmy is schooling some suckers It happens once in a blue moon.

24

There is a certain type that I am apt to like, a Galliano smirk, it's true, won't make me take a hike. A bourbon habit, one raised brow a slow-drawled "Well, hello" - call me a sucker, I don't care, I admire a brogue-shod fellow. Wrap him up in hairy tweed mixed with well-packed denim, the physicality of Welles and literaryness of Heming (way). Politics were not a factor, or nationality, he engaged my interest with his brand of flattery. Challenging in points of view debating through small hours, I'd much rather conversation than all the world of flowers. For I've no need of roses to get my fix of blush. His whispers in a crowded room will rise me to a flush. This man of perfect manners, I'm as Venus when I stand with my jazzophile Jupiter, conjuncted, hand-in-hand. Shooting stars if wished upon may bring one single wish. Thus I knew, the day I met him, I had found my bliss.

0

Jul 26, 2013

Jul 26, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC

miss-tabitha-devereaux

Yet another ode to my husband

There is a certain type that I am apt to like, a Galliano smirk, it's true, won't make me take a hike. A bourbon habit, one raised brow a slow-drawled "Well, hello" - call me a sucker, I don't care, I admire a brogue-shod fellow. Wrap him up in hairy tweed mixed with well-packed denim, the physicality of Welles and literaryness of Heming (way). Politics were not a factor, or nationality, he engaged my interest with his brand of flattery. Challenging in points of view debating through small hours, I'd much rather conversation than all the world of flowers. For I've no need of roses to get my fix of blush. His whispers in a crowded room will rise me to a flush. This man of perfect manners, I'm as Venus when I stand with my jazzophile Jupiter, conjuncted, hand-in-hand. Shooting stars if wished upon may bring one single wish. Thus I knew, the day I met him, I had found my bliss.

32

Citizen Kane Who could sustain The horrid disdain Not living up to All the hype An ego undone Behind the public curtain Eyes, lies, and truths betold. I want my 119 minutes back Welles.

0

Dec 13, 2010

Dec 13, 2010 at 3:09 PM UTC

adam-zalt

Kane

Citizen Kane Who could sustain The horrid disdain Not living up to All the hype An ego undone Behind the public curtain Eyes, lies, and truths betold. I want my 119 minutes back Welles.

9

We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone.

0

Jun 30, 2015

Jun 30, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC

kenny-diamond

Quote By Orson Welles

We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone.

4

I could read you some smoking hot papers and you could get high on the vapours, or possibly go A to Zee in the pages of our dictionary, she says, I'll give it some thought. Then I get an F for the fantasy I thank her and she goes and blanks me, this is not an 'incident on the Yangtze' this happened in my own backyard. I play solo with this tight illusion it saves on the electric or is that a delusion? as always I'm full of confusion I blame that on Welles and his Mercury radio show.

0

May 4, 2017

May 4, 2017 at 1:55 PM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

The flash cube

I could read you some smoking hot papers and you could get high on the vapours, or possibly go A to Zee in the pages of our dictionary, she says, I'll give it some thought. Then I get an F for the fantasy I thank her and she goes and blanks me, this is not an 'incident on the Yangtze' this happened in my own backyard. I play solo with this tight illusion it saves on the electric or is that a delusion? as always I'm full of confusion I blame that on Welles and his Mercury radio show.

22

They fingerpick on the guitar while I toe pick on the ice; my equipment doesn't fit as well as each note in each composition they write. After building brick walls in front of the net their slapbass slapshots destroy my defenses until their goals plague my crease. While trying to set focus on my own game loud cheering emits from various venues for Mozart writing his first symphony at 6 Orson Welles directing Citizen Kane at 25 Johnny Depp originating that last line at 31 and Patrick Mahomes, whom I'm older than. Competition is healthy, functional until the unstable heat of boiling envy releases the steam of resentment building pressure in the machinery until the screws pop out like marbles knocking each other out of bounds. Daftly defining ego as the self and success as superiority and achievement as relative, I race against relatives; each pace they gain is a slap in the face in the rain stinging while slipping while blaming the elements precipitating my demise. Gripping graphite too tightly vulcanized rubber goes wide shattering through plexiglass and into the rib cage of an innocent bystander dropping his concessions to climb the stairs to the sky box while I wait for repairs to be made.

0

Apr 30, 2021

Apr 30, 2021 at 3:40 AM UTC

andrew-rueter

Envy

They fingerpick on the guitar while I toe pick on the ice; my equipment doesn't fit as well as each note in each composition they write. After building brick walls in front of the net their slapbass slapshots destroy my defenses until their goals plague my crease. While trying to set focus on my own game loud cheering emits from various venues for Mozart writing his first symphony at 6 Orson Welles directing Citizen Kane at 25 Johnny Depp originating that last line at 31 and Patrick Mahomes, whom I'm older than. Competition is healthy, functional until the unstable heat of boiling envy releases the steam of resentment building pressure in the machinery until the screws pop out like marbles knocking each other out of bounds. Daftly defining ego as the self and success as superiority and achievement as relative, I race against relatives; each pace they gain is a slap in the face in the rain stinging while slipping while blaming the elements precipitating my demise. Gripping graphite too tightly vulcanized rubber goes wide shattering through plexiglass and into the rib cage of an innocent bystander dropping his concessions to climb the stairs to the sky box while I wait for repairs to be made.

36

Innocuously incubated kindled imperceptible dire strait restlessness like tinder with pinterest Deutsche agitate barreling like a freight train running so much faster than an eight track uber twittering, rumbling, quickening and inculcate dissension among dissolute rabble rousers, who do obediently initiate rank and file will not abate, boot re:reed out (bus) soon, thence coalesces into ablegate insidious encroachments no longer patiently await... ideal conditions to hatch schism within parched soil perfect for hate mongers of democracy breeds anarchy to facilitate chaos, which quickly spreads like kudzu, or wildfire Arson Welles immediately forcing leader of free world to abnegate, (heard to trumpet "FORGET THE WALL" mate), (despite being caught in his pink frilly underwear), to late for Mar a Lago escape, where formerly great wealth did pool lightly coagulate elite class heard faint stir of echoes, then earsplitting clangorous louder than an ICBM din (er bell) rent asunder forcing freedom of "FAKE MEDIA" to abdicate all the while pointing beringed index finger to accentuate his Taj Mahal ululation interspersed veni, vedi, veci stopping for spate to coif (died in the will) hirsute and aerate said wind swept hairdo pausing every now and again to snap selfie portraits, plus instagram loved ones to alleviate that pompous, outsize, and humongous ego fast deflate ting into a shriveled up POTUS float hissing boilerplate hot airy premature ejaculations, he would not capitulate (sooner be rocketed to Pyongyang and cell bate good times with Kim Jong-un to emasculate! I now absolve myself that aforementioned jest, a tongue in cheek diatribe belies my means to predict any forecast, yet if any resemblance of chance events materializes between my pablum childishness at best there could arise fruitful market for kitsch sheen collectors items high as Mount Everest!

0

Jan 1, 2019

Jan 1, 2019 at 10:52 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

Ominous Foreboding Augurs...

Innocuously incubated kindled imperceptible dire strait restlessness like tinder with pinterest Deutsche agitate barreling like a freight train running so much faster than an eight track uber twittering, rumbling, quickening and inculcate dissension among dissolute rabble rousers, who do obediently initiate rank and file will not abate, boot re:reed out (bus) soon, thence coalesces into ablegate insidious encroachments no longer patiently await... ideal conditions to hatch schism within parched soil perfect for hate mongers of democracy breeds anarchy to facilitate chaos, which quickly spreads like kudzu, or wildfire Arson Welles immediately forcing leader of free world to abnegate, (heard to trumpet "FORGET THE WALL" mate), (despite being caught in his pink frilly underwear), to late for Mar a Lago escape, where formerly great wealth did pool lightly coagulate elite class heard faint stir of echoes, then earsplitting clangorous louder than an ICBM din (er bell) rent asunder forcing freedom of "FAKE MEDIA" to abdicate all the while pointing beringed index finger to accentuate his Taj Mahal ululation interspersed veni, vedi, veci stopping for spate to coif (died in the will) hirsute and aerate said wind swept hairdo pausing every now and again to snap selfie portraits, plus instagram loved ones to alleviate that pompous, outsize, and humongous ego fast deflate ting into a shriveled up POTUS float hissing boilerplate hot airy premature ejaculations, he would not capitulate (sooner be rocketed to Pyongyang and cell bate good times with Kim Jong-un to emasculate! I now absolve myself that aforementioned jest, a tongue in cheek diatribe belies my means to predict any forecast, yet if any resemblance of chance events materializes between my pablum childishness at best there could arise fruitful market for kitsch sheen collectors items high as Mount Everest!

71