Best Eskimos Poems
To touch someone’s eyelashes with your own
up close to their face, now isn’t that silly?
I can just hear all the virile men groan. . .
Butterfly kisses with one’s date? Really?
To tell you the truth, I’d not even heard
of butterfly kisses until one fine day,
and I might even have found it absurd
had someone most special not kissed me that way!
But there was a boy one night that I chose
to go on a date with - a flirtatious tease.
He said, “Let’s rub noses and be Eskimos”
and playfully put my young self at ease.
And then he said, “Kiss me like a butterfly.”
I giggled when he drew his face close to mine.
Both our lashes were long, and on our first try
our lashes were kissing; was it divine?
I won’t lie and tell you it was complete bliss,
but soon in my stomach there strongly fluttered
new butterflies from our first full-mouth kiss,
and I sighed with every sweet word he uttered.
He said, “Close your eyes” and then kissed both of
my eyelids so tenderly how could I know
if it were anything other than love
and, madly, I wished he never would go.
His eyes were wide open; I mirrored the touch
of his hands like butterflies, wanting to trace
my every feature. Those eyes said so much
as my hands caressed his sweet beautiful face!
His mouth on my neck, his breath at my ear,
his lips on my lips; I’d now tasted bliss!
What a boy from Quebec had taught me was clear:
Romance can take flight from a butterfly kiss.
For Gail Angel Doyle's Butterfly Kisses Poetry Contest
MR GREEDY
Mr Greedy could not eat any more
His bulging stomach was swollen and sore
Needed hospital care
But he couldn't get there
Cos he got wedged in the frame of the door...
SPOILT BRAT
A spoilt young daughter was having a moan
Santa didn't bring the latest I phone
Her dad said" hand me that
You ungrateful young brat"
And sent her off to her room to atone...
MA KELLY
Eighty year old Ma Kelly passed away
Her mean family didn't want to pay
So they filled her with concrete
Then put supports on her feet
And sold her as a statue on ebay...
SINBAD
For twelve camels Sinbad purchased a wife
But she gave him lots of grief and much strife
Tried to give her away
All his friends they did say
"A wife's not just for Christmas but for life" ..
CLIMATE CHANGE
Eskimos igloos started to buckle
Global warming for them is big trouble
They got home one day
And to their dismay
Their village had turned into a puddle...
NEW YEAR
If you go out celebrating new year
Do go easy on the whiskey and beer
Make sure you drive slowly
Cos you don't want to be
Stuck in a snow drift right up to your ear...
Written 30th December 2019.
Better still if you're driving DON'T DRINK.
Happy New Year to all.
Ah Frontiera, here we are at your last, you've thrown a rod, your life lies black
on oily ground - all this snow and you're a mobile no longer; so I must walk.
It's cold, and now I think of it, that cold that exists in enormous reservoirs
at the poles of our world, seemingly to pass back and forth between,
as if through a secret conduit as the seasons are unfurled.
I will relax, I tell myself, "become one with the cold" as if it can't hurt me,
because sometimes you have to tell yourself things in order to survive.
My soliloquy proceeds as I gather thin paper birch branches and fashion them
into snowshoes with rawhide strings from my pack, a woefully empty pack
considering where I must go - the Brooks Range, even in October, is no joke -
and I can make it to a trapper's cabin, south south-west near Lake Chandalar.
Like the Inupiat Eskimos, I will sing my song, make up my tale, and live on.
Garlock, lord of this valley, seven feet of branch-breaking, tree-scarring,
log-rolling, stump-pulling black bear might, looks up, for the wind was behind me
and his nose is ever aware; my prayer - "You've eaten well, for your
winter sleep comes soon, you are not hungry enough for me" - I repeat it with
calm confidence; Praise God - noble king Garlock, this time, gives me a pass.
Two hundred miles, "Can I make it in three weeks, can I stay alive for four,"
I wonder as I walk, as I fish - pike, char; hard-fought with my hook, still the grayling
cooks on my fire - with a few remaining blueberries I find for spice; over mountain pass,
near the gorge's bottom, a rocky ledge, a rare stumbled caribou with broken legs,
my knife finishes it, oh how warm and rich the liver.
Over the blue cold of a nameless glacier - half the planet's glaciers are in Alaska,
that blue in summer melting is half of all water flowing into all the seas; I exist
with the cold, I'm only a part-day's travel from the trapper's cabin now.
Click-thunk! I hear it before my leg is alive with pain; I've stepped on a trap.
The evening's grim descent doubles and redoubles - I laugh or cry.
Will I bleed, will I freeze, or will my life just vanish into shock,
tucked into the ever-colder onset of night.
Trapper, when will you next check your traps?
December 21, 2016
For Shadow Hamilton's contest - 'Epic'
Contrary let’s have a conversation
Let’s speak to euphemisms
And pregnant letters of anagrams
Sentencing fixation declaring persona non grata
Heads chopped for Eskimos
Sensing heresy and heresy’s
Running around context to a content
Telling a novel to a telenovela
Paragraphs to a paraplegic in paralysis
Please let’s not sell confirmation to be firm
Brought to be bought
Needles piercing through a pierced needle
Mending letters for letter heads
A grieve sensing tears departing death
Condolences speaking so well with pain
She’s passed on, on to the ethos-
And incarnations
Ancestors to an ancestor-
Leaving God with bill to captures guts;
A man with a liver
Words with a man and it was men
Independents, depending on what happens
Independents where are you?
Schizophrenia for frivolous
Respect for all who respond
Spirits speaking so well with spirituality
Serving a soul so soul for flesh purpose
Unity with bones for free
Miracles doomed and boomed in miraculous
Listening to a beginning: a sun so sweet for a sweet
Manifest in emblematic sworn in; the alchemy
Mending Words : THE TRENCHES
THE TRENCHES the pure truth so colorful, so to bring out the beast in a beast; philosophy, spirituality and dreams in priggish ways a fifth chapter.
Nip my nose! Pound at my core!
I’ll frame a warm blanket ‘round thighs and toes.
Decorate with icicles door-to-door!
My darling and me, nuzzling like eskimos.
Together we can take anything that Winter throws.
Throw a softball of snow my way
and I will merrily call in the snowmen brigade.
They come armed with carrots and stones…olé!
Dear Winter, who will come to your aid?
I shiver! I’m afraid!
Forget about that, I’ll take a nice sleigh ride
down a glistening hill,
with my honey-bear by my side.
With speed bumps, it’s quite a thrill.
Please Winter, don’t set out to kill.
Bitty flakes on my lashes, shoulders; I shake.
My sweetheart will take off my scarf, coat and boots.
So warm by the hearth, we’ll not soon awake.
Before that…we drink cocoa, eat cake with dried fruits.
We will dream of you, Old Man Winter and your pursuits.
12/14/2021
When winter months become morose
And everything around is blue and froze
Gets disheartening even for the eskimos
Their morale starts to dwindle and decompose
They tread most lightly on cautious tippytoes
For fear their neighbors will become bellicose
They bite their tongue rather than use such prose
As ‘up your nose, my friend, with a rubber hose’
It is uplifting to dream of colorful scenarios
Any warm place where the blazing sun glows
Where the desert air gently blows
While ocean waves roll in sultry rows
All agree a trip down south would be most grandiose
Trading bikinis for their parka and heavy winter clothes
By pools they’d feign being divinely comatose
Drink in hand adopting the hot vacation pose
Stretched out on their hammocks eating pistachios
Laying back being busy counting colored rainbows
Hey CabanaBoy we’d truly really hate to impose
But would you please massage us from our head to our toes
Before their fair skin burns and redness undergoes
They all head back to their respective bungalows
Wondering should they dress go catch one of the shows
Or rest in bed before calling on one of the local rodeos
While visiting the souvenir shop one decides to propose
To send home a postcard showing tropical buzzards and flamingos
With a heartfelt message that needs not be verbose
For sure they’ll be the envy of both our friends and foes
AP: 1st place 2021
north by northen
they live in villages of 8 to 10 people,
dont pay rent and make art out of multi
colored buttons and old bent tire rims.
they have warm smiles and icicle
beards that hang down in a
furrowed eccentric mess.
they are eskimos that write with
red ball point pens and speak french
fluently. except when they slip on the
ice they may curse and cry.
thier tears freeze into crystal cathedrals
with paintings of redemption
hanging along its walls.
they redeem us all.
The Reflection of light to..
A sanctimonious imposed Tyranny,
A stifling Medical spellbinding idiocracy,
Of a State Sanctioned Nihilism that couldn't stand the irony,
Sycophant Pagan philistines,
consume all that doesn't move,
Our Impetuous gullibility
now notwithstanding,
We cannot though argue,
nor in fact - disprove,
But however your view, with all of today's branding,
Perception means nothing if we cannot then see,
Whatever it is that they
Are not selling
Trading Eskimos for ice;
the cretinous oligarchy
..remains hidden not telling,
Worse perhaps still - to never suffice,
Yet robbed of innate and perceptive feeling,
Why should anything ever
then have
Any sort - of essential meaning..
If all we concede to, all that we are..but through different lenses,
And all that we do to follow;
Nulls and Diguises the natural senses, for mass promised false healing?
Though it is through the senses that we realise the self,
It is against spiritual wickedness that we now wrestle,
As disregarding this; Man as a dumbed down empty vessel,..
An Idiocy to Sanitise his Authenticity,
Only to always avoid, becoming intellectually honest in wealth,
Any mistaken identity of that which is you..
Return in full circle in assuredness and to knowing, but not so, to being aloof,
Prepared with no more waiting
An abrupt end to dismissal,
More to the point 'tis
a self evident proof,
If I did not tell you, I would not be honest
Our practice makes sense for perfecting the truth..
In your Eyes, If it was not
a whisper, of a lost
Tangible promise..
Kurt Hubbard-Beale
23rd Feb 2022
During covid 19 lockdowns
The PoetTree
Awaken Poetry. Awareness Poetry. Geopolitical. Philosophical. Music. Shared
It's the same truth in the dark,
willows, wallows and parks...
Determining for our destiny those wild cracks in the fading parts...
Yes we know time but also this warnings hold upon an anxious orange desire.
Fightfully it is neigh an arrogance or Shepard,
fruitiously though,
when avoiding any other companionship-
its evolution itself.
Rotation of Eskimos in the north,
Banshee riders east and a hundred years...
And you,
simple, but still a single-
and that face never grows or awaits the metered escape...
The Ice Fairy Princess came roaring in from the Polar North.
She rode a fierce some Vortex, the likes would freeze a stalwart heart.
The penguins wanted out to play, but we had to bring them right back in.
We couldn’t find them in the snow, so deep, cold, and wild, was its spin.
Dragon found them with his fire, which quickly turned into puffs of snow.
Hamster flakes swirled all around, so a rope we used to bring him in, just so.
The temperatures fell, oh so cold, that they set, mighty records everywhere.
How do the Eskimos do it, or those brave souls called Canadians, up there?
How do they gaze upon the Ice Fairy Princess, and, still live to tell the tale?
Even Santa Jack, at the North Pole burrowed in, oh, so very deeply, they do tell.
If only she would borrow and ride his sleigh, next time, her visit might be nice.
As it is, it’ll take a month of digging to find our own front door, amongst the ice.
It’s so cold, that even Dragon can’t help, until his fire, stops coming out snow.
Birds that never migrate, flew South before this blistering storm… they did go.
I have lots of time, to get to know my family again, as they fuss about the snow.
As the roof makes creaky noises, so Trolls are shoveling up there, fast, not slow.
I hate to be unfriendly, but as guests do go, I wish she would stop, all this woe.
No one wants a guest, whose home warming gift, can lay you, this, so very low.
We’ve decided to hide deep within our houses, until her visit is finally done…
At least until the Ice Fairy Princess, has found her way back, where she belongs.
FIRST DATE
oh wow!
she’s prettier than i thought
dressed to kill
i suddenly look like a tramp
smell like one too
not sure
whether or not to hold hands
neither is she
but at last it’s done
a wet clammy experience
troubled
about the good night kiss
my first date
oh hell take a shot
they say eskimos do it that way too
saying goodnight
this urgent call to nature
wouldn’t you know it
sphinx like the whole date
she suddenly wants to talk
Dave Austin
Eskimo Dream
Eskimos know 68 shades of snow
They count every flake
Green blue ones fill children with delight
Parents frozen like the dim light of day
Wait with edges of a knife for prey
They dare not move during the hunt for food
Faces etched like leather on fierce weather
In calmer times they sing
Pound igloos into shape before the pending storm
Mukluks on their children’s feet are old and worn
But keeps them warm on moonless nights
Against all odds for life
They hold together chanting on the wind
Stretching across all time and land
Singing about their past and colder weather
And yes, about the color white
Sentry huskies sway left to right in fear
And think of caribou
Soon the ice will cover everything
Settled in the deep
The people sleep
And dream of whale bones by the glacier sea
WAITING FOR THE WHALES
with the Yupik
On icy shores the Yupik women grab their down-wrapped kids--
Muscled men push-slide long boats from old white plastic skids.
Squinting grey horizons -- snow-fog blurs keenest sight--
Wondering which hunter fickle gods will take tonight.
Seal skin gear repels the wet while ice finds nervous hands,
Hunters --cheerful-- brave the cold that rules in Arctic lands.
Suddenly a burst of water spits above their heads--
Spears flash—too late—whale disappears--but not a soul is dead.
Note:
Yupik people are one of the Native American tribes
of Eskimos in Northern Alaska whose traditional life included whale, polar bear and seal hunting.
The U.S. government allows them to hunt one whale per season to fulfill their religious
and cultural tradition. This hunt was near Barrow, Alaska spring 2012.
Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
Jan 11 2013
'Tis said that God loves all His creatures great and small.
Here are just a few of them - I can't begin to name them all!
He loves us one and all the whole world wide from A to Z!
His steadfast love is extended to all including a sinner like me!
God loves atheists, alcoholics, bootleggers, bums and Baptists -
Bailiffs, Catholics, conservatives, coopers and capitalists -
Doctors, dentists, democrats, extortionists and Eskimos -
Farmers, fishermen, golfers, generals and hypochondros!
He loves harlots, hypocrites, infidels, judges and jackasses -
Kings, kooks, lawyers, Lutherans, liberals and lasses -
Marines, Methodists, nerds, nurses, oracles and optometrists -
Presbyterians, politicians, poets, pilots and proctologists!
God loves Quakers, quacks, riveters, radicals and ragmen -
Republicans, rednecks, ranchers, reporters and raftsmen -
Sailors, Santa, scholars, scientists, sinners and scouts -
Thieves, tithers, teachers, taxmen, tradesmen and touts!
He loves unbelievers, veterans, villains and ventriloquists -
Widows, xenophobes, Yankees, yuppies and zoologists!
With so many folks to cherish, oft I wonder how it could be,
That He takes the time to love poor insignificant me!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I have a unique talent everyone knows
I can balance cheerios on my middle toes
On both feet, and sometimes off of my nose
If I dunk them in chocolate and one of them glows.
Thousands want this secret from the Eskimos
Does it start with butterfly kisses, do you suppose?
The rumors run in circles tight like my garden hose
Here is the first part, you have to wear orange clothes
Secondly, you have to know two cousins, both Joes.
I cannot tell you the next two parts, said my Uncle Mose.
I rolled my eyes at his silliness, he wears pantyhose.
His stories are crazy, and blow as the wind blows.