Best Porch Poems
After the end of a long hot day
At the end of my rope with nerves all frayed
I sat on the porch to rest a spell
As the sun slipped slowly behind the hill
Calmed by the lingering after glow
I watched the summer night unfold
Crimson streaks...on a sky of blue
Melted in a thousand different hues
Got lost in the dark without the light
Leaving just their shadows in the night
And in fields of clover across the way
The crickets began their serenade
As fireflies danced with sheer delight
Glowing…in love with this summer night
And there ahead...at the end of the road
Above the bridge where the river flows
It rose like magic before my eyes
An orange moon so big it filled the sky
Through My Porch Door Window. By Tania Kitchin
Fading porch light lures with pale glow
a circling moth, dull-beige and bare.
As starlight ties vast sky in bows,
I shy away from ruthless glare.
Night holds secrets I’ll never know
of bold ventures and starry-eyes
of love; cast alone in shadows,
I cry. The fading porch light dies.
Unwelcomed guest, the moth again
boasts of heights, flitting and spurring
my desperate cries - through open
window, lifting higher, whirring.
Moth seeks light on wings now broken
forever gone, my dreams unspoken…
Entered in Silent One's Sadness Contest, 2/9/17
Originally for Chopped II Contest, written 11/4/14
Oh, bushes, which near my front porch bloom
between the months of April and of May,
when I see you greening, I can assume
your petals’ unfurling is on the way!
I leave for work one day not knowing when
the magic I anticipate will be.
I come back home that afternoon, and then
small pretty heads of roses there I see!
Bright rosy red are those that first appear.
The ones named Blue come at a slower pace.
Sweet yellow and peach-hued ones – all are dear!
Such happiness you bring me with your grace.
April 11, 2017 for Shadow Hamilton's Ode to Flower(s)Poetry Contest
Some days the birds come out
They sing there beautiful song
They envelope my senses
I harbor their harmonious tunes
I long to hear them all my days
There are days when the sky is clear
The sky would be a cerulean blue
With white high cotton clouds
I lift my eyes toward the sun
And take in all of its golden rays
My pupils become very small
Just small specks in my eyes
Just then I see the tree-line
A magnificent sight to behold
Each tree within the calm cluster
Is filled with the beginning of life
Just as are some of the unknown flowers
That are alongside of the house
Those flowers that have been struggling
Struggling through these harsh days
The weather has been rough for all nature
The birds, the trees, and the flowers
All have had a hard time adjusting
To the tremendous swings of temperature
Cold to warm, warm to cold
And everything in between
My porch is a calming place
A place where I like to relax
Though today has been raining
Still it’s a calming rain, but very cold
I wish I could hear the birds
And see the clear day
With the sun’s warmth all over me
And I could see nature with its beauty
But now I see another part of nature
In its own beauty, the nurturing rain
Without this nothing would survive
So I still smile on days like this
The peaceful constant rain on the porch
I can only stand staying out so long
Because it’s too cold, it’s freezing out
But I still wanted to feel this part of nature
A real part of life, an influence to one’s soul
It never gets old coming out to my porch
I always bond with all of nature
No matter what that nature is that day
Warm and cloudy, hot and sticky
Cold and frigid, humid, stale, and calm
All of which are important in life
And I like to experience each one of them
Nature has its good days, and its bad
And I like to be in the middle of all of them
Now I will come in and will await
Await the time when I will come back out again
Tonight, tomorrow, or whatever time
I will venture out to my porch
And enjoy my time here, with nature
Russell Sivey
Written per the request by my friend Sara Kendrick
The thunder booms; the rain, it pours.
We're half inside and half outdoors.
A screened-in porch brings Nature close
But not enough to overdose.
And so we sit and mix our tiles*
As Nature ratchets up the dials.
We gaze up at the stormy sky
And dripping trees, while we stay dry.
At last it ebbs as we play on
Until the downpour's up and gone.
How cool to watch such changing scenes
Behind the shelter of the screens.
*mah Jongg playing pieces
Earth's Porch, Sunny, Sweet Summer Breeze,
Sonnet number VI of XII
Barefoot and walking white beach sands
waves meeting shore gentle splashing
Sandcastles built, kids busy hands
all about, their bright smiles flashing
Beauty of Life, this glowing scene
peaceful calm enters eager soul
Seeking more, those rambunctious teens
yet unaware of world's great toll
Feeling cool winds, deep need to pray
for this dear happiness will flee
Ask God's love, be blessed to stay
with full faith in the trinity
Earth's porch, looking into abyss
Humanity begs more of this.
Robert J. Lindley, 4-17-2019
original June 15th, 1989
Sonnet in eights.. ( Earth, Mankind And Deeper Thought)
Note: Brought from my private journal.
Today seemed a good day to give it new life and light...
Let the truth be a porch light
that attracts you like a moth;
Let the innocence of your inner-child
be the fabric of your cloth;
Let your mind be a window
you keep opened to new ideas;
Let the soul that you see with
always stay crystal clear.
Fly into the porch light
with no fear of being harmed;
Keep your window opened
there’s no need to be alarmed;
Don your suit of innocence
feeling proud and walking free;
Polish your soul crystal clear
through which you see your destiny.
Mountain laurel perfume wafted in the soft breeze.
Myriads of flittering birds sang in the trees.
At peace on our cabin porch with feet on the rail
Until a trumpet blast called me to hit the trail.
When at last would come my soldier’s release
To return to our laurels, birds, and peace?
With the martial trumpet silent once more,
All survivors returned to their home shore.
Would I limp stiff legged down the last mile,
To laurels, and birds, and your peaceful smile?
Alas, but a dream that came not to pass.
My future lay beneath the clover grass.
Wrapped in red, white, and blue came my release,
To scentless laurels, silent birds and wailing peace.
Sitting on the front porch in the evening shade,
strumming on a flattop guitar that was made
to play along with a country song
about a sad heart who was done wrong.
Old Shep beats his tail to the tune,
enjoying the breeze and the croon
of the melodic voice which fills the air,
encouraging the birds to sing with flair.
Friendly neighbors stop by to listen with glee
to the one-man show which is free,
there isn't anything he can't play,
taking all requests on any day.
Favorites are heard and the group is a part
of the dusk-like entertainment considered art,
joining together with voices raised up high,
taking a walk down memory lane with a sigh.
Sitting on the front porch in the evening shade
is a summertime thought that will not fade,
singing along with the guitar,
making sounds in unison near and far.
#1
My grandfather’s old wooden chair
stills sits on the porch
facing the land he cherished.
Twilight time will soon come.
Grandpa’s time is already done.
A man walks down the sidewalk through the mist,
And his dark silhouette is soon erased.
As he continues to travel with haste,
He recalls a pair of lips he had kissed.
A woman takes a bracelet off her wrist,
And in a jewelry box it's then encased.
She remembers a man she had embraced,
And fights against an urge she can't resist.
They realize they must be together,
Yet the dark distance between them conceals
Their image from each other in the night.
After a sudden change in the weather,
The midnight haze subsides and now reveals
Two lovers in the glow of a porch light.
© 2019
Why do we call the good old days,
good?
Grandma was always talking,
talking about the days that had passed.
I wonder if they were really that good,
or does our mind play a trick on us?
Grandma loved sitting on her porch,
looking out over her land in her rocking chair.
Now the old rustic white fence,
is falling down from the last storm.
Her once beautiful flowers are all dead,
dead just like her.
"By the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find,"
sits an old tan and orange alley cat.
Oh how she loved to feed her stray cats,
then play with their furry kittens.
Will the squeaky old gate find a new tomorrow,
or be torn down and rebuilt with cement?
The air has calmed and clouds amassed
Vultures don't soar there's no storm
Crows caw near my door join rooster's chorus
Trees slowly undress show their form
The crispness in the air lends calm
Sun rises clear pale yellow_bold
Empty feeling presses upon being
Is it from season's change to cold
Somewhat eerie windchimes stark still
Like a lull before the main storm
An ominous feeling of abode
Or suddenly seeing strange form
born in Canada
in a snowstorm
snowflakes were falling
dad drove carefully
we made it
and I was born
into the world screaming
odd for I am quiet
I recall playing
with a girl just like me
but she became an angel
I was alone
until a baby came
a brother . . .
we lived in a lovely vintage home
. . . and had a huge covered porch
on warm days
baby slept in his carriage
while I played tea time with my dolls
while grandma rocked snoring
I had a cat snowball
cause she was white as snow
a gift at christmas
she gave birth twice
oh those kittens were sweet
but mom said that's enough
we had a park
at the end of our shady street
where ducks and swans floated
and ancient maple trees swayed
I would lay on the grass dreaming
I loved my home
my room overlooked mom's garden
and she gave me my own window box
so I had flowers blooming
I loved the creaky floors
the stained glass windows
the curving staircase
the claw tooth tub
a lake to a little girl
. . . . and mom's kitchen
with delicious smells
soup on the stove each day
bread in the oven baking
oh such delightful memories