Gulls Poems - Poems about Gulls

I placed all of which I am in your hands Dreaming of the gulls in Long Beach Your letter had the allure Of perfume and whiskey Salty kisses at midnight I wrote words for you Carried aloft by Sparrows under moonlight your reply was whispered With passion's hungry tongue And I was taken by you Forever...

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The town pond was drained, revealing minnows wriggling in the residual water they milled and turned in silvered arabesques choregraphed by a rippling wind. Large ocean-going gulls descended out of a troubled sky, they walked among the writhing small fry plucked out the little fish employing just the tip of their great beaks as if sensible of the delicacy of such morsels. Dark clouds foretold a storm, strange...

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The cities churn like a flock of seagulls where fear comes from a broken unchained door the masks of hunger hide in shadowed walls fighting for scraps tossed on a filthy floor buildings stand to decay where streets collide garbage lay in piles, a strong smelly blight change means nothing where the dying abide to disturb the hate of a city's plight children...

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I set up an easel in the shade of my beach umbrella. Wanting to paint by the morning light, I dabbed colors onto the palette...sea foam green, azure, titanium white, and ochre. ...

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The shrewd gulls fretted and flew, veered inland to avoid the storm. Some strutted over spiky rocks, others flew low over the sea, occasionally swooping into the cold rough sea below, foraging for tasty salty fish. But when the storm was over, they just flew up and ventured to blustery pastures new. ...

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The ancient jagged rocks stand, like black sentinels along the waterside, Protecting the land from the continuous raging tide. They are perpetually black, either slicked with water or as a sharp silhouette against a blue crystal sky. They dominate everything and are especially feared by every mariner that make their slow way by. On their landward faces they offer...

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A raw red crater of hunger; the clacking tongue a buckram spear shaken at all comers. The gulls mouth is the gull, the gullet is the gull the torso, the snowy pale blue plumage, that dark under-feathering all the body of the bird a perfect bow for the arrowing beak and its raucous bugle. A neck stretched for greed; above that gorge, hard-set and avaricious, glint eyes long...

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Out to the horizon I see the yellow-orange of the sun dripping such beauty with its glow. Seagulls are soaring. They are free. How I wish that I could be one, flying high in the breeze’s flow. If I were feathery and wee, I could whirl, having so much fun overhead moving to and fro. I would swirl high above the scree, squawking with glee...

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The horizon was brewing ominous clouds, Dark as if they came out of hell. The once azure sky became hazy As the north wind chilly breezes Puffed up more stratocumulus, Rain-heavy clouds signified storms. I rested against the balustrade Of the promenade, looking down at the sea. Waves upon waves dashed at the dark crags. Seaspray washed my tired face. Above the seagulls came to...

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What crashes into them is the oceans voice beheaded. Seabirds skim upon verge and crest, a green swell of rise and fall. Open mouths trawl the air then plunge into a rising wave to scoop a thrashing fin that dangles now between life and death. Gullets gulp down then wide wings swim on. Indoor cats stare out of windows as the heckling hunters tumble and dive for shadows...

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The Pond was drained, revealing umpteen minnows; they wriggle in the residual water turning in silvered arabesques choregraphed by a water-rippling wind. Large ocean-going gulls descend out of a troubled sky, they walk among the writhing small fry pluck out the little fish employing just the tip of their great beaks as if sensible of the delicacy of such morsels. Dark clouds loom foretelling a...

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I went down to watch the ocean this morning - well, Long Island Sound anyway. My last chance for a while, classes start tomorrow. I wonder sometimes how I can be refreshed by that gray, drizzly, melancholy harbor - locked in winter’s intemperate grip - but I am. The salty air seems thicker and richer, the...

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Temptation is in the sunset To gaze behind the stern Toward a distant landfall To which I may ne’er return. I will point my bow to westward, Where yonder sets the sun, Following true my guide star Until the sailing is done. I will never sing of lost loves And things that might have been. I will run before the wind Unless I return again. ...

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I never learned to dance, with humans or wolves; But my cousin Jammie Ray could dance the night away. And I would never for once consider 'running with the bulls'. At my uncle's funeral, I did enjoy 'the releasing of the doves'. And I really do miss walks alone the Pacific, watching sea gulls. 080321PSCtest, A Brain Strand 4 or...

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gulls tuck in fledglings dream of tomorrow at sea emerald sun - weeps 20th March 2021 Let's Get Creative Haiku Poetry Contest Sponsor: Constance La France...

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