Long Alsatian Poems
Long Alsatian Poems. Below are the most popular long Alsatian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Alsatian poems by poem length and keyword.
One cold night, deep in thought, and curled in fright,
From folklore tales aimed to scare;
My rigid poise froze to a screeching noise
Outside, a voice not like I've heard before, to leave I would not dare
“It’s probably just an owl or creature of the night out there"
I muttered to myself, then pretended not to care
Oh, I recall quite vividly this icy Winter’s night
With grainy sight, the sandman came to lead me to his land
The weariness I fought but eventually he caught
Pulling me quite taut to somewhere far less bland
Where I became the leader of a marvellous brass band
And down that path sandman tightly gripped me by my hand
Trumpeters and trombone players played musically in layers
Exciting each and everyone, spreading joy to all around
But my dreams were playing tricks, my mind was in a mix
The bass tuba sounded sick, not playing tuneful sounds
Instead a grating shrill, then the whining of a hound
The lightning and the rain came too, my dream then ran aground
Alone I grew more frightened and the intensity just heightened
The shrieks and shrills grew louder with an occasional thunder clap
Taking sanctuary under bed sheets, preying for melodic sound beats
Suffering this painful feat, my soul took a massive slap
Oh how I longed for it to stop and to return me to my nap
The bleakness of that night, my mind caught in a trap
Morning later broke, the ground outside was soaked
The noise had faded but there was still a haunting in my ears
A crunch, a grind, a squeak a whine
The cause I vowed to find, and to take away my fears
From the upstairs window I saw a farmer crouched in tears
And a windmill's broken sails; the mystery closure neared
Across the muddy field, I approached the man kneeled
Sobbing over what appeared to be a dead Alsatian
He'd found it just lying there, the hound, his best friend
Downed by a falling windmill piece, killing gods creation
"A slow death" the farmer said "he must have cried out for attention"
"And my mill cranks broken causing noises of a nauseating sensation"
I am a little Alsatian puppy- can you empathise with my wretched plight?
I cannot impress upon insensitive humans, my God given inalienable right,
As a scrawny tottering helpless babe, I used to suckle milk from my mother,
I slept close to her warm body and had great fun romping with my brother.
Men snatched me heartlessly without any qualm from my dear mother’s care,
She searched and searched for her precious offspring desperately everywhere,
They separated me from my siblings too, did they think I liked thus to be parted?
I am man’s “Best Friend”, but towards me, why are they harsh and hard-hearted!
They brought me captive to a mansion cold, and kept me within its encircling walls,
They expected me to be satisfied with silly, inane toys, and a few multi-coloured balls.
In the fields I was free as the untrammelled breeze-- I would then frolic, roll and play,
In nature we lived happily in a close-knit pack, not in solitary confinement all day.
Now I am forced to chew on artificial bones and in a secluded house I must stay,
But it was so much fun to be with one’s kith and kin, this I can now honestly say,
Even when I’m hungry, I have to make do with whatever portion they deign to give,
The same processed unnatural food daily, isn’t appetising, to be had as long as I live.
My master gorges on lip-smacking food which I would have also liked to munch,
I too would have relished digging into juicy flesh, for breakfast, dinner and lunch,
My jaws and teeth were meant for food, other than the machine-made dog fare,
Thoughtless men assume they are doing a lot, that we’re treated with a lot of care!
Men should realise how much they’ve been unfair in unreasonably torturing us!
Why should they expect us to submit to their senseless training, without any fuss?
If men could become the wretched dogs and dogs could turn into “God’s Chosen men”,
They would certainly understand our miserable plight, without my having to explain.
Righteous smart left hand
Short lived amnesia
(there's no app for that) found
his highness (ha... ha... ha... hm)
drawing a (figurative) blank
today January 54th, 2021,
when the misses asked yours truly
to access Verizon voicemail,
me noggin made a clank,
no doubt forgetfulness potion I drank
helps explain the circumstance
spilled (er spelled) ernest and frank.
After uttering expletive
stronger than tarnation
sought after digital information
re: 1-888-234-6786, I handily
pressed telephone keys right away
courtesy five fingertips,
and thumb expecting standing ovation
course I practiced self abnegation
and adamantly refrained
exclaiming these
bone a fied digits of flesh
the best most intelligent in creation,
my memory recalling telephone numerals
more difficult then acquiring k-ration.
Maybe you - anonymous
dear reader unwittingly applauded
(courtesy butterfly effect -
vibrations felt in Schwenksville)
impacted one garden variety human
comfortably nestled within dwelling
functioning as his remote workstation.
Nevertheless, your friendly martian, i.e. me
(from the outer limits
of the twilight zone
ofttimes analogously scurrying
like dark shadow creeping
along the edge of night)
somehow either discerned
(felt, heard or saw)
aforementioned reverberation
unbeknownst to yours truly,
thought he detected, and
felt atmospheric perturbations,
which I automatically fantasized
indicative of a strange being
housed within alien nation.
Pray tell - soundcloud I sensed
twas thee, a faux Earthling,
who telepathically communicated
to mine overactive imagination
please be courteous and befriend
plus promise to whisk me away
to never never land,
regardless whether cultural heritage
of population constitutes
a cross between
Alsatian, cetacean,
Croatian, claymation, Dalmatian,
Haitian, Thracian, et cetera.
>I have been married now for forty-nine years, it will be fifty next year In 2017. I have no regrets. But there was once, what I thought was a first love. We were too young to know of course.
Run from love
I liked running when I was young.
Had an Alsatian dog, that was fun.
We both ran alongside a horse and rider as well.
Were you the one we ran with, can you tell?
I joined the army, then I did do.
Once, was just about to propose to you.
But then you broke my dream in two.
Said a soldier’s life was not for you.
I stayed my question right just there.
That question ceased, at you I stared.
A love light was quenched just then
I should have pursued you still again.
Or even left the army then.
But you quelled the love from me.
Extinguish it oh so quickly.
You still did wed a soldier true.
Why could you not, have wed me too?
A love light was killed that day.
I have just added the following to bring a soldiers tale to an ending.
A few years later God was kind to me.
As another chance, He gave you see.
Another chance of love to me.
I just hope you are happy now.
As me.
I wrote this poem on a scrap of paper in the 60s. I was stationed in the mountains of Aden at the time. How it survived so long I do not know. The paper was thin and the writing faded. I just managed to rewrite it. funny really, as as I started to write the words flowed as I was writing it for the first time. I checked my words against the original and it was word perfect. Fortunately the original must have liked what I did because it just crumbled away as I tried to pick it up again. Its duty done I expect. Although wrote as a poem story. It was the truth at the time. I found the poem in some old papers of mine I was tidying and throwing away. Funny the things we keep. Stanley (The mad Author)<
The flush of spring has bought new life to romp in greening feed,
along the border with the forest where domestic flocks do breed.
Managed through the daylight by the fear of being seen,
the sentinels of death await for night when they are keen.
Though distant lights may glow as beacons for the lost,
guerrilla’s stream out silently in pack form to accost,
and satisfy their lust for blood without no grace or fear,
frustrating yet the hand of man. By dawn they disappear.
Far reaching eyes in anger lies where wilderness is dense,
I know my soul is being watched beyond the border fence,
locked into disappointment where flies gather at my feet;
There’s blood-stained wool on rotting flesh, with no thought to eat.
Immediate is my judgment for no trial is needed here,
I am the executor of the guilty, who dare to wander near.
Survival is the wisdom tho’ for the wily streetwise cur,
the frenzy’s not in pattern! It’s too late for where they were.
The night is cold and lonely with the urge for needed sleep,
but as the shepherd of my flock I must protect my sheep.
A pack will form again when blood is dry and lost its scent;
Until the last sheep drops their guard, no dog shall here repent.
The lead appeared Alsatian bounding surprised in its flight,
for its escape back to the bush in my sudden cheating light.
The echo of my three-o-three thundered through the hills,
with-in the change of retrospect. ‘Tis I who wants the kills.
Death took a holiday tonight where death was meant to be,
my shot was high or wide or low, ‘twas more shadow I could see.
Silence returned and in my light that scanned the field and scrub,
I knew that I was being watched, beyond a woodland shrub.
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Picnic.
Funny thing happened on way to picnic close to a jungle.
Taking twelve people three cars started simultaneous.
Cars going in queue, front- one, driven by my uncle.
We were in joyous mood, singing loud in chorus.
On road side, morning walkers were practicing jog.
Through military campus road led to our destination.
All the bungalows showing warning ‘Beware of dog’.
We were relaxed and car running in slow motion.
Haply from a house, came out a running Alsatian,
just to commit suicide on hit of our car.
With a rifle rushed the owner, a military man.
All were frightened to deal with the disaster.
My uncle got down, apologized, ‘just to mention,
I have no fault, please try to understand.
Excuse us Sir, take this money as compensation.'
Stern looked officer hesitated, but stretched his hand.
‘Ok. Fine. Accepting your ‘Fine’ as you are feeling sad.
Killing the rascal, you have done a great favor.
I am going to shoot him as he has gone mad.
Never mind. In future, be a cautious driver.’
06/30/18
Third Place
Funny Memories
Contest by Natasha L Scragg
I shook him and shook him but he wouldn’t waken
He had to wake up to take his medication
It isn’t for pleasure or for recreation
But just for the sake of the USA nation
But on second thoughts, severe constipation
Or send him away on a lengthy vacation
or get him to queue for that new vaccination
For anything else could be mortal damnation
And then he awoke with some consternation
Where am I he said with much irritation
I think he was having a hallucination
He looked up and asked me, am I a Dalmatian?
It’s my job to offer a daily summation
I gave him the gen on the evacuation
We’re ending our Afghanistan occupation
Really, he said, has there been consultation?
I told him the Afghans now face conflagration
Afghan? he said, oh, a shaggy Alsatian
I knew this would be an inane conversation
His mind was a void, that's no exaggeration
You’ve pulled out too quickly in my estimation
Jill’s ironic nodding belied her frustration
He didn’t respond with a quick protestation
And Jill’s little grin was a saucy flirtation
The topic I changed to the Covid contagion
He needed to issue a communication
We need to consider some rules relaxation
His vacant stare offered no illumination
He said that that pot plant needs fast irrigation
He whipped out his weener and issued hydration
He grinned as he offered a brief explanation
My name is Joe Biden, for your information
Poor Blue. Written about a visit to the butchers with my mum, in Liverpool, when I was a child
Poor Blue
To butchers I went
With mother to spend
Some money on meat for the week
For two days a week
My mother cooked meat,
Boiled tatties, with carrots and peas
This did coincide
With baths as child
As meat and a bath were a treat
But not just for me
As brother you see
Shared both on the same day each week
But back to the tale
Of butcher regale
With mother and me lined in queue
In front of us stood
A man and his dog
A long haired Alsatian named Blue
From nowhere a smell
Invaded the shell
Inside of the small butchery
In nostril it crept
As tear drops I wept
And nausea overcame me
My mother said loud
“Dogs shunt be allowed,
In places where foods on display”
Blue looked at my mum
And though it were dumb
It’s eyes displayed hurt and dismay
The butcher stared down
Addressing the hound,
Said, “you and your master must go.
Please turn about face
And leave from this place
Dog farting is such a no no”
Both bloke and the dog
Departed the shop
And left with their tales between legs
When I looked at mum
She whispered “keep schtum”
For from her came’t smell of bad eggs
For months after that
When we shared a bath
Both brother and me made a joke
We’d fart in the bath
Make bubbles and laugh
At mother, Poor Blue and the bloke
N.L.G
A huge Alsatian barks at a passerby stranger
as the pond geese honk sensing grave danger
Trudges back home a rangy lone ranger.
Big and little aubergines cast a purple shade
In the twilight birdsong begins to fade
Night makes navy-blue of the greenery's jade.
Wolves howl in the distance
Panthers prowl near pig pens
Ocelots growl around the dens.
Dolphins perform in the aquatic circus
Kids count on the time-old abacus
All in all the miracle of creation's fabulous
Elsewhere the morn dawns upon wee ladybirds
And shepherds go about grazing their hungry herds.
A rare sight of starfishes settle upon beach pebbles
Pink salmon in a see-through lake breath out bubbles
Bombed by tech; corpses found in debris and rubbles!
Wild species lurk in the murky forest
Stands tall and hovering high mount Everest
A chance to enjoy nature at its very best!
Admit it O' mankind no one can ever be
at par with your and my versatile Creator
The billions of species is far too extraordinary
He single-handedly created all that variety in nature.
For even the clever human who invented the radio
did not as well model the computer.
The one who designed my dresser couldn't design my patio
It'd be rare for a shoemaker to also be a tutor
But God He made both ant and elephant
and there's absolutely nothing that He can't.
A sharp elbow in my ribs,
Listen,she hissed.
The regular thumping on the back door
Brought me wide awake.
Stealing nervously to the passage window
I squinted out.
There bathed in the moonlit glow
Stood a big Alsatian
Coiled to launch yet another assault.
Relieved I crept back to bed,
He'll be gone in the morning.
Morning saw me gingerly open the the back gate
To see him stretched out
Back firmly pressed against the door.
Alert,he sprang up confident,not cowed,
He,the visitor,making us feel at home.
Never did he intrude,
Only upon invitation would he enter the house.
Sadly we knew
his time with us would be short.
He did stay but a few days.
Had he been dropped off on the road
Late at night,as happened in those parts?
Master gone,relatives unwilling
To hold on to the faithful old retainer?
On walks he never strayed
Throwing back a watchful eye
To check we were not lagging.
His was a soft mouth,never wolfish,
Gently easing food from the feeding hand.
On the day that he had to go,
We were apprehensive.
Ready for snarls or whimpers of resistance
We heard neither.
Once the trailer cage snapped open,
With an almost philosophic lope
He leapt lightly into the cage,
Settling,head held high,paws outstretched.
As the trailer swung out of the driveway,
His image was branded upon my heart.