Long Back yard Poems
Long Back yard Poems. Below are the most popular long Back yard by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Back yard poems by poem length and keyword.
I was brought up on a smallholding when I was a lass
We needed something to help us cut the vast expanse of grass
I wanted a goat and my parents they agreed
We saw one advertised and rushed there at great speed
Poor ‘Susie’ lived in a paved back yard
Finding her food to eat must have been hard
We paid them some money and then the fun began
Travelling home in dads Volkswagen van*
I sat on the back seat with ‘Susie’ next to me
It looked pretty silly – I’m sure you will agree
Back home she bounded out of the car
She trimmed the nearest rose bush – she really was a star
She headed for the washing line and tried to eat dad’s pants
It was pretty hilarious – I can still hear poor dad’s rants
She was ‘with kid’ and got settled in her comfy shed
Her favourite food was bananas she’d eat them all when fed
Finally the great day of the kid’s birth did arrive
I called them ‘Billy and Nanny’ I was filled with great pride
The kids were so cute and we would take them out for walks
If people saw us out in the street their eyes would be on stalks
The kids they grew so quickly and nanny she got sold
Billy stayed a few more weeks but he was never to get old
Billy became a problem and was sold off in a hurry
I was devastated to find poor Billy was made into curry
This really did happen as written - I had Susie for my 13th birthday present
The ONLY amendment is it was a VW Beetle not a van *
Jan Allison
10th April 2014
While watching the stars way up high,
my thoughts drift to another time,
sleeping beneath a clear summer sky,
four sisters all in childhood's prime.
My thoughts drift to another time,
another place where innocence was bred,
four sisters all in childhood's prime,
talking and giggling as we climbed into bed.
Another place where innocence was bred,
when the night was dark and the stars shown bright,
talking and giggling as we climbed into bed,
counting the shooting stars in the sky at night.
When the night was dark and the stars shown bright,
after a long and exhausting day at play,
counting the shooting stars in the sky at night,
all our cares just up and flew away.
After a long and exhausting day at play,
sleeping beneath a clear summer sky,
all our cares just up and flew away,
while watching the stars way up high.
I, Too, Sing America (and did so in my diapers!)
by Michael R. Burch
I, too, served my country,
first as a tyke, then as a toddler, later as a rambunctious boy,
growing up on military bases around the world,
making friends only to leave them,
saluting the flag through veils of tears,
time and time again ...
In defense of my country,
I too did my awesome duty –
cursing the Communists,
confronting Them in backyard battles where They slunk around disguised as my sniggling Sisters,
while always demonstrating the immense courage
to start my small life over and over again
whenever Uncle Sam called ...
Building and rebuilding my shattered psyche,
such as it was,
dealing with PTSD (preschool traumatic stress disorder)
without the adornments of medals, ribbons or epaulets,
serving without pay,
following my father’s gruffly barked orders,
however ill-advised ...
A true warrior!
Will you salute me?
I hope my “small” attempt at humor will help readers remember the sacrifices made by the spouses, children and extended families of our valiant servicemen and women. It was not easy making friends only to lose them, time and time again, as I grew up a “military brat” on American air bases around the globe. I really did make sacrifices for my country, while winning every battle against the “communists” in our back yard.
Keywords/Tags: Memorial Day, military brat, service, war, duty, honor, heroism, soldiers, army, navy, air force, marines, child, childhood, children
It was just past 7:00 AM on an early and sunny Saturday morning.
As I walked past my grandson’s cat, Midnight, she looked up at me, clearly realizing that it was her feeding time. With eyes and ears already focused on other things, I walked on by, paying her no mind.
I felt the cool morning breeze flowing through the Valley.
I heard the leaves in the trees as they swayed just a little, from the flow
of the soft and gentle wind. I knew that I was not in heaven, when I heard the sound of traffic from a major street a few blocks away. Moments later, there was the sound of an airplane in the distant sky. That’s when I noticed that the sky was clear and free, and no dark clouds did I see.
As I looked to my left, I was arrested by a most gorgeous cactus blossom waving to me. I could not help but stare, as it was dressed so lovely in a captivating pink. Then I observed the progress of our nectarine tree, and knew that it was going to bear some sweet fruit this summer too.
My ears tuned in to the sound of the mild banging of a hammer from somewhere close by. Then I was entertained by a happy bird or two, whistling like they usually do. I must say, the things they speak about, whistle about, chirp about, and sing about are most beautiful to my ears.
As I paced back and forth across my back yard and along the walk way, I sensed a peaceful Presence, and could not help but utter a prayer of thanksgiving to God. As I was thinking and meditating, observing and listening, it began to get brighter. As I looked over my left shoulder, I spotted an explosion of light from the sun, slowly rising out of the Eastern sky.
I looked once more at that beautiful pink cactus flower, and it was ever so stunning to me. As the flower continued to wave to me, I’m sorry to say that I could not resist the temptation to pull it. I later placed the beautiful flower in my granddaughter’s vase next to her lovely picture. As I turned to go inside, I looked once more at “Midnight”, and fed her.
They’ve found a body in my back yard. I
imagine what a dead house would look
like. A stillborn Brownstone with its Jurassic
sandstone hiccupping fossils and family
feuds. Terrace houses would ripple rumour
and rife gossip from one mirrored house to the
next, those prison bars on pavements. A Bungalow
would be simpler: no basement layers or levels
of intrigue, no Who before the Dunnit. Now I
imagine what type of house would best cover a
crime…. no room in High Rise or Loft - the body
would just float, just hang there. A quickly
erected Tent could hide disturbed earth; or a
chugging Barge to clog up clay and clods of mud
over not yet decayed fingers and thumbs. A
Farmhouse has a credible need of a pyre like
an Igloo’s plausible need for ice. A Tudor revival
wouldn’t want anything of the sort. Then I imagine
how the rooms would react: bathroom tiles cracking
into brave smiles and kitchens hiding knives in fear of
another attack; staircases sagging like the confused
brow of a mourning man, a living room offended by
the very antonym of itself. I imagine what a
guilty house would look like… crocodile tears from
a Pacific Lodge and panicked lies of a Flounder, the
subtle reveals of a Dingbat. I doubt a Shotgun
would even try though, nor the Creole Cottage; just
accept its racial profiling. They’ve found a body in
my back yard. So, am I a church now I have a graveyard?
Living as a child growing up
in the countryside walk to school
then got a bicycle to save my feet
daily 3 miles even in winter not cool
I always played my own game
at my back called the homie park
practise my soccer skills so rare
so silly on my own now thinking back
We had hens at our back yard
my job was to collect the eggs
difficult when they laid them all over
then the cockerel attacked at my legs
TV was always fun in the evenings
but one show caused me to fear
'whacko' really gave me nightmares
his cane always dreamed at my rear
Mother always said you don't listen
when I did but just didn't obey
that was not the answer she liked
so then I act deaf so to play!
(I have written this about our "growing up pains" and played childhood games in our growing up period.)
How peaceful this one afternoon in June.
The people in their homes seem tucked away.
With everything about me, I’m in tune
while from my big back yard I now survey
the color of Crayola sky in blue,
a backdrop for the trees Crayola green.
As clouds sit still, a white tail passes through
some cauliflower clouds, and now unseen,
it trails a jet to lands that yonder lie.
A tiny butterfly alights on ground,
and on my fence a single dragonfly
has residence, content to be around.
Both sun and wind are mellow, and a bug
orange and black now gives my skin a hug.
For Joann Grisetti's
Memories of June Contest
Daddy, why did it have to rain today
I wanted to go out and play
Why don't the sun always shine
Then everything would be always fine
Son, your question really isn't that hard
Come take a look in our back yard
Do you see the tulips in a row
Without the rain they wouldn't grow
Now look at those vines, they climbed so high
If it didn't rain, then they would die
And the grass in the yard paints a pretty scene
A little rain will keep it green
Sometimes in life we stumble and fall
We try to understand the meaning of it all
We wonder where did the sunshine go
God sends a little rain to help us grow
I love you son and I want you to know
My prayers for you as you grow
That you experience it all, more pleasure than pain
That you live in the sunshine and grow with the rain.
Many of the flowers of summer have departed with the cooler autumn looming
but standing proudly in our back yard…one hydrangea is still blooming.
From a large hydrangea shrub…one single bloom stands tall….
helping the colors of summer transition to the fall.
There is a Japanese legend which carries
it’s own unique mystical power…
in this legend the hydrangea…
is known as the rain flower.
In a drought all the rain flowers were about to be lost
filling the countryside with fear…
until the entire collection was saved
by a young man’s single tear.
A tear that fell from his weeping eyes
into the wilted bloom of the flower everyone craved
and miraculously from that one tear…
every rain flower was saved.
I think about that legend…
think of its enchanting and magical power
As I sit on our porch enjoying the color
of this years last rain flower.
I feel lucky seeing the last rain flower of the season
standing tall and proud and blue…
witnessing her farewell performance
before she bids the fall adieu.
And when this final bloom is gone…
I’ll be looking forward to the spring
When…
the clouds send their tears down to where she is sleeping
and wake her up to bloom again.
Behind our house – so many memories
created by myself and siblings dear!
Way back behind it there were many trees -
a woods where we amused ourselves all year.
But our first summer was my best recall:
in our back yard before I had turned ten.
In swimsuits and with great glee – one and all -
we’d turn the hose on, laughing, splashing then.
We’d spray each other, squealing as we raced
through water’s cold squirts underneath hot sun.
Then after it got dark, fireflies we chased.
Oh, how I miss those days of summer fun!
Such joy just being children! Time goes fast.
That memory’s a cool blast from my past.
August 2, 2020
For the Dusty Old Memories Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France