Long Berg Poems
Long Berg Poems. Below are the most popular long Berg by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Berg poems by poem length and keyword.
GREEN SEA : SEA-GREEN
Luster of Bluish-green sea waves is termed sea- green
Raman Effect explains perfect special color as ever seen
Turbulent waves are rolling, roaring with loud sound
As if thunder bolts are striking down the grey cloud
Mangroves with brown stems in tropical sea as coastal fence
cluster around in deep dense bushes yielding wild essence
Algae, red seaweed are farmed abundant in sea water
Cook and eat the nutritious food in lunch and dinner
Touch hard crust of white Ice berg floating on ocean
Ocean is nothing else but the wide sea-extension
• * * *
Wonderful bluish-green luster to glorify on sea glows to glorify,
but loses intensity in horizon where sea meets the sky
Sudden sea-storm rushed blowing whistling sound
Clear sky turned grey with dust particles all around
Brown algae floating on sea water spread weird smell.
Swarm of tiny kreels are chased and by large whale
White sea-foams are bubbling on crest of waves in galore
With gentle touch they fade away and thrashed on sea shore.
10/28/15
being raised italian
growing up green
not knowing what
a name meant
just agreeing
familia
so there was
my aunt Romaine
completely sane but
having the ability to be
quite silly and even now
thoughts of her
give me a smile and
usually a laugh after
years of happiness
never unlasting or
ever passing for
time will
always be hers for
death doesn't lose
any of memories'
minutes like
the time she
arrived
from the grocer
never knowing
or ever suspecting
at the suggestion
that there ever
was any other
lettuce
for in her
warmth she'd
never have been
named ice
berg
Form:
I step outside to get some air
upon the ship’s fine teakwood deck,
the North Atlantic air bites deep,
I raise my collar ’round my neck.
Remind myself that it’s April,
and that it must be near midnight,
the long bow seems a lovely place
to stretch my legs and smoke my pipe.
I’m not usually up this late,
but no one sleeps upon this ship,
spent hours in the first-class lounge,
swapping tales with some rich Brits.
It was a treat coming onboard,
a maiden voyage is not cheap,
but I landed deals in England,
and so this luxury I reap.
Though my success cannot compare
to some of the men still inside,
those Astors and those Guggenheims…
can’t imagine such gilded lives.
Not far away, up by the bow,
two sweethearts forget the whole world,
I remember my youthful days
hen I could get lost in a girl.
Heck, I’m not even forty yet,
and were this fifteen years ago,
maybe that would be me and Claire...
so long as mother didn’t know.
I smile and turn my gaze back
upon the night so flat and dark,
no moon to cast its silver glow,
can see no light, nary a spark.
But wait…I think I see a mass,
it’s darker than the starry sky,
alarm bells ring and shouts go up,
the front of the the ship comes alive.
Ship lights reflect, I see ice,
a berg that’s right ahead of us!
Cold panic races down through me,
death comes quick, and I see the cause.
Engines groan, the ship shudders,
the water roiled and churned,
iron creaks loud as the vessel
desperately attempts to turn.
I see the iceberg drawing near,
a slick sheen of white and blue,
my chest thumps like a triphammer
at this cold, yet beautiful doom.
But then the prow, it clears the berg!
Shifts left twenty, then thirty feet,
water opens wide between us,
the ship and iceberg do not meet!!
It takes my stunned mind a moment,
then I release a long-held breath,
never in all of my years
have I come so very close to death.
To think that so many people
could’ve all frozen or drowned,
just imagine the tragedy
if this great ship had gone down…
an Iceberg and a reporter
Near a village in Alaska, an enormous iceberg drifted filling the bay with fear and wonder
A journalist in the local paper saw something moving on the top of the berg, intrigued he wanted to see what it was he had seen
A Sunday morning when the people sat in church, he alone, not telling his mum climbed the berg
we saw the photos of him climbing steep walls
of ice, walking on the latter part, and a photo of him looking down at the village
he saw many footprints and concluded that someone lived on the berg, but a storm broke out, he sought shelter in a crack of the ice
we saw the photo of him sleeping in his bag
and when awake eat a frozen pie
When the storm had abated, he found more footprints, but there are no photos to prove this
when he came back to the village and published
an article on his findings
Until a witty soul asked him if the cameraman was still on the iceberg
The silence of morn makes this place forlorn
in the fields, the hillsides, and trenches.
Over two hundred years since the bloodshed and fear,
yet you can hear the yells, smell the stenches.
The crush of the blue, charging straight and true
at the redcoats behind all their breast-works,
The bayonets clash, and the musket-balls crash,
the cannon’s roar shaking all the Earth.
Two centuries gone by, you can still see the lines,
hear the cries of dying men down in the grass,
to some it’s meadow, but to those in the know
Saratoga is a place of today’s past.
In a Vegas hotel are some relics that tell
of a ship that tangled with an ice-berg.
The trinkets and things of those traveling,
raised up from the ocean and preserved.
From Gilded Age times, these objects passed b
you can imagine in a person’s pocket.
Watches for a vest, tooth-paste and a dress,
dishes, satchels, and a locket.
And there, grey and dull, a big piece of hull
hangs before you just beyond your grasp,
these titanic remains, they make a good claim
for being a place of today’s past.
A theater in D.C, it tells the sad story
of a great man who was cut down too soon.
Sitting in these rows, seeing the play go
until the shock comes from a pistol’s loud boom.
Imagine the sounds when Wilkes-Booth leapt down,
the chaos, the confusion, the frenzy,
a war we had won, then the sound of a gun,
and a chase for a dastard enemy.
That theater this day means more than plays
echoing the sounds of that old blast,
we still feel it now, though we can’t say how,
it’s forever a place of today’s past.
The present goes quick, there’s no stopping it,
and the world it wrenches and spasms.
We forget about time and its endless line,
we pretend that it’s like a great chasm.
But mankind don’t change, we’re much the same
as those past that we pretend we’re beyond.
If we lived back then would we do different,
or would we the same road walk upon?
We find an old space, the present is erased,
and the memories start coming so fast,
we revisit that hell and we see ourselves
when we stand in a place of today’s past.
Vale Paradiso
The sea life is blueness caused by monotony
Formica tables and dirty fingernails
as the ship wanders between water vales
climbing to the top of mountainous berg
and sharply falling into a foamy brew
when the storm persists, knowing a small
mishap is fatal, there is nothing one can
do, but hoping the end will be quick
In my ignorance, I look at the map that
shows the oceans, which appear to be endless
will the ship ever reach Los Angeles
I think of Vale Paradiso, this cumbersome
will not make it that far
Finally, she makes, any place will do, but
what waits are bars and whores, not
the peace longed for
Life is cheap,
My lifetime taught
At first I cared
I even fought
I railed against
The powers that be
And tugged my chain
Of liberty
The word is out:
We all succumb
The wise, the great
The deaf and dumb
We’re in for it
That final swing
You miss the ball
There goes your fling
The papers keep
The numbers stacked
The file is deep
No turning back
The ticker on
The TV reads,
“Here are the dead;
There go their deeds.”
Statistic-lives
Blips on a graph
The Shepherd tends
The dying class
The romance gone
In system rigged
Close up, we never
Looked all that big
You catch the scene
Down in your pew
So glad it’s them this time,
Not you
The body’s waked
The eulogy –
“He was a friend
To you and me –
“A fine, fine father,
A husband true
He woulda done
Anything for you.”
The speeches end –
Off to the bar
And Sunday football –
We’ll take my car
Thirty-plus years
One company
In fifteen minutes –
No memory
And all your hurts
And all your shocks
Condensed in one
Mahogany box
Then down you go
Into the swamp
Where toads and worms
Do nightly romp
And on it goes
Around the clock
The loss and gain
Like Wall St. stock
No faces rear
Up from the dead
Identities
Extricated –
Yet one more loss
Yet one more stiff
You feel the steel
Of culture’s grip
And now the plague
A ship of fools
Where captains keep
Rewriting rules
We’ll never sail
To perfect port
Our journey long past
Did abort
The squall of doubt –
The berg of pain –
In arctic waves,
Truth is disdain
We’ll never know
That beacon’s beam
And maybe life
Was just a dream
A cry unheard
And none redeemed
And maybe life
Was just to dream
Before time was invented
A long time ago when our world was much bigger than it is now and had a landscape pleasing to the eye and no steep hills to climb Since seasons had not been divided into summer spring, autumn, and winter, the weather was mild and no one knew the what a day was when it rained, not too often people walked outside and took a shower.
The land was full of potatoes, carrots, and beans as for meat there was Dogger Bank with millions of cattle and wild hogs, no one was going hungry A man from Glendale was walking across a field to meet another man to see his walking cane but he wasn’t there, he looked up and said, I wish there were a set time for everything
The World paused, then shook violently and when the dust cleared there was a mountain in front of the man from Glendale he had to walk around the berg and that took time Dogger Bank was a sea full of cod, the Portuguese caught and made into bacalao they traded in time for the cold winter season and America was a continent
Sometimes, we need, Mozart, some violin
Of a sonata, of a joyful concerto,
Sometimes, we need Bach, his genius
A cello concerto, a cantata,
Music, it is known, softens morals,
Sometimes, we need, Wagner, Berg,
A ride, a charge of the Walkyries,
We need Brahms and his symphonies,
Sometimes, we need, Sibelius, his genius
His symphonies are treasures under the snow,
Sometimes, one needs, Mozart, Debussy,
We need a clarinet concerto, or a sonata,
Music, it is known, softens morals,
Like the sea, and distant voyages,
Sometimes, we need, Bach or Schumann,
To find peace, to distance one’s sorrows.
US FOR US
How could I ever hate you?
Amidst relationship storm; you still navigate safely
Finding new lands and interesting spots of exploitation
Taking me to places I have never been to
Loving me like a brother while caring like a mother
You have always been what you ever wanted; independent girl
You have never been alone as you always walk with me
Just like the rain; you always make me beg you to stop
Always as the sun; you always shine and shine brightest
All these and more you are willing to do for us.
How could you ever hate me?
When all of me love all of you blindly
Loving your strengths and weaknesses alike
Time taught me to be patient; believing it shall fade
In your perfect and imperfections; I have never stopped being patient
I only see beauty in you; no other girl is match
There is no magical garden where more of you grow
Even if you stand of the mirror; there will be no reflection
I only see one of you because there are no another you
All these and more I will willingly do for us.
It is us!
What is it that we cannot do for us?
Nothing! It clearly appears that nothing can stop us
When we get down; we always get back up
We are not perfect; but working to make us perfect
The road has double lane; we always run on both
Everything not in everything; we manage what we got
Strong winds of trial and pirates of adversity can’t stop our ship
So many pretty and ugly experiences in our gallery of love
No ice-berg can sink our titanic; always us for us.
Te amo...