Long Binoculars Poems
Long Binoculars Poems. Below are the most popular long Binoculars by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Binoculars poems by poem length and keyword.
She’s up at dawn binoculars raised
Surveying lawns like crimes unfazed
A rogue petunia out of line
She files a claim by 8:09
A car she doesn’t recognize
Becomes a case she must analyze
Stolen she mutters pacing slow
She’s texting the board before they know
If someone grills past quiet time
She drafts a message crisp and primed
Attachments timestamps photos too
Her self-proclaimed duty through and through
She’s judge and jury of the street
A self-appointed rules elite
No porch too cluttered hedge too tall
No harmless fun too small to stall
The neighbors begrudgingly grit their teeth
When she reports a wreath beneath
The approved specs for seasonal décor
They’ve learned to keep an eye on their door
Not a board member but eager to enforce
She guards the HOA’s covenant with a nosy force
A watchdog? Maybe A pest? Perhaps
Forever wasting her days setting petty traps
As I sit still in the still vehicle looking at the water hole with sure expectation, once through binoculars and again with normal gaze, there was sudden movement as a herd of deer approached the water hole. So far masked in dry reeds, a spotted tawny live-spring sprung to action. Even before I could shift my gaze from normal to binocular and back to normal again, a young deer hung in the cheetah’s panting mouth. As she carried away her food to her waiting family, the herd bent down as one, to graze proper. Wild Day’s business, but the tourist noise didn’t die down. Ashamed at barging in, I felt more sad than being excited. Something dawned on me at that moment, I decided not to be a tourist again.
a death to feed some
hunting to live to raise own
before brash lenses
When I was younger and a little more cavalier….
I would secretly ridicule people who were out there watching birds
I would chuckle at their obsession …I called them all bird nerds.
While they were observing birds through their binoculars
I was observing their bird watching…
If anyone asked what I was doing…
I’l laugh and say….nerd watching
But as the years have passed…enjoying a bit of humble pie
I’ve had to eat my words…
because along the way I started enjoying
watching and listening to the birds.
Mornings in the mountains are a great place for this endeavor:
I awake before the sun off the mountain tops is glistening
I sit on our porch and do a little bird watching
but mostly I’m just listening.
I’ve come to know some of the birds I see
their behaviors I am now able to read
The ones who leave the safety of their trees
and visit our feeders for breakfast seeds.
And I’ve come to know some of the birds I hear
who never leave the safety of their trees
The ones whose morning songs drift in upon the breeze.
Every morning in the mountains…you will find me on the porch
Eyes wide open…
welcoming to our feeders a few of these wonderful birds I am blessed to see
or sitting with my eyes closed…listening to their mountain harmony…
For I have happily and unabashedly joined the group
I once ridiculed as nerds….
and have found my mornings in the mountains
to be truly…for the birds.
The Missus is angry, Rufous told his wife.
Are you sure? She sounds like that a lot.
Her husband just flew off with the babysitter.
That young thing! What? His wife was outraged.
I think so.
The wife grabbed the binoculars.
That’s not the babysitter; that’s his son!
His son looks like a girl, Rufous said.
I have told you this time and time again.
Male peacocks are the pretty ones.
The plain ugly brown ones are their wives.
Rufous did not want to acknowledge his wife’s smartness.
So he kept looking, hoping something would happen to validate
At least a tiny bit of the story he fabricated about the neighbors.
His wife smirked, knowing exactly what her husband was doing.
On a high branch,
a squirrel in a green felt fedora
lifts a pair of binoculars,
surveying the yard
with the solemn focus
of someone guarding
a very small kingdom.
He is today’s sentry~
the latest in a long line
of creatures appointed
to verify what passes
beneath his tree.
He watches the mail carrier,
the jogger,
the neighbor’s dog,
each subjected
to his silent scrutiny.
No one escapes
the authentication ritual.
He tightens his grip
on the binoculars,
as though the world
has become a place
where trust requires
magnification.
Even the wind
must prove itself,
rustling the leaves
in a pattern he recognizes
before he allows it
to pass.
And I stand below,
waiting for permission
to enter my own yard~
passwords memorized,
codes confirmed,
identity authenticated
in triplicate.
The squirrel nods once,
a gesture of clearance
or perhaps indifference.
It’s hard to tell
with squirrels.
The squirrel resumes his watch,
fedora tipped,
binoculars raised.
And in the small precision
of his woodland audit,
I see a reflection of myself~
another creature
trying to navigate a world
where every door
asks for proof,
every gesture
requires verification,
and even the simplest trust
must pass inspection
He scans the yard again,
not for danger,
but for certainty~
a thing neither of us
has managed to keep.
And in his quiet vigilance,
I recognize the strange truth
of our age:
that we have become
guardians of our own fear,
checking the locks
not because they are broken,
but because we are.
I need to fly
In that blue sky
Because that is my home
That God had made for me
I am happy that I can fly
In that blue sky
Also I fly over the ocean
And mountains
People that are on top
Of the mountains
Watch me with their
Binoculars
In they can see me closer
With their binoculars
I am the bird that my father
Made with his holy hands
Trust me nothing bad will
Happen to me
In the sky
The people will live me alone
To fly
Now the morning is ending
And the afternoon
Is here
I will lend in the
Ocean
Now I must feed myself
Because I am very hungry
I will fish a couple of fish
To eat from the Ocean
To eat
Also I need some rest
For a while
The people are swimming also
In the Ocean
Also there is no sign
Of rain
We are having good
Weather for a change
twas the night before christmas
i was alone in the house
off in the bedroom
unbuttoning my blouse
while drawing the curtains
i heard a big thud
peered out the window
to see santa donned in mud
without hesitation i threw on my robe
rushed across the floor
then missed every step
as i ran for the door
outside on the lawn, there he just laid
binoculars still hung on my tree
it appears that old santa
had been watching me
i'm not sure if he was sleeping
or out for the count
but christmas couldn't be canceled
not on my account
so i ran to the rooftop
and jumped in his sleigh
in hopes that i could somehow
save christmas day
with the reindeer still laughing
and i in my robe
we flew off in the darkness
and circled the globe
so if you thought you saw santa
adorned in hot pink
just know that it was i
and not what you think
November 28, 2019
It was a mistake
for me to bring Ben.
Eleven-year-old boys
and birds don’t go well
together.
I took two pairs
of binoculars
in the hopes that he
would bother to look
in a pair.
The sky was tumbling
it’s full gray clouds
in a frantic tussle
over our little wet
heads and peering eyes
that scoured the trees
for anything singing.
“There is no bid
fallout!” Ben complained
with his arms pulled
inside his tee shirt sleeves.
He looked cold
and cranky.
“Did you hear the goldfinch?”
“They all sound the same.
Can we go home now?
The same birds are in
our backyard.”
The rain dripped
unevenly off
the thousand petals
of a dogwood tree.
Is anyone other than me
seeing what I see
right now?
kindness in the light of fallen snow
the lights of the county Christmas tree illuminates the night
i stand in front of it in my usually traditional awe
the difference this year is you are not here to make it what it once was
i know you are out there somewhere admiring another set of Christmas lights
i wonder what county....i wonder what city....
the wilted mistletoe still has traces of your spearmint lipstick on it
it is still placed on the last pillowcase that you slept on
kindness in the light of the fallen snow
the young bloom of the poinsettia offspring reminds me of the simplicity of your kisses
i daydream under the aging night's stars all lost in thoughts of you
last years presents are still under the new six foot tree that you bought our last Christmas together three years ago
there is only a rocking chair in the middle of the living room facing said tree like binoculars facing directly to the front doorknob
i am still hoping one day you sill indeed return....probable in vain....yet again....
Merry Christmas To You....Kindly....In The Light Of Fallen Snow....
Birdwatching from a hide
Two old gents sit side by side
As the rain settles in
Sid reaches for his tin
"Cheese sandwich Frank?"
"Errrr, no thanks, they look a bit rank"
"It's only cheese and bread you know?"
"Yes, but how old Sid, HOW old?"
"I found them in my shed, been there a while since they were made"
"Look....a Water rail Sid"
Binoculars then accidentally fall and hit the floor
They can't be used anymore
The shy bird is spooked
The bang made it think someone could shoot
In the confusion of it all
The sandwich tin takes a fall!
Sid looks out of the hide, the bird has gone and so's his pride!
Sid then looks at his friend Frank
Quiet and still his returning glance
A Robin then lands in front of the hide
It looks at both men sat in the hide
It seems to realise from their look
That there's no story in their book!
They both then watch the bird fly away
Sit in silence for the rest of the day
A quiet stillness settles in
As two gormless men sit with an empty tin.