Long Bush Poems
Long Bush Poems. Below are the most popular long Bush by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bush poems by poem length and keyword.
Lady Godiva wasn't trying to be cute
When she went for that ride in her birthday suit.
It was her husband's taxes she protested,
All butt naked and bare-breasted,
She only did as he'd suggested, so any argument was moot.
The townsfolk of Coventry were warned not to peek,
And no lecherous looks at the lady to seek.
But one sneak did succumb,
Later called "Peeping Tom",
And was struck blind and dumb 'cause his morals were weak.
When Lady G. returned home, she re-braided her tresses,
Re-robed and prepared for her hubby's redresses.
But he didn't rebuke her for going out starkers
Or for publicly displaying bush, bum, and knockers,
And, though truly chagrined, he rescinded his taxation excesses.
The Chalice of Night pours dark on the stair
drops of shadows that don't belong there.
Echoes of footsteps--do they signal harm?
Whispers in bushes that push our alarm.
We know spirits like to do their roaming
in quiet darkness or amid murky gloaming.
We feel their breath as it tickles our ear;
murmuring softly, they arouse more fear.
Walking alone on a deserted lane
in dark night, footfalls I cannot explain.
Is that just a bush, or something unknown?
can it be paper, or a silk kerchief shown?
Reading alone by mere lamp flame,
I hear someone whisper my name.
A step on the stair, a brush of air,
I wonder if Night is creeping in there.
At night, it's best to sit outside by fire,
gaze at stars' wonder to our heart's desire.
Release our dark fears to nightfall instead,
and leave expired mortals entirely dead!
January 19, 2022
In garden and glade, the extreme blossom profusion,
And the colors everywhere, in most feral confusion.
The warm winds that blow, all through the languid days,
And the jazzy evenings, gone down in a glorious blaze!
Hot ice cream Sundays, refreshing at the sandy beach,
Seeing stars twinkle lavender skies and eating a peach,
Exhilarated gay wildlife, so evident in bush and tree,
And the lush prolific growth, of many varieties of berry!
Exciting outdoor activities, of limitless descriptions,
And its moonlight magic, with all of its dreamy visions.
The gay colored birds, all resplendent in elegant tuxedo,
That sing golden days through, on the skies of tomorrow!
Written on 6/29/2020
Summer Love Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
The wind has dropped
The Sun now shines so bright
And flowers now burst into life
Ever since daylight
A ladybird has just passed me by
His red wings flutter and shine
Accompanied by a Butterfly
A scene that is so gentle and fine
A Bumble Bee comes bussing by
Collecting Nectar on the wing
Close by upon a branch
A wren begins to sing
A wondrous sight in the morning dew
Even a Hedgehog goes scuttling past
Looking for a morning snack
Until back in the undergrowth at last
A little Robin flies past and settles nearby
And chirps a happy sound
Looking for his morning feed
Worms that come out from underground
The Daffodils are in full bloom
Sharing the lime light with Tulips abound
As other spring flowers pop out their heads
Having spent the winter underground
Spring really is a joyous time of the year
As the Garden comes alive
The Birds are singing their merry tunes
As in the sun they really thrive
The Lavender bush is beginning to flower
Releasing that pleasant pungent smell
That fill the air so beautifully
And attracts the Bees so well
Birds, Animals and insects abound
At this magical time of year
It makes me want to sit and ponder
And release a little tear
And thank the Lord for giving us
Such a wondrous site to see
Yes Spring is here in all its splendour
Where else would you need to be.
Dear Steven Gageler mate.? Maybe that address to you offends.? If thats is so?
Then we' both know the course you'll take'
Yet here I will indulge a little bit.' In this notion.? (That you've not been hit ) by those who would screw Australia down lock up its Spirit, tarnish its re-known.' Its
Golden promise born un-tamed, the land of
Mining; cattle, sheep and endless plains.' Where hope strikes up despite great floods.' Where bush brigades battle massive fires untill
They get them into hubs.' Where roos and
Emus shadows cast.' Along a ridge as hard
As brass, that sets off well our bodies bronze.' Australia how i love you long, and so Steve? What about a fair go for all.' In a varied Nation whats your call.? Will we beneifit; from an educated youth.? In a land thats its own continent..Come on now bloody;strewth.' We have a world here thats our own..No need to leave its shores to roam, and I speak here of my own know! For should I
Return I'll never go.' Who of us is the greater man.? I have no care..And truly no plan' I'd much rather,
indeed i'd love to see' so many hero's; for i know there be.' In my rugged land down under...Steve take your place.'
And roll out thunder.! PROCLAIM OUR ETHOS TO THE WORLD.! don't deny full web access to ( our boys and girls !)
While the whistle of a wind wafts
on a sunny haze of spring's hours;
heady sounds sail on air-wings' pageant:
the chime of birds, long coda of cooing bees,
and the wheat field's chants, so soothing...
here, glossy grasses answer in windy sighs
that blaze tilted butterflies traipsing on trees.
Gaily the bubbling of the brook
flows beside the breezy bush
where west wind flows ,and bubbles burst
a gentle whirl wandering along flowerbeds,
that my walking leads me far beneath a sky
in the softest spring... where a splendor
of fluid wind- wheeze slip-slides by,
blessed by the wonder, wisp,
and whimsical sway of a zephyr's spring- world!
Element 2: Wind Contest
Sponsor: Brian Davey
3/27/2016
Midnight crashes through the sky like a rocket parachuting out of space; it filters dust on earth and wakes up the entire human race. It wasn’t a meteorite falling from the sky, or an alien saying goodbye, it was a helicopter searching for somewhere to land but it ends up on a pile of sand on the side of the street.
Midnight with its solitude moves deftly through the town, trying on pockets shirt and gown. The children were fast asleep, but my imagination was floating in the deep. Something was about to happen, but I could not tell from where, but my heart was prepared to go there.
I flew over mountains and cities, with its bushy overpass staring at tall blade grass standing like giants in the wilderness and I watch dwarfs carrying a cross. Some form of ritual was about to transpire in the bush, but the sound of the helicopter scared them away.
They hid behind tree branches in the bushes and peeped through the leaves while other surrender on their knees. It was just hills, valleys, mountains and rocky plains; the houses were fast asleep as midnight parade through the street.
Strange sound bellows through the wilderness and the sound of the soldier’s footsteps marching along the path through the bushes got closer, and gun shots whistle in the air as if no one was there. As we passed through the street, we found a comfortable place to land on a mound in a clear path with the village staring at us in the dark.
Strange sounds can rapture your soul; strange sound can make nerves meet; strange sound can make your heart weep. We follow the sound to the village but nothing spectacular was there to see, but further up the road something profound was waiting for me.
When the village is asleep the universe weeps; when the village is asleep, grown men falls on their knees and weep, when the village is asleep, strange cries rumbles from behind the doors and the ships come anchoring on the shore.
They are not fisher men or missionaries sent from heaven, they are explorer of the world that moves from door to door, and the cries you hear at midnight are the cries of women and children, hauled out of their bed with guns pointed to their head and taken to the ship for profit.
The midnight cries lit up the sky; the midnight cries is the sound of human trafficking in the country.
A Man for All Seasons.
Well Barack Obama has won a last,
The Country swayed like barley grass.
We all look forward beyond today
The people now have had their say.
The World still spins around and round
But squares itself for a brand new sound.
For hope it resonates, what a noise
A sound at last we all enjoys.
A wind of change is blowing through,
Every Country has a field of view.
Looking for this Man to lead
To banish hate and cooperate greed.
To be the saviour of this World
Accept that flags will be unfurled,
It only goes to state a case
That once there hoisted we must embrace.
That each and every man that lives
Has to face the fact he gives,
We live today to save tomorrow
We all are here on time we borrow.
What will happen now I ask
To such a big almighty task.
Let’s grab our balls and trust to luck
And ask the World to give a ####!
We have a guy who will win back
The prejudice of being black
It’s nothing new you know it’s right
I say black and you say white.
We’re all the same it is plain to see
Though some of course will disagree
The ignorant and short of mind
Those that tarnish all Mankind.
But hope is here and we all pray
That its foundations, solid stay.
We finally have given push
And uprooted that old bush.
The garden of this World is clear,
All choking weeds will disappear.
As we look forward with good reason,
Barack Obama.
A man for all seasons..
A new day perhaps, of immeasurable tin, sound of din
A hurricane noise, a thrall of riotous cuts, although thin
The blood-curdle choke of rage from before
Now purchased like plasma from the needle store
Go hump yourself, If you want my schtick, you vampire whore
You’ve had enough since the Garden, Lillith, you’ll not get more
Now the ratio between human, vampire, dragon and other dead
Has been cast with fair radiant echo against the nuclear thread
A shroud sewn with Alcubierre’s hand and Teller’s eye
Will re-write the laws of your time to die
Not forced by the forced prison of your local priest
Or enticed by Babylon to take part in it’s wicked feast
The work that was promised to Adam and re-framed unto Cain
To un-curse the valley, glen and land: to filter Acid from Rain
With thorns o- the rose coming loose from the Bush
And snakes running hither or thither in scintillate Rush
The Oracle of Satan found new charms to spread in perfect Cube
Could be the shape of Sound Maynard or Max’s Cubic Rube
The Time of Orwell Now and Jobs spelling Apple at his Side
And Sting writing programs for the Cops, whom along for the Ride
the Bladerunner checkin for humans among the technical horde
Huxley detected the separate spirit, lobotimized souls, Model T Fords
And Harrison checked again with electric sleep on the Brain
A tear for Summer, or a vision for Canticles, a wave almost Inane
With countless ages past since the Dust of Sumer lent
It’s hell-bound rasp of gutteral destruction spent
The awful wave of gas, a riotous nuclear blast
In the once Green land where sage grew fast
The dim spectre of time has given up the ghost
With markets bazar and material plenty, yet consider the cost
From Alabaster bone the Ocean’s a-shallow
The Mermaids remember the times that were fallow
Year upon year the bi-peds walked without aim or deed
That could count for fullness, even yet upon steed
Even in those ages of lore when upon horse they’d trot
Or with Gasoline chariot to the park like Mel Ot
None could account for the empty space of land
Or like Kieth Stone, bend down and till without turning into sand
The eidolons of time, immemorable: drooping, eternal clocks
An echo of murmurs, drogue and sorrow, indifferent as the rocks
Whom would not cry out, with refusal of price
None could garner their strength or bleed them twice
She walked the labyrinth with her head bowed down
and thought of Christ with His thorny encrusted crown
Each rock was interlinked, attached to a circular maze
and as the sun poured, onto the rocky terrain of Falaise
a silent prayer was uttered, as she set the earth ablaze
She came from the cloistered Abbey on Rue de Calix
having spent so many years kissing her little crucifix
it was a new world here outside, in the soil of France
hundreds of stones polished with natural enhance
its was a time of encapsulated self, in stillborn dance
she awoke after the war, through Normandy's unrest
A mother's diary was tucked inside a wooden chest
filled with flourish scribble from an ancient faded nib
It was meant to help a young woman survive and imbibe
she acquired strength, this little girl named Marie Lepine
Inside a velvet pouch was an old stone from the beach
long before the bombardment, a child was out of reach
Polished with the tears of a mother who cried of fright
for a daughter who was to be left orphaned in the night
She kissed the stone that healed, through love and light.
July 10, 2021
Definition of Lepine in French : Thorn Bush
For Contest : Stones