Long Cabin Poems
Long Cabin Poems. Below are the most popular long Cabin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cabin poems by poem length and keyword.
I’ve said this before (and I’ll likely say it again!) about our cabin in the trees…
How it’s not just a cabin…it’s a cabin filled with memories.
Memories…compiled from the time our children and grandchildren were small…
each memory plays a part in the magic painted on its walls.
And the way I feel about our cabin…I know I’m not alone
because everyone who’s ever visited…takes away memories of their own.
Some of our memories that surface when we reach the cabin…are of Deborah’s sister Pris…
Her memories remind us of how much fun we had together…
and how much and often she is missed.
After her funeral in Florida years ago we escaped to our cabin
and that same evening a luna moth perched herself upon our door….
in all our years coming to the cabin…we’d never seen one there before.
When we saw the luna moth we immediately took her as a sign…
a message from Pris herself…that everything was fine.
The luna moth…was telling us…in a natural way so sweet…
that when it came to Pris from this world to the next…her transformation was complete.
Now when we visit the cabin…we’re never sure how or when…
Pris, in her luna moth form, will visit us again.
This morning on our porch I sat down to write a poem…
(after last nights rain the morning air was colder)
and as I was wondering what I was going to write…A luna moth landed on my shoulder.
I’m not great at understanding Luna moth speech…but near as I could tell
Pris wanted her family to know that she’s still doing well.
And she wanted her sister, her children, her grandchildren,
and great-grandchildren to know…from wherever luna moths come from…
how proud she is of all of them…and the people they’ve become.
So perched upon my shoulder…in the early morning dawn
Pris helped me write this little poem…and when we finished…she was gone.
You may be wondering if these luna moths who visit at the cabin then depart…
are really Pris or just a little bit of wishful thinking on my part…
It could be this phenomenon is a lot like love…all in the eye of the beholder…
then again I think I’ll wait around and ask Pris…the next time she lands upon my shoulder.
As we prepare to leave the mountains…I admit…I have no shame
for I’ve also been preparing…to play the alphabet game.
It’s a game we’ve played since our children were little…
on our trips from the mountains to the sea…
One person names something we’ve done that starts with the letter A…
and we keep going until we reach the letter Z.
It’s a wonderful family game…as anyone whose ever played it knows
and to get an edge for when we leave tomorrow…Alphabet game…here goes.
Asheville, Arrow, Birds, Bonnie, Bryan, Cherokee, Deer, Elk, a Freeze
(You see by getting this head start…I’m going to win this game with ease).
Games played in the cabin on a picnic or on the porch in the afternoon.
Hikes, Indigenous, Jelly from Momma’s Boy, Killers of the Flower Moon.
Leaves of many colors, the Moon, the Mountains,
Nantahala, the Oconaluftee River all aglow
Poplar trees, a Quart of cider, Raccoons,
a Steam engine, playing in the Snow..
Turkeys in the yard, Umbrella’s in the rain, Vegan fest
Waterrock Knob with sunsets that astound
X…a letter we ignore….Yellow colors all all around.
Z is another letter that is difficult but I have this one in the bag…
in the mountains we traveled on many roads with curves that zig and zag.
There you have it I am ready for out 2 day trip back home…
I only hope that Deborah…doesn’t take the time to read this poem.
(Of course there are no winners or losers…that is just a myth…
The real treasure of this game….is having someone to play it with.)
Is he a Poofter?
I was reading “An American Tragedy” by Theodore Dreiser
reading slowly because the writer proceeded slowly in his writing
It was eleven at night; I was going to bed when I had finished a chapter;
when there was a knock on my cabin door, the deckhand
stood there looking shy; I asked him what he wanted, and apparently
he had run out of cigarettes; I didn’t believe him and asked who had sent him;
he didn’t answer but hurriedly left
It appeared the former chief steward was gay, now the boy was sent up
by the crew to see if I was gay too
A cargo ship is a cosmos of gossip and pornographic magazines
when there was a perfect library with books changed by a welfare origination
the literature was of a high standard, this was an effort to educate and brighten
the mind of seamen
Alas, I was not social, sitting in mess halls playing cards and telling risqué jokes,
spent my free time in my cabin surrounded by books and dreams of a better life.
A better life came when illness ended my career and
I was free to find my own way in life.
Washed my hands but I'm still dirty
Brush my teeth yet I still cuss
Soak my feet in the lake by the cabin
Yet am I still a savage;
Nappy hair and I don't wash it
Still I smell no one wants to come near me
Change my clothes when I'm made too
wore dirty and torn are my sandals
I am homeless, because I don't want to be with them their people
Who swear they need me
Been accused abused and mistreated
by those clean Christians who so accuse
spit, speak, preach hell fire
Do the same things I do yet you hide it
Juz like the Pharaohs and the Sadducees
You know the scriptures, but ya don't know Jesus
I've done wrong, but it was paid at the cross
I've done sinned, I deserved to be loss
But Jesus, paid for it whole at the cross
did die and rose again so I could enter in
I am homeless, because I don't want
Want to be with them their people
Who swear they need me
Been accused abused and mistreated
by those clean Christians who so accuse
Nappy hair and I don't wash it
Still I smell no one wants to come near me
Change my clothes when I'm made too
wore dirty and torn are my sandals
7/11/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
My cabin sits high upon the mountainside.
The rivers valley below both broad and wide;
An arboreal mist shrouds the land below;
As cold air rolls in, the white canopy grows;
Filling the valley up ever so slowly;
Climbing the mountainside thick wet foliage;
Mother Nature’s own scheme for hiding the pines;
Acting in accordance with old Father Time;
The old goat tethered to a hundred-year oak;
Standing somewhere a mere ten feet below me;
His bell clanging, yet not one hair can I see;
Hidden in thick clouds as if he were cloaked;
I stretched out my arms, my hands I could see;
I look down at the ground, my feet still with me;
Fog can’t erase the deeds of my hands and feet;
Nothing can hide me from my own knows and toes.
Sand and water pour off of my skin
mixing pheromones into the tidal wave
from a spout that drips tanning lotion;
It’s my home I don’t need to check-in
to a hotel in an exclusive enclave;
Sand and water pour off of my skin;
Just one glance at a coastal grin
releases that need to misbehave
from a spout that drips tanning lotion;
Descending the cage to a shark’s fin,
that’s the adrenaline that I crave;
Sand and water pour off of my skin;
Spending time in a seaside cabin,
an aroma of coconut bliss it gave
from a spout that drips tanning lotion;
Carefree bare feet always in fashion
marked by happy footprints they pave;
Sand and water pour off of my skin
from a spout that drips tanning lotion.
.
well uh little bit maybe
in whut i thought were
thuh vivid moment
sum'whut twixt
her
"who are you"
and my
"that's my cabin"
i babble'd on poetic
think
fervently
sum mine writes
'bout hern
'twere my cabin likewise mine formal query
"who iz this?" follow'd by "come over cutie
take yer bra
i meant ( yesss i did ,) shaw off stay fer uh
while"
and mine engram continuez
tuh leak
'bout that
appalachian feminine
again with frenetic think
mind y'all
He has a white woman to keep face,
And a black mistress for is delights.
The Black Queen
This one belonged in the cabin
With moss growing on its sides,
Inside this apartment with
It’s smell of dancing forests
Here he enjoyed honey
And the most potent wines
The woman who lived
In a glass case,
She is the chest that
Keeps his high pleasure
And guards his secrets.
The White Empress
She is what ancient
Literature has called
The old Hollywood glamour,
Even Venus would have struck
Her down if the clouds did not
Shield her from the heavens,
This woman brought him honour
From all corners of the earth
For she had Shirley Caesar magic.
But it was always the moss covered
Cabin that he would spend his nights,
This man wanted the entire earth,
And thought he had acquired it;
Until he met the cappuccino princess.
Sitting on the porch of our cabin…protected by the eaves
surrounded by the forest I’m acutely aware of the susurration of the leaves.
How together as they sway a little on the branches of the trees
I can hear their rhythmic beauty…urged and prompted by the breeze.
Most of the sounds are onomatopoeic…as the wind invisibly passes through
I hear the leaves not only swish and rustle…but whisper to one another too.
If I listen closely I can hear exactly what they have to say
how they thank the tree…the sun…and greet other leaves to start their day.
And with Fall approaching…bathed in morning light
I hear the leaves comment on how their colors have changed a little over night.
I remain silent…keeping all my thoughts within…
for I do not want the leaves to know that I am listening in.
I hear the younger leaves…whose colors have already turned…
and who are feeling a bit appalled…
ask the older leaves…still green…”What is it like to fall?”
And I hear the older leaves whisper…as they look the young ones in their eyes…
“You will not be falling.” They tell them. “For a few moments….you will fly.”
“And after gliding for a moment…you will land softly on the ground
so softly that, when you land, you will not make a sound.”
I’ve been lucky to watch and listen with my ears and with my eyes
to be there…to be a witness…when a young leaf learns to fly.
And if I listen closely…as it breaks from the safety of the tree
one of the most beautiful sounds of Autumn
is a young leaf crying….Wheeeee!
The Final Descent
He is making the final descent,
from a long, turbulent Parkinsons flight.
Flown across many days,weeks,months,years and time zones..
Dim now the cabin lights.
Watch the stars flicker on the runway below;
As the wheels of life kiss the ground one last time.
The last conversion has been kicked.
The final kilometre kite is in sight.
The last call to,take the strain and pull,rings out.
The Drumlin hills bow their heads in respect.
Siochs, full with winter rains,flow in silence.
Leaves,on the fairy tree rustle at half mast.
The sun,dances one last ray across Windy Harbour;
as dusk comes dropping slowly.
A red sky, sinks into a western glow
As the shepard settles,one last time, into a peacful sleep..