Long Californian Poems
Long Californian Poems. Below are the most popular long Californian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Californian poems by poem length and keyword.
She uses her self to inspire.
Often times it leads to
people creating feelings for her.
She looks to those who are
overly arrogant and pompous
to guide her through letting people down.
She had been said to her cohort
" is he cute enough to
be thin: cause I don't like know fat man!"
well this ser well with some of
those assocated with her business: so
they got together to hire
a trio of triplettes who
were all different sizes
to fool her into thinking she
was overly effective. A national
television proucer
desided to follow this skit thinking
it would be wise
to record the fallout
to see if an audeince saw
this to be worthy
of viewership. They desided to script the happenings
one date would explore Freno's underground garden's in Californian.
The other would "Be were Rubeun Ruby mined".
The last date would be in "the Resturants of Sacremento".
Just another Rainbowstrangers stop giving me adive.
Yes and beaautiful things, the prettiest seemed so right!
Best by morning, a soothing remind.
wine ages forever, the best things grow with time!
Across the vast Californian Death Valley I went out for a drive
The temperature gauge was reading a hundred and twenty five.
Despite the unforgiving temperature, I was staying nice and cool
I had the air conditioning on full blast, because I am no fool.
I had been on the road for about an hour, so I pulled over for a break
The desert scenery was awesome, so some pictures I thought I'd take.
I slowly got out of my car taking my camera and boy it was so hot
After about ten minutes of snapping, some great pictures I'd got.
I walked quickly back to my car and went to get my key
It wasnt in my pocket, and fear started to overcome me.
I realised I didn't have my hat or water they were on the front seat
And knew I wouldn't last too long in the deserts unforgiving heat.
I started to walk on the highway it was a good four hours to town
And praying another vehicle would soon appear so I could flag it down.
After two hours of walking I heard it, the rumbling of a truck
Help was coming at long last and I couldn't believe my luck.
The driver stopped and said "hey buddy you look like you need a ride "
I was on the verge of collapse, but so overjoyed I almost cried.
We got to town and I wanted to give him something for rescuing me
Opened my camera bag to get some money out and damn there was my key.
Written 4th August 2021
An interesting Couplet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Funom Makama.
He shall not let in if she knocks on door,
“that frivolous blonde he shall have no more”,
he curled himself up in silken soft bed,
in the warmth of heat his cheeks glowing red!
the wind went howling right across the road,
threw arctic snow, on those without abode,
stray dogs sought warmth in hearts of human kind,
homeless shivered, as the rich pulled their blinds!
he had first met her in the market place,
rich, beautiful she dressed in finest lace,
he was in his youth sculpted well in height,
as stories are written, love at first sight!
years rolled by from those many days ago,
built their life dreams as easy as Lego!
business and fortunes came riding horses,
envied by all, were target of curses!
parties in the garden, evenings by pool,
made love all day, when children were at school,
the coin tossed by fate turned up heads for him,
other side of coin was his love for Kim!
Life was Sunny like Californian day,
basking in its glory they both made hay!
till that May, she left with another man,
he shall not forgive her! never he can!!
it was now March with Snow covering land,
as he turned in sleep, he felt her warm hand,
he cuddled to her as pup to its mum,
his fingers were frozen, his face was numb!
His sleepy eyes opened to freezing cold,
his wife slept under paper sheets bifold,
he chuckled at joys of vagabond dreams,
life must be lived, although harsh, it may seem!!
written 09/09/2021
Vagabond dreams contest
Craig Cornish sponsored
rhyme, 10 syllables each line!
32 lines - exceeds contest 20 line suggested limit.
In April of nineteen twelve, a ship set sail so grand,
A tale of wealth and power, a journey well-planned.
Warnings were ignored, the ship sped through the night,
Men on duty sleeping, Californian unaware of Titanic's plight.
Steel and iron rivets, a mix of strength and flaw,
A lie repeated often enough will often escape the law
A plan, some say, to silence the wealthy few,
Who opposed the central bank, a theory that grew.
The Titan's tale foretold, in fiction's eerie rhyme,
A ship destined, too grand, lost in a moment of time.
Could poems and prophecies have seen the fate so grim?
Or was it human error, a tale of pride and sin?
The wealthy men aboard, with power in their hands,
Opposed the Federal Reserve, in its in utero lands.
Illuminati whispers, secrets in the night,
A game of power, hidden in plain sight.
The Samson seen the rockets, but rum toddies dense the sense
And the cargo bay was full of seals and will illegally be fenced
Some men etched, unsinkable, defied the hand of God,
But met its fate in icy waters, a tale forever odd.
It's 41 degrees north and 49 degrees west
This is where Titanic is laid to rest
A century has passed, the theories still remain,
A story of the Titanic, in history's refrain.
My muse is still alive, she’s also my wife,
And the best thing about her
Or at least how she relates to me
Is how she finds me amusing.
Interesting, get that, a-musing
Since I am literally not her muse.
And yet muses aren’t by definition serious
Although their impact is
Like the way a new born infant’s is.
So the day they, although not mine, died
Was the day we all began to take everything
We thought and said so seriously
Like who offended who, and why
As if who we really are and how we got that way
Is even a knowable, let alone an observable.
We fuss and fight about the trivial and mistaken
Such as “cultural appropriation”, as if
That isn’t the very means by which cultures grow.
I mean, do I have to be Californian or Jewish
To be entitled to enjoy and wear Levi jeans?
If the world wasn’t meant to embrace appropriating
Then most of the world wouldn’t be using electricity,
Or driving vehicles, flushing toilets, eating pizza.
The world would be a lesser and lonelier place.
And just the fact we doubt it,
Doubt we are good enough,
And don’t deserve to share, and learn and grow
Makes us susceptible to the promise of AI
The next level of intelligence,
Because ours is clearly lacking.
And if the artificial replaces the natural
In culture, art, music, sports, politics,
Science, agriculture and fashion
Then what’s the point of the natural anymore?
And without the natural, the spontaneous,
The unexpected and unexplained,
Then where are we, and what need is there
For a muse?
So, enough with the old history lessons,
If you need something, if you’re lacking
In knowledge or inspiration or advice
Just ask The Machine
It’ll know and tell you all you want to hear.
(6/28/26)
Rugged coastline
Aqua blue waters
Natures marvel
One of her daughters
Pillars of green
Look down on her ocean
As her frothy waves caress
In graceful motion
Sporadic stepping stones
Jut from the blue
As life clings
Before they disappear from view
Stand by her shores
Please take a bow
For under her surface
You will be gargling wow!
Creatures that have adapted
Over millions of years
Beauties so lovely
But some leave fears
Along the Californian Coastline
Awesome vistas of view
I wish i was there
So i could view with you too
Written about a picture Caroline Cécile Paczynski kindly emailed me
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-2.php
Let's sit under the tall, satured elm after the long-gone storm;
its branches, unwavering and steaming, are awfully warm.
They stretch their drooping arms to brush off the remaining hues,
those of a placid sunset turned apple-red.
Hear me warbling along with the shivering mockingbird,
too lonely and in somber mood. He relies on his brain,
absorbing the faint heat...before he dies of his amorous evening blues,
I should comfort him and soothe his inconsolable pain.
And watching him, I recall the state I was in, miserable and frail...
until I realized that I was missing: a hand to touch me and restore my will.
I have brought a basket of Californian sun-ripened fruits,
tempting and lively; look inside, cast your gleeful glance on it.
Be that eagle with quick claws when his empty guts emit growls;
pick the ones your palate craves or those with attracting colors.
My pick is that of a yellow apple like your golden hair slightly wet,
it reminds this lover of the delirious laughter chasing another sunset.
Let's behold the brilliance of the ending day which refuses to subdue;
only the sadness concealed in the depths of our souls holds the clue.
Fall semester starts tomorrow. It’ll be exciting - for a few days - but it won’t be long before we’ll miss the tanned bodies of summer, the cool, clear lake-water or lounging carefree, on bright, sand-like gravel beaches.
Tomorrow, things will be different. Our days will start earlier, they'll be a value - a new currency - to morning hours that went wasted on unproductive summer vacations. The change will be sudden, herk, there may be an audible pop of some sort, somewhere, in tonight’s darkest hours.
We’ll be going to the gym so early that we’ll be done and leaving before the first, lazy pigments of sunlight weave morning.
I imagine my room looks like backstage at a new Broadway musical, the very first rehearsal - when nothing’s set in stone and everything’s a mess. My clothes are everywhere. Why did I decide to reorganize tonight? Brilliant.
Peter wants to come over but.. “No,” I say, sighing, overwhelmed. “Look,” I say, as I slowly pan the Facetime camera around the war zone that my room has become.
“Oh, my GOD,” he says, jerking back in horror, like a Californian seeing a fur-coat, “Was anyone HURT?!”
“Ha, Ha, I say, sarcastically, suddenly too tired, “Breakfast at 6:30?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says, taking a tucked pencil from behind his right ear. “Guh-night,” he says.
“See-YA!” I say, pressing the red button and letting gravity guide my phone to a gentle rest atop the clothes-pile that’s concealing my bed.
.
slang: herk = heck
Can you love me like you do again?
I am gonna leave vengeance to God
Because enemies strike me down
I just sit there and I hopelessly nod
I’ll give you the crown and the spotlight…
I will just wear a smiling mask in this Masquerade Party
I quietly say with gritted teeth:
God’s Kingdom Come…
Anger and resentment were my neighbors
Envy and darkness were my cuddle buddies
I’m sorry…I’m sorry…
But, at the same time, I’m not
Why is it when I do something wrong,
It feels right like a lovebird’s song?
I lost my temper
Because I have trust issues
My future’s a mighty blur
What about you try on my shoes?
Try on my shoes
Try on my shoes
Just do it
“Hell no”
Why are you throwing a fit?
I’m fallin’ apart bit by bit
I pray to God that I forgive and forget…although…
Nevermind…it doesn’t matter…
All I did was flatter
You…
I’m sorry, God,
I’ll make it up to You
I promise…
Heaven’s yes – I love Your Word
Though I was drifting away like a lonesome bird,
Caught in the Californian weather – the sunny and chilly put together…
The sun and the wind is a good brew to make me feel so much better
My house is open to my friends, family and fans
I’m as fired-up as the back of billion pans
While the heat was way up…
Hell no – I still love my BF – that’s what’s up…
I was a liar…
and I have desire
that feeds the fire
we all sin from time and time again
Where have you been, Ben?
Ben is my imaginary friend
‘Til the very end
Butterflies flutter their wings
From on high, I wave my “hi” and “goodbye”
Waiting for what Spring brings –
Winter frost melts and I am less shy…
Because You melted away my icy heart
I smile ear to ear
My heart is filled with cheer
Thank you
Thank you
Thank You
Thank You
For everything…
Because I feel better than zero
I’m not nothing
Hell no – I’m no leader or hero
On a couple of acres of land,
Lives a Southern Californian heart.
With rangeland a scenic backdrop,
She lives in her state’s Northern part.
Surrounded by mountains and meadows,
Her heart’s full of camping memories.
With many generations of creations,
The good Lord has blessed her family.
Mt. Shasta’s seen from her window,
And cattle, coyotes, and mountain lizards.
With a love for music, movies, and camping
We’re blessed by the poetry of Carrie Richards.
_______________________________
Dedicated to a loving souper, Carrie Richards.
For blessing our work with her wonderful support.