Long Caws Poems
Long Caws Poems. Below are the most popular long Caws by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Caws poems by poem length and keyword.
Out On The Porch December 22, 2011..Thursday
To be inspired onto the porch I went
The clouds were down the mist was thick
Roosters' voices were long and loud____
Sound waves carried for many miles
Drip, drip from roof and leaves
Carried the tune an orchestar began to weave
Deep bass of a truck in the distance
Breeze stirred the sound, I found no resistence
As I listened, looked around; what wonders
My eyes also found_The Forsythia blooms
Out on the porch senses delight
From here I feel no fright_
Places in a distance_the sounds of guns
Showing a deep resistence (to those in rule)
Guns of war, guns of gangs
Peace destroyed_boys being maimed
Out on the porch peace envelopes
Crow caws that warning fellow
All is quiet once again
Only Sparrow's song like a mandolin
"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot
be seen or even touched — they must be felt with the heart.
Quote by _Helen Keller
In my dreams ... voices come to me,
an eagle caws beyond the sea.
My people's spirits feel serene,
the best things are felt and not seen !
Eagle has been my guide since youth,
my spirit- teaching me life's truth.
We fly the green labyrinthine,
the best things are felt and not seen !
Eagle- gathers all of my prayers,
and soars up high with all my tears,
Above vast seas aquamarine,
the best things are felt and not seen !
Instilling wisdom, humility,
bravery and tranquility.
There is balance in forests green,
the best things are felt and not seen !
Numb the pain, throbbing inside me
My faith has crumbled into crumbs of deception
Numb the pain, coursing through my veins
You're keeping me sane and I'd like to thank you for that
In the desert of desolation,
I feel this all-to-familiar frustration...
I yearn for something more
You're the one that I adore
You deserted me long ago
The wind moves to and fro
I'm getting weary
I'm getting teary
Trying to purge sin out of my life
It's easier said than done
I'm still missing California's sun
To obliterate and burn away the strife
Your radiant shine
Makes me wish you were mine
Please don't leave me and let me go tonight
Shine a light my direction with undying might
Despite your flaws,
Your beauty shows
You're my beautiful dove
Up above the world of hatred
Even though the crow caws,
Your dove-like features glow
I'm thinking of your love
Up above my despicable dread
Despite your decisions,
I'm going to love you still
You're my pretty lullaby
Up above the Earth of cursed confusion
Even though I have unaccomplished missions,
You're my thousand thrills
I'm bedshaped in your goodbye
Up above my vision of derision
My imagination is going haywire,
Burning with utmost desire
Churning with passionate fire
And sheer ire that will never tire
In my elegant, eloquent empire
Seek the truth, you little liar
You're the one that I admire
You lift my high spirits higher and higher
Singing joyously in a brilliant choir
At first I wondered if all things have been said
already, spent
by poets of the past. They stole our words.
We found them stashed. We rearranged, often
deranged the lines with slash marks and nonsense.
Death was pretty back then
before we hid, behind
the nettles of windows and doors.
The lowering of a casket, not too many urns.
Burning the night
oil and the sound of ravens -
a door knocker that eerily caws.
The cause of writing strong with true feelings
that crawl up one’s spine, teeth that deeply plunge
into the carotid. The festering of sores
Upon palms and heels. Worn
out pages with feather quills and ink blots
cold and alone in the night squats.
The tender rendering of a seagull and a ghost.
A captain that is bearded and robust. The tales
of blind mice and braided hair; and children
with no coded habitat. They curl up
at your feet, next to the roaring fire
of your speech and devour each word
like curds and honey. Honey,
that is sweet. You buzz with excitement
as you leap off each cliff, hang-gliding.
The tummies of development,
in the youth, filled. Likewise their mouths
form oohs and ahhs; and good girls and boys
laugh and weep. They kick the dust
as they follow their own paths home -
imagination goes wild like a frenzy of bees,
their nest disturbed with a poking branch.
The lustful sweet tooth, aflame - a story
takes shape climbing a lighthouse or tower
into the ears, mouths, eyes and brain.
Already spent, nonsense! Say what you have
to say, from sun to sun. Poet speak!
3/19/2023
Terra Firma, inundated
induced obscure, addled by haze
Sable vision looming clandestine
'neath voyeur's superficial gaze
Impending doom surrounds siren
companions come via the wing
Hideous caws make nary a sound
still, there's resonance, deafening
Symphonic dance and play abound
sweet airborne pirouettes macabre
Turbulent twists, convene with timber
silence shattered by shrieking sob
Ripped apart - devils satisfied
swiftly ebb on departing mist
Nonchalant to what's been discarded
visage vanquished - vanished, dismissed
'Twas once there, to be - nevermore
peace now, awaits a rising sun
Dewy air departs on stiff breezes
repercussion - a carrion
Originally posted 9/30/2016
The ravens come
in a flock of dark winged hums,
rushing spatter of clustered migrations done
hanging on the weather fluctuations spun/
Black and bold ebony swarthy struts
large bodies birded scruffs,
scavengers of leftover seeds, treats and nuts
bantering loud and indiscreet sound cuts.
Field strewn emerging caws
hover in the trees with pointed claws
resounding distant screeching over all
yielding to the darkness as it falls.
Poe heard their resonating scratch
upon the ear's distinctive latch
and in his horror wrote the poem to match
life's breath and heartbeat snatched.
Whispering a silence longed for
he marked and recorded every score
for you and me the reader's very core
he quoth the ravens never more.
Feeling uneasy as I let myself graze,
On the mountains I'd anxiously gaze.
The shrubs are long enough to indulge the creepers
And I dread the wicked hunters
Dear shepherd, where hast thou gone
Let me not be preyed on
Has thou fallen asleep?
Do you not dream of your troubled sheep?
I cannot parry their sharp claws
Nor repel their heavy paws
I'd never see the bullets coming
Nor the crawlers stalking
I thought you'd be my David
Like you swore and promised
That you'd slay the hunting lions
And lead me through the wolves' canyon
Hast thou left me for throne of kingship?
Art thou tired of my companionship?
Do not neglect the caws in the sky
Nor ignore my bleat, it's a cry.
Tho' I'm safe yet
I could already be a target,
For my age is still young
And those carnivores are just too strong
For me to run farther and faster enough
And evade the hiding wolf.
So dear shepherd
Come rescue me from my foe
Grab thy bow and arrow
Thou art my only hero I know
Come save my haunted soul
My dear shepherd.
up a steep and narrow road
reach the tops
wilderness reclaims a verge
of wintery snags
land juts and tilts
hauls out
lays treeless
clumps and hags
pitch up stricken soil
heap above the miry troughs
loud the heartbeat
nearer to feral thought
then any mouth or ear
swale and quag dawdle
appear to seep listless
no
every bog tunnels shrouded
to fetch up the feckless
harsh and gorsy
heather treading low
the moors mark nothing
only a head of gnashing wind
a whipping dinosaurs tail
blear and chill
bites and grapples
a stone-tusked marl
crofts under
tangles of un-spun fleece
in barb and thistle
sheep piss in running rivulets
thread through
mizzle-pecked rocks
inscribed
by whatever tortures the air
ravens picket grit edges
wings beating back the below
primal caws that lift and speak
for the standing stones
their harrowing
lime-cuffed history
before light founders deeper
black anvils appear
in the lowering
a scant anchoring
a bare farrowing
shorn and scoured aloft
by miles of orbiting
beauty
twenty years later
son sends pictures
of moors long traipsed
the sky in my phone howls
On the outskirts of town there's a house on Brooding Hill
that leaves those who pass by with shivers and a chill.
It's rumored that murders have taken place in the home
since it's been haunted by ghosts and ghouls who roam.
It's surrounded by a forest where shadows take to flight
and whispers echo upon the wind on a full moon night.
Red eyes stare out of windows from skeletons that talk
and no one ever dares to go near that house after dark.
Crows perch on moss draped limbs of trees, long dead.
Their caws summon the master goblin lesser demons dread.
The stench of death lingers near when screams are heard
begging help from graves where bodies have been interred.
That macabre haunted house is not a place I will ever enter.
Gossip around town is that it's soon to have another renter,
but it won't take long before they will feel the terror and fear
when in the house on Brooding hill, hobgoblins will appear.
The songbirds are plentiful where I live in the middle of oaks
I had four birdfeeders, but white tail deer slammed into them
Until they broke into bits, for they were plastic and did not survive
As they were being deer-bashed against the trunk of these oaks.
To discourage the deer, I bought new metal bird feeders.
It brings in up to eight cardinals, and a blue jay daily.
Wrens, robins, sparrows, and wood peckers arrive before nine.
Rat-a-tat sound on my oak bark; I enjoy watching their heads bob.
My forest is full of tweets, peeps, whistles, coos, and caws
There is a huge the influx of crows, which I also welcome
Playful squirrels are fun to watch, but their fingers are too deft
Daily they unscrew the tops of my bird feeders, laughing at me.
Allowing all of the bird feed to land on the ground, in a clump.
Bottoms of feeders roll into driveway, so I have to drive around them.
A plethora of activity, a menagerie of lively animals including rabbits.
Sassy squirrels chastise me when I come out; thinking it is their yard.