Long Cheeps Poems
Long Cheeps Poems. Below are the most popular long Cheeps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cheeps poems by poem length and keyword.
In the depth of the night, a concerto commenced,
With drums of thunder and a melody of rain.
Wind flutes played loud sniveling notes,
Carrying pulsating tunes in blustery tones.
Streaks of lightening, with their baton of light,
Led the blasting orchestra with dynamic might.
Trees swayed wildly, leaves scattered with force,
Rain soaked the paths, shattering dense shadows.
As dawn tiptoed, with the sun’s gentle caress,
Melodic whistles, cheeps and croaks took the stage.
Blue bonnets danced, greeting butterflies and bees,
Jays and cardinals capered under the radiant trees.
Hummingbirds frolicked around the buds of paintbrush,
Grackles called out in an enthusiastic rush.
Scissor-tailed flycatchers hovered, tails unfurled,
Charmed their mates with their squeaks and chirrs.
Pinkladies and Firewheels in their spectacular array,
Welcomed the day, luring pollinators their way.
The storm disappeared, giving way to a tranquil zephyr,
Joyfulness prevailed, in awe of Mother Earth’s endeavor.
The air slowly fills
with curly pungent wafts of steam
billowing up from a
hot freshly brewed cup of coffee.
Raising the baton to
conduct the dawn chorus
of bird songs and plans
mulled to begin.
I love to see and feel
the ringlet tufts of steam
getting up my nose, blurring and
opening up my eyes,
like a curtain raise,
to conduct the symphony to begin.
The trills and tweets,
chirps and cheeps,
whistles and trills,
caws and chortles,
are all entwined and garnered
in the first sips, of the first cuppa,
taken at wake of day.
The steam and songs
unspool a cotton thread of
memories and reflections,
hopes and fears,
to be weft, warped,
shuffled and shuttled,
through the loom
to weave the coming day.
Blackbird is dead.
Yes. That is what I said.
The woods are still. The sun is red.
Cherries near his little head.
Dark is coming. Nanette weeps!
The wind shivers. Nightowl peeps.
Gone the robin's trills and cheeps.
The song is ended. Time sleeps.
Sober the jay in his blue cloak,
Unlike the morning he awoke.
Frog hasn't heart to give a croak.
Adam won't tell his usual joke.
Trees bow. The day must pass.
Silent footstep on the grass.
What deed is this? What manner? What class?
The best of Sundays is gone, alas.
Blackbird is dead; they come and they go.
Summer changes to autumn glow.
All is ever so quiet now, though--
Awaiting the cockcrow.
Placid winter cuddles close, lacing exotic spring.
Tapestry of flowers, birds in heavenly wings.
Wakes up a green canopy, exalted in chirpy trill
Peeps, cheeps in rhythm, clatter in medley thrill.
Dappled throat, bright feather, flitters branch to branch.
Gyrating chest in trees, notes perch in avalanche
Tra la la.. chick a dee dees cheer, orchestra in chorus.
Red blue Robin, Cardinal...songbirds..so gorgeous.
Songs of love, waddling dance, bugles of mating calls.
Titillating tunes, virulent envy, conceals clever eyeballs.
Nuzzling beaks love wives and chicks, "its my territory."
Crescendo of man and bird..isnt it the same love story?
------------------///------------////--------------///-----------///---------
It is established that songbirds sing with the
objective of attracting female mating partners
and also to broadcast their range of territories.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
16th February 2019
PLACED FOURTH in Songbirds Contest of Tania Kitchin
PLACED FIRST in Brian Strands Feb 2019 Contest
An unhurried sun slides across the horizon
Preparing for slumber behind distant waves
And daylight’s last seagull rides thermals in search
Of a late night fish supper - the herring he craves
A paint shop explosion enlivens the skies
As the sun doffs its cap to the tail end of day
That silhouette seagull, against crimson, flys
Before finally veering and heading away
As one with the beach and the shoreline beyond
I watch vibrant heavens succumb
To a darkness profound although I stick around
And I wait for tomorrow to come
The night has its chills but no hectic-life ills
As I feed my small campfire with sticks
One deck chair, one fire is all I desire…
And a thermos for my caffeine fix
There’s no moon, no stars and there’s no beachfront bars
The surf is my soundtrack tonight
I’ve seen moons and stars work with Venus and Mars
To set all above me alight
But tonight is unpainted and I get acquainted
With shadows that flicker and prance
As I recline there, amused, I’m aware
That the fire makes my own shadow dance
I don’t truly doze and a distant bell knows
That I count off its chimes in the night
And as the world sleeps, somewhere near, a bird cheeps
And I know that it soon will be light
I’ll witness the day and then scurry away
Through the hustle and bustle, to bed
Inspired, I’m rewired, and yet, rather tired
With my first chapter clear in my head
My thermos delivers one last warming cup
As a new dawn blue-rinses the grey
A seagull, perhaps who went last night unfed
Circles early for breakfast today
The Aspen quaked in mild calm.
A stream nearby sent riffled song.
This trail less trod now almost gone.
‘Twas barren once now grown quite long.
Around a bend and down a steep
therein the brush from somewhere deep
here mixed with woodland chirps and cheeps
slid sounds and sobs of sorrows weeps.
Out there somewhere in higher grass
beyond the tangled thorn tree sash
just past a swamp of slimy mash
a sorrowed soul seems has been cast.
A dragonfly in silence soars.
Below the flies held tight to beasts manure.
Through brush and briar where none before.
Slogging sludge-of-swamp to reach the shore.
Stopped at edge of stench thus endured.
Much closer now to sobs of sorrows lure.
On rotting log a mossy clump.
The spider gone in one quick jump.
A deer takes run with heavy thump
startling me too cause me slump.
Still not in sight – here not yet found,
‘top slippery rock I look around
o’re growth below that shows no ground.
When there – the source of sorrows sound.
Hidden mid some thick green fern.
With face in hands as if from burn.
His arms to knees as if to learn.
He did not look nor did he turn.
A lad of more-or-less of ten plus three
there sobbing softly I could see.
What sort of problem could it be?
Without words or look – ‘twas known to me.
A lie was told to cause unfold his sorrows pain.
Lies ‘seldom’ hold or cause of this contained.
More often Truth holds pain ordained.
Like most in world - I cared ‘not’ remain.
I turned around – I left him there
as few would do – else ‘lie’ of care.
Roads worn bare by lies are everywhere.
Trails of Truth – they wreak despair.
Now oft I wonder -- how did he fare.
Sorrows Lure
by: Shadow Seeker 2016 Copyright
There’s rainsong on Sunday morn.
The herald of Springtime reciting.
A chorus of wings in the changeover.
Unrelenting litany of praise from fowl.
Nature, humble and knowing, cheeps
loud and not silent, healing with peace.
Chirping, stirring, Winter to be released.
Forget the shadow of groundhog, lean
into the melody of a wet ground, awaiting
the plow and seeds, daffodils and hot sun.
Sing O earth, be rattled by resurrection.
What the robins and blue jays know.
What common man, with hope not despair,
hands opening the book where bonnie notes
ebb and flow on fiery tongues, in air, shared
on this very late Winter, a Sunday morn.
2/27/2022
He listened for them in the wood
as daylight blossomed, poised to prowl
For breakfast, breast meat sounded good
and Cat could feel his stomach growl
Soon, struck by a cacophany
of cheeps and chirps, of coos and caws,
Cat snuck up on them, tree by tree
and hushed each cluck with teeth and claws
They paid no mind, so were plucked clean
from every nook where they would sing
but had they looked, they might have seen
him right behind them and took wing!
When Cat had eaten every bird,
he retched a ball of beaks and feet,
spat out one final bone and purred,
outstretched atop the spongey peet...