Long Cod Poems
Long Cod Poems. Below are the most popular long Cod by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cod poems by poem length and keyword.
You look sideways at me
I look straight on at you
You glance towards me
I stare at you
memorize the stiches of your coat
they are uneven
it must have been handmade
You look up at the sky
I look at your shoes
They are slim and obviously Italian
You've been traveling in Europe
I look at your cheekbones
You stare off at a tree
It is a beautiful tree
though I cant see why it has captured you
I' look at your hands
they're nice hands
expressive hands
strong enough
big enough but not too big
kind hands
You turn to the left to look out over the gray blank sea
I know we're not going to see each other again
Even the stark greyness of the Cape in late November is more compelling to you in this moment than I am
I am dancing colors
I am a fragrance
of clean smells
I am sauce and sassiness and ideas and concepts
and wants
God how I want you
But you would rather look at greyness
I will never see you again
Thank you for the kiss on the dock
Thank you for the dinner and the dance
Thank you for the moment in the library when you looked into my eyes for one very long minute and I felt alive
Just before you asked me to the dinner dance
But you seem to have lost your moorings
You are like a boat
A buoy
or a wooden raft
floating
you don't know North from South
East from West
Now your sails are not catching the wind
You are sort of flapping
carelessly
aimlessly
I watch you like watching a crab scuttle up the beach
Fascinated
I will never lose my way
( That's a lie)
Tonight
You were simply a dock
that I pulled up to ...tied off
Tomorrow the sun will rise
and I will feel full and excited
I'll move on fast
throw off your bow
You were like the wild north wind for me tonight
for about 5 minutes
The wind is fickle
When the wind changes I tact
While you were in my sails I did love you
Like any sailor is impassioned by the beautiful wind
that suddenly drives him forward
the exquisite unbelievable .... unspeakable
tarp full sail pulling hard
I will miss you
But only like I always miss the wind when it dies
No more and no less
my sails will be full and my beautiful ship will be headed out to God knows where
But you my questioning friend will not know enough to follow
You will be still looking left and seeing only the gray of Cape Cod in Winter and
I sit by the waters edge
Sitting on the border of a concrete ledge
Surrounded by miss-shaped rocks
Formed by the years of repeated water knocks
I throw a line in the water
As a man sits next to me with his son and daughter
On my line I get a bite
The bait disappears with little fight
I reel back in and rebait the rod
And throw back out for the battle with the cod
Suddenly I see a school of fish
Hoping for every fisherman’s wish
I recast trying to get the biggest and weightiest fish
I see a cormorant tangled up sitting on a pylon
Wrapped around his beak is plastic or nylon
I get up to aid the injured bird
But it fly’s away as soon as my footsteps are heard
I go back to my battle with the underwater beast
Still confident my patience will result in a feast
The clouds come over and it begins to rain
This just exacerbates my frustration and pain
All of my attempts have so far been in vain
But still I sit but wonder if I am still sane
The rain begins to clear
Perhaps now the fish will appear
I can see a rainbow in the distance
My mind wonders despite my resistance
I try to focus on what I want to achieve
I quickly realise that it’s the bounty of fish I want to receive
It’s hard to fish with so many natural attractions
Whilst not unpleasant they are unwanted distractions
I ponder on these thoughts for a time so long
And eventually I conclude this is wrong
I reel back in my line with rod
And forget about the fight with the cod
I am going to enjoy just being here
Such beautiful sites at a near
The glistening of the sun reflecting on the water
The earlier image of a father and his daughter
The ripples and shadows the water creates
The way the bird flew and never hesitates
The way the fish refused to be caught
The way the rain and fish together fought
The rain gently dripping off my hat
The way the cormorant on the pylon sat
The way time seems to stand still
The way nature can make a person feel
I get lost in the moment and don’t want to leave
Some of the things I’ve seen I can’t believe
I should come down here without any fishing reasons
How beautiful it would be in the different seasons
I find myself content at the water’s edge
I have never felt so comfortable sitting on a ledge
H-E-L-P!!! N-e-e-d s-o-m-e b-o-d-y!!!...
Spouse booby trapped husband!!!
Homicide courtesy munch
house zen by proxy
immediately suspected hunch
police, K9 corps, and ambulance
nearly lost their lunch crossing over divide
yellow crime tape
cordoned off homicide
booted feet did poetically crunch
while leashes untangled,
viz braided bunch.
Law enforcement officers i.e. they
Perkiomen Township precinct tidy
as... executive attache
case headed by narcotics
mod squad trooper Amelie
Beth knew address of scrivener brother
immediately quaffed mouthful Schuylkill
downing requisite with "FAKE" sedative cray
zee that seems giving
judicious punch to allay
time and again marital altercations daresay
put Schwenksville neighborhood
under immediate lockdown
Bay of Pigs in comparison childsplay
summoned rookies re:
instant karma coldplay
witnessed unusual display
officers, paramedics, and trained
German shepherds on faux pas did pray
(canines formerly under religious sway
nsync with neutered saint Matthew Scott
sacred church fathers and mothers
panglossian benevolence ne'er betray
loved spouting doggerel pay
Canis lupus familiaris obeissance
oh... I got scent tum mental anyway
kit and caboodle - women in blue,
plus aforementioned cod ray
regarding medical technicians
braced themselves steely, fiery, burly,...
former career recruits, thus okay
toughened courtesy green beret
fearless motley crew did sashay
gingerly, nimbly, softly... treading listening
faintly hearing sauntered without delay,
whence plaintive bent down on haunches
analogous to plie (plea yea)
including dogs ready to spring,
where overly curious inquisitive nee
bores asked to take selfie oy vey
afterwards quickly made bee line
discerning most strategic way
to enter apartment and rescue
a scene no stranger Giacomo Casanova,
to Rabelais, or Marquis de Sade
chaos theory put thru paces
mind boggling utter disarray
courtesy the missus
floor to ceiling clutter, perhaps soiree
gone awry with personal paraphernalia
strewn helter skelter hodge podge
bajillion potential accidents away
one misstep to temper and disable
garden variety trumpeting popinjay.
My son is getting older, and he just went back to College, the other day.
But he had enjoyed the summer, by adding a new game to his daily play.
He called it Troll Tipping as daily he targeted another, and wore him out.
By dinner, the Troll would fall asleep, as my son claimed his dessert, so devout.
But wearing out a Troll, is not such an easy thing, so many a night, a Troll got his.
What a shame! But as a resourceful college man, at devising plans he was a whiz.
He offered them a Fun Filled Tip, yes, a way to get others, to do their daily chores.
The cost to each individual Troll, was their sweet dessert, that night, nothing more.
He was doing great, as he ran thru many a Troll, but then our suspicions did unfold.
You see, this bred unrest, as a number of fights started, amongst our beloved Trolls.
Scheming isn’t sharing, so Grandpa Troll had a TALK, life changing, or so it’s told.
But Boys are boys, and desserts were to be had, so he made a new plan, quite bold.
You might say he invented Granny Tipping, yes, now it was MY dessert, on the line.
Now this would be quite simple, for at my age, I can easily, become tiredly inclined.
But the one thing he’d forgot: is how crafty age had made this old one, in her efforts.
As dinner wound down, I cued Grandpa Troll, to help deliver, those delicious desserts.
I told my son, that they were made to be his favorite, simply in honor, of his behalf.
Then I pretended to fall asleep, and he quickly took my dessert, with a joyous laugh.
Then suddenly his eyes grew big! And I awoke, looking him quite clearly, in the eye.
I lied that, I added laxatives and terrible cod liver oil, to my dessert nightly, yes, so sly.
Making them easier to swallow, but if he wanted more dessert, he only had to ASK.
He quickly sped away, to wash that terrible taste, out of his mouth, a daunting task!
And we all had our chance to laugh at him… as the joke was finally on him, at last.
I call this, Bad Behavior Tipping, and from that day to this, he asks for more, at last!
The game seemed to lose its luster that day, yes, manners did a BIG, comeback.
The moral is to politely ask… Playing clever little games… is NEVER for the best!
He sat there in his fav'rite chair, a blanket 'cross his lap
And covering his snow white hair was his old fishing cap.
I knew he could not talk to me since suffering the stroke,
But still I sensed he could relate to ev'ry word I spoke.
"I went and wet a line today ... down where you caught that cod.
The biggest one you'd landed yet and though it was my rod
I reckon he was yours all right ... but cod are far and few.
They don't bite like they used to dad. They don't bite like they used to."
"The algae's building up again and stuffing up the creeks,
Though at long last we had a fresh, the first in flam’in weeks.
Pulled twenty stinking euros in, along with one old dew,
But they had sores all over them, though still that's nothing new.
The cotton farmers cry, "Absurd! It can’t be from our spray."
Perhaps the fish have just got aids from turning flam'in gay.
Its getting pretty sad all right, but what can one bloke do.
They don't bite like they used to dad. They don't bite like they used to."
"McDonalds seems to be the go and good old KFC
And eating yellow-belly is a flam'in rarity.
Your grandson won't go fishing as he says it's just for nerds
And when I take the missus we just end up having words.
I really miss our fishing trips, your company was swell
And by the mist there in your eyes you miss them dad as well.
I heard you sold your tinny mate, your outboard motor too.
They don't bite like they used to dad. They don't bite like they used to."
They're introducing fingerlings and giving that a shot,
But duckweed takes the oxygen which kills the flam'in lot.
The droughts have had their toll as well and one thing that's for sure;
I can't see in the future dad a remedy or cure.
So mum's ducked down to Salty's mate and I would dare a punt
She'll come back with a feed of fish before you say Rex Hunt.
I guess we'll have to wash it down with some of your home brew.
They don't bite like they used to dad. They don't bite like they used to."
Clusters of refugee bubbles
Expelled from the side of my tank
Rise expanding in upward travels
Escaped depths, burst at surface
Forging against their vigour
Persuasive stream broken
by my bulky silver body
Interrupting incoming ongoing
Enthusiastic thousands
Spurts of filter flung hum
Tickle my sheer cycling fins
Tell me to nose dive again
Breaking trails of oxygen globes
Until Billy Bully Salmon slices in
Languid flicks follow frantic fro
Gyrating spotty specimen vie
Lunch pellet plops induce swished thrashing
Tumult on top flung untimed as ocean fury
Gaping lips capable of feeding incidentally
Cylindrical home groans, crowded by peers
Graduates from Tank Eight are due soon
To meet with intention, purpose imposed
Sight of orange net scooping candidates
Occasions mayhem, frenzied to catch bus
I surge with the fastest, fattest prime
For my place in net destiny
Overexposed oxygen exhausts me
Begins cressendo to deliver my bounty
Dry eyed tribute to nurtured practice honed
My splatting undulations
boast industry success
Cod calls me to lemon rained plate haven
Farmed fellows raised by deliberation
Egg nursery, microscopic sluge whirls
Infuse infant entire crew with dedication
To feed, to fulfil, crisp silver skin served
If you think eating me equals ocean depletion
You'll be pleased to imbibe controlled science
Take it from me, fat salmon, Raymond
I am desperate to get in your gut!
My reason for existence is to be ravished
Don't reject majestic fish - re-examine
The pearly peach flesh down throat glide
Indulge charitable fridge wrapped salmon
today we are living in a world of hate
its a text, tweet & snap chat society
burning holes through there cell phone
no one gathers together & break bread
what is going on inside their head
its the blind leading the blind
soon to fall into a ditch
everyone appears to have a nervous twitch
following Satan into his pit
no one gives a ****
bleeding hearted liberals that seek for self to please
stop spreading your deadly disease
one equates logic for fear
sad times ahead for the walking dead
corporate greet politicians have something up there sleeve
no one prays anymore even go to church
they take the word of God and twist it to suit their own lies
does this come at any big enough surprise
whats been done has certainly been done before
Death row inmates in seclusion away from society yet still living in debauchery
the innate mockery of socially wandering wizards
they can't help you cause they can't even help themselves
faces, traces & spaces
gun shots in the streets speaking of abortion on demand
when will they ever understand
they keep sticking it to the man
a society that's blind from the truth of God
they would be rather basking off the coast of Cape Cod
thinkers, winkers & moaners
grown ups who are controllers
viscious long fangs that bite dripping blood off side
darkened logic leading to death
evil minds that plug destruction
yet lines are being drawn in the sand
people are starting to wake from their sleep
a new day has dawn
it all comes down to choice
we tend to sweep things under the rug
as if the cart is in front of the horse
then there's divorce in uprising of shootings in our school
yet who are we to judge
yet no one has a voice no one seems to care
you got bread in the oven but you don't share
you resist the gay & call them *****
none the worse for wear
seek for better days in light of what you see within sullen brevity
its quite a tragedy to leave behind a homily
but people do what they please
A SONG THAT WILL ONLY MAKE SENSE
TO EAST COASTERS! (CANADA)
A heritage that we all share, our blood is maritime.
We thrill to see the Bluenose, her picture on a dime.
Emotion for an ocean, gray Atlantic ever by,
Newfoundland, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI.
We’ve been to L’Anse Meadows, explored the Labrador.
Cruised the Ponds in Gros Morne Park, fished Caplin from the shore.
Raised a glass at Crow’s Nest, saw the sunrise Cape Spear beach.
Sang along with Great Big Sea, kissed the Cod and drank the Screech.
We’ve inner tubed the Nashwaak, fly fished the Miramichi.
Been to Historic Village in the heart of Acadie.
Climbed the Big Bald mountain, walked on Fundy’s floor.
Coasted up Magnetic Hill, scoffed at the Tidal Bore!
A heritage that we all share, our blood is maritime.
We thrill to see the Bluenose, her picture on a dime.
Emotion for an ocean, gray Atlantic ever by,
Newfoundland, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI.
Sang “Farewell to Nova Scotia|”, drank Rita’s tea as well.
Danced all night at Ceilidhs, been to the Citadel.
Strolled the shore of Baddeck Bay, where the Silver Dart took flight.
Walked the wharf called Fisherman’s, the rocks at Peggy’s Light.
Sang “Bud the Spud!” with Stompin’ Tom, watched splinters fly away.
Ate lobster at church suppers, could hardly walk away.
Picked potatoes for the farmers, back in our childhood years.
Crossed Confederation Bridge, eight miles long me dears!
A heritage that we all share, our blood is maritime.
We thrill to see the Bluenose, her picture on a dime.
Emotion for an ocean, gray Atlantic ever by,
Newfoundland, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI.
A heritage that we all share, our blood is maritime.
We thrill to see the Bluenose, her picture on a dime.
Emotion for an ocean, gray Atlantic ever by,
Newfoundland, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI.
Ellis Pringle Craig, 2024.
A tad over three blocks down Merion Lane
on the left is, an idyllic Cape Cod.
I must've passed it a thousand times
my own picturesque, perfect, postcard place
couched in the right light, dappling rays
fresh-painted, white fence, ruby red front door.
Never once did I not try looking in,
a golden kickplate, bright brass knocker ring.
Begging to be seen, this family within
lotsa plain pane windows, no blinds, no sheers.
There it still stands proudly these many years.
In deep snows that had filled front walkways
in warming, romantic, radiated, lustrous light
hearth hues burst through the panes beyond the glass.
One spring, I saw a fine fetching lass run
across this closely manicured front lawn with her
bouncing blonde, long locks, glowing gleefully.
I mused as I passed by half-staring;
we'd marry maybe, wishful pairing!
And have a dreamy storybook Cape Cod too.
That fall, our family moved far away.
But was I not to see her, who's to say?
Still, I remember that house, that dream
I might've married her, my crazy scheme.
Last night it snowed. Drove that road again.
Five years later, that same house was still there.
On the outside, the front door now lime green.
Inside, a fire burns brilliant like before.
I saw this striking blonde while I gawked.
Startled, the green door opens, she walked
across the snowy street, without her coat.
Poised, she stood there and said straight to me,
"Aren't you the boy who used to stare?",
through my window I gush, "Why yes, I am."
She said she'd wondered about me,
even though they'd never known my name.
Star-crossed, my illusion had dreamt back!
Those private affections landed somehow:
illusions can come true, they often do.
Left my car, took her hand, then went inside;
over a cozy cocoa we chatted.
No longer a star from afar - so near.
New worlds would now open for us right here.
Lost love came home to the house down the road.
Written 2/19/21
Second mag time and more damage below
A gas bottle blows in an orange blast of debris
While this occurs beepers still beep and lights flash
It’s a huge yard and there are many targets still
Slowly but surely he eliminates them like a surgeon
His next gun is a BAR Browning Automatic Rifle
This he shoots on single shot bipod lying down
It’s a powerful 7.62mm gun and simply superb
Each shot hits home and kills 4 operators dead
Explodes rear 3 mounted gas bottles and more
But the BAR does full auto too and he we go!
Jap sniper full ing auto 30 shot mag wham
Soon empty rounds down range more hits
The fire has been devastating attrition mounts
There are far less fork lifts now in use there
Burning trucks and dead or dying operators cry
In his head he’s the rock n roll man on a roll
I’ve got more guns to fire and now it’s my cod piece
Browning 7.62mm machine gun with bipod
I quickly pull the parts from my bag to assemble
Then a belt of 250 rounds with 1 in 5 red tracer
Happy it’s ready I click off the safety and fire
I’m sat down and hose fire downwards
I slowly move the gun left to right left to right
Impacts spark and in the night air tracer guided
My 250 bullets lasts fifteen seconds and is it
Nothing intact remains below working wise
I took out 30 fork lift trucks and operators
Many are dead some injured others hiding
Lastly I use my M1 Garand rifle with blank ammo
I fire eight rifle grenades at the builders’ yard
I pop a grenade on the end angle up and fire
The blank shell launches the grenade up and down
It takes seconds to fall and hit and Bang Boom Blam!
I fire 8 at random spots of the huge yard
There are no more reverse beepers sounding
All fork lift truck use ceases forever due to me
Now I can peacefully sleep in my room at night
Do not destroy my slumber!
MAJOR INSOMNIA
CORPORAL SLEEP
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