Long Cottage Poems
Long Cottage Poems. Below are the most popular long Cottage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cottage poems by poem length and keyword.
With a spiral staff and a wizard’s hat, the creature entered her habitat.
Sensing presence before he'd gone far, she transmogrified into a scar.
Placed herself on her familiar, a mystical magical, yellow tabby cat.
Candles were lit; he wondered why she had left her cottage like that.
A powerful magic he brought into this eerie, creepy Halloween night.
A few mice scampered quickly down shelves and out of sight.
Had the witch hanged into a rat? He said a spell and swirled his hat.
Scar was silent, but he was hissed at with feeling by the witch’s cat.
Maybe a cat, he thought, and he gave his wand a swirl.
The cat’s whiskers changed rapidly, turned into a magnificent curl.
If he had hit the scar, she would have been revealed, and in danger.
But he missed. She appealed to her spells before he could change her.
He had changed her once, but not this time. She was smarter now.
She filled the room with smoke and gave her spell books a “wow!”
Then she swished her own wand and he disappeared out of sight.
Witch bests warlock reported the Halloween Express that night.
I fix the best chili I can
But my family has to doctor it up
One of my daughter adds cinnamon
Something she learned
When grandma accidentally used it
Instead of chili powder
My son has to dump a pound of cheese on the top
My husband motions for him to hand the rest of the cheese over.
The little one whines that he does not like chili
Unless we have potato chips, which he uses instead of crackers.
I fish a tiny baggie of chips out of the laundry room.
I had been hiding it from his siblings.
I cannot complain because at this moment
I am tearing up sixteen jalapenos to go into my own chili.
If I put them into the big pot no one else would eat.
How we got this way is anyone’s guess.
“Do we have any cottage cheese?” My other son asks.
Apparently when he ate at Johnny’s house they put that into their chili.
Close your gentle eyes
to soft-sung lullabies
She'll hush you to sleep
kissing your blues away
She'll make you dream so sweet.
Dreams of silver stardust
where darkness won't exist
Where solitude is nothing
but one deceiving myth.
In dreams your one beloved
not only in your heart
but sitting there beside you
where blissful thoughts impart
Your head upon her lap
Her eyes lost in your smile
In a secluded cottage
on a tropical isle.
Close your gentle eyes
to soft-sung lullabies
She'll hush you to sleep
kissing your blues away
She'll make you dream so sweet
Dreams of being captured
in another time
where wind-swept petals fall
like bacchus of flowing wine
Dreams of being taken
to a better place
where your empty hands will cup
her smooth porcelain face.
Close your gentle eyes
to soft-sung lullabies
She'll hush you to sleep
kissing your blues away
She'll make you dream so sweet.<>
Amanda Thing
1829 - 1918
BF and me
We rode into this muddy enclave,
This Quaker paradise high on an ever-descending hill
In March of ‘87
With Sunshine, our roan mare,
And a wagon full of old belongings and new hopes.
I recall the mustard fields blooming that spring
Like a million fires in the firmament,
And these fiery fields were intensely difficult to plow.
And the land had to be carved up like slaughtered meat
To pave the way for the railroad
And the first automobiles from Detroit.
First time I saw one,
I almost fainted.
BF and me
We spent many an afternoon in our feathered buggy instead
With Sunshine, our roan mare,
Riding the newly paved roads,
From Rideout’s Driveway to County Road.
And we saw,
From the top of Friends Street
The distant Catalina Island,
Shrouded in the hazy Pacific,
Like a sleeping giant under a brown blanket,
And we gasped at the mystical beauty of it
From our hilltop perch.
When BF died of a stroke in ’07,
I buried him in Clark Cemetery
And I thought I would never survive the grief.
But God sustained me as always
And I lived eleven more years by myself,
Among the roses and tulips
Of my Whittier Avenue cottage.
At 89 I died an old and tired lady,
More than ready to meet my sweet Savior.
My funeral was grand indeed!
They put baby roses on my casket,
And said the Lord’s Prayer.
Then they put me next to BF.
A light summer rain falls across distant blue mountains.
I have a pretty cottage by a winding stream.
This evening I recline in a garden chair
on a sloping lawn.
I merely need to think of a Martini
and here it is at my side,
a full glass and a dish of fresh green olives.
Lots of folks I had known in my earth existence are here,
old girlfriends of course,
chums from my youth,
work associates, pals from the golf and gun club.
In fact, I can’t think of anyone
that died and did not end up here.
Strange but I like a few more now,
then I ever did back then.
We are all younger and look splendid.
I guess that Hades is not quite what you,
who still walk that inclement
chaotic Earth imagined it might be,
but I can assure you,
that you have nothing to fear
should you find yourself in this realm.
However, I cannot vouchsafe
for your continued happiness
should you choose to be
in that place some have imagined to be heaven.
I’m told that the food is awfully plain
and the décor, by and large, uninspired.
You will also need much patience
to abide with the harp playing toadies,
the self-help grifters,
the compulsive do-gooders,
the many fake guru’s and the religious zealots
who I’m told run a very tight ship.
All the best, and remember we all have a choice
regarding which reality we wish to be true for us.
he peeks into his world,
begins with a wide angle lens,
values not yet placed,
as he sees the plethora
of youth — gathers the street,
the cottage, its double-hung windows,
gables and gardens, trees.
beyond his prime, florals
with stems — their long limbs
painted with pride. countenance
of cheerful blossoms — xanthous,
tangerines, ceruleans in close-ups.
their centers titter with delight.
a microscopic brush — vain
exposition of life inside
poppy-red.
one captivating purchase
i wish i had made —
it is the beauty that got away.
i only have myself to blame.
3/5/2021
In the dark I stood hand in hand with you
At the laughing polychromatic field
Of illusory time with wings of blue
Expectant to have your crimson wounds healed
It was I who spoilt the mathematics
Enthralled by a pair of jingling pink feet
Rendering my sensors problematic
Choosing the hilly apples amply sweet
At its core were ravens that I didn't know
Take my ice in your fire and let me melt
So said I and waited for a blue blow
But met just stones that in the cottage dwelt
It was right that you couldn't forgive my flaws
Meanwhile time flew on the wings of white cranes
Both of us kept loyal to the love's laws
Had time sat intact at that romance lane
Nor do I need to erase the pink pain
Some aches seek preservation in white chest
I cherish living in the time again
Listening to the rain-drop sounds in breast
If I could just turn back the hands of time
I'd have burnt myself in your restless flame
I'm sure we could have gotten back the rhyme
Many knots I couldn't resolve in the game
How long will last this pain gnawing at heart
Some say you will return at a new dawn
Though I see no trace of grace in desert
Cups of balmy time for ever are gone
___________________________________________________
October 11, 2019
If only we could turn back the hands of time
Poetry Contest : Sponsored by: Silent One
Mistaken steps of lost array
Of broken branch and multi-colored stone façade
the pathway steals my outward glance
Winding through the cottage hills
like kite string freed by a strong wind, it spills
Patterns shadow in abstract array
through barbed wire and solid steel
barricades, creating menacing shapes,
criss-crossing narrow wheel ruts of long ago
Obstacles, of stead and stood,
branded in a wilting wood
directions carved to empty me of all I know as good
Within my chest sits a living compass,
beating my quest in a never ending melody,
sweet as creamed corn pie and pointing
towards the sun, which sits before me
two hills above the horizon on this new day
Temptation beckons over my right shoulder,
whistling in the breeze of delicious
offerings, and I do hunger
Take your glow of nectarines
Cool refreshing summer streams
For I shan’t waver, not an inch, her love calls in my dreams
Midday, as the solar glow finds my shoulders red
and sweat clings like life in dampened conclusions,
blisters form bringing the pain of decisions made before
and I would have it no other way, for this I deserve
Mountains faced of fractured stone break my crawl,
rubble sweeps my feet, as my knees bleed,
thirst speaks in the language of a long feared enemy,
yet I do not listen…
State your case in hammered stone
Tear my skin of broken bone
No tethered vines of loneliness shall sway me from my home
My shadow now waits before me, long and slender,
molded by dried weathered foot prints, my foot prints,
once heading a direction opposite my heart
Many years old yet still their outline remains as a warning,
When I see it, the lilac arbor, scented in old desires and
new in life, encasing a glow, melodies of gold finch song
as my eyes find your smile, an extended hand, a soft touch
I have found my way home, to you
Decisions made along the way
Mistaken steps of lost array
When found my every dream it longs within your arms to stay
Finish my poem contest,
Sponsor Mystic Rose Rose .
Posted 12/4/2025
~~~
As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue
Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true
on true
~~~~~~~
From flower to flower she wends her way, searching, seeking out the very best
The cottage garden flowers they all delight but is on the milkweed she comes to rest.
It’s here she’ll lay her clutch of eggs upon this common plant. and when the babes arrive
They will feed their fill on milkweed leaves, they need them to survive
Then nature, in her mothering way, in silk will wrap them up real tight
And they will slumber on the milkweed leaves ‘til comes the time for their maiden flight
Then through the miracle of metamorphosis when the work of the chrysalis is done
A host of Monarch butterflies, from out the lowly milkweed patch, will rise to greet the sun.
When I was young and clueless,
If retirement appeared
Somehow upon my radar
I would think it pretty weird.
But if I gave some thought to where
My future self might be,
Most likely it would be a little
Cabin by the sea.
A stroll into a charming town,
My cottage with a view,
A garden and a lot of time
To do the things I’d do.
But life takes unexpected turns
And there’s no magic math
To calculate the ending
As we chart our chosen path.
And as the years unfold we find
The follies of our youth
Seem fictional when they’re compared
To living’s harsher truth.
Ironically, though, in my
Long-time view-free home, I am
Retired, far from seaside
And contented as a clam.