Long Countryside Poems
Long Countryside Poems. Below are the most popular long Countryside by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Countryside poems by poem length and keyword.
Ayrshire is where I grew up
Bible is God's book inspired and divine
Christine the great love of my present life
Drawn into contentment a real true sign
Encouragement found in God forever my friend
Films full of love and action are my scene
Gordon's my name Scottish born and bred
Holidays enjoyed with lakes our theme
Inspiration moves one to push my pen
Jean my first love pointed me to the Lord
Kilmarnock is a special town of my formative years
Lord Jesus Christ who showed His sharp sword
Music has influenced me throughout my life
Never seen scenery like the Swiss countryside
Opened my mind biblically reading John Calvin
Poetry became my great love always to abide
Quotes are a means to instill my thought life
Renfrew now my home town a burgh royal
Stammer has always been here to haunt me
Tension fuels my stammer rising to boil
Unknown to many but hoped to impress a few
Voices in tune what a pleasure to hear
Words are a treasure, especially making a rhyme
Xercise my legs, walking to be in top gear
Yellow is my favorite colour so fully bright
Zealous for truth especially God's truth so right
(My personal ABC, looking back over my life bringing together all that importantly comes to mind.)
Through the countryside of Tennessee
Steam Engine puff for the world to see
The backside country of Dolly Parton’s life
Her songs offering hope being advice
Ms. Parton’s personality that was warmth and nice
Her moments forever cherished
Every stream and river being images of her beauty
The richness of her soul being Dolly Parton behind it
The skies applaud
The talent enriched from the Lord
Accomplishments unmeasurable
Genuine throughout
The Mountains dance in Ms. Parton’s honor
Dolly Parton would say, “It’s not a time to be sad, but the moment to embrace in the impact of her life on the world”
Heaven requested Ms. Parton’s arrival
She answered and felt welcomed
This was her time
Lifted up to the Heaven’s for greater spiritual reward
I personally met Dolly Parton’s Daughter long time ago in Springfield, MA at the New England State Fair
Leave it to Dolly
Dolly Parton Love
Her life to always think of.
Scanter hours of daylight during fall.
Without your grace, I’d not be here at all.
Lilies can smell dew in the countryside.
Sitting on the green and resting side-by-side.
The Quahog calm has a clear few worries.
For so long, a rock amid the din or hurries
He gets his thrills by screening krill.
One gram daily is his sinful thrill.
If nature calls, one must jump on the phone.
You can lose everything you own.
If you do not, you will miss your chance.
Or you will wet your pants from the circumstance.
The beauty of nature is publicly available.
Most men shun it solely, as it's predictable.
trees that were plunged and ridden.
Daily fauna injuries stay hidden.
Despite my wishes, I could not reach the moon.
Smoke over the sea rose too soon.
I must swap roses for weeds.
How love burns by planting seeds.
Our plates float and collide.
My failure threads tremble and chide.
making my shoulders shrug in unison.
While my oceans churn like a hooligan.
Written: October 31, 2022
A countryside walk gives me such delight
yellow dandelions grow in the field
Soon they will transform, changing to pure white
soft puffballs, where minute seeds are concealed -
to a gentle breeze all these seeds will yield
Tiny seeds hang on to white parachutes,
with mother nature they are in cahoots
Scattered by the wind they drift in the air
until they fall to earth and put down roots…
but some gardeners find them a nightmare!
Pick-A-Title, Vol 21 - Dizain - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Chosen Title . 5. Lost To The Wind
10 syllables per line, checked with Rhymezone and how many syllables
08/05/20
Listen carefully: those are bells ringing.
To whom are they calling?
From where come the peals?
Here in the wild countryside
the pale-yellow cowslips
dance a lonely jig
to the tune of the wayward breeze,
dispersing their melliferous fragrance,
gracing us with their herbal remedies.
And still the bells peal!
Do they toll for me?
Reminding me of my needs?
Shall I gather the cowslips?
What shall I do with weeds?
There see them grow in the vale
or along the riverbanks
where waters rush headlong,
zigzagging through the silvery alleys,
making their way to the far off sea.
And the bells still peal!
The cowslips sway in the breeze.
I stand still devoid of fantasy,
empty of coherent dreams.
What will I gain from cowslips?
except distil it in my cellar
and enjoy its narcotic sips?
Still do the bells toll?
Why? What for?
My heart knows, of course.
I find a shade, I kneel, I pray.
Let the bells toll.
I've heard as cowslips bend their heads.
The green of summer gently yields its hold,
As England wakes to amber, rust, and gold.
A sudden chill infects the morning breeze,
And whispers briskly through the changing trees.
The morning mist hangs low upon the down,
And wraps in silk each sleepy market town.
Above the fields, the fractured sunbeams break,
To paint a golden path across the lake.
The ancient oaks that guard the country lanes,
Now drop their heavy, bronze-encrusted chains.
The acorns fall, the chestnuts split their shells,
While woodsmoke rises from the hidden dells.
Along the hedgerows, scarlet berries gleam,
Like crimson jewels caught within a dream.
The robin sings his solitary note,
A melancholy tune from feathered throat.
In hollowed ways where shadows love to hide,
The copper leaves are swirling side by side.
They dance in circles on the dampening earth,
A final waltz of beauty and of worth.
The rivers flow with slower, deeper grace,
Reflecting winter’s fast-approaching face.
Yet in this fading light, a magic dwells,
Enchanting mossy banks and rocky fells.
The churchyard yews stand solemn in the rain,
As yellow fields surrender all their grain.
The harvest gathered, and the barns filled high,
Beneath a pale and shifting northern sky.
And as the twilight pulls its curtain down,
And throws a violet cloak across the town,
The hearths are lit, the cozy parlors glow,
Defying winds that from the ocean blow.
For autumn here is not a sudden death,
But nature holding in her sacred breath.
A beautiful, prolonged, and golden sigh,
Before the silver snows of winter fly.
I have been a member of The Soup for over 10yrs now and have seen poets the I have come to love and respect disappear one by one, for reasons I do not know. I know there are many reasons of us losing our great poets, But I find it sad just the same. So I decided to make songs from some of their poems in Honor and Appreciation of having them as friends and fellow Poets.
The First Tribute is to the very talented
Robert Andrew Lyle
In The Poem titled:
Homesick
From the Faughan river valley
To Binevenaghs mighty brow
I love these roads to travel
Wish I could tread them now
To in an instant be propelled
Landing on that grassy slope
That overlooks Magilligan strand
Would be my greatest hope
To take the road to Donnybrewer
And walk down by the Foyle
To see the fields of Kerrs Pinks
Where my father used to toil
To listen to the Corncrake call
As it hides in the long hay
How many happy times were spent
Trying to glimpse her on my way
When you’ve walked up Kilnappy brae
You’ll hear your legs complain
Saying don’t you ever try to
Bring us up this way again
The walking up can wear us out
But when we turn around
The view that lays before us
Will never fail to us astound
The beauty of the patchwork quilt
Of fields enclosed with stone
The distant hills of Donegal
That was my parents’ home
I miss not just the countryside
My family I miss dear
Many times I’ve spent just wishing
I was there or they were here
Copyright © Robert Andrew Lyle | Year Posted 2014
Give a chance, please
An angel blocks my way. An angel. A woman
Beautiful. From the countryside. A village girl
She brings water in cans from the brine pit
Perfect woman, shape, face, radiation, steps
I can’t, I can’t reach her. I am nothing. She
She is far. Maybe she is my last life. Chance
Hmm. What can I do?
Hmm. What can I do?
She is the Perfect. The perfect woman
Hmm. My life is spent. Just a rusty world
Oh, my past, my sinner and demonic life!
I regret my sins, my gangster life. Actions!
I need, I need help. A hand. A woman’s
Hand, a driver, a guide, a saver, a wise
Who can organise, fix, and lift my life
Yes, I need a mind, I lost a long time ago
My hoped love, my woman, look at me, look
Look at this chaos in my life. Look, look at me
I know you have a big and deep heart
What is full, full with love. Apprehension
Understanding
I need, I need to live in your only prison
I am a jail man in your heart. A captive
A prisoner
A prisoner of your love. You don’t know
You don’t know, How, how I love, love you
I want to, I want to stay your slave in the cell
Hmm, I am your heart valve. You can’t, can’t
Live
Live
Vive
Without
Me!!!
Trees wear a gown of bright emerald green
Where birds are nesting in branches up high
Parents shield fledglings so they can’t be seen
Until they can spread their new wings and fly
Daffodils dance in the warm zephyr breeze
Bees buzz seeking out these pretty flowers
Yellow pollen doesn't make the bees sneeze!
They will pollinate blooms for many hours
Young lambs gamboling around in the fields
Birds fly high in the sky of azure blue
I love the spring season where nature yields
Our earth’s a stunning place for me and you
Spring brings rejuvenation to our land
The vibrant countryside looks very grand
14 lines 10 syllables per line
Checked with how many syllables*
Doesn't counted as 2 syllables
Had previously been awarded 1st place in another contest and also POTD subsequently given
n/a in Best sonnet contest
Sponsored by Laura loo
judged on 3/3/2018 9:36:00 AM
Entered into POTD Contest Sponsored By Richard Lamoureux
Poets Notes. I struggle to write sonnets I find the form extremely challenging so was delighted to get POTD in 2016 for this particular poem
08~19~16
Uther, the High king of England
fell in love with the Lady Igraine
Knowing she was married to Gorlois
he decided to fight the walrus
For he was the Duke of Tintagel
that Uther wanted to mangle
‘Thus he defeated his enemy’
and took her, his wife to be
The High King delighted to tell
of Merlin’s magical spell
How he’d become Gorlious in disguise
and fooled the Lady Igraine to socialize
Tintagel castle was full of joy
celebrating the birth of a baby boy
‘Twas Arthur they had named him’
a bonnie baby small and slim
They lived in a dangerous time
where Saxons attacked without sign
So Uther gave his son for safety
to his immortal wizard thats greatly
In time Merlin fostered him away
to Sir Ectors where he would stay
Raised in the Cornwall countryside
where he grew strong and very wise
He grew up with his foster brother Kay
not knowing his real parents any way
He didn’t know he was heir to the throne
until later when it became known
King Uther died and no one knew
about His son that should over rule
So arguments broke out everywhere
who should be King, who would dare
But Merlin had a cunning plan
to make Arthur take a stand
For he was the true king and heir
a kingdom he would rule and fair
A mysterious stone magically appeared
in St.Paul’s cathedral, in the garden rear
Extending out, was a huge sword
a message inscribed to my Lord
Whoever pulls this sword from the stone
will be the rightful High King of England’s throne
© Copyright 22nd December 2010 K.C.Leake