Long Countrysides Poems
Long Countrysides Poems. Below are the most popular long Countrysides by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Countrysides poems by poem length and keyword.
Machines With Madmen Groaning
Machines with madmen groaning above me at 10 thousand feet,
Grumbling and growling like maniac sky monsters slurping on bloody prey,
Those steel dragons of yore spewing fire and corpses into the excesses,
Like Rodan and Godzilla maiming each other in the frozen spasming countrysides,
Giant crazed beasts reciprocating the deafening overtures of contrived violences,
Contrived annihilations, a few math equations, and we have the Beast rising from the sea.
Here, pour me a glass of your backwashed spittle as it internalizes with basically nothing.
It’s time to find the time to describe a time when clocks will rage on like crazed moon dancers,
When the girls on the boulevard were cool and accessible in their cruising flirtations.
When tanned nomads inside their cool cars found gliding nirvanas, and a bra strap,
Amidst the midnight milkshakes and the incredible nude conversations in the backseats of time.
Machines with motorized redundancies tap into the central eye where speed finds inertness.
Life can be found below the stage on the Thames, river of history, by the Black Friars on Coffee Street.
Incense-filled rooms lie mysteriously down a long gloomy walkway around the opaque tree line.
Ghosts of codgers and spillmen greet the toothless ladies with bloody knees and rotting finery,.
A young bard shakes the hands of broggers and yeomen with dripping quills and pig’s blood.
Grind on young thespians! Read your antique lines, not forgetting your monologues dedicated to fear.
Grant that the music of the spheres above captures the relative major, with silent egresses to be heard.
Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell even at this juncture in my life.
Even when spiked brambles
scrape my eyelids or those tender foot soles are being twisted by tooth-like stones. Quaint and angular they cluster mischievously among
green shoots that litter every footpath.
They lie in wait, in ambush for the absent-minded unsuspecting venturer.
It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman of the road.
The labyrinthine landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills rife in my area.
Their rustic heritage now sacrifice to the
orphanage of a malleable environment
Crop farmers obsessed with harvest bounty.
Restless developer pushing limits of an urban jungle. Fellow traveller in league with those fugitives from the cockpit.
The pressure cooker of modern life. Town habitant with split loyalties who clings to tumults of the city but hankers after rural haunts of yore.
Culprits one and all.
A lair from the hubbub.
Dwellings of the strangest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.
Their charm not yet eroded by intrusions of the steel plant genus.
Brick and mortar athletes of homes in a jiffy.
The more alluring aspects of tradition have been fostered and preserved.
Among these are the shortcuts or bypasses of a different more sustainable engagement
Sequestered passages that shave miles off perennial ramblers with a penchant for straying off course.
Saviours of the clueless hitchhiker whose load saps his or her every energy.
One’s eye becomes a lense to all these things hidden or supposedly hidden.
Optic sensor to those trails just slightly out of focus.
Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.
They festoon far flung countrysides at random. Here there and everywhere.
Posted ; April 2nd 2022
How writing song in tribute to Van Gogh
strikes me, to think that with strokes of his brush
on canvas he evoked the world to show
fields, countrysides, a starry sky that's flush
with vibrant color, comets, light effects,
and galaxies! But genius took its time.
Opposed to novelty, without perfect
sense, peers decried Van Gogh's pioneering prime.
Still, beauty poured out from his suffering mind,
which bled and perished to incarnate art.
To Van Gogh's tortured brilliance, grief enshrined,
and blessed, the spirit of his enormous heart!
To me, his “Starry Night” haunts the soul today,
a Zeitgeist, ghost, which calls from far away.
To The North Pole Of Course (Part Two)
The farmlands, bridges and countrysides woosh by in a rush
then vanish before my eyes at a hundred and twenty six miles per hour.
My mind is traveling at the speed of Donner and Blitzen. It goes through a magical hourglass only to nestle inside a cinnamon scented wagon that is infused with the clanking of fine china cups. A peppery scent of hot chocolate perfumes the air and lands on my palate, sweetly.
While I am being ushered forth into Christmas, I sift through time, backpedaling swifter than Santa's mistletoe kiss.
I hear his rippling laughter and melt like butter.
My extra sensory perception picks up the echoes through the halls of my memory
and I say to myself, " I think I'm going home, to the North Pole of course."
much more than this
might I speak
as your lover
lover to lover
in unix time
that great new beginning
we as one to unbrel neath the night
what a wonderful world
the almonds scented the night
would kisses
calm the raging shores
my selfishness
do speak to my need
I be alone no more
cause love to
make me quiver
to sing at a pitched voice
loving you is so easy
loving you
is my choice
oh sing my song
to seranate me
love me in heaps and mounds
love me on
the countrysides
love me in cities and towns
speak me as endearing as
a whisper
sing me bold and proud
I am yours we are
together
in your presence
and when your not around
each kiss a new
beginning
what wonders to
be found
love me
now that we are together
lift me high
beyond the clouds
the hidden truths the silent truths
you come to bury me but i just may bury you
the burden carries me further by every step
the pain i suffered has carried me so close to hell
you better carefully measure the methods you be using against me
and if they're excessive toward my demise then i wish you success
nothing to reminisce but only my regrets as i counter them with subliminal messages
stung by the whelps that com from bull netals
i can see the mountains from miles the countrysides full of nothing but rebels
as a catalyst to catapults the counter measure to balance the force of the battlefront, tragedies and triumphs, and principalities and the power's force
and frankly yes that's a mouthful like a sea of troubles so far at this point we are incompatible, a branch snaps cracks feel the power shift ,a shallow heart feels the shadow's kiss, from where the war was raged from here to Shiloh to the cornfields
O' Mother
Beloved mother
With your voluminous beauty
From majestic mountaintops to verdant countrysides
From mammoth oceans and seas to quiet lakes and ponds where ducks reside
A fertile basin that gives and keeps on giving
Organic love that's naturally comforting and nurturing
Winsome trees abound; yes, I see regal redwoods and sublime pines
A haven for birds and squirrels
Man has his place there too; there he can sit and have peace of mind
And oh, the lovely, colorful flowers for industrious bees
Redolently spawning life through a spring or summer breeze
O' Mother
Beloved mother
With your alluring, comforting arms
Tenderly drawing man and all life nigh your
bosom with resplendent charm
I feel so grand this special day in June
while waiting at the station for my ride
aboard the new steam engine coming soon
to take me to a place where I can hide
from city noise and busy city streets;
from smog-filled air and houses crowded so,
to countrysides with grassy fields of wheat
and clear blue skies where soft winds come and go.
Here comes the beauty, black, in clouds of steam;
she pulls beside the station; "All Aboard"
is called, and so I quickly run and dream
to settle down with suitcase neatly stored.
Click-clack of spinning wheels sounds like a song;
the gray steam lends the awe of mystery,
with cloud-like drifts that form and move along
while taking me to somewhere wild and free.
With constant pace, the steam train grinds its wheels
through mountain passes, narrow tunnels too.
The beauty of the valley, hills, and fields
soon takes my breath away; a wondrous view!
As on she chugs with clanging bell on top,
she sings a song of motion heading home-
that place down yonder where she'll make a stop;
my destination of new lands to roam.
January 21, 2015
~1st Place
Contest: Railroads, A Historical Glance Back
Sponsor: BJ Legros Kelley
Judged: 11/16/2021
A white lily sunrise
brings the malaise,
humid dreams shimmer
off the blackening tar
Red dust girates an axis
dark matter is overcome,
lethargy drags the body
into a blazing bright sun
Work, a joke on labouring men
each day drains into the next,
without a dropping of heaven
without a wisp of air, no respite
The incessant heat hoards air,
the smell of rain on a breeze,
nothing but a cruel memory
as the earth bakes golden
These summer days long
for the circles to turn,
for cooler winds braced
with a stinging cold nose
For nights clothed in linen
their warmth, a comfort,
not these deadly months
this end of the world
Gaping fissures score
the face of the outback,
spinifex gathers along
a rabbit proof fence
Farmers no longer see
a blue horizon beckoning,
the life they bestowed, now,
lost in bankrupt despair
The year's turning decades
and the green paddocks,
never more will checker
our rolling countrysides
each day another species dies
each day another million lives
become nothing but a eulogy
on a yellowed classified page
Still we do nothing, much,
still the child cries unheard,
and the world will end, not,
with a bang or a shout
But on a whistling breeze
only heard by the gods