Long Cozily Poems
Long Cozily Poems. Below are the most popular long Cozily by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cozily poems by poem length and keyword.
How ideal to luxuriate
supposed divine right frill
maximizing climate control
with matter of fact bravado
creature comfort pang to fulfill
consequent flagrant portent
to exercise freewill
beware controlled environment
pays hefty bill
cracking heat as
temperature gets chill
cumulative destructive
ecological footprints generated,
thus advisable to swallow
figuratively bitter pill,
herewith suggested
binary/digital quill,
cuz unchecked energy
consumption will
necessitate fossil fuels
subjected to frack and drill
invariably contribute
render moot no rhyme
or reason for Jack and Jill
to hastily clamber uphill
fetching pail of possibly
tainted, ruined, polluted... water
evidenced courtesy eutrophication
algal blooms, decimated krill
aquatic flora and fauna stockstill
meaning... untenable for life
perhaps percolating, spewing, zapping...
seepage from landfill
nsync with detritus
many industries spill,
not necessarily directly
linkedin to cranking thermostat until
warmth ideal for barenaked ladies,
who cavort, frolic,
viz yule eyes imagistic poetic skill
veritably lighting boathouse row
reflections shimmering, scintillating,
glistening off Schuylkill
deceptive brilliant appearance
unsafe toxic drinking water courtesy mill
yens flowing electrons to power
industrial secretes no longer confidential
public knowledge and awareness critical
to stem tide allowing, enabling,
and providing juice to sustain treadmill
ever faster rat race pace of life cozily housing
*****sapiens hermetically sealed against
extreme temperatures,
ye must adapt experiencing chill
bundling layers of clothes -
case in point yours truly,
who also keeps windows ajar
refreshing brisk air lungs to fill.
Each air conditioner is topped
With its own mound of snow,
As well as all the window sills
I see, lined in a row.
I hear the blowing snow machines
From down there on the street,
A background noise to the more pleasant
Pinging of the sleet.
The cars are covered, clad in white,
And won’t be moved for days,
Though buses and some SUV’s
Plow through the wintry glaze.
It’s comfy in my city home;
There’s tennis on TV.
With food to eat and beer to drink,
We’ll get by cozily.
Tomorrow will be time to start
To venture from the nest,
But while the snow keeps swirling,
Looking out from in is best.
As a child, I had scribbled trifles on sea sands,
And often allowed them to get wiped by wave's hands;
Mansions and palaces on the sand I had built too,
When they got destroyed by waters I felt no woe.
This mania soon got altered to writing names,
Of persons accompanied playing many games;
The sand mansions too slowly shifted to sculptures,
And seemed in style and structure so voluptuous.
Thus with many scribbling and sculptures, times rolled on,
I got someone who looked like a girl-sculpture-swan;
We, together now, scribbled and sculptured pure love,
That as though would envy the celestials above...
The sea waves witnessed our wavy ways and wondered,
The weather too often changed its mood and thundered;
When our wedding bells aside sea happened to peal,
The sea and her creatures seemed brim filling with zeal...
The sea, then, our delightful honeymoon witnessed,
The shapes and moods of sculptures with feelings got mixed;
Sands and shells turned beds cozily decorated,
Moon and stars the ambiance illuminated...
The buds of love blossomed and on due time bore fruits,
We came to the shores now bringing our naughty kids;
They scribbled, made sculptures in magnificent styles,
We built castles within while enjoying their smiles.
Amidst tangles of routines shores now forgotten,
Our children married and their kids now begotten;
We, one in heart, hand in hand, memories Cudding,
Cherubims of happiness within us wedding...
She too is gone now I like a seagull forlorn,
Taking shelter aside the shore and within mourn;
Cherishing all good and bad memories of old,
Scribble and build sculptures keeping my heart still bold.
I see this sea and shore as paths of transcendence,
Wherefrom my spirit will sore to the resplendence;
Where the splendor of God showers on me his grace,
Where my eyes will see realities face to face.
28 July 2021
The blue cheese is too smelly which I do not like
The white cheese with the orange stripes and dots
From my mom’s kitchen gets into the psyche
With the Darjeeling tea and toast it cozily prods
Towards the hectic activities of the golden day
With the prawn curry and rice, a lunch with purple glee
The evenings come with the brown shadows on the tray
That you hold while your look floats on the cups of coffee
The sweet and sour soup with a dash of green chilli
Blended with the aroma of your flute like fingers
The kebabs of grilled crab with pomegranate jelly
In the dreams most nights the aroma of dinner lingers
January 18, 2018
For My Blue Cheese is - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kevin Shaw
To wake up in the morning feeling glad
because I have no worries in my head;
This is a simple pleasure in itself
which makes it easier to leave my bed!
To see my morning emails; then to get
to work with time to spare makes me feel great.
I love when things run smoothly, like when at
each traffic light I do not have to wait!
To have a good time teaching and to feel
my students’ gratitude or hear one say
he’s happy with the lesson. This alone
is something that can really make my day.
To head home knowing half a day awaits.
I’ll be with hubbie and my dog and cat.
I make a lovely dinner and relax.
A peaceful home! There’s nothing that beats that.
I love my simple pleasures when I read,
watch television, chat with friends or write.
And when my eyelids close, I cozily
curl up in bed for Dreamland, my delight!!
Written Jan. 21, 2016
I just got back from my morning walk
I had forgotten how exhilarating it is
To watch the sun rise
Up over the hills of Beirut.
The campus where I teach is simply breathtaking
Nestled cozily in the pine tree forests on top of a hill,
It offers a panoramic view of Beirut
Many years back this was not a good thing
As the army brought a tank up to the upper campus
To shell enemy positions in Beirut
And our campus got riddled with bombs
We spent our days in shelters
While our campus burst into flame
But this morning, I didn’t remember any of that
I walked on the lower campus and gazed out at Beirut
I walked like a fool....my eyes looking up
Saying a shy good morning to the clouds
And a warm good morning to the One beyond
While I did my sit-ups on one of the benches
I looked up into the jacaranda tree
Its branches were naked, but I knew, I knew that in spring
It would be regal in purple finery
That would enchant all those who walked
Under the train of its beauty
Later it would rain purple petals down on all
But purple kisses for me, for I’m in love with this hue
As a reward, as always… I drove up to the upper campus
While listening to music, my second passion
As my car made the turns
I tried to keep my eyes on the road
And not fixed on the hills where the sun was getting ready
To make his glory known
Nor down on Beirut that was just waking up from slumber
I passed places that my heart cherished
Where my husband first asked me to be his
Where we parked the car and looked at
The dazzling lights of Beirut at night
Our hearts ablaze with the burning passion of youth
The place where he wanted to claim possession of me
But held back…honoring custom and tradition
I drove down slowly
I drove down reluctantly
I wanted to relive everything
To find the joy of being alive, once more
I had forgotten how beautiful the mornings are
I had forgotten who I am in the great scheme of things
But HE reminded me…
As the sun pushed through the clouds and shone in brilliance
The verse came to my mind…
“And the Son of Righteousness will rise with healing in His wings.”
Arise in my heart, for I need your healing!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Nestled cozily and sweet in a valley filled with holiday snow,
I am thrilled and delighted to watch the twinkling of the pretty lights.
Other people are lamenting places they cannot now go.
Excited about the beauty of our spirits enticed gladly by holiday sights.
Chanukah menorahs, others have Kwanzaa flags in window.
Honoring different faiths, in our generous town, where spirits are bright.
Uplifting feelings flow as faith calls to me every way I turn and go.
Excited about the beauty of our spirits enticed gladly by holiday sights.
The snow is deep; do not despair, sensing chili, cocoa and gingerbread.
Christians show off their Jesus and Rudolph with red nose so bright.
Christmas feelings prevail. Sugar plums dancing nightly in my head.
Excited about the beauty of our spirits enticed gladly by holiday sights.
The dogs and cats are sneaking around being fed extra treats, for sure.
A festive mood, houses lit up, star in the east is especially bright.
Thankful to be cozy, and warm, feeling my Savior so loving and pure.
Excited about beauty of our spirits enticed gladly by holiday sights.
Children looking through stockings soon enough, laughing with glee.
Casserole wasted on them, for they will have been awake most of night.
Family together, hugging, telling stories of how things used to be.
Excited about the beauty of our spirits enticed gladly by holiday sights.
Some folks complain that rainy days get them down in the dumps,
Causin' depression and a dreadful case of the grumps!
But I relish rainy days, cozily ensconced by the fire,
And rain peltin' my window pane, a sound of which I never tire!
Even though the day is cloudy and somewhat drear,
Absorbed in a good book and listenin' to music brings me cheer.
Why would I want to do anything else, as I stifle a yawn;
Besides, the welcome rain is needed for my thirsty lawn!
I s'pose I could catch up on chores that I've left undone,
But just thinkin' about that doesn't sound like much fun.
I'll just procrastinate, meditate and watch the world pass by.
Should the telephone ring, I don't even think I'll reply!
The storm intensifies, the gale lashes around the house,
As I, contented, have coffee and reminisce with my spouse.
Simba the cat snoozes in his usual place nigh the hearth.
Later, he hops in my lap, purrin' for all he's worth!
I'm gonna relax and listen to the rain's soothin' serenade,
As it continues to pelt my windows in a blindin' cascade,
For I know that tomorrow these simple pleasures I must forego;
Alas, I'll have the garden to weed and that pesky lawn to mow!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Honorable Mention in the "Monsoon Storms" Contest - June 2010
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Honorable Mention in "Monsoon Storm" Contest - June 2010
She loved to gaze, at the tall buildings
As she walked along the road,
Clinging on, to the hand of her dad
A little girl - who loved to dream,
And think of the happy families
Tucked away, cozily in their flats.
She dreamt of the togetherness,
Of the deep bonding in those homes
Of the love, that lit the rooms
And the peace that adorned the walls
Of the music, in their laughter
And the serenity, in their lives.
To her - flats with dim lights
Seemed entrancing, in the nights.
Dreams lost their lustre later,
When reality crept in with age.
Flats could also house - families
Who shared claustrophobic years
And just stayed together,
Bound by the chains of a society.
Each- an island with no ties
They became strangers in a room,
With no desire, to know the other.
Lonely in their large beds
Living- a life of pretence
The bleak walls- adorned by silence
Despair seemed beyond repair.
Soon flats- became a nightmare,for her..
REM(Gail's note: This is the sequel to the Email to Subby Conscience poem.)
To: [email protected]
From: Subby Conscience
Re: Communication between You and Me
Date: February 14, 2012
While I sneak and scheme in your chaotic REM
I am doing nothing more than being a friend.
Those dream-swirls and ‘mare-tugs purge your mind’s eye
so that your psyche can grow and won’t suddenly die.
While you’re gripping tightly to antique feelings that won’t budge
I’m prying them out; giving them a strong nudge.
And as you grudgingly work through a feeling or two
I am working my hardest to make you feel what is true.
I even may help you work out a solution or two
Because during the day you are too busy to.
Who else provides perks that allow you to be
both young and old in the very same dream?
So tell me dear, and answer me this.
What would you do if many nights I missed
And was sneaking around in another soul’s REM
What would your sanity be like then?
Without my help to work out thoughts
That keep you quite sane…
Would you then turn around
And try to cast blame?
Saying Subby’s absence caused you to act like a drip?
Saying Subby’s absence caused your tongue to Freudian slip?
Instead your mind can skyrocket and cozily soar
After I recede in the A.M. and work behind your mind’s door.
Published in PS: It's Still Poetry
Volume II