Long Craws Poems
Long Craws Poems. Below are the most popular long Craws by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Craws poems by poem length and keyword.
These days it seems that whenever
you turn on the country radio,
you hear pop songs endlessly sung
by people faking a southern tone.
Pretty-boys from the suburbs,
with pristine hats and frosted hair,
singing endless about their trucks,
obligatory backroads, girls, and beer.
They do sell a lot of records,
and I won’t say they’re all awful,
but even their bosses must admit
their songs are pretty forgettable.
I think perhaps we should all look
back to what made country great.
To steel guitars and cowboy songs,
to tales of joy, but also pain.
Bring back the grit, sorely missed,
that spoke to lone men spurned.
Give us more stories telling how
everything in this life is earned.
Sing us more songs of complication,
more tales focused on adults.
We have mainstream pop for the kids,
they have their own stars to exalt.
Find those who sing what they know,
a few purists, some blues, some outlaws,
who are willing to sing about
the things that life sticks in their craws.
Give us balladeers from the west
and a stomping redneck, half insane.
Get us a band that feels it in full,
cause this pop stuff is getting lame.
Put these folks up on the stage
and don’t you dare second-bill ‘em,
and now as Nashville law requires
I’m name-checking Hank Williams.
Unidentified spaceship spotted over Kansas field
One-eyed, antenna-crowned alien at the wheel
Cows stop their grazing to glance its way
ZAP! -- Nothing left in the field but bundles of hay
Wide-eyed farmers swallow the tobacco in their craws
As above crows circle madly, 'midst startled caws
The ship's underside glows orange, white and blue
The President's skin turn greens when it come into view
The pics now go viral, the USA's on high alert
While out in the field, farmers cower in the dirt
Then just as the aliens emerge from their ship
My plane lands-- I wake up: It's the end of my trip
Twin brothers born of humanity
Raised in the heart land
Fed by circumstances
Shaped by choice
Same freedom
Different destinies
I saw Love grow with limbs
Stretching wide to pull everything
To himself even hatred
And i saw hatred grow with craws
Hiding them in his bosom
Till they grow longer and stronger
I thought this Love kid was too touchy
And i treasured Hatred he was for special occasions
Defending my weaknesses and flaws
Love was ridiculing my my all efforts
He was becoming extravagant, giving this giving that
Not like Hatred a sweet heart who measured
According to what he treasured
Years have gone by and
Love has prospered with many friends
Many people giving back to him
Yet hatred brought out his claws,
His fangs came out
And he grew three horns
One of rejection
another for despair
And bigger one with this word engraved 'loser'
I watched these twins
Walk different directions like light and darkness
Their waring grand fathers
I walked two their birthday parties
Few turned up, gave him crowns and called him Dad
For hatred the party was noisy
Many gathered worshiped him
In fear of the horns
Love commanded his servants to dress all that came
with compassion, faithfulness, and honor
Hatred commanded his subjects
To kill every one that came for the party
Many died few survived
The Man in the White House
Watches with a cautious eye
Aware his term of office
Is swiftly flowing by.
The man in Number 10
Still thinks his country Great
As he creeps and craws to
His trans Atlantic mate
The Man in the Kremlin
Wanting territorial gain
Wreaks havoc and despair
On the defiant Ukraine
The man in Pyongyang
Just doesn’t care
How his irrationality
Drive nations to despair.
The Quiet Man of Beijing
Very seldom seen
Flexes his muscles
There behind the scene.
The working man in general
No matter what his location
Labours long and hard just
To maintain his situation.
I watched in awe the laboring tenants of the birdhouse I'd made,
And for their family devotion, they (and I) have been amply repaid!
Mr. and Mrs. Wren became the proud parents of a couple of eggs,
And unto them were born two chicks with big mouths and wobbly legs!
The pair began building their cozy abode along about the first of May.
I watched from my patio as they stashed bits of grasses, feathers and hay!
They'd rest now and then 'tweeting' each other on the porch of their dwelling,
And not unlike we uncouth mortals, I sensed a bit of familial yelling!
Bye and bye, my ears heard two little birdies faintly a-cheeping,
And from the entryway I saw two little bobble heads shyly peeping!
Their wide-open mouths kept Mr. and Mrs Wren flying to and fro,
To fill cavernous craws with who knows what to help them to grow!
Then one bright morn I was privileged to see a wonder of God's Creation!
One little fellow emerged from the nest and paused with some hesitation.
Then, into the rising sun it flew from its perch - what a beautiful sight!
My soul was filled with elation - I had just witnessed the miracle of flight!
Entry for Soup's International Contest - December 2011
Sound of a song softly sung rose in the air and through windows
Barred to let air and light in and little else.
A lament sung in Gaelic tongue foreign to ears used to French,
But its meaning understood bringing tears .
Longingly she peered through the bars over the countryside and trees,
Fine they looked in their fresh green coats.
White cloud scarse in the azure blue of afternoon sunlight,
Her heart broken in myriad pieces.
In this old castle surrounded by water was this to be her fate,
To die in a stony room of shadows.
Her resolve it grew and plans were formed to escape this place,
Meeting a friend of old named Douglas.
One dark night a boy crept close holding a key for the wooden door,
Disguised as a woman of servitude she escapes.
In a small boat on the dark waters of the loch oars slashing ,
Taking her away inch by inch .
Fearful of pursuit by her captors hearing the oars dipping,
Hoping the dark night would cloak .
Was it a failed marriage that brought her here trickery abound,
Perhaps because I am a woman bold.
A queen she was of royal descent staunch in her beliefs
Castigated by a bitter old man .
Tricked and used by men of power abuses beyond her ken,
Unable in accepting a Queen especially o a different faith
Gaiety an sobriety wurnae fur them.
Allus dressed in black lukin like giant craws
Strutting aboot as if they themsells were yon creaturs o the Earth,
Using their Holy Buik tae tell ithers whit tae dae,
Nae room fur forgiveness frae them big craws.
They plotted oan weys tae rid themsells o this decadent Queen,
Ne,er mind that she wus Queen o their laund
Rather be under Eglish Liz she wis a protestant efter aa.
How foolish ur the plans o men who hae a conceit o themsells.
Who wid use ithers tae dae the durty work
Aa tae keep therr ain hauns clean an free o blud,
But a budy kens who they wur especially therr Goad abune
Lookin doon oan those who plot tae kill,
Tae further therr oan station an fortune.
Gawin agin whit the Guid buk seys deceived intae
Daein the work o the deil.
Shame o these guid men o Scotlands past,
Shame oan therr deceitful weys
An tae thie dey their descendents dae the same,
Selling an betraying therr kintrey for profit an gain.
Andy McIntyre 16/05/2021.
Moon sleeps long wrapped in cozy quilt of chilly fogs,
Earth is engulfed in thick black carbon-canopy;
Trees ghosts-like; birds black-hole shaded; loud growl of dogs,
The scene is as silent as a dream fantasy...
Grow-caws cooled; cock-craws chocked; cattle clemently calm;
Buds of roses and sunflowers snore and sleep still;
Snails and worms shrunk betwixt fallen leaves and twigs, warm,
Cold seems handicapping even hearts of goodwill...
Bells feebly heard; the village church is very far;
As our bullocks are unwell, we may need to walk;
There's joy, when young and old - all together way-fare,
Merrily walk telling tales and season's talk...
Come, join us, share the happiness, Jesus is born!
Partake in Christmas joy, though we might walk till morn!
21 December 2021
The Starling is a speckled thief
that comes with morning light.
He struts upon my porch
to steal himself a bite.
It wouldn't be so bad
if only one bird nibbled.
But, for some unknown reason
the whole flock must be kibbled.
The bunch is quite selective,
taking only pods of gold.
Just the brown bites left behind.
It's like they tasted old.
My dog scares the UPS man!
He bites my brother, too!
But when it comes to Starling,
he doesn't know what to do.
He watches them take bite by bite
'til all the gold is gone.
Then, barks for me to help him.
He knows they've done him wrong.
The only way to stop them
is feeding late at night.
Then the skunk and possum come
and there's a different fight.
So, I feed him a little,
where the birds can't steal a bite.
Without the gold to fill their craws,
the Starling soon take flight.
By Ray Dillard for Joyce Johnson
I reckon the empty nest syndrome hits all at one time or another,
When youngsters flee the nest leaving dear old Dad and Mother!
This morning on the patio I witnessed this situation at its best,
When two baby wrens took flight and left their parent's cozy nest!
Mr. and Mrs. Wren set up housekeeping in a birdhouse I had made.
They soon became the proud parents of a couple of eggs she laid!
I watched them flit to and fro as they filled the ever-empty maws,
Of their little darlings from grub carried in their over-flowing craws!
Once the kids had spread their wings to experience the thrill of flight,
Mother Wren would sit on the birdhouse porch to contemplate her plight!
She'd plaintively chirp as if to say, "You ingrates left sans saying goodbye!
You've left me and your Pa in this lonely nest to mope about and cry!"
It wasn't long until Mr. Wren was in a romantic mood with his spouse.
When he tried to nuzzle up to Mrs. Wren, she'd scurry inside the house,
As if to say, "No way, buster! I've had it! Cool it until next spring!
Perhaps when the cherry blossoms bloom again we'll have another fling!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Complete silence follows the ways of sand
At dawn the sky cracks open on the dunes
Golden desert light rises hot
Filled with pain along the ridge
By afternoon the world turns rusty brown
Dryness craws along with armored insects
Scorpions are perfect black with anger at their points
A snake takes on the quickness of an arachnid attack
With no witness and for what it is, away from the oasis
A different kind of poison settles into pain
Venom burning through the veins
Systems fall apart with no escape
Under the unforgiving sun by dinner time
The victims bones blend into yellow brown
On an empty landscape baron, scales evaporate
With the aid of nature waiting on the day
Desert returns to quiet once again