Long Cruisers Poems
Long Cruisers Poems. Below are the most popular long Cruisers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cruisers poems by poem length and keyword.
I will wander like a gypsy seeking wisdom,
I will find it in each little knowledge system;
Each hair of beauty I'll split like a small atom,
And find in them the secrets hidden like stratum...
The world has wondrous places resembling heaven,
Like Bocas, Ha’apais, Tonga, Ya’mon or Devon;
Sailing by luxury cruisers boats and love yachts,
I'll make - waves and whales - stern companions of my sports...
Lying on roses, lilies, and hyacinths grand,
I'll sip the sacred nectar secretes like thin strand;
Like a butterfly or dragonfly, I’ll hover,
Savoring the sharp shrill subtle season-shower...
My movements are like swimming within clouds shallow,
And bathing within seas of heavenly hallow;
May sun and moon, like angels, guard my flimsy way,
May each ray that gleams like thousand lights, idyll-sway...
Milky Way, like grand seas, waters of blessings bring,
May Jays, Buntings, puffins, and pheasants, for me, sing;
Cosmos, like a wind instrument, mingle my voice,
May new heaven and earth in my great joys rejoice...
14 September 2021
IDYLL THOUGHTS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
Of all the ships I've seen, heard of, or read about;
Of all the ships that have ever braved the oceans and high seas;
Of all the ships that have traversed the rivers and lakes of the planet;
Of all the ships that have broken through the icy-melts of glaciers;
Or survived the beatings and torments of angry and raging storms;
Whether it was the infamous Mayflower that landed on Cape Cod,
delivering the pilgrim settlers of America; Or the great cruisers that
dock the beautiful shores of the Caribbean. There are great ships that
come and go and from time to time, even the likes of the Titanic. The one thing that they all have in common is that they all will sink. But I tell you, there is no ship that holds dearer nor steadier than a real friendship. There is no ship whether past, present, or future that can ever compare and compete with the ship called 'The Friendship'. There is none more brotherly nor so sisterly, so dear, faithful, and loyal as the beloved 'Friendship'.
I have noted with deep concern that recently you have lost some very dear friends*. My dear friend, I am praying for you that The Lord will comfort you in your great loss.
A friend.
100520PS
*LC
Written: June 25, 2023
______________________________________________________________
We evolved toward the Zenith Ringers.
While no daylight is expected, I am thrilled.
With Banana Cakes, Cheez Whiz, and Zingers.
At Family Dollar's end, our hearts are tilled.
Maybe with Viagra or Valium to help us relax.
Even children suffer from heart attacks.
We sought refuge in modest pleasures.
We spotted willow trees in the ledgers.
Rising from within hexahedron walls.
Within the warmth of the Dollar Tree.
Nature's splendor is revealed, rising tall.
The American syntax is a story to foresee.
This is how the yarn of each firm ends.
Zombies stranded on the planet Zoom.
The new wildlife biology is an odd room.
In the Neptune State, Job's parking trends
We're being taken down to the ocean.
where we plunged into the dim abyss.
Saw the ruins of an ideal ship with emotion.
on a covert task, with mysteries to reminisce.
"Cheap America Lot" went into the search engine.
It brought me odd and creative results, as Chen Yun
There's Outpost Lot, Balaclava America, and Snap Cheap.
Names reflect our place in the world, for eagles must sleep.
Nothing else truly needs to be said.
To drive you on your ascent to the sky.
Has filled us with both hope and dread.
Maybe there will be fewer zebras someday.
existing unrestrainedly in the wild.
Amazon plays ZZ Top's remade tracks.
Happiness in the form of music restyled
But for now, we accept solace in the tax.
In the public squares where we meet and talk.
As well as paparazzi photos of famous people.
In cosmic cruisers and Super-Yachts, such as Hawk.
We practice space travel in our fantasies sheeple.
The lower class, for now, is striving for ease.
Despite devouring pizza in general squeeze,
As no tolerance establishes the standard.
Let the jigsaw fall, which signifies a fresh lanyard.
There was an elusive little guy often espied during World War Two,
And who he was and whence he came no one ever really knew!
He was a bald headed little feller with a very prominent nose,
And he always left the message "Kilroy Was Here" in very stilted prose!
You seldom saw his eyes and his hands were clinging to a wall.
Many G.I.s saw him in latrine stalls and in their greasy dining hall!
His origin and parting message are debated to this very day,
And no one has ever nabbed the graffiti artists who always slunk away!
He was portrayed in cruisers, battleships and even on submarines!
Kilroy's portrait was tattooed on the chests of a few diehard Marines!
'Tis said Hitler saw "Kilroy Was Here" and wondered what it meant,
Thinking it a secret code when found on American accouterment!
Kilroy became as famous as the mysterious smile on the Mona Lisa.
(I even saw his mug when I climbed to the top of the Tower of Pisa!)
Rosie the Riveter may have been guilty, if the truth were told,
Of tracing Kilroy's image on bombers, including the bomb bay hold!
Well, 'tis for sure we couldn't have won the war without the little guy!
Kilroy's antics lifted morale at home and overseas, that you can't deny!
But you haven't seen the last of him, for he is forever etched in history,
On the World War Two Monument in DC - how he got there is a mystery!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
For those a tad younger who may have never heard of Kilroy, go to your search
and type in "Kilroy Was Here" and click the Wikipedia notation and you will learn
more than you ever wanted to know about him!
We roll beneath the cypress shade,
With radar humming through the glade—
A silent beam, it marks your speed,
Before you even see the deed.
The dash cam blinks, an unblinking eye,
Recording truth you can’t deny.
The body cam hums a steady tune,
Every whisper caught by noon.
A license plate reader scans the air,
Numbers flash—a silent snare.
If you’re wanted, or your tag expired,
It chirps—a hunter newly wired.
Computer mounts glow in the night,
Dispatch sending left and right.
GPS maps where each soul roams,
Drawing paths back to their homes.
Thermal sight through swampy dark,
Can spot a heartbeat—leave its mark.
The mic in my collar hears your plea,
And streams it straight to the deputy.
Don’t think the backseat’s just for rest—
It’s steel and shield, a lawful nest.
Your rights are read, your hands confined,
While satellites keep you in line.
So when you see that bar of blue,
Know tech and training ride there too.
We don’t just follow—we foresee,
By lens, by code, by law, by key.
Slips marked and mapped across the intercoastal waterways
a scanning breached out of high low tidal waves,
silent, still, obscure, and not well hidden
liveaboards hold steady isolated sheltered misgivings;
embedded and anchored in place
buoys secure contested living space,
Matanzas Pass, Sarasota fields, Titusville and Sunset Bay
the Gulf Stream Key Largo flow a mainstay;
honker down between the wind, the rain, and sun
vessels sturdy and rickety, short and long - all come,
house and home hum interludes for a sing-along,
push aways and pull in tights
safeaways and derelicts amidst stormy plights
resident and transient, occupied and abandoned
faceless vacancies, sequestered and random,
marinas and harbors within hurricane holds in tandem,
dockmasters and dock slips. environmental folds alluring
beleaguered and bewildered landlocked sailors touring
in their trawlers, boats, cruisers and yachts adoring
September shelters in the Florida moorings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The grid failed first~
then the pipes burst their seams,
weeping silver tears down frozen walls.
The night groaned under the weight of frozen sky
a thousand fractures in the power lines~
silent screams of transformers dying.
Darkness engulfed the Lone Star State,
gnawing at the edges of counties and cities.
But the men came anyway,
their gloves split by the cold,
boots cracking ice like thin bones.
No heroics, just work~
Men in orange vests moved like ghosts
through glassy, slick streets
their breath leaving them in ragged clouds,
each one a prayer for warmth.
Linesmen dangled like marionettes
from poles slick with betrayal
fingers numb, breath curling in shattered puffs
stitching light back into the sky
one frayed wire at a time.
Blue lights cut through the sleet~
not for crime, but for warmth
for the woman shaking in her car with a newborn,
engine dead as stone.
The police traversed the streets,
tires spinning on invisible black ice,
their cruisers sliding like doomed ships,
flashlights cutting through the gloom
where families huddled under blankets,
where an old man’s oxygen machine sputtered silent.
The fireman’s axe didn’t care about the cold~
only the door it shattered, the grandmother inside
still clutching her rosary.
Firemen across the state kicked in doors,
their axes swung against ice-clogged hydrants,
each strike ringing hollow in the frozen air.
Somewhere in East Texas,
a lone fireman’s breath hung in the air~
white flag of exhaustion
as he hauled another body
from a house without heat.
The child in his arms didn’t shiver.
Not anymore.
All night, the wind screamed.
All night, these men did not stop.
In the morning, as the thaw crept in,
some slept in trucks,
some drank bad coffee from a thermos,
some stood staring at downed lines~
weary, yes, but still standing.
They were not gods~
just men with wives who texted be safe,
whose children didn’t understand
why they had no heat and why lights stayed off.
No monuments would bear their names,
but for a week,
these men were the only thing
between Texas and the abyss.
A Night Like Never Before
The moon shone brighter than usual,
casting silver light across the mountains.
The men gathered around a blazing fire,
its dancing sparks making the night even merrier.
A beer tap made its rounds,
each man filling his tumbler with ease.
Little moments of silence crept in,
only to be swept away by loud conversations
and hysterical laughter
that cut through the quiet night air.
Deep within the mountain forest,
where the cruisers stood parked upon the great rocks,
the scene felt almost unreal.
Firelight flickered against faces,
shadows danced among the trees,
and the wilderness seemed to pause
to witness the gathering.
It was a sight to behold,
a night that would linger in memory
long after the fire had faded
and the moon had crossed the sky.
The highlight of my Alaskan vacation was a singular
unexpected breach of a humpback whale.
— by Poet
MY DREAM VACATION - ALASKAN WHALE TOUR
What’s a routine blubberflip, is a marvel to humans -
a breathtaking splash of epic proportions, a whirlwind
propensity to pail - empty salt-sea into the sun-blue air.
The striated humpback, in blubberbreach, sates
in eye appeal, strums in rhythmic entrainment, and
a solid gold breath erupts through the human blowhole.
Mood lighting of the sea and sky, the heavens riding
the wave of creation’s emotion - God’s largesse smiling.
Gratitude of the cruisers from this unexpected explosion
through the give way sea, the crop yielding a hundredfold.
The humpback’s beauty is in his creativity of timing, sublime
in oceanic movement, his fin-finish finer than a diver’s.
Furthermore, the cleansing of his blubberhide - ridding
himself of lice and barnacles — morass that when it lingers
annoys but triggers the acceleration to release his form
to exaltation - he swims the blessed air for a few seconds,
with flipper wings, angel kisses and applause. Neither
proud nor humble, as he pressures through the deep.
What’s a routine of man - to exercise his sea legs,
to gorge on the monsters of the sea, to breathe in
all that life can be — tremulous, terrifying, out of sight.*
3/8/2022
Sponsor: L. Milton Hankins
*out of sight - extremely good, excellent
please lemme know and honestly profess
if profusion of words create a lingual Loch Ness
(when hens canst come home to roost
especially, encountering
the following conglomeration
in matthew scott harris patois).
He readily admits writing inventive
attempts usually ten tubby a literary mess,
thus finding innocent cyber cruisers
Angle fishing for Saxony fundamental fluidity
courtesy of Freudian stream of consciousness,
gabbling gibberish, muck not done on purpose
and certainly less
to impress.
Gnome hatter intent toward
cogency, fancy ingenuity,
levity, the inevitable
resultant wrought gobbledygook
fascination for Lingua Franca
feeble endeavor splutters, splinters,
and splatters Asia Yukon guess.
Paramour status analogous with twenty six letters,
sans En gull Lush Mother tongue confluence
finds me submerged (as an Arctic Monkey)
swimmingly enervated
via erotic laced sentiments
perhaps finds bravely daring soul madly
hollering, gesticulating floundering,
(in close proximity to Davey Jones's locker)
to avoid drowning at sea
perchance comprehending passionate influence.
Upon espying a signature poem of mine
forces one pre ponder ring lurking predilection
tib hush anonymous re:
dears (dares) adventuresome mettle
taking him/her to the brainy
(briny) deep brink
Icon fess
this (NON FAKE) pretense, why
aye metaphorically express
(via medium of ordinary Anglophile
alphabetic wanton soup,
or figurative egg drop bub
bling broth (el) doth brew)
pronouns Sibyl affectation
affliction sans plethora,
where each ladle full adrip with
richly flavor Verdana Font lee
and sincerely textured vocabulary.
Pluperfect mortals beings undoubtedly feel
(blindsided, how this hunger stricken author
suffers said sesquipedalian syndrome
particularly expectorating flashy
hoping tum bark on successful literary quest)
hyper aware aspiring paperback writers wannabe
might stoop to conquer, cheat, cadge
vis a vis plagiarize plethora
amidst storied plentiful English droppings.
Rather than succumb pretense feigning paucity
temptation to bask exultantly,
professed glorious unrequited love
announcing required sworn vow,
(el lye ding) avowed consonant covenant.
Form: