Long Drought Poems
Long Drought Poems. Below are the most popular long Drought by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drought poems by poem length and keyword.
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Mawkishly I stand staring out the open door
Listening to the falling fall rain
Feeling the dampness penetrate
Surround my old feeble body
Then
The vision of the fall scene draws my eyes
To the fallen leaves, curled, brown, wet
Lying upon the tan grass
Suffering from twenty days drought
Then
I see the Ginkgo with its green leaves turning slightly
Yellow-tinged, so beautiful
Soon they will be gold
Then fall to the ground and it will be
Winter
There is beauty in this tree
I have noticed many trees
When it rains for many days
It roots will give way to the foundation
For it did not plan for this day
And fall over to it's death
There is beauty in this tree
For it gives birth in the water
An overflowing fountain
Even in the worse foundation
That many would fall and sink in
The roots grab ahold with might
To give life for it to grow tall
They grow deep to find water
For in times of drought
The storms and waves do not hinder
For the roots give warning
The beauty in this tree is seen
I see how you have planned well
The roots of God will not let it drown
For it keeps fresh breath above the water
It shows the times when things got tough
And when things were going well
For it is ready to withstand the times
The roots seek for the light to give strength
As the sun begins to come up
Until the time is goes down
A root would be facing to receive
This warmth and comfort felt within
It grows tall for the wildlife to find shelter
Giving birds a safe haven to build a home
To raise their children from harm
Also an anchor and shade for one fishing
There is beauty in this tree to be seen
But it does not compare
To the beauty of a Child of God
This is all to be seen as spiritual meaning
The spirit that teaches wisdom and knowledge
Received in the Bible God's holy word
Author of Life which will remain through it all
From the old rockin’ chair
came the sound of his snores
that rattled the windows
and vibrated the doors
She looked o’er her glasses
but kept counting her stitch
as she watched his feet jerk
and his hands start to twitch
She knew he was dreaming
‘bout them places he’d been
Was out riding the grass
cross the highline again
She’d heard all his stories
knows most of them are true
Been little on the range
that her cowboy didn’t do
He had grown a fine herd
carved a ranch out of rock
Raised a passel of kids
that now care for the stock
Fought many harsh winters
to keep his dream alive
Spent countless holidays
out on some cattle drive
Had fought wolves, drought, and fire
blizzards and flooding rain
Busted broncs and some bones
not once did he complain
Always managed to find
a bit extra to give
He had paid well his dues
for this good life they live
Always held his head high
through those sorrows and pain
Said if he had a do-over
he’d do it that way again
"I have been a stranger in a strange land." Bible, Exodus 2:22
The compass whirrs.
North toward rock, south toward sand.
East toward ice, and west toward river.
Like a game of spin the bottle I take a chance on north,
run my hands over stone and pebble,
the spine of life a twisting snakeskin, shedding.
The compass whirrs
as words and winds uproot me to the south. Dust ridden,
arid. Earth sizzles, a roast overdone. My flaking skin
drenched in sweated drought.
The compass whirrs
as those years of crinkling sand dune heat melt
somehow into eastern snow. You don’t understand
how or why or when those summers became leaves that
fall, became sleet upon which you slip, recklessly, helplessly, toward time’s
splash. The final plunge pool.
Now, western waters offer a mirror,
sometimes murky, sometimes crystal,
and still, the compass whirrs, as you realise
that strange land - your body.
The stranger - you.
BERG EN DAL Mountains and Valleys
Valleys were filled with running water
From the storm last night,
A dream come true for the animals,
The drought became a wretched fright
Watching the wildlife enduring this plight
It made me so sad,
But then so glad
For the sudden storm
Small dams were full, rivers overflowing
Green grass, sprouting and growing!
But some patches still dry
Especially if hilly and high,
Lightening set off a bush fire
This was as bad as drought,
With fear fraught,
The animals couldn’t survive
The heat and flames,
Didn’t know where to go
Birdlife, animals, insects died,
And were fried,
So whether drought or rain,
Both brought the same pain!
A haven for poachers
Who snared animals running away,
Lions, elephants, buffalo and rhino,
What a hell of a day.
The rangers could not get near,
They were in danger, flames and
And toxic smoke was their fear,
Poachers had a field day
In an inhumane way!
Animals Defenceless against
The cunning of man
Rangers ,unable to cover the span
Outnumbered by poachers
Had to pray these criminals
Could not survive,
Could no longer contrive,
Would only themselves deprive
Of staying alive!
BERG EN DAL
MEANS IN AFRIKAANSE HILLS AND VALLEYS
A CAMPSITE FOUND IN THE KRUGER NATIONAL PARK
Whenever it is dark tonight the nocturnals will sooner
take over that any sort of human's colonisation?,
or whenever there is a plague or drought or confrontation
or grudges or war a little of it's whispers and rumours
or somethings murmuring most especially hither
or thither?.
The assumption is very likely an elegy blue or hide- and- -
seek game or fantasy or mystery of discovery or
fascination?.
Yes, the assumption is that the day's business is
wonderful and so lovely blossoming?, why then keep
aside some or sneak in and out like tom and dog and cat
and dragon?.
Why then so shaping the glass and cling to the stone?,
wishes of mystery?.
In seas of early green where sunshine gleams
And Central Texas winds it's rugged ways,
Our bluebonnets bloom from quiet dreams
And paint the Spring in rich, recurring rays.
They bend before a harshly shining sun
Yet seldom yield to drought or chilling cold;
When winter's bitter northern blasts are done
Their royal blue bright petals will unfold.
So, too, the hearts that claim this sacred land
Beat firm and true as troubling tempests blow.
In proud fealty the steadfast people stand,
United by the hallowed bonds they know.
No bitter storm can make their honor yield;
They stay as true as blossoms in the field.
Like his fathers before him, he was a tiller of the soil.
He loved the old farmstead that was built with sweat and toil.
He farmed with Clydesdale horse and cantankerous mules,
A sickle bladed mower, sulky plows and other John Deere tools.
He rose before the sun was up to milk his Jersey cows,
To feed the fowl, his cattle and the Poland China sows.
This was a way of life for him, never taking any vacations.
He cherished the farming life despite its many frustrations.
Tho' he'd seen unprofitable years, floods, hail and drought,
With indomitable courage, he chose to press on and see it out.
He knew the successful fruition of crops was a roll of the dice,
But he steadfastly labored on taking his chances at any price.
His fields of corn, wheat and oats were a beauty to behold.
He prayed he'd get top price when his various crops were sold.
At harvest, his mows were overflowing, his bins flush with grain.
Come next Spring he and his horses would begin the cycle again.
In overalls and an old straw hat, he toiled 'neath the Hoosier sun,
Laboring from dawn to dusk - it seemed his work was never done.
He clad his little son in overalls and assigned him simple chores,
Saying, "Work hard my boy - someday this will all be yours!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
For eons, as a spirit on this earth
I’ve dwelt; I still recall the autumn‘s cold
when I was human on this new year’s birth,
that “hallowed eve” when spirits would grow bold!
Our homes were unlit and uninviting
lest spirits might possess our souls that night.
We’d gather round the fire priests were lighting
and whooped like ghouls to give the ghosts a fright!
Through time, I‘ve seen such changes, and a drought!
I followed my descendants to the shore
of this America. Here kids go out
on their new “Halloween” from door to door.
My kin had wrongly feared the likes of me.
This night is mostly about the candy!
By Andrea Dietrich
For Russell Sivey's
Halloween Fun Contest
THIRSTY GENTLE GIANTS
Animals dread a drought!
As do Elephants
Who are heavier and more stout,
They need to find water fast,
Before poachers find them
And become History
Once lived, now past!
Elephants are patient with
Their young, they are slow
As their little legs
Are short and low.
Nature is harsh,
A calf could get
Stuck in a marsh!
Lions always stalk an
Elephant who is dehydrated
Or a calf in a marsh!
Like a squadron of soldiers have
Everything calculated,
Exhausted, the elephant
Will fall down,
His Majesty still wears the crown!
Wild dogs are
Waiting in line,
Baby elephants
That straggle behind,
Certainly make a fine dine!
Calves are inquisitive and stray,
Mom and Nannies make sure they
Don’t stray too far away,
Like all young, they love to play
But must be found,
As deadly predators
Are lurking around!
Gently they push them back into
The herd,
And continue their journey, leaving
Behind a lot of turd!
For dung beetles this is a treasure,
And an absolute pleasure,
As they roll some into a
Golf ball size, and here lay their
Eggs, and once buried
Await for them to hatch
But far away from
The elephant’s patch!
Water at last,
But the males drink first,
No matter if the rest
Of the herd thirst.
Elephants are not the only ones
At this river-bed.
Fight for possession
Of water includes
Crocodiles, hippos lions, leopards
And more, who’s acute
Senses have also led
Them, to the same river-bed!
Elephants gorge themselves
Despite that predators are in
Their immediate sight
For they would put up a fight!
Water has brought reprieve,
And relief,
For all animals, the vulnerable
And predators alike,
Water is the essence of life,
On planet earth for one and all,
It needs to hopefully, always,
Be on tap and on call,
It’s abundance can strengthen,
But lack of, can certainly threaten!