Long Easterly Poems
Long Easterly Poems. Below are the most popular long Easterly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Easterly poems by poem length and keyword.
Racing boastful devil breaths played tag in a sprint
stretching through trees than swift and quick slapping
dropped down low to touch and brush the wintering earth.
A coiled zephyr snaking and winding high in the grayed sky
entwined between gusty gasps of cold air
streaming unseen for a wispy song soft and shrill than gone.
Still for a brief second it fell
quiet and silent, hushed, momentarily at rest
then rising revived in irritated displeasure of the calm.
Stormy seething flares un-quenched belch in the easterly gale
speeding wild and reckless in the sudden lurch
weaving in and out the jet air stream.
Tall grass stood angel like
in the dark recessed corners of the fields
holding an outstretched arm to wave hello and goodbye.
A northeaster blast born of racing westerlies
blend and twist in the winter unexpected warm
waltzing in the chill to spiral the seasonal expectations.
Holiday time.
You finally get away
You hired a villa across the road
From an estuary beach
With gentle rolling waves
No more than a foot and a half
That day, you, your wife
And your 2 young children
Just play in the sand
Run up and down
Collecting sea shells
And other mementos
The weather is just great
Maybe the sea breeze is
A tad cool for getting in the water
Next morning is picture perfect
North easterly pushes the waves
To two and a half foot
Great for kids
On the boogie board
Late morning the sun
Heats up enough
For getting in
Amongst it
You take you kids out
One by one
And push them off
On the board
To ride the waves
They are breaking nicely
But out a bit further
Than usual
You take your son out
Beyond the break
And wait for
The next set
You are about 200
Meters from shore
Standing in water nearly
Up to your neck
Your son on the board
Waiting for a wave
The shark appears
From nowhere and
Takes a chunk out
Of the board
You grab your son
Hold him up
Panic wants to set in
Then you see two more fins
Coming towards you
They taught you to
Stand your ground
Hit the shark with something
No sudden moves
Don’t panic
What are your options here
If the sharks decide to
Attack, you die
Your son can’t swim
So he dies as well
You could throw him
To the sharks
And you might survive
Or you might not
You could recover the board
Now about 10 meters away
Put your son on a wave
And you could distract
The sharks and
Probably get eaten
But your son might live
Then you realise
The other two fins
Belong to dolphins
They were protecting you from
The shark
You make it back to shore
With your son
Where your wife
And daughter are
Beside themselves
Having witnessed
All that.
You say
I would have chosen
To die
No buts about it.
Ripples
by Edmund Siejka
In the dim twilight
He searched the lake
Amazed by its size
And strength.
Standing
Motionless
An easterly wind suddenly came up
Gusting across the lake
Pushing ripples toward the shore.
Running his hand over his short-cropped hair
He let his eyes drift
To the grayish horizon
As he did, he felt a sense of anger and frustration
Something about this scene
Seemed odd, even distracting
And yet in a disturbing way he felt somehow grateful for it.
The lake
Was his wife’s favorite place
The brief newspaper article
Announcing her death
Only mentioned complications after a brief illness
But provided little details.
Wasn’t her life more than that?
A wife, a mother, a friend, a good neighbor
Three children
And the only person he confided in.
Feeling guilty
He left the lake area.
Stopping to look back
He imagined she was still out there
Standing by the lake’s edge
Waiting for the wind
To skim across its smooth surface
Pushing ripples toward the shore.
He seemed to think about it for a moment
Then a faint smile crossed his lips
Remembering how she would throw stones
Into the farthest part of the lake
Making each pebble
A wish for her children.
Early morning blue sunny skies askew
turn to white grays on piggyback
once light breezes that blew
gentle in and out the trees comeback
now race wildly out to the sea renewed.
The colors with their brilliant reflective glow
edge toward a harvest moon and celestial equator
rising, falling, lilting in discretionary phase flow
wavering, clinging to the shortening day curators
lingering on equality of night day summer-winter throws.
An ecliptic sun moving in south-easterly directions
marking time and space and revolution years
inching hurriedly a pause for momentary corrections
not holding back or hesitating regardless of joy or tears
on a chartered course through seasonal deflections.
Returning to the calendar of September days
swiftly moving from month to year and decades
throughout wonderment and marvelings of man at play
history repeated forever on parade
the autumnal equinox marks the years and the days.
It is now ten minutes past noon,
So, I can wish you a good afternoon,
The clouds are gracefully displaying,
Whatever an artist imagines,
But my production manager is glaring,
Say your bit quick he mouths me,
Cheekily I replied, ‘let me be’,
I take a deep breath, and the sun
Peeps from underneath,
Playing hide and seek, having fun,
Oh, I see a cloud shape of a bunny,
That really looks funny,
Don’t forget to take your wellies,
For rain will certainly pour
At approximately three, maybe four.
Splash through every puddle,
Don’t forget to cuddle huddle,
Fun is in the air, a chilly Easterly
Actually no Westerly,
Breeze will later bring wild winds
Tell your mummy or daddy to pull
Down your window blinds,
Pack a warm jersey as well,
You can never tell ,
What will be the weather,
How ‘bout we get together,
Where are you going for tea,
Would you not rather join me.
Phones began ringing
I’m suddenly thinking,
Things look very busy on my TV
Slot, parents congratulating me,
Children stop homework
To listen and see,
My weather forecast,
Golly, a hurricane has just passed,
Aren’t we lucky,
High five and pinkie three,
I got transferred to kiddies TV
Where I’d much rather be!
Contest Entry: "You're a Weather Forecaster"
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
Date; 2022/03/21
The complexity of the modern world abates
As the simplicity of nature takes hold
A tug of the legs – a lamb emerges
Life begins
A first intake of breath
Tentative steps on unstable legs
The mother nuzzles encouragement
The lamb suckles – the bond is formed
For the shepherds
Night and day are punctuated by the lambing shed
Empathy between them and their flock
Care and compassion but no sentimentality
In sheep pens expectant ewes clamber together
Quiet pervades, nervous tension mounts
The dominant sound is birdsong
A lullaby for new births
Stillborns, singles, twins, triplets
Coloured numbers record the story
Motherless pets guzzle milk from bottles
Whilst ewes with their lambs progress to the fields
Sheltering in a dip, older lambs learn to live
As the harsh easterly wind blows across the dormant field
On a high bank
Stocky rams survey the outcomes of their deeds
Ruminating ceases as heads lift in unison
The shepherd approaches
Feeding troughs refilled
Ewes jostle for their daily fayre
The sheepdog presses herself into the ground
A coiled spring awaiting her master’s command
Action – the formation dance begins
To the right, to the left, straight on, finale
Demanding, frustrating, rewarding
The way of life on the farm
jampacked city streets
that jangled and banged
in the raucous jarring day
shifted
from business to boogaloo
squeezing into moonlight
party lights
gin and lime-kissed
gimlet sequined dress
strutted
in studded six-inch heels
riveting flair
provoking jive and jazzy nights
to tame this lion of New York
The bed swallowed the evening
sucked-up in slumbered
sobering snooze
exhaling the drunkard’s stench
while the warmth of whiskey
and you next to me
laid dreamy still
popped up and propped up
restless and ragged
realizing the changing view
through the dirt-stained window
a pool of placid sunrise
igniting
colorless clustered towers
bulwarks and girders
scraping the sky
out of the easterly clouds
a creeping golden palette
arose
touching every crevice
defining each silhouette
your body stirs deliberate and slow
rainbow hued eyes
slenderly slitted catching
the new-found light
opening, tenderly revealing
the landscape of your smile
disclosing
a cozy contentment
waking with hello
as I fall into your dream
and a new day
In the high valley
I make my Sit and Forget place.
(Truly, though my Chit and Regret place.)
My cushion.
My tea.
These pale wildflowers,
and the hauntings of my heart.
The silhouetted geese,
and the tauntings of my mind.
(Truly, though the dauntings of my no-self.)
The winds blow up the
slopings.
The breeze pools, cool here,
in the dale.
Each Accomplished blade of grass,
each of the thousand million,
sways now South, now Easterly...
Opinionless, the sheaves of green
whither this, whither that;
all bending, all pointing
singly, as One...
I alone, in this high mountain valley,
somewhere above the clouds,
somewhere beneath the peaks,
am delighted by my opinions;
tormented by my opinions.
I sit...
Breezes...
I sit...
To wit:
And It is now the first day of spring
The Flowers are starting to bloom
You can now hear all the birds sing
In the early Hours, humming there tune
You could though say what a bummer!
Out are the Butterflies and bumble bees
But then it's soon here, that is summer
Now blue Skies is what one now see’s
When people will be Basking in the sun
Because everything’s now shining bright
Children are Playing having lot's of fun
It's said to be ninety degrees feainheight
Before the Flowers begin to wither away
And the autumn leaves fall from there trees
I'm told there's now heavy Showers today
But also there's a strong easterly breeze
The forecast said Snow but instead it's rain
Now people are looking around for shelter
You can hear it spitting on the Window pain
We're then told it's lighting and now thunder
The Season when temperatures are freezing
But soon to be winter though gone the storm
Still it dose give one a Reason for hibernating
Now everyone’s indoors trying to keep warm.
THIS WAS ALREADY ON SOUP IT WAS actually TWO DIFFRENT POEMS
BEING WINTER BLUES AND SEAONS i LOVE WHICH i FELT WENT ON A BIT
BUT LIKE OTHERS iVE BEEN DOING A LOT OF REEDTING CHOPING AND CHANGING
JUST FELT WHEN PUT ON HERE LIKE OTHERS i JUST THEW ON HERE WITHOUT
GREAT DEAL OF THOUGHT i THINK THIS IS A GOOD DEFINISIO0N OF THE SEASONS]
PROBABLY SOUNDS A LITTLE EMPTY UNLIKE ORIGOINAL TwO THOUGH WITH THIS TRYING TO MAKE
MORE UNIVERSAL original ideas 2002 and 2009 written and rewriitn feb 2013
BY MY SELF DAVID SCOTT ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
As a rainbow of the sunset descends
and the balmy breeze washes over sand
that tickles between toes and carefree hand,
I’m in the company of valued friends.
The deceptive calm of darkening sea
where the cormorants dive for their last meal,
the leeward shadows of the rocks turn teal –
I would not wish in other place to be.
The windsurfers had furled colourful kites.
Easterly wind had died down for the day
and sharks are out to forage and for play
in riptides, lurking out of reach of lights.
I lift my eyes to the offing distant,
the aspect of which is ever constant.
INSPIRED BY:
Sonnet VI,
by William Lisle Bowles
Poetic form: BOWLESIAN SONNET
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*offing: (n) The sea-level horizon is the geographic horizon at sea level. One of the best places to see the sea-level horizon is a beach. The ocean and the sky provide a clean, flat line where the Earth seems to meet the sky. If you’re standing on the beach looking out at the sea the part of the sea that ‘touches’ the horizon is called the 'offing'.