Long Expedition Poems
Long Expedition Poems. Below are the most popular long Expedition by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Expedition poems by poem length and keyword.
The cold wind of the Antarctic
Cut any warmth from the sun
We have come to measure the world warming
That has been melting the ice away
A satellite had mapped the whole of the continent
And had found something strange in the Trans-Antarctic Mountains
So an expedition was put together from the Mawson Station
I volunteered to be part of the expedition crew
We had flown to the mountains by a Hercules transport plane
And loaded our snow tractors high with provisions
So we set off in our two snow tractors
As the morning sky was lit by a low lying sun
As we neared the Trans-antarctic Mountain
We could see the snow was melting away from everything
Curiously there were stone structures revealing themselves
These were odd shaped buildings not modern in nature
So we drew lots to see who would go
To explore the stone structures we found
And I drew one of the winners
So I prepared wondering what was in store
We drove to one of the stone buildings
And approached what looked like an entrance
We walked through into what looked like a laboratory perfectly preserved
There were alien looking contraptions everywhere
We decided not to touch anything until we could have it studied
I noted that there appeared to be some things missing
We videotaped all we could see in the room
And left it all as we as had found it
On the way out I noticed some footprints in the snow
These footprints led to snow tractor tracks
We quickly radioed base and a drone to seek out the other snow tractor was sent up
We quickly returned to our base
The drone found the snow tractor after following the tracks
As the camera focused in on the the cabin
We saw that the crew was Chinese and they were armed
And they were heading for an Xi'an Y-20 aeroplane parked in the snow
They stopped at the plane and they stepped out
Then taking a heavy box out of the tractor
The box was quickly loaded on the plane and the tractor as well
In no time the plane took off and flew away
We reported this incident to Canberra
It was about six months after what was the Antarctic Incident
When reports started to come out of Wuhan in China
Of a new disease that started to spread and kill
I wondered what they had found in the Trans-antarctic Mountain Range.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Love of Literature
Upon the nightstand rests my favorite book,
I beckon her to bed to have a look.
Anxious anticipation flutters in my chest,
As the day's worries and woes, are laid to rest.
Tenderly, I take her in my hands,
Caressing her cover, she knows my plans.
Lightly yielding as we take our place,
Willing and submissive, with gentle grace.
She's a beauty, in her soft subtle veil,
Gently, my fingers trace her textures, an ardent braille.
I know her body—every peak, every valley, a touch sublime,
Tracing her contours, along the edge, then down her spine.
Pulse quickening, eager mind,
Awaiting the adventure that lies inside.
With delicate fingers, I find my bookmark,
With heightened anticipation,
I spread her pages apart.
An intoxicating aroma fills the night air,
A sweet, savory bouquet, found in classic books so rare.
From the outer page, my finger glides,
All the way across, till I'm just inside.
With a soft, tender touch, I navigate the crease,
Gently pushing outward, tensions released.
With attentive focus, all the way down to the end,
Traversing to the other side, to start again.
Her soft, thin pages, a silky, delicate skin,
A gripping story, further drawing me in.
With the flick of my tongue, I wet my fingertip,
And turn the page with a single finger flip.
Chapter 3, it's just her and me.
Enchanted by her sultry love story,
Hopelessly entangled in her romantic glory.
Page after page, we're intimately engaged,
With kinks and cramps, our positions changed.
Playful paragraphs in passionate positions—
Quite the literary expedition.
Steamy, sensual sentences scintillate the senses,
Trembled? Or trembling? Lost all track of tenses.
Her sensual story, passionate and deep,
Inviting me in further, tonight we do not sleep.
Captivated by every line, savoring every word, I take my time.
Two souls entwined, one rhythm and one rhyme.
Dawn's rays through the window gently creep,
With a sigh, I slowly close the book, softly she weeps.
"Rest assured, my darling, you'll be alright,
For I'll see you again, another rendezvous tonight."
Of all my cherished tomes, she'll always be first,
My love of literature, an unquenchable thirst.
Yang: What is the difference between a theist and an atheist?
Yin: A bicamerally balancing ego/eco-teleologist.
Yang: Well, so what's that; a teleologist?
Yin: You, if you believe the Earth is your co-gravitational
(0)-double-binding mind-spirit/body-nature center
epi-center
of wealthy egonomic
and healthy ecopolitical values,
each with equi-valent
ego/ecological
transgenerational health-care
deep wealth meaning merit.
Yang: So, who wouldn't believe that?
Yin: Probably no one.
Yang: So, why, exactly, is this an issue I need to look at right now?
Yin: Because, if you are an ecological panentheist,
then you are also a (0)-interest
co-invested bodhisattva peace warrior
poli-economist,
presumably.
Yang: Wow, I really did not see that climax coming at all!
Yintegrity: Yes, well, I get that all mind/body bipartisan time.
YangBright: Hmmm.... I can see purpose Now i
n sort of a 4D WinWin Cooperative Here
Ego/EcoOccupyers
Rejoining RNA Tribal Purpose
unfolding dialectical
exponential
deep fractal meaning
kinda' organic sacred WuWays.
YinPower: Don't rush, reframe our collateral flow issues,
in alpha(0)mega double-binding poli-economic
nondual crown/rooted
mind-dawn/body-dark
respirating EarthNature's
dipolar teleological appositions.
YangLight: You flow on too darkly rooted much
for optimally repurposed fire-power.
YinPower: Invest less in competing economic partial-trusts
and politically disharmonic insufficiency
of loving sacred beauty.
Instead,
invest in repurposing
every co-engaging
meaning-full
experiential expedition
only where your economic health flows out
our cooperative climatic inflow
of politically multicultural wealth.
YangMind: Ah, yes,
I see
our MidWay Zen
mutual reflection again,
where my Tao wealth
caressingly embraces your cooperative health
of coarising egomind/ecobody-engagement
Right purposeful proportion,
eco-dominant meaningful balance,
light's radiant fractal frequencies
of regenerative logos-dawn/mythos-dusk
Yang/yin
pregnant/absent
positive/double-binding negative,
appositional boundaries of co-balancing light
and prime co-relational powers.
YinPower: And you think I flow out too much feeling!
When mapping something out
It should be a subject thought about
Beginning, middle and the finale
Everything is there says Rand McNally
But from the depths below
A mystery creating ocean wakes to flow
An island emerges from the deep
Treasures on it adventure seekers want to keep
Floating along on it minding their own business
Dirty scoundrels escaping from illegal missions
Then they see this uncharted land
A surprise in a disappearing honest scam
“Land ho!” Was heard from above
An enchanting world the crew fell in love
“Do you know the date?
My dear mate”
Flipping through the calendar an answer was assured
Summer was ready to take the floor
Headed out on this dangerous chore
This crooked crew wanted to know more
An hour later docked on the beach
Beautiful and scenic around them well in reach
It only took a few seconds
Encountering locals doing some checking
“We came from the South”
Natives stated opening their mouths
“It is warm up here
Still relaxing with our autumnal cheer”
Feeling a little confused
And being amused
Which direction they were going
Weather was doing the rowing
“From the north
To see if there is any worth
Was our destination
Hope you believe our presentation
Left when it was cold
But soon winter was getting ready to pack and fold”
Laughing at the circumstance
Giving the visitors a listening chance
“Winter has arrived
Our new friends gave it a ride!”
They shouted the news
Welcoming the Europeans who were accused
“You are now down under
A mysterious wonder
Nowhere in sight
Is there a royal and a knight
To take off a head
Claiming a societal debt”
Taking their time
These free swines
Observed the landscape
Concluding its great
“Happy winter solstice to you all”
Was the tourist’s call
Educated in manipulating the commoner’s law
“Would you like to see Harrold’s boutique inside the mall?”
Questioned the hosts stiffening their upper jaw
“Come join us
We can take the double decker bus”
In the end
Sailors took up the pen
Wrote home
Stating ‘we are not alone
Will use the phone
To pay off our expedition loan
Plan finding things buried in antique chest
Containing your jewels I must confess”
Slaughtering Eng-lish not in anger but in a vikingr way nor in rangr using my servo of skald in poetica engraved within you may to wit grafa Dirt don’t hurt so they say, so dig Danzleikr, enjoy, do a little jig Please don’t pull out your har It is not English but not far I am not giving you the renna around nor kindling a fire upon fótr an about Do not worry a freknur on your head It not spoken much but it is not dead You use these words every day but maybe not Thursday Look in your own window but you’re the skipper, you know An ode to the old if to be so bold - A little help - ransack – rannsaka (to search a house) slaughter – slatra (to butcher), Víking meant an overseas expedition, and a vikingr was someone who went on one of these expeditions. Rangr (unjust/ wrong, Servo of skald - sword of artful poetry, window – vindauga (lit. “wind-eye”), foot – fótr
As I sit there upright and snooty, my maid brings my meal.
“Here you are sir, how do you feel?”
“I'm pleasant.” “Don't forget I have two guests coming today.”
“Yes sir, I'll come up and notify you when they are on their way.”
I finish eating and walk up and stare out the window.
The size of this place still impresses me and pleases my ego.
I see all my workers outside and breathe in the morning dew.
I stare at them and can't stand their uniforms of aqua blue.
I rub my wrists because they are both bruised and red,
but I don't know why, maybe I was tossing and turning in my bed.
I see two people walking towards the house, so my guests have arrived.
We sit down and I lean forward and whisper, “I'm glad you survived.”
One of them tears up and says, “I'm glad we survived too.”
The maids would never suspect we were spies, they don't have a clue.
“Okay, we don't have much time until the maid comes back.”
“So here is your new assignment, put it in your pack.”
“Thank you sir, now lets go outside and enjoy the time we're here.”
The three of us walk outside, but they both check to make sure its clear.
So many people are after me, I stay in my room with the door locked.
But there is fencing and barbwire all around, so my enemies are blocked.
One of them says to me, “so do you like this new home?”
I say, “Its not too bad, but I liked it better in Rome.”
I felt too uneasy out here, so I suggested we go back to the room.
Out there I can feel people watching me, and I can see my impending doom.
We get back to the room and talk about the details of the mission.
Before they leave I bid them farewell on their expedition.
I lay down in my bed and look up at the ceiling.
I see all these dents and holes and the paint is peeling.
I call my maid and ask where all these came from.
“ohh I see what you are up to you think I'm dumb.”
I see the fear in her eyes,
she knows we're spies.
My worst fears have come true, they found me.
A wall of men in blue running toward me is all I see.
I try to escape, but I eventually get tackled.
Now I will spend my life in this cell, completely shackled.
****IF YOU THINK YOU KNOW WHAT THIS POEM IS ABOUT, WRITE IT IN THE
COMMENTS SECTION. THANK YOU.****
August is ending with a heat that gives no mercy to the land or man
so intense that the air swelters off the river into the tree tops,
looking ahead, its as if we are passing through the gossamer of summer's spector,
Private Shanon has been missing for six days
although, we believe he is lost, not captured or deserted
only God knows where his feet have taken him,
evidence along the riverbank indicates that he is alive and pursuing us
perhaps mistaken and disoriented, thinking that we are further up river,
Old Dorion is seeking him now like a clever wolf,
Shanon was seperated from me while stalking a coyote
a most mischievous animal that is entirely foriegn to us except in prank,
a bottle of whiskey goes to the first man who can lay a coyote down,
yesterday half of the expedition went hunting the prarie dog
a critter more cunning than a cat and jumpy as a log spark,
after several hours of scrambling around like lunatics
Private Sheilds has finally caught one with pork bait and a twig basket
the poor rascal squieks like a cheap violin,
eventually I will send it to Washington with other novel specimens,
President Jefferson and the Philosophical Society will be good guardians,
the men and I have been refreshing ourselves on the jewels of soil
the wild grapes are so succulent that the Italians would believe
Bacchus himself had seeded this earth with a secret serum
and the plum groves cuddled in the most unadulterated coves
invite the mind into Eden's shadow,
on this journey we have observed migrations of pigeons
that have rivaled the stretch of storm clouds,
crowds of squirrels so numerous they have canvassed the ground with a sea of fur,
and now the mighty, mythical buffalo walks before us
a legend amongst beasts, monstrous in girth
with hooves that peel the Plains and horns shaped by vengeance,
as they graze we seize the prize of their offering with thanks in our aim,
not having horses strategic concealment is critical, they are reknown for retaliation,
we dropped seven of them in a great pandemonium of panic
the gun smoke, field dust and perspiration meld into a fragrance of sacrifice,
our sustenance is secured, their lives feed our future,
J.A.B.
September is aging with a cool beauty
and the Missouri seems to be hurrying the expedition
into a world of natural splendor that is impatient to strip our spirit to it's bare light,
in my silent moments of strategy I feel the birth pangs of winter in the air
and know that an emergency of shelter will soon be the crucible,
more days than not the river wind has aided the Corps of Discovery's adventure,
rarely have we had to pull Destiny along by ropes
and today I'm off the boat, hunting a fleet and mammoth goat
the pronghorned antelope, unlike the buffalo and deer herds
that have easily been in excess of 500, these shy creatures
move about in small groups, seemingly familial in manner,
a hide of short, soft white and brown hair
which stripes the throat, and vicious charcoal horns
that could impale a man in a single jolt, none of us has ever seen such an animal,
these damn goats bolt like bullets every time I creep near
they must be catching my scent for I am stealth and camouflaged,
they are so agile and swift, unafraid to speed through the most dangerous ravines,
getting back to camp with no hooves to show for my time
I see that John Sheilds has sacked a peculiar hare,
he calls it a jackrabbit, it is a monster rabbit no doubt
20 pounds dead and can leap like a rock across water, 20 foot spreads at full speed,
we all laugh and agree this place is becoming more of a jungle than a prarie,
any moment we may encounter apes and wherewolves,
its good to see Private Shanon chuckle well since returning
from being alone along the river for sixteen days nearly starved and maddened,
the fires be hot and the kettles be kickin with the right stuff
most of us are consuming 5, 000 calories per day including several pounds of meat each,
the mission is teaching the men's' bodies new extremes, the exertion is remarkable,
sunburn, blisters, rolled ankles, sprained wrists and backs, inadequate sleep,
mosquito bites, spider bites, ant bites, hours of tedious paddling and foraging,
no woman love, gaurd duties, chores, the stress of Indian encounters and ambush,
home sickness,
the only thing familiar to us is eachother,
sharing our sufferings, sharing our survival,
J.A.B.
Though amply rested, I still yawn
And feel energized after
light exercise doth spawn
break through viz mental impasse,
where endeavor to coax
germinating ideas to sprout
about as successful as
buzzfeeding, jump/kick starting
rooting brown lawn
to whether drought.
Long fostering literary creativity
analogous to prying open
figurative curtain drawn
shut tight within
thy noggin unresponsive
even when brute force
strongly applied, but still...
no progress (for aging Pilgrim)
made come crack of dawn,
thus I temporarily abandon intent.
An effort to craft satisfactory poem or prose,
(which coveted, kindled, unexpected...
futile endeavor deluges me when
least able to jot down eureka,
whereby brainstorm burst adrip
saturating yours truly head to toes
dribbling out nostrils,
asper my porpoise size bottle nose,
hence this feeble effort to appease.
No expected attaboy, kudos, bravoes...
discerning metaphorical whaling expedition
beseeching, imploring, soaking...
mine mindscape with
profuse voluminous wisdom
sans anonymous followers
waiting for me to compose
usual meaningless gibberish or
rare profound nugget of wisdom to disclose.
While thrashing within cyber sea,
possibly abandoning ambition to compose
superbly laced, ginned, coined...
poetic adage gee oh
into magnum opus masterpiece
eye catchingly exotic creation
exquisite as silk negligee pantyhose
(yea...perhaps yours truly
will also send near nude selfie,
a worse fate than death
cab for cutie)
and chuck stock inhibition
brokering favorable frescoes
tattooed across flesh
accentuating anatomical contours of flab
wharf flexing muscles simulates geckoes,
(albeit selling progressive insurance)
appearing to slither across body electric
predictably ejaculating Freudian peccadillos,
now bolt upright - ******** awakened,
no longer sleepy,
but dwarfed by giant spuds,
no small potatoes
eh...yar right to deem this poker face
eccentric - born (free) this way,
how Elsa to explain (without lion)
rambling riotous rumination
one among many bumptious desperadoes,
and oh...mooch hoe gracias reading poem
bumbling, degenerating, fizzling...
into lobbying primal salvoes.
The more popular path is a wider,
more windy one. A bend here,a
nook there, surreal images to entice
everyone.And it's all about havin' so much fun.
You weave through a forest of barren trees,
having already dropped all of their leaves.
More muted colors now, these listless leaves,
as they lay scattered all over the ground.
During one stretch, a beautiful babbling
brook calls softly to all who will listen,
a temptuous melodic chant seems to resound.
"Come play in me..... no, better yet, stay in me.
I am yours and you are mine. At the very least,
abide for a time."......is it's echoing rhyme.
Around one huge curve on this path, one can't
help but notice an extremely tall waterfall.It's
splendor captures the undivided attention of
nearly all. Chrystal clear liquid cascades,
tumbling and rumbling downward over smooth,
cavernous rocks till its final resting place in a
glassy pool,this entire realm it does mock.
One very unique trait of this seemingly joyous
journey is the absence of light. Nothing reflects
much sun,it's almost like wandering along on a
half - moon lit night. Oh,if the star of fire would
ever reveal itself,come out of hiding, this beautiful
bounty could be so brilliant and bright. Yet here
in this place, it wouldn't seem right. It would cause
alarm, reason for many to get stagefright. Some
might even want to exit but would not be able....
try as they might.
I could ramble on and on about the abundant
sights and smells and sounds that tickle our
senses along Path Pleasing. Is this place
for real or is everyone just dreaming? But one
thing I must tell you that is important for you to
know.This expedition isn't all it's cracked up to be,
for it is in dizzying circles you do go.You just experience
the same things over and over again, guess that's part
of the plan.No real purpose or rhyme, just biding time.
Oh,.... what's this? Maybe I am wrong. Seems that
there is a final destination for those hangin' here.I've
not witnessed this before.I'll have to tell the others
what's in store.But wait....... there must be some mistake.
For the sign over the gaping, belching, black hole
simply states "Lair of the Snake."