Long Flatlands Poems
Long Flatlands Poems. Below are the most popular long Flatlands by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flatlands poems by poem length and keyword.
The land lies
Chilled and stilled.
Whether flatlands
Or rolling hills.
Damp, cold, and alone;
She doesn't feel at home.
It's hard to feel at home
Where warmth and purpose seem
To be in decline or have departed.
The land knows that she was made to yield;
To yield grain, nuts, fruits, and vegetables.
But when she gives pause and thought,
She realizes that she's right at home.
She surrenders herself to a state of rest,
And when thought upon, she no longer feels
Bored and alone, but very much at home.
She becomes pleased that yesterday's yields
Are being utilized and feasted upon. So, she
Reclines and anticipates the yields of Spring.
She can't wait for the sprouting seeds and blossoming
trees. But until then, the lifeline of the land's present
season will thrive on patience, trust, sleep, and anticipation.
010624PS
Spring dapples the prairie flatlands
with colors' majestic splendor.
And the landscape gets painted with
purple pigments and soft pastels.
Tepid Chinooks melt mountain snows
that feed meandering rivers.
Fueling lazy loops, snaking
across an emerald grassland.
Dawn, gilding the edge of darkness,
heralds the day's resurrection.
And a rising sun imbues light
with a sense of hope and magic.
A watermelon horizon
marks the birthplace of a new day.
And pink, cotton-candy clouds float
upon a sea of vermilion.
Reminiscent of paradise,
Nature's wildflowers are in bloom.
And their dew-kissed petals open,
basking under indigo skies.
Sometimes I’m a storm chaser.
I race toward surging, dancing funnels,
furious, winding cyclones in blistering spin.
It is then that someone else writes my poems.
It is then that I am a stranger to my words,
and when I return to them, they are anomalous.
Sometimes I’m a storm chaser,
seeking mindless thrills and spills,
seeking violence in the skies
over tired, banal flatlands.
I’m just another apprentice of survival.
My wailing songs of innocence
never attain experience.
Sometimes I’m a storm chaser.
I ride this twisting rollercoaster nonstop.
I squint into the piercing, raging raindrops,
all the crashing, smashing, maniacal hail,
all the swirling, churning, dim mantle of doom.
I prayerfully gamble my lot.
These reckless ways have nearly cost me my life.
These wagers with mortality have a predictable end.
Headlong and blindly pummeled, frantic with fright.
Headlong and blindly stumbling, I vanish from sight.
Beyond the explosive horizon, the course is unknowable.
Within the column of torment, life is not survivable.
Is it passable?
I turn to the ancient bards, seeking their wisdom.
Their scrolls are full of memorable passages.
Leafing through them, I find many useful pearls:
Accept the gale forces as you do the stillness.
Learn the limitations and connectedness of your soul.
You will pass this way freshly again and again.
The company doesn't make them anymore.
It was supposed to be a gas saver.
So, believing it to be a good buy,
I put up the 5000 dollars.
But never again.
It wasn't about the dollars.
It wasn't about the style.
It wasn't about the color.
It wasn't about the size.
It was really about location.
And it really was about me.
But never again.
It could perform well in the flatlands;
But it was a flop in the hilly places.
At first, I was upset with the car.
But later, I was annoyed with myself.
And I learned my lesson on economizing.
I bought several vehicles over the years,
And learned a thing or two about cars.
I don't often say 'Never', but about this,
Never again.
Hey Giraffe, I wonder how tall you are!
In height no other animal, on par
You're the tallest of all seen so far
Though not popular, to me you're a star
Some think you are lean and lanky
But I love you as you're never cranky
None can accuse you of being whacky
Shall I call you by the name Jackie?
You can reach up to any tall tree
Everywhere you can roam free
On flatlands you're rarely seen grazing
With your long neck you're amazing!
Love to watch you with your head up in sky,
Chewing green leaves stationed high.
Flanked with a coat of tawny spots,
Skillfully God has assembled your parts.
if i were a man of the cloth
and you were a lady divine beliefs
would we travel in sinful circles
in order to gain memories and stories
if i were a man of sharp dressed qualities
and you were a lady of formal taste
would we travel in casual areas
in order to gain memories and stories
if i had a strong yearning to spread your legs
and you had an urge fully milk me
would we travel to avenues of strong virtues
in order to gain memories and stories
if i was a fiend for snowflake supreme
and you were a user bold black mud
would we travel to cleaner communities
in order to gain memories and stories
if i were just another guy admiring you
and you were just another girl with a crush on me
would we travel to the dear diary flatlands of life
in order to savor flavors of chemistry and glory
“When I wake up I am love.”
“But don’t you aspire to anything?”
“I am more interested in profound silence,
Though my “interest” is much like a bird in flight.”
“You seem destined for misinterpretation.”
“That’s okay. In fact, everything that happens is okay.”
“Doesn’t the world necessitate moral judgment?”
“Where is your perception? Let go of everything,
Though when you wake up make sure you are love.”
“No one understands you!”
“You are a precious jewel flashing colors directly at me.”
“I don’t follow you. I’ve never followed you.”
“You should. I’m the leader.”
Walking away, one of them ponders in front of the broad silver sea:
I don’t know what to do with my love
So it spreads out like a map
Hitting plateaus and dunes and flatlands and swamps
And God-knows-what-else and what do monks
Do when they live with their family
And drink beer…
When do they make time to pray?
When does writing becomes the disease?
When do angels stop whispering to you?
Form:
given a double whammy
they wanted to double down
on double talk
in the
torrid gust
the summer solstice
its sundry insectile eyes
seething with sultry scorn
in this weather channeled
source of telegenic storms
seasonal shifts are
lost in translation
poisoned neural flowers
the root of
rotting neurosis
the Earth becomes
Venusian
profoundly tragic
hypersonic horses
fly out of the digital barn
they sail over the
northern hemisphere
firing blinding arrows
into the dead brains
The Tropic of Cancer
and Capricorn
relax in the tropics
the Sun lords it
over the equator
precession calmly proceeds
(23.44° is the Magic Number)
all is well
in the best of all
possible
flatlands
Snowbound roads and cold flatlands Eastern shores blowing Hurricane fans Hot and sweaty in the Gulf Plenty of storms makes you tough
Fires, floods, and smooth western tans
08292018PoetrySoupContest, Celebrity Limerick, Tania Kitchin
7,9,7,7.7
Sprawling eagles' wings of freedom glean upon this God blessed land.
Huckleberries abound upon rich forest tapestry.
Salmon spawn in glistening waters aplenty.
Indigo mountains are crowned with crisp doilies.
Laughing waves clap upon coastal pebbles and sands,
with dunes designating an anticipated vacation.
Flatlands form the heartland foundation.
Demographically diverse are we.
Prideful skyscrapers collide with weather of every sort.
Churches, temples, cathedrals, and synagogues safely abide in city scenes.
A smorgasbord of aromatic awe permeates food cart streets, as authentic and varied as American souls.
With skin, hair, and eyes preciously unique, we share similar pleasures.
Churros, gyros, spatzle, spring rolls, kielbasa, pizza, and tikka masala kababs burst with awaited flavor.
Aquatic centers, theaters, stadiums, museums, amusement parks, festivals, and malls sprawl
with leisure excitement.
Families thrive as children are taught to read and write and parents sacrificially provide food, clothing, and a sanitary shelter.
We are free to own land, raise animals, and harvest from our garden.
Founded on Christian principles and faith, we work hard to earn our signature grandeur and pray hard to keep it.
1-3-2020