Long Gale Poems
Long Gale Poems. Below are the most popular long Gale by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gale poems by poem length and keyword.
Far, far out at sea one day
A Hummingbird so found its way
To roost upon my pulpit rail
And thus decided it would stay
Never through my years at sail
Had I seen a hummer male
So many miles off the coast
Now bound with me into a gale
All day long he kept his post
Thus, to be a decent host
I prepared some nectar, warm
(Tho' he liked my tea the most)
I worried he might come to harm
As we had sailed into a storm
But soon he found his way below
And hid until the winds were calm
When the squall had ceased to blow
And sun had set with afterglow
Up he came to perch and see
The phosphorescent undertow
All those weeks far out at sea
No better friends had we, than we
A steady thrum of wings, I heard
As always, he stayed close to me
Then, nearing harbor it occurred
I hadn't seen my Hummingbird ...
So odd, the ache that raked my soul
Eyes stinging as my vision blurred
'Twas many years, that, now I'm old
How often I've that story, told ...
Yet more, the times I've looked to sky
For hummer wings, so bright and bold
And should I spot that bird a-high
I pray he'll linger, bye-and-bye
For I've not known a better friend
Nor greater need to blot my eye ...
Our souls were kin ... wee bird and I.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Devotion To Ocean" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
(This is a form of Rubaiyat I've been playing with that I call "Echoing Rubaiyat", and it carries the rhyme of line three to the next stanza - AABA, BBCB, CCDC, DDED, etc.).
Wings in puddles.
There must have been a leak,
and in the sky nothing fly’s
but a crippled gale,
it limps now, yet howls still
from the far side of lost town.
Wind-drones moan in bare trees
sky wreckage litters.
Dead Purple Admirals
have gone down in rainy heaps.
Painted Ladies rest forever.
Longwings no longer sail,
for the roaming Yellow Swallow Tail
It is trails end.
Who broke the netting and the roof?
What dashed all
upon a fluttering flood?
Was it the piratical gulls?
No, like this emptying daylight
they have been flung into hiding.
Somewhere in this arboretum
new chrysalids sway on twigs,
soon there will be wings,
but not here in this ruined shelter
wear the air drips wetly
as if with tears.
Winds of change blow in time’s course clear
waft from an unseen end to unknown another
the momentum they gather from the power
the history gives, it goes on increasing ever,
the direction they receive from the message
the current events provide can’t be altered,
the aim they read on social landscape page
people delicately design can’t be changed.
Civilizations blew away in the destined gale
the Indus valley turned into a great desert,
empires collapsed on time in the gusty squall
lie scattered in archaeological sites and in art,
all ordained to meet the change from the start.
The mankind sheds the unwanted old grime
like the dry leaves of autumn the winds sweep
and bury under thick dust of the ageing time.
Indomitable spirit rises from the dust deep
new generations of belief and value emanate
that survive as long as they can strongly defy
the forces of fated change the winds generate,
the strike of destined wrath time arrows apply
transforming fast and invisibly the core insipid
of the traditional society of integrity and unity
into a new deceptive one that seems steeped
permanently in intolerance and in hostility,
infusing sense of change that gradually sips in,
traditional concepts of living slowly recede
families and relationships disintegrate within
to morph into the present-day fragile breed
desperately designed to meet rather blindly
the demands current times make irrationally.
The shape and the space of mind’s frame alters
with changing pictures it holds but doesn’t know
the time and the people that are constant movers
displayed in the kaleidoscopic everlasting show
the winds of change visibly perform as they blow.
If winds of change blow too strong and abrasive
everything on way crumbles beyond recognition,
so savagely they gust nothing survives to retrieve
the wreckage can’t be swept aside, it stays on
for everything drags everything into the ruins.
August 31, 2017.
The Journey Begins
Broken…..beaten….
gazing at the raging river
from atop dawn’s hammering bridge
The roar of rushing water
soothing the roar within
his head, cold wind chilling
the coldness of his heart,
touch of hard steel against
the weakness of his will,
sun’s feeble warmth wasted
on his shriveled soul.
Standing alone
in the hush of daybreak’s plea,
shouting into the empty canyon
cursing the powers that be,
hands raised, fists clenched,
leaning into life’s gale….
Unsure
which step to take
which journey to begin.
11/10/15
submitted to – The Journey Begins – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Matt Caliri
The wind persisted in blowing me about,
whipping the willow branches with its beat.
It continuously raged, a tempest storm,
a force of nature that never bows in defeat.
Now, its companion has soaked me through
Rain has chilled me right down to the bone.
It's brought weapons of hail, the size of plums,
pummeling me as if it were throwing stones.
My tears have mingled with drops of cold rain.
Gale force winds have taken me to my knees.
It sounds as if it's screaming my name...
I reply, "Release me from your throes, please."
If wind and rain could screech in laughter,
I'd swear I heard them cackling like witches.
My thoughts were scattered; I was filled with fear,
as wind hurled hail stones with well-aimed pitches.
I had no strength in me to fight nature's opponents.
Combined in combat, they held far too much power.
No longer could I hold either of them at bay,
I cringed and withered as if I were a wilting flower.
Off all the skies, mine is not infinite
Not fit to aspire for when with a limit
It flaunts no sun or a polestar
Just dark, foreboding clouds by far.
Of all the oceans mine is most restive
Serene or stormy it is but quite tentative,
Not fit to surf, cruise or sail
with lolling breeze or boisterous gale.
Out of all the Gods mine is different
Not a pal or a foe --just indifferent,
Not fit to enshrine or worship
to form a religion or a fellowship.
Of all the lives mine is quite curious
Seriously funny or jokingly serious,
Not fit to tell or write about
with no mystery or labyrinthine plot.
Of all the desires mine is unique
It pacifies a little but revives quick,
Not fit to long for in just a trice
When no God or life seems to suffice.
~Meraki contest by Silent One.
Here with a smile in joy's free flow,
Win greets fond style with ample glow.
The word is out with cheer that fills,
A winning shout to spark grand thrill.
This moment here tells a sure tale,
Feisty words cheer the happy gale.
Easy feels good in breezy ways,
Charm hurls sure mood to prize this day.
The note speaks well of accolade,
Precious feel dwells as joy parades.
Hard work moves fest as blessings glow,
Finesse words quest in what writes show.
Bit by bit string the message true,
Soft tones cast fling to cite bold cues.
Now first or last is but a place,
To have a blast marks happy face.
Words speak profound of inner glow,
Feel how love grounds as passion shows.
Leon Enriquez
31 May2016
Singapore
Trudging as a scorched weary traveler
in the wilderness of the desiccated life,
I wander in the shifting maze of your deceptive shadow.
Enticed, I’m seduced by the mirage of your flashing face,
confused, I don’t know where I should be going to belong.
As I disintegrate in myriad illusions into drifting dust
in the desolate wasteland of my life, I see transformed,
my broken heart I scatter as debris on your obscure trail.
I let the hard times of denial profoundly strike me,
ever so strongly that my yearning space is shattered.
I strive to preserve the shards of battered essence
in the inner sanctum of instinctive quietude.
I build a boundless wall seemingly impenetrable,
creating the compulsive cocoon of imposed isolation
to contain the cacophony of pervasive chaos
for the soul to get suffused in calm insulation.
As I become a lone prisoner of my making,
force me to be a captive behind the wall I construct
with the fortification of the false sense of pride,
I find you disappear like mist in gale beyond my garden,
taking the fragrance of flowers I love to see blossom.
I’m caught in the dichotomy web of entangled uncertainty:
break the wall, walk away free into oblivion,
or stay secluded, obscure within the cage I’ve built.
The trumpet sounded hearty and hale
What was that? Asked Daddy; he is all male.
I ignored this and leaned over a rail
A piece of shale! A piece of shale!
Our doggie Luther was wagging his tail
For down in the depths there was a whale
It looks so frail! Said my auntie Dale
She was writing her own holy grail
Along came captain carrying a pail
Watch out for the nail! He said to the quail
When will we sail? When will we sail?
Next, we saw a bride with white wedding veil
Cookies for sale! Cookies for sale!
Pushy girl scouts on board telling their tale
Solicitors on a cruise ship without fail
Someone is reading a book in Braille!
Take me to jail! Take me to jail!
A convict in orange who looks rather pale
Give me my mail! And then we can sail.
What about bail? Asks a lawyer named Dale
Wait for me yelled my annoying cousin Gale
She was holding a plastic colander with kale
The crackers are stale! The crackers are stale!
This was a wail from a toddler so pale
It was a few seconds longer before we could sail
The Moon is almost...
Sullen skies forewarn the frozen shroud.
Gale November winds sway bare limbed
trees, whistling in chorus with arrows of
Geese straining to steer south.
The familiar sound of the revolving lead
Goose never wavers, but for tonight.
A strange howl emanates from the current
commander, abandoning the customary
bugling, not elongated; like a hound dogs
lament, but crisp & short, a howl.
Alarm bells ring in the memory recall of my
dna...built-in decipher mechanisms fail,
all of this happening in split-seconds.
What prompted this auditory change?
what does this alternate sound signal?
As quick as I heard it this twilight fall
evening, the Geese passed, the course they
were set upon unknown, circumstances
they encountered, not of my world,
the only sure thing,
is wonder.
12/01/17