Long Hawk Poems
Long Hawk Poems. Below are the most popular long Hawk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hawk poems by poem length and keyword.
"DEAD WINTER"
Fresh snowfall on my porch
A story of not so long ago.
7 inches above my ankles
The neighbor's chimney smokes like a cigarette.
The doorbell rings, I shudder and tremble
I breathe at the moment before I twist the knob
He was there alone.
A man with eyes likes the moon
A hunter in a black coat
He storms in, shoving me out of his way
He twists around and reveals his name
His name bleeds through my soul
My mind begins to white-out every memory
I firmly get a grasp on reality
A wanted man
Carrying myself up against the bookshelf.
My eyes start to shed a course of rain
His eyes are bright green with golden specks,
pierce in the logical way of the hawk
I cradle on the sofa, like a child
Alone
This stranger who stood before me
Wants more than the warmth of my home
It's snowing deep down my flower bed.
It's too cold outside.
The fireplace can act no more
It's too cold inside!
He proceeds slowly, towards the kitchen door
I see him reaching for the stainless steel
Soon the beat will end,
I inhale his eyes that are the size of the moon
This visitor, at my door,
He whispers into my ear.
"I'm preparing the ways of good and evil.
Now go, be free into the promised land."
by: PD
For Jeffers: On seeing Tor House and Hawk Tower
For the first time
The Tor stones have grown wistful
Through time and absence since
Your verses filled the house with
Creative passion; the gate is locked.
A hawk rides on coastal updrafts
Calling to the empty tower
For the man who is no more
But, soul-bound, searches for.
Pain is separation; Birth,
Death, a raindrop, you, me.
Better to be a lichen
Or a puddle.
You were lying by Una when
Your poems found me, a soldier
Amid the sucking cesspools
Of jungle war.
The verses slapped my naïveté;
An instrument of politics
Acting out the Groundhog Day
War Loop for my generation.
Oh yes, Shine Perishing Republic and The Wild God
Of The World still offer their warnings, but to no more
Receptive ears. The grip of the self on humanity has loosened
“Only a little” while the ooze of the festering separations
Still flows from the primal Flaw. And the rattle of the drums
Calls for the sons and daughters of this time.
Jeffers, when your lovers come and call back
The words of your mind without speaking, drumbeats
Fade, the hawk finds her soul mate, and the separations,
For that pacific interlude, begin to cohere.
Copyright Paul M Thomson 2017
You’ve heard of “dog eat dog?”
I always thought that was absurd
Until today; I witnessed
Something like it - bird eat bird.
A hawk came out of nowhere;
Zipped behind us in a streak
And glancing skyward, we observed
A chase of beak to beak.
A little bird, with all its might,
Flew furiously fast.
In seconds, though, the hawk caught up,
His breakfast snagged at last.
He lit upon a branch, his meal
Secured but still alive
And struggling without a chance
To possibly survive.
It made me sad; my husband said,
“That’s just what’s meant to be.
It’s Nature, after all...”
But still, not what I like to see.
PERENNIAL FLOWERS JUST FOR ME
far below the canopy, the speckled hawk soars —
whoa! he’s hardly in my space but so close.
my toes jam up in my gray Bob’s as I descend
the cracking driveway, and my eyes ascend
toward the clouds, hard to see through the oaks.
my eyes roller-coast back to the pavement
or I jeopardize my life, firsthand knowledge gained
when shoes roll over pebbles and stick debris
quite humbly spurring me to a knee. i reach
my destination. i look at my well dressed yard,
the ground worked hard. the red mulch compliments
our home and the reticent retaining wall
keeps are summertime willow felicitous. — what
i came out to see, the perennial flowers just for me,
a husband’s love. the purple coneflowers and
delicate daisies a simple offering, a favor asked
before his job took him overseas and i visited
the grands. here his little bit of leaven forms
a lump in my grateful heart. my thighs pump
as i climb our renowned hill, ready to give praise,
and enjoying the clumps of hay protecting hibiscus buds,
when the buzz of an invisible bee chases me
the rest of the way. not a fan, i shun the stranger,
slam the door, readily make a beeline to my honey.
“I love the flowers. Nice job!”
The bee he says, gave me a bit of exercise.
Now why’d he have to go and say that.
Men and children have a habit of speaking from the heart,
not always what you want to hear,
but the sweet flowers in my eyes dance for a while
and i love that man.
8/3/2019
There was Red Dawn and
Crocodile Dundee.
Full House and
The Lottery.
Road Runner and
G.I. Joe.
The Lost Boys and
Cameo.
The TMNT and
Silver Hawk.
Duck Tales and
Fraggle Rock.
Family Ties and
Growing Pains.
Pretty in Pink and
Purple Rain.
Risky business and
Young guns.
Breakfast club and
Empire of the sun.
Three's a crowd and
Stand by me.
Honky Tonking and
Human League.
He-man and
Ghost Busters.
Heathcliff and
Mario's brothers.
There was Full House
And Hairspray.
Scarface and
Expose.
Dirty Dancing and
Turner and Hooch.
Bosom Buddies and
Beetlejuice.
Madonna and
Knight Rider.
Prince and
Macgyver.
Night court and
Silver Spoons.
Flash dance
And Dune.
Fast times at
Ridgemont high.
The A-Team
And 9 to 5.
Turbo1904 ?
As I watch the smoke form itself upward, away from the fire, I clearly see myself
as a Native American, and this smoke as a signal.
This must be how we leave our bodies, I say to my spirit guide, Little Bear.
He laughs.
I cannot see him, but I often hear his laughter in the woods.
When we leave, do we go hard and fast? Do we get a chance to give a last wave or a backward glance?
The only answer is the popping of the fire.
I watch the smoke signals float high up, into the orange and brown leaves of a giant sycamore tree.
The signal disappears as if by magic, as if it was swallowed up by an invisible hawk.
It must be a relief to leave the confining physical body, I say.
I sit quietly, waiting, but my guides are in no mood to play.
I watch the fire a bit longer, thinking that it might be a relief especially to leave behind an aging or diseased physical body.
But what about those who are not aging and do not have a disease?
What about a healthy person who suddenly leaves their body?
Surely they have different feelings about leaving that kind of body.
Do they get to wave or even glance backwards?
The answers are all around me.
I sit quietly, staring into the fire, waiting.
Argentina's son, a lineage to immigrants
shaped by boyhood aspirations
diminutive left foot striker
taunted "dwarf" in childhood
his growth hormone deficiency
overcome through meds and workouts
a counter to foes physically imposing
Messi's daily slog of skills
agility and balance
slow grind of mastery to mesh the skills to speed
on the football field, Messi dribbles through opponents
pivots round defenders, takes an opposite direction
accelerates
de-accelerates
takes stock of field positions
awareness like a lordly hawk that calculates its prey
a kick triggered whittles through the air
the ball's stinging centre,
flight controlled
at a goal keeper spiralling to the ground
this FIFA World Cup champion
devout in faith
celebrates goals by a gaze upward
a pointed hand to the heavens
another field of his embracing
790 - Messi's career goals for Barcelona clubs and
Argentinean glory
football awards that roll on like credits on a movie screen
on field moves that burrow into memory
through the entanglement of limbs
Messi's footwork, like a dancer's gift
his sprints to fill the field with unheeding power
midst the bulging roar of fans
a homage to glorify the footballer
before he fades
to legend
Poem written January 4, 2023
A famous earth hero by the name of Flash Gordon,
would venture with his friends Hans Zarkov and Dale Arden,
in an interplanetary rocket invention,
to a faraway planet that is known as Mongo.
Never able to return to the earth they would know,
the three meet Prince Barin and a Princess named Aura.
They rule in exile in a tree land, Arboria.
This land is between a cold polar place, Frigia,
and a very hot region that is called Tropica.
Hawk men live in a sky city ruled by Prince Vultan.
Kala rules an underwater kingdom of shark men.
Prince Thun is the ruler of a land of lion men.
Planet Mongo has been besieged by aggressiveness
from a ruthless conqueror named Ming the Merciless.
He stole the throne from Barin and Ming’s daughter Aura.
Struggles and skirmishes with Ming are a plethora,
as Ming has intentions of ruling the galaxy.
Flash and his friends join Barin against Ming’s great army.
What will happen next with Flash Gordon? Tune in and see!
My mom has eyes like a hawk.
They‘re in the back of her head.
In town, she told me not to gawk.
I followed down the path she led.
We saw a tiger wearing skates
I stared and saw her scowl!
There was a basket full of snakes.
Still she glared a look most foul!
We watched a ferret playing dead
I laughed and thought she’d faint.
When I petted the eagle’s bald head
she tapped her foot in complaint.
We spied a coyote wearing boots
and I smiled a big wide grin.
Amid the monkeys howls and hoots,
she warned me once again.
We heard the cry of the muted owl
and when I ventured forth to see
the warning I had heard her growl
stirred a sudden fear in me.
We passed many a strange sight,
and I could not help but look.
She told me it was impolite.
That was the last trip we took.
21 September 2022
To wander in drab gloomy streets.
Sleepy eyes, red cold nose,
darkened cheekbones,
a rumbling stomach.
A nightmare condensed,
no way out.
How many tears must he shed?
High on a building a large bird sat,
black as dusk, eyes searching for prey.
Was it a hawk or a crow?
His eyes could barely see,
but he could smell
the coffee being prepared,
the toast being burned.
All in vain, the bird was better than him.
He swallowed his pride
and slowly trudged
towards a day shelter.
At least there he could eat.
Then back again
in the dark streets
where he could hide
from the foreshadowing of death.