Long Heather Poems
Long Heather Poems. Below are the most popular long Heather by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Heather poems by poem length and keyword.
Taffy and I walk together
finding golf balls in the heather.
A true friend as we slog around
a best partner so I have found.
Wanting my dog to have a proper name
in line with respect for this noble game.
Named for rotund William Howard Taft
a golfing president that sounded apt.
Though a pedigree mongrel hound
we share moments that are profound.
Off we go to our little town course
Taffy watches as balls hit the gorse.
Traversed the front in level par
felt a tinge of confidence thus far.
Breezing the back with a birdie or two
misses catching up, maybe coming due.
Tensing Taffy sniffs birds of prey
looming ravens, an omen they say.
The last before me, the count at three
can I shoot my age, will it ever be?
Taffy and I stood staring at the hole
needing an up 'n down to make my goal.
Set up for the chip with breath quicken
Jumpy, trembling as I struck it thin.
A shadowy being leapt from the right
Taffy had snatched my shot mid flight!
Then he dropped it right next to the cup
I stepped in quick and cleaned it up.
From now on, no matter how I play
Taffy and I will have this one day!
Everytime I hear your voice,
On the other side of the phone,
All the sweet words,
I wish it would have been for me,
Instead.
The wishings, the longings,all the love,
I wish I would have been on the other side,
Instead.
Everytime I see your face,
On the screen,
What a gorgeous sight to behold ,
All I can think is would it ever smile for me?
All the things you like about her,
I wish it would have been about me,
Instead.
But you,
You regard me,
As if I'm the sun slipping through your fingers,
Like I'm the chill of snow,fleeting and disdain,
You savor the sight
Yet refuse to claim.
I would stay for hours,
Waiting for a nice bee to land,
On the small purple flowers of a fuchsia, or heather,
I would wait for hours,
As if the future of the planet depended on it,
I would stay under the discreet sun like a cactus
Innocent and patient,
I would stay in November until Saint Catherine,
Waiting for a bee to declare its flame to a flower,
I would stay for hours, like a bronze statue,
Waiting for my little bee, I think of you,
I would stay for hours,
Waiting for a little black or white bee to fly,
To see her land on a daisy joyfully,
Or on a star blooming in my garden,
I would stay for hours,
As if my life depended on it, or another life,
Because happiness lasts only one spring,
Because life is too short, or unfair;
Because bees are brave messengers,
Thanks to them, we marvel at everything,
We are human, like flowers from a vase,
We can write, « La vie est belle».
Ce qui me rend heureux
Je resterais des heures,
À attendre qu’une gentille abeille se pose,
Sur les petites fleurs violettes d’un fuchsia, ou d’une callune,
Je resterais des heures à attendre,
Comme si l’avenir de la planète en dépendait,
Je resterais sous le soleil discret comme un cactus
Innocent et patient,
Je resterais en Novembre jusqu’à la Sainte Catherine,
Attendre qu’une abeille déclare sa flamme à une fleur,
Je resterais des heures, comme une statue de bronze,
À attendre ma petite abeille, je pense à toi,
Je resterais des heures,
À attendre que vole une petite abeille noire ou blanche,
À la voir se poser, sur une marguerite joyeusement,
Ou sur une étoile éclose dans mon jardin,
Je resterais des heures,
Comme si ma vie, en dépendait, ou une autre vie,
Parce que le bonheur ne dure qu’un printemps,
Parce que la vie est trop courte, ou injuste ;
Parce que les abeilles sont de braves messagères,
Grâce à elles, nous nous émerveillons de tout,
Nous sommes humains, comme des fleurs d’un vase,
Nous pouvons écrire, « la vie est belle ».
In a Van I Drew up to the Carol-singing Abby
Warren, I was to Finley realize my wish to Mary.
Denise met me with a Lacy family Jewel blob.
Heather Matts were strewn on the floors.
Art was on Emery wall for Al to adore
Anna in the running Walter fountain,
I watched various, colorful fruits Bob.
No longer did all Phil so Harry to me.
Avery thing in view seemed to relax me.
I couldn’t help but give my Billy a Pat.
To be Frank, I was glad to have nixed an Emma
Justin case my nerves caused Adam dilemma.
Shirley, Olive the details, large and small
Had this Dawn met Grace, the Helen ones and all.
I am to I do, for William to Mary at first dark –
Ann event none may make Eric, Jack up or Mark.
... CayCay Jennings
November 23, 2016 / Contest - What’s in a Name - 3rd
I rode a bicycle frae ma Highland estate
The heather was purple, the weather was great
Then my cell phone rang, the news verra bad
Ma hoose was on fire, everything I had
My crypto passwords could go up in smoke
My Ponzi scheme clients would not think that a joke
My offshore accounts, my ill-gotten gains
All turning to ash, all down the drain.
**(Chorus)**
Oh pedal, lad, pedal, yer empire’s ablaze
an orphaned blockchain, an untraversable maze.
From hedge funds to hedges, it’s all gaun wrong
You can’t outrun fraud on a bicycle, son.
I knew there would be hell to greet
So I reversed, pedaled like an athlete
Three miles back I ran into sheep
An endless flock like a mudflow did creep.
I jumped the wall of the M-90, my bike and me
Nearly became a historic debris
A lorry driver honked, let out a curse
I gave an appeasing smile, couldn't get worse.
Jumped over the wall to another rural road
Orange haze rising—I was in panic mode
Then a large stag stepped calmly in my way
Looked at me like he had all day.
A copper on a motorbike came from behind
I thought this was truly the end of the line
I told him the missus and bairns were ahead
But really I had to salvage crypto instead.
He shot in the air to make the deer go away
I made it to the manor, the firemen bade me stay
I saw my years of conning disappear into the sky
A few ashes flew past like a sarcastic goodbye
Noo folk frae the shadows are seeking their fee
They’re no keen on excuses—they’re hunting for me
I’m hiding on Mull where the sea eagles cry
It’s bonnie as heaven… I’m likely tae die
Outwitted by sheep… and a stag wi’ a stare
In Scotland, lad, crime dis-nae get ye far there.
My poem was too long so I had to wrote it in two separate parts.
In a quiet town where memories blend,
Lived a man named Mike, a cherished friend.
At fifty-nine, his journey took a new flight,
Into a realm of everlasting light.
A son, a branch upon the tree,
Of family roots, for all to see.
He carried on with strength and grace,
A loving son, leaving his trace.
Within life’s joys and its darkest of nights,
He stood by her, Heather, his loving wife.
Together, hand in hand, they faced every test,
For in each other, they found their best.
A brother’s bond, a precious art,
Forever, he will remain within their hearts.
With scraped knees and stormy nights,
He was their beacon, shining bright.
With gentle hands and a loving heart,
He guided his children from the very start.
He was their hero, always on their side,
He taught them to speak, to walk, and to ride.
With open arms and a playful grin,
An uncle's love would always win.
He’d offer a coin with a teasing grace,
For a niece’s kiss upon his face.
Then came the day, a precious sight,
His heart swelled with love and light.
With open arms and a loving heart,
He played his special papa part.
A friend to many tried and true,
He shared a bond with so many of you.
With his “tough love” ways, he stood his ground,
If you ever needed him, he could always be found.
For the Toronto Maple Leafs, oh, how he’d cheer,
In front of the TV, with an ice-cold beer.
Each goal he’d celebrate, each save he’d praise,
Through wins and losses, his loyalty would stay.
He skated strong, with sticks and dreams,
A loyal player of the Dresden Minor hockey team.
OMHA titles three times, he claimed,
His name is forever printed in Dresden’s Sports Hall of Fame.
Daffodils, nanny goats, rainbow unicorns, and roses
In a poem prancing around, laughing at my poses.
Marigolds, diamonds, starlight here and forever
Words jumping in and out, being truly clever.
Purple majesty, mountains, wind and heather,
Word play whispers let’s start, you are taking forever
I jot down some words, and into my mind a tune prances.
Playing with letters makes my muse pivot as she dances.
Rhymes, alliteration, shape poetry, hexaverse and the blues
Parade up and down in my mind wearing high heel shoes.
Songwriting, driving, swimming, meowing and such.
Laugh at my mind as she tries to keep up!
My muse is having fun; my imagination is on fire.
Words like shining, dainty, and shimmering I never tire.
Daffodils, nanny goats, rainbow unicorns and more.
Words I never tire of. They follow me wisely out the door.
WHEN RELIGION BECOMES
YOUR OPIUM
When religion becomes your
opium you slip into icy pre-dawn
to mosque then lie in fever flu
at dusk as bilal calls again
for you to stumble towards
beckoning forefinger guilt
chalices cringing crying
You chant morning to night
wrapped in dirty linen blights
mantras channelled centuries
ago resin rosary threadbare
kitabs torn, curtains undrawn
biscuits crumbled alongside
salted slippers prayer coats
ghostly watch blustery blinkers
Your heart remains judgement
tight with rusty mental railway
lines unbuckled only to fight
canaries flown from stilted
cages wire worn walls
cracking ceilings catalysing
You speak in unremitting
riddles try not to scream
at dismal doors knitted beard
knotted knives of seamen
gambles enticing lovers of
yesteryear who remain
embedded in elbow joints
as you catch rain in
buckets of shame
You refuse to let in visions
of New Earth as this opium
mix targets rude roaring fire
planets in unrelenting fear
colour remains brown black
tinges of diseased blood
slowly trickle teary
tattered trousers torn
This drug is an only taste
angels fly past in haste
fezzes stuck on mothy mat
knows no soapy skyline sighs
underpinned by judgement
made in desert ritual fears
God knows no such forlorn
framed jibbas or jibe jihads
Opium can open too
tunnels into tortoiseshell
havens of heather or healing
hearths when heart is given
a hexagon hello helix
headwaters can heady rush
or opium can merely remain
the sniffing powder in
your box
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&
Song2016
Freshly ground coffee dripping into the carafe.
The heavenly odor permeating the air.
Bright yellow explosion of sunrise climbing out of the distant sea.
Morning is the best part of the day.
Morning, still cool and fresh as I walk barefoot onto the deck.
Steam rising from my coffee mug as I curl into the deck chair.
The smell of heather from the window box mixing with the coffee aroma.
Morning is the best part of the day.
The doe and her fawns stepping out of the woods,
Watching me as I watch them.
After assessing me they cross the lawn
To nibble leaves from the trees.
Staying in the shade offered by the poplar tree
They pretend to ignore me as they dine.
I pretend to ignore them as I sit and read.
Morning is surely the best part of the day.
Do you remember a song from not too long ago
by a popular singer of the name Tommy Roe?
This man had many hit songs credited to his name.
Some were certified gold records that brought him much fame.
From all music by this man of popularity,
one song became stuck with unfamiliarity
Not going too high on the charts, unfortunately;
this was a selection from his album called “Dizzy”.
Apparently not making him very much money,
the one I am referring to named “Heather Honey”.
At a fast food restaurant where I would often go,
there was a girl working there that I wanted to know.
Not too pretty, but I was interested in her.
She worked almost everyday at a cash register.
Never noticing me when I gave her my order.
this young lady considered me just a customer.
One day, another co-worker was sweeping the floor.
While I was seated at a table near the front door,
she said, “I know you’ve been watching that girl over there.
I will bet you like her by the way I am seeing you stare.
You are here almost every day in all kinds of weather.
If you’d like to know her name, I’ll tell you, it’s Heather.”
I was frustrated thinking to know her would be nice.
If maybe, there is a subtle way I could break the ice.
Then I remembered the song by Mr. Tommy Roe.
So to the nearby record store is where I would go.
Getting this bright idea while thinking to myself,
going to the forty-five RPMs on the shelf,
there was one copy of Tommy Roe’s song remaining.
I bought the record with three bucks I was retaining.
I returned to the fast food restaurant the next day:
“I have something to give Heather” is what I would say.
While I sat at a table, a manager then said:
“She’s busy now, so could I give it to her instead?”
So I gave the record and said: “say it’s from me”.
From the back, I heard conversation very faintly:
“That guy gave Heather a record called “Heather Honey”.
In the time I was there, she never came to see me.