Long High pitched Poems
Long High pitched Poems. Below are the most popular long High pitched by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long High pitched poems by poem length and keyword.
The bright-eyed explorer. Raw Umber of a shelf. Thoughts, ideas and a new story every day. Of Fukuyama and Dostoyevsky; the quest for knowledge. The summer season and all things colorful. The bitterness of Coffee and crunching pages waiting to be written on. Something of a story, pieces-excerpts of the past as their memory. The occasional getaways and soulful music. Them believing in others and questioning themselves. The waft of flowers and the freshness in their skin, them meeting people and people falling in love with them. An afternoon spent, looking at diaries, sealed with love for someone special. Of them knowing what to feel and not understanding what they do. The moments in between the chaos, to be recognized. Too many pictures but not quite perfect for them. The yearly sight of the Bay of Bengal and cherishing it each time. A worn out wallet crowded with memories perhaps. their high pitched voice and the excitement hidden in it, the child that visits us frequently, keeping them sane. The going to places and capturing them in postcards. The anticipation of saving the world. Of them loving you immensely and taking away your pain. Them being soft, strong and able to hold so much. Reading everyone and waiting to be read.
~~
I recall the time my parents created a maypole,
in our backyard to celebrate the arrival of spring;
it was quite wonderful and fantastic,
a delightful memory to remember . . .
it consisted of a tall pole and rolls and rolls of ribbons,
all in different pastel hues of pink, yellow, green and blue;
the pole itself covered with greenery and flowers,
my parents worked on it for days and days . . .
we children came up with costumes,
some so weird and humorous that we all laughed at each other;
father played music on an old record player and mother sang,
in a high pitched voice and clapped her hands to the beat . . .
and us, the children skipped around the pole,
sometimes waltzing, sometimes doing a jig of sorts;
each holding a ribbon while chanting,
"go over it, go under it, go over it go under it . . . "
and all the time trying not to get tangled up in the ribbons,
or knocking into each other;
making us laugh out loudly,
now the laughter has faded but that memory will linger forever;
and to me all those different coloured ribbons,
represent,
family, friends, happiness and childhood abandon . . .
and each of these I hold tightly in my soul,
for my entire life, I will never forget the magic of childhood;
the love that embraced me and the happiness,
found under a maypole that spring day . . .
_________________________________
January 25, 2015
Poetry/Narrative/Life Is Like A Maypole
Copyright Protected, ID 01-635-818-25
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier the contest, Life Is Like A Maypole,
sponsor Serene Roberts, Judged 02/2015
First Place
How I miss the sound of the lonely train chucketty chucking along
snaking rails
the eerie hooting of its horn cutting a path through unyielding darkness
that carries one's mind on a mysterious journey to places unknown.
The lonesome hooting of the owl filling one with premonitions taught to us as old
wives tales.
The high pitched singing of the cicada among the bushy trees while
ghostly shadows lurch unsteadily in the shifting light of the moon.
From the distance and echoing down the hills the plaintive cry of the coyote
bring a chill to the bones and fear to the hunter.
The drip drip of raindrops on iron roofs,....stacatto beats
leading us into dreams.
Even the creak of the old house as it settles down to sleep
fills me with comfort and belonging.
Then dawn that gentle tone of day when early birds set up a chirp and a song
while farmers milk and tend their flock.
The smell of a hearty breakfast of bacon eggs and ham
tickle the senses shocking the sleeper into wakefullness
another day bright and crisp as mist slowly ebbs and bright sunshine comes out
to play.
while cattle graze along green sloping hillsides, dotting the landcape like raisin
on bread
and horses, fleet of hoof, gallop accross the ridges,flaming manes fanned by a
teasing wind.
My home in the country is what I miss where everyday sounds is a symphony
unique so unlike city sounds .....a clash of brass... a chaotic symphony
I miss life in the countryside where all sounds fuse together in blissful
harmony.
Last night’s slumber found me in an evening, cloud forest;
a plethora of mosses covered the ground and I found myself walking on a palette of green hues as night’s curtain fell. Humidity clammed my skin with its touch; free body lotion. It feels like I’ve just stepped out of the shower, refreshed. In a water forest you cannot always hear what is behind you; I felt that familiar piercing of eyes when, someone or something is watching and turned to see an Olingo on a tree branch. He was beautiful and as our eyes locked, he stood frozen. I called him friend then thought about it again. I then told him not to befriend others of my kind; they would want to harm him. Strange, his high-pitched, voice in my head; “Thank you, you will be my one human friend; you are welcome here”. He turned, ran into the cloudy haze. My heart levitated from my chest with elation; I may have saved him and his friends from poachers.
In a cloud forest
varied species living life
majesty surrounds all.
Olingo, A small nocturnal mammal found in Central and South American areas. They resemble a Kinkajou only with a banded and non-prehensile tail.
Animato
-----------------
Once there were a covey of quails. They lived in Paw-Paw's homestead. There they shared there days with rabbits and chickens, who often fought over the feed and mealworms feed to them. One day a cat wondered into the feeding area and began to look over the rabbits and chickens, the puppies playing in the yard noticed this and went to ask the cat it's intentions. The cat said" scram bucko the tender's are ah callin" the puppies laughed and told the cat that this was there watch and ' aint no cat task chore feez" where happening here, " you get that catty eat 'em up"" you get that" the biggest puppy said.The wared the cat that an ole fox was wondering around and he too better look out for him. "What ever he said I aint scared of no fox!" "The Puppies said scram bucko". Yes sir said the hungry kitty who turned it's back and walked off, I get it: I get it loud and clear" the cat walked away and everything was quiet on the homestead again.
Oh, somewhere around noon, the quailes started calling bob white. It was so annoying that they cat said,"Shut up will you we are tryna get some sleep"! The quailses keep on calling "Bob white": the cat stood and said' I'm coming over there and gonna make you quailes shut up!" One of the quailes answered saying" Come- on and do it, if you got the nerves". The cat responded, I got the nerves, I'll be right over"!
And then we noticed that on the field edge the tall grasses had parted and a sly evil eyed fox was looking. " oh lord said one of the hen's,my lord it's the fox!" Rabbits and chickens and quails started for cover. "Bob White the quailes yelped!" " The high pitched shrieks of the rabbits and the cackling of the hens, warned the dogs to stand and defend!. The barking puppies all came ah running. The fox hungry and unbothered crouched and did his stalking act to then pounce upon one oof the quailes.
I found a bag outside the door
My mind, alert like a sly fox,
Advised me not to rush because
It could contain Pandora’s box!
My fingers itched to pull the string
So that the knot I could untie
With expectations quite far-fetched
To find within pie in the sky!
My wife came out, beheld the bag
And curiosity galore
She was unable to resist!
Had not a clue what was in store.
She dragged the bag inside the house
In case the neighbours stopped to stare
And pulled it open in a flash
The sight was one that raised her hair!
A host of spiders jumped in haste
On trembling hands and frenzied face
Her high-pitched screams heard far and wide
Resounded into outer space.
Then, gosh, she stopped and thankfully
She swooned. I caught her just in time.
The cops turned up; I had a job
To prove that there had been no crime.
By then the spiders had escaped
The bag lay limply on the ground.
The neighbours’ doors and windows closed
And silence reigned; how sweet the sound!
My wife came to; said not a word
Not ‘cos of shame or out of choice
The tough ordeal had been too much
In fact (God bless) she lost her voice!
-----------------------------------------
This poem has been published in a PoetrySoup Anthology:
“Reflections on the Important Things” Nov 2023 (print)
You wake me nearly every night
with your incessant guttural cries.
Tell me what’s wrong and how
is it the spotted owl is so wise.
I think you wake me on purpose,
you eerily laugh at my expense.
I say stop this ridicule, stop this
high pitched shrieking nonsense.
Anyway who cares about some
ruffled wide-eyed morepork
that’s frightened by the light,
who eats things like rats and mice
on a dark starry moonlit night.
The native Maori call you ruru,
it’s true I smiled when I heard.
You don’t have coloured feathers -
a poor excuse for a bird.
So go and trouble someone else,
find another place to hide.
And forgive me like I forgive you,
let’s both swallow our pride.
Written: 1991
Moreporks are native
New Zealand owls.
A magnificent eagle flying overhead is amazing,
as is, watching their dare-devil plummeting to earth;
floating over water, feeding on salmon, and from trees gazing,
and guarding their precious eggs in deep nests till the eaglets birth.
Their high-pitched piercing scream are a symbol of wisdom,
to the Ojibwe eagles represent freedom, courage, strength, skill;
power, bravery- to align oneself with the eagle is to attain vision,
and to wear an eagle feather is respect- but only if given with will.
To cruelly remove feathers or kill for the feathers is wrong,
eagles are a symbol of the wilderness for the Ojibwe and others;
in nature soaring across the sky is where the eagles belong,
they mate for life and the females make adept and caring mothers.
I proudly wear my eagle feather for it fell from the sky,
we, society are used to images of the eagles in graceful flight;
just watching them makes me become breathless and sigh,
but also they are love of a mother and eaglets.- Oh what a sight!
____________________________
April 26, 2019
Poetry/Rhyme/Eagles Soaring
Copyright Proteted, 19-1140-211-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
The north woods forest
Brings voices with the first cold
Fall wind
Swirling chants, a pitch above the
Crisp wind, fill my ears
With Native American chants
I listen closely
Warnings best heeded
Of what's ahead
Drumming in the background
High-pitched shouts mixed
With victory chants
My spidey sense is on full
Alert
Strength fills my limbs
My boomerang sack is near
The door, must remember to bring my
Bullroarers
Thanking the wind before I throw
Tomorrow
Trusted old 'rangs
From makers long dead
Call out to me "I'm ready, old friend"
My left arm remembers
How to throw
My favorite booms remember
How to fly
They like fall
In
Minnesota
09/13/13
© All Rights Reserved
I sense myself wide awake
Although I am deep in dream
It's like an altered state
Sights and sounds engulf my mind
Not today's but a different kind
When I re-awake what will I find
Strange noises surround my thoughts
I feel frightened by body in fraught
What I feel now, what has my mind sought
High pitched sounds like a banshee's wail
I try to decipher but to no avail
Like something hinders my subconscious trail
I awake from this dream, to the city noise
It has a different sound from the modern joys
They appear erratic, a twisted poise
From my penthouse flat I view the streets
People are wandering, there's a different beat
Friction aplenty, in daily greet
There's cars crashed, fire's burning
Bodies lying, people turning
I'm in confusion, my minds churning
To my balcony I go, to my telescope
As i view the city, I nearly choke
The newspaper seller looks a different bloke
He wanders aimlessly, in his selling place
His eyes have gone from his rounded face
What cause would permit this visual displace
As i meander my view, I witness other sights
People with no mouths, another blight
Oh no! others faceless, my city in plight
Carrion eaters in plentiful greed
Plumes of smoke from the oxygen feed
Somethings turned against my human breed
I venture down, to determine the extent
To fathom out where the previous days went
Why is this happening, what has the world been sent
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-6.php