Long Kite Poems
Long Kite Poems. Below are the most popular long Kite by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kite poems by poem length and keyword.
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Often I feel my credit far exceeds my debit,
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Before I am stamped an insolvent the rest of my life,
Let me strive to do some little good while I can.
Like a melting candle, let me bring some glow,
Before I grow weary and time runs out of my span.
Sometimes I feel I am an insidious bed bug,
Growing bigger and fatter on others' blood.
Here when I registered as an artless novice,
I was as inane and inexperienced as a kid.
As a kite with a piece of broken string,
I floated up hither and thither in the skies in vain.
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Through this forum, we share our inmost thoughts,
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Let us proclaim aloud our fraternity worldwide!
Today, the weather is warm.
I go out into the autumn sun
to give my thoughts some air.
They fly out of their cage
and lift as if in search of meaning,
trailing their long sighs
like kite tails. I watch them
soar upwards
almost out of sight.
I call them but they won’t
come back. They seem to like
the freedom of the sky,
the sun bleaching away
the dark mold that had stained
their wings to a sooty-black.
There is a joy in them
riding the warm air, wheeling
way above the trees,
untethered from the cramped
confines where I had held them
hostage, imprisoned somewhere
on the inside of me.
After a lifetime I must learn
to be kind to myself.
At 7 am, I found time
filling my mouth with
coffee-brimmed grinds;
my hand circling a porcelain
mug and dropping sugar,cube by
cube, into the murky liquid;
never expecting it to be
sweet enough to drink.
Then by noontime, my fingers
designed a crepe kite
heavily trimmed along its tail
that it landed on
a neighbor's fence. I needed
to make this day a fruitful one,
as I feigned sick , mumbling
on the phone about a vicious
cough--- frazzled and bored
from a dreadful Wednesday, yet
looking at that dead kite,
I felt really like a champ. My sense
of perfection tells me,
this day is a one good shot!
POETRY LESS
Sitting at my computer with my silly hat on,
Not knowing what to write,
I really feel sad, down, really not bright,
My muse is no help at all tonight,
As I struggle to think with all my might!
The situation lately is quite,
A challenge, and in spite,
Of my every endeavour, as I face this plight
Do not have an inkling, or even a slight
Idea, I try to relax, not to fight
This block in my mind, it’s a fright,
Hey musey mine, show me a light,
For my ideas are a tad trite!
You want us to fly a kite,
In the dark, at night?
Drink champagne and become tight,
And caviar and biscuits bite?
I’m beginning to come right,
Oh my goodness dear muse, wait
A poem is slowing forming despite,
The block in my mind, what a delight,
But in hindsight,
Let’s work on it tomorrow, for I am alight
Too much champagne, feel I’ll ignite!
She's become lost in small
The oh so important insignificant
Living in her world of do, do
Doing so much
Accomplishing so little
Head down
Sun shining on top of her head
Complaining about the heat
Can't look up
Too concerned about her feet
Skin once dark
Now white like a sheet
Better moments
Floating past her head
Instead of seeing happy
She sees red instead
You might find her joyful
Unless you listen to what is said
She seems alive but inside she's dead
For her
others can't seem to get it right
Their failures, keep her up at night
Her disapproval rides high
She flys it like a kite
Subtley expressed
With a smile so bright
yet in her eyes there is no light
Hands by her side
In fists clenched tight
I'm left wondering
Is this really working for her
Rigid thoughts so solid
Now starting to blur
All those moments wasted
Completly lost for sure
If only she would listen
I would gladly talk to her
Instead
she grasps onto her small
So things they remain
just as they were
No other way of thinking
occurs to her
Still, I desire to see fully
Beneath the critical
To glimpse her beautiful
That enlargened wonderful
No more clinging to miserable
Within a single thought
Her life could start
True freedom within life's art
Right now and here
Best moment
better year
A less expectant
Gentler ear
Then she will find
Other small things that matter
Becoming less lost
Searching out softer ways
Exchanging a sharp tongue
For one of praise
Living to appreciate
No more wasted days
Less doing
More relaxing
Far more
Thankful
Blessed
okays!
Form:
Speeding to progress height
my special son zooms toward zestful flight
driving with his wheel chair with delight
whirling from left to right
cheering us all aright…
Vanquishing spastic blight
which does not well excite
he communes with gestures’ might
conquering boredom’s fight
flying cheerfully custom-made kite…
Then he grabs pen to write
figures clear at his sight
mom’s teeth showing smile’s bright
sister’s bag purely white
bits of cheese he can cheerily bite…
Along good appetite
he strives hard to recite
mumbling sounds without fright
noisy, oh, never quite
mirth-filled midst giggling sprite…
Soon enthralled with flash light
he grips it really tight
exuding smiles that invite
toward genuine respite
from rigors never trite.
With lullaby’s dim light
ending his prayer* plight
comes stuffed toy’s tinkling mite
messing up slumber site
for quirky wriggling cheerful night.
*Psalm 69:13 But as for me, my prayer is unto thee, O LORD, in an acceptable time: O God, in the multitude of thy mercy hear me, in the truth of thy salvation.
March 17, 2020
Edited on March 27, 2020
Honorable Mention, "STRAND PICK 3,any theme,any form" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 4/7/2020.
Yours truly jogs his memory to write
about witnessing bats appearing at twilight
swooping mammals (in search of prey) quite
silently whooshing thru the dusky night
flitting to and fro, hither and yon
across the darkening sky
analogous to erratic zigzag pattern
traced courtesy skittering kite
resembling little black birds
(think chimney sweeps)
predicated espying them from height
of about five feet and ten inches
beautiful creature whom
one human they excite
dark shadows temporarily
eclipsing man in the moon
obscuring said natural satellite of Earth,
come cool weather,
whence winged wafting animals own birthright
despite suffering *****sapien
wrought them bum rap reputation.
Though initially frightful,
bats unique aesthetically beguiling
captivating anatomy does appeal
and compromising said species
quite a big deal
cuz they naturally regulate
an essential role in pest control,
pollinating plants and dispersing seeds.
Recent studies estimate bats
eat enough pests to save
more than $1 billion per year
in crop damage and pesticide costs
in the United States corn industry alone.
Habitat destruction undermining
aforementioned living things
akin to Damaging Achilles heel
anthropomorphising, (albeit personifying)
planet earth, an entity
all living things get their meal
cuz meddlesomeness to steal,
viz humans beings self appropriating
bountiful resources of Gaia
with selfish zeal
only spells demise
of self serving bipedal hominid.
The golden leaves fall off
the cherry trees groping
on the steep cliff,
the tall marabous lament...diving
in dark, shallow waters
their racous cry announce
the arrival of winter on the reef...
while the poet dreams!
The lost kite has flown off
a kid's hand that waves to its friend,
shrikes wait on pines' brenches
for their prey to impal on thorns;
wagtails stand on rocks
being watchful and trustless of them,
living in danger is not staying alive...
while the poet dreams!
The jumping mouse scurrs
from scrub to scrub crushing their leaves,
as daylight haunts his footsteps;
food is scarce by the waterfront,
so he scampers back to the underground,
to return when everything turns dark
and finds no one endagering his search...
while the poets dreams!
The blind,white-haired man is led
by a retriever that's so attentive,
as he guides him to an empty bench;
he can't see or perceive a fall's sunset:
like other cheerful eyes bedazzled by light...
while the poet dreams!
The year was sixty-seven, mid July,
a summer's day, and Hucknall was the place,
I sat beneath a cornflower blue sky,
sun hat on head, and ice cream on my face.
Strange mixtures of aromas filled my nose,
like aviation fuel and candy floss,
hot dogs with onion, I had one of those,
got ketchup down my shirt, my Mum was cross.
Not angry for too long, she treated me
to my first trip aloft, a pleasure flight,
a 1930s biplane, the Rapide,
all wood and struts and wires, like a kite.
Mum leaned across and handed me a sweet,
she said to me that sucking it would stop
the pressure change around two thousand feet
from making both my eardrums go pop.
We bumped along the grass, took to the air,
warm currents rose then dropped our little plane,
my face at one point took on colour where
the lime boiled sweet and it were both the same.
We landed, I climbed out, all beaming smiles,
and pleaded with my Mum to go again,
my next flight I would have to wait a while,
but that was when I fell in love with planes.
For contest 'Early childhood memory', sponsor Line Gauthier
22nd April 2018
The Air of Indifference
Tree limbs grasped hungrily at idle air
hawks, with weary wings, shared calms despair,
sailors, deafened, by the muted swell
motionless the listless sails froze in heated hell.
Kites, stricken victims of inertial rule
denied the need for string, or child-held spool
aspire to go nesting in the trees
dream of the distant joy of being free.
Soft turn of ocean breeze will fulfill hope,
sailors on the deck will seize the rope
as children would the string of lifting kite
and trees bend easily as hawks take flight.
Thus does spirits wind so gently raise
the voices of the silenced into praise.
7/3/2014