Long Lakeland Poems
Long Lakeland Poems. Below are the most popular long Lakeland by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lakeland poems by poem length and keyword.
NO FEAR OF JAMAICAN JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY MARTH BREA WITCH OR THE MINUIONS PLOTTING TO MURDER ME FOR MY GRANDFATHERS HIGH HEIRARCHY IN ROME OR MY AMERICAN POETRY OR MY VIETNAM POW DISABLED HUSBAND I WILL NEVER EVER FEAR YOUR CORRUPT ABUSE OF POWER TERRORISTS THREATS IN AMERICA BACK OFF JAMAICAN SKANK YOU KILLED RASTA ANDREW MY STEP SON NAVANTE FREDLOCKS LEADING TO BLAKE BEING SHOT SEVEN TIMES IN HIS BACK WHILE SITTING IN A CAR WITH HIS THREE KIDS I KNOW ABOUT YOUR BRUTALITY EXCESSIVE FORCE BADGERING BULLYING NOW CONNECTED TO JAN 6TH ATTACK ON WASHINGTON DC ITS CLEAR YOU ARE DOMESTIC TERRORISTS ABUSING YOUR POWER 222 MY FIRST RESPONDERS FROM LAKELAND FLORIDA OH NANCY OH NANCY ORGANIZED CRIME AND CORRUPTION WHITE ELEPHANT SALE BUY SELL TRADE FLORIDA POLITICAL FROM WISCONSIN I ALSO WORKED WITH THE GANG TASKFORCE THIS ENRAGED THE GANG MEMBERS EXPOSED WITH NY BEING AN FBI INFORMANT I AM UNAFRAID OF TERRORIST THREATS FROM GANG MEMBERS FROM CATRINA BELL MCKISSICK MY FATAL ATTRACTION STALKER JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY PERPUTRATING IDENTITY UPON ME SEVERE INTIMADATION DATA BREACH OBSESSED WITH NY AMERICAN POETRY JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY CIMPLETE SCUM OF THE EARTH JAMAICAN DEALERS STRIPPERS FROM TAMPA IMPERSONATING ME THIS IS THE MOST EXTREME IDENTITY FRAUD SHE ARRIVED WITH AN ASSASIN TO END MY LIFE I SURVIVED SHE GREW BITTER SLEEPING WITH MY HUSBAND THREATENED MY LIFE YOU FLED TO MILWAUKEE HIS HOME TOWN CASHING CHECKS ON BEHALF OF MY TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY FROM ALLSTATE INSURANCE COMPANY JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY GREW ANGRY AND BEGAN STALKING IN FLORIDA BREAKING IN MY HOME THREATENING MY DISABLED HUSBANDS LIFE AS WELL THIS VOODOO SKANK FROM MARTHA BRAE RIVIER IN JAMAICA I WILL NEVER FEAR THIS TRASHY SKANK I FEEL SORRY THST SHE DON'T HAVE A LIFE UNLESS SHE IMPERSONATE ME SHE'S SCUM PARASITE CANKER SORE SEEPING PUS SORRY JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY YOU WILL NEVER EVER STEAL MY LIFE HENCE MY DEATH I AM AMERICAN
I awakened to giant egrets
dancing while brilliant hawks
bluster over head while
thousands of white herons
nest by night flying out
every morning arriving
within the Caribbean
by noon only to return
just in time for dinner
cardinals perch low singing
lovely hymns to the baby eagles
just out of reach the blue jays
gather among the wood peckers
as the humming birds flutter
feasting on sweet nectar
the tall cypress trees sway
embracing the glorious sky
igniting one hundred butterflies
while the sun peeks in between
the wandering clouds above the lakes
Written by Mrs Yolanda Joy Nicholsen
4-5-2022
3:24 am
As if a child should understand an adult’s muddle,
putrid oil slick puddle,
the dreadful pain we foist on wide-eyed offspring.
Robotic elders crush with rigid slabs of Portland censure whatever spark remains in those tiny rosebud cheeks before their prime.
Those innocents should never have to wrap their nascent minds around the wanton desecration of intertidal lakeland wetness gradients,
the callous douse of velvet purple algerita berries,
blighted by the stark timbre cloud forms
that recklessly pour bile on every genus.
The rug rats at our feet may never know the joys of sap-addicted sugar gliding nocturnal possums, whose acrobatic tree to tree mirror ball exploits mock Isaac Newton,
or the kinkajou of tail grip fame who flaunt their tan glow wooly fur coat in broad daylight,
or the dawn to dusk fennec fox, that doughty eagle owl and jackal dodger whose kissing cousin dens pockmark terracotta forests. But not alone in wider worlds are children being deprived.
A heartless milieu also asks our clutch and clan to dwell in
alloy girder mousetraps, those pale decor rat infested tumble downs gouged out by scrimp and scrape rust bucket caterpillars.
Beyond belief we tolerate the nick and hoist elevator,
that pressure cooker transit flight abduction of the harried wage slave parent,
those cotton garment dress code senseless
dragonfly stand-ins that hover in mid air.
There’s every chance we’ll leave our nursling’s ire to future bands of mutant stem cell rockers who are duty bound to sculpture rimshots meshed in suckling chimes,
when validating rawhide rattle chainsaw fret board anthems
at crowd mosher mud fests,
where rivers of apocalyptic visions burst the bank.
If only grown ups listened to that inner vocal quiver that we
may not yet have cast into plastic resin folly for the generations weaned in toxic smoke rooms,
we’d pollinate a luscious fairground acorn dotted garden with childhood zest its one and only buzzword.
A sweet treat gift with natural flavour pending,
eternal life for baby planet daisy chains of tender petal linkage,
who‘d finally experience pure clutter free environments,
an eco world that values new born thirst for natural realms
There we were all ready to climb Catbells
this climb we'd done some years ago
so thought we needed no map or direction
the weather was lovely the sky so aglow
A crowd was there seemingly on same way
followed along not needing to ask
came to route block off but walked on
never asked had to go back this quite a task
Found the correct signpost and took the route
upwards it was now all along the way
beautiful scenery evident to all around
divinity created all this in a single day
We all need to read God's holy book
so to find the only way to home
never to think we don't need direction
for God's word is our sure word alone
Speak to God open your tongue
make your plea to His majesty on high
ask for His sovereign plan for you
for He knows your days before you die
These are spiritual lessons for our good
revealed through life's every day events
God speaks through our every moments
for in them He always daily frequents
(Was on holiday a few months ago in Lake District and made effort to climb Cat Bells, one of our fav Fell(hill) climbs having done it many years ago, after coming down thought on some spiritual lessons learnt from the events of that day.)
In towns where Basic fantasy makes a frown
Nature has turned Completely upside down.
And day tours emigrate to the Cambrian shore
Onboard, the rivers boats from Windermere
moving between hills and trees, miles from home
where the boughs of orchard greens are overgrown.
From distance views are the dreams first caught,
But by wagon roads are the scenic marvels wrought.
Steep is the pass across from Eskdale to Hardknott.
The architect must create when the odds are Great.
And stand resolute by luck, for success, failure, or fate
Keep the faith Lyvennet flows alone to catch the bait.
In Crake valley the vision of dreams is made known
On Penrith curb they drove all the way back home.
from the distillation realm, everything looks foreign,
Solemn and determined, invoke quiet a snarling spell
Being the adventurer rage driving furiously out of hell,
With Lakeland Muse, ambush by cars on top of a hill.
Framed flaws lay beneath the religious camouflage
Shadows meandering when winding lanes diverge,
An envious world moonlight enriched into a mirage.
Out from the woods, alpacas and feral cats emerge.
Pale and pickled at the grunting grumbling core.
In lush Whitehaven vale oblivious of a full-scale war
Continued tours like silhouette building dunes
In embroidery gardens, beautiful flowers bloom.
Bumblebees, wasps, and flies have wooed and won,
The old man ‘Lakeland’, seated on its penitent throne
Crocked steam from Ulverston rises on the pond.
Another day meets the Crinkle Craggs of Lakeland.
Here in the midst of summer
surrounded by the lakeland feels
what glory to look out upon
makes one cry out to tell
There's a stillness in the air
so silent, one can hardly hear
the sun shines through the clouds
warms the air, listen in your ear
Often you feel like wandering
taking in all that's freshly new
this is a beautiful creation, you see
divinely born, you see right on cue
This is indeed a wonder of wonders
one has to be still to take it in
on the first day, when Adam fell
what God had made is marred by sin
Pray to be taken to that original
that first moment so real in time
when all was just perfectly sublime
dream on and feel it in its prime
(Just some thoughts spending in the English Lake District a few weeks ago.)
EVERY MORNING I AWAKEN TO THE MAJESTIC BEAUTY THE BRILLANT PRESENCE OF THE BLACK SWAN BATHING IN THE RISING SUN SHE SWIM SO GRACEFULLY WHILE APPROACHING THE SIDES OF THE LAKE WHILE MY HUSBAND AND I PLACE THE BOOTS ON THE GROUND FOR THE FLORIDA'S FALLEN HAND IN HAND CROSSES AND AMERICAN FLAGS LINE THE GRASSY KNOLLS WHILE FIRST RESPONDERS SHINE THE FIRE ENGINES FOR THE BIG DAY THE WARRIORS WALK A PEACEFUL MORNING HUE PEEKS IN BOUNCING ON LILLY PADS COVERING THE TADPOLES AND YOUNG ALIGATORS AS SHE SEPERATES HERSELF FROM ALL THEE OTHER SWANS SPLASHING WATER ABOUT AMAZING LOOKING FROM HERE I AWAIT HER TO PASS THROUGH THIS GLORIOUS PROCESSION THE BLACK MADONNA HANGING IN THE CATHEDRAL IN POLAND COMES TO MIND HOW BEAUTIFUL WHAT A BLESSING TO HAVE THE EYES OF JESUS HERE SHE COMES AGAIN WOW BLACK BEAUTY IN ALL HER GLORY ITS QUITE RARE TO FIND BLACK SWANS AMONG THE REST AND THERES ALWAYS ONLY ONE BLACK SWAN HER DANCE IS SIMPLY FABULOUS THE OTHER SWANS ARE JUST AS PRETTY SOMETHING ABOUT THE BLACK SWAN THAT GRACES THE CITY OF LAKELAND WITH HER GLORIOUS PRESENCE THE SWIMMING MADONNA DIVES DURING THE WARRIOR WALK IN LAKELAND SHE DRIES HER WINGS ALONE AS SHE DANCES ALONE WATCHING HER OWN IMAGE ON THE CRYSTAL WATERS OF LAKE MORTON THIS IS ABSOLUTELY QUITE FASCINATING GRACIOUS MEMOIRS ESPECIALLY THE SIX NEWEST ADDITIONS OF SWANS DONATED TO THE WONDERFUL CITY OF LAKELAND BY QUEEN ELIZABETH FROM A CHICAGO BREEDER WHY I WALK WITH SHEER ADMIRATION AROUND THE LAKES OF THE CITY OF LAKELAND
WRITTEN JULY 30TH 2025 BY
MRS YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN
LAKELAND POET
Lucy Locket lived amidst Lakeland Hills, where jay serenaded morning;
Like plum rainbows celebrate sunshine, with never any silent warning.
Lucy was merely twenty years old, like a peach rose, dusted with dew;
And she was also a dutiful teacher, unveiling what children never knew.
Lucy liked to sew and to garden, like green nature, roving everywhere,
Recalling lavish, sunset skies we used to view, in the colors of vanity fair.
Kitty Fisher was Lucy's best friend, amidst many, for she was popular;
Like finches are popular in floriated summer, creating gladness, ocular.
Fancy emerald nature wore fun, fantasy makeup, in its faceted colors;
And unfaltering family flattered fall with visits, beloved like no others.
Kitty lived in the house of very ordinary, like cherry redbirds singing;
Where silver moments comprised golden hours, jeweled time ringing.
Summer snapdragons grew quite lovely, on her sparkling street of sun;
And scarlet maples smiled colors, until the smoky season left, sudden.
Nepalese neighbors narrated tales of sweet nation, at mulberry night,
When nectarous, naval oranges hung ripely, under moon, satiny white.
Purple ranunculus blooms resembled roses, when sunrise echoed dusk;
And 'Marimo Moss Balls' played water polo, while jasmine trailed musk.
Giant water lilies ruled placid lakes, giving rise to titanic, pink blooms;
As golden sun and calm moon vie for dominion, inside separate rooms.
Lucy and Kitty went to a lecture, in a lavish, lavender evening of larks.
The lively, literary topic was much enjoyed, like the sun's dying sparks.
Afterwards, Kitty and Lucy parted, each to their own welcoming home;
Like a green bird of turquoise skies, oft makes its nostalgic way, alone.
Later, Lucy discovered her pocket was missing, its location so unknown,
Like red streaks of gold time, ever fleeing, past a blue, marble milestone.
Next day dawned golden, and Lucy's pocket, she found on her doorstep.
Golden coins were tied to its ribbon. And at Kitty's note, her heart leapt!
For it was Lucy's sparkling, glad birthday, as devoted friends remember;
And Kitty had made it one of her best, like hued leaf nights of November.
'Lucy Locket lost her pocket,
Kitty Fisher found it;
Not a penny was there in it,
Only ribbon round it.'
We drove to Lakeland to have lunch with Damien and Trista
(our eldest grandson and his fiancé) we love to see them as often as we can
but this lunch was a special one…to discuss their wedding plans.
Driving home I thought about the night we stopped at a cabin on the Skykomish river.
How one part of the river flowed directly to the Pacific…making a beeline to the west
While another part veered off toward our cabin
creating little waterfalls…before joining with the rest.
I remember watching this river…studying it for a while…
and I swear…when the two groups of water came back together I could see both waters smile.
I remember wondering…the more I watched this raging river flow
where did each drop of water join the river…
and where will each drop go.
Will some continue on forever…following the drops who’ve come before
Will some decide they’ve gone far enough…and make their home upon the shore.
After visiting Trista and Damien I thought how a family is like a river…
how together, in the beginning, all the members flow…
How we know where everyone begins…but we have no idea where they will go.
How we don’t control Damien and Trista’s flow of water…
understanding when they’re fully grown…
there’s a good chance they will veer off in a direction all their own
But we also know if we fill our river with love
when they do choose a direction of their own…
there is a good chance from wherever they flow
they will find their way back home.
For waters filled with love that once flowed together
love to see each other as often as they can…
Even if it’s only for a lunch…to discuss some wedding plans.
And I can tell you from experience…when the waters reconnect
even if only for a little while…
It only takes a moment before
you can see both waters smile.
Walking along this nature path
such beautiful colours before your eye
revealing the greatness of God's creation
such splendour and majesty sky high
This reminds me so much of the lakes
there surrounding Keswick so very fair
walking along Derwent Water's edge
glories abound but no Derwent bear!
Colouring of the trees so very majestic
stops one in your tracks, you must admire
leaves you spellbound almost still
imagine now sound of a male voice choir!
These memories so forthcoming
for this year covid 19 did block
any opportunity to visit my delight
beauty personified as feet can't walk!
Being so thankful for past memories
so many to look upon and gaze
many a tale one could speak upon
but I don't want to start a craze!
(Thinking of being in the English lakes at least once a year, that's been the case for past 30 years but covid 19 stopped that this year so holding on to my memories as that's all I have of these lovely lakes.)