Long Lawn Poems
Long Lawn Poems. Below are the most popular long Lawn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lawn poems by poem length and keyword.
It's not within our power but rather, The Lord makes the call
I can endure a lawn that has suddenly become filled with leaves
Lord, it's been a long hot and fiery Summer, and it's time for Fall.
Let the dry leaves fall as the sun rays break through the trees It's that time for the southbound flight of the birds and bees
Our planet has been smothered by smoke and reeling from heat
The 'firenadoes' have spoken loud and clear, pushing us closer to you
O Lord, let the winds of Fall begin and let there be a thermal reprieve
There's no greater beauty than to behold the open skies of blue,
and in observing 'the out' with 'the old' and 'the in' with the new
09132018PoSoupContest, Bring On Fall, Francine Roberts; English Quintain, Two 5-line stanzas, Rhyme Scheme (ababb, cdcdd )
The leaves are falling, dropping like melted ice.
It must be autumn, there is a spectacular show
Of red, yellow, and frosty foliage. Though it’s still nice
Weather-wise, in a heartbeat, soon we’ll see snow.
My beautiful cherry tree is getting sadder every day.
The little green, which existed on my lawn, stopped growing.
The squirrels are busy stocking nuts next to the old chimney.
Only the spiders seem happy trapping flies that are passing.
It must be autumn, the Halloween paraphernalia, the faux grass
And the turkeys are littering the lawn with fake cemeteries,
Statues of Dracula, mini-coffins, and pseudo dead bodies.
The leaves are falling as if the trees were tired and lazy.
People are walking faster and the elders look very grumpy.
The leaves are yellow and ready to be recycled. Alas!
Copyright © November 2015, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
We do not see Jesus on a float,
in the big Thanksgiving Day parade.
Nor in a shopping mall handing out,
cheap Toys that child laborers have made.
You don’t see giant Jesus blow ups,
bobbing around out on people’s lawn.
He’s not parked in his sleigh upon the roof,
with a hundred bright flashing lights on.
They don’t sell you Jesus door knockers,
napkin holders or pepper shakers.
He does not drink Coke with polar bears,
or pose with kids for picture takers.
Was pretty easy to figure out,
why kids like Santa more than Jesus.
Because his advertisement firm has learned,
instant satisfaction will please us.
What four-year old kid will want to wait,
‘til he dies to go to paradise.
They just want to open their present,
and eating cookies for breakfast might be nice.
If Jesus wants to be a big hit,
he will need to go on to TV.
Ride a unicycle down Main street,
while shouting out Ho! Ho! Ho! with glee.
Endings or beginnings, there's reason for change
circling around me, are seasons, rearranged
As we say farewell to our place in the sun
Goodbye to our cove on the beach and the fun,
but hello to the chores, and sweeping leaves by the door
With the first icy fingers , hoar frost on the windows,
we'll attack and will stack all the chairs in the garage.
We'll put back barbecues, while the rake, and the hoe,
are in charge of our life, till that last leaf is gone
Take a cue, shortening days, and the color of dawn
Dew on the lawn, wet days, and light snow,
tell us that nature, abundant with harvest,.. grows
and is bringing a new brilliant show.
Blossoms are fading, and gold leaves are falling
The acorns are dropping and bouncing like rain
A north wind is brewing with clouds on the horizon
promising raindrops. Jack Frost on the sill!
Now is time when the year curves around,
for, summer is fading, soon, and winter will fall
Daylight is shrinking, with more time for thinking
of pencils, and school-books and buses in yellow
Horizons are purple, with brilliance that sizzles
blazing the hillside, while aspens are shivering.
The whole world is spread with a bright golden band
shouting with color, while painting our land.
Sun ripened trees, are stirred in the breeze
The scent of ripe apples alive in the trees
Popcorn and football, and nights at the movies
Endings, beginnings, let's give them a whirl...
Time for reflection, all's right with the world !
______________________________________________________
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Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
9/20/15
A patriotic bunting, hanging from a porch,
black lines of a Model-T, back when we liked Ford,
porcelain sign from the 30s, somehow ad and art,
the fun and fear we got from tossing a lawn dart.
Rich, decadent milkshakes upon a summer’s eve,
chrome diner with a neon sign, hawking things to eat.
county band playing loud, line dancers shuffle round,
fire-house’s noonday whistle’s echoing sound.
Cowboy silhouette leans up against the porchside,
slender lighthouse standing tall above the high tide,
Lady Liberty upright on a license plate,
barbeque smoke beaconing, the meat will taste so great…
Biker’s clad in black leather, touring country roads,
kids muck around in the woods, searching for a toad,
bolo ties that shouldn’t work, but somehow they do,
western boots that click-and-clack when you’re coming through.
Blue jeans are the uniform, pairs with everything,
skies at night in July with bright colors burning,
small ballparks in every town, man that boy can pitch,
hammocks hung in the backyard, damn mosquitos itch!
You many not have to like a man, but you’ll like his dog,
drive-in theater with your date, somehow not yet lost,
winchester that your granddad owned, you still use to hunt,
RV cruising the country, won’t stop ’till it’s done,
cabin built of ancient logs, painted brown and green…
I love Americana, it always keeps its sheen.
oh how cold
the drift of migrant winds
unto the strip of lawn,
their newly planted garden
now slowly blooming
with jasmines and herbs that rise
above a pile of flakes.
Will he ever know how
she tended each bud
unfurling fingers to touch the lattice
of night stars? Her pale body leans
upon a mound as she lifts her cheeks
to seek his face on a hazy twirl of lamplight;
while December’s froth scrapes her breath
melting the dew…bending her form
which drops in a waterhole of sorrow.
.
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Poem for Carol Eastman
Sumbitted 6/19/2016
All the family photos are gone.
I wish I had made copies for others.
They would be in their houses, safe, and they would share.
But I was on such a budget. Grandmas offered to pay for them, but still.
I was too proud.
All the furniture is ruined. The lawn is littered with wrappers and cups.
Water got the furniture. Spectators who pulled up in cars to watch left their litter.
The walls are not quite black, yet much darker than gray. Some are gone, others are
Half gone, but in jiggly piggly points at the top as the fire decided to travel.
What is left is mostly plastic, a Barbie doll with singed off hair, a coffee container.
I search frantically through this soggy boggy water-logged hovel for something I care to keep.
Yes, I was lucky no one was home. No, I do not know if the fire was set. Yes, I have insurance.
Not enough, but I will keep that to myself.
Can we help?
How?
Who else knows what I am looking for?
I do not even know what I am looking for!
I would like to have salvaged a few things. My couch was fairly new, but it is destroyed.
My aunt said she could send a crew in. I cannot pay them, and insurance takes so long.
I do not need a damaged credit rating too. I can barely write a check at the grocery store now.
Besides, I have been burned by insurance companies before.
Trusting no one, I begin to pick through the debris that was once my home, hoping as I search.
Belladonna blue.
Scenes in a mystery, do.
Hope, need ye accrue?
Indeed! Heart, why bleed?
Lead? Others or ye? Be! Sea;
Four seasons; change? Strange...
Cold core, darkest door?
Ancient lore, forgotten shore?
Anything for sure?
Weathervane, point! Taut.
Stretching out without a doubt?
Shout? Pout? Win? En route...
Sickle of death god?
Hand, hold on! O carrion;
Seen thy crow? Slow? No...
Poets, why write? Sight.
Procession, no end? Night? Light.
Gods of thunder, roll.
Oracle, thy fate.
Sylvan, honeysuckle, wine.
Fates Three, Muses Nine.
Choose? Which direction?
Suffering, set us free? Plea!
Flea, heard ye of she...?
Yes, so lose heart not!
Automaton, run robot!
Thought, caught? Got the lot!
Deep creek, art thou wound?
Hurting? Me too. Life? Strife, knife.
Blink back, tears of years...
Ravine, emptying?
Silken purse on cotton string?
Sling, shot out? Without...
Great queen, thy machine!
Devour, cursed dog! Smog, slog.
Waterlog, thy bog...
Illuminate, Fate!
Crossing o'er the double strait?
Staggers in my gait...
Soldering, soldiers?
Aim for whites of eyes? Surprise!
Criticize the flies!
Tympani, turmoil.
Garden soil knows when to boil!
Ask and receive? Sieve!
Generation, gone?
Kingdom maun on grassy lawn?
Carrion crow, caw'n...
Pick up and flee? When?
Old master, disaster: been?
Yes, and, then again...
Fireplace, hearth! Hot stone!
Sparks on loan to thrones of bone.
Loan what ye own? Cone.
Ahead? Tread well, step.
Causality, thanks.
Fortune, maybe. Soon...
Vespers, thy bell. Well.
Fish, in ocean stay, today.
Runaway? Of course.
Black abysm, home?
Void, employed? Thus say some. But...
Just what is a job?
Hand of God? Well, no.
That's a position. Mission!
Purpose, define! Shine!
Shrine, thy offering.
Magic, thy ring. Ladder, rung.
Under tongue? Sing? Sung...
Glasses, clean? Seen? Lean.
Prospects, time to rise. Hies? Prize.
Hurricane, spin! Span...
Plan, made? Ocean, shade?
Game, played? Forest, glade? Trade? Slayed?
Anyway, delayed...
Gaunt gangrel, golden?
Stolen. White snow, hide nothing.
Loving mother, you!
Sail for home? Poem.
Stern caps on huge waves, flavor.
Salt, deep water, time...
Time you know I’m on your side
I’ll be with you in a while
And even if it’s not on your side
You know I’ll be in just a while
Momentum can shift
In a days lip of a lift
Along with the wind
And the waters drift
I can move you forward
In the touch of a sip
Child you know time is on your side
I’ll be with you in a while
And even if it’s not on your side
You know I’ll be in just a while
If autumn calls
Then this winter’s for all
And as winners we’ll fall
Nothing makes everything
Mean so much more to you
And everything that’s logical
Means so little
In your moments of truth
Time you know I’m on your side
I’ll be with you in a while
And even if it’s not on your side
You know I’ll be in just a while
Merlot wine in the touch of a time
We weren’t exactly fond of
Truth was underlined
As the ability to move along
Mistakes were meant to sooth your wrong
A time I was yet too smooth to yawn
Tired and ale in a daze so pale
A heart attack followed by a stroke on the lawn
On and on we continue to moan
And now you know it won’t be long
“history”
We lounged on the back deck as twilight fell
and gazed as tiny fireflies cast a spell.
As Nature placed her glory on display,
we sipped red wine, reflecting on our day.
We’d had a scrumptious meal my love prepared,
and then a soothing bubble bath, we shared.
On cool silk sheets, we’d shared . . . oh, so much more
till both of were sated to the core.
We’d watched a Lifetime romance on TV
and swayed to tunes we love by Kenny G.
We didn’t wash one dish or make the bed.
“The maid will do those things!” my lover said.
“Of course, she will. We’ve better things to do.”
I said. “I’m ready for the back-lawn view.”
That’s when we got the wine and went outside.
A place like this is such a source of pride--
Out front car doors were slamming, and we knew
to all that splendor we must bid adieu.
The owners of the home returned too soon!
We fled through woods on paths lit by the moon.
August 3, 2021
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