Long Look out Poems
Long Look out Poems. Below are the most popular long Look out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Look out poems by poem length and keyword.
A couple sips a second cup,
discussing how the day should go.
A quick look out the window brings
some words of joy, some sighs of woe.
She sees a chance for gardening,
to work outside the whole day through.
Sunshine, blue skies--how heavenly!
She can't resist the springtime view.
He sees how tall the grass has grown
and dreads the lengthy chore ahead.
He'll mow the grass for hours on end,
clean up, and fall right into bed.
A wintry morning they look out
and see white swirling drifts of flakes.
She says, "Oh, what an awesome sight."
He groans, "Oh, what a mess it makes!"
As they drive by the Peaceful Rest,
she says, "Should we be buried there?
He shrugs his shoulders and replies,
"Since we'll be dead, why should we care?"
May 15, 2018, entered in Brian Strand's May 2018 Premiere Contest
Near the ocean I'd love to be.
To have my house there would be sweet!
I'd invite friends to visit me.
A life like that – could it be beat?
I’d not complain if there were heat.
Be it near ocean or the sea,
the water is a cooling treat.
Near the ocean I'd love to be.
I’d jump the waves and feel so free
to feel soft sand beneath my feet.
If storms arose, then I could flee.
To have my house there would be sweet!
Life with no friends is not complete.
Picnics on shore I’d guarantee.
What awesome foods we all would eat.
I'd invite friends to visit me.
We’d wake to ocean’s breeze; then we
would find smooth rocks used for a seat.
We’d have good times; don’t you agree?
A life like that – could it be beat?
I do not need a hotel suite.
I'd rather have my own palm tree
to look out on. That would be neat -
a great stay-cation lived with glee
near the ocean!
March 19, 2023
for Joseph May's Double The Fun Poetry Contest
My eyes have keys.
My eyes have locks.
My keys don’t fit my locks.
Eyes are made to look out
So, only out I gazed, I sought.
Others’ eyes held their own locks,
A gallery, magnificent and varied.
In those foreign yet familiar clasps, my keys tarried,
Then with a bit of work, they married—
To treasure chests filled with grand memories
To chains tight and binding
To foggy rooms with dim outlines
To hope chests crammed with keepsake findings
To storage cabinets and their appliances
To showcases bright with earnings
To boxes of hats, masks, and glasses
To cages cold with yearnings
Countless lock types I’ve encountered and
Countless locks have crumbled.
But, behind my doors are mysteries
My locks still waiting to tumble.
'Twas on a sunny day in May
Along the banks of Fundy Bay
When I met… my dearest Anthony
From a distance…I could see
His rugged frame…and symmetry
And the glint of Irish eyes…of bluish green
With manly strides… he lingered there
Along a path of grasses… where
The sun reflected on… his golden hair
And with a glance… he stole my breath
I could not still… my heaving breast
With every step he took… I nearly died
Overcome with… such profound emotions… that I could not hide
~~~
'Twas in that magic moment… that we fell in love
Blessed by heaven… and the angels up above
And with their keeping…we were married… in the month of June
Underneath a pale misty silken silver moon
~~
We built a house… upon a hill…that overlooked the harbour
With a winding path… to the door… that walked… between the arbour
And there… among the sea salt roses… and the ocean breeze
We lived and loved and raised our family
The years went quickly sailing by
Sometimes we laughed…sometimes we cried
But through it all…we never left…each others side
For…we had that kind of special love… that never dies
A love…that asks the reason why
I stand upon our path and cry
As I look out to the ocean...where you lie
So overcome… with such profound emotion… wishing I could die
Thanksgiving Day has arrived
in the nippy month of November,
and the dining room is in a festive mood;
Holiday music is softly playing in the living room...
the aromatic smell of the oven roasted gobbler
spreads to each room, to make everyone drool
for a taste of this delicacy in the late afternoon,
I bet all of them would!
Yesterday morning I went to the local supermarket,
and looked for the youngest and fattest turkey,
the one which is tender and moist...a turkey guests love to eat;
and when I spotted the best one, I hurled it into my shopping cart,
and went straight to the cashier acting a little crazy,
knocking down piles of canned food all over the floor,
and making all the customers scream!
Somebody next to me yelled,
" Young man, be careful...look out!"
Over there...another pile of tomato sauce jars
fell and the breaking glass sounded
worse than a quake hitting this quite town!
Embarrassed, and somewhat hilarious for the unexpected mess,
I rushed out with my heavy shopping bag...trudging like a hunchback!
The oven roasted gobbler steams on the table deplete
with lots of Holiday treats: eggnog, apple cider,
cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, roasted chestnuts
and a set of red candles to match the glossy plates;
O gobbler so perfectly cooked, you're ready for the sharp knife,
and be cut by the volunteer who will say, "Grace!"
O gobbler so tasty and young, wouldn't you love
to come back to life...and poke everyone with your beak?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
It’s hard to comprehend when I look out,
but the science has left so little doubt,
ten thousand years back, this place I call home
was chilly depths, where only fishes roamed.
The whole if it a lengthy glacial lake,
but to my mind that seems like some mistake.
Ten thousand years…that doesn’t seem so long,
Karan Tepe is older, it feels so wrong…
to change so much in very little time,
that this was water seems strange to my mind;
but sandy soil, erosion on cliffs,
scraps on the rock, they tell the truth of it.
Ten thousand years…that high ridge was a shore,
what will in look like in ten thousand more?
“Children of the Sea, is a song about ecology".
- Excerpt from a 2006 interview for Toazted,
where Dio explains the message he wanted pass to
the world with the lyrics of the song Children of the Sea.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Climbing
mountains
we crush the ice
Reaching
beyond skies
we blind the earth
Digging
to touch core
we lick clean
Soiling the soil
the seas, the air
we still celebrate
False calls
reverberate
climate change
We’re lost
Lost children
of Lord, Yes
We’re here
to spoil
His gifts - singular,
precious and rare
we are just
breathing guillotines
Look out! We’re sinners
Look out! We’re looters
Look out! We’re unworthy
Lost children of Lord
Yes, yes, true
We’re here to stay.
FROM THE DESK OF HUGE GRAPPLYN
IS BEING BOUGHT TO YOU BY
the action packed love story...
"SINGLED"
THE FILM STARRING
DRICCER DENNLES AND hEATHER HOLT
cinema-cinema films
in theaters
September 29 2019
hugh grapplin reports.......
HELLO WRESTLING FANS. THEEIRS A LOT OF WRESTLING : HAPPENING
AND WE WANT YOU TO KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON....
WE START WITH SOME EXCITMENT: IT HAPPENED IN CANADA...
IT WAS BOOKED TO BE EXCITING. THE HEADLINE SAID TO LOOK OUT
FOR WHAT YOU ALL WAYS DREAMED OF.
CHAMPION VERSES CHAMPION,
WINNER TAKES ALL
THE PRIDE OF MAN WORLD
CHAMPIONSHIP SERIES...
THE WORLD HEAVY WEIGHT CHAMPION OF
THE WORLD COUNCIL OF WRESTLING
" THE WORLDS FINEST" LAUN SHARE
VERSES
CANADIAN NATIONAL WRESTLING LEAGUES
WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION
"FIGHT READY" FYSTA CARL IROQUOIS
accompanied by his manager
" the advantage" Dealton Brice
it was what is was said to be. something people the world over would want to see. 58:13 ( fifthy three minutes thriteen seconds) of great wrestling enjoyment.
the " fermoir de paortiers" verses " sasori noyar" ended with
a belly to belly and a pinfal. and a newly crowned united world champion. if the other guy had won it would have been a newly crowned International council of wrestling champion.
Some body in massachuttees is opening a new office. Mr fight Ready is a dually crowned titlist.
We can't show the film due to complications with the new company. details next week!
bassoon bastein and cantre nilton won the
bestever brawl
two ring 18 men
the dual championship
texas roadhouse rules
saw these two end the night as
trophy sharers
they meet in Texas to deside who's the number one contender
rumor has it. Brickton Price will be at ringside
you know Price he's the one
who beat Drifter distance for the world title in 2018
well after a stint in boxing
he's back. and he's looking for some attention.
The summer grass of Montana waves in the heat of the noon,
Where the valley of the Little Bighorn waits beneath the silent moon;
The cottonwoods whisper along the river, the winding waters flow,
Unknowing the storm that gathers close, the impending grief and woe.
A nation of lodges spreads wide on the plain, the Sioux and Cheyenne and the brave,
Gathered in freedom to hunt and to live by the river's cool wave;
With Sitting Bull's vision of soldiers that fell like grass in the gale,
And Crazy Horse riding to shield the camp from the encroaching trail.
Down from the ridge comes the Seventh Cavalry, banners of dust in the air,
Led by the general with yellow-ringed hair, riding away from despair;
Divided the forces, the columns unlinked, marching to strike at the heart,
Believing the foe would scatter and run before the first shot could start.
The valley awakens to thunder of hooves, the crack of the repeating gun,
As Reno makes contact and crosses the river beneath the fierce afternoon sun;
The smoke rolls thick through the timbered brush, the panic and chaos arise,
And troopers retreat to the circle of wagons, amid the dust-blinded skies.
Then Custer presses the northernmost rise, seeking the flank of the camp,
Hearing the drumming of thousands of feet and the earth-shaking tramp;
Out of the coulees the warriors pour, countless as stars in the night,
A tide of resistance, fierce and unyielding, entering into the fight.
Arrows like rain blot the bright summer sky, the rifle-fire echoes around,
And riderless horses run wild through the smoke across the blood-spattered ground;
Circle by circle, the trap closes fast wholly engulfed at the foot of the sun-blasted hill,
As the sound of the shooting begins to recede and the valley grows eerily still.
On Last Stand Hill the blue uniforms fade in the dust and the heat,
A tragic collision of empires and fates, a moment of bitter defeat;
The shadows stretch long as the twilight descends, wrapping the slain in its shroud,
While the victors look out o'er the silent expanse, unbroken, defiant, and proud.
Now the grass grows green on the battlefield slope, where monuments whisper of old,
Of the stories of courage and sorrow and loss that history forever will hold;
Where the waters of Bighorn still wind through the plain,
Lies a monument carved where the spirits remain.
No Particle Theory can ever be Unified –
for there is always the space between...the
unknown that separates while binds us
in a matrix of primitive wonder. Dark
Matter is only dark to those accustomed to one
light...for those whose eyes adjust to the
thin horizons of others who have passed
before them – and not the endless expanse within,
the heart and soul of a boundless Universe. So,
we slowly peel-back our outer layers, those of
earth and moon, the illumining stars, limiting
skins of meagerly defined senses. Without God
there is only Science...
hopping from one physical rock to the other, skimming
over the depth of spaces,
stepping cautiously into shallow pools
as yet to explore the unimaginable realms
of a far greater Spiritual Sea.
(More Context)
We are observers...consciousness existing
in an elevated dimension of reality. Difficult
to imagine, yet our thoughts are entirely
separate from our physical senses and their
body sources; we truly, not figuratively,
look in or down upon the many instances
and vehicles of manifest substance.
There can only be
one Unified Theory: it must be a Continuity Theory,
where separation is merely an elaborate illusion:
In fact, all we see and seem are Wave effects
propagated through a flexible yet solid dimension,
driven by vibrations or shivers (so to speak) –
Waves collide, and those peaks or points
of collision become our physical reality –
these are the pixels our eyes and minds interpret
and assemble in the likeness of recalled
references, desires and predilections – We look down,
look in, look out, but always from positions independent
of the objects of our inquiry. Mind, Consciousness
is entirely independent of the physical. This
explains the phenomenon of Savants. Our
brains are not developing receptacles of
knowledge – but, in fact, developing
gateways. Who we are, where we come
from, and how long we live progresses
far outside our experiences of birth and
death.