Long Maine Poems
Long Maine Poems. Below are the most popular long Maine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Maine poems by poem length and keyword.
Great Grandpa Moses first built the old shack
in the summer on nineteen twenty-three,
thrown up with big logs, hard maple and oak,
it only measured twelve feet by fifteen.
There have been two expansions since those days,
a real bathroom and a whole upper floor,
with the bunkrooms it will sleep eight people,
but gets crowded if you add any more.
It sits way back in the Northwoods forests,
in an empty corner way up in Maine,
amidst logging roads sits four hundred acres
that have for so long boasted of our name.
In the Fall months in has been the site
where we’ve taken close to one hundred deer,
one at a time, you got to follow laws,
we’ve just been doing it for many years.
And though the hunt carries its own appeal,
it’s comradery that has made this place,
all that goes on when nightfall has settled
and we sit ’round the fieldstone fireplace.
The amount of beer consumed on these grounds
may strike a rock star as very obscene,
not to mention the cards tossed fast about,
and the stories told that nobody believes.
Outside stretches a ground-level deck,
an outdoor room in the long, warmer months,
a hand-made table sits there upon it,
a good space where we often clean our guns.
The land is mostly an evergreen swath,
though forty acres cleared form a good plot,
to keep the herd big, it’s around this place
where we get them more likely than not.
Though it was deep in a small old-growth patch
where my father bagged the family’s only moose,
he’d been lucky, got a permit that year,
and shot the bull while it fed under spruce.
I’d like to say I got a deer every year,
but hunters can be well-known for their lies,
I usually get a buck every other,
those whitetails really know how to survive.
These days some of my older nephews
want to run power and wifi to the joint,
whenever they do well all roll our eyes,
they seem entirely to miss the point!
And now my boy Mose, though you be but one year,
I pray you will not become like those fools,
and grow to have may adventures here,
one day I know you will love this place too.
At the grand old Springtime Mingle Fest,
Folks arrived all groomed and dressed their best.
One wore stripes with dots,
One brought fifteen pots,
And one came in pajamas for “comfort and rest.”
A banker discussed gourmet cheese
With a pirate who sneezed in the breeze.
A poet nearby
Recited to pie,
While bees chased a man through the trees.
A lady named Myrtle from Maine
Danced wildly like runaway rain.
She twirled with a mop,
Knocked over the punch pot,
Then blamed it entirely on Spain.
A shy little fellow named Clyde
Tried mingling but mostly just sighed.
He smiled at a chair,
Spilled soup in his hair,
Then proudly announced, “Socialized!”
Two cats crashed the gathering hall,
Ignoring good manners and all.
They stole half the fish,
Licked every dish,
Then napped on the mayor’s best shawl.
The music grew louder at nine;
An uncle attempted to shine.
He moonwalked too hard,
Fell straight in the yard,
And rose saying, “Just part of the line!”
By midnight the minglers agreed
That chaos was all they would need.
For though things went wrong,
They laughed loud and long—
And friendship grew faster than weed.
Stephen Edwin King
Horror writer, this novelist supreme
Supernatural fiction, his theme for 50 years
“The Shining” of light on evil, can quell our unknown fears.
Here comes that writer from Maine
Since the accident he's not quite the same
He writes ‘bout Good an’ Evil,
And Now that he's kind of feeble,
They'll have a reason to say he's lame.
King's wife, Tabitha, and his famous son, Joe Hill.
The whole family brandishes that elusive quill.
Scary stories of supernatural or depraved human beings,
But a regard for goodness and light can be seen.
VIDEO/AUDIO-MUSIC on YouTube above. NOTE: On the video; double-click to enlarge, and/or, right-click for the drop-down menu and click on 'Loop' for auto-repeat, click settings and pick the highest level for quality viewing.
AUDIO: Song was written by a Hawaiian queen after her king dies overseas, sung by my cousin
*Tree is a Norfolk Island Pine
Our Last Hawaii Christmas
Our home looked like The Munsters house, above town road
the loft's great hall, tall tree stands near mom's grand
cut fresh from our Norfolk pine lot
distant, in the country --
colorful lights, bells, tinsels, and stuffed animals
through the french doors greet eyes beautifully.
Our curved hilltop driveway, white lights held each palm tree
six bay windows, rainbow-hued variables
the roof and dormers shone brightly
front stone stairs glowed, blued watt --
many had helped dad who meticulously planned
his trials made for a simple workload.
Our Christmas eve, *Lau Lau replaced Christmas ham mode
large gifts in the back of the tree, all fanned
while smallest stacked fronted their spot
freed tracks train chugs clearly --
mom wore reds and whites, played the grand, sung madrigals
it's Nineteen-Sixty-Nine, in Hawaii.
*Lau Lau; a small cut of butterfish added to chopped Hawaiian salted pork, then wrapped in taro leaf, lastly, stem-tied-ti leaf-wrapped and (present-day method) in lieu of ti-leaf, foil paper is used then placed in a steam cooker.
*Twas to be our last Christmas in Hawaii (Big Island),
in ensuing months, we lost our home when our great hall
parlor drapes caught fire, our family then moved to
Bath, Maine as it was heartbreaking for our parents
to bear.
2020 December 28th
A Little Memory - My Invented Form
*2nd Place*
~~Constance La France
ALOHA, to our once trimmed Norfolk Island Pines
*Due to our departure, the pines is now a forest, too tall to sell, now hardly sold publically
Sun has made its big grand entrance. Great right? Right? RIGHT?! No, sun is something that happens by nature, Yes but its just beautiful outside, right? No, WHY!? Beautiful things get destroyed by things that are natural and made from mixed up atoms. The sky is clear so go a head ruin that. No, the sky is clear to see those who have places to be to those who never have to look down. The world is- Burning. But this day is nice an- No. What now!? The day is to each their own. Like a sneeze you might miss your soul coming out so there's never garentee a bless you.
The temperature is perfect! No way to that up! Am I the cloud that you dont see? The helicopter lifting the sick to the hospital? Or maybe im the ones on the floor on the streets you refuse to acknowledge? This "maine character " is the only way to not say peace out the grid. You are impossible!!
No, i believe you are in your bubble and im outside the globe looking down shaking my head. Close your eyes and dont trust your ears, youre hungry yes! But can you trust your food ? Thats why they say ignorance is bliss, because when you were never raised to see roses as anything but thorns with petals you see everything all the time, you dont get to be ignorant even when you really want to. Its not a fault to see the sun and know that the earth is dying, to see a beautiful day an know that war, hunger, greed and selfishness are at the top one percent of s given. Its a fault to ignore those facts and keep contributing to the horror.
Two who are one together in love,
On a carriage road in the woods of Maine.
The day was filled with sunshine,
The air was cool and sweet.
It was a fine, wondrous spring day in Maine,
On an old carriage road
That wound through the woods of Acadia in the shadow of Cadillac,
As strong and enduring as the love of the two on it.
Two who had come to be together,
Sharing their joy and love with nature and each other.
Strolling slowly and deliberately,
Talking, laughing, remembering…
Enjoying each and every minute together,
In such beauty and wonder.
The old road wound up and ‘round,
The birds were singing and so were their hearts.
Colorful flowers were blooming like their love for each other.
Great trees were budding like the romance they shared.
And the insects were buzzing a happy tune – and biting too!
At a waterfall they stopped to kiss and watch, hand in hand,
Glistening water cascading over time worn rocks,
An endless stream like their love and life together,
Flowing softly, dancing blissfully onward into the future forever.
Lite as the cool spring air, they walked on side by side,
Winding up and ‘round through woods tall and green,
Over content little bridges and small streams gurgling, “Welcome”,
Past radiant flowers waving, “Hello” in the breeze.
Then ‘round a bend they went, arm in arm,
The old carriage road wound down and ‘round,
The wind whispered a quiet, “Goodbye, see you again sometime.”
They had come to the end of their little adventure,
But only on one carriage road.
There will be many other roads to share,
Just as sweet, exciting and wonderful,
As they travel together on their journey as husband and wife.
Their live together will always be,
As special, beautiful and full of love,
As their stroll one spring day,
In the woods of Maine,
Together, on a carriage road.
The escape commenced.
The endless drive from middleclass suburbia
ala Levittown; across hill and dale,
packed in a 1947 black beauty
of a Lincoln Continental; to the land of Peyton Place
and Steven King; Maine.
Lemon up and tangerine down, Dad drives.
We wiggle and whine, Mom scolds.
A leg cramping journey made longer by
one too many pee brakes.
The dirt road pinged rocks of the chrome bumper;
we near the amorphous clapboard dream.
The violet light of the dash shows nine o’clock.
The ramshackle ashen white farmhouse
full of kissin cousins, cows and chickens;
Madonna’s home. Uncle Ken a mere decorative necessity;
Uncle ken who could charm the pants right off ya,
and obviously had, voila; cousins Georgie and Wayne.
Uncle Ken of the sweet smile and Chiclet teeth;
beer bottle in hand with his concrete company hat cocked to the side;
one long, tall, strawberry blonde, drink of water.
He was a God to us, two little girls, Snow White and Rose Red.
His only rival his son, gorgeous George;
Georgie boy, first cousin, first love.
Nights saw us hunker down under patch work.
Kissin cousins in twinned rooms.
Meeting for body heat in the frosted dawn
in a single wrought iron bed, scrawny eight year olds.
Heads under quilts breathing in and out to warm the pocket of air
we were the only heat on the second floor. With a mighty dash;
reminiscent of our favorite mouse [Mighty]
a charge was launched across the unfinished attic
to the backstairs to country kitchen.
Barefeet dodge raised square nails and splinters.
Bark bits impress frozen soles, as the stove's in house woodpile is jumped.
Twin dynamos skate across the linoleum to a copper kettle's whistle.
A white Windsor landing achieved, Aunt Madonna pours
cornflakes in porcelain white china bowls with a laugh.
__________________ RAG BAGGER
What is a blowboat
which way does the warm wind blow
Im lashed to the mast
GINSU - KNIFE EASTPORT , MAINE USA
Ginsu Knife was the name of my sailboat that I sailed for years
here on the Maine coast and into the Bay of Fundy, Canada.
That boat could slice and dice the strong currents and cut
through the Downeast fog like a hot knife through butter.
After my wife died and it was just me and my daughter , age 9, I was
after something that we could do together.
I looked at airplanes and boats. Im a pilot and had a grass airstrip in
the back field, but I lived on the coast.
I ended up with a sailboat , though I did not know how to sail.
Well , we learned to sail and did lots of it, plus it was a good weekender
with cozy bunks and and a nice little stove.
Best decision I ever made.
Daughter went on to being an ocean exploration team leader and sailing
coach at a summer camp.
Yes , she is quite salty. As is her daughter.
Family tradition.
Change the Time and Place
We're running, running forever, cross the beach, cross the misty field.
Where are we?
We don't care.
The damn daisy ring?
The damn daisy ring.
You kneel in the gravel, then take my hand.
This isn't traditional.
You change the time and place.
You shield the glittering lights of New York City.
We're standing on the crowded staircase in Times Square.
We're standing on the crowded staircase, everyone stares,
the 'yes' and the kiss must come next.
I liked the beach better.
At least the ring lasted longer.
The diamonds circle each other and gleam on my ring finger.
I feel trapped as the crowd cheers.
I've never liked feeling trapped before.
I change the scene and the location.
We're in a wooden house up in Maine, flushed from the sea-
a red striped lighthouse, all that remains are
digital photographs.
Not the caw of a seagull, the click of a camcorder,
nor the smell of fresh sea waves crashing to shore.
All that remains is a cracked phone and a swirling
mind and cocaine wrappers and traces of a
ring on a bedside table, the
ghost of love.
All that remains is a slammed door, a bottle of pills in a
bathroom, drafts of stories and a half finished podcast.
All that remains is the memories of the family I had when you were
the one.
I change the time and I change the place.
Alone.
It has been raining everyday
The wet autumnal wind is here
And Mommy Maine just left us today
Peacefully. She just expired, dear
This Ebony Queen was a century plus six years young
Mommy Maine never got old. Beautiful and classy like a song
I was with her, in Houston, when her first beloved son
Our friend Yvon, had passed less than four months ago
Oh! Death, why, one day, must we all go?
What have we done to you? It’s always sad to lose
Someone special. At one point, nobody can choose
Between life and death. Mommy Maine just left us
She was our Black Star, our Smiling Diva. We’re at a loss
I have tears in my eyes, because she wouldn’t want me to cry
She was so magnanimous that she would not want us to cry
Mommy Maine just left. She just took her last breath
She left us. The celestial craft came early, at dawn, this morning
And left the body for us to ensepulcher, to bury. We are mourning
The passing of our wonderful North Star. Mommy Maine left
But she will without a doubt remain with us in spirit
She was an unspeakable inspiration, a quintessential majorette
A motivational speaker who always finds a way to encourage
To teach, to calm, to reason, to serve and to love. Her age
Did not matter. She was full of wisdom, wit, style, genre and protocol
No more smiles from her, no more advice and no more call
It’s raining profusely in the Northeast
Mrs. Germaine Dupiche, a hard worker, is now at rest, at peace
May God continue to bless such a beautiful mother
The dearest mother, aunt, friend of so many like Mother Nature!
P.S. My late father, Gustave Logerie would have said:
Que la Terre vous soit légère!
Sit tibi terra levis ! May the Earth be light on you!
Copyright © September 25, 2023, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.