Long Mainland Poems
Long Mainland Poems. Below are the most popular long Mainland by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mainland poems by poem length and keyword.
Drop me off on an island
where coconuts dangle sweetly.
Where the ghost of lost love
pirouettes on a moon-kissed beach
A hut made of palm leaves is all that's needed
A jug band with a chorus of gulls
and blue crabs on the strings.
Drop me off on an island
away from war and abortion.
where golden fillets
glitter delightfully on palm leaf plates.
Shadows slide over shoals
fanning silver-edged chapters
to the drum beat of gentle fates.
Drop me off on an island before it's too late
before my soul turns gull-throated white
where the stars etch the years
into the heart of the loneliest night.
had my fill of wildfires and goblins
Drop me off on an island
the furthest one from the mainland.
Far from the wreckage of man's
bloody muzzled carnival ride.
*Image of Palm Tree Lights Trunk Wrap by Christmas Lights, Etc.
ILMO Our Eldest Brother Kimo (James)
Our sixties Christmas--as my memory serves, where
our eldest brother freshly cut one Norfolk Pine from
our country grove. He then rope-tied it atop our "65
Dodge station wagon. Brother plays the ukelele as
dad drives us home with "Banana" barking out back
at tailgaters.
Our home in town has a driveway that curves uphill
from the avenue. Entangled large 60's Christmas lights
wrap around the trees. Then they are roped to each of
the other trees up the drive. My eldest brother then
nailed holiday-adorned Menehunes to the trees. He had
made them in his high school woodshop class, --as
Christmas elves.
Higher up the drive was a largely lei-decked Santa
wearing just his swimming shorts surfing on his board,
while dolphins pulled an outfitted Christmas canoe
laden with gifts. It was a car stopper and the talk
of the town.
The livingroom Norfolk Pine had an army of Hawaiian
Christmas bells. Again, my eldest brother carved-out
coconut shells that were then cut in half and each was
threaded with a fishing line where a seashell dangled
at its end.
The tree was adorned with an assortment of seashells
having varied shapes, sizes, and colors. Freshwater
pearls were glued to draping light-green seaweeds.
They shine like silvery Christmas strands. They are
pale in contrast to the dark-green-colored Norfolk Pine.
Our Christmas in Hawaii lasted until 1969 after Vietnam.
That is when we started celebrating our family Christmas
on the mainland, --save one. ~~Aloha Brother
*An irreplaceable Christmas period to be remembered always...
2022 December 15
*1st Place*
Christmas Spirit
~~Regina McIntosh: Judging 2022 December 19
Somewhere on the ocean waves in the year of sixty six
The ocean wind and rain joined forces, a deadly dangerous mix
We were on our way from the Mediterranean, where we were deployed
Amphibious operations and some ports that we enjoyed
It was mid July, the sea was calm on a warm and sunny morning
We were heading into inclement weather, a violent hurricane warning
Later that day the seas picked up much higher than the norm
Word was passed that we were heading into the eye of the storm
We sailed against the wind fighting hard to stay on course
We had never before encountered a storm with such driving force
Waves the size of mountains came crashing across the bow
Dorothy was magnificent, queen of the seas for now
She never moved toward the mainland and had a very short history
She moved northward in the Atlantic and finally died at sea
We returned to Norfolk where our journey had begun
Check the superstructure and assess the damage that was done
Dorothy was a nightmare the way she howled and screamed
Dorothy was more beautiful than anything we dreamed
Sometimes I look out over the ocean thinking way back then
And Dorothy in her Glory, I’d love to see her once again.
Hurricane Dorothy in 1966 was a short lived hurricane
that died out in the North Atlantic never reaching the mainland.
I was at sea in the eye of the storm. Awesome.
Dear Florence,
How the evening sun sets upon us,
To garnish the sky in marigold wreaths;
For it sprouts the mist of heavenly light,
The myth I wish to garner from thee.
O’ deathly lady, speak unto me truth,
Does beauty cower ‘neath thy sanctum of stone?
Or perhaps it hides within moss ridden yards,
And loves anew each death it’s outgrown.
O’ deathly lady, veiled under the breeze,
How I envy thine eyes lain barest at dawn;
Awaiting the sun through tender spring leaves,
And blinding thyself – awake to true beauty.
Florence Margaret Mainland
(Nov. 25, 1903-June 8, 1925)
Mound Cemetery, Racine, Wisconsin
The staccato stammering of bass guitars
punctuated the flash of strobe lights.
Limitless vistas of black and gray;
smothering the crowd in ghoulish poses.
Framed, as if frozen, in a glow of acid white.
Some stagger, their movements mimicking,
the rigors of death or birth?
Others jerk puppet like
upon invisible, randomly clipped, strings.
And, as the music grinds to a halt,
driven by the apocalyptic pace of the Disc Jockey,
and the hard scratching sound of synthesizers;
the charmed, trance dancers disperse;
swallowed whole by the shadows.
*St. Vitus's dance was a social phenomenon
that occurred primarily in mainland Europe
between the 14th and 18th centuries;
it involved groups of people, sometimes thousands at a time,
who danced uncontrollably and bizarrely.
Men, women, and children would dance
through the streets of towns or cities,
sometimes foaming at the mouth
until they collapsed from fatigue....and the beat goes on....
It was on a Sunday morning in the village where I stay
Out walking with my dog, I heard some pensioners say
Did you hear about the earthquake, it was somewhere in our State
No magnitude has ever been like it, it's impossible to relate
Quickly I headed home, to view this terrible news
Upon turning on the TV, I'm in horror at what my eyes now view
The awesome Golden Gate Bridge, against an azure bluey day
Lies broken, distorted and twisted, as if it's foundations had given way
The camera now focuses on the mainland, capturing plumes of choking black
Freeways lie twisted and contorted, trains running from their tracks
Gas lines spew throwers of flames, sirens resonate in blaring sound
What was level hours before, have dropped from it's original grounds
Many reporters are now on the scene, as they pan out across the blue
From the helicopter of CNN, Alcatraz disappears from their view
Slowly the island it sat on, as if by magic, now it has gone
Words are heard through the speakers, what the hells gone wrong
The daylight turns to black, a city lies in shreds
Memories of 1906, when three thousand plus were dead
All through the night, tremors came and went
Has history repeated itself, the San Andreas Serpent
I am awoken in the morning, having left the TV on
Panic stricken reporters screaming, most of San Francisco's gone
Where once stood a city, lie pillars of battered ruins
Deep gorges surround them, in bloodied scattered strewn
There's a break in the programme, it's from Yellowstone National Park
The land is starting to rise, incredible is the remark
Geysers that once flowed often, have receded in their shower
Are we about to witness, another of her powers
Back to the CNN studios, more footage of the morning
Towering inferno's in sickened tears, the clock, the warning
I fall to my knees in remembrance of the date
It's December the 21st, has earth met it's fate
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-17.php
born under the sea, an irresistible force
two bodies reluctantly embrace, shunting, shifting, tectonic drifting
alongside the southern Iapetus Ocean
equatorial deep-time child of Laurentia and Avalonia
journey northward, surfacing, submerging
surfing the waves again, a colder Hibernian dalliance
precariously perched on Eurasian plate
old bedrock confused, youthful erosion above the ancient order
darkness entombed around channelled winter light
early New Grange civilisation, the Boyne valley before the blood
river mouth vikings, raiding, assimilating
birth of the coming capital, eastern stronghold, Baile Atha Cliath
chain-mail Norman conquerors castle-building
appointing pious supplicants with sword, cloth, crook and cross
wholly unholy alliances unravel
rival hierarchies sharing ill-gotten earthly reward from overseas
saintliness, brutality, men and women
expanding Christendom, pagan kingdoms adjusting to defeat
Patrick, Brigid, Columba, Columbanus
Irish civilising roman catholic conduits, Dalriata to Lindisfarne
outreaching, a strand of Irish character
yet to encounter future revisionary metaphysical thought
protestant rebellion, mainland overspill
praying elites competing, preying on the island's god-fearing people
avian watchers on Skellig pinnacles
warm ocean currents well-up, catching the southwestern gale
enduring the ill-will of nature and man
supplanting, subjugating, saving souls, the power of might and fear
treachery within or well beyond the pale
fair and dark hair, ginger genetics existing on the edge of life
tossed thin people hanging on, many leaving
scraping blighted ground, returning to the sea, promise of the unknown
In my backyard is my children's sand box
With a lid to keep out contamination.
In it is the finest sand.
This is where my children use their imagination
To build make believe accommodations
They use a toy dump truck, grader, wheel loader,
Excavator, bull dozer and the bridges they
Built with their own hands.
In my backyard is my children's sand box
With a lid to keep out contamination.
My children are learning a vocation
To make a livelyhood on the mainland.
This is where my children use their imagination
Using a small shovel, sifter, measuring cups,
A couple of pails, bowls, pots and pans
Confectionaries such as mud pies, muffins,
Cakes, and cookies of all kinds gives a
Tantalization
Of what kind of sweet they can sell on a stand
With out a name brand.
In my backyard is my children's sand box
With a lid to keep out contamination
Which could be a complication
If not taken care of first hand.
This is where my children use their imagination
So when their grown they'll get to add their
Own diversification
To crops, or business products for an operation
Where they could be the boss instead of the
Hired hand.
In my backyard is my children's sand box
With a lid to keep out contamination.
This is where my children use their imagination.
PART II.
IV.
there's no turning back...
when the landscapes change, when the rains come
submerged in solitary conversations
I'm unworthy to left gifts at your feet
so I wait and sleep in this desolate bothy
shattered and painfully conscious
and it's like descending the slippery cliffs
even if some of them have withstood a thousand storms
it's been a mindless voyage led by the lack of sobriety
right when you found my incomplete letters
and your blurred outlines were drifted ashore
leaving the white lines carved in the sand
V.
how far...
would we go in a bottomless boat?
that's where I seek the point of continuation
but one day they'll throw away all of your belongings
down to the bottomless chasm of memories
and it will stalk me through the mainland
haunt me even at the bottom of the ocean
knowing that life of unfulfilled desires is like an immortal pilgrim
shrinking in the darkest nook of guilt
but I believe that our paper boat is unsinkable
in loving memory of sweet melancholy
we'll sing the shepherd's ballads by the jetty
VI.
I'll hold your hand...
through the final ascend from hazy lowlands
'cause I know there's certainly a rebirth awaiting
as lost love leaves scars in the countryside
and each night I can't resist
the lighting of the south side beacon
the ageless beacon that will shine on our way
when your shy retinas turn to flowers
and hide away from moonlit skies
I'm sinking in smoothness of your skin
stitching your heart to mine
and letting it sail away in a bottle
while you're still shivering beside me
as a reminder of our mortality
enchanted by the divine music
flying in a great heights like two starving gulls
over the freezing sea of abstractions
waterlogged and malcontented
we will abandon the terminal beach
we'll leave together in the air
and greet every star without exception
I don't understand,
This reflection I command.
Nothing goes as planned,
I watch my hopes disband.
Disappointed again and again,
Doing the best I can.
I don't understand,
Unconditional demands,
The grand scheme at hand.
I'm a Tired rubber band,
Ready to snap if I expand,
I couldn't be a better man.
I don't understand,
This plan of a Promise land.
It cost so much I can't stand,
Money feels bad in my hands,
Keeping me trapped to demands,
Testing what I can withstand.
I don't understand,
A way to create it on demand,
Spread it through the mainland.
Ending hungers command,
Letting Love become,
The Promise Land.