Long Mating Poems
Long Mating Poems. Below are the most popular long Mating by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mating poems by poem length and keyword.
Which Group?
Just because i believe that Jesus lived,
And was crucified by the government,
Doesn’t mean I’m a Christian stone eyed,
Since the incarnation is incarceration.
I don’t like Christians, can’t empathise,
I can’t go to church ‘cos there’s no god,
I don’t relate to believers well, lovingly,
And am not excited by their joy or baud.
I relate to them sometimes, that’s fine,
I negotiate my entitlements with drive,
But atheists don’t tire me or frustrate,
So I jive with them, mating, coercing.
I’m a Christian atheist, Jesus existed,
By sex, rejection, lies, trust, promotion,
But I completely respect those who say,
Jesus never existed, its fully rubbish.
Shuttered birds flutter from balmy bough
Shedding feathery cloak that winter's chill did endow
Fueling grounded wings with solar beams
Pairing together in reconnoitering teams
Scouting hill and dale, Spring's contraband to glean
Garnishing their bunkers with bristling thigs and thatched screen
Prating loudly in fecund court; feathers carefully preen
In rhapsodic chorus their prancing feet to and fro careen
Dancing in harmony; their mating anthem rings
Matriarch's incubating wings over fertile plaster clings
In due course, waddling, furry chicks from each blanched shell springs
Frugal pilots navigate their sparsely furnished compound
Probing each nook; scouring each mound
Pulse and liquids their drills and talons impound
With nutritious cargo in tow homeward bound
Returning to nursery, satiating each bleating sound
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtpPcmLKRFU Dancing Bird
Yesterday, I saw a shadow dart across my keyboard.
When I turned to look outside the window,
I spied upon a sparrow playing in the sun.
He was dancing in dramatic fashion
Across the shrubbery that was his home.
I could tell it was a male by his markings.
He was busy with his boasting, and proud.
No longer a fledge, he fluffed his feathers
To parade his prowess to all that might adore him.
Then, he pivoted into a pirouette, and pranced
Most skillfully across the length of a branch
And launched himself into flight.
Today, the sounds of birds cackling and chirping
Inside the shrubbery drew me to the window.
I could see three sparrows engaging in some fun and frolic.
Perhaps it was some flirtatious mating ceremony.
While most sparrows do look alike,
I’m sure that one of them was the dancing bird
I’d seen the day before. I watched briefly and smiled,
Remembering my own courtship and rivals
Who would fancy my choice as their own.
I returned to the monitor and before I could begin
My work, there was a loud thud upon the glass.
I gazed outside and there upon the ground was a small hawk
Clutching the dancer in his talons.
Tomorrow, this bird will not dance.
He will not sing or court another.
And as sparrows are many,
I will no doubt find another to enjoy from this vantage.
I chide myself for failing to warn him of the danger.
I was too busy with my own enjoyment to notice.
Now, I close my eyes and reconstruct those moments
As I attempt to resurrect the dancing bird,
And preserve him....forever.
These vast plains of steadfast savannahs
Haunt me joyfully with the silent hissing tune
Of the setting sun, smiling at the
Sashaying clouds of low skies, and ogling select woods.
The earth is brown here (snuff-brown, I insist),
And with the courage of humble humus soil
Into whose fecund wombs the fattest disciples of yam —
Each tuber a testimony to nutritious creation —are nursed.
Need I guess correctly the mating time of sorghum — in the rains
Or in droughts?
Millets keep decent trysts with their kind,
Aping the pullulation of scattered corn, tomatoes and cactus,
And peripatetic weeds, and all other refractory modules of tillage.
Anointing breeze is wafted by the league of seasons,
The illustration of grazing cattle, and singed
Hirsute peaks of knolls near totems hoisted by
Ancestral masters —on foot and on teething caravans.
The pasture, gold-trimmed, reaches the edge of the world,
And glitters with the power of mirage.
Within you, you belabour the point of nostalgia for mind’s
Aging peace fluttering in the distance, a faint, glistening ray greasing
The elbows of noontime.
Large, mourning boulders jilted by jealous streams serve as tour guides,
Deflecting pirouetting spectrums that harass the eyes as you ascend northwards . . . .
Welcome, Rover!
This is Northern Nigeria,
The foothill of God.
Spring the magical season of natural splendour,
It's glory brightens and blooms every life,
Birds chirp in meadows and call for their mates;
The tap-tap of the woodpeckers,
And their courtship dances,
Welcome the mating season in cheer.
The bold Ashy prinia with perky tail
Found in thickets, the jungle mynahs
Seen in noisy groups at sunset,
The spotted owlet with a hooting sound,
Seen in banyan and peepal trees,
Are sights of delight after a dreary winter.
The white-browed wagtail,
Scurrying in open spaces wagging its tail,
The pond heron with its yellow eyes,
And the Asian koel singing kik kik,
His mate too joining, singing kuoo kuoo,
Create a symphony of magical melody.
Date: 02/26/2021
Submitted for: Spring Birds Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Petals as accordion folds swell
Flowers leap from each, bulbous shell
Soft pastels brim on hill, in dale
Of blithe spring bachanalia fortell
Bees, butterflies breathe succulent smell
To waiting nests, hives tidings braille
Around perimeter, birds twigs, grass bale
Thatching the twines to kindred scale
Under nests, in mating dances flop, flail
Masculine birds strut in bland coats of mail
Feminine birds in bright dresses chivalry hail
Lads, lasses swoon under libidinous spell
Love's sweet nectar their holy grail
From barn to field, musty odors sweet scents trail
Frothy libations stream from every, tapped well
I think I need surgery,
Can I take out my heart?
Cupid is at it again,
The diaper wearing brat.
Love is bitter-sweet,
Why can’t I just have candy sweets?
Maybe Man wasn't created to be alone
God’s plan perhaps.
Drowning in my schizophrenic abyss,
I wonder if I would see bliss.
Maybe it’s me being randy,
Why can’t I have candy?
Despite things being rowdy.
Born without mating instincts,
My congenital disease,
Emotionally indistinct
In high degrees.
Juke on repeat,
The feelings play each time,
I don’t send text thinking
she would reply,
I am wasting emotions,
It's getting pointless,
My heart is turning sour,
And my feelings, voiceless.
October 10, 2017. Topic 'A' Love and Romance.
TEEN PASSION
As we walk along the path of a nearby valley,
Teenagers in love, where the laden fruit trees shake out
Their shadows onto the green luscious grass, we feel the
Sheer ecstasy of the moment, is there anywhere else
I would rather be than with you, in an unpeopled
Place, where the sweetest of meadows mesmerizes
Us, and the mating song of birds, stays in tune
With our mounting passion. The sunlight filters through
The orchard whose ripe intoxicating aroma is for the
Taking, as are you and I, we feel encompassed by nature,
Drenched in the enormity of the beauty around us, our
Hands clenched in a sweaty clasp, entranced, our heightened,
Ardour now screeching for one another’s attention,
We lay down, urgently, impulsively, body and soul excited and
Apprehensive, longing for what is to come,
We passionately embrace, our lips touch, such blissful
Love we made, lying naked allowing the breeze
To ripple across us, we once again embrace, only to be
Brought back to reality by my father’s far away voice,
“Afternoon tea is ready, come and get it kids”
This boy must be in season,
this blaze-headed feather jack
hammering shack up condos
into swooned oaks, sautéing up fire
ants for a seductive nibble in the pulp.
You can hear him all over the island
a mating pummel; his peckered pocks
embarrass us along our saunters
such a committed pecker, this woody,
drilling wood, making mating dust
around your mailbox by the road,
out there, an exhibitionist hammering
Nessum Dorma’s into the timber,
belting away at his craft;
his hard wired love gut
to persist, and the fade out
of us jaded human shucks,
looking through our
windshields at such wide
wondering howls
in the dead of the wood.
crowded streets
moving among the
years
wretched faces
a sleeping snake
curled between the
eggs—
layers of leaves
a yellow spider
crouching in a
corner
invisible webs
lying listless
on withered creeper
a golden bird
a lone sparrow
atop the naked
branch
viewing sunset
a frog
bullied into the
hedge:
snake’s breakfast
on the road
an injured toad—
onlookers
parents pelt stones
at the mating street
dogs—
nosey children
potholes:
spots of sunshine
wobble
sudden downpour
noisy trucks at
midnight
crowded footbridge
sipping coffee
at a wayside stall
cockroaches too
watching dogs
frolicking in the
park—
jaded couples
dusky backyard
crowded parrots’
shrieks
autumn onset
chasing each other
in the by lane
two birds
a teenager
glides past me on
roller blades
her long hair flows