Long Naturetime Poems
Long Naturetime Poems. Below are the most popular long Naturetime by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Naturetime poems by poem length and keyword.
My time
drips away
in little frets
of cares
streaming
hard passes
of rocks
Finally a mighty cataract
time erodes everything
the
river bends
no more
its flow
through
silent leas
I am old
I cannot change my course again
My heart wants to rage like a river
Till my banks are broken
And love gushes out
Like water bringing
Life to frightened
Plains and farms
Flowing forcefully
Into the tender
Arms of a sensuous sea
Where there are no barriers to passion and my eternity
I have dug at for years, the mountain left behind
And could not blame the salt of tears, I am blind
Still, this rage
Is all that rattles still the cage
Of sand through which I wove my passage.
Ka-boom! An explosion shatters the mid morning sky!
A new face of ledge now greets the eye.
Dynamite, in a skilled blaster's hands
Will create a new road to satisfy society's demands.
Drill time and load time never happen real fast;
Careful preparations are done before it is time to blast.
And, following the removal of the soil and the sod,
Something is visible, that was previously seen only by God!
My alarm splits the silence; and I roll out of bed.
Now to prepare myself for the long day ahead.
Coffee is brewing; the cereal is in the bowl.
Should I slice my banana--or just eat it whole?
It's a strange sensation that I feel,
Splitting open that bright yellow peel.
Perhaps to you this observation may seem a trifle odd;
This banana I now observe, has previously been seen only by God!
My day progresses, and my morning runs fine.
The noon whistle blows;this lunch time is mine!
Another thought occurs in my mind
While I'm relieving my orange of it's thick rind.
Once I've broken through that tough outer skin,
I can never restore it's integrity again!
Like the relationship 'tween a pea and it's pod,
These foods in their casings have been previously seen only by God!
And the same God who packed these things with such tender care,
Looks at my head and numbers each hair!
Having a loving Father, Who treats us this way,
Makes it hard to understand how people can turn Him away.
Charlie Pelota
Form:
Mystical and enchanting, feel the leaves fall in rhythm to the ground as they follow your
trail. You walk to enjoy the scenery that is still life; living immobile elders that blow
their thoughts of a time where everything seemed quiet. Hushed is the ground every time you
step on it; not even the branches that withered off are hard enough to make a sound. Trees
reach out their fingered covered arms, like little children wondering how you feel upon
their waken leaves to gather your different textures of skin. Spots of light go through the
parts of uncovered shade; highlighting the patch of dirt, that was to harsh to let
anything grow, the fallen leaf that still cries out to his brothers, even though his yells
are slowly diminishing. And most untainted to be shown, is the butterfly resting on the
flower. Brighten to be shown as a marvel, the sun beams on it as if it were to say; do not
miss this! Gently you sit to not utter the untouched peace that is this moment. Wings that
are opening and closing in a hypnotizing way, letting you gaze at their colors and hues.
You sit there enjoying this everyday missed sensation from your concrete home, for here
there is so many living being in one gathered place; some are too tiny, some are in hiding
and some are watching without you knowing or their race. You sit here, cause here you can
unravel and not be replaced.
I know a place where cats enjoy long life,
where human intervention is tolerated,
but,
where only cats are allowed
It is where they rule, decide their fate,
to go hunting or sleep late,
prowl their border, look for a mate,
food abundant, early or late,
no need for a snack with an always full plate
Non-skid litter lines their bathroom floor,
ideal for completing their daily chore,
no need for flushing, gets covered instead,
when it reaches its peak, mysteriously disappears,
automatically replenished,
a new floor every other day or more
When night time falls they are free to prowl,
crouching tigers one and all,
waiting to pounce at the slightest noise,
or attack a shadow suddenly appearing on a wall,
their prey, rarely actually exists,
makes no difference,
prowling is not something they would ever miss,
immediately after a good prowl,
onto their bed, a good stretch,
sleep away until daylight
Come first light their tummy signals its time to eat,
they check out their food bowl,
if stale,
it is time for humans to wake
Hunger sated, find a sunbeam to bask and wait,
awaiting a signal, to do whatever their mind dictates
Ah, such a place is the mind of a cat,
from where they rule and dictate,
how we humans who love them,
make their life great
Strange faces facing stranger...faces once familiar,
once borrowed time from the wholesaler....with the retailer....
shared time and places similar....attention meaning superior,
where is that space today?...emoticon nowadays?...expressions moved on,
where is that face today?....concoction nowadays?...eyes carried on,
where is thy time today?...went without me to conquer.... another face...another laughter,
where are thy tears today?..vent thy intelligence to rapture...another mind..another fracture,
faces still try...smirk at a glimpse of thy....faces deny...allegations defy boredom to clarify,
naught but a stage...actions reply...obsolete vividness and fake wides,
ageless pretense through ages...a question why?....a resolute stillness in the tides,
faces frown....linger and ignore...stealing glances...when caught they alight,
buy pretty laws to nazify....ugly truth to pacify,
preach fascism to decline...attempts to gratify....cause thy voice to recline,
thy must fishify...feel nothing..sleep with open eyes...let them mummify,
ignoble faces surprise...bring thy amusement and rile,
faces still manage to arise when crossed....made to “cover up”, well versed with a
jargon “what's up?”.
A beauty so rare in it's habitat
Endangered they are by the human brat
Like many others on our planet earth
Our greed devalues their living worth
These Siberian Stripe-rs from the Trans-Caucasus lands
To view it in it's wilds is a feeling of grand
But it's so tragic to believe how few of them remain
Around five hundred and twenty, live in their domain
Three hundred and fifty Kg's, with a one metre tail
Panthera tigris altaica is the size of the male
In China they are being reared to repopulate it's wilds
So generations of our children, will deservedly smile
Will we ever learn that they are entitled to be here
As us humans expand into their expanse year after year
There has to be a time when respect is due to them
Then our time has come to change from man to men
If the above does not happen, we become the last two lines
Another species gone, this most beautiful panthera feline
Imagine the moment when you look into his eyes
There are millions of us, as their last one dies
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-11.php
Hearth of Winds
From west to east you plumb axisal spin,
And darted on the limbs of the poles.
On longitudes and latitudes, you are dotted in silhouettes.
Just above the horizon of age, you journeyed,
Beckoning the threshold of syllabubic windfalls.
Sated with doldrums of lambent haul,
And the pomp of sycamore hover instill.
When you call again at the Isle of trench,
The oracles of time shall tune again the aviary.
Seated upon the pillion of days the carter roves,
Tilting in all directions with hopes of succour.
A long way from time indeed you are,
But as the tides of valour surmise you triumph.
Once I saw an array of humanic acclaims,
In a manger of Sylphic heath of tenderness.
The hills of tonic travails titivating the hold,
And all the flakes of materialism dancing attune the vista.
The tales of deeds will forever entail polemic puzzles,
And the spate of the weaver’s loom shall reckon amidst.
Adeola Yusuf Amuni
As we walk along the river of creation.
We begin to watch the rocks at our feet for those of interest by sight.
And those of which was collected had brought many thoughts to mind.
These rocks of ages are the Stones of Time.
If these Stones of Time could see and speak, we would hear the story of all the ages.
And as a visual check begins to decipher the stones, many variations come to mind.
For each stone is different beyond compare.
Shape, color and contrast are all there.
Through thousands of years the stones had formed yet in the beginning were they already
there?
For they are neither animals nor plants, yet they exist.
Each one different yet the same in a mysterious way.
And those with holes from dripping rain.
Aggots with much beauty are they.
The earths crust is embedded with such time lines such is a tree.
Yet, many answers still lie in the Stones of Time.
Copyright@March 2010 MaryM.McShirley/Kilker
Crispy brown leaves fall softly unto the ground
The squirrels scurry around, finding nuts for the cold oncoming season
Yes, it is times for days for become shorter, and nights longer
The cold winds seem to be playing with the newly fallen leaves
Gunshots can be heard for it is hunting season
A deer falls to the ground with it's sad brown eyes
Now- it is time for leaf piles, made neatly with leaf blowers,
and ruined again from children
It's a celebration season with food to go around,
and candy with costumes-
A lovely season, it is Mother Nature's pride
It is time for picnics in the park
The best games in the World Series
It is time for going for a walk in the woods
People go for a jog to see more of this lovely season
And some just stare out their window in awe
This season has a feeling unlike winter or summer
This is the best season of all
Autumn
Written by my daughter Elora Green, age 9.
2002
Now is the time of reaping and abundance.
Now a time of preparation for winter's frozen scarcity.
The sun hangs low in autumn skies,
and foggy veils obscure the view.
In Spring, when all was fresh and new,
an all together different hue of innovation:
summer's promise budding in anticipation.
Green newness bursting with naivety.
As time ticks by and lives march on just like the seasons;
the spring of youth and childhood innocence
give way to lusty languid summers of prosperity.
A gathering of experience in autumn,
which leads to winter's wizened wisdom.
Make it not a season of discontentment,
but a time of rich reflection on lives well spent.
A time of joy not isolation,
Make this is a time of plenitude for all for whom we care.
Help us make this winter time a time of hope
not helplessness; and a time when grace is all we share.
For now is the time of reaping and abundance.