Long On occasion Poems
Long On occasion Poems. Below are the most popular long On occasion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long On occasion poems by poem length and keyword.
Bird watchers say
there are birds that return in spring to play
build a nest, raise their young
but as seasons change there are always some
who stay the winter, forage for seeds
familiar ones that cling as autumn bleeds.
The robins well know
the proper time to come and go
and as the chill begins to fall
black-capped chickadees and wrens tweet their call
with caped juncos and titmouses slipping thru the trees
riding in on a wintry chilled and icy breeze.
Others stay like the screeching blue jay
clinging to a set of traditional ways
there is a click of cardinals bright orange and cherry red
slip in and out the old decaying garden bed,
woodpeckers like the big red-bellied and downy
glide sideways up trunks to find their bounty.
As winter ice and snow begin to fade
familiar feathers return to the glade
robins, sparrows, orioles and waxwings flit in and out the yews
nesting in houses left from buntings of red and indigo blue
you can catch a glimpse of the bevies in their gathering
mocking catbirds, wrens, doves and finches blabbering.
Birds of spring return in March on varied dates
some earlier far sooner than late
born for flight, scanning the earth escapes
reaching back in time unable to hesitate,
called by an ingrained memory
back to the place of their fledgling treasury.
Surely there are more feathered flybys
but climate change and migratory spies
and sadly on occasion, some clusters face
extinction by the human race
finding fewer familiar species in the states
the greed and corruption of primates.
They're just birds some will say
but if Rachel Carlson's Silent Spring arrives
how many will we find, survive?
For Spring BIrds contest
sponsored by Constance La France
2/19/21
Love's child, reconcile
'Though your dreams are falling apart
Love's child, catch a smile
And hold it in your heart
Well, she came into the Southwest
With a broke heart and a torn dress
Never reaching her Hollywood dreams
From a dusty desert bus stop
To the Old Man at the truck stop
With a kindness that she'd never seen
And she worked as his waitress for minimum wage
Pretending each table was her center stage
Love's child, reconcile
'Though your dreams are falling apart
Love's child, catch a smile
And hold it in your heart
Well, he came down from the Badlands
With a broke heart and a bad hand
A young artist with no masterpiece
Serving coffee and cold pizza
There he saw his Mona Lisa
Inspiration in him was released
And he painted Ramona On The Whispering Sands
And on occasion with a sweet kiss
She would lend him a hand
Love's child, reconcile
'Though your dreams are falling apart
Love's child, catch a smile
And hold it in your heart
Well, she came into a new world
A sweet bouncing eyes of blue girl
And she grew with a song in her heart
The Old Man cooked and Mom served tables
Daddy helped when he was able
And every night she would play on her guitar
And she sang a sweet song 'bout the Whispering Sands
Until some big-shot on a pit-stop
Signed her up with his band
Love's child, reconcile
'Though your dreams are falling apart
Love's child, catch a smile
And hold it in your heart
Yes, hold it in your heart
Down in your heart
©1987.
Life behind these eyes
This old body, harboured among so many artifacts.
My Spirit wanders the spaces within my four cornered rooms.
My Soul searches for meaning beyond the bars of my steel cage. .
My heart beats against the walls of my memories hoard.
Blood pumping, awakening the essence of what is stored.
My nights becoming the life what should be my days.
Slipping my mind into neutral, sound and electromagnetic waves carry.
Living vicariously through the eyes, imaginations, the talents of others.
Writers producers, directors, camera create and bring to the screen.
That one eyed monster, the cathode tube that carries one beyond.
Awareness of space time continuum, its linear journey lost to me.
Consciousness of times passing no longer has any relevance.
Seconds into minutes, hours, days, weeks months, years, a lifetime
One elongated stream, without destination, meaning or substance.
Carried off into the sun set, carried on the wings of solar winds.
Particles of time, connected, never seen by these tired old eyes.
Reaching, with both hands into the ether, the four corners of this universe.
Habits, rituals, routines dominate, no longer cognizant of times movements.
Days have become night, many hours spent in a bed of water.
Lost in dream land, where the subconscious brings to life ones history.
Stories told, be they positive, negative, indifferent or be they illusions.
A surrealistic representations of unfinished business, of desired unfulfilled.
On occasion, a vision, a premonition, something beyond a reflection.
For the most part, a desire to, once again, to experience the essence of.
Passions, desires, a life no longer afforded a disabled, indigent senior.
Only in the images played out upon the back of ones eye lids.
Painted upon canvases, woven into tapestries, displayed on TV screens.
Phantasmagorias that elucidate a life, some regrets, a life consumed.
B. J. “A ” 2
January 24th, 2021
He's a seasoned outdoorsman; a lover
and explorer of nature who frequently
goes camping, on occasion, hunting; even fly-fishing.
He's equally at home in the wild as he is in civilization.
He's usually accompanied by his wife, or dog.
Hiking alone in the woods one fateful day,
he never anticipated the misfortune
that befell him. He built a makeshift shelter
deep into the vast wilderness
with palm fronds chopped off of a coconut tree.
Reposing nigh twilight, a rattlesnake crawled
into his shelter and bit him on the right foot.
Suddenly, it becomes a race against time
to get to a hospital, a race he's bound to lose.
The nearest hospital is fifteen miles away, by car.
The poison injected into him is spreading
from his foot up; akin to a metastasizing cancer.
He's confronted with two choices,
do the unthinkable or watch his life slowly
and painfully slip away before his eyes.
Paralyzed with fear and unable to rush himself to
the hospital as quick movements would accelerate
the spread of poison, he chose the unthinkable.
He tied a tourniquet below his right knee and began
chopping off his leg with a machete to save his life.
Will To Survive Poetry Contest (Winner: 2nd Place)
Sponsored by Silent One
Date written: 10/14/2020
I only speak in Absolute
Yet this is not my only attribute
Im also fluent in Paradox
Contradiction and Outside the Box
Though Deception is my native tongue
And Manipulation my lips have sung
Not in ages have I conversed
In languages of the damned and cursed
On occasion I'll use Diplomat
To suit a purpose
Or if the situation calls for that
Never will I speak in Babble
Though in Hypocrisy I sometimes dabble
But my character i do defend
I only do this to reach an end
And Haughtiness if 'tis the season
And Hoity-Toity if there's a reason
And also in Conformity
Though it's sprinkled with Repugnancy
While in forgiveness I can read and I can write
My Understanding is riddled with my Oversight
I never learned to speak Coquettish
But I do admit I have a fetish
I understand a small amount of Bliss
Which I think derived from Righteousness
But honestly I'd have to say that Theoretic
Has always been,will always be,
My favorite aesthetic
Form:
Do I believe in conspiracy theories?
Do I believe that powerful people would get together regularly,
and plan certain outcomes that would benefit them exclusively?
Do I believe that powerful interests would operate unlawfully,
and even kill people possibly?
Do I believe that secret government agencies,
might on occasion feel the need,
to assassinate someone and cover it up covertly?
Naaah!
I believe that everything in America and the world is open for all to see,
and that powerful people always play by the rules religiously,
for the benefit of everybody.
* NOTE: The conclusion above was stated sarcastically.
Beware the morning tiger
Before his first coffee
Look out for the afternoon lizard:
Ectotherm on the sidewalk soaking in other people’s acknowledgement
On occasion I’m a hummingbird
Seeking life’s nectar while shying away from human contact
Sometimes I’m a dolphin
Smiling and dancing in the waves
Last week I felt like a beaver
Getupgotoworkdomyworkgotobedgetupgotoworkdomyworkgotobed
(do beavers even have beds?)
Whatever happened to the puppy
Who would romp exuberantly through the day
Eventually collapsing in utterly exhausted joy?
Be wary of the electric eel
Who will zap you if you get too close
Look at the proudly preening peacock
Hoping somebody will notice me
Occasionally I’m a jackrabbit
Always on my guard, ready to run away from conflict
At times I’m a giraffe
Able to rise above the dust of the day
This week I was a worker bee putting in a day’s work
Happy to let the Queen be in charge
Whatever else I may be, I feel like a White Rhino
Older, wiser, stronger, endangered
My spirit animal is a zoo
…or a puppy
L ynn is how my name’s pronounced
I ntegrity and imagination the ideals
N otably nostalgic on occasion
E clectic maybe even a little eccentric
M otivated by a playful muse
O pen-minded at times obstinate
N o fancy pseudo nom de plume
I ntolerant to painful platitudes
Q uality time ideally by a fireplace
U nbridled passion for photography
E mbrace uplifting peaceful views
G rateful a constant state of mind
A rt aficionado to the core
U nconventional and proud of it
T echnologically challenged tenderfoot
H appy hibernating in cozy hideouts
I nfatuated with the infinite and all that’s zen
E nergetic when it comes to writing poetry
R acing to the finish line to leave a legacy
AP: 2nd place 2021, 3rd place 2026, 3rd place 2021, 3rd place 2020, 3rd place 2020, Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2023, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on April 30, 2020 for contest I AM: A LIST BIO CHALLENGE sponsored by ANDREA DIETRICH - RANKED 2ND
She rides on a "star ship" high in the skies
embracing creation of her wandering star
cheerfully greeting her guests.
Some pleasant and chatty,
some on occasion she may ask,
“Please don’t fall over me.”
Hawaii is where her heart lies; “a poet’s gift”
and island of poetry that inspires her soul,
of orange sunset, against sublime radiant blue "ocean whispers,”
and "romantic reflections".
She strolls up and down the tan beach,
From "sunrise to sunset shadows"
enjoying the feel of warm grains of sand between her toes,
breathing in the whole innocence of beauty
as tears of joy blend in with the cool briny sea.
A place of timeless harmony
In "God’s presence"
her peace of "heaven’s realm"
5/22/2021
Title Wave Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Richard Lamoureux
A tribute to Connie Marcum Wong
Her poems are inspiring
05/10/2021 Star Ships
05/07/2021 Romantic Reflections
06/04/2020 Heaven's Realm
05/13/2020 Sunrise To Sunset Shadows
01/18/2020 God's Presence
07/23/2019 A Poet's Gift
08/09/2019 Ocean Whispers
I don't cuss or smoke,
And I don't chew "tabakky";
I don't sniff or dip snuff,
Ugh! that stuff is just tacky;
I only drink on occasion,
Like at sundown and such;
I rarely go to casinos
Or play the lottery much;
I've never had to pay child support
Or owed back alimony;
I may go shopping for steak
But usually bring home baloney;
I don't snort or shoot drugs;
Have no rings in my nipples;
Tried to get a tattoo, once,
But couldn't stand all the tickles.
Folks who're loaded with vices
Seem to have all the fun.
Why am I the exception
And not have even one?
I admit it, I'm dull,
And my life's complete boredom.
Sure, I'd have vices, too,
If I could better afford 'em.
The main reason I'm good,
And I won't try to fudge it,
Is because being bad
Is just not in my budget.