Long Outdoors Poems
Long Outdoors Poems. Below are the most popular long Outdoors by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Outdoors poems by poem length and keyword.
The year 2020 was a year of adjusting to new realities dealing with the pandemic. A pandemic that affected so many people in many ways. This year is one of hope that the lessons of yesterday will become our blessings today.
I am so grateful for my life which includes my loving wife and family. I have also been blessed with two dogs who greet me every day with wagging tails and sparkles in their eyes when I come home from work. They make me smile inside.
I became more aware and thankful for all the things that surround me because of the pandemic. This spring, the dandelions were the first flowers to stand out against the green grass, and I found them to be beautiful. My heart was a bit sad when had to mow the lawn.
The other colors this spring was truly amazing, especially the plants and flowers. There were animals that came to visit us, including raccoons, a mother deer, and her baby. It was special to witness a skunk and a cat eating side by side from the food dish left by my wife. Yes, we feed all of these animals.
Although we have a comfortable home, and a roof over our heads, and those creatures outdoors needed some help this year because of a drought. We installed a soaker hose on our fence dripping to the ground. It was a blessing to witness all the different birds and animals searching for water to quench their thirst.
We installed several hummingbird feeders and they are everywhere now. The hummingbirds have come to know us so well that they fly in front of our faces to chatter. We have a water trough for the animals outside the fence around our house with a few feeders.
The drought this year was so severe that the plants were so oh very thirsty. Thankfully, we are blessed with a well, allowing us to care for those things that needed our help.
Then autumn came, and there was an explosion of color. The leaves seemed to be extra brilliant this year. The tree leaves chattered in the autumn breeze that ending our drought with rain.
As Thanksgiving approaches, we experience moments when we feel overwhelmed by the blessings of our relationships, opportunities, and the beauty around us. We tend to express our feelings and share them during Thanksgiving, but we should always remember that this is not just about Thanksgiving day. We need to express these things everyday.
Edward J Ebbs - October 30, 2021
DAMP 1
Out walking to where three valleys meet, past Dovestones, on a drizzly day. Low clouds hugging the hilltops, a grey shroud.
Dampness on my skin, I become part of the day. Slowly soaked to the skin, walking with my friend.
Earthy smell of wet grass assaulting my senses.
Misty weather, a favorite of mine. Time taken away from me, nature’s world grey and grand.
My eyes a camera, capturing this scene.
No sun here on this day. Grays matching dull green landscape.
Raindrops slowly falling, drifting down to the reservoir. Gentle wind blows over the water leaving ripples, pleasant to my eye.
Worth being uncomfortable outdoors.
Rosebuds draft in scarlet, crimson, or maroon,
dreams to capture the viewer's point of view,
as its blossom's sheath their basis to its prune,
magnificent achievers rise in rows queue,
as the loss of age cast their field of thorn strewn,
shadows the facades to pipe a distinct tune,
shear away those sharp pokey points of danger,
and frail petals to amend its life-changer.
Amendments trail the housed maxed of tabletops,
of revived rosebuds claim a home as their own,
a treasured wealth trades with the town's floral shops,
then set at one's front wicket by an unknown,
or adorn tombstones as floral wreaths that props,
and crowned on a princess who sits on her throne,
a taxing burden to detain the death masque,
not tiny but thornless as Bonsai craft's task.
The Pyramid steps like the Baguio steppes,
where Filipinos view as their time-out spot,
the other is ancient for tourists who peps,
while an isle serves the rosebuds to sprout and squat,
nature confides stemmed thornless maroon by reps,
students check articles of the course they plot,
as a new breed of rosebuds shelved a terrace,
elegance embrace the solitaire heiress.
Loosely sketched parcels that the rosebud dwells in,
fresh sod fertile and well-sopped sealed neath the sun,
from its current strain, since its birth in Eden,
inspire blossoming with faint buzzes outdone,
coy rumors, green greener, red redder, seeds in,
East rises, and West sets, how the rosebud won,
Bonsai is an ancient craft not deemed as new,
man named rosebuds since their virgin birth, it grew.
Spring sprung sprouts as their healthy roots hug the ground,
a wealth of newborns reach for the warmth of skies,
its outstretched stem hardens merely being gowned,
a promised promenade paramount to rise,
by patrons, the sun, moon, and earth make their round,
a glowing shape as a rosebud is its prize,
the fields are graced with rosebuds color-filled rows,
as they grow in opened splendor till it snows.
Botanical Society best: Sowers.
ranked by their breeds and regions where they were raised,
down to idyllic truths, forthcoming growers,
who take pleasure in their leisure being phased,
where growth is best tended as their height lowers,
promised its dowery by virtuous praised,
reach prosperous glory in you or outpours,
rain or shine achievers within or outdoors.
We were (Leong, Peter, Anna and I) eating at a popular Italian eatery (outdoors) and the check arrived - I swooped across the table and grabbed the check from the waiter. Peter whispers, “You can’t pay for everything the entire weekend.” “Why not?” I say, “It makes me happy.” “There’s no reason to,” he says. “I need a REASON??” I snort, which always makes Leong laugh. “Have you MET me?” I say, shaking my head dubiously. “I’ve met you,” he pronounces, “and you’re a NUT. Thank you,” he says, indicating the check exasperatedly.
Peter’s transfinancial: a rich man trapped in a poor man’s body. He has taste but he exists on a grant and a meager stipend. We’re just friends but I’m holding a bag and he’s not. Besides, he needs a new laptop - badly - and shouldn’t be squandering his grips on me.
Greek-life is on the rise. Maybe it's because those groups offer planned social events or because, with COVID winding down (covid smovid) there’s more going on. There’s a pressure here - to be your most authentic self - to be top academically, socially - to have your calendar filled out. There’s a frantic nature to it. I’m being lowkey rushed for a fraternity (for next year) but I love my roommate situation and I think I’d druther stick with this set I love.
Which begs the question about social time. Should it be methodical, relentless, super planned out? Super planned interactions can seem transactional and not easy going and natural. College social life is so different from high school. College life is so much more charged in every way. The range of people you meet, the broader perspectives, the available options for activities.
I find myself in a search for balance. Private time vs social time. Before covid, you’d go to school and then you’d come home to your room, where you could just hang out. It was a self-care place.
At university, a dorm room is less of a “home” where you can be alone and spend that healing time. You never know who's going to be in your living room and what they’re up to. I get claustrophobic when my door is closed so I rely a lot on noise-canceling technology.
A dorm room can seem like those covid lockdown days - there’s little or no separation between academic and private space. I’m just unpacking some thoughts. *shrug*
Slang:
set = click/group
grips: duckets/money
holding a bag = flush/monied
Back in my day shell suits were the latest fashion
And I made sure I wore my diamond socks with a passion
The only sky I knew was the one up above my head
No dvd player, just a betamax had to do instead
The only laptop I knew was the tray my dinner was served in
No sat nat to direct us, just maps and a lot of guessing
My social network involved playing outdoors with my friends
If I had an important message there was no text for me to send
Instead I would simply go and knock on the door
And enjoy a good game of hopscotch, drawn neatly on the floor
If I wanted to listen to music I held my boom box to my ear
And I felt like a millionaire in my latest pair of L.A Gear
No ipod to shuffle or touch just my sony walkman
No google to look for answers, just the library to depend on
No Ipad, no playbook, just a good old storybook
It may even be in hardback if I had any luck
No freeview, no Virgin, I was lucky to even have colour tv
And a rubiks cube would suffice, never mind an XBOX 360
It was all about hammer time and wearing those pants
And the theme tune to Fraggle Rock I would happily chant
No cyber bullying, only cyber I knew was the tamagocchi pet
No loading plates into the dishwasher as it hadn't been invented yet
No cd player, my cassettes were the in thing
And to have a sovereign ring on every finger meant you had some bling
The A Team, crossroads, tiswas and happy days was the programmes I watched
No series links or reminders to watch programmes like Lost
No rewinding the tv or pausing whilst I nip to the loo
Instead I had to ask someone and hope that they have a clue
No Adidas for me, just my trusted bum bag
My girls world doll and scrunche's were things I just had to have
In my day the only kid I wanted was a cabbage patch kid
Not a real one so that in a hostel I can live
No PS3, no Wii, no Vita or Nintendo DS 3d
Just my good old NES on my four channel tv
Care bears, the moomins, playschool and dangermouse
No crimewatch to make me afraid to be in my house
In my days if I was rude I would get a good smack
And I couldn't dare say the clothes you just bought me were whack
No microwave dinners, No chinese takeaway for me
Saturday soup was the best, one big bowl balancing on your knee
The 80's and the 90's I enjoyed it while it did last
But every now and again I take a glimpse of the past
Stranded in bittercold without food or drink...
Though the following
twittering scenario quite absurd,
methought diehard adherents of mine
(intimation also quite far-fetched),
some unnamed readers insomnia
nevertheless could benefit courtesy
a thought provoking tweet
east of Eden heard.
Dire straits necessitated
yours truly to be atypical and think
outside the box (literally outdoors
of squarish structured nested dwelling),
where blinding albedo effect
forced me to blink,
additionally also ruffled tail feathers
of this sole surviving male bobolink
(North American songbird,
Dolichonyx oryzivorus)
pushing survival species
to extinction brink,
thus series of unfortunate events
woke resident chewink
(North American bird,
Pipilo erythrophthalmus
also called: towhee
or ground-robin),
tweeted from within
his cozy armoire chink
polar vortex froze habitat,
whereby arctic wind found
brushy areas to clink
unwittingly brambles ferocious
waving circular rotation
wrought minuscule countersink
eh, no bigger than a cufflink
his ornate bejeweled complex edifice
compliments of sizable income
allowed, enabled, and provided
opportunity in tandem
with significant other
to create acronym named DINK
(dual income no kid)
acquiring handsome combined income
rendering and selling stylized goldfinch
also known as distelfink
common motif in
hex signs and fraktur,
which interpretive native folk art
eye state meaningless
without rhyme nor reason,
superfluous gibberish by George,
and/or...well... courtesy
following purposeless gobbledygook
defying poetaster to incorporate doublethink
intelligently nsync with downlink
playfully, jauntily, and deliberately
creating confounding badinage eye wink
at thee, no doubt many
an anonymous innocent
reader calling me rat fink
(Ed “Big Daddy” Roth's child)
under their breath or more
colorful brutal appellation
inducing cheeks of unknown followers
turning fifty plus shades of firepink
moost definitely concurring gink
perfectly apropos description
concluded individually versus
collectively, quickly, and
unanimously i.e. (think) groupthink
I approve this entire message, which
most likely tinders pet peeve,
concluding GoDaddy
go tell Aunt Rhody
yours wittily, truly,
quirkily, nervously, jokingly
attempted to hoodwink.
I longed for the days when the earth will smile again and the penitence of its mind will humble itself before the benevolent sky and the assemble of peace will be trod bountifully through the street.
I long for the days when the hill and the valley will meet and walk hand in hand in the street and greet the people we meet and pass on a word of encouragement to those that fall from the heavens. And time will tell how he constructed that hypnotic well to release his mind from the pit of hell.
I longed for the days when the sun will smile with the rain and cool the desert flame, the cactus will grow in abundance and moisture will cover the desert land and the plants will flourish all over the land and the sun will obey its command.
I long for the days when I can dine outdoors, and watched the waves riding on the shore, I will write a verse or two, and listen to the music singing in the wind. I will breathe in the fresh air from the atmosphere and write a romantic poem for thee and absorb the moisture in my flesh from the sea.
It is the touch of love that will ride with the vision from above and somewhere out there in the atmosphere; you will feel the difference of time racing with the spirit of the divine.
I long for the days when I can walk in my old school again, and bring the place alive just like old time. I will walk along the corridors and mesmerize my golden sorrows and the path I took that gave me a hundred books.
I will dance underneath the trees, just like how it used to be, I will bring my friends alive and reminisce their sacrifice. I will recapture the memory of spending long hours in the study room and could not take a shower until the following day at noon. I will go to the gym and workout on the tread mill and hum my childhood hymn.
I long for the day when I can travel the world again and meet people from every, race, color, creed, nation and culture. We will have happy times together, have buffet meals for supper and sing Kaluki at noon. We will learn about each other’s culture and play games together, and when the evening is done, we will stand on the board, walk and gaze out yonder and our heart will be together.
I long for the day when I will meet all my television friends, we will have lemonade on ice and we will tell stories in the moonlight.
One day I was really busy with chores as my son was sitting all around.
Not helping, he was driving me crazy as he got in the way, in leaps and bounds.
Every few seconds he was asking what to do, and acting, oh so bored.
His whining and irritation carried on, as all my suggestions, he deplored.
In a moment of weakness, I told him to go fly a kite high up in the blue…
Well, we all know how karma has its way, and comes around so true…
He found a kite and sailed it with a kid with wilder views, outdoors.
Sure enough, trouble began as a girl in tears came running to my door.
She was begging me to save her froggy friend, the one she so adored.
For he was indeed taking a trip to worldly heights, as that kite soared.
Panicked, thoughts of a little broken froggie now sailed thru my mind.
And PETA knocking down my door was of course not far behind.
Chores forgotten, and with eyes full of horror I raced out the door.
Low and behold a kite that never could seem to get off the ground, before…
Was soaring at 200 feet where it continued to climb and soar, some more.
I figured my sons real want, had been to get attention from his Mom, for sure.
And he had won as we were together, as we tried to get that froggy to our side.
But he kept telling me the froggy had, himself, jumped twice on the kite, to ride.
But of course I didn’t believe him as we fought for froggy’s life.
After an hour of swoops and dives while praying for the best, amid the strife.…
Finally he was settled in a tree. But was the little guy happy? Did you guess?
No siree! No way! For when the kite took off again, I must confess…
With a leap of faith… he was again riding that kite as it shot up like an arrow.
And my son told me SEEEE I told you he really wanted to go…
As I reeled him quickly in, I ate a little crow, for not believing in him, before.
As we brought the froggy back down…I explained he didn’t want to soar…
But no matter what he wanted… he must not let him, ever sail again…
For my son was old enough to now understood the danger he’d been in.
I told him it was his responsibility to protect and pay attention to his little friend.
Instead give him love and attention, and to always be kind to him.
Dedicated to my Hubby always encouraging me on this site. PS: This is fictional.
Econo Lodge sign
High
On
Its
Pylon
Best we can do
For you Tedeschi Trucks
To put a moon in the sky
Over this interstate interchange
Jammed with cars and a decrepit minor league hockey stadium
Advertising the glory days and beer swigging of The Wings
Glows over the deadbeat semis and construction cones
Tearing apart I-94 between Chicago and Detroit
Gleaming casino next city over
Mocking us all by suggesting
I’ll see you over here
The last great guitar players and their dwindling fans
In just a few more years
Yes it’s 2024
And for good our children have left the house
Its couches beds and kitchen table chairs
Like unstraightened frames holding all our wall photographs
Our dog doesn’t mind
Wags his tail with the additional luxury choices
For his many daytime naps
My wife and I look for familiar friends
Though we understand the band are total strangers
During these glorious last 14 years together with us
We don’t want to be creeps to Derek and Susan in love on stage
Though we were the first to love them both up there
I give a hearty wave anyway from the front seats
And I think through the spotlights there’s a smile or wink returned to us
The silhouettes
As the two and their band watch one another
Still mesmerized as they saw and sing the epic Shame
And we the audience smash our hands and shake our tambourine heads
How can the whole world not know more
About this travelling family of musical magic?
We know in our minds they’re the best band in the world
On the scale of Zeppelin or the Stones in their prime
But in the now
And here they are
Still looking good and cool and willing to share something better
Kind enough to stop over
Say hello
Between Red Rocks and Milwaukee
To this little rustbelt university town
Stadium filled only three quarters of the way with 4000 people
I’m sure a sop financially for somebody
But the masterful musicianship we joyfully hear
And we respond with whistles and cheers
As good as anyplace
As loud as ever
Afterward
Outdoors
The Econo Lodge moon buzzes and blinks in our rearview mirror
For our long drive home on I-94
Back to Lansing we go
Chasing breadcrumbs the dotted lines
Our hearts filled our ears ringing
Through the quiet speeding dark.
A Story from My Heart
Kelly was a Red Tabby and a contemplative soul!Elena, my daughter used to put him in her doll buggy and walk him around the house. How he loved those rides!
History. I found Kelly near Chinatown in San Francisco, on a busy street in a teeny garden bed. Noisy cable cars, passing by!
I picked him up and went to apartments, nearby. Nobody was the owner! So I hailed a cab and took him home.
Back then, nobody fretted over cat diseases or wondered, if a cat was neutered
I just brought him home to my Calico, Luvey!
My cats had to be calicos or red tabbies only. My present feine is Irene, also a Calico. Our feral outdoors cat is a Calico.
Luvey accepted Kelly instantaneously, like a part of the family.
They were like sister and brother. We took him to the vet, had him fixed. He died from Kidney disease, he had to be put down.I laid on the floor in the vet lobby and had a tantrum, like a kid! I was so attached to that guy. He was in
misery the last few weeks of his loving life.
The Calico, Luvey, outlived him. Sle got to age 25! That one fell out of a three story window..I found her in the morning. She was limping, that’s all. I
told my fiancé, I wanted her checked out. So, took her in,
The vet showed me..ugh...she cracked her palate, which required surgery, and after that, they could not wake her! I said, “I will come down and wake her!!l”
She was lying, almost dead in the bottom of the cage.
I opened the door and said my magic words ” Mommy is here!” She woke up
She lived to be twenty-five years old! Luvey had a heart attack while being examined for a bad cold. I sat in a room, and talked to that dead cat and sang to her for 45 minutes. Those were precious moments.
May she Rest In Peace! Luvey was a tiny cat. And my first. A boyfriend brought her to me. I said, “I don’t want a cat!!.
Hal said, “give her a try for one night!!
That transformed into 25 awesome years...
Addenda~ A Shining Memory
One Christmas, I walled Kelly down the long hall in our
apartment building...His leash was thick, forest green tinsel!
A most loving companion, beloved by all my neignors.
I still miss him, though decades have flown away!
5/10/2022