Long Pacific Poems
Long Pacific Poems. Below are the most popular long Pacific by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pacific poems by poem length and keyword.
Without a sound, the daylight has been arrested.
With never a struggle, day sounds are captured.
The sun has departed, and the moon has started.
The stars sparkle and the silence startles.
No school bell rings.
The birds do sing.
Missing are the fog horns,
guiding ships on early morns.
The cool breezes of the Pacific;
and those silent nights are terrific.
Bright lights must take their flight,
making way for soothing peaceful nights. Say goodbye to the loud sounds of the day.
They are doomed to a temporary imprisonment.
It’s only humane and fair for it to be this way.
Sun and sounds return tomorrow, resuming their employment.
Tonight, the moon and stars are here for your delight.
Sleep well my friend, and to you, I say, "Good night".
12072016 PS Contest, Maytime Standard, Brian Strand,2nd Pl
Never freak out when everything goes wrong:
that won’t last long.
Don’t strut your stuff when you’ve raked in a hefty pot:
you’re not so hot.
Whether your life has been a living hell
that Dante couldn’t tell,
or if you’ve basked in the best of everything
the world can bring,
life’s a balancing act. I’ll tell you why:
you’re going to die,
like it or not, so you might as well have fun
before you’re done.
Sip the champagne, buy paintings, sail a yacht,
spend what you’ve got.
Every clock is a time bomb: there’s no way to know
when it will blow.
The mint DeLorean, the Pacific Heights flat,
even your pedigreed cat,
it all ends up, whatever you did,
with your slacker kid.
The trust fund brat and the boy who grew up in a dump
hold hands and jump
into the pit we’re herded toward like cattle.
You hear that rattle?
The gods are shaking your dice: the next sunrise
may be snake eyes.
-------------------------------------------------------
A breath of life for her soul
Beyond her wildest dreams
She went for a gypsy stroll
Unfolding the tips of her wings
An adventure she greatly needed
It happened just by chance
Before it was completed
She knew she had to dance
A North Pacific breeze
Stirred her dormant senses
The great sacoua trees
Trademark western fences
The atmosphere changed
She tossed her tinted shades
The earth had rearranged
Just as she had prayed
Sandy toes crossed the line
Of her boring little box
She made her way with twine
Birthed fire from only rocks
Now she's had a taste
Of the deliciously vibrant west
On the map, she traced
The outline of her quest
Though a memory today
It belongs to only her
the time she flew astray
Her cabin fever cure
for Tabitha
The sun wanders westward
towards the old frontier,
dragging its heft across plateaus
of New Mexico. Along Route
66, a quick toe-dip in Tahoe sets
Reno aglow. Quicker than that,
Nevada bucks, bankrupt and
rusted. The Hindenburg above
Wyoming, the sun gasps helium
and flame, desists in the ether
and disappears, leaving the
world, simultaneously teeming
with visionaries and traffickers,
to moonlit Pacific quandaries.
And so, it makes sense, Tabitha,
your winter scarf worn in
summer, frayed by the dull
gleam of lost pioneers latched to
your lips at their corner, wearing
you down with heavy freight.
But even then, I smile to see
your sadness, the way
you stack dark onto darkness.
Because, in all the years I’ve
known this street on which you
and I are talking, no one has left
me quite as you: facing due east,
chasing a vision towards where
tomorrows emerge from
obsidian snare…and you sleep.
The Restaurant Menu has a picture.
Three golden brown Pancakes
A large corn colored slice of butter
Melting on top running over the sides.
Griddle Cakes doing a Nathalie Wood impersonation
Drowning in a sea of thick maple syrup
Cartoon like ribbons of aroma rising upward.
The old man made them every Sunday morning before church.
Which he never attended
Black hair slicked back
Partially stained white Dago-Tee
Cigarette dangling from his lips.
The ash worming longer with each Popeye exhale
From the side of his mouth
Large bowl on his left hip
Attacking the batter with grunts of enthusiasm.
Tattoos on his arms flexing larger then smaller
Giving the appearance they were dancing.
Tatted when he was a Cook in the Navy
During World War II.
I imagined him storming the beaches of the South Pacific
With spatula in hand
"Don't need to cut'em with a damn knife.
Use your fork "
He'd holler wrestling the knife from my hand
Then throwing it into the sink.
Slapping the back of my head in anger
No Waitress wait!
I'll have the Waffles instead
With strawberries if you have them.
Yes, Waffles
We never had a Waffle Iron.
Amanda Thing
1829 - 1918
BF and me
We rode into this muddy enclave,
This Quaker paradise high on an ever-descending hill
In March of ‘87
With Sunshine, our roan mare,
And a wagon full of old belongings and new hopes.
I recall the mustard fields blooming that spring
Like a million fires in the firmament,
And these fiery fields were intensely difficult to plow.
And the land had to be carved up like slaughtered meat
To pave the way for the railroad
And the first automobiles from Detroit.
First time I saw one,
I almost fainted.
BF and me
We spent many an afternoon in our feathered buggy instead
With Sunshine, our roan mare,
Riding the newly paved roads,
From Rideout’s Driveway to County Road.
And we saw,
From the top of Friends Street
The distant Catalina Island,
Shrouded in the hazy Pacific,
Like a sleeping giant under a brown blanket,
And we gasped at the mystical beauty of it
From our hilltop perch.
When BF died of a stroke in ’07,
I buried him in Clark Cemetery
And I thought I would never survive the grief.
But God sustained me as always
And I lived eleven more years by myself,
Among the roses and tulips
Of my Whittier Avenue cottage.
At 89 I died an old and tired lady,
More than ready to meet my sweet Savior.
My funeral was grand indeed!
They put baby roses on my casket,
And said the Lord’s Prayer.
Then they put me next to BF.
William Charles Lunalilo
First King, chose by the people
Grandnephew of the Great King, as the people vote, was unanimous
Next year, King Kamehameha the Sixth died of tuberculosis
Hawaiian marriages are coconuts
Apple's eye, orchard nigh--girls uppercuts
Bees concede and confess
Honey is not the best
Lunalilo stings in-laws -- blood and guts.
Pacific divides paradise from lies, pulpit denies, missionary connives, fleece, devise hoax, and shanghais,
The native's supplies for whalers, all dives. At times, pearls for wider eyes, command contrives to control their lives.
Kings II & III foresaw their greed, the lands were a need to wed and achieve access was their way to succeed,
Lunalilo was short-lived, the people he decreed, as past kings agreed, a land trust deed, 'ere his life concedes.
Is this the beginning
of our future
or the beginning
of our end
This conversation
that seems to flow
so easily.
With no endings
no new beginnings
can there there be
In amongst the fishes
all the fishes
in the seas
you have found me.
In your eyes
I see something
of me
a glimmer of
that part of me
my most
favorite part
I see you in me.
This wonderful
conversation
with sentences that
comfortably and
interestingly seem
to have no start
nor end.
Thoughts that come
from nowhere
to finish
each others thoughts
mirrored thoughts
from across the
many miles.
The Pacific
lies to your side
oceans of grain
lie in between us
The deepest of
snows surround
my cold heart now.
I wait to see
your smile
I wait to hear
your laughter
I wait to talk to you
as if you were
a part of me.
For now
I will have to
wait and see
if this is our beginning
or if it is the end
of the two of us
We'll have to wait and see.
(February 1, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Surrounded by tranquil turquoise waters,
Guarded on sides by oceans three,
In the east by the Pacific,
On the south by the Celebes Sea,
And on the west by the south China Sea,
There is an archipelago on the blue water crescent,
A group of islands, called Philippines,
Encircled by a girdle of gleaming silver,
With its shores of stretching sandy swell
That lulls the restless waves to sleep;
A land of green vegetation and terraced terrain!
It houses picturesque and breath-taking views.
Vast beaches of ivory sand sprawl before our eyes
Dolphins leap over seafoam, palm fronds wink
Soft breezes waft and cotton clouds float above.
Anyone will fall in love with these tiny strips of land,
Of rugged hills and meandering rivers
Of placid backwaters and blue skies
Of gibbering monkeys and celestial monarch birds,
Of strutting peacocks, pigeons, pheasants, and parrots.
The powdery white sand of Boracay
The Chocolate Hills of Bohol
The Caraballo Mountain ranges,
And the Cordillera Mountain chain of Luzon,
The Rice Terraces of Philippine Cordilleras
All these give the country a solemn investiture.
Volcanic peaks, standing mighty and tall,
Proudly line the landscape, dotted with dense forests
Where birds sing melodies and Tarsiers with bug eyes
The tiny primates, endemic to the Philippines roam and jump
Amid the slumbering hills, there is fecund soil,
Turned into orchards and plantations,
Its population with perseverance and patience
Work in the soil relentlessly and in unison.
Well known for their hospitality, they receive tourists,
And outsiders with warmth and camaraderie.
In this paradise of mixed fortunes, tragedy comes unforeseen,
In the form of natural calamities like typhoons and cyclones,
But nothing can tear the people apart and they prosper,
With resilience, bent on sustaining their tradition,
Adding value to it each day and proud of an identity of their own
This beautiful land of velvet waves and crystal sands
Lying as a pendant in a crescent of emerald cluster
Rightly deserves the title- the 'Pearl of the Orient'
A beach captivating deprived eyes,
Fascination, grandiose haven in July,
Keeping lovely mountains nearby,
Of Pacific, quixotic, refulgent sunset/sunrise.
Tarry! Unwind! Vast waves eXtrudes Yuletide-like Zephyr.
Written: Aug. 16, 2012
This is a beautiful beach in Tamurong, Candon, I.S. It is located near my place or compound just a walking distance from my house. Its name was officially given by the people living in that area who are mostly relatives. The word "namagyan" means "relatives." Many visitors are going to this place and enjoy the nature, their moments and most especially the whole day of Sabado De Gloria (Black Saturday) and ecumenical services are held on this beautiful beach on the dawn/sunrise of Easter Sunday! It's a very fantastic place to visit! Come and see!