Long Paddle Poems
Long Paddle Poems. Below are the most popular long Paddle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paddle poems by poem length and keyword.
“Nothing is new
under the sun!” Sorry,
can’t buy that! Man ill fated then, to
dog-paddle eternally in pools of mediocrity -- never
destined to attain higher pinnacles of physical,
spiritual development? – cursed to always relive the
same themes, patterns; to struggle with repetitive
developmental flaws, manifesting as both inner and outer
soul corruption...rejecting unique
new arrangements, by refusing to alter
programmable psychic disks? – not
capable of exploring the possibility of an evolving
trans-formative mind, with an equally capable feeling heart…
Were I to accept any of this, I would never
write another word of poetry….
Where I Make
When the weekend comes, this is where I make,
With camping gear, canoeing on the lake,
Dipping the paddle as I contemplate.
Between the banks and shores of rocks and trees,
Breathing in fresh air, relaxing and fishing,
Just enjoying nature’s stress therapy.
The sun’s rays glare down to redden my skin,
But the water soothes the burn when I swim
In the birthday suit that I was born in.
Near to day’s end, I erect my shelter
And gather kindling to start a fire
And savour the smell of cooking odours.
With wood burning and the night descending,
I listen to loons laughing and wailing
And the male frogs croaking during mating.
Old Sol appears much larger as it dips
And even bigger at dawn when it lifts.
Inside my sleeping bag to sleep I drift,
And tomorrow will continue my trip.
Did you remake yourself
out of rust and algae again?
Yesterday was a gray beached hull
now it’s summer in the cornfields,
the tangy air has a towheaded fizz.
The mosquitoes have submarines
they crash-dive each new morn.
The flowers are all gulping,
and the rain is just enough.
Light flirts around mossy steel silos
and the brick and mortar works
of grandfatherly hands.
Sorry I missed you,
I hear your dawn was spectacular,
that the mist was a chromed coin
on the tongues of farm hands.
At that moment
I was watching a nickel dipped sunrise
paddle over a shimmering horizon.
I photographed it,
but missed all the otherness elsewhere,
and of course you had changed again
before I could get to you.
I’m sitting silently listening to the swoosh swoosh of the sea
Children paddle in icy sapphire water, so young and carefree
Their screams of innocent laughter are ringing in my ear
I reminisce of my childhood and dream of yesteryear
Of days before computers and the electronic age
Mobile phones weren’t invented, now they are all the rage
Bleep Bleep Bleep oh how irritating, it is a constant noise
But now they are essential to many young girls and boys
Life so full of simple pleasures, wind blowing through my hair
Running round barefooted with kites floating in mid air
Digging spectacular sandcastles with a dramatic moat
Splashing around in the sea together in a tiny little boat
Enjoying a perfect picnic on the golden sand
Getting an ice cream and it melting down my hand
Finding stunning starfish and a pretty pink seashell
Take them into school to display at show and tell
Climbing into craggy rock pools with a fishing net
Falling on the rocks getting clothes soaking wet
Bathing beauties on the beach topping up a tan
Suns rays beating down they wish they had a fan
08~-2~14
Written for Vibrant Verse Contest 2 Sponsored by Charlotte Puddifoot
As I sit alone old and gray
in the darkness of the night
I should be sad and sorry
when I look back at my life
The loves that I have gone through
which caused me mortal pain
The money I have pissed away
and thrown youth down the drain
I lost my land and my house
my credit and my doe
Yes, I'm up the creek without
a paddle, with which to row
I've seen my friends all drift away
and my family dying slow
I fly without a net these days
for there's no safe place to go
I'm here alone old and gray
What's left to do but die
So, I look up at the heavens
And ask the question "Why"
of course the answer, may take time
Perhaps another year
So on the brighter side of life
There's this cooler packed with beer
Awake, ye sleepy, coop-bound souls!
Unbutton your boredom, unfasten your goals!
For glory’s not found in the stiff upper sash—
It lives in the squelch of the Chicken Splash.
With feathers all fluffed like a powdered wig,
She struts like a duchess who’s learned how to jig.
A dip of the beak, a dramatic small sneeze—
Then ker-splash! She dives in with elegance and ease.
No need for a ballroom or velvet-toned glee,
She’s a duchess of dirt, and she’s waltzing with glee.
Each puddle’s a portal, a glittering gate,
To a world where the serious show up too late.
She twirls through the mud with flippant finesse,
In a gown of good humour and splatter-spun dress.
Each droplet’s a diamond, each slosh is a cheer—
An anthem of nonsense the wise long to hear.
It’s not just a dance, it’s a radical creed,
A declaration of joy over sensible speed.
Why march through your life with a stiff, tidy plan,
When a squishy detour says more than a man?
The cows may look on with a snobbish moo,
But what have they done that was daring or new?
The hens, though—they giggle, they copy, they dash,
They’ve all found their truth in the Chicken Splash.
A duck may protest, “But we’re made for the wet!”
She replies with a wink, “Ah, but we have regret!”
For puddles, you see, aren’t just soggy terrain—
They’re places where boredom is washed down the drain.
She leaps like a question that’s yet to be asked,
With purpose disguised in the goofily masked.
She’s Plato in wellies, she’s Nietzsche in fluff,
She’s telling the cosmos, enough is enough!
So scribble your worries, then crumple the sheet—
Come paddle with passion, get mud on your feet.
For life isn’t tidy, nor meant to be brash—
It’s a puddle of promise, a Chicken Splash!
And when you grow old, with your spectacles tight,
And you tell little stories by soft firelight,
Don’t boast of your trophies or accounts full of cash—
Tell them, “Once, I dared do the Chicken Splash.”
Beneath the mist
current moves fish, ducks
the future ticks, taking them
whatever, to who knows where
but we are from beyond all that
beneath the mist
the originals swim, drown
not their sorrows, but die
bridge builders watch ducks
paddle upstream
joke about sperm
psychological
whales?
not up this far
beneath the mist
every morning I wake at the same time
but this time of year every morning is earlier
so I wake further up river all the time
beneath the mist I am up so early now
that I see myself pass by
the fish, ducks, the river of life
all flow before me - in an instant
beneath the mist
of the mighty Murray.
I don't know
what I'm doing.
Going through
the motions
I'm sinking
in your ocean
drowning
my soul pushed
and pulled apart
I want to tell you
how I feel but I
don't know
where to start.
God knows I could
look at you all day
until the waters
rise above and I'm
totally submerged
in the misery
of being so in love.
Why can't I
just have the
sunshine
on my face and
you by my side?
Have I
offended the Gods
Have I had
too much pride?
But no, the rain
will come and
I will dog paddle
To keep my head
above the water
Instead of telling
you how I feel
which I know
I ought to.
©SamHarty
The auction began and I could feel my pulse patter,
If I don't get this house, my heart it may shatter.
I got my ducks in a row, when I saw the sale poster,
It's been a ride to get here, a real rollercoaster.
You see, the house was my Mama's, but she got in a rut,
The bank foreclosed, on the mortgage contract.
They kicked her out, it was such a calamity.
She was ashamed and embarrassed, questioning her sanity.
The sale day is here, and there is a huge crowd.
I must be the winner, for crying out loud.
The bids were swift, and the sale price kept rising,
I kept raising my paddle, I'd lost track of the pricing.
My hopes began to plummet, but the auctioneer said Sold,
He called my number, my bid had been bold.
I yelled "I won!" and I caught my Mama's eye.
She would have her home back, I knew that she would cry.
Today was a day that I will never forget,
Mama got her house back, and I have no regret.
Life is like a puzzle
The cannon cannot move
Without it paddle
Create this words
and that is what to say
Create this path
And that is the way
Being truthful is righteousness
And that leads
To freedom and happiness
And wickedness brings violence
For one thing leads to another
The sunny weather
Brings about the rainy weather
The failure of man
Is his down fall
If you throw a ball
Towards a wall
It bounces back to you
You shall surely reap
What you sow
If you do not
Think of enslaving me
There won't be slavery
For bad imagination
Is negative perception
And positivity is perfection