Long Paddles Poems
Long Paddles Poems. Below are the most popular long Paddles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paddles poems by poem length and keyword.
each day I take a walk in the park
and spend time
with the white swans drifting
with such grace
on the flowing river
just watching
I can watch them forever
their beauty unfathomable and peaceful
what a gift they are
then . . .
what a surprise to behold
a swan comes floating close
with a baby on her back
I think she was showing me her little one
back and forth she paddles
fluffing up her wings then
suddenly swans
come from the green reeds and wildflowers
paddling quickly in a circle dance
baby swans come to say hello . . .
_______________________
April 4, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/Suddenly Swans
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1131-130-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
November's winter sun is bleeding low
where cold Thames makes a tidal run
and also gentler pewter flow
towards the city docks, the sea,
towards the rising of the sun
A single coot beside a tethered boat
paddles nowhere with each nodding scoot,
to pace the passing stream and bobbing
here and there to duck for silty scraps
beneath the polished surface gleam.
Gulls face to worship low sun's last
and warming rays. They stand upon
Lord Beefington, on Topsy Sharp, on Rhos
and fairy Meagen, all with their canvas
winter wraps white spattered with white birdy craps.
The path beneath old Richmond's bridge,
arched dark before night lights come on,
is crowded at its ends, boats beached
upon the towpath. Here pilgrim Turas sits alone,
now tethered to the rails, awaiting suns
with higher arc and boarding of much newer oars,
unfurling of much brighter sails.
And still beside the river's path the coot
is paddling, back to sun, still nodding,
beaking passing weedy bits one by one by one,
still pushing hard against Thame's flow
to bob for scraps and then let go,
still going nowhere, nowhere to go,
while Father Thames makes haste
below webbed feet, below the tethered keels,
below each bridge and arches where they span
to meet the river's stream until, with sea,
the journey slows to journey's end,
the flow complete where Father Time
must take his seat around that final bend.
Here I wait to greet my Father,
and my Father waits for me.
S'more sprawling poppycock
Chock·a·block discombobulated poem
for your reading pleasure
dashed off ad hoc
my final literary endeavor before
hour hand affixed
to intricately carved cuckoo clock
displaying carved leaves, birds,
deer heads (Jagdstück design),
other animals, aquatic militia man,
etc feigns firing flintlock
(announcing onset of
daylight savings times)
said French soldier christened Jacque
dipping paddles of oarlock
into time stream
as the sun beats down,
he doth shockingly unfrock.
Once again modest wily word wizard
sports, struts his stuff inarguably
a blinding blizzard
of poetic gumbo mumbo jumbo,
his convoluted crafted vizard
easily misinterpreted as offal
lee batty, quirky, snooty, trippy...
who honestly doesn't know A from izzard.
The ticking seconds will not wait
while yours feebly cobbles etches
across blank figurative slate
lame resultant impasse I narrate
experiencing disappointment
earlier spurt of balderdash,
gibberish, rubbish... which I hate
yet must suffice impossible mission
to complete satisfactory poem does agitate.
Vainglorious idea to employ
daylight savings time
even a mediocre reasonable rhyme
futile effort finds current strife prime
juncture to breakaway
and resume later nighttime or
call writing aspiration quits
crowded house that for being sublime?
Unlikely literary pursuit or aim
will find yours truly a best seller
never experiencing accolades
nor remuneration to claim
truth be told, cuz I haint seeking
neither fortune nor fame.
The principle impetus explaining zeal
to discipline generic human to hone
his ability, where basic blocks of English
language (words) linkedin incorporating
mental cogs and gears mesh
making (mishmash) as figurative wheel
in the sky keeps on turning
perhaps divine intervention
intercedes as yours truly takes
lock, stock, and barrel of himself, one
bumbling, grumbling, tumbling schlemiel
cue hapless characteristic vagrant tramp
as viewed courtesy black and white newsreel
enroute to meet cobbler, cuz worn out heel
actually kind individual stopped to offer hobo
an uber lyft courtesy fancy automobile.
In May I joined in a collaborative write
with Jan Allison about a bi-polar bear
Since then the furry marine mammal
Has been treated at Arctic Health Care
Here is an update that may interest you
After six months of meds and therapy
Her symptons are even worse than before
She's being tracked; for her it's a tragedy
Lady polar bear roams the Arctic plains
feasting on ocean fish and baby seals
She goes on a rampage when hungry
A carnivore doesn't like missing meals
She loves to dive into frigid waters
from floe to floe, she paddles til weary
searching for the most protective cave
to hibernate. Beware of her and be leary
Lady bi-polar bear met a mate to her liking
and soon she'll become a brand new mama
While she hibernates with a baby cub or two
I'll fly to the Andes, in search of a lovely llama
The original collaboration from May 2017:
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/bi_polar_bear_collaboration_with_lin_lane_901528
They thought i was disabled by choice, not by veracious right,
They thought, ‘cos i objected to medicine’s lady,
But my parents were both a malady,
To medicine’s elegance and height.
My parents were faith healers, into prayer,
For coughs, colds and constipation,
And so I did object to faith consummation,
Rather than medicine’s beautiful lair.
I was desperate to become independent by a male OT,
But I hid my yearning, covered by my face,
My sociology became bad and with a poisoned lace,
Until I had to escape the worlds of religion and disability.
My blue bird lifted upon my sight,
And then i confounded the solid door,
Manoeuvred into the computing floor,
In the stillness of the night.
A very small thought passed my mind,
Right or wrong? There’s morality in existence,
But i did just continue on without much persistence,
The keyguard from the cupboard to find.
After half an hour or so, there it was,
My name on top of the high score board,
RIM, never to be belittled or to have water poured,
On this gamer of much dexterity, cause.
So i was functional, that would just say everything,
But i knew and felt I’d turned the tide against me,
Hot with sweat, i did not have nature on my side umbilically,
And the law would also condemn my aiming.
However, i did think i could still complain legally,
Against no named person for living and loving,
And because i was also disabled and aggravated, in the ring,
I thought I’d not be charged necessarily.
Life under threat, but there are boats,
Sea water may not be right for an isolated disabled child,
And paddles can avenge the tide to forward gild,
That child from the darkness of no votes.
Nature comes back and people burn,
To help you up your ladder of reason,
And sea water is by no means treason,
So i did change from that day on to upturn.
Overlooked-by Dominique Smith
Can you cry the ocean so those in need can come over with a boat? No but I ca- Can you fix a window with the scraps of band-aid? No, But I ca- Can you burn like the paddles who can bring life back to the barren waste land?! No but I ca- Do you know the future is going to be bright because the sun will be blocking the fear of those with their eyes closed!? No but I ca- I have had enough!
Who are you? Why cant you speak!? Can take the acid and razors to the back door so only the weak will prevail!? Can you take the smoke from a factory pull it into the lungs of the ratchet!? Can you put the bullet from a misfire to the right target? Left hand up right leg to the dirt. Have the tragedy of the unknown really come forth to tell us the last site of humanity? Can you bring the head of the insightful to tears with nothing more mere gesture of your eye? Well, no but I ca- Im not done! Can you regrow the heart lost to those who have fought? They have fought for those spitting in their homes that will never get the dired poison out of the carpet of rage?
Well? Speak! Speak! Where .... where are you? A note found on the drift of the air " I cant fight, I can't cure, I cant bring life into the dead condition of those have been washed with acid, I cant pray or study enough to bring the blood to the living in the beds of the damned. I can however love, listen, encourage, remind those who are lost that life isnt a trial for people who are
21YEARS OF YOUR MAY 15TH
Funmi DAVID,
great days doesn't come so VIVID,
from the CRADDLE
like a crawling DISABLE
till when you're grown & ABLE,
the moonlight CANDLE
drip a pinch of GREATNESS
in your starry EYES
as you rolled over the YEARS
into May 15th with much CHEERS.
This new day is your BIRTHDAY,
permittedly licensed to make HAY.
Your heart paddles in halcyon OCEANS;
let it celebrate in joy and PEACE,
parachuting you upward to colorful SPARKS
and glowing like 1,000 STARS
even though no waxy MESS
to be sniffed by birthday GUESTS,
let's heartily celebrate your 21ST,
anticipating what befalls NEXT
like a student seated for a TEST.
I wish you nothing but the BEST.
VickWizzy.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © May 15th, 2020.
AS I LOOK DOWN
There I lay, seemingly at rest
They’re now ripping open my shirt
And placing paddles on my chest
Yet I know I no longer hurt
As I look down
I never believed this spirit stuff
But now it is happening to me
This experience is real enough
It is my body I can actually see
As I look down
They’re trying hard to resuscitate
Who could know my time was due
But they got here a bit too late
I see them all now clustered round
As I look down
Floating up here near the ceiling
More than a transient O O B
It is such an odd strange feeling
Like the Ka of Gifford Hillary
As I look down
The human spirit must heed the call
Ethereal, not physical, it is clear
As we actually do exist after all
Both me down there and up here
As I look down
Grace Darling
Tempest spits upon the gunnels,
But Grace Darling manhandles the paddles
To rescue the folks of the Forfarshire crash,
Stranded on the Farne Islands off the Northumberland coast.
The spirit of innocence to give more than ought
Took on the challenge and faced the onslaught.
And lucky for them on Big Harcar Rock,
Grace Darling was manning the boat.
***
Note:
During a stormy night on September 6, 1838, the paddle steamer SS Forfarshire, with sixty-one passengers and crew aboard, ran aground and foundered near Big Harcar Island of the Farne Islands group in the North Sea, located off the Northumberland coast of the United Kingdom, and sank in the early morning hours of September 7, 1838. Thirteen people escaped the sinking vessel and were stranded on Big Harcar Island, where four were swept away into the sea. The others who were on the SS Forfarshire perished in the storm.
Grace Darling and her father (William Darling, who was the Longstone Lighthouse keeper, located in the outer group of the Farne Islands) rowed out to rescue the survivors. Grace Darling (age 22) manned the rowboat and kept it steady while her father aided in the rescue of the stranded survivors. For her heroics, Grace Darling became the first woman and the first citizen recipient of the Royal Humane Society’s gold bravery medal. She and her father were awarded the Royal National Lifeboat Institution silver gallantry medal. Grace Horsley Darling was born in 1815 and died of tuberculosis in 1842.
The Breezes flowed through bright verdant meadows
the sky alight in blazing glory of azure and violet
the farmer on his tractor ploughs the field in farrows
pauses to watch the pretty maiden dressed all in scarlet
Golden ribbon in her hair, she brings him his lunch
they sit together in the sun chatting about this and that
as she collects the basket her father points out bunches
of multi coloured flowers down by the river near the muskrat
Her father back at work, she wanders down to the waters edge
picking a lovely posy of the wild flowers to give to her mother
trailing her fingers in the cool waters she lifts her skirt in a wedge
paddles in to cool her feet as it deepens she holds her skirt higher
What bliss to take some time to enjoy the scent of fresh turned earth
to drink in her surrounds and thinks how lucky she is living out here
keeping the age old traditions going, each season a time of rebirth
she heads off back to the farm liking that it is part of the final frontier