Long Patrols Poems
Long Patrols Poems. Below are the most popular long Patrols by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Patrols poems by poem length and keyword.
The grasshoppers leap up with every step
through the mess of forbs and grass at my feet,
some thornier branches scratch at my boots,
ticks frown when they see my blue, denim pants,
they’ll have to go elsewhere for their dinner.
The mountain-bike trails are not open yet,
wide slopes are silent, save bird-song and bugs,
splashes of color, mostly yellow, abound,
flowers feed bees on their endless patrols,
the deer love new growth, but flee midday sun.
I feel it, on my back, on my neck, close,
the big hat shields the face, but I still sweat,
almost like I’m hiking in the prairie,
but no trees also means such awesome views,
usually I see them frosted in snow.
Above, on the ski lift, the chairs do hang
like metal ghosts, haunted by the spirits
of families that rode them months ago,
their towers silent, steel sentinels; tall…
remember to get clear if there’s lightning.
My thighs don’t hurt, no, it’s all in my calves,
different muscles from a normal trail hike,
I’ve drank too much water, but I make it,
cooler air of altitude braces me,
green New England rolls out before my eyes…
Give them clear mountain lakes,
And kid-friendly swimming holes,
Rafts, rowboats, and canoes;
Dads and sons with fishing poles.
Give them clear night skies,
Filled with just enough moonlight
To find shadowy paths--
Navigating by starlight.
Give them old patch jackets
To remind them of their tales:
Camporees, jamborees,
And famous historic trails
Give them some traditions
From American folklore;
Ashes saved from campfires,
To teach them who went before.
Give them Boy Scout handbooks,
Lengths of rope with knots to tie,
Multi-tool pocket knives,
And young Scouts wanting to try.
Give them trails to follow,
Maps and compasses to read.
Stories around a fire,
Patrols of Boy Scouts to lead.
All Scouts want is just a chance
To watch wildlife and touch native plants,
Go snipe hunting and backpacking,
And earn merit badges for everything.
All Scouts want is just somewhere
To swim and hike and breathe fresh air,
And to cook and laugh around a campfire.
There’s just not much more for a Scout to desire.
I am outside the circle of sex. Just as well. Population control,
the biome's survival instinct. Or I'm old. Look
in mirror, skin over bones. Young girls
on bicycles, running, have that granddaughterly smile for me,
all is safe, well. Much is well.
The neighborhood safe,
the nation a non-violent helpmate among nations. Until
food shortages, weather crises, nuclear mischief apply.
Police patrols. I was proud of Massachusetts
voting to decriminalize reefer. Let's go all the way:
free all non-violent offenders from their cells! Force police
out of cruisers to walk the streets and say hello.
What else can we try:
Open the border with Mexico. Let labor
flow like capital.
What has this to do with the self,
the temperamental, fragile self. The one that leaves no footprint
in eternity. No smell.
The hoarfrost bites the tender limbs, with hard snow on the ground
The water surface mirror like, in the forest there's no sound
The footbridge wears a coat of ice, flashing in the sun
Awaits steam blowing joggers, out on their morning run
The birds sit on the branches, wrapped in feathers warm
The morning is so peaceful, not the slightest sign of storm
The badger curled up in his set, he waits for stronger sun
You can't dig worms in iron hard ground, winter life's no fun
The fox patrols the open ground, where the rabbits dig for grass
They are deep down in their burrows, wait for early morn to pass
While Owls eat mainly insects, Voles and Field mice don't stray far
From the warmth of grass lined burrows, safe haven that they are
In time the winter turns to spring, the freshness that it brings
The green grass back, the leaves on trees, all the pleasant things
Soon will come the Caddisfly, with larvae for the fish
The same that later in the year, end in the anglers dish
And so it goes the seasons pass, as they have always done
Since the time this earth our home, created by the One
While each of us is not here long, it behoves us to take care
Of what was given us to use, I'll do my best I swear
Usually everyone sees past
What she was or what she might become
To them she is a glass cold and cracked
She bow down
He took her crown
Her love patrols
His money controls
she is open minded and transparent like the sea
But you know what you see
Her throne was strong
But now it felt like is gone
she have never been seen before
she looked for her treasure
but to find it stolen in spirits.
she cried a lot, but she was a sympathy box
She fought for her right
But looked like a rat
She is a princess
People believed she is a winless
She got hated, blackmailed and lost confidence
But still like air she’ll rise
She believed a day will come
Which she will be numb
Unexpectedly there was a change, Everything got rearranged
She saw right through her
She looked, but when she looked she saw something more
To her she is a water living and essential
She smiled as she cried, But she couldn’t try
She was a princess
with a priceless heart
she stood for her throne, and got it back
she learnt to never bow, and let someone take her crown.
There are no more shackles and no more chains
The muzzle is gone, like Trump’s derailed train
Naptime is over, and this bulldog is up
When will you learn to behave, you silly pup
If you keep poking the dog, he will take a bite
You should be aware he’s not afraid to fight
This growling dog is not your average hound
He patrols day and night, guarding this ground
And doesn’t care if the so-called law was sent
His opinions, like yours, are fetid excrement
I think you two make quite a querulous pair
You both stir the soup pot and blow hot air
You’re not great poets, I’ve seen your best
If you mess with the bull… you know the rest.
The virgin under the pristine sheet,
patrols the creaking, cut, timber of time,
through the blooming roses and the sleet.
The grandiose grandfather chimes.
She used to shine her eyes near the shallows.
The young lass can only shriek her woes.
Her eyes, bright as the moon, on the gallows.
For now she bids welcome under bedding clothes.
Her arms writhe like the wind on the cliffs.
Her feet, hidden beneath the grave cold sheet.
No eye holes needed. It creeps out the stiffs.
She performs a trick when they beg for treats.
The light-as-a-cloud lass, floats just above the grass.
When the ghosts, goblins and vampires notice
they tremble, they turn pale under their first class
masks. The naysayers are given notice!
If they think, or call her a spook, or a guy, she tears
the snow white sheet off, and makes a spectacle
of her hollow cheeks, tangled hair, truant jaw. Fears,
beyond terror, make the living bully sensible.
The pale virgin roams, as long as there's day and night,
as long as seasons come and go, though she longs for sleep.
She moves by her own will - no wrong or right.
The lass longs for quiet, under soil, six feet deep.
The bugler's piercing call sounds "Reveille" at the break of dawn.
Young horse soldiers rise, rub their eyes and stifle a gaping yawn.
The brawny Irish Sergeant bellows, "Up and at 'em lads!
You belong to me and the army now - forget your moms and dads!"
A wretched meal of bacon, beans and coffee awaits them in the mess.
Endless bugle calls throughout the day adds to their duress.
There are horses to curry and saddle and other chores ad infinitum.
All of this for a lousy one hundred and fifty-six bucks per annum!
Perilous patrols in the saddle in every sort of miserable condition:
Heat in the summer, freezing in the winter - a never-ending perdition!
Weary, saddle sore, ever heedful to the commands of their "sarge".
Ever alert to the bugler's clarion call, " To Horse! Charge!"
At the end of the month they collect their meager pay.
Most repairing to the local "hog ranch" just down the way,
To enjoy the delights of a "soiled dove", gamble, drink and fight,
Later to be confined in the guardhouse feeling mighty contrite!
These stalwart men ensured that Manifest Destiny was carried out,
Enduring untold hardships and protecting the treacherous route.
Many paid the ultimate price and lie in a desolate, lonely grave.
Soldiers who our horizons expanded and whose lives they freely gave.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Violet Jessop, threat ahead
Escaping Poseidon’s death toll’s
“Look after this, will you?” He said
She did, counting down the portholes
First the Olympic’s nurse enrolls
Last, the Britannic’s noon code red
Titanic claimed her shipmate’s souls
Violet Jessop, threat ahead
Miss Unsinkable showed no dread
There as a nurse of many roles
To safety, others she had led
Escaping Poseidon’s death toll’s
The Titanic, tragedy doles
Passed a bundle with tiny head
As he returned to his patrols
“Look after this, will you?” He said
This man was cursed to join the dead
One thing left under her controls
Hold this babe close while others tread
She did, counting down the portholes
Life for her was not grassy knolls
Dreamt of the sea from in her bed
Board the Olympic, heat the coals
The ocean from her veins she bled
Violet Jessop.
March 14, 2023
"Double the Fun" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Written of Violet Jessop otherwise known as Miss Unsinkable or Queen of Sinking ships. She survived the near sinking of the Olympic, the tragedy of the Titanic and the sinking (after being hit by a torpedo) of the Britannic. Following all of this, she returned to working on ships (including the repaired Olympic) until retirement. One more interesting little tidbit I read, 59 years after the Titanic sunk, she got a phone call from the baby she was handed and saved. I thought she had an interesting story to say the least.
avid arm-wrestling against awesome Allie
brave Billy Bouncer balks a bit at Ballet.
cocky courage cancelled, civic concentration.
during Des Moines Diamond demonstration
energetic efforts enthuse eager Eddie
facing fearless frog-legged Freddie
gracious Greta grants gorillas gratuities
harry harpoons happy harpy Helga Hanuities.
ignoring ignorant Insignificant Inglewood Iam.
juggling jockey Jacque justifies Jan’s jelly jam
keeping kangaroo kilos in Kalamazoo
linking luxurious llamas left loving the loo
marvelous Maude mixed montana’s merry moo
nevil’s nearby newts kneaded the nightly news
octagonal Oscar ostrich operates an oily ooze
practical pigeon Pete patrols Perry Parkway Poo
queluz quarrelsome questions quiver and quack
rustic remnant of Ruby respectfully resides on the rack
stellar starlight of steeple stallion stares on in the stack
twisting twosome Twiggmeister ties Terry’s Tennessee tack.
universal understanding utilizes utensils in the USA.
varigated variety of venus villians verifying
wild winsome windsurpers willing werewolf whying
‘xact ‘xperts ‘xplaining ‘xtra ‘xpenses ‘xasperatingly
young youthful yellow yaks yawning youthfully
zealous zealots zinging. zipping and zagging zestfully