Long Pelicans Poems
Long Pelicans Poems. Below are the most popular long Pelicans by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pelicans poems by poem length and keyword.
In the land of the alligators, pelicans and manatees
Florida takes prisoners from up north and throws away their keys
Once there, they never want to escape back home
For they love the weather here, where they can always roam.
They turn old here, if they are not already there, but many are.
The crepe myrtles are blooming, wearing tiny dresses, with a star.
Retirees enjoy the warm weather year around here with pools not very far.
Even the rain here is gentle, it never beats hail or snow on your car.
Florida is a beauty, I would lie on her beaches for days in the sand.
Except I have heard the stories of the gators taking off a leg or a hand.
If it was not for those monsters, those dinosaur left over creatures,
I would move to Florida for her other sun shiny features.
after the dance we opened the doors
dampness surrounded this place maroon drapes
paisley patterns blinded my emotions license plates
of james dean covered the pine paneling only in the back
funny how a pair of levi's could bring about
such lonliness but there was james standing there
leaning up against his motorcycle flickering that cigarette
i had dreamed of life away from a smoked filled room
however i was being forced fed macho manner
by mere bruts tyrants wearing tightly fitted pinky rings
shuffling their feet quickly my only thought was that of
the stingrays sharp shooters how their eyes are morbidly
unseen right before they strike their prey i wouldn't even
speak of away from tropical shirts and the pelicans beak
an yet after the dance we had entered this think tank
of sea urchants mere leaches all reaching for small time
scores the same old crabs in the same old bucket
one by one pulling the one closet to the top back down
to scurry sideways with the bottom feeders night crawlers
here i am again your place their place our place i wondered
if they noticed me at all or was i just a cold curvy bottle
of coke a cola to be placed on a red and white canvas
in front of knitted covered candles or was i just a manikin
leaning against that timeless old seeburg continuing to drag
the needle slowly across the nylon fibers of my favorite record
over and over again like filing my broken nail or fussing over
another run in my stocking who needs stocking why i was simply
this forgotten mermaid among a school of green eyed hungry sharks
but then there was james a mere mirage gazing down route 66 in land
catering to the backside of those levi's oh wait here he comes again
he's going to ask me to dance what will i say oh my feet hurt or just
say no shoes tonight shall we swim out of here my mind tossed to and froe
i just couldn't bare to waste a perfectly good pair of fins don't you know
Shades of blue are flying in the air
and people are gathering from far and near
the symbols of the world
are hurrying down the street
spreading whispers of hope
on threadbare knees
Shades of blue are floating in the sea
riding with the mad waves that is coming after me
angry eyes stares heartlessly at me
while the chains and ropes of the ages
wraps itself round me and the night seduces me
I have heard the song that you want to sing
but the song has no structure or rhythm
you have composed a song that has no taste
It is a song that you will never sing
but I feel the melody roaring in the sea
and someone is calling out to me.
The smell of rotten herring
is blowing with the wind
and the birds are flying to and fro
looking for a place to go
They cannot find a place to land
For the seagulls have crowded the
Sand and the pelicans are feasting
on the boneless herring
and I watched courage swim.
What shade of blue are you wearing?
do you have something prolific to share?
listen to the wind howling over there
keep you your ambition high up the air
What shade of blue are you wearing
it is producing something annoying
blue for peace, blue for love
blue is in the message
that resonate from above
there are fifty different shades of blue
which one are you?
The fiery sun was a radiant circle
in the majestic sky.
As it started to dip
beneath the watermark,
an amber blush decorated
the evening sea.
Golden hues
started dancing on the ocean surface
turning the water into
a sparkling mirror.
An illuminated path
of tinted red and orange streaks
oscillated across the shades
of azure water.
Rhythmic foamy waves
were caressing and kissing the shoreline constantly.
Crisp sounds of the rustling palm trees
and loud squawking of Seagulls
added amusement to
the ocean’s own symphony.
Flocks of pelicans
were heading back home
in V-formations.
With the salty ocean breezes,
the warmth of the blazing spectacular canvas brought
immense gratitude.
Xmas is here tonight
At midnight, what a night!
Let's write a bad poem about Christmas
Before the Midnight Mass
As we offer our best wishes to all on the planet
This is it
Santa Claus is sliding in the chimney
Hurray, hurray!
Papa Noël is coming to town to bring gifts
Garlic, olive oil and onion
To everyone
Stop all types of cheats.
Long live Papa Noël
Who hates to dwell
On negative things
Santa Claus stutters and sings
All the time
And he will never nickel and dime
The poor, the crazy and the pelicans
Except the poor Republicans.
Long Live Santa Claus
Regardless
Of our mess
He has been fair to all of us.
If you like this poem
Please wish your friends and neighbors
A very Merry Christmas and many Happy New Years
To come
Oh! Ho
Ho, Ho!
This is a gaffe
For Baby Jesus: laugh and laugh.
Copyright © December 2014, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
We spent the morning at the beach…
setting up our chairs and umbrella…walking hand in hand
listening to the waves, smelling the salt air…
as we strolled along the sand.
As we sat in the shade of our umbrella…
I listened to Deborah’s stories…memories she adores
of a time when she was younger…
with her family at the shore.
She remembers her mom packing up her three children
making sure they were close at hand…
encouraging them to play in the water…
making castles in the sand.
She remembers moments with her dad
just a father and a daughter…
when she could hold her father in her arms
because he was weightless in the water.
I remember taking our children to the beach…
pretending to be dolphins…all the pelicans we would see
battling the waves as we chose up teams
and played football in the sea.
While we were sitting in our chairs..
a large family with a host of children sauntered by…
the mother stopped in front of us…and looking directly into our eyes
Said, “It looks like you have it easy!” while letting out a moan
“We’ve been where you are,” we answered, “but now our children are all grown.”
“So I have something to look forward to.” She smiled…
And gave us both a wink…
“You do…but enjoy this while you can. “We said
“It’ll be over before you think.”
And as we bobbed among the waves…
watching families like hers playing together
in the water…on the beach…or holding hands
We thought how wonderful it would be
if only for a moment
we were back to that time when our family was younger
and we were once again…making memories in the sand.
Pelicans
Dipped in a hard oil exteriors in LOUSIANA ARE SUFFERING
Why must natures angels suffer from human destruction
Their mouths quieted by the fact that their vocal chords are voiceless
and they choke on liquids humans define as precious
But their eyes like a crystal balls show that their hope is beginning to deteriorate
Their angelic feathers now drooping like 10000 lb heavy weights
Agonized by poisons they grieve the acknowledgement of what a beautiful life they could have had............. before we took it without consent
Lackluster from exhaustion they hang their heavy heads
Defeated, is their miracle coming to save them yet?
Such graceful beauteous creatures lay with their feet in the air many are inanimate
Still they hang on defiant against the weary arm of death
Awaiting to soar higher than the sunset
Written: May 08, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand.
Art "Sitting at the Dock of the Bay' Oil, Plein Air Series, by Michelle Held. My Poem titled "Quiet Pier’s Lament" was written using this artwork as its inspiration. It's better to read the poem while looking at this artwork.
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seagulls fly to the sky
over broken planks and rusty nails
searching for what has been lost
they sift through seashells and sand
scavenging for leftovers as I
look for traces of you
river drips its brown-blue hues
at low tide. I hear the water hum
and cries of birds
as I search for you among grains of sand
at the end of rickety pier
a girl stands on one leg, arms stretched wide
balancing ~ as quiet as a breath
` patient as death
her pterodactyl thoughts
soar on the sunlit wings of pelicans
or plunge into the depths
the strong bodies of eels
this life, a feeble pier
anchored by shallow utility poles
cut into thirds, like hot dogs
still hovers over a muddy bank
with each storm, new scars appear
the wind is gusting left and right
weakening what I hoped would endure
crushing under the weight of every fresh verse
now it's a relic, floorboards askew
washed away by relentless waves
with nothing to hold up my old desires
my thoughts drift away each night
yet, each month I sit in the same stiff chair
struggling to share anything new
All I am is an aging pier
with gulls perched on my rotting posts
The moon was still shining bright and…as the sun rose…they began to play…and I felt blessed I was there to witness the birth of a new day.
Last nights rain clouds, now empty, still lingered in the sky…as pelicans and ibises and starlings sailed by.
The moon began to dim…her nightly job she knew was done…as she happily relinquished the day to her partner and good friend…the sun.
It’s as if the moon had turned around…in search of her next night…bidding a fond farewell to the clouds and their canvases of white.
The clouds, for their part, were happy to join in on the fun…they stood tall and proud and ready…to be painted by the sun.
The sky…only a moment ago infused in an ebony black hue…began her metamorphosis into a cerulean sky blue.
With the blue sky as her backdrop…the sun without constraints and with a brush on every ray of light…she began to paint.
She painted fast and furiously…each cloud constantly changing like the colors of a flame…and I thought…how amazing she’s been painting since the dawn of time…yet no two paintings are the same.
Her paintings are ephemeral…at the beginning of each day…and each new brush stroke…each new painting…took my breath away.
I became aware of the silence…how all the noise around me suddenly decreased…
and at how the morning breeze…in that same moment…suddenly had ceased…
And it occurred to me the Earth was also watching the birth of a new day….
and just like me…the wonders she was witnessing…took her breath away.
Rubbing boys shoulders with sunburn oil. The sun smiles at the pain, the brush of fingers against raw flesh. But like a war wound, those boys be proud. Offer them a salve and they scoff, don’t need that stuff. Head back to the beach. Nudge them with a board and a wave, and they take off, up to their knees, casting themselves into the sea. Cheeks and hairlines have enemies, but the boys will wait for the tan that turns them brown, puffed up, back to tell the tales to jealous schoolmates.
They won’t speak of palm trees, nor the hot sand; perhaps they will not even remember what to say, until a prompt. Perhaps they won’t shut up about the knock down, drag out fights with the ebb and flow of riptides.
They might not remember the food that filled their empty bellies, but they enjoyed each bite of burgers at Ford’s Garage in the oldest city in America. I heard from an eyewitness that it has ghosts, the city, not this particular haunt.
Packed like fish, we headed to Florida, having to use one of the back seats for the overflow of things. My oldest grandson had to endure his seat, likened to a ball turret gunner. But this pubescent heartbreaker, though cramped, loved the isolation.
Speed traps, speedy biker, ear-splitting emergency vehicles, pelicans;
and a swift breeze upon a chilly-sunburn covered up with a soft blanket and cozied up to grandma (of course this is the nine year old).
Trip back as the GPS constantly pushed us farther from home, not in miles but in minutes and hours. But the miles moved quicker than a remembered icestorm where I couldn’t get home (only 10 minutes away), so like all long travel, the kids got their first taste, and survived.
So much to say, but signing off…