Long Penguins Poems
Long Penguins Poems. Below are the most popular long Penguins by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Penguins poems by poem length and keyword.
The sun rise's every day
Displaying wonders in a captivating way
And the sun, it sets, every night
With Gods paint brush,
The sky polishes colors to say its goodnight
And the stars, shimmer where ever you are
If you’re lucky, you’ll even see a shooting star
And the moon chooses to smile, grin, or frown
Once a month it decides to solely be round
And the seasons, they change, four times a year
Exposing the circle of life, with its turns, tugs and tears
A simple seed
Awakens into a marvelous flower
While a tornado can destroy a town in less than an hour
And the snow, porcelain snow, can cover a whole city or state
While penguins spend their life with only one mate
There are animals in the sea, humans have yet to find
Nature,in every way, is exceptionally divine
A performance can be found at any part of the day
I am in AWE of all of creation, a gift to the potter’s clay.
By: Sabina Nicole
Written: 2/15/13
On the ice where the cold winds blow,
A group of penguins put on a show.
With flippers that flap,
And feet that tap,
They danced in the moonlight's glow.
In tuxedos black and white,
They waltzed all through the night.
With a slide and a glide,
And a spin to the side,
Their moves were quite the sight.
They boogied to the beat of the drum,
Twirling on icebergs just for fun.
With a hop, skip, and jump,
They would thump, thump, thump,
Until the morning sun.
So if you ever feel blue,
Just think of the penguin crew.
With a dance and a prance,
In their icy dance stance,
They'll bring joy to you too!
All the world a stage
Our love not left on a shelf
Waters edge, in spades
Written in stone, ring
Waddle waddle kind of swing
Will you marry me
As we take the plunge
Into the depths out of blue
Our ceremony
Is a slow walk, true
Is a path already paved
So walk with me slow
God smiling on us
Giving our Union, blessing
Rehearsal, dressed, no?
Our friends will be there
Will live with us, be funny
At our same address
We'll make days of it
Nights at pool, entertaining
Make a clan, of it
We'll all just commune
Come and go, always here and there
In and out, ya know
Like the melting snow
Running into the pot
A melting pot, a roast, err
We could use for fish
Fish in that great big setting
The one that crashes
Gives gift at wedding
Gets drunk then disappears
Faster than lightning
Take a bow and bring
Flipper, for those who don't sing
Nor dance, sit and spin!
As we do our thing
It's reflected in the stars
Surrounded by ours
Setting in stone ring
All in black and white
Written pebabbles
Have tuxedo, will
Travel, In tandem in a
Cold World, poetry
Imagine if all the krill
Beneath the ice shelves were dead.
Millions plus millions of krill
Fodder for ocean’s creatures:
Penguins, walrus, whales.
In the end all will die and the ocean
Will be a poorer place for all.
Imagine if all the trees
Would lose all their leaves for ever.
No Autumn splendour,
No fruit, no place where to hide.
Would we not be living
In pure disaster?
Imagine if there would not be any wind.
No music to inspire,
No words to adorn the arias,
No emotion on men’s faces.
We thrive on emotion.
And what is emotion if not poetry?
We simply cannot live without it.
20 January 2021
Placed 2
Can You Imagine - Any form Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Life is a mere dream
A fleeting shadow that fades
with time; awaken!
Seniors Style
'Twas the night before Christmas at Rock-Away Rest,
And all of us seniors were looking our best.
Our glasses, how sparkly, our wrinkles, how merry:
The punchbowl held prune juice plus three drops of sherry.
A bedsock was taped to each walker, in hope
That Santa would bring us soft candy and soap.
We surely were lucky to be there with friends,
Secure in this residence and in our Depends.
Our grandkids had sent us some Christmasy crafts,
Like angels in snowsuits and penguins on rafts.
The dental assistant had borrowed our teeth,
And from them she'd crafted a holiday wreath
The bed pans, so shiny, all stood in a row,
Reflecting our candles' magnificent glow.
Our supper so festive -- the joy wouldn't stop
Was creamy warm oatmeal with sprinkles on top.
Our salad was Jell-O, so jiggly and great,
Ten puree of fruitcake was spooned on each plate.
The social director then had us play games,
Like "Where Are You Living?" and "What Are Your Names?"
Old Grandfather Looper was feeling his oats,
Proclaiming that reindeer were nothing but goats.
Our resident wand'rer was tied to her chair,
In hopes that at bedtime she still would be there.
Security lights on the new fallen snow
Made outdoors seem noon to the old folks below.
Then out on the porch there arose quite a clatter
(But we are so deaf that it just didn't matter).
A strange little fellow flew in through the door,
Then tripped on the sill and fell flat on the floor.
'Twas just our director, all togged out in red.
He jiggled and chuckled and patted each head.
We knew from the way that he strutted and jived
Our social-security checks had arrived.
We sang -- how we sang -- in our monotone croak,
Till the clock tinkled out its soft eight p.m. stroke.
And soon we were snuggling deep in our beds,
While nurses distributed nocturnal meds.
And so ends our Christmas at Rock-Away Rest.
Soon you'll be with us; we wish you the best.
(Anon.)
Flamboyant swashes; flaming crimson,
could be my face, as the flyswatter-hand
could impress such lettering upon my cheek.
so I
severed the crescent-angel of my imagination,
dashed my dreamy cursive, expunged the end;
held my breath as I curtailed the honey-alphabet.
Nun in black,
giving me grief, exacting ruler teeth, measuring
the letter of the law; curtains to poetic strength.
Who was I to think
outside the parochial box. Couldn’t she,
who dangled rosary beads,
have at least
decisively
have added,
“My! My! Isn’t that pretty! You will make a great poet
one day, but today, dear one, you must play by the rules.”
Snap! Crack! My knuckles are raw.
They meet my mom’s gaze. We laugh.
In my time, the penguins
wouldn’t dare,
but dare
one did
to
bang the elementary school kid,
his head, against the classroom door
frame. famed…defamed…sorry for him.
He probably didn’t tell
his mom and dad.
We didn’t
back then.
This was only one educator…
the rest were fairly nice. Unfair
to dice my letter, mold it, conform it.
Perhaps that is why
I
interchange cursive and printing
as I take note
of the world at large
and
the small people that live on a ledge
eyeing letters and ledgers
with eagle-eyed veracity.
Verifiably insane,
the pinch
of my pen,
in the grip of Sister Pain-in-the-Neck.
Feverish,
with fanciful letters,
alpha-betcha-soup, heterodox-ical, complexities
with outlier formatting. I
will pull out from the alphabetical wolf pack,
hungry for a feast
of flippant snippets. Do my teachers
toss in their graves? I
think not. They just lie
in a box, just so.
There are lots of things that are black and white,
Like zebras and Newcastle United, they are a good team and get their fans excited.
Penguins are mostly black and white, but some have coloured plumage too,
There are quite a few different types you can see them in the zoo.
There are lots of crows, from rooks and ravens and the black and white magpie too.
Undertakers wear black and white, and waiters often wear the same,
They are both just playing the formal dress code game.
Snooker players wear black and white when you see them on the television,
They are brilliant when you watch them they play the game with such precision.
A while ago there wasn’t any colour just black and white TV,
So, watching other sports just wasn’t so easy.
There are so many things, I could go on and on,
But luckily there are other colours that can make a rainbow that stretches into the sky beyond.
The world goes on with so many colours in many different hues,
From yellow and purple right through to shades of blue.
But really, we all know that there is wrong and there is right,
Things should all be so simple its really black and white.
The stars
Most of them are dead already
aren't they?
and the polar caps are melting faster at the poles
Those poor bears and the Penguins.
oblivious to the whole ordeal
As it is best, i think
Being unknown of things
The universe plans on hurling at you
The chaos the cosmos throws at you
If you believe that is.
That the universe plans it all
And we aren't all a product of
Things just being things the way they are
Born from randomness in action
By chance and consequence
From dust to explosions and explosions to dust again
And people being born kind but grown to hate
On anything and everything
Even that tiny speck of dust
Even that specific way that person laughed
Even the trees
Even themselves
Not a single flaw, a single scorn unturned.
Until we are nothing but charred ashes.
Because that's the way the unplanned scheme goes
And then
We are stars
And then
We ourselves are dead
And then
We are not
Archive March'25
It feels to me like a bit of the philosophical mood found in the notes by Albert Camus and Carl Sagan somehow meeting at 2 a.m. on a rooftop and rediscussing extinction while staring at the stars. One asks whether life has meaning. The other points out that the atoms in your body came from exploding stars. Neither solves anything. Both somehow make the night feel bigger. Quietly cosmic and strangely intimate. A poem suspended between astronomy and mortality, between scientific randomness and humanity's endless search for meaning.
Alas, I see the proposed federal budget has hit the press.
I suppose its loaded with the usual absurd largesse!
Gleeful solons elbowin' others at the trough gittin' their share,
At the same time promisin' us the budget they will pare!
Seems that legislators think that cash flow is never-endin',
And just go on dreamin' up schemes for inane spendin'.
It has been said that you can't fight Capitol Hill alone,
So I'm joinin' in the fray, offerin' asinine proposals of my own!
I want a study to see, that if all the sponges were taken from the seas,
Would the water level rise or recede by some few degrees?
Millions could be spent to study flies as they soar on the level,
Then, how they suddenly land on the ceiling as quick as the devil!
'Twould be intriguin' to teach cassowaries and penguins how to fly.
To fund this, money from medicare could be diverted on the sly!
We need a million dollar pogo stick racin' track in my hometown.
Never mind that it would have irate taxpayers jumpin' up and down!
Now I don't mind payin' taxes and donatin' my fair share,
But I do mind how my money is spent, I do loudly declare!
Havin' proffered the above schemes, I may come to begrudge it.
Some politicos may read this and include them in next year's budget!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
With soft touch of hands
mother smooths creases of fear—
folding in embrace
touching quivering candle
fingers humming haunting hymns
Love requires no hands
it invents its own language—
wing, beak, paw and lick
a body curled up to care
whispers —'you're safe'
Whales cuddle up close
dolphins ring rosy halos
seals seek safe harbors
penguins bow against the wind
birds soothe with beaks and feather
Love without fingers
a current that wraps and lifts
a tide unbroken
it cradles the heart within
steadies the faltering steps
Such love needs not touch—
it listens, watches, imbibes
hovering in care
joining two hearts together
with spirit of motherhood