Long Peninsula Poems
Long Peninsula Poems. Below are the most popular long Peninsula by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Peninsula poems by poem length and keyword.
A region of large treasury covered by sand
most massive in the Middle Eastern geography
and a peninsula, known to be the world’s largest
is the origin to the fastest growing faith
and a home sustained by absolute monarchy
Conservative ideology, well crafted into lifestyle
diffusing such through the medium of horses,
and exoticism well symbolized by camels
with Mecca and Medina the center of its holy shrines
It may be the last follower of women political empowerment,
the world’s largest domain without flowing water,
or a fighter to alcoholism, birth control and homosexuality
but not left behind in technological adventures.
Beauty and strength, lies in this kingdom of Arabia.
As a paleontologist my research has supported the idea that the primary
cause of dinosaur extinction had been the massive impact of at least 10 km
diameter asteroid in the Yucatan Peninsula, creating the Chicxulup crater
at ca. 65 million years ago. The impact triggered large-scale environmental
devastation, including prolonged “impact winter”, severely affecting
the vegetation life that subsequently demolished the entire food chain for
the dinosaurs, leading to their extinction.
In one of my visits to the crater my biotechnologist friend, Fred, who worked on isolation and study of ancient DNA, accompanied me. From there, he collected a few shattered rock samples for his research. Six months later, when I almost forgot about Fred’s ambitious research project, he told me he was successful in isolating some DNA strains that appeared to him to register very old genetic signatures. I encouraged him to try and transform the genes into living cells. After a number of failed attempts, he could ultimately succeed in doing so. Soon the cells multiplied and in a miraculous manner the eon-old evolutionary process was repeated in the laboratory to develop into a multi-cellular organism. Fred got scared. He wanted to destroy the organism and terminate his research, but I persuaded him to let the living cells grow into their full form in an isolated and confined space.
Months passed and we were surprised to see the organism gradually took the form of living entity of an infant dinosaur that I identified as Tyronnosaurus rex. Fred and I were frightened. Fred no longer enjoyed the credit of his successful research with ancient DNA, and in utter fear wanted again to destroy the outcome, but I could convince him to hand over the creature to the local zoo where as a grown up animal it would create immense curiosity for the public and great interest for the scientific community, and above all, prevent the Jurassic Park to come alive in a dystopian world.
We began the morning in Bark River Michigan
watching the orange sun calm the waters of the lake
and listening as the sun and waves nudged the birds awake.
The geese began to sing…then a host of other birds added their voices to the tune…
and for the first time on this trip…we heard the elusive loon.
Next we drove along Lake Michigan…stop even now and then to hear her roar…
ending up in St. Ignace…on Lake Huron’s shore.
Along the way we saw many lighthouses
not only engineering marvels…but truly beautiful sights…
still in use to help guide ships through the dangers of the night.
It seemed everywhere we looked we saw lakes, and streams and rivers
If there was a body of water was out there…it was easy for us to spot her…
Proving what they say is true…
wherever you’re in Michigan…you’re never more than 6 miles away from water.
This leg of our journey took us across Michigan’s upper peninsula…
a quite beautiful place to be….
We found ourselves, like the natives, calling it the U. P.
Of course we are not natives…that is something we can’t claim…
but driving across this part of Michigan…we felt like Yoopers just the same
.
For instance we drank roadies in our car…ate vegetable pasties for dinner
and that’s not all…
We’re losing our Florida accent…saying Yous instead of y’all.
Yous see it’s not only infected how we talk…
but it’s found it’s way into this poem!
We only hope yous will be understanding
when these two would-be Yoopers find their way back home.
Rolling down the contours of Iberian Peninsula
the picturesque highlands of lofty Andalusia
fringe the landscape of the great plain of Spain,
cradling the ancient cities of Madrid and Segovia.
In the frenzy arena horny bull charges as if tipsy,
gyrating matador’s muleta whipping it doesn’t see,
for his agile feet move in rhythm of baile flamenco
like the flurry of the trotting steps of the gypsy.
Travel from one city to the other by train,
you need not visit Pygmalion once again,
you’ll make out the aim of mnemonic device…
“rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain”.
July 18, 2019
No litter, no rules, no society scent,
just peninsula pure soul content, ideally lent.
Awed and wowed with arms stretched wide,
I stand on Key’s narrow road, on narrow land,
surrounded by two sea gems and their sand.
This dream road sea-drowns, down south’s horizon
and thrills my innocence without even trying.
Western growth is dense and a fence in Gulf’s yard.
Her wave’s sirens are blue-salt diamonds
and I am mesmerized by their titan climbing.
East unfolds turquoise enchantments unmarred –
The playful, poetic Atlantic off guard,
bewitching and hypnotic in regard.
Dazzled, I sit in the sea, shoulders deep.
Powder soft ocean floor thrones me nicely.
I could sit the day in this sea so sultry.
Flirty, allusive, emerald joys leap
as languid, luscious wet meets sun’s glee,
sending my senses high where memories keep.
These expressive ocean blues and greens
are of patterns and ways, I have never seen.
Sensual and graceful, each sea touch is delight –
as soothing in feel as pleasure in my sight.
Before me spreads endless bounty of ocean glean.
Under Florida-kissed skies, I sit wet and serene.
Most people notice my sunny disposition,
one that can cause blindness & irreparable skin damage.
They remark on the fact that all of my poetry
is so cheerful and positive,
wonder how a person who finds everything so funny,
could ever be sad about anything.
But what they don't know is that,
I, like most other people,
have encountered my fair share of difficulty.
How my brain is an inhospitable residence
I only stay in because I was forced to make my home there.
However, what goes on behind closed doors
remains a mystery to the ignorant.
As a child, I laid prone on the floor,
organizing my toy cars,
and later, books on a shelf.
Flying into a frenzy when someone messed them up;
invariably causing more disorder in my wake.
Anxious moments spent, gnawing on fingers & toes,
nails chewed off into jagged calcium crescents.
Nervous air-drumming when I'm writing or stressed,
or my bouncing knee when I'm patient or
trying to quickly get through a book.
Not so fond memories of standing alone in corners,
away from the crowd,
when having confidence was an unrealized
pipe-dream I feverishly entertained.
No man's an island,
but I've been a peninsula
who took pleasure in his eroding shores.
What normal kid talks to himself and has night terrors?
What 6th grader has an identity crisis,
especially to the extent of believing he doesn't exist or
is incapable of going back to a way of being
that made him comfortable;
how he felt like a stranger to himself, family, and friends?
The weight of depression straddled me to the point that I
wished for a broken leg like a horse running the gauntlet.
Warnings of ed up family members--
therapists, mental institutions, lives of reclusion...
how close I ran the risk of becoming like them.
But, at least, I have the perfect conditions for making art.
Even if weird thoughts sometimes strike at inconvenient moments...
I wouldn't wish being normal
on my worst enemy,
because I once wished it on myself,
and I've finally realized I can use my tendencies to my benefit.
My Lost Legacy
At the land’s end I stand, like my ancestors of Indus-Valley
Looking for my lost legacy, while the tri-sea emitted in hue
Dishes once prepared for celestial wedding but poured in adieu
Into its mouth, as sand, shells and beads, in repeated dilly-dally.
At the land’s end I stand, like rishi Agastya, who captured
Whole River in his rage, once stood here on mission to level
Peninsula Bharat as world converged for Siva’s marital revel
In Himalayas; if crow marooned his rage, row my riches ruptured.
At the land’s end I stand, like Parasurama who in a sober mood
Once wielded his axe pushing Arabian Sea to make a land, lush
With peppers, heating even snake Vasuki to vomit in holy blush;
If paternal command made his matricide, fratricide pursued our feud.
At the land’s end I stand where once stood Ramakrisna’s disciple
After stirring conscience of world in Chicago; beyond here was held
Assembly of great litterateurs ere the second was in temple city held;
If ocean immersed my land and literature, emotion forged our typal.
At the land’s end I stand still, as hands of time forever pull sun
From eastern bay in its zeal of morn, only to push it down western
Sea sealing day on its rolling wheel; legacy once to powers western
I lost; I seek once again, striving with vigor tirelessly like the sun.
A rare Arab and Asian identity which is distinct in topography;
blessed with an excellent human resource in health services;
its heart, destroyed and rebuilt seven different times;
having a name unchanged and sustained to reach historic zeniths;
surviving a number of years more than the number of Brazilian Airports
while its tongue resonates in three different dance moves.
This land historically occupied by over 19 intruders
holds the world book capital and appears in the league
of the most popular shopping destinations globally.
In the global skyscraper of night clubs, sky Bar stays at the top.
The creation of the first boat and the establishment of the first sail
makes the Phoenicians topple Christopher Columbus to reach America.
Down town Beirut raises its flag high above all others
in the building of its law school.
Rooted from its gardens is the creators of Tom and Jerry
and holds the shield of pride as the first constitution driven Arab Nation.
A plug in the large socket of the Arab peninsula
is this land with the highest percentage of Christians in its league;
having a city named after the combined scrolls of the Christ-like religion
and sidon signifying the first miracle center of the Messiah;
with the popular belief of the divine plantations of the cedars.
It is sealed by the several mentions of both land and tree in the holy scriptures.
Even though it is a fortieth of the entire religious empire
its garage gives out a large chunk of the peninsula’s publications.
Unique in its spring, when skiing and swimming are both possible;
possessing fifteen flowing waters, each coming from its own mountainous source;
with four times more compatriots outside its landmark
than within its territorial fence.
Its past time events of the wild fire of civil wars
all ignited by the sparks of inter-religious differences
reflect a large society harbouring eighteen different faith
to form a nation with hidden political and economic influences.
Hmm...What Discursive Poetic Theme Shall I Write About...
Today (a rather brisk, chilly,
and otherwise sat
tiss factory twirly delightful
December 18th, 2018) matte
her of fact quite
refreshing noontime, while this fat
tend plot of Earthen surveyed terrain
situated over scat
herd modest suburban tract,
(actually yours truly some watt
urbanely sprawled out) at
Latitude: 40.2538 Longitude: 75.4590,
where I sit pat
and think to write
about some reading material flat
touring my "FAKE" status
as king of agitprop for chat
hurrying class gussied up with
artistically crafted rat
tilly done up snazzy razz mutt tazz
(approved by Willard), this expat
lapsed Peterson harried tailored script,
asper previous peculiar
swiftly styled idée fixe
literary unnecessary, rat
tickly tawdry superfluity)
interspersed with dollops of splat
hard logophile, nonetheless gentle
on the eyes, yet feeling totally flat
and devoid of meaning, and quite
convincingly desperate idea this pratt
tilling far amore in the dell doth
expatiate, expound expressively, gnat
cheerily witty, (i.e. hint- please
pretend these humph fat
tickle lee meandering, rambling,
and warbling words) taxing
on mental faculty as bat
tan gruelling death march
physically, when circa
April 1942 Japanese forced
76,000 captured Filipinos,
and Americans Allied
soldiers to march about 80 miles across
Bataan Peninsula (province
in Philippines), where they died
enroute to...during World War II
on island of Luzon, espied
as a spiritual sanctuary hosted
by a knowledgeable tour guide
named Matthew Scott hood dons
genuine (musty smelling)
Tory wig to hide
as an alien alias (from the outer limits
of the twilight zone) incognito
even to himself, and especially the bride
of Frankenstein, who evinces a strong crush
toward said nondescript gentrified
vested gentry groundless thinker with pride
though, dirt poor (at least on the surface),
but deep down rich with
Schwenksville well watered
history harkening back to 1684,
when hoodwinked, jilted and lied
Lenni-Lenape Indians got fleeced
then taken for a ride
this land ceded to (stolen from) William Penn
nestled along the Perkiomen Creek.
Waking up on winter mornings – the birth spasm reenacted
Time to head out in a world of pain and cold
Have to harness up the troika, don my bashlyk hood and jacket
And see my shadowy comrades all now stark and old
A scumbag in a salt truck, all snow chains and attitude
Comes plowing through the fast lane in a blitz
As the man in his Corolla, a little bald patch of gratitude,
Moves over giving thanks he still exists
Must be winter
Must be wintertime again
Must be winter
Must be wintertime again
The shivering commuters on the avenues of frost –
On this great and cramped peninsula, no fear
And when those storms rage in from the west,
they trumpet, “All for the best”
while shaking like suspects in front of a two-way mirror
My lover is at my bedside, kneeling in our warm cathedral
Maybe today we won’t have to go out of doors
But if I send her out in the snow,
should she come back hard and frozen,
May I long for her summery flesh forevermore
So I’m going home for Christmas,
to my little makeshift suite
by the pawnshop on the corner of 85th,
And I’m gonna be warm tonight with my hopeless appetite
And cozy thoughts of another season of bliss
Must be winter
Must be wintertime again
Must be winter
Must be wintertime again
2013, 2016