Long Plovers Poems
Long Plovers Poems. Below are the most popular long Plovers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Plovers poems by poem length and keyword.
I fritter my time away as I sat on a bench.
In front of me was a large pond with an alcove
Where three upside dolphins spout water
To keep the pond full of green filtered liquid.
The water trickle reminds me of the sound of silence.
But silence all around there was none; for hear
Red Bunting, plovers and others fly here and there.
Whilst in the shallow part of the pond, ducks waddle along.
Fascinated I admire the lotus plants in the water
As yellow and red flowers adorn the flat green leaves.
Food is abundant since flies, dragonflies and insects
Provide the animal kingdom with plenty to eat.
It was a warm evening and soon all went to rest
I soon felt drowsy as the trickle of water was so melodious.
But light sleep was not for me it seems as if a shadow fell on me.
I woke as her lips brushed softly on my own. I was full of glee.
This uncompromising Sunday
has agreed to let us enjoy
what is left of a boring day
as we ardently seek the brief presence
of a radiant sunset resembling red clay,
attesting the inevitable evidence.
The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway,
nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds;
early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves
and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay.
Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers,
they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies;
they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness:
while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills.
I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple,
scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were
listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles,
cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.
The atmosphere rings with the bell like calls
of the plover flock, long before they are spotted.
The flight herringbones a grey fedora sky.
Markings of white and coal black weave,
wing-stitched, a blanket maker’s dream.
Sigh makers they close on the beach
at high tide, the horizon shivers the
sand blanches. These ravishing scavengers
light on the tattered edge of wet to dry,
dawdling with the dead.
Plovers are diminutive scroungers, one-legged
dancers, hopping to the pull of tide, dining on
crab-eggs in black-tie and feathered tails, their
gray skull caps lined with a black brow.
Sparrow-small birds dress to the nines.
A feast for the birds, fall crisps, crab moltings,
go on for endless miles. September is beginning
and soon winged ones will fly to sunny shores.
The cold Atlantic will moan for the loss of music,
the unstitched sky will part. The avian choir is off
to the mud flats of Carolina.
First Published Eunoia Review January 2015
BIRD WATCHERS!
I’m sure you’ve sen them out in nature…with their binoculars glued to their eyes….
pointing…waving…jumping up and down as if they’re constantly surprised!
They often dress alike…they flock together…filled with a shared one-love…
For years I found them easy to spot…and easy to make fun of.
Over the years, however, I’ve seen a subtle change in my outlook and attitude…
Now, whenever I see a bird in nature…I’m filled with gratitude.
I discovered the more I walked in nature…where birds are all around
I began to recognize some of them…from their sight and from their sound.
I’ve even gone as far as to buy myself a bird-watcher book…
and a good pair of binoculars…you know…to get a closer look.
The other morning on Honeymoon Island gazing through my binoculars
at another island…out of reach
I screamed to Deborah, who was next to me…”There’s an eagle on that beach!”
Did I mention Deborah also into this birdwatching life has grown…
She didn’t need to borrow mine…she has binoculars of her own.
We were mesmerized by that eagle who stood there without a flutter or a fuss…
Who did not need binoculars to see the two of us.
When he noticed people on his beach as the sun lit up the day
I’m pretty sure he nodded to us…before he gracefully flew away.
That was the highlight but not the extent of our birdwatching…as many other birds flew our way.
In fact we recognized by sight or sound…20 other birds that day.
Red-winged blackbirds, pelicans, laughing gulls…egrets, plovers
and a host of other birds before our walk was over.
As I was writing down the names of all the birds we saw…for a moment I became numb
because I realized, in that moment, what I have become.
Those birdwatchers who when I was younger I would ridicule and condemn…
I realized that morning…I am one of them.
A proud birdwatcher who often finds himself awestruck…without words
whenever I get to walk in nature…or share a sunrise with the birds.
Written: June 24, 2023
______________________________________________________________
Soft waves embrace the clean seashore.
Caressing the sands we once walked before.
Leaving footprints imprinted on the land,
A memory crafted by nature's loving hand
The shore, a canvas of dreams,
Where sand castles stand tall, it seems
Guarding our secrets, our laughter, our joy
Until the waves of high tide destroy
Plovers dart on fleet feet,
Spread out on the damp sand, the fleet
With grace and precision, they dance and play.
Adding life to the shore's enchanting display
Pebbly and pure, the sand beneath our toes
Soft, wet, and cool—a sensation that flows.
Beige and tan, a palette of hues,
The shore's gentle whispers—a symphony to amuse
Whispers of the shore, echoing in the breeze,
The love and memories that forever seize
The tender tides, akin to kisses on the land,
Caressing the shore with a gentle hand
The smooth shore holds our footsteps dear.
A testament to the moments we held near.
Sandcastles stand guard, proud and strong.
As the tides rise and sing their song.
Written: June 29, 2023
______________________________________________________________
Cockle, two hooves clung over a hundred brothers.
You discovered unmatched comfort such as no other.
An awl compiled your flight of stairs to a dynasty.
A lasting legacy of resilience and strength to foresee.
A hundred tides, over a thousand plovers of sunshine
You've witnessed a time journey and a legacy divine.
In the castanet you erected, you're overweight.
Memories are archived on a home limestone site.
Without us, you'd be as peaceful as dawn.
But we found your deeds, a ruby to fawn.
Witnessing your consciousness is a sight so rare.
As eyes leave your cheek, a glimmer, an affair
Saturn flashbulb lobes are viewed using a lens.
Stunning and appealing, transcendent loveliness
The snow breaks apart in a universe-wide ballet.
The rings are on exhibit; they are a marvelous display.
A motionless, tilted cap, a mark of your grace.
To learn how to leave things alone, embrace
Ocean Treasures A story underwater unfolds.
A quahog species, so ancient and bold.
p u l s e s
diastolic
systolic
tides
e l a s t i c
edge of ebb where water and salt and memories mix
steals the space between my inhale and exhale
plovers chasing stretchy waves
tight-fisted oysters hoarding pearls
winds blowing our laughter this way that way
two kites flirtin’ and floatin’ in a sea of clouds
tin foil tongues with spindrift speech
breathes sea songs upon the shore's breast
sea-fingers strum beach skin glistening
sea-drums thrum seashell ears listening
yet I wince as hungry riptides swallow
my pebbles from the shore
nothing long-lost leaves nothing longed for
I yearn for riptides to swallow my sorrow
instead of small joys and unadorned dreams
swallow me in ragged state instead of smooth but
famished riptides can’t swallow my jagged stone whole
cyan dancers grow untamed and white maned
their crimes their confessions
s w a s h across expanse of dry seabed surging
I recall our cupid kites tUmBLinG in growing flow
wet sands a mirror for west-sky-fire reflections
an ancient temple of quartz-grit-sages sift waves
confessors with silence-filled voices
just beyond and amid the t h r o b s of tides
The lake was then dry, not even dank,
The tortoise himself had grown lank.
The fox had departed the field,
Since the scorching sun was no shield.
The geese, like the plovers before,
Voyaged to some hills of galore.
Tortoise who was known to be sly
Became rueful turning to cry.
How can two geese make tortoise fly,
Needs of hills of galore supply?
A long stick put on tortoise’s mouth,
We hold on both ends flying south.
‘Soon we’ll get to hills of galore,
Where there’s water, plants and much more.’
‘What if tortoise speaks as we fly,
To warnings he may not comply?’
Between his teeth he held the stick,
Having promised never to speak.
The two geese held the sticks’ two ends,
Each on one side as Tortoise’s friends.
Soon they rose high into the skies,
How the three thought themselves so wise.
Over hills, vales and plains they flew,
Over cities they never knew.
And the people saw them up so high,
Some marveled, others wondered why.
So funny a tortoise flying
With two geese, they can’t stop laughing.
They said Tortoise will soon fall sick,
Gripping long in his mouth a stick.
Some said it was an ugly sight
To behold a tortoise on flight.
The angered tortoise heard them all,
He’d forgotten he’ll risk a fall.
Then the tortoise reproved them all,
Forgetting that he risked a fall.
I will watch the sunrise and the moon set
I will taste oysters and reap mint
I will harvest vegetables from the farm stand
I will live as an orphan adopted
finding joy in rain and in snow
I will walk on many often peat-ed paths
my paths are dune bound
and stretch to a salted dark pea green sea
The songs of gulls and osprey decorate the sky
inner ear re-peating long after they are flown
I tiptoe where the plovers nest
challenges come
seem insurmountable
and then flow away ....on the trivial tides
My heart is broken today
Tomorrow
I will learn to worry only when asleep
I will ask humbly
for acceptance of the hard and cold .......like those 4 nails
embrace the bloom...but adore the fall
When the sun sets early
I will adjust my internal organs
wooing them
I will rejoice more having understood darkness's seasonal game
So when spring next year kisses me full on my pale waning lips
driving me closer to the close of my life
I remember that you loved me
I will remember that I loved you
I will not argue that we are not together
I will not rage against the almighty machine behind
the soft flowing velvet curtain
I will not ask
why I can't have everything I want!
Before
beautiful heartbreak was dark chocolate's
burning bitterness
fraught with the bows and ties
flaming storms of mental confusion and conflagrations of desire
I no longer hold onto loss
You will die and there's nothing I can do about it
I will keep walking down these -bike tire and flip flop rutted paths
scanning the horizon for boardwalks ...that stretch out into the sea
What a gift it is to walk out deep past the cresting wave breaks
Without fear
Without sorrow
Without regret
Trusting the current to take me gently... insistently into the bliss
This uncompromising Sunday
has agreed to let us enjoy
what is left of a boring day
as we ardently seek the brief presence
of a radiant sunset resembling red clay,
attesting the inevitable evidence.
The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway,
nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds;
early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves
and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay.
Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers,
they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies;
they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness:
while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills.
I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple,
scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were
listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles,
cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.