Long Porch Poems
Long Porch Poems. Below are the most popular long Porch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Porch poems by poem length and keyword.
I will turn back the pages of my life-
I was nine years old, sad, and lonely
had been living with grannie and grandpa
on their farm and I liked it there
But, mom told dad to buy a new house
on a quiet safe street she said
we had lost my sister to a traffic accident
a few years ago and were still healing
And he did and it was beautiful
I fell in love in a moment
it was old and elegant and perfect
my eyes sparkled with joy
My room was at the top of a grand staircase
it overlooked a lovely garden
there was plenty of room for my books
dolls and teddies and had a large front porch
The street was lined with ancient trees
the neighbourhood quiet and peaceful
a park at the end of the street beckoned me
it was lush and green and I wanted to go there
There was a pond with drifting ducks and swans
it was like my dreams had been answered
and my little girl heart skipped a beat
the wound in my heart was going to heal
A Sonnet from the Porch – On Geese
Why linger still upon an ice bound pond
lone feathered symbol huddled warm and dry
dining upon the fresh sweet sprouted frond
unable to assault the fleeing sky.
Bloodline circle beckons climb fall's updraft
can nature's simple truth become undone
old weary wings abandon ageless craft
relinquishing the future to the young.
I cannot travel with them all their days
nor burden gaggle with slow flapping wings
while longing for the feel of old sun rays
so watch as they depart for future springs.
Thus freeing them to hasten in their flight
in search of brighter days lost from my sight.
This poem as usual a little verbose…(filled with too many words)
was written this morning listing to the music of 24 different birds
BIRD MUSIC
If I had to choose my favorite musical instruments…if I had to go all-in
I would have to choose the cello…and it’s next of kin…the violin.
I love how Vivaldi’s violin concerto’s can make me laugh and sigh….
and how Yo Yo Ma with his technique…can make his cello cry.
If I had to choose my favorite music, however…music without words
I’d have to say that would be sitting on the porch of our cabin…listening to the birds.
In the early morning I sit on the porch as darkness is still blanketing the land…
wondering when the blanket lifts what music, today, the birds have planned.
I notice some birds are early risers…who as to the trees they’re clinging
don’t need a cup of coffee to wake up…they begin the day by singing.
Then as the day slowly lifts night’s blanket…(it’s an early morning thing)
birds who’ve slept the night away…awaken and begin to sing.
And for a little while every morning…floating on the air…
I’m surrounded by the sound of birds…bird music everywhere.
Every morning is different…as they sing A cappella from their trees.
Somedays they perform concertos…some days it’s a symphony.
I wonder if they get together in the evening…and decide on a program
or since singing is their life…each morning they just prefer to jam.
They sing their hearts out every morning…not for fortune…not for fame
and I feel blessed to be in the audience…as no two concertos are the same.
Which makes me wonder if Vivaldi (when he was alive) and Yo Yo Ma
sitting quietly…without words
have also been inspired by the music of the birds
Of course they were…for how else could Vivaldi have made his violin laugh and sigh…
and how else could Yo Yo Ma…to this day…make his cello cry.
So, Woody was happy with the arrival of 12 blocks of suet.
He wasn't yelling anymore at an empty feeder, when he came to it.
But then suddenly, a new problem came about...
Something stole not only the suet, but the whole feeder hanging out!
Yes, a thief was taking it away during the night...
But, who was the thief? The squirrel or bear out of sight?
I kept searching the yard to find it and bring it back,
While Woody was yelling at me as if I had done the thief attack!
At the end of the day, I brought the feeder inside.
Then, one morning the culprit decided not to hide!
Down the corner of the porch, there was the squirrel, carrying it away!
I scolded him and put it back up with a better nail that day.
When I left home the next day, again it was gone!
This time I couldn't find it anywhere in the trees or lawn.
Then the next day, the bear was walking across the backyard hill!
Making me wonder, were they both now having a thrill?
There is still no feeder, now Woody gave up for now...
I've been busy, so no new one and the old not found.
Heidi Sands
11/13/22
five blue birds
are on my porch railing
two are fluffing up their pretty feathers
the third seems to be sleeping
the fourth bird has wings spread to fly away
and the fifth is looking at something with interest
all the five are the same blue bird
yet each is different
and unique
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April 12, 2021
Poetry/Verse/Five Birds
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1346-650-12
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, All Yours (Apr 14)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 04/13/2012
First Place
I feel like I am fading away to nothing,
blending into an ordinary crowd,
where no one even notices me anymore.
Like an April snowflake, freely falling, landing on warm cement.
And, fading away with a short existence.
Or, an August raindrop in a passing storm,
dripping onto dry, weathered porch steps,
soaking into the wood grain, absorbing the very life of me.
Eventually leaving nothing behind.
Or like autumn leaves,
that once shined like gold in an October sunset,
now slowly withering and drifting to the ground
only to be raked aside,
or blown away to who knows where.
I feel like I am fading away to nothing.
A reflection in a mirror, that I can no longer recognize.
I don't want to be forgotten, especially to myself.
Like a lost spirit that no one can see, or even knows exists.
I'm dying out like the last spark of a flickering candle.
And evaporating into thin air like melting wax.
Like a piece of colored paper left in the sun's rays,
losing it's original brilliance, day by day,
the longer it is left there,
like no one cares about it anymore.
Or more like a bright helium balloon that escaped
from a crying child's hand
drifting away and out of my reach, gone with the wind
And, disappearing into the clouds forever.
Fading away to nothing.
Evening's glow means supper is over
and it's time for my pipe and tobacco to find my porch
where I will sit alone
and the only sound is the creaking of my chair
as I rock back and forth
to watch sunsets in the skies of absorbed light
giving rendered edges to starlights dim
rotating across the vast expanse like a slow carousel
as my soul rides along
hoping to be granted access to wandering dreams
unimagined nor dreamt by gatherers
whose needs are to reap man-made objects of no importance
and fighting to see who ends up with the largest pile
as others argue among themselves over large swaths of Earth
that they can never own
I would rather sit and smoke my pipe
and catch the wandering dreams
of silent rapture and wishful treasure
at the end of a long day
8/29/21
contest Vagabond Dreams
sponsor Craig Cornish
Well here I am you all called me so late
Wait on the porch
Man I have another date
Hold up do not leave they are coming to the door
Close your eyes
Man I smell a lot of smoke
Is that barbecue they cooking and more
Surprise it’s your celebration old silly man
You deserve it
Well put the mike in my hand
I am ready to turn up for real
Back aching like a worker on a mill
Cutting down trees for twenty four hours
I might smell like musk, I didn’t take a shower
No man that’s okay you always smell bad
What dude
I am just playing and turned rolled with laughed
Its party time and the guest have arrived
Pop the bottles hit the music let’s get up and jive
Fast smooth to the beat of the rhythm
Its party time get'em
Let’s get up and fall deep
When this party is over I am getting me some sleep
A polished metal skeleton
gleams under a porch light.
He slides a silver tube
beneath skinny legs,
pivots on a straining fulcrum,
meshing gears rattle,
knees unlock.
He rides by night.
A dynamo flickers
as head bent,
he powers up hill and down.
He will not stop
until he gets to her parents’ home.
He arrives panting,
one window is still lit,
he imagines it’s her window.
He feels the gut hollowing sorrow
of young unrequited love.
At school
she barely acknowledges him.
When he has caught his breath
he turns the bike around
and rides back into the dim
lamplit streets.
The night rider cycles on.
He will ride again
until his bike is stolen.
"A hooligan cat homeless and tattered, hungry, and lurking on my porch battered; a bitten ear and one eye, so blue that it made me- sigh !
Brought him in and soon my home was shattered. "
Constance, the writer
~ Chapter One ~
Don't cry mommy ... I know its hard to say goodbye, the end has come for me, we knew it would someday; you always said I was a good cat for these twelve years, I wanted only your nice pat, your lap and a snack ! I recall our first meeting ... I was cold and scared, rejected by the world, shivering on your covered porch; but you did not chase me away ... you brought me food, at first I hissed a lot, so you named me Grumpy cat !
Imagine me in a beautiful garden lush and green, sunshine streams through the trees giving some shade; bird songs fill the air and a breeze is caressing my fur, this is my Heaven- do you know God hugged me today ! I heard your whisper, "till heaven unites us again Grumpy cat," and I felt your kisses.
It was morning when my cat Fluffy meowed a warning for on our porch was a stray cat his fur a tattered mat but his one blue eye spoke to me . . . and my heart broke oh, how he growled and hissed too late- for my very soul had been kissed and each day "Grumpy Cat" was on my porch waiting yet, I could not catch him and that was very frustrating !
to be continued ....
_____________________
September 15, 2022
Poetry/Narrative/Chapter 1, Grumpy Cat
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1487-471-15
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
For the Standard contest, Chapter 1
sponsor, Matt Caliri, Judged 10/31/2022