Long Porthole Poems
Long Porthole Poems. Below are the most popular long Porthole by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Porthole poems by poem length and keyword.
Loving life hid beneath rim of cool ceramic bowl
Tree frog claimed proud place, toilet's homely hole
Enamoured by his simple palace making stance
I bend to peer at his green grip toe stick, entranced
My ordinary admonished by gaze from onxyx eyes
Quick reflex and instinct, skills by which Frog relies
Shine of black marble smartness lures me nearer
Knowing even with my bulk, I'm somehow inferior
Rubber eyelid winks, peels open again enlarged
Eye wrinkles droop to hammock, I'm encouraged
To nestle within humid folds, shrunk human glued
Oscillated in his lid lures languishing duly procured
Spun suddenly, rubbery cocoon cosy lurches erratic
Some worry occurs I'll drown outside skin hammock
Prior to paranoia taking over, thrown from dizzying ride
Launched into stark big bowl with steep slippery sides
Swim in cistern spew strangely renders me cleansed
Lap in lurid blue sends me to inevitably to S bends
Whooshed and flushed with refreshed perspective
Dark harassed by diffused hues tug seductive
Dolphin derived, my smooth unphased by spiralling
Saturated zones, ease honed, enamour never tiring
Snorkel hole snorts water, puffs readily on its purification
Imbibing combines giddy with clarity, senses' temptation
My forehead flicked flirtatiously by wide flamingo flippers
Splayed feathers fan surface, showcase dance floor shimmer
Cabaret her costume, shakes crystal bead rainbow release
Ravishing precise pirouettes prim pink princess completes
Her curved beak caresses my porthole brain, rubs insistantly
Into warm walnut shell weapon I'm swallowed quite quickly
I spy through pomegranate seed eye, mirror lake unswayed
Stilled kindly by wind's nonexistance, decision to travel made
Climbed to bird's tiny tiara topped crest, covered in feathers
Graceful lace tu- tu floats my aquatic future endeavour
Bouyed weightless and grateful, flip draws no resistance
Swim in S bend treasure, trip of sight resumed brilliance
*** Spring has sprung!!
- in Australia
My branch beyond
The tired pond
of Earth, awakes
Imminent Heaven
(perhaps)
*** A collapse of facts
Flight of flamingo regalia
Revel in place of waste
- Mystery flush takes
on its S bend
1st September 2020
With the palms of well-worn leathery hands that in younger days guided a Tall Ship round
the globe many times with the help of stars that still twinkled in his eyes, the old man made
a porthole in the frosty forest of swirling ferns that had been painted on the kitchen window
pane by Jack-Frost during the night.
As I sat on his lap, he told me the creaking sound made by the rockers from the rocking
chair we sat in on the hardwood floor - if he closed his eyes, could make him believe he was
back with the wind in his sails, rising and dipping and swaying with the whims of the
waves ‘ore the sea.
Back- and- forth, back-and-forth, we rocked as the porthole on the window pane grew larger,
exposing the winter wonder land outside where trees and roads and roof-tops lie frozen
beneath a layer of fluffy snow that looked like icing on a birthday cake, as the house
softened and swelled in the warmth of the burning kindling wood that snapped and crackled
in the stove.
Rocking back-and-forth, back-and-forth, I asked him, looking into those eyes of green, with
that far away look. “Grandpa, won’t you tell me please, what lies beyond the sea?” He
paused for a moment, blowing silver halos that rose from his pipe in an aroma of sweet
smelling ‘Old Sail’ tobacco, and with the magic of his words, he took me on a journey,
rocking across the sea where he showed me all the places and wondrous things he’d ever
seen.
That was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, where an old man, taught a
little girl, that life is but a dream.
~~~~~
In memory of: Captain James George the Third - My Grandfather
~~~~~
2nd place in 'Anything Goes #2 Contest - sponsered by Constance La France
Author's note:
This is one entry of many that will appear in my next book ' A Journey of Roses and Thorns'.
They are true events that have happened in my life - some where roses, some were
thorns. I have learned valuable lessons from both.
“come fluttering words, come drifting words to me…”
A Rambling Poet
A mere housemaid awakens before morning light.
Eyes wide, she bolts upright to the bed’s edge, as if late for work, though she
never is.
Another beautiful day to labor away.
Polishing silver all day has its advantages.
Each piece polishes to a looking glass, each a porthole to her dreams.
As she stares into the final polished vase, her weary face transforms into the face of
a lovely, fair skinned maiden.
Soft red lips highlight her perfect cheek bones and straight nose.
A simple pink ribbon holds her long, auburn hair in place.
Sparkling green eyes and a happy smile portray her excitement as she admires her
floor length pastel summer dress.
“Oh my, It’s time for my evening stroll,” she reminds herself.
Twirling once, she heads out the door leading to the apple orchard.
Barely noticing the orchard’s beauty, she strolls toward the stone steps leading to her favorite place, the stone rose garden.
Making her way down the steps, she immediately notices someone has placed two arrangements onto the platform from the stone cabinet.
As she bends to smell the flowers, she accidentally brushes some petals off, sending them floating to the platform and moss covered stone walk.
Closing her eyes, she lets the essence take her back a dozen years to a young girl
planting pink roses with her mother.
“There’s not a lot of room to plant,” her mother would say. “Two inches of soil between all this stone is what we have to work with.”
She opens her eyes to find herself staring into the polished silver vase.
Her tired, smudged face reminds her it’s time to go home.
Something different catches her eye in the polished looking glass.
Her long auburn hair is no longer neatly bundled under her cleaning bonnet, but held in place by a simple pink ribbon.
Randy Steele
July 25, 2011
"What Is She Thinking?" contest
When winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
In that old house, where you wove that coloured tapestry
With all the glorious memories of your life upon the sea
With weathered palm so deeply etched with every season past
You rubbed a porthole in the center of the frosted glass
Where outside in splendour lie a winter-wonderland
As halos rose above your head from a pipe bowl in your hand
And there upon a rocking chair as smoke rings filled the air
We rocked across a sea of dreams wind tangled in our hair
To lands I’d never been before we stepped upon those shores
And through your eyes I saw each one and still I wanted more
The morning passed in dreams between two pairs of eyes of green
As the world outside held its breath in a sea of snowy cream
And when the chill of winter melted from the windowpane
The whistling kettle on the stove brought us home again
You held my hand and looked at me with that twinkle in your eyes
And told me you would be my Captain 'til the day I died
So when winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again
~~~~~
Written: Jan 15, 2011
Author: Elaine George
First Place in Brian Strand's contest: Let's See
4th Place In - Anything goes contest
In loving memory of my Dear Papa 'Captain James George'.
Authors Note:
When I was a child of three, I Went to live for a year with my Grandparents in Nova
Scotia. At that time my Grandfather was a retired Sea Captain of a Three Mast
Schooner. He had spent most of his life at sea, taking lumber and coal to New
Brunswick and various ports in the U.S. and in the winter months, would carry on to
pick-up and deliver cargo in the West Indies. Although my time with him was short,
the memories we shared have comforted me through-out the years.
~~~~~
From whence we as human civilization
began and came into existence
Still very little do we actually know to
this day
As only a partial bit of our history is yet
to be uncovered
And is then left up to academia to
summise and best explain the
reasoning behind
From since long before the written
form came into existence and was
to be discovered
Walls and cave's we're dorbed with
primitive pictorial pictogram and
Hieroglyphics
All seem to follow and have
a common thread
Every single deity so long as able to
looked up and sought for the answers
In the Stars and Skies above
Once the sun and daylight dissapears
and darkness of night finally appears
The Stars come out and proceed to
illuminate like an open storybook
Descending with it unto earth the
Mythology of the God's and so to
the origins of human creation
And to this day why we as human
beings still look up and tilt our head's
and eyes skyward
When we choose to go in search and
search for the answers that we seek
in order to make sense of the meaning
of life itself
An unfathomable unimaginable celestial firestorm on display combusting and
imploding into a cosmic vacuum millions
of light-years away invisible to the human
naked eye
Creating and leaving black holes
reverberating in its wake bathing in
it's afterglow as if it we're the dawning
sun rising on the event horizon field of
gold
Providing comfort and a final everlasting
resting place as even stars burn out and
die when their time is up letting us know
nothing lives forever not even the stars
themselves
All we need and wish to know is
when our time on earth is up and we die
Do we similarly die like stars destined
to be swallowed hole so as an escape
porthole can be opened to another
dimension
Or is that black hole a star creates simply awaiting new arrival's and slam's tight shut
once we enter
When my hair was tied in two tails
I frolicked about the warped trunk of a willow
As the cicadas serenaded in the summer’s heat
The tree held me in its low arms
I watched nature pulse
I tasted nothing but joy in those days
Capable of comprehending nothing but euphoria
Jade orbs gazed through rounded windows perched atop my nose
At nature bleeding hues of yellow and red
The willow was a stunning cadmium to match the craft that took me away from it every morning
The craft would transport me to an alien world
Here I was an ashen duckling among daffodil chicks
Who marched in line with them but would never fit their puzzle
Dancing seas of anticipation
Gazed through a porthole thirty-thousand feet above the land
Far from my willow back home
Colorful ants scurried through paved corridors
Their destination I will never know
A fraction of a day spent before arriving in paradise
Our slate craft ferried us across the crimson bridge
To a frigid shore
To a community of boats and potted plants
To stone monuments that dwarf the largest breathing creatures
To conifers the size of skyscrapers
A hug’s expanse could not surround the trunks of these giants
Now vacant spheres stare through the window
Lungs fill and deflate, heart pulses
Numbed mind
Yet still living
A girlish figure has melted to porcelain curves
Porcelain white to harmonize with the feathery puffs descending outside the window
Pallid digits trace invisible figures on the cold glass
The willow’s painted leaves have long been gone
Buried far beneath winter’s glass and delicate veil
The winter is long and lonesome
The epitome of sunless silence
Obsidian clouds meet ivory snow; the world plunges into a monochromatic stillness
But the numbness of winter refuses to last for an eternity
Its grip will soon be broken by
The promise of spring
My Poems
Are but only and unto me
An inner source of both shuttling
and chastening my day dreams
My very own fantastical imagination
galaxy and far off universe
Inside my head rallying me to discover
what may well just reside beyond the
setting stellar sun or dark side of the moon
Because I would far rather be alone and
searching for something more significant
other than this out there than here
Than awaken again tomorrow with a
sore neck from staring up at a sky full
of shooting stars
Constantly wishing and waiting for the quickening crash of thunder and lightning
to strike
And with such levity and brevity of
clarified thought and sadly devoid of
any means of leaving this world's earths atmosphere behind
I instead have no other option left but
to try and imagine it's splendor in my
mind's eye
And even if I was to take this journey
on my own alone with not another
single soul or anyone to tell
How would that be any different
but rather so much better than being
surrounded by people but nobody
willing to listen
I think at least much like the 1st Apollo
crew taking 1 small step for mankind
who returned
I would rather happily live out the rest
of my life as a Giant
Jettisoned as a castaway just me myself
and Wilson
Gazing out a porthole both utterly bemused
and blown away taking in an ever increasing
impressive interplanetary firework display
Thankful for the fact this ethereal majesty
has thus far been spared from humankind
Otherwise this would probably by now
have been turned into a ride on an
amusement park complete with hotel
casino fast food chains and shopping mall
I’m a person of faith...so are you
Dying by comparison, to
Windswept cliffs
Water with choppy teeth
Baptismal pool?
Will it save you?
Pointing at the whiteboard
Hear the squeak of multicolored markers
In your head, dead
Points most of them
Feet are slipping, stones
Falling to a great depth
This is rather deep, tap...tap
Tapping your toes on shimmering faults
Your fault, my fault
Falling
Through loopholes, crying
Tears pelt the cyclone below
Stars so peaceful in the night sky
Fill your eyes with their charm
As your heels slip slowly as a snail
Hands grasping cold wet air
Can’t breathe in the end
Porthole from tower’s edge
Edgy flames spew you
Out like Jonah’s whale
Splat, splat, splatter
You see it all does matter
All of it
Faith takes a leap
But if you’ve no idea
Where your heading
Hint, South
Can a leopard shed his spots,
Though he scrubs them on the reef?
Relief
Who’s the balm?
Who calms the sea?
Who saves you from spiritual death?
Who created thee?
Thine, thee, we...words
Mean only what they seem to be
Flat
Except in Hebrew and Greek
the bible speaks
Clinging to the rock
Of my salvation
And you?
11/4/2020
Psalm 62:1 My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.
Romans 10:8-10 ...The word is near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart, that is the word of faith...that if you confess with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.
One eye open, one half stuck, trying to pierce the gloom,
then noticing the stillness and the light within the room.
Nose as cold as a corpse's, one arm outside the sheet,
quick! bring it back inside the bed, let it feel the heat.
Blowing misty breath in pants, frost patterns on the pane,
boyish excitement rising, now that winter's here again.
Wanting to be up and about but loath to leave the warm
of the bed and the heavy blankets, cocooned from winter's storm.
But now my mind is racing with the pleasures that lie ahead,
I really must make the effort to get up and out of bed.
On throwing back the blankets I'm forced to catch my breath
as the cold within my bedroom half freezes me to death.
Committed now, no going back, from the bed I pull a coat
as I stand on my island bedroom rug surrounded by lino moat.
The coat I wrap around me, lean from rug to windowsill,
bridging the cold linoleum and its icy winter chill.
I gaze at leafy patterns frost has etched upon the pane,
my hot breath melting them slowly but they quickly form again.
I clear a porthole in the frost and gaze at the wondrous sight,
the snow, still falling, is so thick it must have snowed all night.
All is silent, not a creature moves in the street or the fields beyond,
as if the Snow Queen has passed by and waved her magic wand
and cast a spell upon the land whilst everyone was sleeping
and the village is frozen in time and place, a picture for the keeping.
From a big 737's porthole looking down
upon rows of endless, barren mountains,
from the clouds to the wadis I descend
unto thy waiting arms among the dunes.
Far in the middle of a vast wasteland
right in Arabia's remote Empty Quarter,
searching for black gold hardy men toil
amid howling winds and scorching sun.
As rugged machines wander wildly free
like tireless armies of booms and steel,
proud towering rigs on lonely oil wells
bore deep into earth's generous bosoms.
In desolation removed from the world,
striking symmetries on shifting sands!
behold the shy beauty of prickly shrubs
on quiet hillsides waiting for discovery.
While hues of softly changing colors rest
on sunlit peaks and hills by the shadow,
footprints I will leave on yielding ground,
faint traces that the wind shall soon erase.
Oh, just to frolic in these steep slopes
flat on my belly on a cardboard ship!
amazed finding that by just being here
takes me back to a childhood long ago.
Shaybah, in coming I did not conquer
for it’s you etching imprints in my brain,
marveling why beauty and riches often
lay hidden in isolation, it seems.
Note:
Shaybah is a newly discovered oil field
deep in Arabia's Empty Quarter, one of
the most desolate places on earth.