Long Robins Poems
Long Robins Poems. Below are the most popular long Robins by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Robins poems by poem length and keyword.
Plummeting down rascally Falls
Cowering tumbling forward swirls
Down falling down falling down
Powering Crescent trapped in the spiral graphic flaws
Falling plummeting down falling
Falling to the ground
I am forward bound
Caution yet read
By the following cut sounds
Sounds of the sparring Robins Twittering sparrows chirps
He's fallen
He's fallen and he can't get up
All Fall Down I to the beckoning Earth
While in the garden rabbits eat the raw Cabbage
Squirrels eat nibble scribble fluorescent Greenery treats
Why eat nuts
Something funny about this paratrooper
Aspiring meaning falling down into primatene space
What??
Heading toward the Earth
Plummeting down Falling Towards the hard ground
Plummeting down spiraling spinning out of control
Hollering struggling tumbling spinning he falls
What matters does matter as he decides to releases parachute
Don't be so disheartened Halo coming
Lying amongst the rabbits and squirrel in the garden
Is the aspiring falling dismembered parachute jumper
9/15/19
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Village full of boys and girls playing
strong arms around waist romancing
old friends on porch with guitars singing
merry farmers on green hills harvesting
not a bird on trembling wire singing
grabbed by hair like doll earth is shaking
rumbling lava torrents on city descending
burying under darkness encrusting
spitting ashes at planes faster than panicking
anger of revolution once dormant exploding
family tradition of unity unearthing
easy of gadgets virtual love ending.
Boys and girls again in village playing
tailor shops and sound of shoemaker tapping
from complexity to simplicity remnant circling
fields of flowers dancing and robins singing
knees in gratitude bent marveling
at mystery of Love life continuing.
The stream murmurs as it slithers in vale
through the draping emerald forest opulent,
splashes on the wavy contours of lowland,
in cataracts it gurgles like flutter of swan flock.
It meanders on the jagged swathe clad in ferns,
sprinkles with exuberance the splattering pearls.
It hums in the drizzle of slant silent rain,
and glides through the echo of whistle of wind.
Flying over crystal waters of the bubbly flow,
the returning robins chirp the springtime song.
As in garden path fallen leaves crunch and rustle,
graceful butterflies flitter around the flowers.
The sparkling night sky above silhouetted forest canopy,
wears the bejeweled crown of the twinkling stars,
silver tinsels trickle through moonbeam flicker,
I am charmed in a trance by the splendor of nature.
________________
July 26, 2022
Contest : Onomatopoeia
Sponsored by : Emile Pinet
Don’t Worry Love
The hot redness of her face, as if Mars,
Surrounded by flashy yellow a-bright;
And pure snow clouds dancing, chastefully, light.
Orbit’s blush and puppy love eyes with stars.
Latterly, bestie speaks it out loudly.
A sudden volcanic moon of madness
dries her throat, a disruption of sadness.
Virginal countenance, burning brightly.
Then her crush softly grabs her hand in his.
“Don’t worry love. Let’s step outside,” he croons.
She is startled - her cheeks begin to swoon.
Fresh air cools her down. She enjoys the chills.
The robins sings of lovely things - knees weak,
as he brushes a kiss upon her cheek.
Mammoth cold this morning.
There’s been an ice-storm.
Stiff-meat meets chilled ribs,
I am creaking and walking
shovel in shrinking hand.
Robins pounce on frozen worms
Siberian tigers in a flying flurry;
if they stop for a moment
death and life falls over everywhere.
I work the wide-plastic spade
its red mouth scooping
a deep glacial gravity,
pausing only to sag
under the wind's frigid whips,
An old guy shoveling snow
can have heart failure,
better to go this way though
than sitting on the toilet.
Mammoths are now snow piles,
broken branches protrude like tusks.
I lean on my shovel,
watch the robins
shake off crystals of sky
from heat-hugging wings.
See how hectic they fly?
Some may fall by evening;
in this kind of freeze
death and life falls over
everywhere.
Daffodils blooming,
Robins tweeting in trees,
Pollen is looming,
Sky falling like seas.
Atlanta’s warming -
Bless it’s peachy heart.
Isn’t it charming,
The chill will not part.
Can’t put my clothes away.
Winter keeps springing up.
My woollen socks sashay.
Taunt of sweaters: “Wuz up?”
Kids hop, skip and jump,
The joy of April,
Let go of the slump -
Could be they’re grateful…
Tender leaves unfold,
Sun is inviting,
But on the threshold,
The cold’s still biting.
Can’t put my clothes away
Winter keeps springing up
My woollen socks sashay
Taunt of sweaters: “Wuz up?”
4/8/2023
We wander through so many gardens,
doting robins, ignoring the crows.
Our personal oasis is an unfinished poem.
Plastic flowers may last longer, but their dead scent,
cannot compare to freesia and frangipani.
In fading grey sunset,
I crumble, crouching in musk air.
An arch frame with withered wood skin
and paint peeling in need of black dye,
but still Shalimar honeysuckle wraps like a quilt,
weaving around amber roses and velvet clematis.
Battle scarred thorns may stick and prick
these gangly timber legs, but each blemish
is soothed from butterflies floating from petal to petal.
In speeding winds I rock like an armchair,
helpless to save cherry blossoms falling,
creating a carpet of pink upon flakes of green.
Knotweeds sneak through a resurfaced pebble path,
but my dandelion heart seems fond of its purple tint.
Midnight raindrops sting like sake,
but I know dawn will bring bright blue skies.
**
Snow, snow, you have to go.
My patience with you is at an all - time low.
Pack your bags and hit the road.
Take your iceberg and go, go, go.
Come on, sun, turn up the heat.
I'm so sick of this cold and sleet.
Hey, Mr. Sun, Send down your rays.
I'm fed up with gloom and haze.
Come on, spring, it's time to shine.
The robins are here; there are plenty of signs.
Now, Mr. Winter, hit the bricks.
You've been evicted, and NO! More tricks
Written on 3/17/2022
A BRIAN STRAND 1093
Brian Strand: Judged 2022 March 2
~~ 1st ~~
Sitting here
Birds sing in good cheer
Robins bouncing around
Pulling their breakfast from the ground
Such a cheerful sound
Hopping along
Singing their song
Happy as can be
Singing from a tree
Letting the whole world know
Spring will soon show
Flowers will soon grow
Life starts anew
The sky will be blue
The grass so green
Just waiting to be seen
To eyes willing to see
The beauty there be
Just takes a moment my to look around
Listening to the beautiful sound
Colors will dot the land
Birds are just the band
To those that understand
Awakening all that sleeps
The morning dew falling as if it weeps
But with pleasure of course
Beauty has no reason for remorse
Life brings me a smile
Love natures style
Think I will sit here a while
Eulogy
Sing eulogy, O wind,
Crying out the sorrow,
Howling deep within your zephyr,
For branches where you once entwined
Your restless fingers
Into a joyful melody of rustling boughs
In lyric song;
Hear now, as you pass, only memories
Floating on the air in search of forest arms
Where once the lullaby of giants
Spread like peace at eventide
Over every creature who daily felt
The vibrant, primal heartbeat
At the mystic center sustaining life.
Sing eulogy, O wind,
When you rush across the empty mountainside,
Where once the titans of the century welcomed you
With lofty grace as you orchestrated
Their symphony of seasons come,
Your searching swell frantically seeks for
Playmates of a thousand years;
Your cannot reach out with your arms
To lift the sparrows and the robins,
Nesting in their wombs,
Upon your wings
Nor cool the squirrels hiding beneath their skirts
Of rough, red bark;
The hillsides where you sang with grandeur
Lay as hushed and as chilled as marble tombs
That decorate man’s passing;
Death walked upon these paths
Leaving in deep chilling footprints barren hills to raise their
Voices in a wailing rage
Of mournful sighs on desolated plains and mountain slopes.
Sing eulogy, O wind,
Look upon the sun warmed earth,
Your friends with whom you shared the secret words
Of your song,
Who whispered with your every murmur
By lifting up their giant faces
In gratitude for the winter’s gift of sleep
And summer’s rain,
Lie still;
Your shout of mourning unheard,
Death closes up their ears to all
But it’s eternal dirge
And though you long to caress
Their lifeless forms,
They cannot feel your loving hands
Upon their brows
In a final gesture of farewell
Before they leave their forest arbor
Still abounding with their perfume -
The myrrh of burial for guardians
Whose life protected life
Where shadows intermingled.
Sing eulogy, O wind,
Then weep,
No resurrection for companions
Until the earth revolves
A thousand times
Around the sun
When they repeat refrains of joy
In creation’s pristine voice
With you –
With woodland peers –
Their voices silenced here to ears
That heard their chanting
And now must carry in the silence
Of their souls
A seed of memory
To tell the future’s child
A fable tale of giants
Passing now away.
Old growth redwoods now gone.