Long Salmon Poems
Long Salmon Poems. Below are the most popular long Salmon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Salmon poems by poem length and keyword.
Oregon’s, wildlife, mountains, lakes, and bogs
Fields of green, awaken refreshed at dawn
Where salmon runs the rivers blue to spawn
Drawn wandering above the sea of fog
Black-tailed and mule deer birth their newborn fawns
Where shaggy mane elks labor their spring calves
Rustle sounds while they graze off open paths
Wander under the full moon of predawn
Sea of umbrellas on rainy season
Fireplace frames warm sputtering ember flames
Snow cold, in fella’s embrace with no shame
Turning me into shades of pink crimson
Savoring the earth's nurturing labor
Giving my heart to the verdant nature
12/30/2016
My home for 36 years
Tommy, my quintessential favorite black cat loved Halloween
we stayed inside to watch trick-or-treaters through a screen
Tommy loved to go outside but on that night, we stayed in
he was not eager to see all of the strangers dressed in a whim
he was a one-woman cat, scarecrows and skulls amused him
He liked seeing lights that lit up by sensors scaring kids to their brim
when children screamed, he would hide under the couch or bed
he distrusted people he did not think were right in the head
He seemed to have a fancy for older folks, liked them a lot
my grandmother always brought him a treat from her pot
something with tuna, salmon, or some other kind of fish
She presented it with a flourish, and he gave his tail a swish
They were happy with each other, Tommy and my Grandma Fay
Halloween night was not a time we saw her though, she stayed away
She was not fond of children’s screams any more than Tommy she said.
I was glad, because she was corpulent, and could not fit under my bed.
Wild as ivy vines climbing up pines,
in the outskirts of nature
where mountain lions purr,
my lungs expand like the open land.
Breathing in peace, as rippling as a creek,
watching an eagle snatch up salmon,
I witness the cycle of life: unkind but providing.
Abiding upon a log bench, quenched
with dampened sun, dappled by branch shadows,
trickled with yesterday's torrential rain drench,
I bathe in thankfulness for abundance.
Smoked venison smothered with forged morels
satisfies my wild senses, with plenty to share.
Cares become lost in uncharted territory,
flung to the wild winds, blown like dust
settling upon lawn-like leaves
where fungi's forestry teeth eat them like treats.
3-21-2020
Wild Country Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
The alarm went off!
I yawned and stretched.
Put on my pink sequined slippers
and streaming pink robe.
Which in my closet, I had fetched.
The abubble appetite of my furry
Stunning, purring calico.
Her soft tones, calling for breakfast,
Oh, so tenderly virtuoso!
The phone rang sweetly,'twas my
brother Jack.
Coming over with bagels, salmon
and fresh fruits in his sack.
To share a brother- sister snack!
Life is so magnificent was my
contemplation.
Free to be me, a citizen of this
most admirable American nation.
The Keurig harmonized so perfectly
with me.
To God be the glory, she sang so
sweetly!
September 28, 2019
4:30 a.m.
Moonlight creeps through the writhing woodland as
Arion walks alongside me—upward toward the lone mountain.
We had trekked for miles and the way was wearisome,
heavy fog in its obscuring fidelity stalking our every step.
Winds shrieked around us like dissonant flutes—
high pitched, fortissimo screams that died in
and died out dismally.
They reminded me of my own undulating doubts
manifesting into fits of malignant mess—
but the steady sound of our unified steps
soothed my panicking heart—tears flower
my eyes, dropping like dew.
Soon—as many storms do—
the winds died away along with my fears.
That is when the mockingbird
began to stridently trill in the distance,
its venting variations vaguely familiar.
Arion and I stopped in a flat clearing, stunned by its clarity,
listening intently to her songs.
Timelessness touched the forest
as melodies touched our hearts.
When her trills ceased, I first witnessed
the tears of my loyal companion.
Somehow, they made him younger and freer.
Excitement sprouted from his eyes
like wildflowers witnessing their first dawn.
He wiped the tears away with his sleeve
and beamed like a sunrise.
“For just one moment—one moment,
she sounded like my mother,” he stammered.
I grasped his hands and held them to my heart.
Arion looked up to the sky, above the circle of trees,
as if he recognized a face in the midnight expanse.
We made a camp and settled silently in the clearing.
The last thing we remember before closing our eyes
was the overhead flutter of shadowed wings
and a gentle sigh beyond the pines.
(note: this is the third part of an epic about Arion I shared a while ago. The first and second pieces are “Little Glistening Salmon” and “Ocarina Steps”)
In the hot A-Ga-Ming night
My wife and I skip the July 4th fireworks
At the sandbar down south on long Torch Lake
Start our own shoreline fire
Count the red electrified dorsal fins
Of the motorboat salmon swimming upstream
Migrating home from the explosions in the sky
20, 50, 80 a hundred 200 in an hour
Rainbow tsunami
Our dock leans rickety to the covenant
Lake soothes its wrinkles when the madness is over
Our souls sit back in decrescendo
Take a deep breath
To the cows mooing
Pastures away on Cairn Highway
Like foghorns from the lighthouse perched on the moon
While picking machines convulse in the cherry orchards
Tree by tree to trampolines
Whining mosquitoes if our ears were the hills
Moon slips behind the blueberry clouds
Campfire snaps its fingers for attention
A cricket chirps just outside our circle of radiant rocks
I planted decades ago
Every year he’s here too
Chirping
Chirping
To the embers of the universe
Until he isn’t.
A is for Avocado, the creamy, green nutritious fat.
B is for Berries, the fruit that keeps your tummy flat.
C is for Chia, most nutrient-dense of all the seeds.
D is for Dandelion - it's more than just a pesky weed!
E is for Eggs, the perfect snack to keep you lean.
F is for Flax - to sprinkle lightly on your greens.
G is for Ginger, the spice that fights off germs and soothes.
H is for Honey, nature's cure for the sweetest tooth.
I is for Iodine - from salt, it keeps your thyroid sound.
J is for Jalapeno, the red-hot kick to melt those pounds.
K is for Kale - to be lightly steamed without the stem.
L is for Lettuce, its popular and crunchy friend.
M is for Milk, for sparkling teeth and sturdy bones.
N is for Nuts - a handful and your tum won't groan.
O is for Oats, fiber-filled and gluten-free.
P is for Pistachios, sly cholesterol's enemy.
Q is for Quinoa, the complete protein that fills you up.
R is for Raisins - a ton of iron in a quarter cup.
S is for Salmon, the oily fish with omega-3.
T is for Tomatoes, nature's very own sunscreen!
U is for Udon, the pasta you can eat guilt-free
V is for Vinegar - it makes dressings low in calories.
W is for Water, which hydrates to de-bloat your gut.
X is for Xylocarp, a fancy term for coconut.
Y is for Yogurt, the probiotic masterpiece.
Z is for Zucchini, which lowers risk of heart disease.
Your body is a temple, I'm sure you've all been told,
So fill it up with healthy foods, and you'll grow young - not old!
(P.S. In case anyone doesn't know, "Quinoa" is pronounced "keen-wah")
For Cyndi's "Z is for Zaria" contest
"If the wind will not serve,
take to the oars."
Let the wind swerve and curve,
not sway the way that's yours.
I'll tell you why—
It's up in the sky,
It's in the salmon that defy
the way the rivers ply.
It's in the trees
that bend, not break.
It's in the seeds
that dare to wake,
to an ancient urge
beneath each stem,
not to winter's scourge
that beckons them.
It's in the season
written deep within,
in the seed of reason
where all seeds begin.
It's in the bees
whose waggle tells,
of fields of trees
with flowering dells.
They never wait for chance
to paint perfect skies,
they trust their dance
more than their eyes.
It's in the web
the spider spins and weaves,
not waiting for storms to ebb,
or calm among the leaves.
For what survives the din
is more than what chance buys—
it's the will that lies within
that always yearns to rise.
"For wandering winds will confuse,
and lose direction;
while your oars pick and choose,
each stroke with intention".
No January morning is ever so devastating, the heavy icicles
dangle from the frozen shingles of houses with puffing chimneys;
no eyes will see the misery of scattered, broken snow flowers...
all paths winding down the icy slopes are buried as memories
of summers past, and by late spring, will they return to us?
Ah, fierce is the strong hand of Nature causing fear through vengeance!
The coldest wind howls, bends trees finding no resistance,
only snow is seen for miles stretching into the warmer South;
where are the Eskimo dogs pulling the heavy-loaded sleights?
Where are the chiseled-faced drivers with the fur-covered heads?
Where are the fishing boats loaded with salmon and trout?
Ah, fierce is the hand of Nature causing fear through vengeance!
It'll get dark early, mornings will be cold and evenings as frigid as Iceland',
only the pathetic moon will shed its dim light on that thick and vast
sheet of gleaming ice that bears crack with their excessive weight...
why live in this cold region and wait for the tons of snow to melt?
Travel South, straight into California to catch some healthy sunshine;
your pale skin will turn red, golden, or bronze smelling the scent of a vine!
Forget these poetic words that end my long epic of sad reminiscence,
" Ah, fierce is the strong hand of Nature causing fear through vengeance! "
The man in the elevator farted,
The smell was like a rotten salmon fish,
He mocked everyone as the gas parted,
Since provoking our anger was his wish.
Alas, he stained his white pants with his mess,
He couldn't leave the smelly elevator,
Yet he needed a toilet to access,
He begged a shirt from a nearby waiter.
He refused because of his bad manners,
A woman gave him four menstrual pads,
That he used as a protective banner—
Like young children, he turned it to a fad.
Another kind woman gave him a skirt,
Had we not known, he would have claimed Scottish,
Still the skirt was stained with a little squirt,
We wish his foul manners he'll abolish.