Long Sea lion Poems
Long Sea lion Poems. Below are the most popular long Sea lion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sea lion poems by poem length and keyword.
The sea horse, sea lion, sea elephant
Joined the force for “Ocean’s Most Vigilant”
All claimed they’re watchful creatures
Wise and keen in their ventures
Yet from man’s waste, they weren’t triumphant.
They then vowed to help guard ocean’s beauty
As sea patrol of good authority
Praying, they asked God’s guidance
And shield from man’s ignorance…
…For all to enjoy sea world’s great bounty*.
*2Corinthians 9:5 ... Make up beforehand your bounty, whereof ye had notice before, that the same might be ready, as a matter of bounty, and not as of covetousness.
August 2, 2018
5th place, "Sea Tales Limericks" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire; judged on 8/4/2018.
Two brothers salmon in the deep blue sea
Got the urge one day to seek some revelry.
So off they both went into the early dawn
With naught on their minds but to swim and spawn.
Up the big river with its mouth so wide,
It must be a mile from side to side.
For days and days those two fish swam
‘Til they ran smack-dab into a concrete dam!
Round and round that great grey wall
They swam, but found no help at all.
Relief came, not from heaven sent,
But sure enough from the government!
A big fish ladder with its lifts and falls
Helped those boys to skirt that wall
Into a lake with its shores so green
The two fish entered on another scene!
As if decreed by constabulary
The lake was fed by five tributaries!
“Which one to take?”, was their question then,
The answer came to the first brother Sven.
“I know where to go”, you could hear him say,
“I’ve been here before! I can find the way!”
So off Sven went, and his brother, Pete, too;
Guided by nothing but Deja Vu!
The stream they chose was swift and clean
But the rocks therein were hard and mean!
Bruised and battered Ol’ Pete said, “ENOUGH!”
“This swim-and-spawn life is just too rough!”
“Swimming all day against the stream?”
“This might be for you Sven, but it ain’t my dream!”
So he turned with the current and went with the flow,
Against his true nature, to the blue sea below.
He passed other salmon, in their eyes was a gleam,
All turning red as they struggled upstream.
Pete was red too from his tail to his face.
When he reached the blue sea, he seemed out of place.
The swimming was easy, with no current to fight,
But Pete couldn’t know of his fate nor his plight.
A flashy red Pete in the bright blue dawn
A sea lion spied him and SNAP! Pete was gone!
In the mean time, Sven kept on swimming for days;
His back out of water in the warm summer rays.
He made his way to a cool sandy brook
And spied a coy babe-fish with a cute little look.
And there on the edge of a loose gravel shoal,
They frolicked and played and fulfilled their role:
They had both done their best; standing out in a crowd.
Sven also died, but his maker is proud!
This tale has a moral, as all good tales do.
A metaphor of life, it is tried and true:
“Swimming through life is no simple feat,
Endure to the end, or end up like Pete!”
One day I'll drive there.
On the way
I'll tell my wife about the Modoc woman,
who lived outside the city,
above a sea lion rookery.
She taught me a Klamath-Modoc prayer:
“I want you animals to know, open your eyes,
a hungry man has killed one of you.
One day we will find out
what happened to its spirit
then we will go meet with it,
for it was my brother.”
She rowed a boat on the spume
of the wild cove waves.
I knew her, she had the way of truth in her.
When I get to the Redwoods,
I'll visit her clapboard home.
Look for her twelve year old Ford truck,
her briny patch of hand-reared garden,
her small surf-riding boat.
The sheriff reported her, `missing in transit.'
Maybe she went off
with that son-of-a- jailbird
who had twice tried to kill her.
I'll take the back roads, getting lost
until we reach the ocean.
When we get to Crescent City,
we'll sit by the harbor and watch the sea lions
savoring their deep throated funk.
I'll tell my wife I love her,
and she will taste the salt of my words.
THE UNICORN
Ever seen a more beautiful sight?
She is drowning into the wind
All sail set,
Triple tangled,
Purple pearl gears,
Glittering glassy artilleries,
Unrivalled weaponry.
Isn't she a beauty
She's got the wind behind.
Look at the velocity she's setting,
Barely noticing the Barbados.
With a grip of urn full of rum
And the finest of tobacco
The hearts of the sail's set
For the audacity of hope.
The red pennant,
The blood line's cold
And every sea captain
Looks upon that flag
For he knows he faces a fight to death
And then he saw her,
As an apparition mounting from the dead.
The sea rose in it watery execution.
But I was told sea lion don't flee
From the wavers watery wonders.
Instead, he staggers not but swaggers on
Until they sail past the North Pole
And trodden upon the sands of Sahara.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©2014.
THE UNICORN
Ever seen a more beautiful sight?
She is drowning into the wind
All sail set,
Triple tangled,
Purple pearl gears,
Glittering glassy artilleries,
Unrivalled weaponry.
Isn't she a beauty
She's got the wind behind.
Look at the velocity she's setting,
Barely noticing the Barbados.
With a grip of urn full of rum
And the finest of tobacco
The hearts of the sail's set
For the audacity of hope.
The red pennant,
The blood line's cold
And every sea captain
Looks upon that flag
For he knows he faces a fight to death
And then he saw her,
As an apparition mounting from the dead.
The sea rose in it watery execution.
But I was told sea lion don't flee
From the wavers watery wonders.
Instead, he staggers not but swaggers on
Until they sail past the North Pole
And trodden upon the sands of Sahara.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©2014.
One day I'll drive there.
On the way
I'll tell my wife about the Modoc woman,
who lived outside the city
above a sea lion rookery.
She taught me a Klamath-Modoc prayer:
“I want you animals to know, Open your eyes.
A hungry man has killed one of you.
One day we will find out
what happened to its spirit
then we will go meet with it,
for it was my brother.”
She rowed a boat on the spume
of the wild cove waves.
I knew her, she had the way of truth in her.
When I get to the Redwoods,
I'll visit her clapboard home.
Look for her twelve year old Ford truck,
her briny patch of hand-reared garden,
her small surf-riding boat.
The sheriff reported her, `missing in transit.'
Maybe she went off
with that son-of-a- jailbird
who had twice tried to kill her.
I'll take the backroads, getting lost
until we reach the ocean.
When we get to Crescent City,
we'll sit by the harbor and watch the sea lions,
savoring their deep throated funk.
I'll tell my wife I love her,
and she will taste the salty truth of my words.
A SAILORS HALT
The sea arouse rushing with the valiant force of wind,
Seeth he, pose in fear, arms froze
With splash of the wind, eyes close.
If he Christ, would 'ave wish a quick resurrection.
Beholding the mighty rush, eyes smoked with watery execution.
The shipwrecking storms and daring thunders strikes
Although the new home he envisions do entice,
Still pondering, looking at his own ring, wondering,
Know'st not how the spring where comfort seem to come
Discomfort swells up to harm.
Bearing his cap and angelic attire which normally
Goes home with him timely,
Now goes with him to home of all homes.
Facely, he prepares to make the sea his eternal covering
Although there's no art to find
The minds construction in the face hovering,
The eye blinks for a moment
And see not what the hand does.
Mothersea roars and yawns as a lioness preparing for a prey
Making his troubles doubly redoubled strokes not go away
But he, a "sea lion" whose ship was his home
Still set with cap-in-hand, without spouse or seed, to leave alone.
Can sparrows worry eagles in the spacious sphere
Or Hare the Tiger, and try to scare?
Though faultless for the judgement, life to a halt and no more.
Adieu, for nature hath drenched and extincted God's last creation.
His book has finally come to an end.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©2009.
The Seal.
It has been a long time since I was in a bay somewhere on the Algarve.
The road to get there was narrow and dusty, and
I got annoyed with my girlfriend at the time for dragging me.
away from the safety of my house and the communal
Swimming pool. It was a secluded beach where women.
could swim without the great hindrance of a bra, and to
Think she had dragged me here to get her **** sunburned.
She could have done that in my backyard.
I went for a swim, and the water enveloped me like blue silk.
And I floated with the lightness of a sea lion, it was then.
I saw here, just her head, a mermaid, and her head was
Bobbing gently up and down, she was the sea.
The home of all beginnings....
So they did exist, and not an illusion, a tale told by the lonely.
Sailors, and how typical that wondrous women are seen
by those who long for female company, but a voice
from the shore called me, the one who was tanning her ****,
was getting restless, wanted something to eat, fried chicken
Salad and a half bottle of chilled white wine.
When I get to the Redwoods,
I’ll look for her clapboard home
above a sea-lion rookery.
I will seek out
her twelve-year-old Ford truck,
her briny patch of hand-reared garden,
her small surf-riding boat.
She’s native,
she taught me a Klamath-Modoc hunting prayer:
“I want you to know,
that a hungry man has killed you.
We will meet once more,
for you are my brother.”
I knew her by her seasoning.
The sheriff reported her, `missing in transit.’
Maybe she went off
with that s.o.b. jailbird
who twice tried to kill her.
I’ll take the back roads, getting lost
until I reach the ocean.
When I get to Crescent City,
I will sit by the harbor and watch the sea lions;
savoring their deep throated funk.
I will maybe say a hunting prayer;
a self-hunting prayer.
A man with horn-rimmed glasses
knelt in the sand
thinking: "my office just got a whole lot bigger."
He had just flown from sea to shining sea
to survey the sea lions.
He walked barefoot to a rocky outcrop
to count the creatures (for he was an accountant),
the counting took many days -
he was engaged upon a sea lion census.
The sea lions would dive into the tossing waves
and so deplete the sea lion company or rookery,
other's would arrive with unaccounted-fore friends,
The rest yelled all day long or grunted huffily.
it was a rowdy crowd.
The accountant took off his glasses and wiped his brow.
The sea lions continued to bark at him
while scratching their ears with distaining flippers.
Reluctantly he turned to fly back to New York,
where sea lions are parked carefully
in a funky concrete compound.
Each one of those aquatic New Yorkers
could be counted upon
and they were
as they swam moodily in the small oily pool
generously provided for them.