Long Seagulls Poems
Long Seagulls Poems. Below are the most popular long Seagulls by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seagulls poems by poem length and keyword.
Stretched far and wide, sun smoothes the beach, and finds a place to land
It spreads a sheet, then fastens lace to all our summer skies
No day sees a wave so high, without thoughts of you or dreams renewed
Sun slept on the water's surface, rippled like heat, melting the glass
My head against your chest, could hear your heart, soften, after our swim
and I watched white seagulls fly, away to where the sky, blended to grey
Pages remain in old albums, but I see them so differently
It's clear, now as if photos, reveal sharper views, of what we didn't know
Almost seems a better thing to face the unknown unprepared
Evening beckons my head to rest, ..old loves are lost with the sunset
Summer was ours awhile, for just a day, like the seagull.....flies away
Tonight, all I hear are waves, to break the silence of the night
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THE SUNFLOWERS- With the morning sun on the rise, they slowly lift their heads and their petals of yellowish-gold spread smiling with the sun.
THE HOUSE- As a passer-by, sitting atop a hill all trim and newly touched with a brush, it's white and blue shutters swing to the light breeze as quiet sets the mood.
THE LAMP- On low-glow, dimness surrounds the light beige drapes and the leaves from the long-stemmed plant sag downward as if fireworks were falling.
THE HIGHCHAIR- The tray all covered with remnants of chocolate pudding and cookie crumbs sits empty and all alone in the corner...mom holds baby boy on her shoulder where he rests his head and sleeps
THE DOG- Sitting on the edge of a bay window quietly looking at the rain dropping, she sits with her eyes drooped and her head resting on her front paws.
THE SUN- As it rounds the world, hues of light and dark blues set the tones of dusk and dawn...birds, bees and butterfly's paint the skies.
THE OCEAN- A shoreline of white caps ripple while calm waters beyond views sailboats, seagulls, and spotty white fluffy clouds in the horizon
THE MOON- Surrounded by pinholes, the huge white hole in the sky brightens the paths through the forests and alleys where lovers hold hands and stare at falling stars
THE MOUNTAINS- Above the lake, their shadows mirror. Colors of brown, orange, red and green is center staged around the log cabin off to the left, to the right...a man and his son fishing from the dock.
Form:
Sometimes before slumber while counting the numbers
Of sheep in the back of my mind;
I drift into blue and think about you
And me in those long ago times.
When living gets lost in those waves we once tossed
Each other near the shores of our youth;
Where the sounds of your laughter for here ever after
Remind me of rain on an old tin roof.
Dancing with delight at the thought of the sight
Still smiling after all these years;
Sometimes before slumber while counting the numbers
I can see you, ever so clear.
In the depths of my being at the edge of dreaming
Of you resting in my embrace;
Where the seagulls still fly and you first caught my eye
Way back in that once perfect place.
Where now I see clearly, perhaps as nearly
As the colors of sunrise at dawn;
Of memories made that won’t ever fade
Well after they say I’m gone.
Sometimes before slumber while counting the numbers
Of days between now and then;
I feel myself glowing in the warmth of knowing
While sleeping I’ll see you again.
Upon the steep and sudden hills of green,
Where eucalyptus scents the salty air,
A city rests, in shades of grey serene,
With painted ladies waiting in a stair.
A blanket rolls, a slow and silent cat,
To hide the towers in a white embrace,
Then lifts to show the crimson bridge, where sat
The sun, to kiss the ocean’s smiling face.
The cable cars ascend on iron tracks,
While seagulls circle near the busy pier,
And blue expanse is all the vision lacks,
With ships that whisper songs for us to hear.
The nighttime lights are sparks of diamond dust,
Reflecting on the tranquil, turning tide,
A place where old and new together trust,
And in these winding streets, the heart will bide.
It is a song of fog, of spice, and gold,
Of gardens hanging on the edge of space,
A tapestry that time can never fold,
Where restless spirits find their resting place.
Glaring white beaches and sand in the eyes,
Searing hot sun rays that make the skin fry,
Stings from the jellies and seagulls that screech:
These are some nasties you’ll find at the beach!
Snotty raw oysters and blistering skin,
Nothing but fried food; how can you stay thin?
Big Daddy, come get me, I beg, I beseech!
I’ve nothing but scorn and distaste for the beach!
Where the breeze blows,
Where the peach grows
Where there’s shade and trees,
I long for the mountains
Where I can be cool,
Just not at the beach,
Oh please!
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to the tune of "My Favorite Things"
from the musical "Sound of Music"
updated 03/12/2022
Flamingos in the mud with wet flat feet,
search for curly shrimp to eat.
They preen and rest in their Mangrove nest.
Eagles, America's great bird of prey are so very brave and strong.
On the ground their dinner scurries around,
but a big lake fish is their favorite dish.
Adelie penguins build their nests with stones they like to steal.
Tuxedos waddling on the icy floor,
lay one lonely egg and never anymore.
Toucans eat lizards from artistic beaks.
Akward rainforest fellows under umbrella trees,
they clack, tap, and nap in the rainforest breeze.
Hummingbirds fly backwards, those emerald acrobats.
The smallest bird you have ever seen,
eggs no bigger than a jellybean!
Emus are the tallest birds in the world, with abbreviated necks.
Their tiny wings mean they can't fly.
Imagine an emu soaring by!?
Robins cuddling in a Sycamore tree, father, mother, soon babies three.
Little blue eggs fill their cozy nest.
Tomorrow sad worms for a first breakfast.
Seagulls on the beach appear lovely and white.
Just never leave your sandwich alone in plain sight.
Do not be fooled by their innocent gait, for bologna and cheese, they won't
wait!
It was just another night in the first week of June,
hazy, humid and steeped in the light of a full moon.
I was off from work with really nothing much to do.
What a sad and lonely situation to go through!
The heat and the humidity were very stifling.
It is hard to sleep without some air conditioning.
There wasn’t much to see on the television set;
reruns and a movie starring Frankie and Annette.
At two in the morning, there was quiet in the town.
With almost everyone asleep and the bars closed down.
Then I thought I’d take a walk and go down to the beach;
It was only four blocks away, well within my reach.
I put on my leather sandals and walked down the street.
I hoped to feel a little cooler in the dark heat.
The beach looked typical for an early summer night.
Everything was there making it a tourist delight.
The laughing of seagulls as they were taking their flight,
scattered seashells all around reflecting lunar light.
The harmony of crashing waves, all was very right!
I paced toward the water with my sandals in hand.
I felt the foam caress my feet as it soaked the sand.
Wales 980 BC, Sierra Leone, Congo,Niger, Peru, India, Pakistan, Russia, China & Philippines
Chapped scabbed skin, dirt encrusted, blue-pallid in the moonlight;
stars glow radiant light, wolf howl midnight.
Insects stir, skin scratch, tangled hair amass
naked ,as born, rise; the bore hole calls, days task.
Cracked like a seagulls eggs, the cave’s opening calls.
The gold-red-green copper metal's worth all,
child moles, mother moles, dwarfs small, crawl;
between the crevasse in the knocker's wall.
Three hand spans wide, a mere two foot tall;
oil burns in claywells, soot coats on dirty faces,
through rankness they squirm, hands on bone awls;
naked children, and women mine in these places
for raw metal to make the weapons of man.
In before dawn, baskets full, haul, out at dusk, no sun at all....
melt the metal, make, maul,
for the warriors, our defense, hunger gnaws, this makes no sense….
Grease fills the air beyond despair, stench fills each venous vein;
contorted forms, of those small, helpless, born, fills the shunt with continual pain.
From the dawn of time, this drama's had play,
one hundred and fifty eight million children; slaves today.
Women and children sacrificed so men can get paid.
*sorry topic deserves more than 16 lines
Still clear and sunlit
are the tanned, weathered faces
of the fisherman,
their bloodshot eyes,
beanies and checkered shirts,
how they
stood hip deep
in their boats
looking up at a gathered crowd,
the fish arrayed in neat rows
with glistening scales,
caressed, turned
and splashed with seawater
by reverent hands,
translucent mops
of squid and trays
of crabs whose tormented
writhings rippled beneath
blankets of wet
hessian bags.
I can hear accented
voices yelling out prices
and frenzied seagulls overhead,
a haze of smells
and noise jostling
in a silvered morning,
when all was spliced
and wound into a bright
necklace of wire
from which a dozen
or more fish hung
to carry home,
a ring of “tommy ruffs”
fit for the pan or to smoke
in an old tea chest
until they became
a sweaty glaze
of amber flesh,
a filet of sunlight
and good to eat.
It's a quaint little street, bustling with tourists
Shops selling ice creams and coffees, sandals, and seashells...
People rushing, a bike or two in the street, a car searching for a place to park
A baby cries, and mothers wipe sticky faces....chatter, and laughter..
One small gallery, tucked descreetly, into the narrow cobblestone alley
A blinding ray of sun's reflection, catches my attention
The window display, filled with seascapes, antique sailing artifacts
And one small painting....sitting, poised, proudly on an easel...
At first the glare makes it hard to see
But I cup my hands around my eyes...
A lovely rendition of this very same village
Painted many years ago...long before tourists
Long before lattes and souvenirs...
Just a little fishing village...dated 1918
The houses wearing chalky patina,
Narrow lanes leading away from the main road,
dipping down into golden sand dunes,
A small general store and a blacksmith shop,
Seagulls gliding like angel wings against the summer blue
White steepled churches slumbering in the warm afternoon sunshine
The quietness, the peaceful nature of it....simple and serene...
And I think to myself, ...how extraordinary it would be
If I could freeze time for a day,
If I could pull it out and visit it...just once in awhile
If I could bring it back now and again....that peaceful afternoon...
Walk in warm sunshine,
Where the leaves would never fall from those ancient trees,
And the gentle slopes would never know the cruel blast of winter storms
Where tears had never fallen, where age was timeless
If time could stand still.....
I hears the tinkle of the bell, as I enter the shop...