Long Seame Poems
Long Seame Poems. Below are the most popular long Seame by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seame poems by poem length and keyword.
Eyes stuck open - of angel in the mud -
Skies cry soundless pelicans in flight
Panicked Santa Ana winds shake tips of entangled feathers
An ambulance ignores this stop rushing for a human
Heaven in distress aches bloody, distorted sunsets
The child in me is missing her winged guardian
Vulnerable darkness falls on the grieving beach
Levers smooth reality.
One can't even tell apart purity from mud
I build white castles and move in
So tides would come and take me to Atlantis
They say it is a weightless city,
where crippled hearts totally recover
and anemones teach you how to bloom
when oxygen of soul is scarce
...and one becomes a legend in the storms...
www.scripca.com
Two years ago I left New York,
to find my luck somewhere else,
and in Waterbury, Connecticut I settled in a ranch-house,
which overlooked middle-class homes
groping on verdant slopes;
the night stars may have shined
a little brighter than in Manhattan,
without a trace of pollution or smog,
but the harsh winters made me dream again
of living in the warm streets of wonderful New York!
As I step out of my car into Fifth Avenue, by the entrance,
old acquaintances welcome the sweet return of a New Yorker;
and unto Columbus Circle I run toward Central Park:
it used to be my park, and my dog loved it by barking lauder,
and over little bridges I jogged as he chased me fervently;
there was no day in which I felt lonely...to want to escape from this city!
Here all neighbors met and chatted with a kind of stylish accent...
that all tourists love and find it extremely attractive!
When I look up...there the Empire State Building
is one of the wonders of my glamorous city that never disappoints anyone;
even night can't put it to sleep with its gloom;
and holidays always decorate it with spectacular lights:
like the yellow-bright daffodils that begin to bloom...
as happy faces greet the sweet return of a New Yorker...
driving on the Brooklyn Bridge bound for the New Jersey shore!
O greatest city, let me begin to write an ode that your people will sing!
Other cities are certainly beautiful and captivating as this one,
but none of them can spark inside that something so special...
the breath-taking view of the sky-scrapes in the August' moonlight,
the gracious waves of the East River and the ships that glide up and down the harbor;
and in this spot I met my sweet-heart with eyes like a Virginia sky, and hair
so soft and as red as the cheeks of a stuttering, drunken man!
Lady of a mysterious night, you vanished as the summer'
dawn erupted from the ocean's deep to forever preserve your delicate beauty!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
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.
My heart yearns not for the mountain-way,
With its green of grass and tree;
My heart calls out for the ocean spray,
And the sound of the surf rolling free!
Give me a land with its feet in the sea,
Its low-swelling shoulders nearby.
The voice of the waves is a music to me,
And the cry of the gulls is my cry.
Cast me not out on your hot desert sand,
Where the salt-tanging airs never rest.
Give me space on an ocean-washed strand,
With a flicker of foam on its breast!
When the storm clouds build to a thundering groan,
And the wind whips the trees on the shore,
With a rip and a roll and a deep wailing moan,
The swell charges in with a roar!
Still, even then, with the needle-sharp spray,
Dancing its pain 'cross my face,
My soul ventures out and is swept far away,
On the crest of a fast ocean race.
Thrilled to the core by the need to be free,
Not bound by this weak mortal form,
It pitches and dives and races the sea,
And rides on the wings of the storm!
Lighter than down and stronger than steel,
With a knowledge as old as the sea,
That this is the way my soul will feel,
Perched on the brink of eternity!
Written by my wife Vera Selena Hinshaw
© All Rights Reserved
White Dog tell me stories
Of the places near and far
Of nights upon the ocean
Following a star
Tell me stories of adventure
And a Caribbean breeze
Or fighting swirling winds
Upon the mighty seas
Let me dream once more of sailing
And peaceful tropical nights
Gazing at the Southern Cross
Standing beneath the Northern Lights
White Dog carry me away
To where my dreams were bold and young
To feel the wind against my face
And the salt upon my tongue
Let me feel the gentle waves
On a night that’s calm and warm
Then stand in awe of her fury
In the midst of a tropical storm
White Dog bring my dreams to life
Of sailing days that never end
I see you sitting on the sand
Rest peacefully my friend.