Long Seattle Poems
Long Seattle Poems. Below are the most popular long Seattle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seattle poems by poem length and keyword.
Run away plane
One hand
In the window pane
Touch me
Run away plane
A one way flight
You and I
The distance between us
I told you I’d hold you
Don’t you run away plane
Why don’t you hug me
Why don’t you reach for me
Maybe there’s a breeze
And you can touch me
Just one last time
I burn fear
A candle unlit
As you lay your thoughts
Across an empty seat
On a runaway plane
One hand
In the window pane
Touch me
Run away plane
A one way flight
You and I
The distance between us
I told you I’d hold you
Don’t you run away plane
Distractions
Aren’t the worst thing
Usually
It’s the scenes that change
Through the windows
Chasing the air you left
Champagne, no ice
I want to live this night
Seattle winds
DC Bound
The only one
In the airport lounge
Don’t wash away
Politicians seem to have an inborn propensity for inane chatter.
They'll WALTZ through a media event leaving many things unsaid,
And TWIST the truth 'til you're left with useless JIVE REELing in your head!
They are renowned for TAPDANCING around most any subject matter!
They'll SASHAY and do a TWOSTEP to obfuscate and to evade.
Politicos make asinine promises from CHARLESTON to Seattle,
And CHOREOGRAPH their DO-SI-DO with folks spewing their idle prattle!
They'll DANCE SWIRLing PIROUETTES never calling a spade a spade!
Some have GYRATED 'round the requirement to pay taxes for years!
Then RAVE, "Gee, my staff should've taken care of that" when the JIG is up!
Those scoundrels are all alike, drinking from the same old loving cup.
How they love to do the BUNNY HOP cozying up with their beloved peers!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Barbara Gorelick's "May I Have This Dance?" Contest - Feb 2011
Trapped inside a wasteland,
dying inch by inch
Slave inside a rusted heart,
feelings chained then lynched
Later now than yesterday,
earlier than goodbye
Spooled like thread that can’t be sewn,
the needle asking why
But time contorts, reversing,
trumpets call you home
Eyes unspoken, voice untouched,
senses all atoned
Words on fire with freedom stirred,
reasons scorched and bare
A silence brewing louder,
new light burns through the air
Eleven Angels fly as one,
and twelfth, you join their throng
With wings now soaring inward
—time’s grip left dead and gone
(Airplane To Seattle: March 8, 2017)
Whatever happened to all those cab drivers
in Madison, Wisconsin with PhD's back in the 1970's?
How are all the college kids doing who cut off a finger or toe
in order to avoid get drafted for the War in Vietnam?
How many domestic terrorists with blood on their hands
are leading respectable lives with forged identities?
Bernadine Dohrn, 'College Professor' - ex-Leader of
the 'Weather Underground'... Do you sleep at night?
Whatever became of all those long-hairs in the pictures
at Woodstock Music Festival in New York in 1969?
How about all those backpackers searching for Truth, who dived
deep into cults like Hari Krishna and the Moonies?
Wuddya say, Ginni Thomas?
Where have all the flowers gone? ... They've gone the way of
ANTIFA, of BLM, of Seattle, WA, of Portland, OR, of all the
'Sanctuary Cities' and George-Soros backed Prosecuting Attorneys
who refuse to prosecute, of CRT, of the 1619 Project, of endless
COVID lockdowns, of 'The Squad' and of 'wokeness'
But if you ask me, if America could survive the Cuban Missile Crisis,
Castro, Mao, Watergate, Sadam Hussein, Monica Lewinsky, Bin-Laden,
9/11, the Dotcom Bust, the ENRON and Arthur Anderson scandals,
the Great Recession, the Real Estate bubble, and Donald Trump and
Hilary Clinton, then I guess we can survive about anything
Carved in the cliffside of the Northwest sky
Four faces rise where the evergreens lean
Legends cut from rain grit and skyline light
Generational talent brought a city to its feet
*Ken Griffey Jr.*
The Kid with the swing smooth as Puget tides
Hat tilted like he already knew the future
A smile that turned baseball into daylight
He didn’t just play in Seattle
He made Seattle’s dreams feel possible
*Gary Payton*
The Glove stitched from concrete and confidence
Trash talk sharp enough to slice fog
Defense tight as a fist around destiny
He guarded the city like it was a secret
Only he was allowed to keep
*Sue Bird*
The architect of calm in a storm of noise
Angles and vision drawn like constellations
Four banners rising behind her like steady wings
Poise so cold it could freeze a shot in midair
Yet warm enough to lead a dynasty
*Walter Jones*
A monolith in motion
A left tackle carved from glacier and gravity
Feet soft as rainfall with power deep as tectonics
13 years – 5,703 pass protection snaps - 9 holding penalties
Seattle quarterbacks slept easier because he existed
Four giants etched against a sky which knows rain well
Yet a city shines brighter because of what they built
Seattle sports Mt. Rushmore
Griffey, Payton, Bird, Jones
Stone
Story
Soul
We began our day with breakfast at the Biscuit
where the biscuits were almost as big as the dish…
then on to Pike Place Market
where they’re famous for throwing the fish.
Since water plays a vital part of Seattle
the two of us went on a hunt
for all the things we could discover along her waterfront.
We saw a diversity of people, cruise ships and a sculpture garden
as we walked at our slow and leisurely pace.
We saw all kinds of architecture ending up where a needle rises into space.
After 7 miles of waking…over streets…some level…some quite tall…
we took a ride out of the city…to Snoqualmie…to visit her waterfall.
As we hiked a little in the Pacific Northwest
among the Himalayan blackberries and pine trees rising over 100 feet tall
we were greeted with the majestic beauty of the Snoqualimie waterfall.
Even before we saw the falls…we could feel their spiritual vibe…
knowing this is a sacred place revered by the Snoqualmie tribe.
This is their sacred burial ground…
They believe from the time of a baby’s birth
the mists created by these falls connect their Heaven to their Earth
You find yourself humbly respectful…and in moments of quiet reflection…
with the waterfall roaring in the background…you can actually feel that connection.
As we returned to the skyline of Seattle…we thought how we love the city
the building that rise to great heights…
the unending flow of people, the different sounds and smells and sights…
And how we also love the country…where the mad scramble and hurry slows…
Where we’re greeted by different sounds and smells and sights
in a place where only the river flows.
Goodbye love
I say to you
As
I
Float 13,000 feet
above
And
I've left
my heart
with you down below
Goodbye sun
That
Pours light over
Mountains
Goodbye
Pure air
That rises the lungs
only satisfying me
Sun
You
Climb higher than the clouds
And mountains
Your majesty.
And
beauty
I will miss
Always
Filling out the horizons
and Guiding me home.
Goodbye
Ocean
I whisper………
But
Your
Waves crash
Into the rocks
who
stained green
show years of your
abuse
I stand before you
Ocean
Your frustration Is
Warranted
because
I’m leaving you again
Just listen
A year
Wanting you
I’ll be missing
Goodnight
Home
Someday
Ill be back once more
For
you again.
To take it all
in
Once more
Soaring spirits
in
Seattle wind
Goodbye
Friends
Every homecoming
is my adventure
and your the epic
part of it
Goodbye Love
There are
Bittersweet kisses as we part
Reminiscent
On my
Lips
But they
Will not
Keep me warm
In the absence of light
But pure love
to keep me safe in the dark
I swallow your words
Like
Hot chocolate
Sweet
Love
I'll never more
be cold
Goodbye Love
I hope you will not forget
This
Summers
Minuet
Form:
You may have noticed throughout our trip across this country
over every mountain, river and stream
as we’ve marveled at all her beauty
there’s been an underlying theme.
With every mile we drove…every step we walked
we quickly began to understand…
no matter where we go in this country
there is an indigenousness to the land.
Everywhere we traveled we found stories
of indigenous legends, of their cultures…of their giving
of those who were here long before we came to colonize
and destroy their way of living
Across this country we have crossed innumerable indigenous remains
from Seattle, Washington all the way to Indian Harbor, Maine.
(In case you’re wondering…Indian Harbor…the last name that I dropped
was the original name of Corea, Maine…the last place that we stopped.)
And it saddens us to think how different our world would be
If it could have been designed…
with the indigenous knowledge, legends and folklore
we so callously left behind
There is sill hope for our country…we believe
still time to change…to understand
but to do this
first…
we must stop…and listen
to the indigenousness of the land
A hen to men
Mama's driving along to Seattle looking for her
runaway daughter, when out of the blue she
hears the radio host reading a poem written
by PP that's fast becoming a hit on social media
... life's delves not twelve ...for stave her grave. Please
Paris hear me, mamas on her way.
Mama then stares off to the other side of midnight,
praying that dawn is much better.
She runs
From guns
and men's
playpens
their lies
and highs
their slugs
and drugs
resist
their twist
she lives
survives
hell bells
bad spells
awaken
forsaken
she stands
her land
of worth
on earth
a hen
to men
she squawks
the walk
she's tall
to fall
life's delves
not twelve
so young
and sprung
feathers
weathered
for stave
her grave
Signed, Paris Pachecho
connie pachecho
12/29/16
the Bus – Travels Through America’s Underbelly
I am a bus rider
That makes me unusual
For a white male
From an upper middle class family
Our people are not bus riders
Though some are subway riders
Bus riders are other people
The poor, minorities, immigrants
People who don’t drive
Because they are blind
Or have a DUI
And in my case
I don’t drive
Because I have bad vision
And bad coordination
Just never got the hang
Of the whole driving thing
Fortunately for me
My wife does the driving
But I still take the bus
From time to time
I rode the AC buses in Berkeley
As a child
Line 67, line 51, line 43 F bus
Rode them long before BART came along
And afterwards as well
As an adult seldom rode the bus
But when I did so
I was always impressed
By the sheer diversity
Of the bus riding property
Hundreds of languages
All sorts of sexual orientation
Some were white
Most were not
Most of my fellow passengers
Were nice enough
Some were friendly
And some were lost
In their own thoughts
And a few
Were scary looking dudes
With the look
Of someone who had done time
And were capable of more violence
I also rode the bus
In Seattle as a graduate student
A lot of fellow UW students
And the usual immigrants
Minorities etc
And some white people
Commuting
And in DC
Over the years
I rode a lot of buses
Mostly to and from the metro
But I got to know
And love the DC buses as well
I also took the greyhound bus
Across the country
Several times over the years
All over the U.S.
From Bay Area to Stockton
From Bay Area to Clear Lake
From Bay area to NYC
NYC to DC
All over the USA
Taking the Greyhound
Was always an an adventure
Met a lot of interesting people
As people on long distant bus rides
Tend to open up and talk
To pass the time away
Overseas I took the bus
All over
In India, in Barbados
In Spain and in Korea
The Korean buses
For many years
Were difficult for foreign visitors
As the signs were all in Korean
Most have signs
Now in English, Chinese and Korean
And are much more foreigner friendly
Riding the bus
In America
Allows one access
To the underbelly of American society
The poor, the marginalized
The immigrant communities
That many middle-class white people
Just never see
And for that reason
I am glad
That I am a bus rider