Long Seesaws Poems
Long Seesaws Poems. Below are the most popular long Seesaws by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seesaws poems by poem length and keyword.
My blessing basket is heavy with heaven's gifts,
Tomatoes the size of my fist, eggplants so cute,
And fresh heirloom beans bursting with pride.
The sun, orange on the horizon, frames a pair of
Snowy Egrets above, wings folded in glide descent,
Angling towards their roost.
A solitary Cricket, at home in the cabbage patch,
seesaws a hypnotic greeting, then hushes
As I pass.
A Monarch Butterfly wisps past my head, enjoying
Nectar from scattered flowers. The scent of herbs,
Blossoms and love settles softly in my heart.
I know life can be hard, but this moment, just
This moment, I'm filled with such Grace from
God I only stand in humble gratitude.
A clock spring strains to loosen its hoarded time.
Escapement teeth release it, chime by chime.
A seesaw swing—tick, tock...tick, tock... once more—
Its hoard of time released in a measured pour.
“At the third stroke it will be midnight!”—then
pip, pip, pip—counting seconds down until when—
the final pip strikes ‘now’ for every ear to hear—
Time borrows sound to make the moment ring clear.
The battery arrives; the wound spring has to go.
No pendulum nor escapement seesaws to and fro.
The second's hand still jumps across the clock's face—
With tick, tick, tick...the ‘tock’ is now out of place.
We chop the flowing hours with ticks, but not a 'tock'.
Our lives fall into moments, block by block.
If we mute every clock—the moments still flow free.
Time no longer ticks; we give it voice with what we see.
Quartz trembles silently behind the clock face.
Hidden pulses nudge the second's hand from place to place.
No rocking heart now apportions the seconds' flow—
There's still the tiny jumps that show us where they go.
Digital numbers count to sixty, then disappear.
Begin again as though the past was never here.
No circling hand retraces what has gone—
We count time passing, as numbers count up, and carry on.
The atom keeps a regular beat no ear can hear.
No hand needs to jump, no tick needs to reach the ear;
For the closer clocks come to the exact time;
the less they need a ticking face or a chime.
Antennas reach for time; far pulsars answer back.
Their ancient pulses cross the cosmic black.
We raise huge dishes, listening through the dark—
and find the universe already pulses out its mark.
We thought the 'tick' was something clocks had made.
Yet better clocks grew silent with each upgrade.
The seconds now pass as pulses on the screen—
Like heartbeats felt within, present though now unseen.
Mother raised so much of what we ate each and every day.
She also made the best of blackberry pies from berries we picked.
A dining table took up most of the kitchen for our multitude.
A pot belly heater kept us warm from the winter's cold.
Dolls, red wagons, electric trains, and happy faces at Christmas time.
My childhood was great, but the farm work seemed a bit inhumane.
Pigs, chickens, cows, pet rabbits, goats, and mom and dad who didn't divorce.
Merry-go-rounds, sliding boards, seesaws, and swings gave us plenty of play.
I prefer to forget the hard childhood labor that should never have been.
Countless were the dry days of summer that we wished it would rain.
09262018PoSoupContest, Lines of ten that remind you what it was like back then, Silent One;1P
Kelso has a boat
smeared to the gunnels,
with cawk and greasy weeds.
Kelso is old enough
to be free of care,
his dog don't care neither.
At the prow of dawn
he hauls dripping lobsters
in their pots
up the scummy steps
of the silty stone harbor,
pushing a barrow
into the dickering markets
cobbled narrows.
Kelso barters claws and tails
to barkeeps, crab-mongers,
to fish wives and their
saucy daughters.
Gummy smiles he shares
with the crones;
their thin cranky bones
thrill to his beard-wagging ways.
At close of day he seesaws,
half-cut and tottering
to the bight, the bitty harbor,
to eat a kippered mackerel
from a spray-seasoned skillet.
Tomorrow he will do the same
if the lobsters appear
in his pulled-up smeary pots,
if not
he will sup upon a dark brew
and make a meatless stew
of beetroot and hot
fried
pickles.
Kelso lays back
with his reeky brown dog
(as he always does),
to smoke a care-free plug
into a fumy fog.
He listens to the dimming sky
piddle over the wallowing town,
hears the night rolling in
over the seas lap and swell
tucked up and swaddled is he
in his oily cot, and swaying low;
he most pleased to be,
yours consistently -
just old Kelso.
SEE SAW THROUGH THE WALL
He understands they’re innocent children…they learn only what we teach them
and when separated by a wall of hate…he wondered how to reach them.
He knows they know nothing of hatred…of intolerance and bigotry…
but he also knows they are impressionable…they will learn from what they see.
He knows they are looking to the adults at this susceptible time of their youth
to teach them of love and compassion…of integrity and truth…
He wants to show these children and the world that ones so honest, pure and small
are equal and can play together…even separated by a wall.
So he built a multitude of seesaws to show how we’re all sisters and brothers.
To show what happens on one side of the wall…affects what happens on the other.
To show it’s as easy to raise someone up as it is to put them down
As easy to make them smile…as it is to make them frown.
His name is Ronald Rael…it was his idea…his creation
he and other artist friends are behind the installation.
And so the children laugh and play…and as they learn each other’s names
they see, although, separated by a wall of hate…they both love to play the same.
And I wonder what would happen if we followed the lead of ones so small
and had those who fear and hate…ride a seesaw through the wall.
As they were bouncing up and down…would the learn each other’s names?
Would they finally come to understand how we are all the same?
Would they smile at one another?
Would they realize that fear and hate are wrong?
For isn’t that what many of us…have wanted all along?
I went for a walk...
took a moment,
saw the neighbors' grass -
not a dandalion to be found,
bushes clipped just "so",
trees bordered with wood chips,
flower beds,
sidewalks edged,
but no ones ever home...
Saw some birds -
the endless hunting
for scraps
pecking away -
hopping about,
searching
gathering
for nests already empty...
I walked over by the park -
as well,
the open swings swaying in the breeze -
weeds showing where feet
were meant to be,
sliding boards - silently awaiting giggles
seesaws - teetering on extinction
no time for being children anymore...
I sat on a bench -
opened my zippered binder
lifted my pen
and my mind wandered a bit
enjoying the sun -
the heat
the scents
the silence - a lot of silence
a lot of aloneness - there,
everywhere...
All the roses - not being smelled,
ungiven smiles,
sunshine missed,
empty eyes returning at dusk
as the days pass by -
mindless chatter of TVs
hiding ourselves
filling the nights,
pre-planned portions to the plates
to the ears
to the minds -
and the hearts crying so hard
to be heard, noticed, touched
in sad-sour dreams -
and with the dawn
it begins again
the endless cycle
of being lost - and missing
life.
Smiles bloom like flowers in the sun,
As children race, their laughter runs.
Eyes sparkle bright with pure delight,
In this magical playground site.
Little hands reach for the sky,
On swings that make them feel they fly.
Hearts beat fast with joyous thrill,
As they zoom down the sliding hill.
Friendships form in sandbox play,
Building castles day by day.
Giggles bubble, spirits soar,
On seesaws rising more and more.
Cheeks flushed pink with a happy glow,
As round and round the merry-go.
Proud faces beam on monkey bars,
Feeling strong as a superstar.
In this world of climbing and running,
Every child's a shining sun.
Playground magic, pure and true,
Where happiness is always new.
We Will Tell Each Other Everything
*
We will not keep anything from each other
We will not have secrets
We will not lie to each other
We want our friendship to take flight
and soar like an Eagle
*
Hey girl
What boy
Wanna go to the big cities
Ye...aah boy
Wanna go with me girl
Of course silly boy
Cool girl
Hey boy we will go to museums see musical shows
And walk in the park
Yea I'm with you girl
And ball games too boy
Cool girl I'm in the stands with you
*
We will not be afraid to ask questions of each other
We can talk about anything
The sky's the limit
We will have a friendship that is
Keen and heartfelt
*
Hey girl
What boy
I can run the bases faster than you girl
Of course boy you got longer legs
You can start at first base girl
Okay boy now my legs are a little longer...go
*
Wherever we go
We will take photos
The photos will help us
When we travel Memory Lane
*
Let's climb that tree boy
I'm with you girl
I have a bird's eye view boy
Birds have the life girl
*
Hey boy I like to go high on the swings
I'm with ya girl
Hey girl I'm leaning back and looking up
Cool boy I'll do the same
*
We understand the fear and dread
When our world is empty of compassion and love
With every fiber of our being
We want to help others
*
Hey boy you can't keep me up here forever
Oh no girl and what are you going to do about it
Spit I will spit on you boy
Hey girl seesaws are supposed to be fun
*
Our spirited conversations
Will follow college lectures on literature
An admired Directors new film
Attending the new play in town
*
Hey boy do you want me to
Buy you an ice cream soda
Girl is Babe Ruth the greatest
That is a yes boy
*
At the end of the day we are in each other's arms
We yearn to hold on forever and never let go
We will sit and talk about the Cosmos
And making the world a better place
*
Boy you are blowing into the straw
I like making bubbles girl
You are crazy boy
Crazy about you girl
*
remember when the playground slept
in dreams that seldom smiled
the merry-goes and seesaws wept~
few truths were reconciled
yet still, the empty swings
bade lonely hearts to sit
all wet from early morning dew
and tears from wasted wishes
there was no one to push the swing
and laugh at tethered flight~
we stretched our legs, a song to sing
to snapping wind and kites
what raucous silence joined the din
and danced its dizzy spell
as twilight curtains drew their shade
upon the waning stage
I begged my slumber to be still
imagination tossed~
but dreams will tarry on until
their memory is lost
Breath in, breath out
the tide ebbs in, and surges out,
flows and pauses.
Swings and seesaws rock, bounce and rebound,
up and down, in tick-tock metronome time.
Memories tug, get hugged,
then unclasp, withdraw and let go to fade.
Dreams materialize, then dissolve.
Laughter spits, splits, spills, gushes out,
echoes then wanes to abstain in a chuckle.
Hope flits and flickers like a candle flame
blown to quiver by a shaky breath expelled
while trying to blow
the flame of a birthday candle out.
For the cadence of existence
is a hymn tuned by a conductor's baton
a metric dance, set in a tango two-time step,
a soft-shoe tap rap
in between yesterday and tomorrow,
in between blinks, breath holds.
Nestled momentarily on-hold to pause,
in between the tugs and shoves
of feelings, emotions,
hopes, inspiration
faith and desire.
Hold your breath,
for a brief moment.
Take time to take in
all the ins and outs,
and the roundabout twirls,
that surround you,
while you go
with the flow.