Long Shelter Poems
Long Shelter Poems. Below are the most popular long Shelter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shelter poems by poem length and keyword.
So. Let's see what's in store for today...
Will the elements function our way?
There'll be plenty of sun
For us all to have fun
Outside wether it's for work or play!
Mountains will form in the sky through the week.
Apologies all. I know it sounds bleak.
There'll be rain, hail and snow
From destructive storm Joe!
Heed warnings, keep up to date, shelter seek.
When Joe travels on overseas,
Beware on the road of felled trees.
Don't panic. Keep calm.
No need for alarm.
Worse things bring down communities.
The weekend looks clearer and bright.
A crisp frost will greet morning light.
But wrap up nice and warm.
Ice will stay on your lawn.
You'll see shooting stars Sunday night.
Quite hectic weather, to summarise.
But dear friends, do keep watching the skies.
I've had such a blast!
Tis my last forecast.
It's time to say all my goodbyes.
Written 8th March 2022
For the "You're A Weather Forecaster poetry contest"
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
sweat-soaked
I exhausted countlessly
falling down the nights
throwing myself against
the hollow you left
maybe hurting badly enough
could make you mine again
but now the tide has drawn back
exposing my Sharpie on the sand
you were never something so frightening
as the love of my life
only an amalgamation
of my deepest fears
wearing the face of someone I loved
my foolhardy
but in this one instance
psychic psychosis
twitched my neck
you would be gone
by summer’s end
therefore I swore
enemies with the world
blind to how I was giving you
reason to do the same
I know it selfish now, the way I held on
though that truth sits poorly on my tongue
for I truly believed that every shadow I cast
was shelter for you
I was a child to his suckle
a pallid magro body
unable to bear its own reflection
until he made you his
and oh how i knew it
that winters days would come
the cold, the snow, the bitter sting
the bite that suffering freezing brings
the numbness of fingers and joints
the deep snow and freezing rain
the spinning of wheels and fish tails on black ice
disappointments with the way the buses are run
a number of days without the sun
the wind blowing snow drifts on the road
uninsullated shoes and freezing toes
cold metal holding winters personal touch
and the threat of gas being cut
the search for a place to find
welcome and warmth
the primitive skills to find shelter
from the storm
the mission is to live
and find a way to go on
to keep and find the substance warmth
I sing praise to the home-maker,
forgotten hero of the world,
whose actions raise up good children,
whether they be a boy or girl.
Whose presence is there to guide us
in a world that can seem half-damned,
who invest more love into us
than a day-care aide even can.
Who have a vested interest in
seeing that we are brought up well,
their children being their life’s work,
the results of this you can tell:
Less instance of mental illness,
less nihilism and despair,
less major social dysfunction
knowing that someone will be there.
They also provide a model
to their children subconsciously,
showing them how to structure their
own futures homes and families.
They give a agree of value to
a child just starting in life,
to know they’re so important that
another will freely sacrifice.
They teach those kids to realize,
that in a world so harsh and tough,
their existence isn’t nothing,
they are truly worthy of love.
And I think it should be mentioned
what home-makers do for their spouse,
building the kind of refuge that
reality rarely allows.
Making it so the house is more
then a shelter you happen to own,
making a place for life to happen,
turning board and glass to a home.
So many homes now without,
and the results haven’t been great,
children are depressed and stressed out,
many marriages end in hate.
Millennials not having children,
they never were shown why they should,
too many drugs and school shooters,
wherever we’ve gone, it’s not good.
Using daycare, the latch and key,
too much emphasis on career,
tells our kids they’re second-fiddle,
would be easier if they weren’t here.
Throwing away the cornerstone
of any balanced child’s mind,
demonizing those who stay home
when in truth I think we would find
That all of us would do better
with more stay-at-home parenting,
we should pray for more home-makers,
on their shoulders rest near everything…
“Snowflakes are winter’s butterflies.” – Unknown
Winter is not always bitter, lifeless and drab
Snow gleams as it blankets and caresses nature
Birds become a vibrant display in reds and blues
A Blue Jay squawks as a cardinal stands ground
Perched on shimmery branches and bird feeders
As their songs warm frigid air with joyous melodies
Trees sleep as their barren branches provide shelter
While ice shimmers in artsy patterns under sunlight
Squirrels busy at feeders, hoarding seeds and nuts
Winds blow snowfall as it cleanses the drab ground
Ducks heard quacking while perching on icy riverbeds
Nature becomes a magical display in winter
I know we like to think our ourselves as the most advances species
but looking at some of the things we say and do…
sometimes I wonder if we’re as intelligent as we think…
sometimes I wonder…don’t you?
Look at beauty for instance; in a world overflowing with beauty
don’t you find it a little bizarre
that we humans are the only life form that needs to be told how beautiful we are.
The cardinal who comes to our feeder, or the blue bird or yellow gold finch
never imagine as they get a little older their face needs a lift or a pinch.
The trees that majestically stand up to the weather with no shelter day out and day in
never worry about losing their leaves in the fall or about the wrinkles that form on their skin.
The animals that swim in the ocean never dream of Botox injections
They don’t worry what the sun and salt water are doing to their soft and silky complexions.
The flowers that color the landscape don’t care if their sepals are tilting
They aren’t looking for some flower surgeon to keep their petals from wilting.
No, nature isn’t worried about bags under her eyes, or tummy tucks or frizz
because nature doesn’t need a mirror to know how beautiful she is.
If we start viewing everyone as we view nature
then beauty becomes a little more concrete
and before we know it we’re able to find beauty in everyone we meet.
We’ll find our natural beauty, we’ll find our distinctive appeal
when we realize beauty comes not form what we look like
but more from the way that we feel.
We’ll look past those little imperfections, those wrinkles,
those little bags and scars
and we’ll know we don’t need a mirror or TV
to tell us how beautiful we are.
Yes, sometimes I wonder if we’re the most advanced species…
then again when I give it some thought
I don’t need to wonder if we’re as intelligent as we think…
Because the beauty of it is..we are not.
Wind song rains dewlike intuitions
Through autumnal leaves and sunset’s peace,
Coloring the gentle seas in melancholy
Breathing light through the edges of nature’s prayer,
As she seeks to shelter all who know her worth.
Silent as the springtime clouds, journeying over soft caerulean skies,
Pouring out the trembling shafts of comforting light,
Playing hide and seek with humble hearts,
Those who hear her stories and sink beneath her light,
Remembering the joy that comes to souls who know this grace,
Falling over the spirit, reflecting the faded flames
Burning through the darkness,
Delighting in the rarest gifts, the joy that comes to those
Who feel her pull beneath the shadow of yesterday’s struggles…
As summer soars to the surface, creating a laughing charm,
Inspiring the stars to glisten and the heart to warm,
Melting away the darkest dread and remembering
God is love and He is there, amid the homespun stories,
Of joy, peace and light – all the love that comes from knowing
He is guiding every day and every night
He is the Great Physician and, often, He prescribes
Windsong and stardust, the music of nature’s breathless calm,
Singing the words of redemption, silencing the past’s affliction...
Playing a quiet song of love that exists when He blesses!
His creation is amazing, but it isn’t the reason I praise Him.
I praise Him because He’s more than a Creator – He’s more than the Maker,
He is the light that never fades.
He’s the love that never retreats.
He’s the answer to every question,
And, the hope of every heart.
He isn’t just the Creator – He’s the love so pure and bright!
His spirit comes to shelter us, so we always know wrong from right.
He offers grace that can save and hope of eternity with Him.
He is much more that I can explain…
He’s more than Everlasting! He’s the assurance that I’m saved.
He’s the reason I’ll go to my grave, knowing the end hasn’t come,
Knowing that His love has won – and soon I’ll be in my eternal home!
As I look at nature, it’s sure delight,
because what I see is a lovely sight.
Can’t you hear the birds take flight?
daffodils sway to the left and to the right,
Eagles soar, with keen and good eyesight.
fish swim, in ocean such an amazing plight,
Grass caresses one's skin at twilight,
heaven on earth; it’s an alluring invite.
Iagos find shelter while it’s still daylight,
just beyond the stream is a campsite;
Kayaks sail by ,underneath the moonlight.
lions roar and the animals run in fright,
monkeys swing in trees, they’re so bright;
Nectar flows, bees have a strong appetite.
one could just bask in nature all night,
Pleasure fills me as I notice a little kite.
Queen lions teach her young,their birthright,
Robbins sing a sweet song; a lovely highlight.
Swans glide across the lake, free of frostbite.
turtles are in their own world,out of the limelight,
Understanding nature isn’t black and white.
valuable lessons were learned here,in hindsight,
Why didn’t I do it sooner? Now I sit and write.
xeroxed fears are gone, they were too contrite;
youth is fading, I want my life to be dynamite,
Zeal is what I strive for when I’m feeling uptight.
* Iago sparrow- Is apart of the sparrow
February 02-12-2020
Contest:ABECEDARIAN
SPONSOR:Caren Krutsinger
It's so precious
This breath
Those beats
These breasts
That blood
All of the tissues
Skincells
Organisms that these
Vessels of life are comprised of
It's right here and undeniably present
With each new death its a reminder
How delicate and temporary
these soul encampments get
that we are Loaned
The next second is not promised to us
This I can bet is something we say we know
How all the times throughout my life I've screamed in agony over all the why's
Each moment I waste not embracing
This grace, the universe grants me with every day I wake
I just don't want my last breath to be a waste
I want to feel as though and let my spirit leave it's skin shelter a warm and wonderful thank you note
What a life we walked with these two legs
Oh the dances we danced as children with friends taking for granted each picture mom wanted to take and not embracing those moments is something my heart won't shake
These fingers have traced many outlines of many faces, they have written many words about many soul explorations
A heart must one day finally feel at peace
Our entire lives it just beats beats beats
This brain has never stopped
to wait to think it just ponder ponder ponders
About life and all of its intricate mysteries
So fragile
Oh the moments
I've taken for granted
Only now I can see
I am grateful
I am free
I am returned to the earth
Once humanity has unclaimed my energy
It's all so precious
This breath
Those beats
These breasts
That blood
All of the tissues
Skincells
Organisms that these
Vessels of life are comprised of
The memories we leave
When our physical time is done
These
Beautiful moments
I am so blessed to have shared at least just one.
Encamped beside a clear blue water lake
We call it, Bullfrog Valley. Here, they thrive.
The labyrinth of streams the water takes
Brings insects, as the meadows come alive.
Blue herons wade, perched hawks take treetop views
Colorful fish seek shelter in the shade
The bullfrogs sing for rain, from grassy pews
Mix sights and sounds of nature, all stress fades
Late evening, we share tales around a fire
First one who tells a lie, don't stand a chance
Each time a story's told, the stakes get higher
Night breezes make sparks rise and shadows dance
As eyes begin to dry, we start to crash
A night time serenade in Bullfrog Valley
The orange glow turns into white hot ash
The moon provides the light in nature's galley.
by Daniel Turner