Long Shire Poems
Long Shire Poems. Below are the most popular long Shire by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shire poems by poem length and keyword.
Driving home, the sun beaming down
highlighting the Quantock foothills
a criss-cross quilt of very small fields
too steep for mechanical ploughs
worked still by man and shire horses
Bright gleaming yellow rape and mustard
interwoven with shades of brilliant green
a paradise for birds nesting in the hedges
tiny dots of white sheep scattered round
deep scarlet red of the fields laid to fallow
Ancient hills stun with captivating beauty
hardwood trees hundreds of years old
spread their sheltering branches wide
casting fat and long shadows ''neath their feet
grassy banks giving shelter to small animals
I gaze with delight filling up my soul
loving the fact these are my hills
that roll and soar around my village
with magical names for each hill
some very bare others full of heather
Reminding me of my native home
Will's Neck and Cothelstone
rearing up above the deep valleys
with nestling lakes and rivers
this place my place till I pass on
these hills were the first place in England to be given the title of outstanding beauty
1956 check them out in Wikipedia for these amazing views
Talia Shire has become an octogenarian today.
She's a talented lady, that's what I want to convey.
She's starred in movies and TV shows.
Talia Shire was born eighty years ago.
She has three children and she has been married twice.
When I say that she has plenty of fans, I'm being precise.
She starred in five Rocky movies and many other films as well.
When it came to being a successful actress, Talia did not fail.
When she starred in 'The Landlady, people got to see an evil version of Talia Shire.
She is a very special and wonderful woman who millions of people love and admire.
(Dedicated to Talia Shire who was born 80 years ago today on April 25, 1946)
Jazz Horn
Now put your left foot forward.
Next put your right foot ahead.
See how that works?
See how the workings of these two appendages
Facilitates the outcome
Of one continuous forward motion
To where you’re going … in this world?
Welcome, my friend,
To this deliciously dark dish of desperate cravings!
Look all around you as we walk this stalking street.
See all the dark places.
Where countless lost souls huddle in bare survival,
And share the hot knob over a weak fire.
I can hear a jazz horn, way off in the distance there.
It’s surely there, and it reassures me I’m still living, here.
Maybe some words by Langston Hughes might be nice right now.
Please, my friend, do me the honor.
Oh, I see. You don’t have your poetry anthology.
And it’s dark too.
Let us then visit the old pawnbroker
Mr. Tattoo Neck knows the price for our private fears.
Piss puddles and crushed beer cans.
And an old used tire hanging hopelessly
By the cracked front window.
I see the world is one inch closer to doom since last we talked.
May we rest in peace, my friend.
Any murders lately on the street?
I hear the blond dish in Shire Apartments has moved out.
Black sooty smashed gum and litter of coupons and girlie guides.
Only one killing this week, my friend.
The butcher from 27th street; the guy who never talked to anyone.
His bowling ball is in the window.
Life is hard. It knocks you on the head when you least expect it.
I hope I make it.
I don’t know if some ******* will come in here and shoot me in the face!
I live my whole freaking life scared!
It’s ridiculous that we all have to be hostages to these evil people.
The city grows darker at night.
I have noticed it because I live mostly with the night.
The night is my secret lover, and there is no other.
The city is as dark as nothing in the middle of nowhere.
Something bigger than a final sunset is needed.
You know what I mean, my friend?
Here, I will buy you that jazz horn there.
You can sweetly serenade me,
And lovely night naked,
As we make love here
In the calming mad darkness.
Near the shire long about the twisting bend
Mabely holds her skinny frame inside, in tight
On higher ground above the United Kingdom
The mare moves slower, almost to a stop
To a whisper in the dark so solemn to behold
Its passenger is light and prays there is no fall
Stepping in mud becomes precarious as they go
A hidden stone could be a minefield dire
Cliffs are steep, nowhere to be now at this late hour
The young girl is not so pretty in physique
But her eyes are killer keen, warm and kind
Her village is far from reality as they go down
Winding towards the town, which is nearer now
Rural midlands hold their charm in styled grace
Shrubbery takes shape, greener than need be
Rooted in history, beauty has no better place to be
The horse knows how to find a safer path
Sometimes a carrot helps the situation
Mabely knows how to find a wealthy man
A kiss clears the path to least resistance
All roads are paved in gold so hold on tight
Beguiling eyes rise to the occasion of a smile
Her final destination, to catch another man
Then plant him in her garden with the others
Our earth rotates with a wobbly spin.. could that be
Indicative of the presence of sin? Not perfect yet living
Maybe that's so.? yet here's another truth many won't know'
A ball of Release was created and run where the sun
Starts to shine, while in the earth's north; there is none'
Reports from dead media, deny it was done.?
Yet I saw so many all enjoying their fun, it was titled
For freedom though to close it some tried,
For to smile is now frowned on; and no singing inside.'
Like the scouring of 'the shire' in the Lord of the rings
How could it happen? In tightening things.?
Fear was It's trigger; as deadly claims just grew bigger
In their 70 and 80s people's actions escape me.!
They'll do the mask-task, but ever do they ask?
How they lived to this good age.? Were their mothers
So.. Unsage.? I'm sure they would cry if all this came
To their eyes.' This insult to good reason cap's
The silliest of seasons.!
These moors and hills bring the Yorkshire chills.
Beauty and awe combined galore
Open skies fill these Yorkshire eyes
Something magical can be seen here in these mists so still
The folk here that can call this home
Some feel it in their blood and the shire will always call them home.
Hamlets, villages, cities and towns with many dialects creating many beautiful sounds.
Dry stone walls with so many steeps and falls
Ancient woods with their ancient tales and moon light calls.
Footpaths that go on over crags and dales.
Celtic tones in its history winds, Nordic change see the blood lines thinned.
But there’s no other place on earth that can claim this majesty. A nithering wind they may allus be! But Ow-do and Si-thi we’ll say to thee.
Yorkshire is warm even when it’s cold. My heart will be forever a Yorkshireman’s in a Yorkshire soul.
“You can’t make homes out of human beings.”
— Warsan Shire
Wishbone
He appraises me as though my bones
were fashioned for breaking,
two limbs diverging from a sacred centre,
his hunger already choosing
which half it intends to keep.
There is an unfeeling felony in such looking,
the way desire can undress a person
until even personhood becomes superfluous.
He makes an altar of my anatomy,
then calls appetite reverence.
He would tie me to his tongue
and still not know the aptitude of my name.
He mistook possession for intimacy,
lust for fractured divinity,
my body for some reliquary
he might prise apart for providence.
His eyes of penitence arrived too late.
Beneath fractured halos,
what hollow absolution resurrects
a woman reduced to portions:
mouth, waist, thighs,
the convenient mathematics of flesh?
He had already tested where I was weakest,
where the bone would give,
how much wanting could be mistaken
for tenderness before it became cruelty.
That was the anatomy of absence:
to be entirely present
inside a body someone else
had already erased me from.
I was no omen for his wanting,
no little bone upon which
he might wager a wish.
Yet he still broke me.
But he did not know what wishbones remember:
that they once belonged to wings,
that fracture is a hinge, not an ending,
that some things split
without surrendering themselves.
He expected two obedient halves,
a clean division,
something small enough to possess.
Instead, the fracture disclosed
what his hunger had failed to comprehend:
I had never belonged to the bone.
And if time turns,
will scars stain the sky?
Let them.
The larger fragment in his fist
never meant he won.
It was only proof
that possession leaves evidence.
He had to break a thing that flew
to believe it was his.
We pull into a Winding Station,
Hand the Attendant our key,
Head into the Station Inn
For a snack and Earl Grey Tea.
In less than an hour,
Our machine being oiled
The tension being adjusted
And our spring tightly coiled,
I slip the motor into gear
And we are off on our way
To the next Winding Station
One hundred miles away.
At Fifty miles an hour,
A once undreamed of rate,
Along the new Travel Road
Such a joy to navigate.
We pass Steam Waggons
Pulling their heavy loads
Along the mostly parallel
Heavy goods roads.
With canals and railways
The country is connected
And once long journeys
Take far less than expected.
The Waggoner with his lad
Pulled by their great Shire
Makes the local deliveries
Always there for hire.
Can this world be bettered
Clockwork coal and steam
Let us travel at speeds that
Were once but a dream.
"The York Shire Commons"
Magazine
Presents..........
The Smitten Kitten
and
The Kitty Cat Garbage
GLAM Show
Live at the Beacon Bender Arena
also starring.................
Getty Fantastic and the Menez
Of Troubled Wattaz
Band
Sponsered by Notable Monday Dining Club
and WGAL f.m.
( "F"ing all songs)
Grungy Negging w? crossover Appeal
WGAL "F"ing day and night !
David Hurleys run away, he placed a sign just the other day.'
Closed till further notice I've heard.? It's beggars belief upon my word.'
I wonder if his door is round.? Like at bag end? And bolted sound?
He didnt want those visitors sure.' 1 million people, mostly sore.'
Old scomo didn't breath a word.' Or Barnaby or the other nerd.'s.'
Like sauraman their peering out, Australians are rising all about
Their coming in like swarming bees, the junta will be on its knees.'
The henchmen wear the deathmasks still, it's a sign of the sickness on the hill
I can smell it's stench.' There's a sweat of fear, though I'm in the UK it's travelled here
What can be done.? Know its begun..The unravelling of the number one
The fear of fear.' They fostered here, on captive city (what oversteer)
i'll bet they sold them noble ideals, they were almost Swiss-Canberrans is this, (for real?)
They're the most jabbed people in Oz I hear.? No flies on them, nor covid drear.?
You can't be sick and dead at once.' Or even be sacked.' It's the covid jab bounce.'
Maybe they're not Australian even? Makes you wonder bout (even stevens)
He might just show, you never can tell, just ask old scomo on the edge of hell?
Good Grahame Hood, and Riccardo Bosi, they've stood it well and gave out plenty
It's pleased I am in both of you, two worthy Aussies, just see thisl° through
I can see you're not in each other's pockets, from different positions you fire some rockets'
And that's to the good.' You and all the rest; you're building an army; best of the best.'
John Larters sound, and Craig Kelly seems too, the Gibson ahead of the other crew.'
Your in my prayers, and in my toil, in the tears I've shed in my blood that's boiled
Keep it good, your cohesion is key' you've lifted my heart a time or three.'
God bless you all just stay the course, I'll cheer you on till my throat is horse
And then I'll cheer you on some more, one the pilot I prayed for; who came to the fore.'
And a Colonel I spoke of' might one stand?, dear God you heard and that's so grand'
Now stick it to them.. Until they fall.) Our God is leading He's (the all in all)