Long Shoaling Poems
Long Shoaling Poems. Below are the most popular long Shoaling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shoaling poems by poem length and keyword.
Transports of hereafter
pass one leaf to unclasped heaps.
Flirty winds rearrange the hedgerow plumage,
wisp in gentle whispers.
Chipping sparrows play hid and seek
with a watery sunlight.
Business is flourishing for the snuffling groundhog.
It’s the narrow part of the day,
a shoaling light ripples where squirrels dart.
A Blue Jay raps his usual rib-digging oldie.
Felicity flutters the loose and drifting:
the soft green carousels of evening,
the pirouette and circumvolve promenading.
Leaf bundles are ransacked by delving voles
but gently.
Seeing all this
I paint the hedgerow again with this eventide wash,
watch it all spun into dusk
from these owl bright eyes.
A briny wind and a shoaling sea shore,
and I sense a cobwebbed dispersing
the shredded unraveling of care.
Go alone to the seas edge,
take no thought or fret to that
swirling margin.
Let that wild alchemy play
as it dissolves your senses,
turning them into that sky phantom
you always knew you were.
See how the sandy pebbles
have no control as to where
the waves toss them?
Let go of your sea wall, be swept away,
rearranged,
something unplanned, unrehearsed.
Empty your vessel, be the rise and fall
of the waves and the wind.
Allow that new being to be
rediscovered.
A mottled crab scuppers its sea legs
in fluorescent foam.
Blue pods rattle on green tides.
Bladder wrack, Mermaid’s Hair
washing tangled ankles.
There are voices in my open mouth,
they roll over a briny tongue,
intone words from the breath
of spray and brume.
Where the sky hangs, gull beaks open
to scoop the bones of a shoaling surf.
My heart is booming
in a hollow seashell.
This is the Church of a God
disrobed of human thought.
This is the roofless house
of the sun and moon,
a place consecrated to the storm,
to the depths of darkness;
to the bright blades
of the suns daggering rays.
This night the rough
tussles with the calm
and they dance at the edge
of a clashing chaos.
Mother, father, stranger,
we are all here speaking
through a whirlpool’s gullet,
yet who has gone ahead of us
to express this sea-glow
and hat surfaces at the edge
of our own shores?
Beyond the wave-sacked,
lie the pockmarked dunes, heaps dug
by the claws of scaly thrashers.
Here they huddle, my blood kin
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers.
By a shoaling shale and monochrome spray
one brine-splattered small fry.
A boyhood caught in a swirling freshet,
he whales barefoot in the flounder,
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
a slippage of tugging surf.
Her demeanor soggy at last, mother
goads to be led to the creaking camper.
Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea.
A toppled thermos and leftovers
scooped up and lugged away.
Windswept, the lingerers
trudge from the chilly churn,
while a soused and hectoring bay
records a working-class holiday.
Transports of hereafter
pass one leaf to unclasped heaps.
Flirty winds rearrange the hedgerow plumage,
wisp in gentle whispers.
Chipping sparrows play hid and seek
with a watery sunlight.
Business is flourishing for the snuffling groundhog.
It’s the narrow part of the day,
a shoaling light ripples where squirrels dart.
A Blue Jay raps his usual rib-digging oldie.
Felicity flutters the loose and drifting:
the soft green carousels of evening,
the pirouette and circumvolve promenading.
Leaf bundles are ransacked by delving voles
but gently.
Seeing all this
I paint the hedgerow again with this eventide wash,
watch it all spun into dusk
from these owl bright eyes.
The sounds of the surf
From their fluid dynamics
Wind generated waves
Worldwide panoramic
Capillary waves
Chorused and light
Charming all shores
Touching delight
Swells of the seas
In cacophony of crash
Waves in watery meet
Like a guitar solo by Slash
Every so often
The rogue wave hits home
Tsunami, the wall
In kettle drum drone
The breaking wave
As two waters meet
The sound of their notes in collision
Like Neil Peart's drum beat
Shallow water waves
Boussinesq equations
Frequency dispersions
Like Rock's best creations
As the waves hit our shores
Wave shoaling, refraction
The applause as they meet
The Rolling Stone's satisfaction
The sound of the surf's rock
It's just like music to me
They achieve various notes
Like the Kink's " Set me Free "
I enjoyed Sara Kendrick's poem " Sounds of the Surf "
So i took up her challenge. My poem has Rock and Scientific tones.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature.php
The power we now witness is only the start
An angry earth she is, her tectonic plates in depart
Seconds later they again meet with abrasive force
The reaction to the action is just a matter of course
Crustal deformation from the abyss of her deep
For she'll care not for, the thousands who will weep
Translucent displacement in furious rise
The energies are now released that will swamp victims cries
Substantial volumes gather at a tremendous rate
No care for our future or the disaster it will create
Whilst out at sea we can can't determine the size
For we will feel the anger as she forcefully applies
Sirens now sounded, on the horizon it's been sighted
Evacuation to the listening, the unheard will be blighted
As it now approaches the shore, wave shoaling compresses the wave
It's speed now slowed down, we now await what it craves
Like a silent assassin it's now ready to pounce
No prisoners it will take as it lands in thunderous trounce
Smashing and crashing as it collects in it's wake
No care for the living or it's material take
The gathering of debris amidst gas mains that erupt
Power lines and buildings feel her anger so abrupt
Losses of many are now caught up in this sadness
From she angry earth, or has she entered madness
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/natural-disasters.php
We are winded and on the ropes. Backwater banjo boys
strum against us. Clouds feed upon a shoaling light.
A bad day for going out or staying in.
A time to be sleepless. We must live timidly,
or push deeper into a glaring daylight
toward the drugged dreams of the wide-eyed,
go shopping in the poorer parts of town
seek thrifty ways to survive among the striving,
give all our prayers to the birds; then eat them.
Some say they have heard the sky flap away
but many stuff fingers in their ringing ears
and gainsay both the seen and unseen.
There is no sanctuary in night's lean pantry,
the ransacked are laid bare.
Many pick the pockets of the anxious
rattle catch-penny cans on shoe-strings.
Misgivings trespass, tumble ever inward until
reason becomes the reason to flee.
Paltry inklings gnaw at ever longer nights,
and we wonder what ‘tipping point’ tipped
what lid flipped; what line was crossed
as an ever louder twanging strums on?
Beyond the wave-sacked,
lie the pockmarked dunes, heaps dug
by the claws of scaly thrashers.
Here they huddle, my blood kin
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers.
By a shoaling shale and monochrome spray
one brine-splattered small fry.
A boyhood caught in a swirling freshet,
he whales barefoot in the flounder,
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
a slippage of tugging surf.
Her demeanor soggy at last, mother
goads to be led to the creaking camper.
Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea.
A toppled thermos and leftovers
scooped up and lugged away.
Windswept, the lingerers
trudge from the chilly churn,
while a soused and hectoring bay
records a working-class holiday.