Long Skiing Poems
Long Skiing Poems. Below are the most popular long Skiing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Skiing poems by poem length and keyword.
'Stars!' 'Yes stars!'
Much marveled the wizard moon
When I thought of the stars
Deep into that darkness skiing
'Stars!' said I, 'thing of beauty starlight.'
Flung so lightening virtuoso
Inward such an adept, stellar waiting
'Stars!' said I, 'thing of starlight.'
It was uptight
Suddenly, I heard some tapping
The diverting development delving
And the planets never snapping
I have dreamed of the astronomers
My mind always strays to storms
I threw my planetary nebula upon the floor
Eagerly I looked for the leverage
I crave the pushy, planet pressure
I discovered the supernovae
When I thought of the stars
Deep into that darkness skiing
'Stars!' said I, 'thing of beauty starlight.'
'Stars!' 'Yes stars!'
3/22/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
Silver-fog-screen tries to prevent the sun.
Peeping through fogs, the sun enjoys the fun.
Grass blades and blossoms glitter with dewdrops.
With rat-a-tats, dew drops fall from rooftops.
Motley migratory birds fly in flocks.
Flamingos try to overtake the hawks.
Doves descend from the skies as though fairies.
Robins dig out the snow-laced blueberries.
Foxes flee full of prey-less frustration.
Young sheep bleat at their wool operation.
Dogs and cats shiver in their master's quilt.
Stray apes leave the countryside feeling guilt.
Twilights seem to be serenely waiting.
The rich enjoy skiing and ice-skating.
While bonfires and campfires fill every street
Impoverished kids beg around bare feet.
The small Nettle Lake where we first hung out
Holds memories of our youth -
Parties and swimming and skiing and floating.
Marriage and kids and thirty years later
We forked out some cash
And bought a bass tracker.
Filled with excitement and joy
For the feeling of sweet release
Off we went in our new Dodge Ram truck.
To the past in the present
On our sweet Nettle Lake
When the motor died and we got stuck.
We fished our hearts out anyway
And trolled around the nooks
We putted around for hours.
We drank a few beers and kissed under the moon
Our date night in a boat
Over with too soon.
Flurries of snowflakes swirl down,
Magical and mesmerising ~
The world has turned white,
Chilly breeze blows through bare branches,
Better to stay warm by the fireplace
away from the biting cold;
When we do step out,
The crunch of snow under our feet is welcoming,
Careful not to slip on the ice,
we enter a shimmering snow sphere,
Sweaters, mittens, boots and winter caps guard us,
as we go skiing and ice skating,
building snowmen and having fun snowball fights,
Children create their own snow angels;
Darkness falls soon,
Black swallows white,
Time to go inside,
Bidding a hesitant farewell,
we enter our safe haven,
Standing within the cosy room,
we watch through windows ~
Enchanting and enticing
Flurries of snowflakes swirl down.
02.24.2022
For JCB Brul's "Winter Love" contest
What’s In The Urn
Strangers offered me to join them in a drink
I met them on a mountain edge while skiing
They seemed like friendly normal people then
So what could happen in a simple cabin?
Finding that which is not there or vanquished
What is there that cannot be perceived?
Placed upon the mantel piece are ashes in the cabin
Brass vase, a receptacle for lost souls sits in repose
A death vase to glare at over cognac
By the sober flames cast by
A fire place glow observed in action
Liquid spirits pour out their poison
In the cozy living room inside the cabin
Drinks alone cannot remove this feeling of distraction
The urn is piercing through my soul
People belong in cemeteries you know
With all due respect for the dead
Scatter them at sea when they‘re deceased
Not paraded around in gloom to cause unease
Or as a center piece for living rooms
I’m not relieved to find it is a lizard on the shelf
To be exact, an exotic iguana family friend entombed
And to assume that fact makes this matter optimal
I beg to differ on that point and voice my opinion later
There must be a plot of ground outside
Or toilet somewhere to flush it down
But better left unsaid, as they are bereaved about the death
And I am their invited guest
Iguana tried consuming the family’s cat
Another favorite pet I guess
It is surmised, that’s how it met its end
Wound up expired inside the urn
The receptacle was there and going nowhere on its own
I swear it follows me from room to room
By embers glow and ash, shadowing my every move
A brass smile casting off the urn, leaving me concerned
I could not take my leave
The container followed me
So I waited, fixated on the thing
Is it coming back to life to eat more bugs or me?
Finding that which is not there
Is easier in the dark
Rising to the occasion of the day that breaks
I must escape the premises to continue skiing
Into the frozen world outside I fly
With no discernible signs or paths to lead or learn
I get away, no time to say good-byes or find my way
Never again will I say; what’s in the urn
Post-January, February's clear
to shape into another winter month.
More times than not, with snow days we adhere.
Through days of February, we confront
a winter wonderland, a gift to see,
with hills and valleys swirled in white displays.
Ice skating, skiing, sledding, wild and free;
we celebrate our February phase.
A chance to rest, relax indoors so warm;
spend cozy times with family and friends.
No matter what, soft snow or ice-filled storm,
her wintry mix of white is autumn's cleanse.
When February's done, we must re-stage;
for next comes fickle March's middle stage.
=======
For next comes fickle March's middle stage,
a winter month, our third is now in line.
And she can be a flighty one to gauge;
brings climate that is wild or quite benign.
'In like a lamb, out like a lion' force,
she teases us with spring then turns around
and there again, another snow, of course.
So March has her surprises to astound.
But towards her end, we long to welcome spring,
and March does seem to seal cold winters end.
We pick up twigs and branches on upswing
with warm and sunny days; on hopes depend.
The month of March will own up to defeat
when April comes on pussy-willow feet.
=======
When April comes on pussy-willow feet,
we gather images of springtime's sign,
bouquets of varied thoughts of her new feat;
emerging crocus, budding branch, and vine.
Symbolic, too, the lily, pure and white;
new chicks and bunnies, butterflies galore.
The fading, icy sting of winter's night
replaced by spring's warm day, long waited for.
We contemplate each image and we know
the thrill of surging hope that swells the soul.
New life, from dormant seed, will rise and show
how spring joy resurrects from winter's dole.
To wake up dormant seedlings into bloom,
March middleness gave way to April's tune.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: March Middleness
Sponsor: Dave Will
Form: Three Sonnets
Judged: 04/21/2017
Silly Seasons
When Frosty blows in
and kissess the wind
it nips at my cheeks
red n rosey.
My shiny nose froze,
I can't feel my toes,
I'd rather be home
warm and cozy.
Skiing down hills for
giggles and thrills,
I might just break
my little nosey.
Wintery dispIays,
of yesteryear days
ashes and pockets
full of posies.
Ice smooth as glass,
fall on your crevasse.
No more words that
rhyme with thosies.
When the sun swings high
mugging the sky,
the sultry air makes me
sweat n' stinky.
The rays beating down,
roasting my crown,
turning my thoughts
dinky rinky.
Sun-block O'clock,
peeling and pain.
Back slaps turning
pale skin into pinkie.
Beachfront, riverside
no where to hide.
Inside with an ice-cold
drinky.
Ice cream melting,
swamp ass sweltering.
Warm drink, fishy stink,
stale old Twinkie.
Autumn and Vern
know how to discern
not too hot and
not to chilly
Leaves abound, then
fall to the ground
Bob Ross becomes
Wooly Willie
It's not too loud.
avoiding the crowd.
who run around all
Piccadilly.
Colors abound when
new life comes round.
Hues burn when it turns
Chilly Willy.
I hope you had fun,
and giggled some,
I find the whole
thing rather silly.
I was jet skiing on the wings of a jet stream
when I noticed the others floating along.
First a small robin, then an eagle and
finally a small red helicopter joined our little throng.
As we passed over the next country,
I recognized it as oriental beautiful Hong Kong.
What game were they playing in the park?
Was it the wonderful clever Mahjong?
Crazy jet stream suddenly pitched us in another direction,
and we were singing along.
To a new hip hop rap, joined by a super-terrific souped-up bike
and Mr. Lance Armstrong.
This is great he said, I have been counting on a
little well-needed airborne break all week long.
With the birds, and the helicopter, the bike,
and a world-famous athlete, what could go wrong?
We went fast and furiously back to the 50’s,
and we were grabbed by fierce looking King Kong.
A place we should never have gone back to,
which we realized quite keenly, in not very long.
There was soon a crowd gathering under the Empire State Building,
a real angry throng.
As we were thrown into the crowd at warp-like speed,
I wished I was back in beautiful Hong Kong.
Most of us play, our lives like a game
Both ends of our candle, consumed by the flame
Choosing a curtain, buying a vowel
Planning tomorrow, forsaking the now
In days gone by, not so long ago
We were dreaming of spring, through icy windows
Fields of green clover, budding trees and daffodils
Cooling homemade cobblers, on open window sills
Walking barefoot in the yard, after warm morning showers
Lost in our daydreams of sweet smelling flowers
Now June awaits, with anticipating brides
Spring has sprung, as we hear distant tides
Our minds look ahead, to tropical destinations
Free time with loved ones, on family vacations
Camping, hiking, perhaps water skiing
Traveling far away, for some casual sight seeing
While we're relaxing, with minds elsewhere
Spending today, on tomorrow's big dare
In the hot summer sun, we'll think of the snow
Taking for granted, the time that we blow
For Americans, tomorrow is Memorial Day
Religious or not, we should all stop and pray
For all the people, who gave their lives
At home and abroad, for their sacrifice
Fighting and dying, for the time that we waste
Ask God to love them and show them His grace
Pray for their families, for the love they lost
Paying the price, with the ultimate cost
Think of the fallen, lost in their prime
Be thankful for them and keep them in mind
an original poem by the "Poemdog" Daniel Turner
Nurse Anne
Snow steeped in mountains and mountains steeped in snow
Evergreens and pine trees hold the earth with purpose
Nurse Anne steps into hospital from brutal winter cold
Measures stethoscopes and takes gentle pulses
Takes care of bullet wounds and children on her rounds
Wears white, green or blue uniforms or gowns while working
That’s pure speculation as you know
Nurse Anne is not a lawyer according to close sources
She writes poetry on line, refines them in her leisure time
Her prescription for good health and life is simple
Eat vegetables, fishes and less meat
Most importantly, Breath, (it helps a lot)
Take moderation in everything
Get plenty of rest and sleep
And if you can’t be intelligent or stay on your toes
At least stay on your feet
Naturally a life spent vertically is not advised
Nurse Anne wants us all to exercise
She will help you to get by and back to skiing
With her good guidance and by being wise
She does her noble work then travels home
Returns to evening
To writing poems at her own leisure