Long South Poems
Long South Poems. Below are the most popular long South by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long South poems by poem length and keyword.
Subtle, very subtle, yet the promise whispers in the trees.
The zinnias struggle with a push one last bud to sky unfurl,
While the neighbor's cat goes on the prowl for one more kill to squeeze.
Late September days will end and the unprepared imperil.
The strident cries heard in the sky are the sounds of birds going south.
Though crammed and touching wings at times, they fly with great effusion.
A squirrel hordes some nuts he's found by stuffing them in his mouth,
While looking for a ready den, the mice run in confusion.
The slowly, shortening days are the sun's bowing to appease
The tired flora/fauna pact that's desperate for a long rest,
But a softened whisper in the wind has changed to a cold breeze,
And ice and snow begin to form on the tallest mountain crest.
He came from a galaxy light-years away
On a secret mission was he
Sent by his leader, to land on the earth
To report on what he could see
He landed his craft, then hid it away
And started his trek round the world
Travelling with pencil and journal
To record all events that unfurled
Before him, along his journey
So when he returned, to face his boss
He could use it as an ‘aide memoire’
And no small detail would be lost
He trekked from country to country
East to West, and North to South
From continent to continent, pole to pole
Living from hand to mouth
Taking years, to complete his journey
He eventually returned to his ship
And took off into space, to his leader
To tell him about his trip
He recounted of greed and of hunger
Of wealth and poverty
Of man making war on each other
Of corruption and tyranny
Of using the earths resources
Without giving thought, or a care
His boss listening, quietly, thought to himself
‘Why on earth did I put man there?’
But his herald, continued on with his tale
With a change in the tone of his voice
And as he spoke, the words he said
Made his leaders heart rejoice
As he told of the myriad of earthlings
On his travels, that he’d met
About how their warmth and kindness
Was something, he’d never forget
For although itinerant, they’d taken him in
To their homes, as a welcomed guest
They had given him food and water
And a bed for him to rest
That there were earthlings who went the extra
Mile to help others, which made him glad
And that taken generally, on the whole
The earth’s good, outweighed the bad
“Thank you Gabriel, for your report”
Said the Boss, with a smile on his face
“But we’ll still send a UFO down now and then,
Just to keep and eye on the place!”
Fingers tremble,
like an alcoholic without a bottle.
His pen is graceful in its slumber,
but imprisoned ink desires to be free -
intoxicated by his poetry.
Lips are forever silent,
in the absence of inspiration.
Isolated in the boredom of blankness -
congested to think enough,
struggling to feel enough.
Fault is not in the poet,
but in his absent mind -
which is a metaphorical candle.
Each drip creating pools of dusty wax,
as ebony wick struggles to keep flame alight.
Monsters of the mind
keep musings locked away,
so he turns to poets from the past -
but even Rumi cannot rekindle his desires.
Eyes gaze among petals for stimulation,
but their dormant fragrance offers no solution -
he is blinded by loss of concentration.
He wonder if his mind has become a flower,
out of season, but refusing to die.
He reflects upon love and lovers,
past, present and future,
but it does not liberate his ink -
maybe romance is out of fashion.
As his tongue tastes autumn's crispy air,
gloomy horizons summon birds south -
their songs of joy soften into muteness.
He feel for their empty nests,
now visible through naked trees.
Yet no outpouring of poetic observations,
overcome him -
have birds taken his muse?
Maybe the fault is in the birds,
maybe the fault is in the question...
Oh so often do we find ourselves again behind the wheel
Headed back to the grind with all those emotions we feel
Reflecting on our blunders like mile markers passing us by
As so the mind wonders filled with so many questions of why
But may I prayerfully suggest that you use this time to pray
He will begin doing all the rest just like He created this day
Surely you know of someone who could really use a prayer
A gift that can't be outdone even more so than you're aware
And there is no line for you to wait, this the King of Kings
His love for You being so great it make His Angels sing
You needn't be shy for His love for You is far too grand
But even if you don't want to try He will still understand
Yet maybe you will tomorrow as doubt doesn't have a ride today
In telling The Lord all your sorrow He will so help you in your way
It's such an easy habit to start yet its' joy you cannot replace
For now within your heart you are beginning to see His grace
As the dawn is in sight
I do not want the end of night.
I want to be back in my dream
In the arms of a love extreme.
I dream of his loving embrace
And of ecstasy upon his face.
I dream of his fevered touch
That I need so very much.
I dream of his kiss
Of Wanton bliss
Of Wanton desire
That sets me afire.
In my dreams I want to stay
Not to see the coming day
For then he is gone
And his love withdrawn.
I do so ponder
If I too do wander
Into his dreams
Of dreaming scenes.
How does he awaken?
Is he withdrawn and shaken?
Does a frown adorn his mouth
As his love is in the South?
My dreams of my love
Are so far above
Any I have had thus far
Yet he is still a star.
Soft flurry of snow, blown south to the sea,
brisk breath of Boreas breaks summer's stupe.
What strange, phantom dream here stands before me,
freezing river's course till it runs a loop?
How rapid the advance of blue-white ice-
crystallizing in my veins - no remorse!
Breath seizes at her sight - I drop the dice.
This cold snap - nothing better; nothing worse.
What right could I have - mad man of the marsh -
to harbor hope from latitudes higher?
Unseemly, uncouth, unwittingly harsh -
My spirit flickers as I watch her spire.
Yet, how could one complain, in summer's realm?
Such gift to see ice angels overwhelm ...
21 July 2023
The day that we left port, to new horizons we would sail
Knowing the dangers ahead, seafarers in the end we would prevail
Our journey from the Highlands from Inverness my home town
To Brazil in South America a new life to settle down
With charts of old we sail the seas
Passing the Antialtair Seamount with hardly a breeze
Our destination set, half way through our trip
Bridgetown, Barbados, on my elegant ship
We noticed a change a difference, on these high seas
Many nautical miles I've sailed but I've never seen ones like these
The sky had turned a colour I'd never seen before
Sporadic luminescent blues, like the beaches of the Azores
Our lookout suddenly shouts, dark shapes drift in the clouds
Before too long there is screaming, even the men cry loud
Swooping winged creatures descend, mouths agape with luminescent blues
Their tails whipping the swells, lacerating the waves we sail through
For many hours they probed as they swooped, a blue ball hovering over my ship
This is certainly a voyage to remember, to our new life on this trip
We finally reach Bridgetown, Barbados, my family and crew still in fear
When we sighted this land in the sun, we were deafened by our cheers
We reported in to the authorities, our run in with creatures unknown
They mentioned the Bermuda Triangle, and we were not alone
They have many reporting such as we, even fleets disappearing from view
To reach here as we have done, we are lucky, just one of a few
We thanked them for their assistance, as we set sail for our journeys end
To Vitoria a city so new, to our sawmill, our new life, Amen
As our world around us grew open, more tales and stories were told
Conclusions were never developed, maybe one day it will all unfold
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-16.php
There's a little town in Ouyen Vic.'' Under 1200 people so
I'll tell you bout aspects; of it sort'a quick!
There's Clarys slate bush etching, in three d real fine.!
And a little hairdressers that comes to mind.?
The conveniance store.' And theres some more.!
Like the old English banknotes found under
Its timber hall floor.' Also Kingdon chickens thats out a bit'
Where I worked a time 'come to think of it?' There
Was that pet Emu..Dang! I've forgot its name?
It would steal your food, just take it plain.' Away
From your hand, on the way to your mouth!!
Maybe thats the reason i left the South? I reckon
I'll get back there one of these days..And lay a
A fresh sandwich upon that old birds grave.!
A Pope
Brings forth hope
But a kaiser
Spews hate and horror
A Pope
Spreads peace
In the north, south, west and east
But a prideful mope like a squalid dope
Spits horrors and terrors
And starts fights and wars
A peaceful person de-escalates
But a belligerent bully booms, inflates
And explodes like a lost missile
Which acts like a cussed imbecile
A real leader
Never follows an oppressor
Yet a follower is a master loser
Who lies about everything
Even when the sun is shining
A Pope
Offers love and hope
But a loser displays no compassion
No sympathy and no comprehension.
Copyright © April 2016 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
A woman who came from the north
Had the most dreadful corf
She coughed and she spluttered
She moaned and she muttered
Because she could not shake the corf orf
A Man From The East
There was a huge man from the east
Every meal that he ate was a feast
He got so fat
His stomach went splat
Now the huge man from the east is deceased
A Man From The South
An unfortunate man from the south
Had a very very large mouth
It was so wide
It stretched to both sides
Not to the north and the south
A Woman From The West
A woman who came from the west
Always dressed in the very best
She wore beautiful clothes
From her head to her toes
But she would not be seen dead in a vest