Long Southerly Poems
Long Southerly Poems. Below are the most popular long Southerly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Southerly poems by poem length and keyword.
There's a chill in the air and the aroma of burning leaves abounds.
The bugling of lovelorn elk is one of autumn's quainter sounds.
Trees that provided summer shade with jade-hued leaves, now shed,
Have assumed beautiful robes of yellow, gold and ravishing red!
Sprightly squirrels scurry about secreting nuts for their winters' fare.
Hoot owls silhouetted by the Harvest Moon roost on limbs, now bare.
Magnificent flocks of geese glide overhead in perfect V-formations,
Mysteriously guided by The Master Navigator to southerly locations!
The first snow of autumn graces the crown of majestic Pikes Peak,
Also, decorating spruce with garlands of snow making vistas less bleak.
Colorful chrysanthemums grace the landscape providing cheerier days;
Frost ices golden pumpkins, but vanishes when kissed by Sol's rays!
The harvest is reaped for another year, now farmers can take their ease.
Ghosts and goblins rap on doors with menacing trick-or-treat pleas.
O'er all of this the Harvest Moon shares its eternal mellow glow,
As we mere mortals treasure the grandeur of Autumn here below!
It's the time of butterflies to fly
angelic wings drifting hurried by
in the powdered blue clouded sky;
retrograde illusions left from spring
revolving a floating dance upon the wing
venturing into summer's fling;
hovering on echinacea cones
resting momentary brief never alone,
touching each water splashed stones;
Lepidoptera orange peached winged gilds
skipping flower petals imaginings fulfilled
rare and delicate lives quickly spilled;
sloe obsidian indigo shaped melds
barely a moment to be held
large and small and medium without bells;
awe and wonder at bespeckled migrating swallowtails
riding the gently salted sea wind sails
monarchs of the day uncompromised and frail,
grouped gatherings cluster to a southerly warm surprise
down to Mexico, the gulf and reflected in a child's eyes
the journey has begun and flight DNA memorized;
observe and watch, their efforts on the clock of need
spring north to breed and feed
leggy landings graceful on the summer milkweed
then south as summer fades away
with winters ready to chill their fate each day
for now, enjoy, let the butterflies play.
One month deep and winter wears no crown.
Warm Southerly breezes still with scepter rule
without a complaint from newly budded trees
and blades of grass, green as an emerald jewel.
Japanese magnolias have all bloomed too early.
Pink and purple petals fall softly to the ground
breath of Mariah whistles through the branches,
leaving them torn and heaped in a pastel mound.
Squirrels scurry in circles up and down the oaks.
Ripe acorns still hang from the old ancient arms.
There'd been no need for squirreling them away,
hints of Winter weather had all been false alarms.
No need for coats and boots that weigh too much.
Nature doesn't mind the lack of a chilly Winter blast.
It's great not to worry about having to shovel snow.
I'm pleased by the attempt of Autumn, holding fast.
First came Storm Ciara
On Sunday the ninth of February
She caused total havoc throughout the UK
Heavy rain brought serious flooding
Her gales so strong brought buildings tumbling
Whilst on the Isle of Wight
The most southerly tip of England
Gusts of ninety seven miles per hour
Uncovered a fossil upon earth’s core
A Dinosaur footprint from a Therapod
Who had strolled along this beach
one hundred and thirty million years before
Now in the throes of wind and rain
Another storm
Another name
He’s called Storm Dennis
Another menace
And he has just arrived
Brings heavy rain and gale force winds
I truly hope we all survive
his havoc and devastation
But like Storm Ciara he may unearth
never before seen hidden treasure
Showing even storms leave positive gifts
for us all to enjoy and explore at our leisure
Written 15th February 2020
Contest Strand No 680
Sponsor Brian Strand
HONORABLE MENTION
A family affair
A big hotel was built in our rather shy town
the hotel's façade faced the town's lake that
had many birds that visitors thought charming
the hotel needed many casual workers, such
as cleaning rooms, corridors, and plates, and
cups after guests, we thought was posh and
with a southerly accent, which was regarded
as more posh than the way we spoke.
for the working-class young, there was not
to offer, between going to sea or working
at a canning factory, many took to the sea
but lacked the discipline needed to continue
a lifestyle that is essentially a lonely one
although for those with the will to seek to
to maritime school, it could be a fine career
when my father was coming home from
from the sea for good, he was not a seaman
I was in bed, lung sick as often as a child
they had told me he was coming and thought
he might look heroic, like a Viking
the door opened, and a smallish man entered
he pointed at me and in gest said, whose son
is this and forever planted in me a feeling
of being inferior with problems this entails
but I digress years later when taking
the bus into town, I ignored his halloo for
which I suffered sleepless nights
I should have been more polite.
My brother was friendly with my dad
my brother was a forgiven sort of person
they even worked together at the hotel
cleaning dishes
Ah! To be adrift upon the boundless sea sailing, sailing, sailing!
Alone with sea and pristine sky with southerly winds prevailing.
No particular destination in mind as upon the surging sea I plod,
Nor is there another soul in view as I quietly commune with God!
Ah! To be alone at night in the desert pondering, pondering, pondering!
I lie to refresh my weary bones after a day of vagabond wandering.
Savoring the soothing quietude with gentle zephyrs caressing my face,
Gazing heavenward as constellations wink at me from outer space!
Ah! To scale the highest mountain where even eagles dare not fly!
The precious solitude of it all! I can reach out and touch the sky!
Such divine inspiration it brings to this mere mortal's languid soul,
As God's Creation beyond is revealed for me to relish and extol!
Ah! To amble down a forest path when autumn leaves adorn the trees!
Gold and crimson leaves waft about me, stirred by an occasional breeze!
I'm awed by The Master Artist's handiwork no mere artist dare portray.
This priceless solitude and beauty I shall treasure forever and a day!
Ah! To lie 'neath a shade nigh a rippling stream and dream, dream, dream!
Watching vagabond clouds scudding across the sky is solitude supreme!
I suppose that there are many folks who prefer mingling with the multitude,
But I treasure time alone to dream, write and muse in peaceful solitude!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Dog Days Of Summer
By: Tom Wright
9/8/98
Intense heat,
causing sparsely foliated trees
to prematurely brown.
Hot southerly breeze
burning at my nostrils
and Mother saying,
son, don't pick.
A five cent Nehi Orange
from Shue's Stand
split three ways
would be good,
and no, my hand
won't go in those Fruit jars.
make Norma wash,
she has smaller hands.
I'll rinse, It’s harder,
Tiny black harvest bugs
floating in the air
from a nearby Oat field.
I'm itching all over.
A molting dog chasing Its tail.
Wormy?
No, he just sees Mr. Williams,
the ice man.
Mama,
Joe hit me.
Kids behave yourselves!
Once a year
in the early spring
I scatter some reclaimed
seeds
from a section of yard
where the wild flowers grow --
a reserved place, there
left unattended
how they bloom, all on
their own
where the wild flowers
bloom,
a welcome to early bees
and butterflies
the old black cat seems to like
them as well
a nestled, deadly shadow, all comfy
in a lap of blazing, garnished nature
stroked by the southerly
tempering breeze
God! he has such allergies,
the poor little beast's, watery
eyes...
yet, every year
while I scatter
he seems to dream
faithfully
Lucifer, scourge of mice!
for a budding' moment, exculpated!
as a wand, my magician' hand
glides over the the future
materialized bed
seeding memories
long gone but not forgotten
when I was also omnipotent
demurely purring
one of the wild flowers
heedless of seasons
and the sentence of time --
Just after my pears fall off the trees
and leaves begin their turning,
evening fades to dusk in its anxiety
to welcome moon.
I sit outside and watch moon glow
arise from its sleeping nest.
The fresh scent of grilled Salmon
and charcoal-baked potatoes,
lingers across my patio;
the flavors melding upon my taste buds.
My cat sits next to me
eyeballing scraps and my iced tea
and decides to chase the few fireflies
while nearby crickets play love songs.
The soft, swift chill of dew-laden air
causes me to shiver.
I breathe in deeply and revel in
the thought of blissful
colors that will dot the landscape
in a few days time.
Above me fly a flock of birds in
southerly aim as I
glance to the pumpkin patch
and begin to
dream of pumpkin pies and
my favorite harvest veggie casserole;
autumn nights are a
delight to my palette.
9-12-2021
HELLO September Poetry Contest
Mystic Rose Rose
The stately ash by the fence that provided welcome summer shade,
Has exchanged its sheltering leaves of opulent jade,
To don an elegant golden robe for a few short-lived days.
Its brilliance is enhanced by the sun's mellow autumn rays.
October winds took their toll exposing bole and limbs so stark,
Revealing uplifted arms as if in supplication from its wrinkled bark.
Where once upon my emerald lawn, frisky squirrels skittered,
Now, with a golden carpet, my sloping lawn is littered.
A wizened "hooty owl" has claimed the treetop as its aerie,
Silhouetted against a harvest moon, creating a scene so eerie.
Mellow moonbeams caress the tree forming a delicate shadow,
That creeps across the lawn as the moon flaunts its nocturnal show!
A family of robins that nested in the tree providing me with delight,
Have long since departed on their annual southerly flight.
Sturdy limbs where chattering finches put on a grand show,
Will soon be adorned with glistening garlands of snow.
Tho' each autumn the foliage from the ash will disappear,
And its outstretched limbs now present a picture so austere,
I'm confident that the ever-caring Creator this coming spring,
Will again adorn my tree in green for another season's fling!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)