Long Spotter Poems
Long Spotter Poems. Below are the most popular long Spotter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spotter poems by poem length and keyword.
He was spotted by an A.T.V. rider.
The rider phoned emergency services.
The services scrambled to reach the spot
where the spotter spotted the man up a tree.
Meanwhile the press were alerted.
Press trucks raced to the spot where
the man and tree were spotted.
When all were gathered under the tree
incongruous notes struck home.
The man was well dressed in a dark suit,
white shirt and tie.
His shoes were expensive town footwear.
These incongruous notes sparked much controversy,
especially as he appeared to be slowly eating
a sandwich.
Those gathered under the tree
debated the kind of sandwich,
eventually the consensus of opinion
settled on an egg sandwich.
A cop grabbed a megaphone.
“You there, what are you doing up a tree?”
“Nothing.” Said the man up a tree.
The cop was stumped for a moment.
“Is this your tree?” The cop shouted.
“Is it yours?” Said the man up a tree.
The cop was stumped,
it was not in a garden or National Park,
it was just a tree.
“You coming down soon?" Asked a fire-fighter.
The press closed in expecting great footage.
“Nope” Said the guy up the tree.
There was a lot of disappointment
among the throng.
“F... it.” Said the shrugging cop.
The press trucks and the guy on the A.T.V.
raced away to be somewhere else.
A monochrome of boho days
segue one another surreptitiously.
Endless pantomimes of idle chatter flutter by.
Cantilever bridge, a one stop halting site for gossip and suspense.
Small talk, bespoke winged creature, Combe of pleuron.
Turin shroud spotter in the mise en scene melting pot.
The spirited stride of pavement strollers prompted by
agenda.
Metatarsals on the march.
Street vendor’s spooky cry with banjo beating busker at his side.
Dirt pan bellow and brittle strum about the
orange alert ahead.
Crowded car park, careening bus, frustrated taxi driver rank and file.
Backstreet Barney or kerfuffle on the lawn.
Swing sign overhead, a pawn in every trending breeze.
Office block malarkey cutting capers for the press.
New age ante-fix, the cover tile for corruption.
Whistle blowing wag inside the
city centre fault line.
Brass neck
reservoir of hoodwink high and low.
Harassed mother, barefoot beggar
nervously extends her rusted tin.
Guilt edge coin as bandage to our shoddy scruple.
Bag lady on the fringe of some haute couture complex.
Stasi-like security whose bluff veneer belies an inner
bludgeon.
Crouton salad diner has his finger on the pulse but not his pulse rate!
Tycoon in transition with an open brief!
Teflon tyrant
back to the future.
Ambulance chaser …. legal eagle…..with fortune in misfortune their calling card .
To the limit and beyond like an offshore Ansbacher.
Noonday bell
interloper at the scuttlebutt tavern.
Seconds out,
moments out,
hours in a hari kari haze.
Sensei’s of the left filling void with vacuum.
Laboured diatribe against dynasty, trite slogans, empty rhetoric, mannah from heaven?
All this from the cadres of social despotism!
Passage, the
pollinating insect of aroha.
Behind the rhythm of the grind a broad leaf grain of hope may sprout.
Green shoots of bounty.
Latent sidewalk bloomer.
Blossom by default or tender impulse
*Image of the enthroned Roman goddess Ceres provided by Pixabay.
Ceres, Goddess of Harvest: The Pact
Birthright rules they are Jupiter's sisters,
Hera, Vesta, Ceres, whose names glisters.
Ceres, the goddess of crop gathering,
whom the gods treat the best, no blathering.
When Ceres was sad, the harvest did die,
and the people did ask all the gods why?
Pretty Proserpine, Ceres daughter,
picking berries, her uncle did spotter.
The uncle was Pluto, and none other,
whose desires chokes empty minds to smother.
Pluto was the god of the underworld,
who had kidnapped her to his netherworld.
Proserpine met needs, kept in a dream,
ageless her stay be Pluto's fated scheme.
Jupiter sought out Mercury for aid,
a messenger god and smart son, think trade?
Proserpine marries, in turn, he must,
let her return for six months, would be just.
Pluto, Ceres, and Jupiter agreed,
six months growth, six months none, was then decreed.
2021 April 23
HMS - 10 syllables per line & RZ - exact rhymes checked
British-born Kenyan
adventureress globe-trotter
one of the first bush pilots
aviatrix authoress game-spotter
a woman before her time
through and through
who had simultaneous affairs
with Prince Henry, Duke of Gloucester
(son of George V)
his older brother Edward, Prince of Wales
(later Edward VIII)
and Denys Finch Hatton too
the Kenya Derby a six-time winner
as an unrivaled thoroughbred racehorse trainer
whom my Dad at EAR&H well knew
as whenever she was able
it was he she would speak to
regarding rail transport of her stable
in 1936 she was the first female
to fly against the wind
let's set the record straight
to get it right
the Atlantic Ocean non-stop solo
from east to west with the night
I am no woebegone capon peon
for forks and knives to come upon,
no, I am a busy rooster father
in serious need of a duty roster
to ensure my hens and chicks prosper.
I cannot falter as enemy spotter,
I must sound my distinctive alarm
when a predator intends us harm.
I also work hard watching the yard
and any rooster with a cocky saunter
who nears with intentions to conquer
will soon leave as a featherless trotter!
My hens depend on my blend of clucks
to direct them where food is stuck.
As an indispensable rooster general
who keeps up with so much busy stuff,
I am unable to relax nearly enough.
If my nap roosting suffers too many gaps,
I may suffer a sentinel general collapse!
It would be incredible if now and again
I received some gratitude from the hens ….
... CayCay
July 16, 2019
I am The Fly on the wall
Listening to you all
Telling your stories
Boasting of all of your glories
Yes, I'm The Fly on the wall, you see
I can hear all of the bad things you say about me
Knowing that, I would take flight
And fly around and bug you day and night
Yes, I'm The Fly
And I'm gonna try
To come to your house
So I can party down
I hang around your door outside
And find a place to hide
When you open the door, I fly inside
And start my tortuous ride
I'm learning to better fly
In your house so high
Then I'm back on the wall
Up and down, all around I crawl
I am The Fly
You may not think so, but I'm a super guy
I will fly around your head buzzing you
Driving you crazy too
I try to avoid the Fly Swatter
And the person who's the Fly Spotter
I fly around the room
Looking for a little food
I love to hang around the Kitchen
And wait for food that comes in
I fly into your living space
And bug you by landing on your face
What I wouldn't give
To find a safe place to live
A place that's not too warm or too cool
With lots of crumbs lying about as a rule
Buzz, Buzz, Buzz!
You want me dead, you wish that I was
Fly, Fly, Fly!
I never wanna die!
I remember the old movie The Fly
In the end, The Fly gets stuck in a Spider Web to die
It was a great old movie with Vincent Price
And David Hedison's acting was very nice
I love being The Fly
Of this I can't deny
To fly around very free
That's the life for me
As The Fly, I was happy to land on your nose
I knew I had annoyed you by the words that you chose
Then I dive bombed into your stew
You hit your spoon and got stew all over you
This did not make you very glad
In fact, it made you downright mad
I then took off and landed on the window sill
And you, with the fly swatter, tried me to kill
What you don't know is that I'm The Nightfly
A Vampire Fly, by and by
I'm out there looking for blood
And also a can of suds
If I die, would you keep my little Fly body to save
Or would you bury me in a little Fly Grave?
Of course, I don't plan on dying
I just wanna keep flying
Well, the inevitable day did come
My life was over in an instant, I was done
I'm still The Fly on the wall, as it were
But now I'm just stuck to Fly Paper...
Copyright ©? Jeff W. Watson, August 3, 2026
Out of the blue on this summer day
Richie asks me if I want to swim with him across the lake
Sure what the hell and that is that
I will match the older boy’s vim and whim
Two strong boys armored with Nietzsche arrogance and Tolkien muscle
Armada of scarecrows and wrists assemble on Wally’s manmade beach
To accompany us on the two-and-a-half-mile odyssey
Across the cold and chop of wind
Dad hunches over a leaky rowboat
In hand-to-hand combat with splintered creaky oars
Dennis kneels on a music sheet paddle board
Pink baton at his bearded black throat
In we go
A wave and grin goodbye to Wally’s beautiful daughter Wendy
Richie to Wally’s wonderous wife Janet
And to our moms’ arms crossed up on the tennis court hill
For hours little did we know
Dad says Bobby! Sarah’s coming up underneath you ha ha
Richie separates and heads north not east like a slashing madman
Hey Hey yells Dennis his spotter
Imagine myself a turtle with hot sun egg frying on its back in the black water
Begin to feel the razor teeth of pike at my toes
Biting them off one by one
I stop and panic thrash and splash them away give them my toenails
Richie straightens out far behind me
Weight of the bloated world holding me up
Spaceship in orbit bellied against the Earth
Halfway across
I assume
I can only tell by the guess of cumulus clouds
My knees shoulders neck need an oiled wrench to complete each heave and rotation
Rust and barnacles growing on me
Finally I pass over the turquoise drop off of the other side
Pink mustard to my sutured eyelids
Line of shore the trees a quarter mile ahead
I think dad yells good enough good enough
Salvages me in with what chattering bones remain retrievable
Face gone
Snaps my arms and legs to the rowboat’s aluminum bench
Cannot bend this brass statue to a sitting position
Upside down the only way I can fit in
For the long trip back within my dad’s singing voice
Richie crawls hands and knees up on that beach
Holds its sand in his hands lets it sift through as a time glass
Never lets me forget that
I finished and you did not but we won’t tell the shimmering women
When and if
You the brother I never had and I get back
Teeth left like unrecovered treasure at the bottom of Torch Lake.