Long Squawks Poems
Long Squawks Poems. Below are the most popular long Squawks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Squawks poems by poem length and keyword.
We approach the house, to trick-or-treat, but wonder if we dare
The porch is dark, no light or spark, to help us find the way
We peek inside, ........does the old man hide? We see no one is there
But, we rang the bell, and wait a spell, the door begins to sway
Through the crack, pursued, a room is bare with unclad shades of gray
Arthritic winds have tossed us in, with a wretched dismal hand
The trees bend low, against the house with solemn loathing dread
With branches, brisk, it rattles glass, against the window pane
We look around the cheerless room, a terrible scent of wrong
An angled light has slithered in, with shadows deep and long
and spotlights what's become of him, the man who isn't there...
with a room unkempt, some muffled steps, and as if a ghost might stare
Four vinyl seats, Formica clad, a room that needs repair
The table set, a plate of food, is rotting by the chair
A cup of cold, a cigarette, still smoking in the air
The room depicts, what might have been, but reeks with wrought despair
A parakeet within a cage has mocked us once again
The voice is shrill, it squawks with rage, 'Unlock me if you dare!'
The floor is strewn with littered seed, where mice have shared the spill
All time has stopped, in ash and dust, the hours couldn't care.......
We take a breath, too scared to move, for we are not alone
For company, a skeleton, sits beside the sofa's edge
against the wall, it smiles at us beneath the window ledge
No eyes to stare, yet seems surprised...as if a joke is played
Inaudible, just barely heard, the wind begins to howl
Or is it we, who scream to be back home in Mommy's arms
Outside the house, we hear an owl, and we begin to run
into the night, into the light, without a bit of fun!
No Snicker Bars, no Tootsie Pops, no candy corn or Mars
A trick on us, no treat it was......we've lost our appetite!!
____________________________________________________
For Contest: Halloween Night
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
All aboard the zoo train, let's ride there
Be amazed when you see the mighty bear
Cougars, big cats, crouch inside their lair
Desert tortoises creep, they move so slow
Eagles perch and stare from branches, low
Foxes peer out from within their dens
Great giraffes gawk, their necks extend
Hyenas laugh as they run and play
Iguanas lie and bask in the sun all day
Jaguar is regal, as she paces in her stall
Kangaroos nibble on leaves near a wall
Lions pace, the kings of the jungle
Meerkats hide in small holes and tunnels
Now we can view those amusing apes
Orangutans with their funny faces
Past the fountain, we see the polar bear
Quite a sight, as he swims over there
'Round the bend, we enter reptile land
Snakes that slither over rocks and sand
Tribal music sets the stage to see
Up high, as we look into the banyon trees
Vociferous squawks from bright toucans
Wild echos reverberate over the land
Xanadu dreams, on this enchanting day
You feel you've traveled miles away
Zoo magic memories were made today.
Updated on 5/18/2022
Written on 7/11/2015
Atop a rock, there sits a girl. A hat
adorns her head as she enjoys a chat
with her young friend beside the pretty bay
on this serene red parasol beach day.
I breathe the salty air in through my nose
and feel the warmth of sand between my toes.
I listen to the squawks of gulls at play
on this serene red parasol beach day.
I walk along the shore and reminisce
about lost love when I see sweethearts kiss
down by the water’s edge not far away
on this serene red parasol beach day.
My parasol is blue, but it will do
when finally I find the perfect view.
A towel I lay right here where I will stay
on this serene red parasol beach day
Written June 25, 2016
for Eve Roper's "The Red Parasol by Alfred Glendening" Poetry Contest
Enter Contest
I had survived how many summers? Five?
Six? 'til, self-taught, I learned at last
of terror that lurks in situations
which those I trust (myself included)
would swear offer only perfect safety...
My ball rolled under my Grandma's house
and I, well-guarded, scuttered after to retrieve it,
mindless of the tarry soil fleeced with fluffy,
small red feathers, newly molted by matrons:
hens that clucked contentment,
set upon their hidden egg troves.
Spying their nests, I thought to rob them
and so earn a Grandma's love for a city boy
unversed in country ways. Thinking, I acted,
reaching for a nest unoccupied,
half hid behind a house block.
I closed my soft, expectant hand
upon a wriggling creature coiled among the eggs,
drew back like lightning to watch
a brightly spotted snake slide off
into the farther, deeper darkness
amid a squall of squawks.
Emerging empty handed, terrified,
it wasn't Grandma's love I earned that day.
I have always since encountered similar brilliant colored
dangers whenever I have thought to grab,
for myself or others, unclaimed treasures
in strange places, in warmer or in cooler weathers.
“Snowflakes are winter’s butterflies.” – Unknown
Winter is not always bitter, lifeless and drab
Snow gleams as it blankets and caresses nature
Birds become a vibrant display in reds and blues
A Blue Jay squawks as a cardinal stands ground
Perched on shimmery branches and bird feeders
As their songs warm frigid air with joyous melodies
Trees sleep as their barren branches provide shelter
While ice shimmers in artsy patterns under sunlight
Squirrels busy at feeders, hoarding seeds and nuts
Winds blow snowfall as it cleanses the drab ground
Ducks heard quacking while perching on icy riverbeds
Nature becomes a magical display in winter
The charcoal clouds melt in the scorched sky,
serenading summer drizzle descends
with the fascinating flotilla in the arid air.
The spectrum of the setting scarlet sun
sparkles in the slant spray of the raindrops,
soaking the singed malachite meadow,
as pristine petrichor exudes in amber ambiance.
The raindrops cascade in soft musical torrent
in the misty puddle, spreading in my pasture.
I feel the nostalgic delight of my youth return.
The little pool morphs into glistening ballroom floor
for the aquatic ballet of the rolling rills.
I hear the silent symphony of the melodic past
in the rhythm of the raindrop dance.
From the barnyard comes a hopping fawn bird,
with spread-out wings flapping in the drizzle
the chicken squawks the tune of waltz for me.
So, I join her doing the feathered twirl,
spinning around together with slippery slide.
I tap my toes as she splatters the muddy water,
bringing back my younger days of joyful chicken splash.
The spouse betook monthly outing
today May 4th, 2022
to 3938B Ridge Pike,
Collegeville, Pennsylvania 19426.
No more bare cupboards,
fridge, and deep freezer
since returning with more than
our share of daily bread,
plus other sundry provisions
referring to this mister, who
frightfully squawks like an old geezer,
ruler of roost,
plus the missus – ole hen pecker
nevertheless, neither of us
ain't no spring chicken
being locked within crosshairs
constituting elderly stage,
she doth dread
feeling like a charity case
swallows her pride,
cuz ample carload for us,
alleviating this bum searching
for crumbs to tweezer,
thus raw bits of powdermilk biscuits,
I need not scavenge, scrape, scrounge...
substantial commestibles
allows poet taster to breathe easy
inadequately satiates the missus,
(whose Godzilla appetite) defies
(cole) laws of nature to beef fed
predominantly healthy food,
that weighted our automobile like a led
zeppelin choking, intermittently
kickstarting, sputtering... along,
asper in (faux wheel) drive wheezer
putting utmost pressure
borne by taxing groovy tire tread.
Once mission (not so impossible,
but blessed relief) complete, I did aim
upon returning where we live
to acknowledge gratitude and claim
salvation for charitable deeds,
yours truly doth exclaim,
these volunteers, none I know by name,
nonetheless, a hearty poetic L'Chaim
afforded folks, who commandeer,
confidently coordinate quite efficient process
despite minor lament regarding
heavy toll stressing bulwark
quaking chassis, ripsnorting driveshaft,
shimmying entire automobile frame...,
hence no matter
our exhausted 2009 Hyundai Sonata
puttered along somewhat lame,
kudos to dedicated good samaritans,
worth their weight in gold to tame
hungrily growling, noisily rumbling tummies.
Healthy choices allow, enabled,
and provided us to secure provender
eases glum countenance of this clown
gratuity finds me bowing down
paying metrical obeisance
versus depleting meager monies
engendering botox frown
nipping in bud
forestalling need going
to preferred market such as
Aldi, LIDL, Redner's, Target
or Trader Joe's grocery shopping
to the nearest town.
Every single creature,
From the moment of its birth,
Has a reason for existence
On our humble planet earth.
Worms are bait for fishing;
Squirrels satiate the hawks.
Fishes feed flamingos;
Ducks make music with their squawks.
Crickets chirp a chorus;
Cows and chickens give us meat.
Bees make honey for the bears
And birds are here to tweet.
Lions balance zebras;
Sheep get shorn to give us wool.
Alligators gulp down prey
To keep their bellies full.
Butterflies spread beauty;
Beavers gnaw down extra trees.
Goats spend hours grazing
To produce that creamy cheese.
Every creature’s purpose,
And I guess this is a stretch,
Seems to outdo man’s intention,
Which appears to be – to kvetch*!
*to complain or whine
On All Hallows Eve, darkness balks
The fields are full of crisp cornstalks.
The boyo's have egged the paper birch
and left their lassies alone at church.
A red moon lights a flight of hawks,
a murder of crows, tree high squawks.
Apples are left for ghosts who walk
and the Banshee risen from her perch
On All Hallow's eve.
So wrap your neck in a cross gold
beware the Pooka, he's foretold,
carry a Jack-o-lantern..lit
and holy water in your kit
bring a pretty lass to console
On All Hallow's Eve.
*Banshee a female spirit in Irish Lore who warns of impending death
**Pooka a shape changing goblin who oft appears as aheadless horse.
For still the crow squawks and always on high.
Wicked laughter sounds and hearts bleed empty.
The black bird's chant causes the soul to cry.
Leave, crow. Go back to whoever sent thee.
Graves are dug when the crow comes into town.
Fortune leaves and bad luck always abounds.
The crow binds the strong man and throws him down.
The righteous can be knocked off solid grounds.
The black bird feeds depressed and anxious moods.
The overwhelmed falter and take their lives.
It's call induces fear and anger broods.
His bellow calls and draws out wicked drives.
Time develops wisdom to know and grow.
Wisdom equips to build the life long dreamed.
Hope is there- even if it doesn't show.
Rejoice, even the crow can be redeemed.
Evil shakes and falls at brotherly love.
The crow shed its evil; now it's a dove.