Long Straw Poems
Long Straw Poems. Below are the most popular long Straw by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Straw poems by poem length and keyword.
The autumn season comes upon us
as the summer sun fades away
so much change of colour
just like night turning to day
The trees show such clearness
as the branches releases its leaves
just as lovers in bloom
held together like straw like sheaves
These leaves lie green and loose
wishing for one to touch
oh to be passionately entangled
this would be never too much
The wind then takes effect
blowing upon these lovers alone
joining them so close together
such providence reveals true love is shown
Such effecting happenings so sublime
as the wind moves wherever
lovers knows not their moments
wishing it not to sever
The Old Man and the Snowman
the old snowman looks weary
yellow light showing its many flaws
faded hat, straw-less broom
hard aging sting of countless thaws
the old man smiles, places him there,
yellow light showing on his teeth
resists the urge to update history
adjust a crooked, faded wreath
the old snowman chuckles
the old man sings “Frosty”
adjusts his hat and collar
whispers “Merry Christmas” softly
the old man and the snowman
await another Christmas eve
alone amid the snowflakes
in a world that won’t believe
©12/15/2017
submitted to – Christmas Story – Poetry contest
A September of embers:
Even though time in years have filtered past
The tears and sadness of that day will last
Friends, family members, or just someone we knew
Blood splattered faces, a sad thing to view
Hundreds of people running helpless and scared
The frozen faces from windows and the unprepared
America's laughter and smiles quickly faded away
A deadly sight on a horrific day
Innocent people, many come to mind
It seemed like that day last forever, frozen in time
The steel structures, concrete giants, fell so fast
The tall shadows in the city are a thing of the past
Buildings touch the clouds like tall mountain trees
Fell quickly like wet straw in a breeze
Never forget the sadness and fright we all felt inside
Looking for safety and comfort somewhere to cry
Remember this day as you look towards the heavens
We as a nation will never forget the day, and it was 9-11.
Copyright © William Pickard 2002
KICKING MYSELF
Out of all the people why does it seem
I’m the one that does the most harm to me
The one that trips up my very step
The one that always plays with my head
I open my mouth and let everyone know
And it follows I’ll reap what I sow
As I stick my foot, once again, in my mouth
Cram it in, until it gets stuck, further south
If I'm the one that loves me the most
Why is it me that does all the don'ts
Why am I more frequently caught
Saying I will while knowing I won't
A smile grips my lips as I offer to help.
More often becomes a vice, as I shuffle.
They believe the dance for days and weeks,
Then realize how rash I speak.
If I'm to make it through another day
Shouldn't it be me that brings about the change
From the ups and downs of my ins and outs
In all the hurt I bring about
So I put on my bread and butter shoes
Remove sinful straw from my head
I embrace to do and dismiss the don’ts
Cured, I climb out of my lackadaisical bed
8/16/2017
Collaboration Contest
I was meeting me girlfriend , sexy Cherry Russ
When I saw her hands go up to her mouth and she did cuss
There was this whooshing sound
And before I looked round
I was hit by the wing-mirror of a bus
With a broken jaw, to get to hospital was a mission
That wasn’t the end of me plight of painful petitions
Instead of wiring up me jaw
Something worse I implore
They mistook me for a patient that needed circumcision
Through wired teeth, I said I‘d sue for loads a cash
As I ate through a straw blended veg and meat and mash
Suddenly I had the urge to sing
As the wires came free, I screamed
Caused by the nurse accidentally knocking on the laughing gas
They going to kill me I thought in agonising pain
So I tried to escape by jumped through the window which is insane
They didn’t tell me I was two stories high
I must tell you humans don’t fly
Now I got a walk identical to John Wayne
Bright yellow, green and blue
Are some colours to name a few.
And in their daub or scroll compete compare
To the carnival’s lively and zany air.
Powdered faces pale announce
A disregard (of) or speak to superficial self,
As buzzing rides revolve and reel,
While the spielers project and create (their feel)
To sweet smelling grass in the down-trodden field.
See the open mouthed and blank-eyes clowns,
With heads that left to right, will turn half round..
When pretty Katie passes by, (Vivacious child in navy dress,)
Honey skin and teeth chalk white, under coiffure'd tress.
Within her hand from Daddy's passed
A pink balloon all helium gassed'
while In the other hand is pressed
An icy pole half past its best.
A stray dog, with darting chocolate eyes
Espies the treat and makes a try,
Now poor Katie covers her face and cries,
As her air balloon makes its maiden ride
Over the hot dog stall it goes' as Katie screams on tippy toes
While Rover wolfs his stolen delight,
Oblivious to the toddler’s plight.
Up…up into the atmosphere; and then a sudden rush of air,
It to the big wheel sends, from there,
Where a wild-eyed lad with hair like straw
Fixes it fast; in a gangly paw,
But Daddy sees it all transpire, and scooping up Katie heads that way,
As Daddies will to save the day.
(ammended 19 04 2011) & removed 9 2nd 2018
© Joe Maverick 10-12-2010
a brain
a heart
COURAGE
a broom - to swoosh away witches, smother fires, trick the wizard
compact hot air balloon - a buffoon might leave you behind
straw - in case you get the stuffings kicked out of you
oil can - or alcohol to get the tinman talking
sneakers - ditch those heels. brick is hard on feet
Kansas apples - for eating or battling the trees
small dog - used to frighten jungle lions
crystal ball with microchip - replays the melting of a wicked witch
treats for the munchkins
note: practice clicking heels together three times, last time was awkward, couldn’t get out of bed for days
6/30/2018
A brief memory
He sat alone under a wooden bridge over a small stream
that (for him) looked deep; usually, a little girl sat the too
but he had banned her and the straw doll she carried
She treated him like a child holding his hand when they
crossed the road.
She had refused to marry him, asking where his dad was
he told her his father lived far away in aficanmission
land, she also asked him what his father was doing
thinking about it, he said, a driver, thinking of the German
a soldier who lived on the farm.
Her mother had said there was no aficanmission land
he was caught telling lies; that girl thought she was
better than him because she was six years old while he
was only four.
"It's just dust," he said, kicking the dry ground
With a worn boot,
Toe pointed cowboy style
But with none of the flash.
"This could be grandpa," he said,
Shoulders rounded, eyes to the ground.
"They didn't bury too deep in them days,
And no boxes or vaults out here.
He could've just rose up after a while.
Could've just shook off the dirt
And blown off west again,
Just another dust storm
Trailin' bits of himself behind.
He wouldn't of thought twice
About breakin' grandma's heart
Just one more time."
I watched the sun pick shadows
Off his worn chambray shirt.
He looked hot, weary,
Big hand taking his frayed straw cowboy hat
On and off and on,
Either the fidgets or his way
Of air conditioning his head,
With its damp hair that could stand a cut.
Suddenly he looked straight at me:
Leather-tanned face
That had run up some mileage;
Pale eyes the worn blue of his shirt,
Meeting my eyes then sliding his gaze
Off into the dirt-colored distance.
"You're the one's got all the degrees,"
He said.
"Why do folks say 'just' somethin'?
Like 'just dust' or 'just no reason'?
Myself, I don't see justice is much involved."
"I could make up an answer," I said.
"I have no earthly idea.
I just know we do."
He snorted a laugh,
Shook his head,
Turned toward the house.
"You just come on in, then"
He said, something inside him
Sounding a little less buried,
His shoulders a little less hunched.
"I'll just make us some cold sweet tea," he said.
"That's just what grandma would've done."
And then, just then,
I knew it would be all right.
He speaks for the uprooted.
A man of sorts, a twiggy Buddha.
He who interprets
the conferences of frogs,
the unpublished works
of kestrels and voles.
He’s an advocate for the underbelly
of a microbial heaven, for every kind
of uncouth animalcule.
He speaks for the bulldozed,
the displaced. The native and
the nomadic.
He tracks the sins
of yellow, metal Caterpillar’s.
He glides over bogs with the frogs.
He moves under tree shadows,
if there are no tree shadows
he takes a bus.
He talks to the bears - they tell him
how things are going in the suburbs.
Swimming pools and trash cans,
have still to be negotiated. There must be a treaty.
He is leafy, kits and coyote love him,
Whistle-Pigs chirp like sparrows; blow their noses
to trumpet his approach.
When ducks quack his many sermons
shotguns misfire.
He is a preacher, a teacher to tics and turtles.
He is the Green Man,
he is not a straw man,
or a hollow man –
he is green
at least for now.