Long Surf Poems
Long Surf Poems. Below are the most popular long Surf by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Surf poems by poem length and keyword.
Our flag does not fly because the wind moves it. It flies with the last breath of each soldier who died protecting it. ~ Unknown
May opens like a folded flag,
its colors softened by memory,
its edges stitched with names
we whisper more than we speak.
This is the weekend when silence
carries the weight of footsteps
that will never return~
a hush held in the hollows of gold-star homes.
We remember the beaches at Normandy,
where young men ran on shore
into the roar of history,
their courage breaking like surf
against the teeth of tyranny.
We remember the Pacific,
its vast blue swallowing sons
who fought island by island
to keep the world from going dark.
We remember Korea’s frozen ridges,
Vietnam’s jungles thick with ghosts,
and the desert winds of distant wars
where the cost of freedom
was paid in dust and blood.
Most died without fanfare,
their stories tucked into the quiet pockets
of families who still set one extra place
at the table of their hearts.
And we~
living in the wide, unearned comfort
their sacrifice secured~
stand in the long shadow of their bravery,
knowing our prosperity is built
on the echo of their last breath.
Today, we bow our heads
not just in grief,
but in honor, and gratitude~
for those who never came home,
and for the freedom
that took their place.
copper burns across an endless sky
competing caws claim salt, surf and sand
sailing high above slowly sagging carcasses
long forgotten at the edge of the world
buckled rails swim over a shimmering shingle sea
the largest of its kind, hinting at some other time;
engines once chugged to billingsgate from this beach
herring bound for the cinque ports
and they say women dragged each boat -
pulled them down to that shore’s faithless embrace;
the muttered prayers of mothers and daughters
casting their men out on fortune’s dark waters
now nets, set for a tide that came and went, lay
mouldering among those collapsing clinkers
as if the fisherfolk just left one night, fled
granting the gulls sole control of that desolate dominion
their toil and trade, the legacy of our fathers’ fathers
still lays there on that beach; haunts that huge cove
rich history, like in so many places, fading away
rotting, rusting, ruined
Has the church lied
Does evil always lurk by
Eventually will such scourge die?
It's all been confirmed by
The third eye
Still on Earth I
Learned why
It's worth a try
Predators always impacting the herd size
A turn of the tide
As birds fly
Above the surf line
Near a restaurant known for stir-fry
We can't reverse time
Flames burned high
No longer cursed by
A disturbed mind
The other 2 portions truth or mystery, now you've heard right
Difficult to say if such a cycle works fine
You'll get nowhere if you're in the same place since last week
Playing with fire, it's dangerous like a gas leak
Does no good to put it all in the back seat
Crumbs and scraps left out that rats eat
Can't solve it all with a fact sheet
Life is one thing you can't cheat
The void black and bleak
The sky of strong blue as it dims at dusk,
that I shall in no way look at the same.
A new start in rich, pure, salt scent may claim
the heart of the sea, both wild and calm musk.
By dawn, close and dear lure the sun kissed shores
and when I feel, the fair breast of an hour,
of the wide world I stand lone, and may lour
the tours that laze and taste the out of doors.
Gone far in the hushed land down the rock cliffs
to cold surf, fish safe in tide pools true sight.
Feel the winds change in the pick of hush night;
the soul's high and low show of the waves riffs.
Love the raw grace of the land and surfs, falls,
arts, taste of the past and now, its calm calls.
9/26/2019
That barefoot girl runs on the smooth, red sand as a gazelle in the wild,
she hears terrifying screams coming from the shore while the surf arises:
is somebody about to drown? There are no safeguards
watching from their posts, it's after closing time!
Her pale face shows panic, but is that her child?
There are some people on the beach, the Seaside's distant bells chime...
hardly anyone had paid attention to the peaceful surroundings
being occupied with their thoughts of contemplation on dreams;
seagulls gathered on rocks, take flight seeing her coming:
she starts shouting, " Call an ambulance! The child is drowning! "
Everybody realizes the seriousness of the matter,
and as if in an act of prayer, their gaze wanders far...
reaching the fearless swimmer fighting off waves, searching hard;
and with great stamina and strong will of mind, she will not be afraid!
Her kindness is a love that will save any life experiencing extreme dire;
it's the most difficult challenge she faces and will remember a lifetime!
Entered in Eve Roper's contest,
" Oil Paintings 4 & 5 "
My Pick: Oil Painting # 2
Here on poetrysoup, the newest poem,
pops up on-screen
like the latest off-shoot, or newborn babe
or like a newest floral bud,
in the orchards of poetry.
Or like a fresh wave of words
crashing and cresting upon the turf
For all and sundry to view, enjoy and surf!
Or ha ha, even like linguistic kernels
that pop like popcorn
in the crockery of poetrysoup
with different flavors to choose from,
to reveal what's been cooking in the minds.
Some indeed spiced-up,
some spicy
some acidic or buttery
all of 'em', more or less with melody.
Or the newest poetry is
to put it more exquisitely,
is a fragrant flower just bloomed
in the bedecked bowers of poetry
Or to say, each latest poem pops on screen
Like pop goes the weasel
For poems pop up like meerkats
but on the lookout for friends instead of foes.
Ah, and then they might wait
for the honey and jam of comments
and perhaps even the bitter gourd of criticism,
for healthy constructive criticism
is like any bitter pill vital to health.
You're lucky if the doctors of poetry
refrain from prescribing chits
of bitter pills to swallow,
Or opted for sugar-coated ones
for which you heave a sigh of relief
you didn't receive, blunt sharp critique!
As I prefer sugar coated pills in all matters.
Yet if they do administer the wrong dose
out of sheer bias and prejudice,
you can always give them a taste of their own medicine,
if you wish to be vengeful and impudent
Or you can forgo, overlook and be lenient
For my poetry is meant to be tasteful
and gentleness is nice.
Harshly insensitive reviews can leave
a sour after taste in the mouth.
As I'm habituated to taking sugar coated pills.
A biased person could never appreciate my poetry.
Let's taste and try out all the varied variety of curries and broths of muse out here...
Let's all appreciate the different flavours that simmer in the poetry soup melting pot,
many cooking up delectable foods for thought...
Standing alone on this beach
Standing alone on this beach
remembering the sun greeting the horizon,
draping an aquamarine skyline
in swirling watercolor ribbons
enticing twilight to make an appearance
and the seashells we collected
while leaving our footprints
beneath a cheerful summer moon
sharing warm kisses as
cool water caressed our toes
where you drew a heart in the sand,
and we stood inside promising
to love each other forever,
then counted every star in the heavens
until the dawn returned
Now a desolate shore scattered with
mother of pearl shards
weeps beneath cold clouded skies,
saturated by a sorrowed surf of
wistful waves retreating from
the broken heart I’ve drawn in the sand,
one set of footprints within,
no longer counting stars,
not caring if dawn ever returns,
standing alone on this beach . . .
without you
Written for the Lost Love - Free Verse or Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Things I Almost Always Daily Do
1. Wake up on time; don’t be a sleepy head.
2. Grab the food I’ll eat at work (unless it is a stay-home day)
3. Clean the litter box; make sure the cats are fed.
4. Get dressed; do chores and don’t forget to pray.
5. Drive or don’t drive (see item number 2)
6. If out, decide if after work, I’ll stop by at the gym.
7. If driving also, stop for errands that I need to do.
8. Make time for cats and hubbie; feed them and feed him.
9. Make sure what I fix for dinner also pleases me.
10. Call one of my sisters, my mother or a friend.
11. Go online; maybe write; watch my night’s TV.
12. Brush teeth and bathe, go to bed. Dream good dreams? The end.
Things I’ll Never Make a To-Do List for
1. Practice knitting; make things like a sweater.
2. Be a child again and build a fort.
3. To anyone but Mom, write a snail-mail letter.
4. Watch a show on fixing things or any kind of sport.
5. Learn to parachute or ski; to surf or para-glide.
6. Learn gardening and wait to do it gleefully in spring.
7. Eat some kind of nasty food that I can’t abide.
8. Do a lot of housework any day with zing.
9. Memorize long passages like I did in school.
10. Do a dissertation to get a high degree.
11. Go hiking up a mountain even if the weather’s cool.
12. With stupid or abhorrent things state that I agree.
My Short List
1. Quickly get all boring things (that I must do) done.
2. Relish life and all I love; have a lot of fun.
Feb. 10, 2023 for Suzanne Delaney's The Multiple Choice Poem Poetry Contest
Sandy the Sandman.
Was a super duper dude.
With a surfboard pack and a seashell nose
and two eyes made out of food.
Sandy the Sandman.
Would always love to play.
He was made of sand,
but the lifeguards know
how he came to life one day.
There must have been some magic
in those swimming trunks they found,
for when they placed them on his legs
he began to swim around.
Oh, Sandy, the Sandman.
Swam so far out in the sea
and the lifeguards say
he would swim all day,
further than you and I can see.
Swishy, swoosh, splash, swishy, swoosh, splash
Look at Sandy's zest!
Swishy, swoosh, splash, swishy, swoosh, splash
He's simply the best!
Oh, Sandy the Sandman.
Knew the sun won't shine all day,
so he said, "Let's surf, and we'll have some fun
before the moon comes back to stay."
Wave upon wave
with a surfboard in his hand.
Surfin' high and low
against ripples fast and slow
Sayin', "Catch me if you can"
Even the fishies decided to surf along,
till he led them too close to the shore,
right to the lifeguard's hut,
where he fell off his board
when he heard them holler "Stop!"
Hmm, Sandy the Sandman
Fishies can't lie on the beach!
So he waved them bye, sayin' "See you at sunrise
when the sun looks like a peach."
Swishy, swoosh, splash, swishy, swoosh, splash
Look at Sandy's zest!
Swishy, swoosh, splash, swishy, swoosh, splash
He's simply the best!
And thus, the winds have driven roiling surf
To torture silent stones in times abyss
Raise froth upon the rise of tidal flux
As rippling sands dance snake-like on the beach
The gulls have ridden clouds to safer skies
Umbrellas breaking bonds are carried nigh
A swirling vortex gathers up the trash
As black suited surfers wash ashore
Storm warnings have been posted yet we come
To pay homage to those who went to sea
Who clung to wooden mast and battered rail
Or touched the doors of death ‘neath becalmned sail
So, does the beach ball drift on calmer seas
And older folk bathe only to their knees
Sand castle kingdoms dread the coming tide
As pirate ships dance in old childlike eyes