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.
This little fleeting fleck of time we share
Suspended breath caught in frosty air
The Morning Glory trumpets the dawn
But withers and wilts by late afternoon
And we too are but a sigh of a moment
Lost in the passing wind sojourned
A momentary glint in Nature’s eye
We carry our burden of ephemerality
Like a Mayfly circling its solitary day
We flutter and flap between birth and
Death our little gains and tiny failures
Buried in the deep earth of nothingness.
Round and round the seasons blink
See the corn turn gold from green
Touch the silent river eddies
Twisting down to the brawling sea
The surging marauding bully surf
Molesting the stubborn granite rock
These primordial foes will never chime
Trapped between lightening and thunder
Their tussle is the earth’s oldest paradigm
And we in our little moment stand small
On the shifting sands all our endeavours
Are dissolved by the folding waves of time.
BELOW AND ABOVE THE SEAS SURF FACE
Gone are the fishers pulling Lugs; the Gull its gizzard rusty hooked;
and barbed, limit its shelled Limpet supply as blown sand creeps;
smart gulls dunk and dip, clean away dry sand grit, clear their voices;
some gulls with salted eyes sing in the briny choir, in the sea salted air.
Cackle is not birdsong ! Choked thirst, on this new digital barren beach.
Crabs below do not sleep, scuttle quickly to pincer cuttle fish inside out.
Lurking above swirls a leaden sky, pressing heavy on a mirage horizon line;
Its distantly trapped! Sunk in long lost rigging, discarded twine tangled nets,
buoyant on the flotsam and jetsam of a weeded bed, stalked by big Congers.
The tide rattled brittle bleached bones, of well anchored nameless smugglers;
who had the timeless tide current wrong, unsaved by oilskin clothed priests.
Breathing smugglers, long shipwrecked in the “ale house” of sin staggering;
his mind baptises their lifeless sinning smiles; many bound drowned.
While plying their trade, in a tirade coined and jewelled, greedy and needy;
there are many hemp baskets, nets twisted around boney blooded fingers,
torn sails billow caught in brackets, and pulleys, long ropes snake about.
Chains with stains of rust, crush filleted bones eaten by black cats and rats;
old Teachers wander the shore of wave words, they fall over, their own hands.
Long gone are the fishers families; they are food now, for long stretched lugs,
Bubbling below !
He's had enough of idea-illogical drivel
Too right mate.' I think their brains have
Shrivelled, she'll be right..I say g'day
It allows more time for ( deep contemplation ) in the Aussie way.' We're
Pretty low key.' But don't let it fool ya.'
Cause in linguistics..We can stick it to ya.'
We exell at sports, and here you can still
Find; real men, lean as whalebone up to
Six feet ten , and lissome sheilas who can
Surf the swells, and care for kids..'
So very well, we don't go for souks here.'
We breed'em strong, love the footy fishing
And Slim Dusty songs' Also Stan Coster
well who could forget.? And air supply
( easy listening you bet') Livvy and the seekers
Redfern too' marcia hines, all good through
And through.'
One calm summer night
I visited the city aquarium and
I noticed the sharks and the barracudas
Playing a lovely game of tennis
Yeah, the sharks and
The Barracudas are just
Sitting around eating
Strawberries and drinking tea
How could this be?
The great white shark called out, "the surf is up!" and
The speedy barracuda replied, "fifteen Luv!"
How could this be?
Suddenly, the sharks and the barracudas
Noticed me standing there, and
Standing on the other side
Well, they all agreed,
If you want to learn how to swim with
The sharks and the barracudas,
First, you must learn how to play the game!
Oh, what a lovely sport it is!
Are you from Essex?
Well Its so lovely there, this time of year.
Where once Normandy's coast resounded with the din of war,
Now is heard the thunder of the surf racing t'ward the shore.
Where once was heard the screams of dying and wounded men,
Now is heard the mournful cry of a solitary tern now and then.
In June of Forty-four, men stormed ashore to force a breach.
Alas, many forfeited life upon that barren, crimson beach.
Others died scaling those forbidding bluffs so high and steep.
Gallant men quickly learned that victory does not come cheap!
To free the world of tyranny, each took a noble stance,
As across that treacherous strand they made their slow advance.
Waves of courageous men struggled thro' that scarlet tide.
On they strode thro' hell! "Press On! Press On!", they cried!
Upon the plain above Omaha lie over nine thousand men we mourn,
Awaiting Gabriel's clarion bugle call on that triumphant morn!
Gleaming markers are etched with the names of heroes known.
Alas, so many others read, "Known But To God Alone".
Their eternal bourne began when they made their last patrol.
They'll stand proud and tall to answer His calling of the roll!
They rest in hallowed ground that once knew the scars of war.
They are the bravest of the brave, remembered forever more!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Some oils on canvas by Sandro Botticelli
will never capture what I now see.
There is a young woman with great beauty.
This heavenly vision is stimulating me.
As Jackson Browne sings: “She must be somebody’s baby”,
the music and lyrics describe her completely.
Frolicking in the sand along the sea,
it looks as if I see Venus in a bikini.
Running with the rhythm of the waves’ crashing sound,
she has the attention of other men around.
On this beach, no greater beauty can be found.
Did this doll rise from the ocean on a seashell?
On each man, she has cast a magic spell.
This pretty young thing is something special.
Today on the sand and surf, she’s a spectacle.
All the other guys want to make time and have fun.
Who would not want her? Who will be the lucky one?
My mother thinks I'm a doctor
I just don't have the guts
To tell her I spent all my college doe
On beer, wine, women and such
So after I faked my graduation
Said I was moving to the South
To help the less fortunate among us
Another lie I let slip out
I'm now in the south of Florida
Where some may call me a bum
Living in a citrus grove along the coast
Not answering to anyone
It's really not such a bad life
This do nothing life I've made
I hear my Moms proud of me at afternoon tea
Telling the girls of all the lives I save
I do my share of dumpster diving
That's where I got the idea
Behind a real doctors office one day
With some of their stationary I nabbed
I did a little doctoring
After all I do play one in Moms mind
Doesn't look to lame where I inserted my name
Then wrote my Mom about the kids and the wife
I've created such an elaborate charade
It's now gotten all out of hand
As I panhandle my way up and down
The Sunshine states surf and sand
Mom now says she wants to visit
Can't wait to meet the wife and kids
Don't know how I let it get this crazy
And how it all lead up to this
Now I'm scrambling to find a vacant house and a woman
With a couple of kids that look just like me
That can go along with a ruse for a week in mid-June
Since I told her that's when I'd be free
I'm thinking I should of studied in college
Instead of being this mind numbing huckster
Telling lie after deepening lie
Just so my Mother would think I'm a doctor
3/8/15
The thunder quaking
While there were structures shaking
And pieces of lumber breaking
During this undertaking
I would leave no others waiting
Down on their luck and stuck, in the gutter while its raining
Are we cursed?
As others in the sea surf
It could really be worse
But value the extreme worth
Of such teamwork
That could lead to a green earth
It's difficult to fathom
So imagine
What could happen
If everyone had more enthusiasm
And compassion
As if it spread like a chain reaction
Would there be satisfactions
In a place with the vastest canyons
So what if I'm seen as reclusive
One can inspire a movement
That pushes for improvement
No matter what, I will prove it
Even when it's hot and humid
And time for consuming extra fluids
You better take a good look at yourself and be honest about what you did
Winged Vamp – for contest
Hey, who’s in charge here…?
I need a serious makeover,
spent a summer eating a very…
well….green diet
put on a few ounces..
had some of “those” curves.
Been in here working
on my image, you know,
buffing it up on all levels,
a little firming up,
splash of color,
new wardrobe.
Now it is time for
my coming out party….
“Sweet Sixteen??” No Way!!
Can’t wait that long.
Gotta break out,
spread my wings,
sashay down that winding staircase,
enrapture the garden,
enhance the beauty of the flowers,
tease them with my love,
make even the roses blush.
Leave but the scent of my wings
wafting over their petals,
a dewy tear on their cheeks
for I am as fickle
as the winds I surf
as frail as my fluttering
beauty.
John G. Lawless
8/11/2015
for SKAT’s Butterflies Among Us – Poetry Contest
for-Snow Fantasy Or Christmas Nostalgia Poetry Contest-Sponsored by: Constance La France [theme 1]
"sometimes the best christmas present is remembering what you`ve already got."-Cathy Guisewite
-------------------------------------------------------
we wipe dripping sweat as we fiercely perspire-
as fur lined coats and gloves arent our desire-
as the dry and warmth is our fate-
and the winter carols dont relate.
we dont gather around an open fire-
roasting chestnuts and drinking eggnog-
a white christmas in the southern hemisphere-
a faraway dream-a faraway fantasy.
so when its too hot for a roast-
it is salads and a barbecue on the menu-
and when the christmas eating is done-
we go outside to frolic in the sun-
for this time of years family tradition-
a friendly game of backyard cricket.
white christmas in the southern hemisphere-
a faraway dream-a faraway fantasy.
for some their yearly festive tradition-
is spent at the beach for sun and surf-
they never make the traditional snow angels-
leave only sandy footprints from their bodies tan.
and instead of making carrot nosed snowmen-
under the sun castles of sand are made.
a white christmas in the southern hemisphere-
a faraway dream-a faraway fantasy.