Long Temperature Poems
Long Temperature Poems. Below are the most popular long Temperature by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Temperature poems by poem length and keyword.
The grumpy monsters need to eat
something delicious and sweet
Trick & Treat
The vampire finds blood to dine
serving temperature as red wine
Trick & Treat
No black magic for my cat
he does not wants to be transformed to a bat
Trick & Treat
Let the witches fly their own way
I wish to stay at home in Norway
Meow ... meow ...
~~~
12.10.2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Halloween Meow Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
2nd place in the contest
You know it is cold
You know it is darn cold when the woodstove is going
But the propane furnace just keeps on blowing
When your nostrils freeze outside in the winter air
Ice is curled hanging with snow from the roof everywhere
You know it is cold when smoke bellows from chimneys all around
Everywhere you go there is crunching on the ground!
The dog needs a sweater and winter coat with a hood
Refusing to wear doggie boots, then waits to be carried where she stood
You know it is cold when vehicle struggles to start, taking long to warm up
Then the coffee you hope to have, starts to freeze in the travel cup!
You know it is cold when the driveway is a pond of slippery ice
But, the sand to cover it, freezes as hard as a rock, not nice!
Then you start praying for the temperature to please rise!
And when it reaches above zero you start to celebrate the surprise!
But, this is winter in the Northern New England heights
Just make sure you have warm blankets to get through the nights!
Heidi Sands
1/14/19
Seasons
quarterly change
I love the transition
with wild temperature contrasts
from hot sizzling sunshine
to freezing cold
such bliss!
Seasons
quarterly change
new growth appears on trees
beautiful flowers start blooming
nature rejuvenates
days get longer
each spring
Seasons
quarterly change
annual vacation
on a glorious golden beach
enjoy time outdoors in
scorching sunshine
summer
seasons
quarterly change
foliage starts to fall
twirling leaves of red and orange
we warm by the fire as
nights get colder
autumn
Seasons
quarterly change
some bitterly cold days
flurries of snowflakes start falling
kids build big snowmen and
dress warmly in
winter
Checked with how many syllables each stanza 2,4,6,8,6,4.2
Heptastich Poetry Contest
Sponsored by William Kekaula
05/20/21
I look up at the clouds above me and I feel the weight of nature dancing around me and the colors keep changing, the mountains are shaking and my heart is breaking.
It is not the heartbreak you get when you fall in love or the feeling you get when the day is done; it is the heart break of the unknown and the depth that you feel when your emotion is real and reality is forcing you out of the town.
The morning with its architectural designs wraps its passion around the divine and the drawing in the middle of the ceilings reveal an eighteen century meaning but the pattern in the corner of the roof, is not Dante, Picasso or Michelangelo, it is one baked in modern truth and the story the teacher told in the prime of our youth.
The rain is hiding in the clouds and the birds are loitering about and I felt a sudden urge to sing; I have no words, or instrument but just the colors gliding in the clouds that tell me what life is about.
I breathe my thoughts on the leaflet and the moisture from my breath creates meaning on the page and the heavens starts to blaze.
I run my finger through the imaginary shapes surveying the texture and lines in the corners, those designs can be traced back in time and the evidence is there staring at you and all of a sudden you get a break through but some things never go away.
Spring has come and gone and summer is waiting for me in the temperature over a hundred a fifty degree, everything changes so quickly and sometimes I am feeling very sorry, it is not the feeling that I would like to have or the one that ,makes me feel sad; it the mood that circulating in the air and the emotion that will cause you to fear.
The clouds are shaped in multitudes of colors and the wisdom of time is running around, taking you where destiny is bound, the color of life is mixed up in the atmosphere and I will tell you what you want to hear.
Take me to airport and I will show you how a simple design can turn things around and parachute the space ship out of the ground.
The colors in the clouds are wearing a brand-new gown.
We’re off on a hike to the vale below
As happy as can be
The trees are lovely shades of brown
As far as the eye can see
Can see
As far as the eye can see
The air is brisk; the sky is clear
And we have far to go
The temperature is falling fast
And there’s a hint of snow
Of snow
And there’s a hint of snow
It’s cold enough to see your breath
We’d best keep moving fast
The sun is now below the hills
And daylight will not last
Not last
And daylight will not last
The trail is fraught with rocks and roots
They like to grab your feet
If I don’t keep a sharp watch out
The ground and I will meet
We’ll meet
The ground and I will meet
The trail has gotten overgrown
It’s hard to read the lines
My eyes are always looking down
We tangle in the vines
The vines
We tangle in the vines
But Missy doesn’t care a bit
She’s caught the scent of deer.
With all the racket that we make,
They’re clearly nowhere near.
Not near
They’re clearly nowhere near
And then ahead, quite close to us
Just right up on the trail,
I see a bobbing up and down
Of lifted, bouncing tails
Of tails
Of lifted, bouncing tails
It’s such a blessed place to be
Just me and Missy Girl
I wouldn’t have it otherwise
Be elsewhere in the world
The world
Be elsewhere in the world
The carcasses of forests past
lie strewn upon the floor,
And with the wind that’s blowing in,
There’ll soon be several more
Be more
There’ll soon be several more
A homestead thrived here long ago
Scant few stacked stones remain
Did they find peace and solitude?
Or mostly toil and pain?
And pain
Or mostly toil and pain?
I often think about those folks:
With all the struggles that they faced,
If they too knew, just as I do,
The Lord is in this place
This place
The Lord is in this place
It’s time to turn and head back home
Scale up the wooded hill
I’m eager to return again
Anticipate the thrill
The thrill
Anticipate the thrill
Each time I journey to my vale,
I get a hint of grand designs
As though I drew the curtain back
Saw glimpses of divine
Divine
Saw glimpses of divine
Morning breath of love upon the seat of hope, here we are again my friend
walking ourselves through a life journey with arms wide open & heart awake
The song of the angels settles in as we breathe softly, Mother Earth and all
her sacred gifts.
Take a deep breath in/Hold/breathe out
Your sacred contract sits on God's mantle, your name is etched in gold on parchment papers of old. You matter most dearly to Him, awaken dear soul and live your life with purpose. Leave behind all the noises and the clatter of your busy life and go run with the wild wild horses through the winds of nature.
Take a deep breath in/Hold/breathe out
Still your thoughts but let your soul move through the sound barriers of time
Forget the hour and lose yourself in the sound of the humming stars as they
shed their light on you. Given their temperature range, their colors fluctuate
Red, Orange, Yellow-White, they bathe you, in auric shades of heaven
Take a deep breath in/Hold/breathe out
evening breath of passion igniting your inner being, remember to always do
your best, and then leave the rest to God,
Amen !
Take a deep breath in/Hold/breathe out
Nothing grows there anymore not even the old tree stump can be found, the land is barren and empty, the plants have dried up, just thorn and thistle can be found, the land is vast and it used to have acres and acres of sweet corn growing, one crop harvest proceed the other and all of a sudden the damage was done and nothing is left on the ground.
The sun peeps slowly over the burning hill streaming through thick shrubs and laden trees and I watch the village burn and the temperature grows and trees fall apart from broken dreams. The twisted vine on the cedar tree tied up the village, wrapping up the branches and leaves and absorbing the nutrients around and sending more heat into the ground.
Nothing grows there anymore, the lake has dried up and the fresh water fish is gone and all that is left is tears in my eyes and miles upon miles of burnt land with charred remains of human and animals scattered all around and nothing was left on the ground.
The cows used to feed over there, and the sheep used to graze up there and the olive and grapes used to thrive over there; what on earth has gone wrong something must have poisoned and suck the substance out of the land. Just the building frames are standing there and the mound on the hill stands still.
There are several of them around symbolize that the spirit of the dead can no longer be fed. They are still lingering around searching for a home more than a thousand of them used to occupy the land but no one is there, they are all gone, It came like a thief in night and left behind a woeful sacrifice behind just few of them escaped before daylight.
The land of nothingness stood bear, the land of nothingness has nothing to share; nothing can grow or survive there, and everyone has to leave there, the universe will shake that place the land of nothingness will go to waste. Get the 2.5 million people out of that place before it’s too late the earth has come back to occupy its place.
Ripples of gawk and gaze splendour,
at one’s fingertips eternally,
cornucopia an instant dream float,
golden gust garner without rein,
indulgent Pysche extract from nirvana,
but voyage of the quadrille quill,
on impact whilst a glittering weave,
admission of luxurious environment,
a stimulus awakening the verse vendor,
bursts of benevolent vista stoic,
enigmatic present minute float on by,
capture, rapture, entranced,
hue spike,
glorious basket of heaven etching,
giant svelte image rich shape,
wavering temperature to plummet or plunge,
pepper spray haze form hover,
whisper from the coral reef,
fringe reef encircling pale shore,
yellow grain easel’s uproar,
such an ocean flourish aqua cache,
in peril of blind omission,
stunned by opulent ream,
convergent notion ink well teaser,
bewitching hypnotist plump root,
peerless mist adrift now befogged,
petrichor as potent eco aftermath,
but afterthought I treat with scorn,
warm sunshine donor of earthly fragrance,
post jewel sprinkled rainfall,
intermittent wet and dry spots,
inspirational when deft mind hyper vigilant,
with eyes bound to dilate,
as billows of peep day steam,
wend mystically in crystal whorls,
stanza recess now ornate carousel,
of glints from embedded nugget,
hasp and hung mute on. chant,
glowing prompt beyond impetuous,
novel aspiration’s ignition key,
to offset dormant chapter spun,
embryonic phrases bold surrender
My pocket like a onion
I eat onion a lot,
Cos I feel so good about it taste,
The flavour from my lips,
scare's men that gossip,
away from me,
My pocket like an onion,
I understand the benefit,
of an onion
It lower my headache,
Help relax my body temperature,
A white herb,
Yet when I slice the onion
Tears run down my eyes,
Like a man moaning his wife,
My pocket like an onion,
Like a jungle,
Like a ghetto,
Life is painted with a fight,
Where Struggling is ovious,
Like a do me, I do you,
Competiting for survival,
In a tiny line of opportunity,
My pocket like an onion
When it comes to money,
The space of the rich,
to the poor,
Is largely clear,
in the third world,
People always eager,
To do something,
But still found,
nothing to do,
My pocket like an onion
When I was a boy,
I was never worried,
about tommorow,
Cos! In my youth,
I never understood,
what the system is all about,
I never worked,
cos I was at school,
My parent provides,
all that it take,
Papa use to say! son,
one day you will be a man,
I love when he says that,
cos! it create a joy in me,
Doe I never understood,
the gravity behind his words,
Now am older,
Is time to be a man,
My pocket like an onion
I found my self working,
First job In Africa,
It like a play,
The wages,
was nothing to write home about,
working so hard,
For a common wage,
when I check my pocket,
Hmmmmmm........, is a word,
No comment,
My pocket like an onion
throwing out all in my pocket,
Yet nothing is found,
So bitter I grief,
Is a funny world right?
tears run down my eyes,
Like when I slice the onion,
Cos of an empty pocket,
After a hard day job,
My pocket like an onion,
situation like this still
Exist in the third world,
On a high scale,
Where empty pocket,
Provokes one to shade tears
like when u slice an onion,
What a past life experience,
My pocket like an onion!
She knows every member of her beautiful family,
and she's eager to call each of them by name.
She knows their gift and how to best use them.
She calls the ARTIST to beautify the landscape;
to paint those golden colors of leaves in the trees
that overwhelms us with the wonders of God's creation.
The season of Autumn reminds the TREES that their shady
chores are done and beckon them to release their leaves
to be blown in the wind, creating scenes and signals of Fall.
She waves to her gentle giant in the sky and whispers words
of calm and poise for the SUN to lower its temperature. She
calls upon the ATMOSPHERE to create the feel of a holiday and
festivity; to unveil the spirit of gratitude and merriness. she
acknowledges imperfection and apologizes for deadly storms.
100522PSCtest, A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry