Long Turfs Poems
Long Turfs Poems. Below are the most popular long Turfs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Turfs poems by poem length and keyword.
A frosty whitewash, whirling winter snow
smoothly shrouds a secret silent slumber.
Skies all awake, flying mosaics of row
music chirps cavort the sunset amber.
Gelid air turfs, chilled in birds of wonder
gliding through miles, unknown lands asunder.
Crackling wings flutter, snuggling in romance.
Distant forage calls, "Move till Sun is back".
Searching lakes and meadows, looks not askance.
Soaring high they perch, steer and gear in stack.
Feet tucked in wings, they roost in adhoc shack.
Coats, scarves, gloves, plummets an echelon track.
Cardinals and Bluejays, plump with fork tails.
Martins, Owls, Robins, in chorus engage.
Lens of cameras spy, beaks, wings and scales.
Moulting leafless trees, flamboys in plumage.
Willow, alder, birch, dark eyed Juncos stage.
Seeds and nuts in tree crevices, cold assuage.
Hope surviving Life....as Twitter migrates
Mystical Winter........ Marathon Flyways.
Dated 17th December 2018
submitted to Gregory R Barden's Strength thru Adversity contest.
HOW THE POEM HELPED ME GROW
As a beginner to the world of poetry, I always thought that sonnets were something very very difficult only to written by people as talented as Shakespeare. This was my first attempt to write a sonnet. For one whole week, I read all details about migratory birds, and almost gained an encyclopedia of knowledge. First time i realized how difficult it was to limit your thoughts to syllables and lines, and I struggled for another week to find and use correct words, counting syllables. The poem didn't get placed, but it gave me lot of confidence to attempt writing other forms of poems.
This poem was originally submitted to Winter Wonderland Poetry Contest
Urban Sonnet form ABABBB, CDCDDD, EFEFFF, GG
Poetrysoup Syllable counter- 10 syllable each line.
Sponsor Emile Pinet
Yellow flower, grieving flower, pale flower,
You were burnt by the sun and the hot rain.
Ripe flower, matured flower, immaculate flower,
You've indeed kept your phenomenal beauty sane.
The half-yellow and the half-green leaves
Are trying to mimic your beautiful color.
Mother Nature and Fauna are profusely in tears,
Squirrel and Nightingale are in a state of horror.
Flower of one of the most solemn and romantic seasons,
Your exceptional beauty merits great admirations
And your sweet and delicious sap is beyond words.
Flower, I'm coming tonight to rest on your turfs,
To contemplate the spots, the stars and the sparks,
The stranded branches and the rods floating in the parks.
Copyright © September 1997, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Ping Pong
A Game going on
Aus Govt \ DJOKOVIC
A Champion Vs Continent
Down Under A sport sinister
Short hearing Quick disbursal
He’s deported back to Serbia!
“Expelled for not taking drugs “
Undefeated undeterred Play ON
Mandatory needles Comply None
Healthy individual He scares CABAL
A sporting warrior now most Feared
Unprecedented rallying VAX NOVAK
A reminder a wake up call all SundrY
& Entertained TV - ADDICTS. !!!!!!!!!!
You can’t puncture A Rock by NEEDLE
A warrior is made in body and IN SPIRIT
Warriors trust thy blood sweat UNALTERED
Champs don’t ingest unproven ExperimentaL
Medicines can not be forced UPON A HEALTHY
Tyranny Under Public Health FALSE ARGUMENTS
Any sane and fit doesn’t need A LOADED SYRINGE
Leave that muck for the cattle and DRUG ADDICTS
Someone please tell me what’s FULLY VACCINATED
Real Men are NOT defeated by Altered DEFINITION
Tennis at High Tea now served With M-RNA FLUID
Who owns definition of health. for PUBLIC HEALTH
Who owns the sporting turfs. Grounds I Walk
Who defines our immunity TedRoss. Fauci
Our food and our intake. My blood Body
Unanswered Qns. Who Knows ? Gates
What makes Who ownsTest Labs
SPORTSMEN. Doctors?
What makes Politician
CHAMPIONS. - GOVTS.
What makes Who sells
A H U M A N. Snake oil
Who handles from butt
Organizations OF
CRINGE It is New Racket. Tennis grafted with A SYRINGE
Visual - Humans being made to comply with A Gun on Head
.
I am a cat, at home I’m Ollie
But fellow cats know real name
“Intrepid Vic”, I dig that, golly
Grey tiger, finest at his game
I am the boss around here
Them humans lacking any wit
In house of mine they live, oh dear
We take up space in even split
They’re sort of fun to be around
I’m free to roam, eat and sleep
They give me hugs, but I may frown
No mucho fondling or I leap!
There’s plenty do around the castle
Lick milk, meow and preen myself
To tug on curtain’s bushy tassel
And jump to kitchens’ highest shelf
To scratch the pole, chase own tail
Lay on keyboard when daddy writes
And have a drink without fail
I love the dripping faucet pipes
This cat hates bathing with a passion
The tongue is all you need, capeeche?
A counter walk is still in fashion
As diet of livers and the fish
Be engine to the cat-drawn carriage
Kids want to have for their doll
I play good sport, so I can manage
Paw dinner meat and have a ball!
To walk around, rubbing lightly
Against the people and the turfs
Affection? Nay, we rather rightly
Stake claim to lands, you naive serfs
The backyard run is fun and game
Chase birds and squirrels sans result
Stop screaming your approval, dame
I brought you mouse, not insult!
The fight with neighbors’ cat is tricky
We hate each other, what a schmuck
And stray feline escapes the quickie
Love interest gone, I’m out of luck
Then watch TV about tabbies
High time to purr enjoying snack
Dive into fishbowl acting grabby
Ascend the tree for doggie pack
Kids drive me crazy with a laser
I drive them nuts by hiding mum
Love being family’s hell-raiser
At times I’m meek but never dumb
A blade of grass to treat a sickness
Do know exactly what I need
And have that fur to show for slickness
“Meow the kitties!” is my creed
To plan a day some quiet time
I need in total solitude
Slink into curve ball for bedtime
Wake humans early for my food
This life’s intense and full of peril
And so much fun, it’s cats’ delight
Plans for tomorrow? They are feral
I have to sleep on them tonight
© 2022
Woman of rationality
not known to all men.
Countess of Mercia,
scent of a woman.
Lover of masses,
dream of sashes.
In anticipation
no other man tried,
Wooing the coveted one
fear of life taunts
nobody ever haunts.
A modest woman she was,
a clean woman that was.
Up in the hills
travels without fear,
down the hills she fills
with her voice people hear.
In many trails
she hops and drills.
In open seas
she crave for krills.
Strong woman thinks all,
grown woman walks tall.
In each flight she makes
no man's plight is at stake.
Never wondered how hard life is
In an instant, life heals.
For the strong woman without fierce
no hurting arrows can pierce.
Savagery is not bravery
for any lass of Coventry.
Thinking of good deeds that last
no heroism will rust.
Aigrettes pose as nobility,
not for lass of simplicity.
Half of Leofric,
Piece of heroic.
Levy for serfs,
burden of turfs.
Then one day casted
a lean woman's body...
body of beauty,
honor of beauty.
How the heroine perished
nobody cherished.
A living legend she was,
a myth that never was!
He mourned the loss of his love, for whose support his soul’s survival had come to desperately rely: Lenore!~ the only one less judgmental of his irrational, often self-destructive, passionate nature; who had committed herself loyally to embracing and nurturing Poe's celebratory poetic genius. Oh!~his tormented heart yearned, hopelessly seeking the peace, rest, comfort, an out-of-control creative furnace kept at taunting distance. Day and night, a throng of demons haunted his pen -- and her love, his only elixir of longevity. When she perished, so in spirit did he. Lenore, who had saved his immortal psyche from the abyss, was gone...and sealed then was his fate. Let it be stated, evil he was not! Insane? No writer of worth approaches the precipice normally; one does not begin such sojourn without the consultation of unseen protagonist-stars and other intangible celestial guides. The coffin he entered, dove deeply into dank crypts far more timid shrank from while yet alive; confronted phantoms of morbid despair and oblivion; sank with them in suffocating, evermore dreadful gloom, to suffer as they on their own abysmal turfs – remiss if not to speculate: like hideous creatures many of us will face upon death -- far less armed...for, unlike he~ not knowing.
Yellow flower, grieving flower, pale flower,
You were burnt by the sun and the hot rain.
Ripe flower, matured flower, immaculate flower,
You've nevertheless kept your phenomenal beauty sane.
The half-yellow and the half-green leaves
Are trying to mimic your beautiful color.
Mother Nature and Fauna are profusely in tears,
And Squirrel and Nightingale in a state of horror.
Flower of one of the most somber and romantic seasons,
Your exceptional beauty merits great admirations
And your sweet and delicious sap is beyond words.
Flower, I'm coming tonight to rest on your turfs,
To contemplate the stars and the sparks,
The abandoned branches and the rods floating in the parks.
Copyright 1997 Hebert Logerie
Author of Sparkles of Love recently published by Xlibris.com.
Copyright © October 1997, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
French version
Fleur d'Automne
Fleur jaune, fleur triste, fleur pâle;
Le soleil t'a brûlée et la pluie t'a échaudée;
Fleur mûre, fleur maturée, fleur immaculée;
Malgré tout, tu as gardé ta beauté phénoménale.
Les feuilles à moitié jaunes et à moitié vertes
Essaient de porter tes belles couleurs.
La nature et la faune sont inconsolables et en pleurs,
Les écureuils et les rossignols sont en état d'alerte.
Fleur d'une de la plus sombre et romantique saison,
Laisse-moi admirer ta beauté exceptionnelle
Et savourer encore ta douce et délicieuse salive.
Fleur, je viendrai, ce soir, m'étendre sur ton gazon.
Viens admirer les étoiles, les étincelles,
Les branches et les tiges abandonnées dans la rive.
Copyright © March 2008, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
When will Baz..Ben & their men ken..learn
Despite or to spite the "has beens" concern
Trouble to rubble only listen to their bubble
That Bazball trite shi*e they're always right
Be true to thine self.. the cover drive shelf
Lack that knack & gift to swiftly shift back
On pacy racy turfs where the conker surfs
Play it late and don't hit it on the up mate
Wafts of wishing fishing on the 5th stump
Down in the dump chump will then flump
Snag trumped by the ball that did rag jump
Nicked to slip or off the glove it did thump
Rascals debacles and wickets castled slump
Head more pizzazz..razzmattazz did gazump
Smoother purer surer bravura groover jazz
Baz did kowtow to an Aussie..now take a bow
OZ's wizard of the wood blizzard was that good
Y'all we should clearly really call it "TRAV or is that CHAV BALL !
From the gentle water flows and the mighty windy blows, to the weeping willow trees further down stream, to the white water rapids, rushing like wildebeests. It's where the leaves are flying steadily as birds beat a path for nesting trees before the winter. It's a large expanse and from our vantage point, we seem to be right in the center. A black bear stares in the distance calculating the danger, and refusing to be game, he moves on. In this wilderness barely touched by human kind and nowhere near being tamed, we blaze ahead on full alert as clouds roll across the horizon and night draws near. This is the home and playground of the wild and free, and we work on defying the fear because it's the home of the grazers, birds of prey, heavy meat eaters where the fittest survives and where all creatures large and small adapt as they fight for their turfs and thrive. Whether they are lillies of the valleys or grassy plains; lions, cheetahs, or crocodiles, they have but one request which is so similar to our own. Even the prarie dogs and the lizards beg to be left alone, and the born-free lives of the wilderness cry, "Let us migrate and saturate our own God-given habitats as we live and move by our own dictates, and let there be no debates; let there be nothing to discuss; just leave us the way you found us until we all return to dust".
032020PoSpCtest, Wild Country, Julia Ward