Long Unobstructed Poems
Long Unobstructed Poems. Below are the most popular long Unobstructed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unobstructed poems by poem length and keyword.
Cold Season…
I feel the winter calling
The cold season blowing on the wind
I want to send my spirit soaring
But it doesn’t know where to begin
I watch the leaves as they’re falling
Changing colors I watch them twist and turn
Turning to the ground, I’m gazing back into the sky
To feel the frost; just as fire, burn…
I feel the winter calling
The cold season blowing on the wind
To me it seems the clouds are falling
And I’m wondering where I fit in
I see life through a picture window
Unpainted glass covering the expanse of the frame
My unobstructed view of the trees bending in the wind
Wondering if the view will ever change
Or if it will ever be the same again…
I feel the winter calling
The cold season blowing on the wind
I want to send my spirit soaring
But frozen, it doesn’t know where to begin…
I was driving to my grannies country home after the end of a dinner invite with friends in town, about 40 miles away.
There was news of the oddity prior to my first visual contact, that entertained my youthful glassless eyes for the near full length of this drive and that thing be an unobstructed view.
I'm talking about Comet Kohoutek, of 1973. Admittedly, the spectacle looked like a toy when the tail drops a bit then ups a bit.
The comet appeared blunted, like some dream, or like a string on a kite but cut severely short.
On the opposite end, being my left-side drivers window, directly is the moon over the ocean, and the comet more left of my driver's window, heading towards town that I had just left.
The moon fronts my drivers window, the comet in my rear window, wondered with that comet out there--where is everybody?
Ah, that's the answer, it's driving out to the country, with the length of a beach one side, the moon in front, comet rear, and that is why nobody's here.
... and not because it's two in the morning.
You are my spring.
You make me feel alive!
It is as if I haven't been breathing
And you are my first taste of forest air.
The ringing of your heart
Is like the sounding of a tiny bell
That wakes me from my lethargy.
You call me the Reason For Your Smile
And I wonder how a Rose like you
Could burn even brighter
With a Holy Fire
Because you have felt my kiss
O! There is no better Day
Than the Day on which you were born,
For in the great graph of Life
There is recorded the first Rainbow
And it shone for you
Like the first Promise that God
Was happy
When we met.
All pure and unobstructed
By the moon,
Your Sun shines better
Than the Night.
But Night, ah Night!
Glows with the Radiance of your singing Star!
I call you Venus!
Bright Star of the Morning
And I celebrate
Your coming unto me!
Growing up in Ohio it was easy to find my Christmas spirit with the snow and cold within my reach…but after moving to Florida I wondered how I’d ever find my Christmas spirit in the warmth or on the beach.
Well I must admit despite my initial reservations…(yes, even I am stunned)
to discover there is that Christmas spirit…down here in the Florida sun.
It’s in a walk on the beach before the sun rises…for no matter which way you choose to go…the moonlight whitens the sand and you find yourself walking barefoot in the snow.
You quickly come to realize you’re not the only one enjoying a southern Christmas-land
as you pause to enjoy a snowman built completely out of sand.
For Christmas lights look to the stars in the sky…as they twinkle through the trees
or to their shimmering reflections they create upon the sea.
When the sun begins to peek over the horizon illuminating the sea and ground…
you find a million different ornaments strewn upon the ground.
Which makes you walk a little slower…more carefully through this ornament surprise…stopping every now and then to pick one up…to admire it’s color, shape or size.
You appreciate their beauty…how smooth they feels…each one a unique sight to see
then you place them back upon the sand…where nature intended them to be
A little further down the beach you marvel where the tide had visited before receding off the land…for in her wake she’s left behind rows of garland on the sand.
And you don’t have to walk very far…to find a topper for your tree
Your can choose between an angel in the clouds…or a starfish from the sea.
It turns out if you walk along the beach in December in Florida…
where your view is unimpeded…unobstructed…
you can find your Christmas spirit…in a Christmas deconstructed.
It’s not the Ohio Christmas I grew up celebrating…
but one walk along the beach makes it abundantly clear…
in Florida…a deconstructed Christmas…is one you celebrate all year.
There’s a reason why the windows
Don’t get cleaned but once a year
And the answer, like my windows now,
Is obvious and clear.
It’s an awful, dirty job and it
Takes effort, time and sweat,
With an unobstructed view the only
Bonus that you’ll get.
If you live in an apartment,
On a floor up several flights,
Then the misery’s compounded
By the dizziness of heights.
For each time I grab a window,
I can picture my descent
And my husband in the doorway
Wondering where the hell I went.
Still, with rolls of paper towels
And a Windex, all a’spritz,
All the grime that I’ve been granted
Has just up and called it quits.
Now the vistas of the city
Are there beckoning to me;
Though they might have done so prior,
There was no way I could see!
Australian Ancient Depths Of Time
Under deserts rusting tides of red
Mountains once collapsed themselves into the clay
Became flat lands stilted while sun hung ornate on the humble quiet
Beauty remained unobserved, unobstructed, ageless
At this point in time my team and I, consisting of two guides
Walked gently along soft earth near a simple gorge
Mules and archaeological tools fell through to darkness
Deep in the hole one man tumbled, crippled, died
The mules too met an ugly fate as well
My other man and I survived
Crawled for hours through a narrow passage in the underworld
In the labyrinth of black, accompanied by barely breathable air
Fear and hunger took hold
Our mental faculties began to fail
With no way out, we struggled on
By quirk or chance we happened on an open chamber
To stand, to glance, to reconnoiter an unknown civilization
Covered by time, embraced by centuries safe keeping
Thick vases found in sandy walls housed oils
I had matches and some rope to light our way at last
Other vases filled with beans and herbs unearthed by us
Treasures to save us from starvation!
Olive oils tasted nasty, black beans were worse
But Australia’s hidden depths were fascinating finds
We tied ropes around our new supplies, dragged them behind
The maze, the cave, gave us many bones and pottery for exploration
We hope the ancients will forgive us for eating all their food
I think they no longer need it in the tomb
8/28/14 Contest - poem you have not entered in a past contest # 11
Last time it rained was in April.
It did not rain that much,
but it was enough to dirty everywhere.
You see, it was a south easterly wind
and the clouds arrived laden with sand from the north African desert.
That was nearly five months ago, and the farmers are already up in arms,
bemoaning lack of water as they till the arid soil.
dust flies in the air
the sun blazes overhead
sweat drips profusely
Prayers have not gone unanswered!
Dark clouds creep from behind the hills
fast multiplying, ominously, obliterating the blue.
The calm hot air is ruffled by a timid breeze which soon turns
to gusty wind. A sudden horizontal flash followed by drawling thunder
precedes a few big drops of rain which testily hit the ground.
increase of tempo
deafening cymbals clash
erupting deluge
Water gathers then flows steadily down the streets;
thirsty fields drink greedily; trees bathe in delight, relishing
heaven’s kiss of life on their moribund leaves, roots breathing in relief.
Then, worn out, the wind slowly abates; so do the thunder and the rain.
The clouds shyly disperse, permitting an unobstructed view of the sky above.
Satiated, the sundrenched land savours the afterglow.
sensual appeal
petrichor emanation
veins pleasantly throb
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Rain Rain Come My Way
Sponsor: binibining P.iNk
8th June 2016
And it is a beautiful thing
And in a thought I find
this wishy washy mind moving
in circular patterns, drinking from the trough
Searching for an answer,
bending beneath the fluorescent light
flickering as if giggling
Dry mouthed positioning stands
on a checkerboard carpet,
placed out of sheer desperation
along the corridor
of the loneliness that feeds off of
every desire, every want, every dream…
including this one
Still, within these flourishing storms
there is a peace, a calm existence
A non-wavering clarity, smudge free,
allowing an unobstructed view
of the endless possibilities
awaiting each step,
each thought, each question
When I permit myself to look inward,
delve deep into the recesses
and paint the madness in gaily colored hues,
rainbows on the horizon
of this mind…
and it is a beautiful thing
10/08/18
For the Brainstorm Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
never thought i would make a friend again
everyday i am in kindergarten raising my hand to be chosen
i am again a space alien with flatulence and bad halitosis
yet i now have a friend and replies now come with air conditioning
never thought i would make a friend again
everyday i reach for a sky with barb wire around every temperamental cloud
i am again a freak show in a cage on a forgotten road to nowhere
yet i now have a friend and replies now come with unobstructed views
never thought i would make a friend again
everyday i walk on a beach overrun with careless seaweed that frigidly teases and bullies
i am again a quack job with too many bills and not enough oars
yet i now have a friend and replies now come with pure sincerity and unconditional love
A small lake
There was a lake not far from the white-washed hamlet
in the interior of the Algarve; on hot summer days, witnessed
by my dog, which shuddered at the thought.
It was a small lake surrounded by hillsides, modest
almost unobstructed, just water, no big deal
One day when driving past the lake had disappeared
a dent in the ground full of thistles and tine of tunny
Oh, come think of it, a rowing boat that once had been
optimistically blue, but now sad dried teardrops.
The plane between the hill where the lake lived
is a center for helicopter services; not that much I mind
but I would rather see the lake again in the moonlight.