Long Unseasonably Poems
Long Unseasonably Poems. Below are the most popular long Unseasonably by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unseasonably poems by poem length and keyword.
Soft as a snowflake falls
and melts on the earth still warm
December roses dare to bloom
Winter is calling her seasons firm
Like a love that is fragile and shy
December roses unseasonably stay
soon the winds of winter will arrive
and blow your petals away
The nights frost is heavy
the winds chill the ground
the snow begins falling so strong
In snowflakes the roses drown
Beauty can be fragile
with a smile that is wry
Nature enforces her seasons
December roses freezing goodbye
Like a love short but long remember
December roses dare to display
pretty roses to treasure
gifted by warmth of odd December days
One rose the month surrender
into a poetry book I pressed
So I can look and remember
December roses of warmth's kiss
while luxuriating in the boughs aching
to imbibe solar raiment golden this summer like
february twenty first two thousand and eighteen
when old man took a mandatory brake
from mister sun spilling forth
unseasonably balmy temperatures
equated from this human drake
swallow wing hard taking
respite delighting, holistically
lolling (nar gagging) obliviously par
taking paradise magical optical pulsations,
a desperate need to succor dehydration
that found me relinquishing
a coveted reading nook and cranny,
this explanation not "FAKE"
excuse withholding appeasing,
an unrelenting paroxysm
watering parched palette
suck ceded to abend
imagination immersion
linkedin radiant nirvana basking (like a robin)
while feeling spell bound by this warm weather
unseasonably tropic teaser came to an end
drew the analogy how indomitable
joie de vivre kneading love intend
ding, sans partaking draught found wealth
between bounded pages doth mend
moe so than any medication
(akin to placing a wager sparring rivals)
desire for on par,
when body needs replenishment of fluids
thus...deferring self
for healthy pleasant liquid to slake
in an effort to curtail parched mouth
felt as if being scraped
by a lab bot tummy sized rake
thence entire corporeal being
didst shimmy and shake
analogous within mine
so many dozen square feet parameters
thee earth didst quake.
thence upon gulping sweet pineapple juice
(to evade dole drums)
a poem yours truly decided to make.
In the quiet before dawn,
As a waning quarter moon rises
The click clack of my Mastiff's steps beside me
The roar of motors a mile away
On a farm to market road.
The stars are bright this morning.
Even bright enough to say hello despite the street lights and house lamps.
The air is cool and crisp, unseasonably so
Normally it would feel like a sauna.
Birds are gathering breakfast for their youngins,
And the occasional polecat is unperturbed by my presence.
It's not a country thing
It's not a city thing.
But it is my thing
This walk every morning
Doing my part to wear down the cement
In this wild place in which I live.
A sultry Sunday afternoon at Shady Acres, unseasonably warm for February. Outside not a breath of air stirs. Heat, a shimmering wall, rises from a blacktopped circular drive. Sprinklers spray, and water sweeps in waves splashing on red-flowering bottlebrush shrubs that hummingbirds love so well. Inside are comfortable chairs and couches covered in cool Haitian cotton, area rugs with a Persian design in rose and beige, potted ficus and dwarf palms, and prints of quaking aspens and gardens artfully arranged on eggshell-tinted walls.
In this tranquil, tasteful place where no one really wants to be, an old woman sits alone in a corner staring vacantly out a window, a smudged and faded valentine clasped tightly in her gnarled right hand, the words "Will you be…" barely legible after so many years.
She sits where she sits every day, patiently waiting for something…or someone…she can't quite remember which. Perhaps it's the old man sitting alone in another corner of the same room staring out another window, trying to remember somewhere he was supposed to go, something he needed to do, someone he wanted to see.
Author's note: Dear reader, this is not, of course, a poem...exactly...but, since it's far too short to qualify as a story, perhaps it can pass as a "vignette" for Valentine's Day.
No matter unseasonably
blustery March like weather
prevails across my neck of the woods
(Southeastern Montgomery County, Pennsylvania)
and across the main body
of these United States of America
particularly original Thirteen Colonies
global warming alive and well
and promises to return
with a vengeance
after station identification.
Find out pertinent ice age accouterments;
gear up as soon as possible
with suitable and necessary arctic trappings
by accessing without delay
https://icetrek.com/equipment-guide.
Researchers used data on Earth's orbit
to find the historical warm
interglacial period that looks
most like the current one
and predicted that the next ice age
would usually begin within 1,500 years.
Now back to regularly scheduled program
donned and trumpeted as poetic blurb.
Incumbent onus warrants immediate action
to stem tide of global warming
or erect breakers to thwart dire crisis,
cuz figurative and literal tsunami
in the offing gathering strength.
Plethora of humans (think overpopulation)
directly linkedin to planet Earth dire strait
re: environmental catastrophe, née debacle
teeters along brink tipping point inevitably
pitching civilization headlong into oblivion
*****sapiens (minus those living off grid)
admirably self sufficient unto themselves,
perhaps ecological intentional community
while yours truly, one guilt ridden wordsmith
laments impacting minimal carbon footprint
(courtesy these thankful little feet size nine+)
nonetheless psychological torment wracks
lovely bones garden variety/generic human
specifically comprising complex edifice me
Matthew Scott Harris riven with loathsome
abomination, constipation, indignation, et al
mustered, tethered, yoked into capitalistic,
commercialistic, consumeristic ditto et alia
versus altruistic holistic, simplistic again re:
call synonymous words regarding contrast
between belching, exhausting, and polluting
(naming three adjectives describing impact
predominantly nsync with prophetic albeit,
profit oriented profligate, profane paradigm
unleashing immense global carbon emissions.
Good morning, Spring.
I saw you yesterday for the first time in 2024.
I did not know how long you had been standing
there. My wife saw you sometime before I did
but failed to inform me.
Honestly, Spring, although it is unseasonably
warm where we live, I did not expect to see
you in February.
Anyway, you are always beautiful and so full
of life, and yesterday was no exception. You
were pretty and pink in the peach tree, and
greenish with a tiny bit of white in the plum
trees, but the pear and pecan trees as well
as the crape myrtle trees were not ready for
your touch of Spring.
Oh, Spring, I hope you don't get hit this year
with a late spring freeze. That could change
everything.
It was great seeing you, my friend. I look forward
to many more of your great displays and beautiful
scenery. Until then, my dear Spring friend.
022824PS.
I like hammocks.
I like buzzing bees.
Unseasonably warm days.
Or maybe more like hours…
In April, things get taken out.
Then put away again.
My favorite shorts.
My favorite flowers.
My favorite everything.
Even when it’s supposed to be cold and stormy tomorrow…
We don’t believe it.
So we pull out clunky lawn furniture.
And mow the grass which has only grown a few millimeters.
Today is April 22nd.
Don’t leave any metal tools out.
Or they will be rained on and get rusty.
I thought the rust was over.
It’s as if March is haunting us.
In about a week, it will be May.
We should be excited.
As the grass grows and grows endlessly.
But today, it is still April.
Hopelessly April.
Swath of pristine tractless snow white landscape...
tell tale sign where
winter storm Demi left her mark.
Beautiful and bountiful visual scene
(seldom seen around
tri-state geographic area
for quite a few years,
where temperate global warming
spelled unseasonably warm winters)
trumps the inauguration
for breathtaking view.
Immaculate conception birthed
awesome aesthetic spectacular
blinding heavenly creation.
I feel humbled
as an infinitesimal know nothing
wrought into existence
courtesy billions of years
evolutionary fits and starts,
and will exit stage door left
barely impacting the cosmic schema.
Memories accumulated across
six plus decades astride oblate spheroid
upon sixty plus shades of gray matter
sights and sounds transiently,
yet indelible impressions lasted a lifetime
eventually taken to the grave,
(or rather more eco-friendly crematorium),
which lovely bones once reduced to ashes
will leave nary a trace videre licet,
where joys and sorrows
dwelt within mine temple mount
unbeknownst to humanity
unless one attests to spiritus mundi
housing each and every personal record
that livingsocial (and more often
as an egalitarian, latitudinarian, proletarian,
solitudinarian, and unitarian) did emboss,
though uneventful existence,
would find any incorporeal passerby to gloss
tittering at reputation as spindleshanks
no doubt resulting
where chromosomes and genes
of interspecie breeding did intercross,
yet leaving some lucky *****sapiens
descendents of simian forebears
with eye catching physical characteristics
cases in point Heidi Kloss
or the waifish
former supermodel Kate Moss
testimony that either the former
or latter pleasing specimens
fortified with raw bits,
(and maybe even smattering
Norwegian bachelor farmers
big strapping men's bloodline
rumored heifer and angus outcross),
whose claim to eternal fame popularized,
and brought them renown fame
linkedin to "aphrodisiac hidden oomph"
of powder milk biscuits) sic erat scriptum.
Wednesday, January 27th,
unseasonably warm by a few degrees
black and white of old snow
and soon to be new trees rest
against smoldering grey clouds.
The “wolfy” wind rests
tired from Tuesday’s “huffing and puffing”.
An urgent stillness greets the silence,
birds warily peer from stilled hangouts,
discarded food wrappers sleep in the alleys,
“Old Glory” hangs listless and burdened,
soft yellow windows blink – focus on the day.
A lone dog barks reclaiming his territory
from the nightly interlopers,
in the distance coyote’s yip
calling the children home to bed.
The old clock ticks as the sun
struggles to disperse the cloudy veil,
filtered light casting no shadows
on the black and white union of grey.
John G. Lawless
1/27/2016
Like A Fire Cat - Teaser Taste Of Spring...
Did Fistbump With Ole Man Winter
Once again, this fella alights
this poetaster and trots out weather,
nope not cuz freezing cold bites,
this poetic instance highlights
spate of unseasonably warm temperatures
circa early February 2019,
melting oppressive plights,
whereby totally tubular solar balm
energizes and alights
to zoom into heavenly heights
pleasantly zapping dendrites
with heaven sent
sunny rays, which excites
every fiber of this fella, writes,
a diametrically opposite
meteorological pleasure
pitch perfect to fly kites
versus torturous blast, sans
polar vortex arctic
cold one futilely fights,
where no complaint as
ecstasy knows no heights,
asper in above average winter
cathartically, holistically,
therapeutically... quiets
cabin fever with sneak
preview of summer -
skipping over stone temple rites
of spring despite dramatic
unseasonably warm weather
this anomaly nonetheless delights
this wordsmith voluntarily
holed up days and nights
from bone chilling, crushing brutal
(cudgel wielding) cold
understandably inducing flights
of fantasy imagining
(like...just yesterday)
hightailing to tropical
island paradise sights
blinds this sun worshipper
twittering revelling,
basking with robins
noah matter an old gipper
slakes insatiable thirsts
nsync with teetotaling
brewster herbalist honeydripper
ah... methinks this clime
makes me chipper
recalling good ole times
feeling like a day tripper
sprawled out atop roofed mansion
fronting happy hunting grounds
upon memory steadfast gripper
amidst haunting demesne
of "Glen Elm" transformed
courtesy where backhoes did stripper
of native flora and fauna
into ticky tack vinyl city for hipper
crats all in the name of progress!