Long Veers Poems
Long Veers Poems. Below are the most popular long Veers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Veers poems by poem length and keyword.
Above the heat
the sky is flecked with ice.
The sun is no longer burning,
it’s a ghost lamp swept by the rags
of a coat-tailing wind.
There it is - arriving out of a hazy distance
a living cliché, a Bald Eagle
It must have caught a thermal.
I think of all the medallions and coins
it has been stamped and embossed upon;
here it is
an existential exclamation mark.
The eagle veers away
turning deeper into the ice-blue.
No one witnesses this,
even my eyes watch cynically,
the jaded disappointment of this sadness
is darkening my sight.
All hail to the he American eagle -
slowly disappearing.
© 59 mins ago
....
Sir a moment of your time
Grand as hot as ell
A cavalcade
I thap pend 1 knight
Mute a knee was bountiful
The great z came
before the life of emile
you can't take it with you
its gone with the wind
Becca the new wife
How green wasp
My valley
Where i missed the mini divers
Cause a blank ehhh
Went my way
The lost week
End
The beast leers you olives
Gentle man just nods
Ham let all the kingsmen
all about
Evening found Gene in Paris
The great test
Shown earth
Foam hear
eternity eternity
On the water
Front smartly
Ate days around
The bridge
on the river?
G
G
Bend hurt
This part meant
We see this side of the story
Laws and rent are rabid
Tomb or just his watery locker
My lair shady
Muses of the sound
summer to summer a man
Neat in the height
oil veers the midnight
call boy Pat
On connecting with the french
God
father
Stinging the second coming
_________one___________
_________nest___________
cuckoo some call me
Rock and hall
Dear to hunt her
Creamer versus creamer
you ordinary people
You’d think a dog named Lucky,
Would lead a decent life.
But Lucky had his troubles,
And they followed day and night.
One day Lucky ran away
In search of greener pastures
Just to find a field ablaze,
Thus the start of his disasters.
Although Lucky didn’t die that day
And no limbs or parts were broken,
Lucky smelled of smoldered hair
And you’d swear he kept on smokin!
And Lucky liked to chase the cars,
Till the day he lost his nerve
When Lucky met a big ‘ol bus
That couldn’t stop or swerve.
I’m not sure just how it hit him
Or how he’s here today.
But he’s never walked straight since,
And one eye veers away.
My Lucky always clashed with cats
And was leery of their paws.
Until a “Tom” of forty pounds
Let Lucky feel his jaws.
Hair and fur balls filled the air
Like Cottonwoods a bloomin.
Poor ‘ol Lucky lost an ear,
And now looks twice as stupid.
I confess, I named him wrong
And why he stays, I’ll never know.
I guess that I’m the lucky one,
To have Lucky here at home.
Santa hasn’t drunk cocoa tonight,
and he’s not dressed in red trimmed with white.
In blue denim so cool,
he is toasting the Yule
with a drink surely not mixed with Sprite!
Santa’s drink was a little too red,
and I think we have something to dread,
for he’s now in the sky
and he’s flying “too high”
as his sleigh widely veers overhead.
Had been use for the Humor Contest of Carol Eastman
* Slab City is a snowbird campsite in the Colorado Desert in southeastern California, used by recreational vehicle owners and squatters from across North America. East Jesus is part of its artistic community.
Perhaps it's the reason that I can't stay?
Perhaps I'll find out what that is one day?
Social interaction and conformity
Sound like pretty stupid traits to want especially to me
I can't be tied down, I can't fit in the crowd
I can't live the life that supposes a life onto me
Be who you are, be what you want to be?
Except when that veers outside the bounds of what you got to be
I'll keep one eye on the now and one eye on the move
I'll keep looking behind so I know I won't lose
Always be prepared, always be semi-scared
Knowing life is not what it should or could be
A restless mind not trying find the path of certainty
A cold soul that extracts itself from what people want it to be
Stand in the shallows and watch as they fall into the deep
Sociopathic tendencies fester deep inside the core of me
When life is good let it flow, let your mind feel free
See the blade of fate, the sharp edge of destiny
Turn the knife to ensure what you feel is so real
Trapped mind, trapped soul, escape and be free
Runaway, runaway, run far away from this thing you should be.
Today, March 8th is International Women’s Day. After centuries of relentless struggle, are women happier today…? Can’t say! Despite all claims to equality and progress, women are still at the back seat struggling to balance between her work and domestic chores. Alarmingly assaults on women have skyrocketed in our land than never before, especially in some of the Asian countries. Some thoughts on this ‘great day’
She dies a hundred times,
In the throes of spite and neglect
In the agony of betrayal
In the shame of defeat
Yet alive with charred spirits
And deep burns that shall not heal.
Shut in the cage of servitude
She lives an ugly duckling!
Fed on taunts and threats
Drunk on slander and slight
Smothered by age old mores
Manacled by custom and tradition.
A door mat under crushing feet
An expendable commodity
Bartered away,
Or
Bought at the highest bid.
A toy to play with
A curio wrapped in folds
To be disrobed before feasting eyes
And torn apart by man’s beastly lust
A chattel to be pawned and pledged
A chalice to be cast away
When emptied of its contents.
Yet, she is silent
Mute like a dumb animal.
Oh No! It's time to break this silence....
However, nemesis will take hold.
Please know, there lies an ember
Down beneath the dying hearth.
As the wind veers around,
The smoldering charcoal would blaze
Growing into a wild fire,
With tongues of flame leaping into the sky
That would ravage the Earth
Leaving nothing
But,
Heaps of coal
And piles of ash!
A bird of grandiose stature, he struts the veld
do not anger him for his powerful kick
can main or even kill. Gently he watches
over his brood their mother left long ago.
It falls onto him to incubate their eggs.
Impressive wing span as he shades his chicks
from the relentless midday scorching sun.
Watch those long legs hammering away
as he chases off a rival who strays too close.
Yet for all his strength and size a pea of a brain
famous for hiding his head in the sand
as if it will make him invisible from sight,
he does look so weird bum stuck up in the air.
Attracted by anything that glitters
he gobbles up all sorts of weird things.
Once tamed his joy is to run in races but rarely
in a straight line as he veers here and there,
oft times leaving mayhem in his wake.
As dusk falls he gathers up his brood
and struts off into the setting sun
his life is really quite a simple one
with freedom to roam the sunlit veld.
You read poetry for the survival that filters through its lines
Poetry that promises healing
no matter wars in distant lands
Poetry's brash cracks of hope as the planet veers
off kilter in disarray
with lines idling, a narrow gush of pleasure
Poetry with a script of heroes
that wipes away the mess of life,
earth's crowded house of frenzy
Poetry with multi layered meanings
most a fog, like digital tech updates
Poetry to sanitize the world, which it won't
Poetry to restore the thin crust of political civility,
which it doesn't
And if you're the last person to see the light,
poetry won't save you
Still your need to read poetry expands
a validation of landscapes unseen
a lighthouse in a world of complications
for sometimes verses lift your thinking
for sometimes lines breath through you.
Poem revised: May 5, 2021
Above the heat
the sky is cooling, it’s blue is flecked with ice,
its ghost-written lamp
swept by the upended rags of
a coat-tailing winds
It is a fact
that standing on a high ledge sky-watching the distance
is quintessentially majestic
whether you are a Hitler or a Gandhi
it is its own poetry,
I would strike a heroic pose,
but assume no one else is watching.
There it is - arriving out of a far place,
a living cliché.
The Bald Eagle is high for a natural born scavenger,
soaring above this place where no rabbit runs to hide.
It must have caught a thermal,
let the sky fly it up here.
This whole scene is symbolic.
I look behind me, still no one else here.
It comes nearer,
I think of all the jaded medallions it has been
stamped and embossed upon,
yet here it is
just an existential exclamation point in time,
as I am.
For a moment I am clothed in a noble grandeur
then in a bitter blink
splattered by a smearing of unspeakable crimes.
The eagle veers away
turning deeper into the ice-blue
perhaps it was alarmed or dismayed
by this self-regarding figure
posturing for posterity
upon a highly shaky prospect?
Drenched in the glow of sunburst crimson sky
verdant vale veers at foot of jade hills,
on gentle slope fawn leaves rustle with sigh,
wind carries to the deep stream down the rills,
sketching the leaping silver water line
on rocks carving the course of pristine art,
lucid in murmur on pebbles, some shine
bright, some drape with malachite moss their heart.
Walking long on contours of crystal stream,
of emerald plain’s scene I’ve not lost sight,
see, from lilac sky descends golden gleam
of twilight as I watch the fall of night.
I wait for dawn to see me in your eye
drenched in the glow of sunburst crimson sky.
May 15, 2019
Contest : Nature Scene-Orphan Sonnet
Syllable count : 10 each line
Checked on howmanysyllables.com