Long Vermont Poems
Long Vermont Poems. Below are the most popular long Vermont by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vermont poems by poem length and keyword.
The suburban pressure cooker expelled its multiethnic horde north. Laden with implements of leisure, bicycles, kayaks, canoes and camping gear; world weary travelers of urban and suburban bent surged north ever, north. Bucking, they wrenched in unison at road repairs, shunted into single lanes by flaming orange cones of warning like so many track horses at the gate. Tail bitten, truck locked windows up; the denizens drove forth cocooned in metal steeds seeking the clean air and open expanses, north.
Few, freer souls dare the unfiltered air of the artery, north on motorcycles or in convertibles, hoods down, or windows down, blaring an enlivening mantra of sixties rock as they shimmied forward in the in the endless conga line of commerce, past urban blight. The trip north became a Chaucerian Pilgrimage from Nutmeg State to the Green Mountain State of Vermont.
The border crossed, the sky opens wide-eyed, ridge rimmed dolphin gray clouds swim in a cerulean scene. Roadside picnic tables fill. Monarch butterflies flit in the breezes between majestic rows of pungent pines. The whoosh of traffic dulls and the robin’s call emerges over the roiling hills and gurgling brooks. Silence falls, complete; upon the entrance to the first gravel road. Heaven is immersed in the scent of fresh hay and sweet purple clover.
A time to weep, And a time to laugh;
Ecclesiates 3: 4
War is hell, and no one knows how or when it will end.
Proud men hungering for power always fail to comprehend.
Such men of blinded egos and troubled souls would rather die than cry.
My valiant soldier did not cry because he had become an amputee;
Nor were his tears born out of inability to set people free. He cried,
not for wounds incurred on the battle field; nor for being examined
and prescribed the wrong pill. Neither did he cry for being rejected on the home front. Nor yet because he was never honored by his state of Vermont. My valiant soldier did not cry because too few
bothered to understand. He cried for the thousands slaughtered on those blooded beaches of dirt and sand.
The tears of my valiant soldier were captured and placed in a bottle by an angel to be ever preserved in the presence of God. His tears were not for the lives he was forced to take, nor for the bravery he displayed in the rescue of others, but because he earned such respect and high regard. He was so humbled by such attention that he cried.
My valiant soldier cried mostly for his fallen comrades whose love he had to confer to their grieving loved ones. He cried because it was never clear why peace wasn't given a chance to save such dear sons. My valiant soldier also cried because he lost his own brother by a random shooting in an American city.
070522PSCtest, Tears of a valiant Soldier, Faraz Ajmal
Smell The Season Sunshine
Sunlight sparkles dance a fervent ballet on the lake waking up summer
solitude.
Walk outside and breathe the pine fragrance in,
smell the season sunshine, you really can.
Listen for the good morning call of the loon.
Spear-like feathers,
focused red eyes,
a checkered neck, she ____glides_____.
Can you spot a dragonfly darting?
Watch a splashing duck diving?
Hear the tiny buzzing of a ruby-throated acrobat sipping?
Nearby there are petite, peeking heads poking through pine needles.
They are turtles, turning over leaves, tasting worms for a treat, neat!
Exposed by a ray of sunshine on a little moss carpet, fat, furry cheeks
guard their nutty treasures as though they were jeweled truffles.
A chipmunk is finally full.
I spy a trout breakfast held between the talons of an Osprey. What a find!
Darn, wish it was mine!
Fishing is finishing fast. Oh please, just one more
cast. I wish summer would last.
Anchored boats in the bay once used to bring home fish
'tails' retire on rocks to rest.
The sunset coaches the day to come in signaling a woodland lullaby to
begin.
Fireflies tapping at my window beckoning to come in.
Moonlight melts into a path I wish I could follow,
maybe tomorrow.
Anxious autumn now knocks at summer's door,
impatient to rain chilly color on the forest floor.
Now,
burrows will be built,
caves constructed,
and dens designed ...busy.
Mud homes will be dug by frogs and bugs.
Cider served in pounded copper mugs.
Covered bridge rides.
Pumpkin pies.
Tourists in Vermont. What do they want?
Where to find Granny Smith?
She waits for you in my tree. Bring your camera, you'll see.
Candles,
lanterns,
fairy lights,
sweater nights.
Good morning purple, red, and brown,
enchanting autumn sights and sounds.
Walk outside and breathe the maple fragrance in,
smell the season sunshine, you really can.
I met an old man in Atlantic City, in a library by the shore
Through the glass, the ocean shimmered, he couldn't ask for more
He said he'd been retired since his wife had passed away
His kids scattered across the land, it was hard to fill the day
He spoke about Dobbs Ferry library, there sunset paints the sky
From balconies he watches as the Hudson drifts on by
Outside the Hudson Highlands library, a castle on the height
Inside, portraits, paneled wood, and windows with golden light.
[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds
So many worlds to enter, and peace to ease his mind
He explores the future and the past, the stories don't grow old
But me, I watch the TV sitcoms, letting time unfold
He liked the New Haven library, where the homeless sometimes sleep
The librarian wakes them gently, though it makes her heart weep
He's been to New York's grand palace, with lions at the gate
In Greenburgh a local sang Western songs, folks danced, it was great
[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds
Echoes of a world gone by, and peace to ease his mind
Myself, I watch old action movies, but suspense won't take a hold
Sometimes I feel lost, sometimes I feel cold.
[Bridge]
The Detroit Public Library gave him a pleasant surprise
The city has seen better days, but that place deserves a prize
Built with Vermont marble, Italian trim, a building meant to last
In front a River of Knowledge Mosaic that connects us with the past
I felt a bit of sorrow, his hobby made me fret
I said, "In Atlantic City, there's excitement you can get"
"Come with me," I told him, "There's a place that we can go"
He smiled and said, "No thank you, son, I'd rather take it slow"
[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds
So many worlds to enter, and peace to ease his mind
While I sit and watch the reruns, letting time pass by
He finds the temples of the past, a learning kind of high.
He said "I'll stay in these cathedrals of what we used to be
To each his own, before birds flown, on priorities we disagree"
He turned back to his book again, beneath the painted dome
And in that silent moment, I knew he'd found a home.
Today we drove from Quebec City to Vermont and as more and more memories we collect
time together on the road…gives us more time to reflect:
We took a tour of Le Chateau Frontenac it was our last night there to dwell
and with 131 years of history…she has some stories to tell.
One story that we loved…took place years ago…in June
about a young couple who came to this hotel…on their honeymoon.
This young couple stood at the head of this double staircase
and…wanting to create a memory that was truly theirs
decided to make a wish…while each descended different stairs.
They decides to meet at the bottom…
and ,once their wishes were made, knew they’d be remiss…
If they didn’t take that moment to seal their wishes with a kiss.
So they descended the stairs, made their wishes,
and after sealing them with a kiss too.
promised never to reveal their wishes to one another…
lest those wishes would not come true.
Skip ahead 60 years…for their anniversary
their children decided to send them back
to the place where their life together began…Le Chateau Frontenac.
Where at the top of the same double staircase…60 years delayed
they decided to reveal to one another…the honeymoon wishes they had made.
It turns out they both made the same wish…as those 60 yers flashed back…
to make a life together and some day, if they’ were lucky…return to Le Chateau Frontenac.
Today people who are told that story are encouraged to make a wish
while descending the stairs…and not to be remiss…
when they get to the bottom…to meet…and seal their wishes with a kiss.
Deborah and I thought this was a great idea…we descended the stairs,
made our wishes…kissed…even let out a few cheers…
And if you want to know what we wished for…
we’ll meet you at the head of a double staircase in Le Chateau Frontenac
in another 60 years.
I read and highlighted
the lyrics
of two perfectly different,
however similar
modern songs.
One was
‘The Season of the Sticks’
and the other
was ‘Stubborn Love.’
I don’t live in Vermont,
But my yard and roof
confirm that spring
is coming. I also have
no interest
in landscaping.
I found myself circling
and counting
all the “half” words
and considering
how the repetition
of a word offers more
than half a meaning.
While sipping watered-
down coffee beans and
staring at a full parking lot,
I decided on one thing
that I wanted today,
the “opposite of love’s
indifference” when I
exit the anonymity
of The Joy Bar
Coffee Co.
I don’t know
“some version” of myself.
Unfortunately, I know more.
I might leave “tire tracks”
on the world’s uncaring
pavement, or my own
driveway on the edge
of oblivion.
I am not “split
in half” or
a fragment
of myself, like a
blueberry
that never made it
to juicy, round
perfection.
In twenty minutes
I will pick my son up
from golf practice
and drink the remnants
of cold coffee
on the way.
Organization man. In the best sense
creating the environment in which experiments
can be savored and remembered.
Then there is the world of interlocked
organizations. A world of missions and contracts
finely tuned and binding.
Is the formation of associations
as instinctual as nesting and gestation?
A leader may be one who asks a question.
Or may be one imposing order.
Imposed through consensus and broad shoulders.
Waits, watches, acts his part.
I was impressed by the list of distinguished senators
from Vermont. He placed himself among men,
orators, imperfect, in history.
We march forward, imperfect in our justice
and compassion. Overriding logic with conscience
sometimes, not often, when it counts.
And mercy. A seemingly irrational, total
abnegation of the markets, rules of war, law.
Good to be so flawed.
30 years ago she was 21 years olds… and therein begins her tale…
for it was then her dream began…to hike the Appalachian Trail.
As a young woman filled with hope and excitement she eagerly began her jaunt
but she didn’t make it to the finish…giving up when she reached Vermont.
It was there she told herself, she made a vow,…she would not be defeated
for one day, although she knew not when, her hike would be completed.
I’ll complete my hike before I’m 30 she told herself…as her ego she consoled.
By 30 I will finish the trail…by 30 is my goal.
Then she attended college, got a job and it seemed to be her fate
that responsibilities were calling now and her hike would have to wait.
I’ll complete my hike before I’m 40 she told herself…as her ego she consoled.
By 40 I will finish the trail…by 40 is my goal.
But marriage and children found their way into her life and it seemed to be her fate
their needs superseded her wants…and her hike would have to wait…
I’ll complete my hike before I’m 50 she told herself…as her ego she consoled.
By 50 I will finish the trail…by 50 is my goal.
By 51…her marriage ended, her children grown…time was moving slow…
and her mind returned to her promise made all those years ago.
She knew it wouldn’t be easy…She knew it would be a strain
but she started hiking in Vermont and finished up in Maine.
When she reached the top of Mount Katahdin a smile overwhelmed her face
as she thought of all the years it took…to finally reach this place.
She thought how proud she was to be standing there…proud her hike was through…
proud she kept her promise…proud she made her dream come true.
At 51…she thought of the young girl who made that promise…how life had intervened.
of all that had happened to her…in those 30 years in between.
And as I listened to her story…I thought how it never is too late…
for no matter how long it may take us…some dreams are worth the wait.
I'll take you on a flight
Anytime you want
The prop is always turning
And I know a restaurant
That you would really like
It's over in Vermont
It's rustic and the food is good
One day we'll take a jaunt
And while we're in the air
I'll point out all the sights
A landmark here and there
Perhaps the Northern Lights
Then someday we'll cross
The whole United States
Put it on the list
Sound good? You've got a date!
Let's just leave and go someplace
Where we can be alone
And spend a day together
A place to us unknown
Someplace we've never been to
We'll discover and explore
And make a lasting memory
To treasure and adore
The verdant leaves
of the cherry trees
rustle as a wagon
loaded with corn
rides deeper into the wide ruts
of a rustic road,
hungry ruminants wallow
by a limpid lake;
cheerful kids wave
and wagtails warble
at my unexpected arrival...
suddenly my Dalmatian barks.
O jovial Autumn
incite my surprise,
and renew my decadent mood!
The grapevines rest
while giving off their fragrance,
and this weary steed
must rest in tranquility
to continue this journey...
before he pants-up grief;
and for mine and his sake,
let him get some sleep!
A sanguine sky
promises the loveliest sunset
ever seen by me
in this rustic Vermont landscape;
thrushes sing with me
to embellish my harmony,
not minding the crickets that
conspire in the hickories,
or the fluttering hawks
that return to their nests..
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci