Long Water Poems
Long Water Poems. Below are the most popular long Water by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Water poems by poem length and keyword.
My father was a farmer,
as was his father and grandfather.
At a very young age, I saw my future,
and it was not farming.
I stood there like a statue,
like a frozen water pipe on a January day; like an
icicle hanging from a rooftop on a non sunny day.
I looked at my present,
and saw nothing but cotton;
I looked at my past,
and saw nothing but cotton;
I looked at my future,
and saw opportunities but no cotton;
I saw open doors once closed, but no cotton;
I saw prosperity and success, but no cotton.
Oh, I saw a myriad of things, but no cotton did I see anywhere in my future.
It was then and there
that I said, "Goodbye" to my past.
To my present I said, "Not for long".
To my future I said, "Hello, I'll see you soon".
I knew way back then when I was just a boy,
THAT I WAS NOT A VICTIM LOCKED IN A CASTE;
that my past and present would in no way dictate my future.
I knew that clothing was made from cotton, but I had no interest
in the industry. There was just too much cotton in my history.
Many years later, someone introduced me to cotton candy. In my world,
before cotton candy, there was just cotton. At first, I was reluctant, never
imagining that cotton, in any form except clothing, could ever be sweet to me.
102121PS
Having a walk along the shore
so many thoughts in your mind
looking down on the sand
sparkling from the sun so shined
Here’s a picture of the eternal promise
God made to Abraham so long ago
His descendents would be like the sand
shining like heavens jewels all aglow
This would be indeed Abraham’s seed
that God’s spirit would particularly plant
all of His choosing in eternity past
showing His mercy as He does grant
These seeds can’t be numbered
just like sand on the shore
such is God’s unique wonderful love
out of His abundance He does pour
We owe our Lord such a debt
for His magnificent free salvation
to us He’s given His blessed son
so we’re part of the heavenly nation
(walking along the shore recently brought thoughts of the sand and how God's promise to Abraham that his descendants would be as sand of the sea shore.
' I will surely bless you, and I will surely multiply your offspring as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore. And your offspring shall possess the gate of his[d] enemies, and in your offspring shall all the nations of the earth be blessed, because you have obeyed my voice.' )Genesis ch. 22vs. 17-18 (ESV)
It’s, for me, not nature’s just one aspect or the other;
But, each creature of nature is greater than the other.
An ant moving unnoticed under any leaf or flower,
Rolling food, even under feet of animals much heavier;
An earthworm incessantly tilling anyone’s land,
And unassumingly lending farmers its helping hand;
The bee hummingbird that drinks nectar from flowers,
And by way of pollination, its gratefulness reciprocates;
Beavers that in their masterly way reducing soil erosions,
And said to be improving the quality of water streams;
Llamas while making easy the mountaineers’ transportations,
Offer their hide and wool as fabrics, crafts, ropes, and rugs;
Rats that cooperate with human beings as regular rodents,
Though not considering themselves as contributing agents;
Squirrels that consistently shape plant compositions,
And impulsively burry seeds and enable plantations;
Crows the commonest of all scavenger birds in India,
Together with vulture, eagle, hawk, kite, and jackdaw;
Butterflies or dragonflies, or beetles or ladybirds,
Moths or bugs or bumblebees or leaf miner or spiders;
Animals domesticated or in the wild that might hit and kill
Who’s great, who’s small, in the mysterious life-cycle?
7th May 2021
ALL YOURS (May 9) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
"I dismounted, seated myself on an eminence, and began to mark with my pencil, making a dot for every flock that passed. In a short time finding the task which I had undertaken impracticable, as the birds poured in in countless multitudes, I rose and, counting the dots then put down, found that 163 had been made in twenty-one minutes"
~ John Jacob Audobon, on the passenger pigeon
The poacher, fat, rich, and happy, drifted off to sleep.
He heard a bird in mourning, as eternally, she did weep.
Her name was Martha. She died in a Cincinatti zoo.
"I'm the last passenger pigeon, and I'm coming back for you,
and here is someone dear I'd like for you to meet."
Qiqi, the last Baiji River dolphin then did entreat,
"I was once called the Goddess of the Yangtze River.
I have a task for you, evil beast, and you must deliver."
"And I'm the last Western Black Rhino, without a name,
and what you'll do for money is a crying shame.
You used me for my horn, and left me in a field,
you repugnant creature, whose heart has congealed.
You must protect the earth for every living thing,
for every water dweller, for each bird on the wing,
for each antelope and zebra, grazing on the grasses,
don't let us cook like steaks in your greenhouse gasses.
If you fail in this endeavor, humans, too, will die.
As I pin you with my horn, look up at the sky,
as a hundred-million passenger pigeons swoop
and cover you in a massive mountain of poop,
and dire wolves chew playfully on your bones.
This is what will become of you, if you don't atone.
But don't worry, we can bring you back, with chimp DNA,
and you can walk the earth again like Frankenstein one day."
The poacher woke, disturbed, troubled, and in fear.
Do you think he'll ever change as he reaches for his beer?
Cut out the bad part
Just like cancer
The perfect solution
The ultimate answer
Oh, if only I could isolate
The purest property
Maybe I’d get a handle on
My inhumanity
Weed out the bad stuff
Chaff from wheat
Make the good half
The thing complete
Oh, if only we could separate
The water from the oil
The consummate broth, the ideal brew
Before it started to boil
One drop taints the mixture –
Part and parcel of the mass
The formula is its element
One pupil is the class
I’m a mixed bag, a curate’s egg –
Take the bad with the good
It’s only in this way modern man
Can ever be understood
Cut out the bad part
Just like cancer
The seismic solution
The cosmic answer
There’s Stephen Hawking
In his old wheelchair
Who would believe all infinity
Could be rattling around in there?
Open your eyes
maybe you’ll see,
what I see…
don’t you dare run to me,
looking for a shoulder
to cry on or an ear to listen…
My ears have a tendency
to not want to hear
especially when it comes
to warning signs being ignored,
when they are in your face
and you don’t heed them…
You have a propensity
to walk into closed
doors just to cultivate
sympathy from
people close to you…
I’m done being the
one who runs around
cleaning up your mess
dousing fires started by others,
and then you throw petrol on them
instead of just using water
to extinguish them…
Can’t you see
the path you’re heading down
is one of destruction
for you and the people that love you
don’t you see what I see?
It’s as clear as daylight
you’re like a stranger
in a strange land…
Stop hating me
for showing you the way,
why not appreciate
the fact that I’m trying to help you
something that is clear for
all to see except you…
Form:
My Hooded Towels Hobby
There are so many things I love to do...
write poetry, create with art and more,
like sewing...awesome hobby while I make
fine hooded towels for my daughter's store.
A quaint established shop at the east end;
her hand-poured soaps of lovely scented bars
with lotions, creams and varied novel gifts,
assure her store earns ratings of five stars.
I sew my hooded towels, trimming them
with grosgrain ribbon, printed with designs
of sports...like baseball, soccer, racecars...or
cute kittens, ponies, flowers, and peace signs.
From ages five, perhaps to eight or nine,
the kids love them for baths or water fun.
While sewing each, I often think who will
be wrapped in cozy softness of that one.
For ten years now, my hooded towels still
are sought as special gifts...one of a kind,
hand made with loving care and packaged well;
my help for daughter...fun for me combined.
January 29, 2019
For Contest, 'Hobbies',
sponsored by Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
Note: I do not make these for profit, just for my
daughter to sell. For me, it's a fun-time hobby,
and a great feeling to make them for her.
When I dream of sun graciously leaving the scene,
I could feel how crueler in these-days he has been;
Hasn't the dear summer said his grin-filled goodbye?
Why, then, is the naughty sun still high in the sky...?
From hot, days and nights have turned hotter and hottest,
Hot breeze has changed into melodious flautist;
How long will the children play? How long we must work?
Why the day that dawned long ago, does not turn murk...?
Crows and pigeons on water tops, often take dips,
Each love bird in cages each minute water sips;
Ice creams, though so cooingly wet tender palates,
Heat beats the crowns of our heads like many mallets...!
Peal of thunder; cloud-to-cloud lightning; no rain yet,
Consensus betwixt summer and monsoon seems set;
Dog-days, like fire and pans, have come and gone,
Why dryness within, yet, is lingering alone...?
Roses fresh; mild mist; spring though seems arriving near,
Prickles and pains from foot to head I greatly fear;
Midst magical moist muggy muttering movements,
Fifth season, like sense fifth, flows free and innocent...!!!
08 November 2022
The Fifth Season Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
When the universe bleed
We all need to becareful
We all need to stop
Destroying
What we can't give
Yes we can't give no life
Why then do we keep
Wasting it
A question for all
In this quest
You will understand
The value of peace
Oh I sing I write
I weep I saw
I spoke I cry
Hoping humans can
Hear me
Cos when the universe bleed
It is only but a disaster
When the universe bleeds
We can't fight nature
So why do we keep trying
We can't live without nature
Still we pollute it fruits
Must we abuse life
To live
Are we not tired
Of difficulties of no sense
What more do we need to destroy
From nature
I fear yes I fear cos
We are not ready
when the universe bleed
Oh I sing I write
I weep I saw
I spoke I cry
Hoping humans can
Hear me
Cos when the universe bleed
It is only but a disaster
When the universe bleed
We cant touch the sun
We can't fight the water
When it rise
When can't stop the thunder
We can't beat the wind
We can't touch the fire
Either can our bones stand
The strikes of the rocks
Despite how wise we are
We can't try it
Dose that rise a meaningful
Reason that their is a point
We can't reach
Despite how high we go
So why all this forceful developments
A development of destructions
A large development of poverty
A development of pollution
I wonder why the universe
Will not bleed at last
Oh I sing I write
I weep I saw
I spoke I cry
Hoping humans can
Hear me
Cos when the universe bleed
It is only but a disaster.
Finding Something True
Kevin Davis 2025
While strolling through the woods in search of something true,
My wife and I crossed paths with one who wandered too.
A fawn stepped shyly from the shadowed trees,
Calling for its mother in trembling pleas.
We knelt beside it, held it close with care.
It nestled in and sucked my thumb, unaware.
So innocent, so fragile, so just—
A fleeting gift of tender trust.
We offered snacks—some carrots, crisp and sweet.
It munched them gladly, begged for more to eat.
We found some bread and water in our pack.
It drank and dozed, the wild world at its back.
Then through the hush, a rustling stirred the air.
A doe emerged, with watchful, quiet stare.
The fawn sprang up, its eyes alight with glee,
And bounded to the love it longed to see.
The mother paused—her gaze was calm, profound.
We stood there hand in hand, without a sound.
They vanished, gently, into woodland deep.
The forest sighed, then folded back to sleep.
The leaves then shimmered in the autumn sky.
A whisper touched the branches drifting by:
“Your kindness leaves a mark, a glowing flame—
A truth enduring, more than just a name.”
We lingered, smiling softly, hand in hand,
Like children lost in wonder, where we stand.
For in that fleeting, tender rendezvous,
We found the something true we wandered through.