Long Waterways Poems
Long Waterways Poems. Below are the most popular long Waterways by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Waterways poems by poem length and keyword.
Slips marked and mapped across the intercoastal waterways
a scanning breached out of high low tidal waves,
silent, still, obscure, and not well hidden
liveaboards hold steady isolated sheltered misgivings;
embedded and anchored in place
buoys secure contested living space,
Matanzas Pass, Sarasota fields, Titusville and Sunset Bay
the Gulf Stream Key Largo flow a mainstay;
honker down between the wind, the rain, and sun
vessels sturdy and rickety, short and long - all come,
house and home hum interludes for a sing-along,
push aways and pull in tights
safeaways and derelicts amidst stormy plights
resident and transient, occupied and abandoned
faceless vacancies, sequestered and random,
marinas and harbors within hurricane holds in tandem,
dockmasters and dock slips. environmental folds alluring
beleaguered and bewildered landlocked sailors touring
in their trawlers, boats, cruisers and yachts adoring
September shelters in the Florida moorings.
Blues music, a favorite.
My husky named Blue, the best, may he rest in peace.
Blue Suede Shoes, we know who sang that one.
My Blue Heaven – loved the song and the movie.
Bluebell, who me? Yes, you, you coward.
Blue bonnet – a flower, and a margarine.
Blue skies – make heaven more real.
Blue booties – mean anything? Or just the yarn you had?
Azure, cobalt, periwinkle, topaz.
Each blue a gentle feeling and touch.
Following God’s plan in sky, and waterways, and snow.
Blue will forever mean so much. Blue, glorious blue.
Written Jan 8, 2019 Contest: Blue Poetry
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Willow trees wave gently on the stream.
In the breeze, casting cover for hiding fish.
Thin trees float readily as if lost in a dream.
If only a breeze would bestow my wish.
The water played the lush leaves tenderly.
making waves that sweep across a calm lake.
Blue and green created a color so slenderly
Let us not spoil this calm scene, for God sake
Water larvae are difficult to spot.
Lovely birds with their wings held dots.
They quietly glide by on waterways.
Disrupted mirror images of the skies.
Sunlight filtering through cotton clouds.
Everybody has different faces and sounds.
Dappled shade from the summer's sunlight.
Umbrella to shelter together, in delight.
Storms have arrived and set the mood.
Natural disasters have led to limb shrewd.
The willow remains unbowed and erect.
Head held high as it stoops to connect.
Written: May 26, 2023
Bushes budding; branches protruding
Beautiful roses stately posing
Shady limbs slowly extending
Colorful green leaves unpretending
The sound of creeks, dams, and ditches
The wonder of lakes, ponds, and their riches
Twisting waterways shouting in early spring
Chirping birds join God's orchestra as they sing
And welcome the rushing water flowing from the hills
Every mortal and entity within sound or sight stand still
Those soothing night breezes after a long hot summer's day
Draw me near, embracing me, offering me a sweet tranquil stay.
080520PSCtest, Nature Rhyming, Brenda Chiri
Oceans of time are heavily travelled waterways, though lives are spent fast.
souls swim in desperation, towards sinking shores.
Many succumb to Chairon’s generous lift and
never complete what they began;
they are as fish to the bated hook.
Some wash to shore, uncertain whether
they will survive to achieve their goals.
Others know that their time is the present;
they simply will not be defeated.
The thing is, who will be drowned first,
by the over achiever?
Finishing is not always the best;
it’s how you go about it,
that makes the swim worthwhile.
Yacht’s have plenty of room, for sharing.
I arrived a stranger
to a set of little wooden cabins by the sea.
Pretty they were, with weathered straw roofs
and fences curved like hulls,
the sea whispering at my feet.
The skipper who brought me here was a jolly man,
eternally smiling his toothless grin,
his eyes gentle in the lantern light
as he coaxed the boat through the tight waterways
like a surgeon with a scalpel.
Dawn.
Perhaps the night had blinded me
for with the first blush of the sun,
I saw for the first time (properly),
the world in which they habited.
Tattered wooden walkways, supported by little more
than some planks, nets and rubber tyres
propped up a grid of ramshackle tents
and oddly skewed cabins.
Nearby, motorboats, row upon row, bobbed upon the tide,
their engines rusted and sluggish,
unworthy of the sailors that piloted them.
I saw a woman, maybe 40,
wash her face sparingly with water
and subconsciously touched my still damp hair,
ashamed of the luxury of my long shower.
The cabin offered a variety of "fun" activities,
like fishing and ground traps
but watching the other holidayers pouring over the nets
I couldn't help but feel melancholy;
these things that we treated as games
were the fishermen's entire livelihoods.
When I departed, a young girl,
school bag fastened tightly to her chest,
clambered aboard our boat.
I thought of my waiting flight
and wondered if she could
rise above the waves.
Have you heard of Fisher Folk
Masked and disguised
Often difficult to see
When in front of your very eyes
Some will see through the disguise
Once engaged in conversation
Others will never see a Fisher Folk
Blinded by their manipulation
Fisher Folk do not fish
In waterways of any kind
They only fish in ones psyche
Fishing…. human minds
Fishing information, only for personal gain
Needing constant compliments and praise
This is how Fisher Folk
Spend their devious, “its all about me” days
Also known as “Me People”
And other choice names
Pretending to show interest in you
When ‘Self ‘ is the name of their game
Some will never see a Fisher Folk
Being blinded by their camouflage
Others will see straight through it
Quickly seeing the mind sabotage
Fisher Folk are generally likeable
Often intelligent , charismatic ,smart
Though their interest in others is inauthentic
Not from a genuine or loving heart
"If all the very rich experienced hunger. There may be no more hunger.
If all the greedy experienced their own slavery, there may be no more slaves."
~~ The Poet ~~
What a wonderful world it will be,
When we all can truly say we are free,
From hunger that effects even just one child..
No more wars targeted at the meek and mild
Disease and illness a thing of the past.
Harmony behind our front door with love to last.
Communities taking care of our land,
Nurturing flora and fauna as they understand,
Not poisoning our waterways or polluting the air.
Consideration and friendship everywhere.
All racial prejudices removed from our hearts.
Rejoicing in the differences is where it starts.
A cure for mental illness that so brutally attacks.
No violent crime , no need to watch our backs.
No more poverty under our heavenly sky.
The blind now able to watch the clouds going by.
The deaf able to hear a new born baby cry.
The crippled able to run through fields of flowers.
The mute able to speak and tell stories for hours.
All weapons replaced with the kindness of a deed.
Each human has enough of what they really need.
An end to hatred spitefulness, cruelty and greed.
His divine rule to love one another, we all will heed.
Oh it will be a wonderful world without one regret.
We have more work to do cause it hasn’t happed,
YET !!!
During Hurricane Harvey resourceful fire ants stayed alive
clumping together on waterways, forming a raft, not one dive
I saw them and my hair stood up and I let out a scream
Knowing how dangerous they are as they travelled downstream
I had been bitten by one, which was like being burned by fire
He had gotten me on my inner thigh, I was glad it was no higher
The poison he put in me left me weak, I was barely alive
hundreds of thousands of fire ants floated past ready to survive
Another raft of them floated past, a million, score!
I ran away from the river, for I could take no more
Hurricane Harvey seemed to have found a plethora of them.
My view of fire ants is truly pretty dim and grim.
The Vanished Lineage
(Remembering eighteen million African enslaved by Arabs)
The sand remembers eighteen million footsteps in the heat,
Yet where are all the children of their weary, broken feet?
We trace the line to Europe, and to the Western shore,
But looking toward the desert, the descendants are no more.
A millennium of silence spans the ancient, trading hand,
From the seventh to the twentieth, across the burning land.
The trans-Saharan highway, the Nile’s deep, winding bed,
The Indian Ocean waterways that carried out the dead.
We cry aloud for justice, and the West must pay its debt,
But what of Arab brothers? Have we chosen to forget?
An empire built on raiding, on tribute and on blade,
A brilliant, cruel destruction in the shadows that they made.
The West desired the young men to till the heavy loam,
But the Eastern masters wanted the women for the home.
Three sisters for each brother, in the harems of the East,
To serve the hidden palaces where masters came to feast.
And for the captured brothers, the blade was cold and deep,
A legacy of castration that ensured they could not keep
The bloodline of their fathers, nor sow a future seed
A high and fatal torment born of ownership and greed.
They guarded rooms as eunuchs, they faded in the stone,
And so they left no children to claim what was their own.
No millions now to gather, no voices left to rise,
To ask for reparations beneath the desert skies.
Yet language holds the echo, Swahili on the coast,
A blend of mixed inheritance where sorrow is the host.
A sensitive and layered past that time cannot erase,
The missing generations of a stolen, vanished race.
The question what we seek, that lingers ist
The issue of reparation by the West and a twist
Will they return? Do they exist??
Where are they to the least, I do insist???