Long Wellingtons Poems
Long Wellingtons Poems. Below are the most popular long Wellingtons by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wellingtons poems by poem length and keyword.
The second, ten years later,
caught her body less prepared.
Had finger nails been more pared her clench
might well have spared his palms
so close to drawing blood.
Her pelvis did not dilate in that hot steam tub.
Hours of pain through day and night were test
and strain enough to exhaust the parents both.
Was he then induced? He cannot quite remember.
But when no breath was left to push, and she was all but done,
the button was then quickly pushed to summon others to a run,
all scrub-green-gowns with wellingtons
to fill the meagre room.
Just out of sight a scalpel cut,
and cockle forceps clawed him out
as spattered boots slathered blood-red water gore
across the polished vynil floor.
Emotions barely held, like the churn of vomit just withheld,
for her sake, as he saw the bloodied face appear.
No nose, raw gaping flesh exposed,
cleft through his upper jaw.
The room shock silence fell, with frozen eyes
above the medic masks all rigid with surprise.
No scan had seen his cleavered mouth
obscured by sucking thumb.
Proud parades of parent picture-scan
concealed what now in birth struck dumb,
with defect's shock revealed.
As father saw his new birthed child
taken by the nurse a while and cleaned
and breathed like any other,
he searched for words to tell this sight
while needles stitched child's mother.
"There's something wrong,
something right here",
he pointed to his face.
But mother reached her hands outstretched
to becon child to her embrace
and son was laid upon her breast
just like her first had done.
No less of love's adoring gaze
signed love's great test was won
and would endure all testing days
for this beloved son.
Dark black thunderclouds are covering up the azure sky
I know rain is just God’s tear drops falling from up high
I hear the pitter patter of rain as it falls on my spotty brolly
But I don’t mind the raindrops; I will stay happy and jolly
I can see a beautiful rainbow; it’s like an upside down smile
You don’t always see a rainbow; I’d not seen one for quite a while
Mummy tells me there’s a pot of gold at the rainbow’s end
If only I could find it then we’d have lots of pennies to spend!
We could buy some yellow wellingtons and a matching anorak
Then could play in puddles and they’d call me Jumping Jack!
My mummy placed me on the bench, I must be careful not to fall
I don’t want to be like Humpty Dumpty as he toppled from his wall!
My brolly is keeping me dry and I see the sun is peeping through
The wind will chase the clouds away and bring back sky so blue.
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a tempest gathers on my horizon
with limited purview and cloudy vision
encroaches quickly on my unsettled mind
my true soul and nature is threatened
by downpour rapids and torrential rain
blighted foreboding develops as
the parsimonious option
a rainbow in doubtful reflection
so wished for is yet so far away
half-conscious daydreaming becomes a nightmare
powerful stallions of gloom dominate the scene
the thundering deluge encroaches on my resolve
to see the light and illuminate my spirits
a level of discontent with the inevitable
penetrates determination and purpose
pierces the persona of happiness and freedom
my neurons are wet from tears sweat and the sky
which opened with such vigorous spectacle
that all kaleidoscopic lenses mist up with distortion
of reason emotions gratitude and serenity
therefore I have not the foggiest idea what to do
in prayer and meditation I appeal to good fortune
to let go of self-pity resentments and fear
remind myself that sunshine may soon reappear
put a wax-coat over my trouble and
wellingtons over my struggling feet
to anchor myself in itself and the Universe
Higher Powers grant me an impermanent reprieve
and yet the moment is just long enough
for a craving towards living and joy to imagine
that every cloud could be lined with silver and peace
I languish in a summer’s breeze
As I tumble backwards
To childhood
I hear the sound of the train
Rumbling down the tracks
I have no idea why this brings me such joy
Other than a penny will be squished in my honor
The train sounds its warning at the crossing
It voyages to the beyond, places that for a child
Seem to be in foreign lands
I am content here, in the meadows of memories
Here I feel the past painting its history into my very being
Rain pours downs days after day
The brook fills with life, the hills full of green
I, in wellingtons have never been happier
Life surrounds my little feet, as I wander in the meadows of delight
Later I gaze out the window, surreal in ancestral contentment
I somehow know this is my past, enticed by natures grasp
For a child’s paradise, soon too end
When reality comes to the dance
Now as I gaze down the road
Where once trains traveled in glory
The station is gone
The tracks no more
Yet I walk down this road of memories
Drowning in desire
For days of the past
Were a child’s heart
Still danced in Meadowville
Amongst the lingering winds from the sea
Night,
Ageless and porous,
Sang screeches of fireflies of
Crescendo-diminuendo sparks.
What hour?
In the midst of the hustles, I lost my hoursight
Different, tonight, is my eyesight, seeing even
Through the darkest foliage of gentle, but sinister
Caress sway.
On the broken, cracked slabs, squatting, dark torsos!
Pensive, broken, sad, old and so good the
Work of Italian sculptors.
Further deep in searching glare, the hardened
Mats of hurried sepultures of returning
Soldiers, whose wellingtons have squelched in
Mudblood.
Wars and battles never post blandishments
On peace.
What hour now, brother?
It is so dark and mean, and my hourglass refuses a
Moon reflection.
But now the hours move fast on march of the
Headless feet in wellingtons.
'Left, right, left, right....'
Dolts hasten among fleeing marabouts.
Stench from ailing, balmed smog
Stills the whiffs of roasting deer, all in
One silence of close hour canticles...
Such phalanx, brother, coldens the head.
~The Hot Spell Is Over~
Watching the clouds gather
There is thunder in the air
After a beautiful week
It really doesn’t seem fair
We finally cast off winter woollies
Then sat with hankies on our heads
Tomorrow I suppose the Wellingtons are out
And we put back on our winter threads.
Our poor bodies don’t know what to do
From freezing to frying all in a day or two
Part of life’s rich pattern I can suppose
Life is short as the saying goes
Live it large as they now say
I think this means we should go out and play
Get our kit off in the kid’s paddling pool
Kick our heels we are nobody’s fools.
Grasp it now before it has gone
Make someone smile - just anyone
The air pressure rising leaves our skins moist
The air is thick and steamy as on us it is foist
Pressure flies are landing dropping from the skies
Blown out of the atmosphere before our very eyes
Sitting on the picture frames like little specks of dust
A flash a thunderous bang to come - we know it is a must
The thunder bounds around us with its lion-like roar
Taking the hot spell with it - but we hope not for evermore.
© 28/05/2012 ~GG~