Long Wildlife Poems
Long Wildlife Poems. Below are the most popular long Wildlife by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wildlife poems by poem length and keyword.
The Illinois emperor favors no bail for the violent
He's a softy in the middle, and more so on crime
From his bullhorn pulpit, he proclaims that we're safe
I'm afraid the land of Lincoln is made of papier-mâché.
He lives in a crystal bubble in a billionaire's den
with state-of-the-art, impenetrable defenses.
He hates the 2A and the working-class men
his weapon of choice is a red-headed commie pen.
His next plan is to mix wildlife into our lives
like lions and elk and black bear... oh my.
He's caved to the lobbyist and tree-hugger friends
while playing with his snubby under a wooden desk...
But the citizens of Cook County keep voting him in; he bribes them with freebies and slaps them on the wrist.
The time has come to end this life of mine,
The time has come to leave everything unimportant permanently behind.
All of my rescues will be cared for and comfortable, as promised to me,
by a true friend that I trust unquestionably.
The nest is now empty.
There is now only me.
"I can't believe that it's true," I thought in a state of disbelief.
"Have I died? Have I died finally?
Am I Now In Heaven?" I cried joyfully.
I left my apartment on the spot,
I didn't even bother to hang around and collect my deposit.
A friendly stranger approached me and engaged in superficial conversation,
and inevitably came to ask me, "Where are you from?"
"I have been waiting all of my life," I responded, "to say this to someone.
My place of residence is a box office where I receive all of my mail,
but my home is the endless wilderness trail,
awakening each morning to a brand new panoramic view,
observing all forms of foliage, landscapes and wildlife, both familiar and new,
falling asleep every evening under a galaxy of stars,
to the sounds of chirping crickets and croaking frogs,
and when the trail brings me close to a nearby town,
I might just step off the trail and hang around,
check into a motel, enjoy a restaurant meal,
resupply the next day, and then it's back into the field,
of rock climbs, stream crossings and finally, a decent camp site,
where once again under the stars I'll drift asleep for another night.
As the winter approaches my home in the northern region,
I'll hike my home trail south where the temperature is more comforting.
I am finally home everyone,
and from this day foward every day will be cause for celebration."
He looked at me as if confused,
not knowing how to respond or what to do,
then he looked away smiling,
muttering,
softly saying,
"Good for you."
He didn't understand, few often do,
nor do they understand such a nomadic lifestyle as one anyone would choose.
The only possible explanation,
that I could offer to anybody, is that I have none.
In order for you to understand this life choice of mine completely,
you would quite literally plain and simply have to be me.
The Pelican
such a comical clown
A stranger bird
I’ve yet to have found
The longest beak
The largest mouth
Though not too many
Here to be found
St James’ Park London
Where a trio can be seen
A gift from Russia in 1664
And over the years
there have been forty more
The resident trio named
Isla
Tiffany
and Gargi
Have now been joined by
Sun
Moon
and Star
at 2.30 daily fed fresh roach and whiting
a sight not to miss ~ a sight so exciting…
But care must be taken
No feeding allowed
I once saw a lady ignoring this rule
As he opened his beak
Thought her arm was his treat
All her shouting and screaming
No damage was done
So he made his retreat
To find somewhere to eat
And when fully sated
In the sunshine would sleep
Written 22nd February 2021
Great White Pelicans are huge birds that you really don’t want to get too close to, and their numbers have recently doubled in St James’s Park, London
Fortunately, from just three to six — and the new arrivals all came from Prague Zoo. The pelicans – named Sun, Moon and Star – arrived in the park towards the end of May 2019, but have been hidden from public view whilst they acclimatised to their new surroundings. They’ve now been released to join the three resident pelicans – Isla, Tiffany and Gargi.
Pelicans have been a feature of St James’s Park since 1664 when the Russian Ambassador presented them to King Charles II. Since then over 40 pelicans have made St James’s Park, one of London’s eight Royal Parks, their home. The flock are fed their fresh fish, roach and whiting, at 2.30pm everyday by the wildlife officer. They are also quite partial to pigeons.
Contest ALL YOURS (FEB 24)
Sponsor Brian Strand
N/A
sleeping (( COLLABORATION * Don Johnson ))
by~ DON JOHNSON
The Nullabor it does abhor
the desert in it standing
The broken heart
he keeps apart
where Eagles are a landing
kangaroo is prolific cos good seasons bring in millions
they shoot them for the last hundred years,
Hoppy is still there in millions
Almost a plague after rain
The cure the joy the madness ploy, just catch a little Shiela
but broken hearts tend to self destroy
The one true love, to feel her
so searching for the lock of eyes upon the Nullabor
kangaroo does abound, dead straight the road for sure
Ironic tale sour grapes inhale,
He sleeps upon the plain
his swag is near the old Ute, and the dog is ever watchful
his protector is a beaut
~civilization calls~
he has to go back to the city streets
And searching ever searching for the eyes of lady sweet.
***by~ POET D:
Searching and searching till weak eyes fall asleep.
~civilization calls~
Calls the plague of raining streets!
The sleeping kangaroo took me into the abyss of sour grapes.
A wildlife with wildfire turned over by wildflowers.
Seascapes; full of sand that no one dared to understand!
Drowning underwater in a universe that had no expand.
Where the passer-by's felt the expression of sadness in his sleeping face.
All it took was experiencing the world with one lonely look.
A grain of salt, in the night sky!
Where clouds ‘walk-sneak and / clouds-cry like a whirlpool’,
Tears from a near by fountain deep in a valley.
Where we can sing for roo's sleeping heart.
Death in a wild flower mourning asleep on the hour.
Seeing’ is believing when Shiela appeared.
Drying tears with her sweet eyes over the desert lands.
A Collaboration with *DON JOHNSON
~MY COLLABORATION CONTEST~
To Look Upon His Face
Nativity of Jesus
Oh! Starry twilight this December night
Guiding light glows so up high
Moonlit shadows slow dance
Shooting stars flashing close by
Angel's sweet melody echoes flow
With the embracing of heaven
Human beings, wildlife, and nature bow down
Paying homage to our God's son
Sparkling eyes and glowing heart
Spirit enthusiasm precedes me to look
For a brief moment upon His face
Heavenly virtue weeping tears overtook
To want to lift Him up and hold in my arms
My humbleness to submit to Him
And seek his grace and favor
Spread my wings and sing a Cherub hymn
Oh! Starry twilight this December night
Guiding light glows so up high
Moonlit shadows slow dance
Shooting stars flashing close by
Angel's sweet melody echoes flow
With the embracing of heaven
Human beings, wildlife, and nature bow down
Paying homage to our God's son
11/21/2015
Discover the joy in your life today
Such as, love and fun from your special pet
Watch God’s creation of wildlife play
Resting beneath colors of a sunset
All of the time, joy dances around you
Such as, love and fun from your special pet
Bright pictures found in moments feeling blue
Open the door to let the joy inside
All of the time, joy dances around you
There is no reason to run or to hide
Opportunities wait for you to see
Open the door to let the joy inside
Never leave laughter behind, let it be
Kaleidoscope of emotions is bright
Opportunities wait for you to see
Caves of darkness have entrances of light
Discover the joy in your life today
Kaleidoscope of emotions is bright
Watch God’s creation of wildlife at play
Heidi Sands
5/16/22
Picturesque holy visions nature’s lands
Horizontal those the views
Elongated greens, mid color trees hands green
Bodies’ trunks grey, black and brown vibrant m
Upper tier skies written painted moving whites dots
On blue stationary canvas
Beauty sounds the tweet carries in the air;
Crisp summer breath
So sweet the heat barefooted are the feet
I walk in seven inch fine grass
So lovely are the trees
Conversing to one another
Waving in the vibrations
~
To each of its sisters and brothers
Beautiful wildlife in compass
Running green grasses under a rampant skies
So crisp clean the air the butterflies cries
Delighted in the tranquil stillness such is life, a life is breathe
What is left clouds? So lovely are the trees
Caterpillar running on moisten leaves
Just darts the rabbit he hops along out of harm’s way!
Deer’s peering eye to eye
Antlers locked about bumping heads challenges
Where translate beholden th’ swollen hill
Covered the red clay dirt fiery boast
~
Green, green hills valley brine
White marshmallows puffs in the skies
So much am I in love with the view
A nature canvas, ’vr natural
Shape shades of greens rolling hills of bladed dews
Who am I to question with my nostrils nor my eyes?
Embracing I am the land set before me
Ever friendly all the lawn those greens
All so friendly waving are the trees
So adorning, I’m exploring my host
Nature’s beauty my senses embrace up close
Yields of country lands reconnaissance
~
Observant pleasant picturesque inviting
Climbs even the breeze, nature grows continually
Naught disturbs thy quiet, all to thy service yields,
I naked ankles down I walk I crush the grasses
Sweet soft small animals scurry away unto me,
For am I not the caretaker
For am I the gardener
For am I the gardener
For am I the gardener
I partake of my visions view
I am the caretaker of my view
Upon my eyes all is well and natures beautiful
For am I the gardener
I partake of my visions view
8/9/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
Cameroon, oh Cameroon,
Land of beauty and grace.
Your splendor I embrace.
Your people, proud and strong,
With hearts that beat as one.
Their voices rise in song,
Beneath the African blue skies.
Cameroon, land of the rising sun,
Where the savannah meets the sea.
A place of beauty, where life begun,
And the people are proud and free.
From the cities to the plains,
Your beauty knows no bounds.
Your pure healing lagoons astounds,
And your wildlife abounds.
The elephants roam free,
The lions roar with pride.
The gorillas in the trees,
A sight you can't hide.
Cameroon, oh Cameroon,
Your majesty is clear.
A land of wonder and beauty,
A place we hold dear.
April 16—Rain
No Rain
In 2025, the world ended
With the collapse
Of the worldwide climate system.
Monster storms of the century
devastated half the world.
But the other half of the world
Had no rain or snow
For almost a whole year
The once-green grass was dying.
Crops failed everywhere
And baked in the unrelenting
Blastwave furnace-like heat
Heatwave after heatwave.
Military coups took place
Fascism re-emerged
The public demanded action
The politicians played
The blame game.
With the collapse of trade
And travel restrictions
People stayed home
Making do the best they could.
Home-grown gardens
Proliferated.
Feudal townships grew
As people walled themselves off
To save their communities.
The rich build underground cities
While the poor starved
And civilization crumbled
Wildlife proliferated
As did neo-savage
cannibal gangs.
By the year 2030
It was all over
And the rains
Never came out west.
An unexpected burst of energy
helped fashion a second poem he
ving up from deep within the key
per of Matthew Scott's ideas - nee
i.e. unexpectedly manifesting que
cull lee coalescing, buta not three
endeavors crafted since quota we
kind to exhaust passion before zee...
land revisited, when
a call for shot eye
guarantees, a dearth of ideas
will no longer fly
with plentitude, whereby
exertion from this guy
will necessitate to type
briskly before hie....
ah...whew...just when
I felt at a loss what to write...
bitta bing bitta bang
(optional chitty at no extra cost),
lo and behold ear splitting,
appalling sounds did in vite
until dusk hands clapped
over each ear tight
to muffle noise pollution spite
fully generated by
rambunctious youths,
who know no right
that gunning engines quite
obnoxious, and that conviction
edited (by me) tubby polite
buffer this chap hunkers
down for the night.
the following constitutes the e-man
soup pay wanton declaration
emphatically, independently,
and obnoxiously
transmitted thru ether
these loathsome roar of dirt bikes
punctuates the formerly quiet air
where local high school
teenage mutant ninja
male turtles blare
(an educated presumption)
at top notch threshold decibel
definitely inducing deafness,
which will soon be clear
to those motorheads
flooring accelerator scaring deer
and other sparse wildlife,
whose engines I hear
miles away, cuz this bard ****
got extreme (ear river rent)
hyper sensitivity to sound
perhaps linkedin
tummy predisposition,
could allow ma