Long Yard Poems
Long Yard Poems. Below are the most popular long Yard by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Yard poems by poem length and keyword.
Luxury of a perky tulip tree
Smiles into heaven’s azure blue skies
Loveliness of a champion peach rose
Resonates from essence of today’s joy
Child’s laughter sprinkles through the garden
Delighting new shoots and fresh green seedlings
All nurturing sunlight entices growth
Faithful Gardener provides much needed prayers
Daffodils cheer on dew’s delicacy
Lending their yellow trumpet happiness
Ides of March never been more glorious
God’s chosen hybrids exuding pure joy
Thriving because they know they are revered
Mature in exquisite spurts, feeling loved
Provide brilliant inspiring colors
Luxury of a pretty lilac tree
In your heart are guarded castles
Stayed by honored crimson Knights
Who guard most cherished vassels
And light fires on stormy nights
Three noble Knights captain heart's guard
Place soldiers in tower's watch
And stay attacks to castle's yard
With steel swords from castle's notch
The most noble Knight is honor
Who demands a strong heart's faith
And draws velet lines to pawner
Gives strength to your covered lace
Truth the Knight who stands at sentry
And guards against shadowed course
Stays lies at secured heart's entry
With all tools of weapon's force
The strongest Knight is red passion
Who searches heart's lands desires
And unfurls your flag in fashion
To your heart's castle with fire
Three Knights for your heart that's guarded
As you travel castle walls
And lets your heart move brave hearted
To hear love's embracing call
For 10th Contest Castles
sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
Vivian, my eighty-years-seasoned neighbor, called Vi, is a mystery only to those who did not return her first cheerful “hi”.
She is an open-book person, ready to love and accept everyone. I met Vi the first day I was out in my yard building a rock garden, two days after moving in. She came roaring down my driveway in an older model of a car, something gray, with long seats. She stopped about a foot from me and got out. I turned and smiled, and so did she.
She was here to offer her son’s tractor services to me for free, tried to talk me into letting him come over here and mow down the trees and bushes that traveled along our mutual wire fence line from the road to the back forty. She called it a “mess”.
We love it like that, I told her. My husband in particular loved it because he is a natural guy, who enjoys sitting on the porch in his boxer shorts on a summer night, catching the breeze, without any gawkers.
But I kept that quiet.
She told me a funny story about catching her husband and his newest girlfriend at a motel. She waited until he paid, and they were walking to their room. Then she fell into step beside him and said “What are you doing, Eddie?” The girlfriend must have known who I was, she said, because she screamed and ran off.
I spent a lovely forty minutes or so politely laughing my head off at Vi’s funny stories. Then she asked again if they could mow the mess away. Which would have given them a clear view to our yard if they had a telescope, and I figured they did. In spite of her terrifically funny stories, I stood my ground.
We were at war.
Threw stones at each other,
hurled barbed insults
across a school yard.
Walked home from school
together, but not,
together.
Teased and tormented
one another
attempting to be liked -
or not.
The battle raged,
every recess a skirmish,
lunch a logistic
seating plan,
dismissal
a “Dunkirkian” escape
to the purity of play,
the touch of “tag – you’re it”,
the subtle favoritism
of Dodge Ball,
complexity of Hop Scotch,
impossibility
of Jump Rope.
We were at war.
Engaged in the battle
of the sexes,
not knowing how to
get behind enemy lines,
how to dance,
how to ask the enemy
“Would you like to dance?”
We were growing up,
feeling the urges of our hopes
and the hopes of our urges,
“testing the water with both feet”
venturing into the unknown.
Adventurers
on a quest -
to find ourselves.
We were at war
with all that stood
before us,
unable to accept the
“status quo”,
unable to accept status
as a defining quality.
We fought “Quixote’s” windmills,
wrestled with the values
of life, of living, of things
as they were.
Each ignoring
the poet’s warning,
trying to be an island,
to achieve oneness.
Oneness, with or against,
any and all
who would take our
stones away,
leave us
as we wished to be.
Free!
to throw stones,
to hurl barbs,
across life’s schoolyard
at all that was
and wasn’t -
at who we were
and weren’t,
while wondering
how we became
who we are –
and aren’t.
9/6/2014
One must imagine Sisyphus’s
boulder, marble-sized these days
And Ozymandias’ plaque,
spinning despair into praise
Look on, ye hypocrites,
and sneer at my undoing
Your universe is a giant sandpit,
entropy accruing
Their legacies long crumbled,
eroded by rust
Gods built the wrong way,
on scaffolds of dust
Virtue or vice register
equally the same
Except between stars,
there’s space for one more grain
Down here, we clock in daily,
stack hours like prayer
Worship strong Wi-Fi,
evangelize on thin air
Imagine heavenly echoes,
because the silence isn’t fair
Some develop connection,
others a thousand-yard stare
Our Earth splits naturally,
along seismic lines
Greenwich claims centre stage,
only for the meantime
Sisyphus, still aching,
gets an epidural at last
But only in hindsight,
for his hump blocks the past
Redrawn are our own lines,
watchtowers in the sand
Sketching new borders,
carving up the promised land
Exhume ancient treasure,
and black, viscous stuff
Addicted to all things buried,
as if our dead weren’t enough
Still we write blindly,
tracing glyphs already faded
Helps lift the mood
when depressed and jaded
Gods stand on shaky ground,
myth holds them together
In schisms that bind billions,
then sever forever
Oh, look on—ye poet
Sisyphus now rolls his eyes
He’s seen the apps, wars,
hoodies, and cable ties
His hamster wheel’s a meme
for gods who merely try
Small wonder he mutters,
at least Ozymandias gets to die
And sometimes I pray to gods,
or maybe their ghosts
About versions of me
I’ve been missing the most
They don’t directly answer,
but do leave this guess
In the end, to keep on rolling
may be my passing success
By David Kavanagh
Renegade trees pop up faster than dandelions all over my yard
I live in the country where I credit good old fashioned Kansas clay.
I wake up in the morning and bam, six new stalwart soldiers.
They guard wildlife as well as me, of course.
Fox, wolf, squirrel, bunnies, owls and cardinals live in these trees.
They prance or hop out sometimes, just to show me they are there.
I have elm, mulberry, willow, walnut, oak and acorns for sure.
I do not rake up any walnuts or acorns, preferring to feed squirrels.
I am rarely gone, but one time I was gone for four whole days.
When I drove down my drive, the trees waved in elaborate ways.
Their branches were flying up in the air on both sides, like a hello.
As soon as the car stopped, the waving stopped.
My husband asked me “What is up with those trees?”
“I think they were telling me hello,” I replies.
I hugged them extra hard that day,
And I swear they squeezed me back.
Topped with terra cotta- tiled roof
the house stood on a hill with pine trees,
partly covering it from view,
with its turrets opening like watchful eyes.
Rumor runs, at night from there,
people hear strange wailings.
Scoffing it as the weird fancy of crazy minds,
eager to prove the irrationality of it,
one night I ascended the hill,
leading to that cozy mansion.
As I paced faster and came closer,
the house looked so imposing
with a wide yard and a porch
surrounded by ornamental railings
with a winding driveway
lain with marble squares
and leading to the entrance
Close to the house but safely distant,
I noticed a narrow pit hidden among shrubs
Nothing was unusual about it.
I walked round and round.
Couldn’t see anything to rouse suspicion.
When I was about to leave,
as a proud victor after a thorough search,
I saw a skeletal figure emerging
from the pit and rising into air wailing.
In horror, as I looked on,
like a bird, on the pine branch, it did perch
and soon shape shifted into a man.
Fancy or Fact, never looking back
I took to my heels as fast as I could.
Today’s walk started a little earlier than usual
With the welcoming of gorgeous cottony clouds’ dancing splendor
Their shining was charmed by sun’s golden-reddish glitter
Dazzled me showing their astonishing shapes and colors
Saw a big flock of turkeys appreciating silence of the morning hour
Looking for tasty treats while happily chatting among each other
After sensing Reva they responded by clucking bustles
Becoming uncomfortable started running in various directions
A dog was roaming in the back yard of a house right at the turn
Charged toward Reva thankfully through the fence’s bars of iron
Showing her annoyance she challenged him by standing right in the front
Pulling her back was a hefty encounter I had to tackle
Our walk furthered in a calm shush
Observing the transformed colors of some tree leaves’ prominent standards
Shades of green were changing into amazing reddish-pink patterns
Showing a start of upcoming fall’s enchanting flavor
We kept enjoying our walk cherishing every moment
Abruptly Reva got attracted to a familiar smell
She pulled on the leash and went down a slant in bushes
Holding a tennis ball in her mouth came back up happily wiggling her tail
Halloween 2021
By Franklin Price
10/31/2021
It's thirty-one October, today is Halloween.
The trick-or-treaters come no more, fewer ghosts and goblins seen
I have my candy ready, just in case they come around,
As in the days when I was one, and many of us did abound
“Trick-or-treat, money or eats”, words said from door to door
Though I leave my porch light on, I don't hear them any more
No cheerful, smiling faces, hid behind their costume masks,
Are coming up my walkway, in their candy seeking tasks
Fewer children, every year, are visiting my door
Fear has taken over, they're not coming any more
Oh, to return to Halloween, when children wandered down the streets
With costumes on, and bags in hands, yelling out their trick-or-treats
We did not fear our neighbors, fear the things that they may do
Older children, took the younger, that was the trick-or treating crew
Parents may have come along, to carry babes in arms
Little ghosts, who could not walk, were not triggering alarms
What has happened to us? What has brought us to this time?
Trust in our neighbor's gone. All we think about is crime
We used to leave the doors unlocked, did not even have a key
Now they're locked and bolted, with alarms for you and me
Spot lights, with movement sensors, come on to light the yard
Mounted cameras catch all action, around the house, they're in to guard
It's no wonder, where we are today, fear to live, replacing trust
I still have my candy ready, with some hope, because I must.
The soft spring breeze brings a sweet scent of purple Lilac to me
Blooming where the birds chirp and sing, with butterflies to see
As I smell this fresh scent in the air, my mind is magically clear
The color purple highlights nature’s beauty, with green leaves near
Fresh blossoms bring a new beginning, with hello from spring’s voice
Wildlife happily plays in the yard, dancing around the bush of choice
This sweet scent with colorful memory embraces my mind to ever last
With Nature’s happy tunes playing on… until we meet again, and pass
1/25/19
*Entry for Purple 2 Contest. Sponsor: Kevin Shaw