Long Yearling Poems
Long Yearling Poems. Below are the most popular long Yearling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Yearling poems by poem length and keyword.
I was a city born and city bred young fellow,
whose shoes had mostly only touched concrete and tar.
Oh yes I had seen grass, but out on a footy ground
and my entertainment was drinking at a nightclub bar.
As a city bred young bloke I had never seen the stars
for blanket smog and neon lights had blocked them out.
I never knew what clean air was, nor really cared at all,
and rain was just a nuisance that I could do without.
I had no idea where food comes from - why should I?
I just hand across ten dollars, and bingo! In my hand,
is warm and crispy chicken with leaves I throw away,
and chocolate milk comes in a carton with a brand.
But I’m informed one morning, this is not the case.
Milk, like cheese and butter, and yoghurt too somehow,
comes to the city from the country, for us city folk.
And I didn’t quite believe - from the inside of a cow.
A cow! I’ve never seen a cow. What’s a cow look like?
That’s right! I admit I’d not seen a cow in all me life.
I barely knew the difference, between a cow and a pig,
until in a nightclub - that’s where I met me future wife.
Jean is a lovely girl; so pretty, and near rural to the core.
She knows every breed of cow that is written in the book.
Jean has milked them, immunised, dehorned them in a crush,
so she’s quite strong in the arm and can land a great left hook.
I’m talking of me own experience; me jaw is still quite sore.
The lesson that I learnt is to choose words more carefully.
I’m not sure if the listeners sed at what I had said,
or were pleased to see an enraged woman acting like a bully.
Since we had married in the city, and lived in a city flat,
me darling Jean for many months suggested time and time again,
we should go back to her hometown where Jean promised me,
that I will finally see a cow and Jean won’t have to explain.
Now I’ve seen Friesians, Jerseys, Guernsey’s, Ayrshire’s;
I’ve eyed Poddy Calves, yearling Heifers, Bulls and Steers.
I’ve become an expert on cows, and just what is required.
I know everything that’s needed about cows so it appears.
But when lecturing colleagues with Jean close by me side,
it became the catalytic weapon to cause a murderous scene,
for I proudly uttered loudly without consequential fears,
that I had never seen a cow until - I met my wife Jean.
Author Note: I am not sure this is what you are looking for, I find it difficult to write about
nature without including all the related elements to the theme. If if does not qualify, well, can
you blame a guy for trying?
As I crested the knoll of the hill,
I looked down upon a valley
plush and rich in all shade of
rainbow coloration.
Twisted trees nestled among
trunks straight and true;
give ancient clues
to violent upheaval
from sometime past,
now serene and at peace
with nature.
Grasses displaying varying degree of deep green,
with wide blades of variable length and breadth,
are accented by variegated ferns and vines,
draped majestically around trunks,
threading through tree branches;
does pale in comparison
to the explosion of color
extending to the horizon.
A carpet of wild flowers producing
visual overload
and sensory stimulation of aromas,
indescribable, imprinted deep within the mind,
to be fondly reminisced another day.
Doe with spotted yearling
feast on this delectable bounty,
while a stag, nearby, stands guard;
rabbits contentedly rest
among long stems
supporting broad leaves
to shade and comfort.
In the distant,
a mountain peak
reminds of the harshness
that exists above the level of this valley
to be subjected upon all who enter its
realm of ice, snow, and extreme cold,
yet, in all its fierceness,
a trickle of life sustaining water ebbs
from melting peak,
to meander through the valley
satisfying all inhabitants,
large and small.
A wolf and his mate
stalk the outer reaches of the valley,
beautiful for all their size and strength,
fulfill their role in natures plan,
cause none sustained duress,
help maintain a balance
beneficial to all in this valley of life.
No footprint of man exists
or will ever be found,
he may look upon this valley ,
from this hill,
but cannot enter this realm,
this place enjoyed
by only those who can see,
the beauty of nature
as it was meant to be.
\
Hopped out early from his bunk bed
Jumped into his old blue jeans
Slipped his hand into his pocket
Found enough change for a drink
Put his tennie to the kickstand
Hopped aboard his three-speed bike
Smiled in great anticipation
Drew a breath of summertime
Strapped his helmet to his noggin
Heading on a morning ride
He had reason to be smiling
Now that this day had arrived
Billy rode along the asphalt
Like a bird he felt so free
No more classrooms, no more homework
School was out for twelve whole weeks
He cruised past Demato's grocery
An old stucco painted white
Where good gossip was the staple
Soft-boiled peanuts on the side
Heard some geese honk from the mill pond
Saw a yearling near the pass
Billy eased off on the pedals
Trying to make the moment last
Sunlight gently swept across him
O'er the treeline at the rise
Fragrant honeysuckle blossomed
In the holler near Route Five
And he wondered about Heaven
Could it be as nice as this
He was sure of one thing nicer
His dear grandpa whom he missed
As miles disappeared behind him
And his thirst began to build
He had one more place to visit
For his trip to be fulfilled
Soon he reached the Tower Toll Bridge
Though no toll was ever paid
Inside joke by the designers
Built for one car, either way
In the distance he could see it
A lone tombstone on a grave
The old church that stood beside it
Had a century's decay
He dismounted at the entrance
And approached the ancient sign
All it said was Billy Edwards
Born in eighteen-fifty-nine
Date of death gone to erosion
But his age was given - eight
And the last time Billy came here
Both their ages were the same
For a full year he had worried
If he'd die within that time
Just the same as Billy Edwards
Now he had some peace-of-mind
All is still in deceptions abyss,
Beneath fathoms deep, aquatic,
Wolves are on the hunt.
Stealth predators unseen, unheard,
Hanging on the fringe of detections,
Outer limits.
In plain black and white,
Behold a deadly beauty personified,
Intelligence next step in evolution.
These devils of the bluest depths,
Known as the Orca.
Chameleon's blending between shadows
Darkness,
And the suns rays penetrating,
From above.
Waiting in the quite shallows,
They hide in anticipation,
For the right moment to strike.
Titans Krakens, await for the first
Signs of weakness in their prey.
Together pack mammals work,
Combing talents to best formulate,
A strategy for the imminent attack.
Upon life's rookery a chilling,
Silence falls.
Young seals sleek and fast,
Taste freedom's excitement,
With wonderment's exhilaration,
To finally be on there own at last.
The open ocean calls to them,
Come challenge my waves,
Youthful innocence, boldly splash
Amongst surf and spray.
Yet beware thy kindred spirits,
Those whom seek the unknown,
May pay a high price of flesh,
And bone.
But these young pups hear the
Siren’s voices,
And heed not the warning tone.
Sliding instead into the icy waters
Cold embrace.
The undertows current carry’s them,
Towards the coral reef.
Deadly jaws haunt the tidal rift's,
Rough jagged edge,
It is a gruesome rule of survival.
Few new yearling return unscathed,
Some don't return at all.
The arch angels of death must take,
Their poundage of flesh.
With a grinning smile,
Natures perfect killing machines,
The wolves of the deep, await the
Next bloody hunt.
With hungry eyes anticipation,
Tasting satisfactions mouthwatering
Bites yet to come.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
balls games and bulls
" oh dear and oh no....the elephants are going to the ball game"......speaking clicking clock cloth tells the time but never yells for yelling is a yearling and yearlings never argue with a pistol pineapple on a journey to a bean bowl with a bag of fruit gums. Game then. G h f a finals. Ding dong beep final score. Booming. Tambourine tannoy system ejecting electric void of voice. And a void is a vision and s vision from a village is locating a very large mongoose which visits a local inn and gets drunk. It is the pretty pastel cows in a line. It is the wildness of a bedroom in a bank. But the belching from a bull omits a terror previously reserved for wrapped up tacos in a desert hole. No more is the money dancing to a fine tune. Adjusting adjudicators accurately announce armies. And admission to a spectacle of a nine mile breakfast plate has gone gone gone in a record sell out that kisses a kind cloud. Club chests chant class. And a classical calm from a spinning vibration from a thin slice of toast. Hahah before the end is a cake in a car. But careless carcass causes cake to explode. No ha to that. Of which way is a water wand? Two times north equals south and south is busy chatting to an east but a west is too busy. In bustier businesses. Bring no baby sea lion to a mountain range. And always walk carefully in a light breeze from a light bulb in a bulletin. Un en dc k lie and a swerve dive makes a mission. For mules. Ten times a chicken divided by a spoon equals? And a laughing anarchical lollipop arrives. Hahahahahahahahha.......and a mysterious marshy rock visiting in a singular dingy. Wave. xxxxxxxx 1 2 3 4 industrialization z z z z z z z z z Z.
Form:
Golden are finite grains of sand, running smoothly through
The hour glass of time, tiny precious moments of reflections
Treasured gems, captured in thoughts of the shifting pages,
Of the ever turning calendar months.
Against the frosted goblet of remembrance, lie champagne
Lipstick kisses, impressions left overs of smudges residue
Of love's betrayal.
Celebrations bursting bubbles of memory, turning into frothy foam,
That slides downwards, off the empty bottle of regrets broken vows,
Of the New Year's promises sensed past.
A clicking symphony of tiffany tears, shed upon the satin pillow shams,
Dried are the rose petals of passion, cold embers burn within the
Hearth of the tender heart.
Bold is the youthful yearling, whom stands upon the Oedipus of
Emergence, strong is the inner being, a blossoms flower yielding,
Yearning to sprout, to feel the warmth of the sun's loving grace,
Yet banished beneath the weight of truth's injustice at the end.
But in hopes faith it grows, lighting up the box window pane of reality,
Climbing upwards towards the heaven's enlightenment of
Tomorrow.
Ripple do the waves of the timeless, one more waltz to dance,
Another romance to enhance with their devotional trance, a
Lingering flickering flame moves across the ocean of the broken
Hearted lover, who listens only to the music’s rheum.
Oh in desires high pitch moment of consequence does not
The innocent victim lie slain, at the footsteps of lusts threshold
Of adulthood, evergreen is the tree of the New Year, and
Loneienesses vines, creep along the life lines of the
Devotional heart.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Duchess, a brown chestnut Tennessee Walker with a
long flowing ebony mane, frolicked non-stop along the
fenced pasture bordering the corn field. She had the
whole eighty acres to herself, kicking up her heels as if
she was still a yearling. Fall was nearing its peak and
winter was just around the corner; for Duchess, it was
just another wonderful season like spring or summer.
The dark gray skies indicated a storm was approaching
and with the nights changing temperatures, a dusting
was evident. Dusk slithered in with the north wind,
suddenly- whirling fallen leaves and whipping cold-
needle- like rain pierced her huge brown eyes. Duchess
bolts – and like the wind, wheels her slender muscular
body in a joyous dance. Hoofs thunder intensely on
hardened cold soil, uprooting clumps of grass, sending
them flying along with her splaying tail. Oxygen
saturated nostrils swell as she canters poetically in a field
of crystals. The snow now picks up pace as does her
slow stride; turning into a gallop. Steam pours from
swollen lungs through her soft muzzle, she feels alive
but exhausted from the sudden burst. She gazes across
the open field and watches the tiny crystals collect on
evergreen along the hillside, gradually transforming into
puffy white flakes. She knows winter is here.
Copyright © 2010 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Second Place Winner ~ "Horses or Snowflakes or Horses
and Snowflakes” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance~A Rambling Poet~
Nov. 8, 2010
Olga Scheps embodies Chopin's Piano Concerto n° 1
For a pianist who ponders her prey
The taming arms-length erect posture
The torso and pulsating violin back encased in red-rich ornate coarse wrap
Nape muscles strung by swaying grace-groomed arms branched aloft
Pursed lips part for allegro romp
Tensile gushed groin screaming on seat-edge flailing fingers
Averse to sleek chord whale case under knee-cap check
Who is the Master of the indomptable Mistress
Does the script express and extend the actress's role
Or trundled chords liberate hidden Polish voices yearning
Cabriole on prairie pastures
The yearling kicking high on the keyboard
Startling the chevron-sinewed munching herd
Light lambs and kids throwing frolicking fits
Round and round the heifer humping high down the meadow
Stung to the quick half-recurring bars of the theme
The feline fauve now appeased by soft churning cuddles
Pages of screwed signals hung on lined sign-posts
Roused by nut-cracker knuckles
Flush out repartee collective timbre strings
Doused by the sweet-sweating triumphal orgiastic release
The wilful eyes of the hungry panther
Turn soft and pander to the prey
Is this when the poised moment of the composed kill
Misses the mark just once
The sleek black whale bears its twinkling teeth
in hollow rage
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2018
Makin' proper time for the rule of rhyme,
With a hint of lime, see? It ain't no crime.
I'm breakin' my fast, watchin' the broadcast,
See what's amassed, from first I'll everlast.
Standin' 'bout face causin' rackets in case,
I'll put in place all them chasin' my ace.
I'm on the off chance,
In my happen stance.
Makin' all eyes dance
In my happy stance.
Go 'head, call me fool, I'm shakin' the tool,
I'll make ya drool draggin' in the deadpool.
Rollin' the bones, riddin' the moss off stones,
Ev'ry bird moans payin' off all them loans.
Got my care package, it got ev'rywhere,
I know little bears, it's hard not to stare.
Put you in a trance
In my happen stance.
Knowin' in advance
In my happen stance.
Luck's my lady all-night, she's outta sight,
But she feels me alright, my hand's so sleight.
I make jokers laugh 'til they break in half,
Fall over their staff like a new-born calf.
Ain't no yearling, I'll start with static cling,
Who's askin' me "Is it good to be king?"
I'm author and lance
In my happen stance.
And it ain't by chance
In my happen stance.
The sky becomes a deepened blue,
like army coats of yore,
clings to the trees atop the hills,
settles on valley floor.
The sun is gone but dim lingers
upon the rolling fields,
they seem endless done up in dark,
with secrets unrevealed.
The snow glows, just three inches deep,
reflects the rising moon,
some bits of grass still reach above,
but they’ll be buried soon.
The corn stubble is taller yet,
gives all a mottled look,
brown on white, in the morning times
it’s overrun with rooks.
A deep is picking though it now,
a yearling, and a doe,
I see its silent stride and I
wonder where it will go?
Probably to the hill just west,
beyond which is the town,
it’s rocky there, with thick forest,
a good place to bed down.
My foot crunches on crusted snow,
the winds have made their mark,
they’re predicting a storm next week,
so this is just the start.
Head home, passing the darkened barn,
with animals sleep,
I will be out in morning’s chill,
giving them hay to eat.
It’s not the nicest time to farm,
nut this job never stops,
at least the skiers will be glad
the temperature has dropped.