Long Accept Poems
Long Accept Poems. Below are the most popular long Accept by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Accept poems by poem length and keyword.
I know I have a special purpose for my life,
I'm just struggling to answer
One question, what's my calling?
I don't know.
God I'm struggling I don't know what to do
What is it that I want to do?
I thought I knew at one point, but that plan didn't go
Like driving in a car but the air won't flow.
I know I'm your beloved son
And in me is whom you are well pleased
But sometimes I feel lost
Without a guide to point me down the right path.
Help me to see who it is I'm called be,
Who am I supposed to lead?
I don't have any answers
I pray you speak to me.
Help me hear what it is you want from me
As I begin to cry, I wish I could wipe my eyes
But tears still continue to fall from my eyes.
No matter how much I try my cheeks will never be dry
God I don't what am I supposed to do?
Pray and wait for you
I remember a few weeks back, my friend sent me a text
Saying she supports and believes in my dreams,
My parents said the same thing
So I know I'm loved and supported
By love from up above
Open my ear God I need to hear from you
What it is that I'm called to do?
Show others the light of Christ
How can I do that, when I don't even know your calling for my life?
I feel like I'm letting everyone down
I have no answers.
I want to make an impact but can't reenact my old plan
I accept that I need help, God reveal your plan.
I put my life in your hands
Please show me your perfect plan
And I will be the best me that I can
I give you full control,
Help me get my life under control.
I know I'll find my place you always make a way
No matter what path I take you will make everything okay
I have chosen to follow only in your ways
And read your word for the rest of my days.
I'm not in this on my own there's no way,
I can't make it traveling my own way
I need help, I need advice.
I know you'll never leave my side
No need for me to duck and hide.
You're glued to me, more like me to you
After all, everything I will ever need is found in you.
My old nature has been tossed out,
I'm a new man with a new plan
Reequipped and reset
Now I'm ready for the next step.
Get a vision, create a path,
Time for me to get my life back on track.
I know I have a special calling on my life
To share the light of Jesus Christ
What's your calling for my life?
I don't know what's my calling?
When Mortimer Manders collapsed in the street,
his daughter, Muriel, was with him.
Though now seventy-five,
he’d continued to thrive,
in spite of the irregular rhythm
his heart was now keeping. But this was quite grave.
He hit the hard sidewalk real sudden.
When Muriel knelt
beside him, and felt
to locate where his pulse was, she couldn’t.
Soon, passers-by stopped and gathered around,
but no-one had medical knowledge.
“It’s good, I suppose,
If you loosen his clothes:
I think that’s what they told us in college …”
She looked wildly around, and thought that she’d found
a willing and capable saviour.
A red firehouse lay
thirty metres away –
(might as well have been Outer Moravia!)
When Muriel pounded the firehouse door,
a voice answered back through the panels,
“You make think it inept,
but we’ll only accept
an approach through appropriate channels.”
“But he pays your wages,” she argued with force:
and, pointing to where he was lying,
“You’ve got to come quick –
he’s collapsed on the bricks –
my father is probably dying!”
“You don’t understand how these things are arranged,”
said the voice, from the depths of the station:
“You just call nine-one-one.
If we try to respond,
we are risking adverse litigation.”
Running into the roadway, she flagged down a car,
and the driver agreeably shocked her:
with a white coat and bag
and a hospital tag,
he said, “Yes, you are right, I’m a doctor.”
As the quack pulled away, he turned briefly to say,
in a voice that was suitably gloomy,
“I will not touch that man,
for if I lend a hand
and he happens to die, you can sue me.”
The ambulance came, but things got more lame,
as Mortimer started to weaken:
though the ambulance crew
looked resplendent in blue,
the responders were all Costa Rican.
“We’ve lived here some time and our English is fine,
but we can’t touch our defibrillator.
To avoid getting screwed,
we must talk to him through
an officially-sanctioned translator.”
“But you sound good to me, and it’s peachy, you see,
for my father speaks German and Spanish.”
“But your ganso is cooked.
No interpreter’s booked.”
And the ambulance packed up and vanished.
So the moral is clear. Clear of medics please steer.
Your best course, if you’re feeling nervous, is
lay on linguists each day
in Magyar and Malay
– and don’t call emergency services.
A woman one day had a total makeover
she completely altered her body and face
But only one week after all the surgery she had
she found herself standing before God's pearly gates
She said Lord, "what's going on around here
You told me I had twenty more years?"
The Lord replied," I didn't even recognize you
and that could be the reason why you are now here"
What is the ultimate makeover? What is it that we feel we must change?
What are we really reaching for? What do we hope to attain?
Botox injections, breast augmentations, changes that require a surgical team
We sometimes take an extreme approach to obtain the American dream
Pimped out, tricked out the ultimate fantasy car
But without God in your life you won't get very far
The ultimate makeover what you really need in your life
Is to accept as your Savior the Lord Jesus Christ
We all have a God shaped hole in our hearts that only He can fulfill
And no makeover of your fleshly self can completely satisfy that bill
To live your life to the fullest extent you must makeover your inner being
For your soul is the essence of who you are the core that God will be seeing
Neither bulking up nor becoming slim and trim will to God make much of a difference
It's the grace, peace and serenity inside you that will change your outward appearance
So confess that Jesus is your Lord and Savior
and believe His Father raised Him from the dead
For your faith in the Lord Christ should not occur only inside your head
It's not just the consciousness of your thoughts It's how your soul accepts God
So drink of the blood of the new covenant of Christ a makeover transforming your heart
For true belief involves your whole being it's not just cerebral and intellectual perceptions
It's the heart , mind and Spirit of God that should be your personal inceptions
The ultimate makeover the ultimate transformation
Will occur when you accept Jesus Christ's resurrection and salvation
So be recreated with a clean heart renewed and born again
the ultimate makeover that comes from within
But if you continue to hold sin in your heart there's not much that God can do
And you'll have a harder time finding forgivingness if your heart's not contrite and true
So ask the Lord for peace and grace and let the Holy Spirit inside you take over
Be revived, renewed and born again the ultimate Godly makeover
Its not a Religion it’s a Life style
Its not a Religion it’s a Life style Don’t be Blind by your belief. Or too blind to see that if you
are not For Christ there is something that you do believe. No such thing as a non
Believer. In life we are all receivers of something or shall I say someone.
So don’t think for once you are operating under your own mind. There’s nothing
comical about the truth the light the things the vision of Christ.
He’s not a celebrity Superstar so don’t get it twisted. More to say is he is the star who
created existence which none of us can Shine without his light. No you may not need a
Sunday Television. But you do need That divine intervention. Where he can come into your
life and you can accept him as Your Christ Lord and Savior. Of all things please don’t
quench the Holy Spirit as the old Folks use to say don’t make jokes of the Holy Ghost.
If you think you don’t need time for Prayer or any of the other things. When you down to
the lowest low I guarantee you will call Upon his name. Oh you say that for you its never
been hard. Well the word say every knee Shall bow and every tongue will confess that
Jesus Christ is Lord. If you don’t want a place Up there maybe you will be the first to be
comfortable in hell. Just because you think your Head is alright a fool do too. No scientific
tool can be use when you meet him face to face. Don’t let your logical man get in the way
of what your spirit man is trying to show you.
The Devil is good at deceiving a liar that can never speak the truth. But try Jesus he will
never fail You. You come in asking for a miraculous vision. When the gift of Life was a
miraculous decision. To be living in someone else and live in this world and not accept that
Jesus plays a Hugh role in your Life. So the style you living let it be for Christ. But I can see
why when you have so many false lies of Super heroes and other people want God job.
But don’t let your spirit be rob. Confessing the truth can Put the enemy so far behind you.
Things that you think you have to fight with, God he will make it right. Line up in his word
speak it everyday so you can be heard. Not be heard by people but by that thing that’s
trying to keep you mental. Mentally distracted from the real. Confess the Word to be
healed. Don gamble your life. Don’t gamble your life.
Glowing days that were once red-cheeked and ripe with promise,
Are narrowing like tall candles in a church window,
Tapering from the golden stand and the sturdy base,
To the glorious flame and the ever fading light.
The final birth of dreams that was once distant and cold,
Is now close, closer, ever closer.
The imminent darkened clouds of doubt, that haunt the wise,
Are now gathering close to form a ghostly shadow,
That will create a vast tempest, in a quiet place,
And a mighty torrent that will quench the firelight.
Unyielding waves of fear that are rising in the old,
Are now near, nearer, ever nearer.
To have once coveted the blue from the autumn sky,
Embraced the fallen leaves of a giant maple tree,
To have jumped into water without wondering why,
Leaped joyfully in the warm sand near the emerald sea.
Having playfully chased off the petulant sea gulls,
Broken twigs to build a fire against night’s attack,
Held tight in your strong hands the soft feathers of eagles,
And kissed a beautiful girl on the nape of the neck.
To have laughed at the tetchy clock ticking in the hall,
And smoked each distressing regret like a cigarette,
Knowing it would certainly give cancer of the soul,
The narrowing compels the pining heart to forget.
When forced to consent to the lessening of a day,
And to accept the waning of a moonlit heaven,
To wonder if the path taken was the only way,
Is to live in mortal fear inside a peaceful den.
To be ordered to find gratitude in the calming,
And to find a moments peace in the resignation,
Is not the purpose of the dancing and singing,
This game is but a trial of the imagination,
God has left the beautiful forest unattended,
There is no lesson, design or celestial rule,
To search for meaning is to invite eternal dread,
It takes a saddened, embittered mind to be that cruel.
An elegance can be found in the narrowing,
As memories line together like a pearl necklace,
And clouded moments vanish and amount to nothing,
And all are gently buried with red velvet and lace.
Love the narrowing, set in a purposeless blue sky,
Not because winter nights have become less frightening,
Or the smoldering summer days have now lost their sting,
But as there is no truth in the trumpet or the drum,
It is just a walk among the flowers of freedom.
And a laughing stroll through the narrowing of wisdom.
Unaffordable, yet valiant speeding,
tailgating, and zooming Pep Boys, I cannot dodge.
Yours truly grief stricken
(sob... sob... sob)...
wheely hard to bear
this anticipatory anxiety
riddled joker impossible
mission thwarting despair
death knell tolled (told),
woebegone news, I did fear
hears stunned me into silence,
the unwelcome prognosis,
I needed to hear
no joke, but good humor
totally wrecked vehicle forces
yours truly to become...,
no not a lion tamer
but, yes a panhandling junketeer
begging, copping, dilly dallying... ha
to accept unpleasant
unexpected dire straits
gravely digging within lithosphere
bidding... fare thee well
treasured automobile faithful and near
synonymous with ideal paramour, yet now
must confront stark reality,
lack ample disposable income available
no financial resources to persevere,
and worse case scenario me
and the missus will need to don
faux Santa Claus outfit,
and roundup available reindeer
for ourselves (yea... yea... yea...,
I realize how spare
and tired, pessimistic,
forlorn success such short notice
unless if... nah no fat or slim chance...
apocalypse ushers abominable thermonuclear
war, (I doubt Trump would
pull publicity stunt
to be re elected - ha) whereby
Beatle browed, foo fighting
foreigners, survivors impressed, feted,
compensated... for service
unless they willingly volunteer.
Combination future pluperfect
birthday presents and Noel hi
Christmas gifts well nigh,
noah ark cake "FAKE" attempt,
to hoodwink, engine ear,
trunk hate, et cetera
drum, harp, trumpet... belie
including objective to shanghai,
nor fall out of good amazing graces
toward (me) garden variety generic guy
providing steadfast generous
figurative air supply to fortify,
revving me shaky talent,
ye may oft times decry
as unintelligible gobbledygook
brainstorming ideas to try
single handedly ambidextrously
poetically kindle indeed codify
to elucidate how transportation
car reared and gone awry
moderate expenses as original parts wear out,
(i.e. battery, fender, brakes,
hood latch, shock absorber, tires...
albeit almost all simultaneously), hence I sigh
aware expounding circumstance that doth defy
immediate resolution incumbent to pacify
troubleshoot immediate impasse
squarely render quintessence
problem solving the overriding
challenge, I vilify.
Doomsday Clock January 2022...
the most recent tabulation
signaled one hundred seconds to midnight
A couple years ago
similarly titled poem I did write,
yet looms as harbinger unless
*****sapiens can unite
one non Yiddish speaking
Ongematert wishing ye
fare thee well tonight
before betokening apocalyptic sight
'course one must go about
her/his business - right?
Rhetorical question - yet
impossible mission quite
challenging, where one
brother grimm ponders plight
Cosmofunnel favorite fan
Katina Borgersen "poof"
our acquaintanceship dissolved
(think - snapped fingers) outright
regardless, whether...
perchance we ever
cross paths long daze
journey into night
met under virtual reality moonlight
ah... the mere awareness
of her existence
metaphorically found modest, mercurial
mellow male within limelight
oy vey admittedly one
rusty Ongepatshket knight
fumbling in the dark with
his unreliable sputtering jacklight
hooping aforesaid gal whose eyes alight
upon mine genuine words doth newt
coon sitter me laughable, nor impolite,
yet accept hard reality to highlight
and/or _ underscore delight
full dame online - each of us,
an infinitesimal jot of granulite
within vast cosmos given finite
minuscule time to excite
our senses trending utmost delight
during brief unique
deoxynucleic chromosomal copyright
til death do us part,
whether natural demise
or... huge mushroom
clouds radioactive blight
unimaginable nightmarish scenario
impossible mission to close third eye blind
webbed global haunting spectacle
mortal creatures linkedin to ill fate
including yours truly,
a generic, garden variety
hermetically sealed cell bit anchorite.
Uneasiness far greater
to confront atomic augury
than pernicious penury
which ceases within eyeblink
far more serious than perjury
nonetheless afflicting me
with psychological injury.
Personal finances pitted
me deep in hock
into red room zone,
shining thru the mist
story, yes I experience
quite a shell shock,
to absorb inconvenient truth
great swaths of Gaia
analogous to dead zone,
nevertheless, now finds yours
truly poorest, oldest, and nerdiest
curmudgeon goofy "kid"
on the chopping block
within Lake Wobegon
hard space and third rock
from sun as inevitable doom
inches closer as each second elapses
insync with inaudible tick tock.
This is not a poem, this is a message for those who only come at my page to see flaws in my poem and in me, so they can make foul verbal comments. I'm not referring to my fellow poets here. I'm referring to my ill- minded compatriots.
Some even comment that its not me who makes my poems. But you can't really know or comprehend what it takes to be a poet and to make a poem if you're not a poet yourself. As Bob Dylan said, "don't criticize what you can't understand." It makes me smile to hear nonsense comments, like those saying that I copied works from other people when the poem is all about me or my situation, even containing personal details about me, especially those who comment that I plagiarize everything, including a short prose or a simple poem. You cannot apply your level of thinking or situation to that of the poet.
As you can see, every poem we make here are copyrighted the moment we make it, and many if not most of them are made for a specific competition under specific criteria set by the judges, so there's no way we just take poems from somewhere and place them here, especially if our intention is to place in the competition.
One thing that you should understand is that every poem is unique, because the condition under which it was written cannot be exactly duplicated in another time and another place. This means that except for competitions with open themes that may accept poems that were already written, poets write based on their feelings, emotion, state of body and mind, prevailing inspiration and other surrounding circumstances the time they write, which make them the only person who can explain the exact meaning of their poems. When one plagiarizes a work, he only copies the lyrics but not the essence of the work as when it was made by the writer, and definitely, the skill behind the making of the work cannot be plagiarized. That sets the difference between the person pretending and the real maker of the work. So there's no point in copying works from other people because there is no essence of self fulfilment in it.
Every poem here is open for everyone to see. If we'd be putting plagiarized works here everyday, we'd be slapped with countless charges. Besides, the admins of this site do not allow plagiarized works to be placed here. This is a site for lovers of poetry and not for haters.
December 23, 2023, PST, SPC
Atlantis rises
Under the water a city floats.
Invisible walls protect the people from the ocean.
Above the waves, nobody knows of the city below.
The worshipers lay flowers before their Gods to show their devotion.
For centuries this city has stood against the wave of incoming tides.
For generations its people have tried,
To find a way to live above and not just accept being uprooted;
But there are those would claim to rule,
So Atlantis must remain secluded.
The Atlantian’s feel trapped inside their sphere.
They want to find land; they want a new home and a new frontier,
But this city is the hand they have been dealt.
Even in this united community, there are those who cannot be helped.
They plot and scheme and think of change,
But they cannot wait to see that day;
For they are impatient,
So they act on instinct.
Not willing to discuss, they move with mistrust
And without a sound, they blink…
They disappear and gather in secret to speak.
Security seek them, but the protectors are weak.
The time has come to leave this place!
At night they leap into action, a war on the base.
Guns are waved, orders are shouted;
Shock and awe are a necessity, as to not be doubted.
Stolen ships of exploration;
Part of the human spirit has been taken.
But the community comes together to unite around those who remain.
They still think about those who decided to leave,
But the minutes soon turn into days.
Soon those who left are all but forgotten;
Life moves on without a mention of them.
All that which they stole has been replaced.
Years later a city rises from beneath the waves,
To appear before the world; a mystery unravels.
The people who never existed have found a way to travel.
How did they survive beneath the sea all these days?
With magic and machinery, they found a way.
A future voice; an alien being.
Time travel; all knowledge available to be seen.
As the city grows to reach the land,
The ocean is its arm; the city is its hands
And as the hand rises, the people multiply.
The city continues to grow until it reaches the sky.
Now the ocean is unseen, the land is no longer green.
Everywhere the people look, they only see concrete.
The view disappears;
Sky scraper towers.
Humans have advanced through the years,
But gone are all the flowers…
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Karen Windle roughly on par...
with being a miniature poodle size dogsend
Apartment B44 one bedroom unit
at Highland Manor low income facility
housing older folks convenient starting point,
to launch poem and invite reader(s)
reason(s) without rhyme
why yours truly (me)
chose to express heartfelt gratitude
toward resident Karen Windle,
which named individual most likely unknown
across world wide web
(hmm... maybe methinks perchance
possibly ye did sound her out courtesy radar,
especially if thee dutiful patrol officer
generously handing out -
not necessarily) winning lottery tickets
within vicinity encompassing
University of Delaware.
We (myself and zee missus) inhabit
aforementioned single bedroom abode,
allows, enables and provides
convenient reference point
upon exiting our dime a dozen quarters
(housing near penniless occupants)
verily orient toward left of hallway,
no need to access global positioning satellite
leisurely amble short distance
just count three doors down on the left,
thee will espy name tag printed
small letters Karen Windle
her acquaintanceship we did kindle,
now greater value when measured with corn,
wheat, or other commodities
approximately equal to three bushels,
but varying in different regions.
Explanation whereby appreciation
toward Karen (spry firecracker, energetic,
diminutive, albeit frail looking gal)
materialized when series of unfortunate events
rendered me and mine spouse
without ready immediate access to automobile
near necessity within quaint enclave
identified as Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
affords absolute zero public transit,
hence necessity for chauffeur de jure arose,
whereby availability to shuttle us
found monetary compensation declined,
thus stymied intent regarding how I could
communicate sincere thankfulness
relieved when she would accept
poetic endeavor incorporating
best college try (mine) to alleviate
imposition if/when opportunity exists
to scrape meager money
and expect to sink a fortune
maintaining, insuring, fueling vehicle,
significant portion of social security (disability)
allocated to sustain reliability of car
dollar figure greater than buzzfeeding
caretaking, duties linkedin to
mental, physical, and spiritual health
concerning this aging baby boomer,
plus his counterpart approximately
previous couple dozen years.