Long Adapts Poems
Long Adapts Poems. Below are the most popular long Adapts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Adapts poems by poem length and keyword.
Pt 1 2 3 4
living spaces
of elegance
besides
among
placed in shadows
of fantasy
with custom..
get understood
to illuminate
the literal
blush with
the fashionable
experiment
& discern
with
the curious
surrender
to emotion
a wilderness
politeness
in pillars
of the peculiar
nomadic
remote
detached
expressions
attitudes
mde manifest
with
experimental ideals
a redeemed
possession
imparts innocence
with meaning
polishing
knowledge
spins
spirals
tumbles
adapts..
dumbfounded
to reach
a conclusion
in
privacy
The street
teaches us,
the road
carries us,
the city
inhabits us. if we live in it...
the street
surprises us,
the road
amazes us,
the city
adapts us, whether we wish it or not...
The street
tames us,
the road
actually ignores us,
the city
hides us and invent us...
But we just fight,
we only live for
understand this uncertain
philosophy... !
He came from humble folks,
an adoptive father
and a virgin mother;
many didn't believe He was the Christ,
and still the parables, written in the Gospels,
amaze us to this day with their might!
Preaching with a fearless voice,
and speaking to them of hope,
of fraternity and unselfish love...
the prodigal son and the tears
of an indecent woman
are the perfect reminders
how forgiveness can change someone's life;
are we on the same path to destruction,
and do we ever look back:
to reflect and avoid falling into the Devil's trap?
So hated and undesiderable,
in the sinner's thoughts,
is the One who gave up His life,
so that we could enter the forbidden Paradise;
and didn't His blood, spilled on Calvary's cross,
save everyone...living in sin and pride?
Pope Benedict condemns immorality,
and warns those violating celibacy...
while wicked priests molest innocent children;
what will it take to make this an obedient race?
If Jesus returned today, wouldn't he grab the whip
and start lashing them like a whirl-wind,
so that they would be punished for their sin
and their mocking faith?
Religion has a deceptive look,
it changes and adapts itself
to the ideology of modern times...
leading many down a dark road;
its light is a flickering candle:
making true faith so hated and undesiderable!
Canada Jays
Four seasons ‘round, Canada jays are found,
Perched in tree branches, safe and sound,
Resting after flying throughout the North,
In the Canadian boreal forests.
Heard and not seen unless it’s their intention
To disturb the silence, making known their presence
By confronting intruders in the area
With shrill barking, expressing displeasure.
Their shaded greys of feathery plumage bests
Darker on the back, with lighter puffed breasts.
On a round head adorns a snow-capped crown,
Endowed with dark eyes and a sharp, short, pointed bill.
They have feet equipped with talons to grip the limb tight,
While long, white-tipped tail feathers fan in flight,
Which serves the robin-sized creature well in this climate
And adapts the songbird to its environment.
Then, it’s off scavenging, preparing for winter
In territories established by mating pairs,
Who swish food in their mouths to coat it with saliva,
Ensuring successful seasonal survival
By hiding the sticky boluses in trees
And memorizing the local scenery,
As marauding eyes spy on the jays’ commotions
To steal morsels from the clandestine caches.
During cold weather, they fluff up their feathers
To stay warm and hide their feet from exposure
And twist their necks to tuck in their beaks
Under the wing flap joint to maintain body heat.
Sometimes, they snuggle for companionship
And share warmth during winter hardships.
The birds, confirming whispers to their mate for life,
Find comfort in their labours, making it worthwhile.
In early spring, when the air is cold and the snow deep,
The male selects the south side of the tree for a nest site for the sun’s heat,
Building the nest with dead twigs, bark strips, and lichens,
With caterpillar cocoons for reinforcement.
The cup is feather-lined for the female to lay,
Who does not leave the clutch until the eggs are hatched.
The male feeds her throughout the incubation period,
Then she joins him in the raising of their offspring.
??CHAMPION AGAIN!!!
Common oath with the Gold,
She's two decades old,
Browny hair, tough skin dark toned,
Tobi's horse-wheel pull a two wheeled cart,
Breaks another record and grease our heart.
Some placed a bet before it starts.
Good wager wins if played smart
Cos Tobi's stare told me of a driving force within,
An undiminished thrust to always win
And with an urge not just to take part,
She ran like Sonic right from the start.
Before this tournament no one gave her the nod.
Reasonable humans adapt themselves to the world:
The unreasonable ones persists
in trying to adapt the world to themselves.
Tobi Amusan adapts the world of Commonwealth to herself.
Fills with quids, laurels & accolades her account & shelf.
This Nigerian Speed Queen achieved the unreasonable
And boost our ranking on the medal table.
Champion again, as she keeps bursting our bubbles,
Won Gold again in the Women's 100m Hurdles
With a record 12.30secs in the Birmingham 2022.
Now she has conquered the world & claim laurels too!
Congratulations ???? ???????????
VickManuelPoetry {VMP}
Copyright©7thAugust2022.
Fact Or Fool Who be You
I have seen
fools ranting
what's up Pink Floyd
No thinkers, no education
only poets with muse and frustration
The deniers of science
are committing massive crimes
jail should be their only pudding
sadly Covid takes many of them away
I have no sympathy for their ignorant play
the only ones bouncing in their beds
are the scientists
angry that such ignorance spreads
it's always the morons who resist
why do people carry such hate?
to tell lie upon lie upon loathing lie
letting thousands more in pain die
the penitentiary should be their fate
American prejudice has failed us
funding is ever lacking
Teachers who know not what's cracking
No wonder fools get away with the fuss
Science does not cover up
it only learns, adapts and that's a must
over six billion vaccines
thousands of doctors have over seen
The outbreaks now you see
are the unvaxxed injected with stupidity
they blame all the immigrants
hatred always blames the outsider
All in all, stupidity is never very tall
I have never been in a war…PEACE…I’ve lived it…breathed it…taught it…
but as much as I have hated war…I respect all those who fought it.
I’ve lived long enough to know …we all see the world through different eyes…
I know I don’t have all the answers…no one is that wise.
I know most people in the world hate the thought of war as much as me
and I understand sometimes we must fight to keep our country free.
I know the men and women who die in war are black, white, gay or straight
I know that war…and bullets…and bombs do not discriminate.
I also know on Memorial Day we put our differences aside
and we come together to commemorate every soldier who has died.
How we commemorate is different for everyone…as everyone adapts…
We visit graves, we pause a moment…a lone bugler plays Taps.
I cannot play the bugle…so when it comes to playing Taps
I found a different way to commemorate…as I say…everyone adapts.
And though I’ve never fought or died in war…yesterday (with very little pizzaz)
I played Taps on my harmonica…for everyone who has…
I played to commemorate those who have died in wars…
while still praying wars will cease…
to commemorate those who gave their lives in wars
so I can play my harmonica in peace.
The Centerfold On Frost Field.
As I lay on my back dying I heard the cry for help.
With the last of my endurance I stand on my feet.
Valiantly I break ground!
As I grasp my axes within twain of my hands.
Though exasperated, I release my mournful cry!
With my last aggression, I let loose my inner berserker!
To bastion, for glory, for thy honor, for thy blood, for thy bonds!
Feet thunderous as I break earth upon each step!
As I run my breath hits the frozen air, like lava melting even frozen fear!
Valiantly my body adapts, with the fortitude of the gods.
Volatile is my mind as I rush into fighting the fowl fiends!
Alone I stand against the devastating foes!
With the tenacity of the witcher I fight against their enemies!
With blood, sweat, grit, and tears, I shred them to bits!
One by one they befall my feet, in thy raven's eyes they feed.
Only by Valkyrie's hand on frostfield, may I be saved!
With my battle born cry I continue to slay!
~ Benjamin Luke Aguas.
Twilight downs the sun as dreams appear on the screen of sleep
Slips into the subconscious realm and trips a few fuses in slumber
Adapts and clears clutter and narrates and alters the story in kind
Strips and clips a mind full of sentience like an ad-blocking app
When dreams slip into a magical edition it proofreads my soul
In magic Morpheus tenders to soft renditions and rehearses
A new dawn for sanity’s sake and rearranges bedlam in silence
Ties new meaning to fake news and spins alignments afresh
Compounds and rearranges while the curtain slowly descends
A dress rehearsal in night gown patiently waits for the curtain
A sacred orange globe dances with ripples dissected by clouds
Ultramarine parades on the fading horizon of tangerine canvas
As the gatekeeper confers with clairvoyants and hobbling goblins
The mermaids charter the voyage with sea gulls and dolphin as they
Tie holy knots onto the tapestry of fabrication and spirited truths
Sometimes my aspirations and recollections call for clean slates
When charcoal rules anthracite waves draped in sombre veils
Or polychrome splashes beg to hold on to the palette forever
Sleep brushes over karma and vagaries and tames with a stroke
Of restful fortune in infinite renditions of what the future might hold
A life line appears on the horizon anchoring a courageous flare
Regardless of whether my journey explores a secret underworld
Or ships critique onto the blatantly obvious faults in the vessel
Poseidon pumps up the raft as tears and regrets rock the boat
Blows caution to the wind and advises to hold on for dear life
Neptune challenges his counterpart and weighs for good measure
Yet Atlantis refuses to sink and Nirvana sweeps the ocean’s floor
Phoenix gathers soaked ashes while jetsam jumps into the current
When the night parades its blessing the sun resets a new dawn
The moon watches over assorted memories baggage and hope
19th April 2020
My journey is one of balance and harmony,
I am a water metaphor that adapts its shape;
always flowing, yielding, softly and quietly,
but strong enough to cut into rock and reshape.
I chose a way to nature and contemplation,
to create my inner sanctuary;
an open gate, a secret garden creation,
a place where all turmoil I can bury.
I am on my own unique beautiful journey,
where I can let go of time and slow down;
with moderation in all things and no need to hurry;
and be independent as a star shining alone.
____________________
September 23, 2022
Poetry/Quatrain/My Journey
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1489-966-23
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, Brian Strand Premiere Choice
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 09/25/2022
Sixth Place