Long Adjusts Poems
Long Adjusts Poems. Below are the most popular long Adjusts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Adjusts poems by poem length and keyword.
When I have learned to laugh at life,
find humor in its flaws,
and realize that stress and strife
are part of worldly laws...
When I have learned to ride the crest
of hopes for which I live,
no matter how just make the best
of what I have to give...
When I have learned to compromise
if dreams cannot come true,
and know that unfulfilled past tries
have made me wiser too...
When I have learned if I feel sad,
my glass 'half-empty' seems...
much better to adjust, be glad
it's still 'half-full' of dreams...
When I have learned this life, like tides
that ebb and flow at sea,
adjusts to balance out, provides
eventual stability...
When I have learned to become free,
shut tight the 'victim' door...
I will end up with victory.
from gloom to gladness soar.
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
Contest: Victim or Victor
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 09/21/2016
Rules: write a poem based on the quote above
John 11:25 “Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:”
~~~~~~~~
Gentle, like the bird
Whose song is soft as the sigh,
Between hopes and dreams,
Lasting through silence,
Who believes in the promises,
Faded between pages,
Grace like the music stored up,
Beneath the words, verses,
Visions so solid they feel broken,
By the very words used to weave them,
Into portraits of serenity,
Feelings bleeding on dewdrop
Rhythms, hesitating to sing,
Like the wind’s refrain, as it adjusts,
To the song that is shared
By yesterday, the inkling of a memory
Flavored with light, soothing
As the clear night,
Flooded with starlight, glimmering,
On the edges of a thought,
Breathless and alone,
Composing the moments
In seas of heartfelt praises,
Making their way through the ache,
Beneath the trembling sayings,
Grief that agrees,
Gentle as the rain who clings,
To a silence, bending,
Each limb, each question
With a tenderness, expressing,
All the gentleness that is composed
In faith, hope and love,
All the light falling from above,
Whispering life into those of us,
Who know the One who died and rose,
The One who is light far brighter,
Than sun or moon – clearer than the stars,
Risking all for the chance to save,
Each of us – we owe Him all,
We owe Him all we are, all we will ever be,
We owe Him our lives, our dreams.
We owe Him the love that can see…
Past the beauty – into the love within,
The love that is beyond intimate,
The love that covers all sin,
With His blood, His innocence, His gift
To those who believe He is who He says He is.
He is the One who silences the clouds,
Wipes away the past and sets about preparing us,
For the love that is more abundant than our plans,
Love that is more wise than the seas,
Love that takes away every fear,
Love that silences every doubt,
Love that is the wonder of every heart,
Love that abides so we’re blessed more and more,
Love that we share – love beyond compare!
In frozen space there spins a marveled sphere
On balanced perch with fettered care, aglow
An artful system shields a fragile show
And skillfully adjusts to nature’s veer
Both land and sea work seamlessly to steer
A nuanced waltz that sways with ebb and flow
Ensuring life sustained is free to grow
The tenants with the largest minds, I fear
Are loath to gait their stride among the herd
Entitled arrogance on proud display
As man expands and subjugates with flair
From greenhouse gas to ocean stress incurred
The human race insuring its decay
Tomorrow’s hopes and dreams, this folly snares
19 Apr 2014
Miltonic Sonnet
abbaabbacdecde
To a point of trust.
There is no such barrier as insecurity.
In over one hundred pictures you are free to do as you please.
Intuition doesn't lie.
A sudden sensation that strikes out the blue.
Theres no need for passwords or indiscreet glances.
A rare case trust comes into question.
A certain closure that adjusts to a overwhelming thought.
A sudden reach or pull confirms this serious accusation.
Things change.
A subtle glance to remember the way things use to be.
In over one hundred different pictures I witnessed your body language begin to change.
In over one hundred different ways you hid pieces of yourself behind a password.
In a world where we are free to do as we please.
You decided to hide yourself.
Second guessing that truth would never find the light.
Appearing against the phone of a random stranger.
Another secret.
A light to peek through the crevice
The aged fortune-teller sits behind a large round table which is decorated with old lace-trimmed scarves, sequined tassels, and shiny gold-colored coin trim. She tells me to cross her palm with silver, meaning she waits to be paid for her services. After I place my money in her wrinkled palm, she adjusts herself in her heavy wooden chair. She begins to gaze attentively into the depths of her glass crystal ball which rests atop a wooden ornate stand. Her weathered fingers caress the glass gently. I sit, quietly and patiently, while my heart pounds in my chest. I tremble in anticipation. The fortune-teller's eyes begin to squint. She fixates on one area of the crystal ball. What does she suddenly see? I become anxious. What will my fortune reveal? My heart begins to beat harder and faster. She raises her head slowly and she stares at me. I am motionless.
I ran across an old photograph of my brothers and me when…I think…I was only three…immediately I asked my self…”Is that three-year-old in the photo really me?”
Certainly it was me on the day that photo was taken…but to say that IS me…well…I think I’d be mistaken.
Even though I’m not sure when that photo was shot…not sure exactly when…I think Alice in Wonderland would agree…I’ve changed a million times since then.
Yes, that was me in the photo…with ears only a parent could adore…but that was me at 3…I imagine I changed a lot by the time I had turned 4.
And 5…and 6…and through my teens and all my other years combined…until I reached the who I am today…my who…at 69.
That is the allure of old photographs…that make them both wonderful and bizarre…they capture the who we were for a moment in time…but not the who we are.
One who…who was essential…but a who we’ve emerged from…important because it helped create the who we have become.
I noticed in that old photo I was smiling…grinning ear to ear…and I’m proud that smile has been handed down from who to who and year to year.
I guess if I have one small bone of contention…it would be that my whos had been a little taller…or at least…knowing how’d they would one day grow…that my ears would have started out…a little smaller.
But let me say this to all my future whos…
as each who adjusts and rearranges….
I’m okay with my ears getting larger…
as long as that smile never changes.
she jokes that she is privileged
sensitive rather than complex
wide open in thoughts and emotions
never alone with her own company
so many question
sometimes even answers
swirling around her mind
on an overdrive of stimuli
every once in a while
in the here and now
of self-talk and enquiry
there are balance and harmony
the dark dog on her shoulder
plays with psychedelic cats
a bit of hissing and growling
and licking of paws
her reality is not one of delusion
rather an onslaught or feast
of unlimited strength or exhaustion
depending on who has the last word
neurodiverse feeling and reasoning
she does not know why she is
the person she has become
but she is grateful and humble
as rhapsodies dance with cacophony
and the drum beats for an anxious heart
she adjusts to the pace and exudes love
in tune with hope and compassion
she is a poem in herself
magical mysterious and delightful
and living proof that multiple voices
bear the chance of being heard
diversity written on her face
no need for mascara or lip stick
rather an unveiled persona
which speaks for herself
09th September 2021
What’s the time?
The dictator is obsessed with time
he has thousands of wrist-watches and wall clocks
showing the time in different time zones.
At noon, he checks the time zones if it is ten o’clock
Somewhere else, he adjusts his star-studded Rolex
In his mind, he has gained two extra hours.
The time is a must for the dictator, he is getting old
and fear the breath of the dead and the power.
He spends too much time alone, only seeing people
on the screen, political helpers consist of faces
Suspicious by nature, he tries to read if the faces
are treacherous trying to unseat him he needs total
loyalty to feel secure, he knows he is right they are
plotting against by fighting his war timidly yet know
if he falls, they will perish too.
Not a room for the waiting
or the receiving of the waiting,
but a room for a liquid thinking
a turgidity
that trickles through plastic tubes.
Is this where doors remain jammed
forever between Hospital floors?
Unseen, a wall clock drops
heavy packages of time
into narrow chutes,
latex handprints are shaken
from sterilized surfaces.
The regularity
of beep and whir mechanically
sucks light in and out.
The yoke recalls it shell.
Desiccated fingers
squeeze a phantom pain-ball,
morphine as cold as ice
is delivered
to an unknown address.
A swish of a starched presence,
fingertips retrace
scorched fever-lines.
Eyes creep toward the voice.
Consciousness
scratches a self-portrait
upon a white neon sun,
a hesitant, primitive etching.
A nurse adjusts the electronic pulse
of a free-floating mind.
Space expands under her hands.
Clad in Kevlar on some forest land leased,
big saw in his hand, engine idling,
gets put to the tree and shatters the peace,
works it just right, and the tree is falling.
Adjusts his visor, then lops off the limbs,
the yarder comes down, cables cinch up tight,
makes sure it is a good distance from him,
then yanks the logs up as if they’re in flight.
A claw grabs them there, loads them in the truck,
down rough road it trundles with its cargo,
off to the mill, so they can make a buck,
on to the next tree the lumberjack goes,
knows if he screws up there’s a chance he dies,
the risk you take working the mountainside.