Long All or nothing Poems
Long All or nothing Poems. Below are the most popular long All or nothing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long All or nothing poems by poem length and keyword.
Love is a game that has no rules:
yet it's an all-or-nothing stakes.
And the odds do not favor fools;
who toy with my heart till it breaks.
When you smile, my heart skips a beat:
and my pulse swiftly starts to race.
For staying calm is no small feat:
seeing that smile light up your face.
Fate imbues love with wings of hope
to pursue a heart pure and true.
And trust severs my safety rope,
surrendering my heart to you.
But, in surrender, I found bliss;
as our two half-souls were made whole.
For when passion fuels each kiss;
love morphs into one heart and soul.
She took my name today,
radiant, white-dressed, processing
in an old church of her choosing,
her sisters in ugly dresses,
roll their eyes when the priest says:
“Mr. and Mrs. Parker,”
They’re not cool with tradition,
think she should stay ‘Isaacson,’
for ‘the cause,’ or something like that,
but my wife does not give a damn,
she took my name today.
She took my name today,
signed it in the hotel guest-book,
in swirling, old-fashioned cursive,
fine way to start our honeymoon.
It looked so beautiful to me,
I asked if she would hyphenate,
‘Isaacson’ is part of her too,
but she is all or nothing.
so I decide that our first son
should be given the name Isaac,
she took my name today.
She took my name today,
holding our little daughter tight,
a stunning mess is hospital bed,
but I’ve never seen her finer.
‘Isaac’ will have to wait, I guess,
this girl we have named Deborah,
Deborah Parker, she and her mom
will share both a name and a bond,
telling all that we are family.
She took my name today
and I am forever grateful.
Elton Porter
1907-1924
(An Ode to Luella and John)
My best friend John Molina, and I
Spent many a carefree afternoon on bareback,
Astride the furious gallups
Of our sure-footed steeds;
Barefooted in summer and bundled up in winter;
We rode and ranged over the northern foothills,
Ablaze with mustard blooms in spring,
In search of squirrels and sunsets.
We roamed and roved like Crusaders,
Over those imposing heights,
Awash in winter mud and debris,
Seeking the Holy Chalace of freedom,
But still rich in grace,
Rich in impetuous youth.
And we both talked at length,
About Luella, the girl we most admired;
Certainly not for her obvious beauty, no.
Certainly not for her alluring bashful ways, no.
But instead, for her sublime singing voice.
Ah, I remember it well!
That day in this cemetery long ago,
She sang “All Or Nothing At All” by the front gate there,
And lo, the Muses all gathered in spirit roundabout,
Gathered to christen our surging hearts to the gods,
With a soft embrace,
And a simple kiss.
There I was as white as a sheet,
the alcohol was working ,I could not feel my feet.
The bus was out of the question, taxi too.
Walking was the answer,if only I knew.
The rain was splashing against my face,
my glasses steamed up I hurried my pace.
M y head was buzzing,my stomach numb.
Why oh why was I so dumb.
I had only wanted a drink or two.
My problem I cant say no.
All or nothing,the only way to go.
As i smoked the third cigarette,the effects were under way.
My eyes were looking but not at you,
I was a million miles away.
The fourth drink was gone number five to.
All the way the only way I know..
So here I am staggering alone.
a couple more kilometers, and I will be home,
as I look to cross the road,
all is clear over I go.
Wait stop!:
I look with eyes of dread,
a v.w golf has hit my leg.
I look up give the o.k.
then bells started ringing in my head.
This road is one way.
too late I say,he is off at least I am o.k.
So here I am in the safety of home.
I made it all alone
I lay my weary head on the bed.
All or nothing the only way to be.
Once a year is enough for me.
Between happiness and depression
My age and it's regression,
The signs of borderline
The grey lines between emotions
Inaudible anger, hidden sadness, with a hint of secret regression,
Filled with shame that has me stressing,
Who am I and what is my name,
What if everything bad I was to blame,
The faceless, and nameless things to be said,
Grey Lines between the living and the dead,
Feeling all emotions or nothing instead,
Just wishing this pain will vanish, and be put to bed,
Grey lines, like clouds on the skyline
Where does one begin, and the other ends,
What's the point, 'everything' says a voice,
"nothing" says another,
like a angel and devil on my shoulder,
All or nothing.
All or nothing, of no use are half measures
Call of conscience seeks filling all fissures
Fall from grace on account of ego pressures
Tall we stand yet, equal in pain and pleasures
Judge not that ye be not judged, an old saying
Budge not, oh hermit! Let resolve be unwavering
Grudge not hardship, being path for ascending
Nudge yourself, oh hermit, for time’s a-wasting
Unbroken awareness at the Satvik spectrum
Shaken we remain if there be any ego residuum
Forsaken we feel when oscillating as a pendulum
Token of love yet enough to ignite our sensorium
Recognising then love as the real God vibration
Knowing yet not becoming unless we transition
Emptying out ego toxins we shift into cessation
Yearning for God then our unbroken meditation
23-November-2020
If the goal of the podium can wait,
I choose the modest, low-hanging fruit
To free my soul from a long suffocating state,
And restore my spirit to its whole from the root.
This is a tale of long-distance running,
Chasing personal fitness free from a medal’s mirth,
When I want to give life the agile feet of spring,
An authentic expression and self’s rebirth.
Why should I endure this goal-oriented gauntlet?
Let me stay far from this all-or-nothing race,
I prefer as a prize the faceless crowd’s pat,
Seeking a podium push nor yet gold-chasing stress.
When a fast-paced life gasps for a fresh breath for soul,
Freedom from competition offers a new birth.
The crossing of a goal-line is no longer the goal
If a race exists, it is for my heart and hearth.
The world grows quiet around my heavy breath
Drowned out by my shoe-soles’ rhythmic slap
On ground, in whose cadence I see chaotic world’s death,
Leaving only the truth of my next forward step.
________________________________
Reflections | 03.08.2026 | ambition, analogy, competition, goal, prize, Quatrain
Note: This piece reflects on competing with the self with an aim to improve rather than winning a medal, taking an illustration of long-distance running. The lines of the quatrain with varying lengths follow a relaxed rhyming rhythm. The narrative continues in part II.
Not all hearts are deceived and sold,
don't they dream of their story
being written and be honestly told?
Not everyone is worthy of Paradise,
while living they give all or nothing;
who listens to the wise and takes advice?
Not all are endowed with the same gifts,
one will be given a trade, the other a pen;
and together they will create greatness.
Not all men and women are honored,
if they truly love: they'll find happiness;
and their children will be surely blessed.
Not all who pursued deceitfulness and gold
are bound for Hell when they reject their sin;
think how merciful and forgiving is God!
Dull tones smear and coddle in a gray muddle.
Cow brains munch cloud fields.
A reality steeped in foggy conjecture
until I find my spectacles.
I enter far horizons
like Columbus arriving in America;
not on the continent, but on some island
and outcrop just short of finding pay dirt.
Gradually, through the resurrection
of rods and cones, a far-seeing reality sucks
clearer vision into me - to back away
from this ‘all or nothing’ perception now
is not a practical option.
I could probably find the real America,
even Columbus did in the end, but as we know,
being rather ‘put-out’ by not having discovered India
he set out with a vim
to slaughter the locals in the name of God.
Not that reality and perception has that effect on me,
but there are times when a little myopia,
and a little less blind faith feeds the mind
until it can see both the daffodils and the dog S...t
navigating a path through both
like a New World explorer.
Birds stop singing
This summer spring morn
The Son of God
His head forlorn
No need to tremble
The gardens scene
With men and angels
For friends look mean
Come they say see
The simple man
Hands together
With touch the plan
No need to listen
The whispers cry
For will not wishes
To live To die
Yet sparrows simple
And lilies tilt
Upon a rock
The riches built
Then look no longer
His feet His Side
With all or nothing
And there abide
With near and closer
A vision see
The man The moment
Upon a tree
For with His wisdom
He bore and kept
The few the faithful
With crosses yet
Dedicated to
JP Munhall