Long Apportion Poems
Long Apportion Poems. Below are the most popular long Apportion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Apportion poems by poem length and keyword.
My Father’s Hand!
My father left me when I was a baby
and all that remained of him… was his hand!
The hand that edged its way
into the last photo he took of me!
As I grew, I used to study that hand
searching, rooting for details of personality;
a reflection upon my possible characteristics.
Did I see a loving hand, skinned in kindness
or a selfish one, boned and heartless?
So I aged, feeling different, aware of scarring.
Occasionally, I tried to break free from solitude
but my partner kept whispering me back
until I would try to cry
but not understanding the steps.
I was poor on love; overfed on loneliness
but sensing the tremors of isolation in others.
Thirty years later and a father’s day email!
Then gradually, slow as molasses,
I unlocked, I opened my front door,
tentatively, anxiously allowing him into my life.
Eventually a pleasure, a confidence, a warmth,
began to seep, to trickle into my soul.
The abandoned child had been found
and the next part of my life could begin.
I discovered a father, one who wanted forgiveness,
and, at last, I could part company with
the stings of rejection, the stabs of loneliness
which had serrated away at my life.
I could now think about all those memories
that I used to share with myself,
hoping that now I had rediscovered someone
I could apportion, ration them with.
I yearned for a father who would listen,
who would share…..
and in time, he did
and in time, I learnt to forgive.
Ian Souter
I APPRECIATE YOU
You are so swift
Across my life you always want to drift
Each time I try to up my game,
You showed the bottom and left me with no option that to apportion blame
You make my tears wet my smiles
When I go through my memory's files
For as I page through , I embrace joy as I bump into your enemy
Alas, as I flick further, I find you consistently
I appreciate you though
For you help me mature and grow
You strengthen my bone and give me wings of confidence
And I soar and rise above you with resilience
You irk when you knock on my door
But you can come and wage war
For without you I have no will to cross a barrier
You make me bitter but I appreciate you Failure.
WISDOM WAS FOUND
The day moves me into this ultimate search
Of the principality that Lords over life
And rules over Kings, nobles, aged and Princes
As my desire yearns for that which is profitable to direct.
Steadfastly aiming to avoid the natural consequences
Invited by my wrong actions and life's fitful fall,
I grope for the path of the higher realm,
Then realise that even the word of God
Is searched and tried in the furnace of fire 7 times.
I surrender my eyes to her rebuke
And embark further into the land of the greats
Even the discouraging and slothful wind
Couldn't strangle my lamp
Amidst intimidating and daring storms
Where men's soul stagger not
But swaggers into celestial hall of fame,
Owing to grace, persistence and doggedness.
If only I find her, discretion will preserve me
From the perversity of the diabolic whose path is crooked,
I thought of the rags of time,
How I had stalled in movements in life's race
Where I was born to take the lead;
My heart cried for an ornament of grace.
Who shall then buy me one?
Still I hear no answer but one from me
Then I sell all that's within me just for her bosom.
Even my manliness and ego holds me not.
Who can withhold himself from speaking?
For real you have instructed many,
You have strengthened weak hands,
Your words have upheld him who was stumbling
And have strengthened the feeble frigid knees.
By the blast of God you were let loosed
And all your enemies are subdued and fade away.
God understands her way - ask Him 'how'?
And He knows her place - find it now!
For He looks to the ends of the earth,
And sees under the whole heavens,
To establish a weight for the wind,
And apportion the waters by measure
When a law was made for the rain
And a path for the thunderbolt,
Then He saw Wisdom and declared it;
Prepared it, indeed, He searched it out.
To men He said, "the fear of the Lord is wisdom
And to depart from evil is understanding."
Written by: Vick Manuel (VickWizzy)
Copyright© 2013.
Reference: New King James version (NKJV), Thomas Nelson [1978], copyright 1982, Job 28v23,28; pg301.
there is much joy to be had during the Christmas season
as people celebrate the holidays of which many find so pleasing
even thought the days are now dark with this global economic strife
we still have joy for the birthday of our savior Jesus the Christ
so how do we take this joy and apportion it from day to day?
could it be by rejoicing in Christ as we journey on our way?
there is joy to be found when one honors and worships Christ
there is a joy to be maintained as we traverse this perilous life
but for the grace of God that Jesus sent when He died on the cross
as His resurrection was the salvation to amend our tragic loss
the joy is in the journey as you travel your life's road
the joy is in the doing it's not in accomplished goals
and in spite of your circumstances, your trials and your tribulations
there is joy in just being in Christ as everyday is a cause for celebration
you won't always be happy, euphoric nor full of cheer
but great joy is found in the knowledge that Jesus is still here
so don't fall prey to drugs and drink to make you feel glad
and don't think that happiness will take away all the sad
as drugs and drink are temporary and happiness is a transient outward sensation
true joy is found with the God in you that eternal hope called salvation
as those who have the joy of the Lord in life tend to have less stress
for they are like Mary, the mother of Jesus, highly favored and truly blessed
so don't worry about the temporary external facade of happiness
by which life's circumstances can destroy
you're on the greatest journey which is your life
and in Jesus there is joy
While i understand and totally get
It's human nature to want to
apportion blame
When it comes to one's government
remember
Very rarely do the voting public agree
With the choices made on their behalf
In a democray once we have placed
our tick in a box and our votes are
tallied up
It's then solely up to them to
fulfill that duty and trust we have placed in them
Unfortunately though when it
comes to politics
Once they are voted it's every
person for the party collective
And can anyone attest to
meeting or seeing a politician
who could look anyone directly
in the eye without blinking
And thinking first and foremost
of what lie to tell as long as he
or her can count on your vote
And if anything was to go wrong
willing to take or accept blame
Make for the corner, Fresno-Whittier
(there’s neighborhoods a whole lot prettier):
it’s probably ten-ninety-six,
but don’t draw weapons – that’s a Nix.
The man before you’s not a “perp”,
so don’t come on like Wyatt Earp.
Latina (claims she’s J-Lo’s cousin)
talking nineteen to the dozen
says she almost bought the farm,
but totally (we think) unharmed.
Find the pale-blue shotgun shack:
he’s out front, and she’s out back.
Ten-zero, boys. Proceed with caution.
Blame’s not something we apportion.
They love each other – had a fight,
same as any couple might.
Bear in mind one simple thing:
no-one wants a Rodney King.
So, L.A.’s Finest, when you swoop,
he’s sitting on the streetside stoop,
and spouting incoherent crap,
samurai sword across his lap.
Don’t pay no mind to what he’s blurting –
the guy’s okay. He’s simply hurting.
Don’t see a spic from Zapopan,
look at him closely. See the man.
Don’t think, “one of the wetback horde”:
think what it took to make that sword.
Someone tempered, shaped, embossed it.
And Juan’s a man. He simply lost it.
He came up here in eighty-eight,
and settled in the Orange State.
Wielded wrenches, welded axes,
raised his kids and paid his taxes,
and now he’s slowly catching on:
there’s nothing else. His youth is gone.
He mops the floors at Taco Bell,
and Carmencita gives him hell.
He’d wail a horn, like Bobby Prewitt,
but doesn’t have the art to do it.
So let’s forget the “better than”.
Go easy, fellas. See the man.
Gloria Dubbins - not much of a name,
but trust me on my judgment, gentle reader;
in terms of Beauty, she was Hall of Fame.
We’re talking – let’s see – nineteen seventy-two,
but I’m the keeper of the Gloria Flame,
and still to me she’s better, and more true,
than all your Taylor Swifts or Amber Heards.
She did the things that gorgeous women do -
in essence, nothing. Gloria had no words.
Intelligence? Commitment? Are you kidding?
For babes, that stuff is strictly for the birds.
She sat immobile and observed the bidding.
I’ll tell you this, but won’t apportion blame.
You, too, would be as motionless as cedar
if you’d been dealt her hand, to play The Game.
She’s not the kind you wound up talking to.
Her presence smote you with a sort of shame:
she struck you dumb: the words would not come through.
And Gloria didn’t gravitate to herds.
Perforce, she rowed her own sublime canoe.
Her beauty left her friendless, like the Kurds.
What was her view of Comus? Little Gidding?
I don’t have – no, I never had – a clue.
Enigma fits her. Easily two-thirds
of all the girls acknowledged her as leader,
but oddly she was Nothing Like A Dame.
So much worry and confusion
From life’s problems and uncertainties
But the actual solution
Hidden beneath anxiety and fear
Can be found in absolution
From the blame and reproach
Then begins pure inspiration
Discovered within the simplicity
Without any exasperation
A vision starts to embark within
Creativity collides with motivation
And a revolution of kindness begins
Throughout the generations
Between parents, partners and relations
There is a genuine revelation
Assurance of intimate commitment
That comes from the sensation
The impression of conscious insight
Actually knowing this integration
This blending of hearts and minds
Between those who apportion
Every thought and idea and care
With sincerity and dedication
Love that is unconditional!
Written on August 1, 2014
©2014 by Regina Riddle
I enter your poem with silent steps
and in so doing have some regrets.
You boast about your autumn,
of how the leaves dance like a flame and
like golden butterflies fall to the ground.
You hail your merry harvest of pumpkin, nut and berry,
how plentiful and ripe this year’s crop is.
But in my world malevolence pierced a finger
through the fibre of heaven and pointed it at us.
You cannot alter a capricious sun or tame storms and floods.
The trickery of this world may confuse you at times
as to why autumn has forgotten us and never plans a visit.
Instead, the season gifted us an empty hand with malice.
Our scattered seeds only succeed in growing weeds,
never a harvest of wheat to make a loaf of bread.
Don’t be fooled by their bloated tums
because they’re full of hunger, not with food.
When there’s no food how can I share,
how can I give when there’s nothing there?
As long as life cares to stay with us we will forbear
and apportion fairly whatever measly aid we get.
If it be so, then so be it, today, tomorrow and forever.
The moon shines on us too, dark lives do matter,
so please save your metaphors and flippant Je t’adores,
and your similes when my children starve in front of me.
Call it autumn or what you please,
as leaves die in yours, so my children die in mine
In such a world what need for poetry?
Tendency is, to apportion
Love:
like slices of iced sweet
at a party
braying festive, 2 playful swipes
at a swinging, loaded donkey
(not the husband this time)
toffee for the dear loyal mate --
allotment of love, for precious children;
for all our Prayer-family, appealed
a canopy of blessed shade, like that
bible gourd,
cat and dog needing, also,
some petting reward – no special
reason...just because --
to the poet, as with painter,
superseding costume body of flesh,
art is voice-echo and representative
image
one's deeper beating sentient part
ventricle tools, the writing pad, the brush...
more poignant the words,
broader the expansive, lyrical stroke:
ruled paper or mystifying canvas~ the soul,
a bottomless well from which to
creatively
draw
fluid destinies
for controlled dabbing
abundant dashing-splashing
spirit-inspired
awesomely appealing
saturating pour --