Long As well Poems
Long As well Poems. Below are the most popular long As well by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long As well poems by poem length and keyword.
Have mercy on me, my God, have mercy on me, for in you I take refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed.
Psalms 57:1 NIV
God's love is shown everywhere
When one takes notice
The love from a mother of all creation
The patience, comforting , guidance,
Nurturing and providing for her young.
Should not go unnoticed
Who teaches the swan
To cradle their babies under the wings
So excited is she and joyful
to have this treasure of hers find rest
These babies know where to seek refuge
With mothers day coming up
Just bringing awareness to love of mothers
Grandmother's trying to keep families together
Bless you in your desires and strength
And for one to see it throughout the world
The natural bond of love formed
The natural instincts to prepare
A home while this child is being formed
Not all can be mothers I know
But all have love to be shared
But in this we will give praise to
The divine mother as well
For, if in God's creation this love is seen in animals
How much more love is for all which seek
To be reborn of the divine spirit
Released from the bondage of sin
A love for all is birthed into one
Even these fathers learn this bond of love
Finding rest and peace in this world
Being hidden under the wings
Where soul of mankind finds refuge
Form:
Did you hear about this wonderful place
It's an island, better, yes, much better than Greece
Much more enticing that Mauritius
Even more appealing than Cyprus
It's an island, where Pinocchio would be eager to go to
It's an island of fantasy, it does exist, yes true
It's an island of marvel
An island whose attributes I shall unravel
It is found in a secret hideout
Those who do wish to go there need to be made of dreams
Yes, for there does exists not any constraint
There, one does get to do, as long as does live, whatever one deems!
Why, it's an island where one can relax whole day
Yes, on the beach, on the golden sands, one can sit back or swim
Or just admire the beauty of the blue skies and say
Hey, is it for real or am I starring in a fictitious film?
There, one does get money to shop all day
Yes, the bank balances do keep on being full
Replenished without anybody's help
And the shops, of the most trendy clothes, do display
An island so beautiful that one can indulge in whatever one wants to
Without of course being scared of anything
See, whether one wants to be writing, reading, dancing, trekking
One is free to do as one wants to
Of course, crime is not present there
Yes, living, for everyone does be fair
For ruled it is, by the Queen of Arts
The one said to be soft and tender but who does have a broken heart
There, one does not only contemplate the Heavens
But one gets to visit this divine place many a times
Yes, a secret passage does be found there
And of course, everyone does get to have a few conversations with God!
The island of Fantasy does be mine own,
Found it is, somewhere hidden
But mind you, there, fun does always be in the air
Of course, an island it is, where humanity is given loads of care
An island known to me solely
An island kept all this time, in secrecy
But come, come, I shall lead you there, yes I shall
For I know that you do crave to be there as well!
Poise and enjoyable is your voice of rejoicing
Halcyon healing helps my weary soul of sulking
Over the fear of fretfulness
Tranquility is in full color of blissfulness
Opting out on dull and dreary summers and prefer sunny winters with rain once in a while
Shelter me with shameless, synthetic, sympathy symphonies
You win my heart by playing your heart out at total ease
Never forget how much you mean to me endlessly
Then, here comes the rainbow efflorescence of effulgent encouragement from God Most High
Healing is near…miracles of fearlessly and this tragedy in reverse made me happily cry
Empty yet whole once more
See, you’re the photosynthesis that completes me as well as my gift of seeing auras everywhere I roam it seems
I want and need Him to mend my broken and unspoken dreams
Sorry for being selfish and giving in into lust and desires from the devil…I’m remorseful for all I’ve done — my passions are not like Your compassion
Ominous waves and shrouds of clouds come caving in
Feeling brave, yet I’m hoping my faith increases from within
Ashes of my ember-burning and forever-churning heart of ache and angst
Understand that my amber blue eyes can’t fathom enigmatic things like you and I for an eternity
Remember to always tell God how much we love Him and let him be your oxygen to breathe in and let evilness be like carbon dioxide to breathe out
All in all, I’m drifting and lifting in discord’s destruction, welcoming in accord’s construction! Change is a challenging chore but it is an everlastingly spiritual award
So, this poem shows me that I’m slowly, but surely gifting myself a life to live in the light of the Lord — to be a light of the world to others that accept flight and dismiss plight…to unfold your wings, little mighty bird, and soar through skies of His Word, never meant to be ignored
My strange tears.
The genie's eyes, oh genie's eyes.
Gather the sun's spears.
Be careful not to step on the thistles of fear.
Plaits are used to create the form.
To achieve a slimmer epitome.
You and I are friends.
Envy is what comes after us.
At the close of the twilight.
Because of Noah flood.
My strange tears.
The genie's eyes, oh genie's eyes.
My strange tears.
The genie's eyes, oh genie's eyes.
Start to contrive our departure.
A sea is teeming with adversity.
With the wrench, assemble the notes.
From every flute.
Place it in the abyss of your soul's disgust.
There is a period at the cease of each event.
Amass a set of love outfits.
Enable us to escape the dangerous ghetto cities.
It's around the awful roads.
The virus wind had found a haven there.
My strange tears.
The genie's eyes, oh genie's eyes.
Feel my heartbeat in your ears.
The condition had left him immobile.
He won't be able to catch any of the mists.
That is not a picture of the sky.
It hasn't claimed the land as its property.
My strange tears.
The genie's eyes, oh genie's eyes.
That's my propensity, and that's my flaw.
Ease up my mangled rib.
Stay aware of the words that come to mind.
Retain a checklist of it in your head.
For those who desire for it, as well as for you.
Attain a note of it by calling for a gathering.
Furthermore, regardless.
I entice her with the rhyme of my aged stuff.
I yell out my hazy promise.
It sang of druid snitching schemes.
From the eyelids of the sea.
With some salt, I can grasp the meanings.
I find the secret to her.
To quench a nostalgic thirst.
Besides, when there is a smidgeon of envy.
Detachment can yell.
The absolute first seashore.
That is where you can ensure it as love is broadened.
On the last islands of the meeting.
Love is also waiting to pass me.
Dream wine has enticed me.
The many shades of my eternal passion.
I'm an awful fan of the mountains.
My never-ending goal sparkles brightly in flames.
My strange tears, thank you.
The genie's eyes, oh genie's eyes.
What makes a poet, be a poet?
What makes a pilot, be a pilot?
What makes a janitor, be a janitor?
Circumstances bears some weight.
Determination will unlock doors that circumstances bars.
Natural abilities also bears weight in what they call, 'a gift'.
Same rules applies, doors will unlock that circumstances bars.
It is a 'cake-walk' if there are no barriers to their goal/s, whether be a poet or a pilot.
Are you a good poet? That is subjective and left to interpretation.
However, that sort of statement is not applicable to a pilot, until the plane crashes.
If it has been determined, not to be an act of God, nor the fault of the plane, then we will know that it was pilot error.
A poet can be raw, use simple vocabulary, and be 'street savvy'.
A poet can be educated, English major, knows A-Z of a dictionary, and a walking Thesaurus.
NOW, in this high tech world, the former is easily identifiable, because of its perpetual use of it, whereas, the latter, it is debatable without a piece of paper with a University name on it.
I believe an unwritten 'pure thought' makes a good poet.
I know that of what I have written, some have been written by others, namely my mom songs, my older brother 'Sandless Sandcastles' (he supplied the title), some from friends who are nameless to me of some circa in my lifetime, then again, if it were.
It is safe to say that most that were written and dated here on PoetrySoup, are mines.
My quotes, like most quotes, who knows who said them first, lest it was recorded on paper, and then again, what if it was said before that recording, by another, who may have been famous as well, and was stolen only because it was never recorded.
I can say that the majority, if not all, are my own quotes.
Some are newly, noted, quotes here on PoetrySoup.
Then, there is the third poet, one that is a true natural. Not of the streets, nor well learned, but a true 'gifted talent'. Their words are lights of their souls that they pull from their hearts and share with this world.
Just do not ever stop, Soupers--not for the slightest--Write On!
05/29/2019
i know you
almost
as well as
i know myself
over the years
i have learned
your moods
your face
each expression
each crease
each worry line,
each crinkle around your eyes.
where they began
why they are there
would i erase them
if i could?
never...
for if i could
if they were no longer a part of you...
it would take away
your past
and mine..
and ours together....
perhaps there are different..
more delicate ways of saying
that life with you is good to live...
but knowing you,
as well as I do...
i know this will do
______________________________
Carrie R.
Dear friend it’s been eight years since you left the world, but it seems that you have only just left yesterday. Oh, the things I still want to tell you but then again, I’m sure your other family and friends have things to say to you too. Maybe some will be good maybe some will be bad. All I know it’s things that you should be here for. Again, it still doesn’t feel like something actually happen unless I tell you about it. But you would just say “I already know that.” With that same smirk on your face, you have had since first grade. I do have to blame you for giving me a kick in the pants to get me to write. I’m sure you just laughed at that in the only way you could to make others join in. Friend, you have stayed with me even though you have left the world. You are immortalized in the poems I have written for you and the characters in the stories. Maybe the next character I create for you will have your bowel hair cut with the blond dye job. Perhaps give the character your smirk as well then again, the last character did have your good heart. One thing for sure no matter how many characters I create for you they won’t ever compare to who you were in life. I just hope when we meet again one day we’ll be able to catch up on all the things of years gone by. The first round of sodas are on me if you get the first round of pool. See you at the little store in the next life.
Love,
Jess’
I consider myself a technologically savvy old geezer. With a simple utterance of “Hey Google, show me cute puppy videos” my world is filled with hours of mindless entertainment. I can do Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Linked-In about as well as any old-fashioned Neanderthal. With all this modern-day technology at my fingertips you’d think my need for paper and pen would be overcome. Not true. All this technology represents the one thing that destroys my creativity. ‘DISTRACTIONS’. Maybe it’s the fact that a pen or a pencil can only do one thing. Transfer my thoughts to paper. No puppies sliding down a snow-covered hill, what’s the weather in Outer Mongolia, or share this photo and God will send you money. There is just me, a pencil and a clean sheet of paper. Nothing creates inspiration more than a sharp Ticonderoga #2 pencil or a fine point red stick pen. Or maybe it’s just that my addled old brain gets so easily sidetracked by shiny baubles.
We shall overcome
unless we’re distracted first—
Oooh cute baby goats
Maybe I will never be happy again
Fall will never smell like it used to
The swing set will stay squeaky and rusty, and I will always be too tall
My feet will graze the mulch, and I kick my toes under it
As I have my fortune read
By the only other 4th grader on this side of the soccer field
I won’t marry a man named James
I won’t have three children and an orange cat
I will always be afraid of wasps
And feelings
And whispering
I will always be the kid who won’t swim in the ocean
Or read in front of the class
I will always look across the water to the happier kids
And long to be there as well
And think
“Maybe there will come a day where I will be with them”
Or perhaps I will stay on the shore
Still building my sandcastles
And trying not to think about happiness
And the stars fall and I never met him
And I think that’s what I’m really scared of.
I can eat like a pig,
As well as, drink like a fish.
I can piss like a racehorse,
Or even bark like a dog-.
In my youth, I could run like the wind,
And at times, sting like a bee.
Yet if I float like a butterfly,
I might be driving like ol' granny.
Now if I scream like a schoolgirl,
I might be fearful of an angry God.
But if I whine like a stubborn mule,
I could end up on the wrong end of a cattle-prod.
At times, I show the patience of a saint,
Or being impetuous as a child with new fingerpaint.
And if I continue this way and act like a child,
I'll avoid those aging pitfalls, and run in the wild.