Long Battle Poems
Long Battle Poems. Below are the most popular long Battle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Battle poems by poem length and keyword.
Marching,
Foots strangling every strand of grass,
Arms breaking through the wind,
Hands changed into fists,
Eye sockets only fixed on a skull,
A barricade of unseen lines demarcates each group,
Sweat creates a path on their mundane skins
And their ‘Kaki’ sucks it up and having no hope
Of getting back to their wardrobe,
For it is heading to the battle ground
With its owner,
To live,
To die
With him,
Whether he conquers,
Whether he suffers defeat,
Whether the innocent blood
On it is condemned to Hades or not;
Or whether it will be torn apart by bullets.
Bullets which will take its owners’ life too,
Bullets that will send him to hell,
To Hades,
To that dark auditorium
Where the commander,
The killer,
The killed
Will remain.
Like a love story,
Falling softly
Against the pages of my heart,
Words so sensitive,
So wistful, wise and warm…
Words from the spirit
Who I call home, the spirit
Who is the One from where I come,
The One who saved me from
All the wrong, all the dark –
The doubts and despair, the dread
That comes alive inside those
Who feel like His love has passed
Them by, - His atonement,
The reason there is a light so dazzling
In shades of gentle,
Whispering grace, soundless
Optimistic -
Beyond the shadows,
Promising the wonder that comes
From knowing the love
Who is His only Son, the only ONE
who can write a love story
Over my heart, from the nouns (the truth)
And verbs (the life), the conjunction (the way)
The ones that make up the word
Hope – Hope that never deserts,
Hope that is the reason I’m sure….
Love this alive is the answer, the cure
The motive and the prayer,
The miracle that is more alive than
The thought, the feeling, the time –
His love survives even the worst battle
With darkness, wickedness
Piercing the page with shame
Disgrace that is portrayed
By fears, endless grief – cruelty
His love is the wonder that breathes
Air into the lungs of this color
Crimson like the blood….
I wear to show the world the book
The glue that holds together
My paper, my pen, my forever
And, once again, the parts of me
That is only me because I believe
In the Son who created peace,
The SON who is everything I need
The way, the truth, the life…
Everything that means anything!
Because of Him,
I am free to be the person God
Intended me to be,
The person who believes
Love is worth everything!
We are the legacy,
the original culture and God's benefactors
we are the innovators, the creators
we are the whole verse and chapter
Black excellent is what we demonstrate
and how we postulate
for the Black experience is that which
so many have tried to emulate
we are the legacy, the longest lasting society
we are the footprint of all humanity
praise forms our identity
we publicly worship Christ
for we know that God is
the Alpha and the Omega of all life
in the presence of pressure
and in moments of despair
we are anxious over nothing
we're a legacy that dares
in hush harbors we sing songs
and on those slave ships we prayed
we called on the Father, the Lord our God
to somehow make a way
we are the legacy
our identity is rooted in Christ
we know our true worth
and we don't need anyone's invite
we are this legacy
we know that God's word
stands above human justice and all systems
for His divine authoritative commands
contain the ultimate wisdom
Injustice grieves before Him
when racist rhetoric reads its ugly head
and systemic racist practices have no power
over people who are spirit-led.
we are the legacy.
we stay in godly formation
we don't fall, we don't falter
we move with a divine coordination
and because God's counsel outlasts
human plans and machinations
and as the legacy of the Most High
those plans have never stopped our regeneration
we survived slavery, Jim Crow, the KKK
and the battle for civil rights
for we are the legacy
still standing upright in the Lord God's light
we have sustained,
we have maintained
and yes we are still here
for we are the legacy
moving in power
and the spirit of no fear
WE ARE THE LEGACY
February 15 Scripture Meditations Based on Joshua 11-15
Key Verse – Joshua 11:9 And Joshua did unto them as the LORD bade him…
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR BIDDING ME TO DO YOUR COMMAND
Thank You for bidding me to do Your command to pray…
Yes, to pray without ceasing while in Your plan I stay
Through Your answering grace of no delay
And satisfying provisions along servanthood’s way.
Thank You for bidding me to do Your command to stand…
Yes, to stand for Scriptural principles’ demand
Through Your upholding hand
And guarding security midst worldly band.
Thank You for bidding me to do Your command to go…
Yes, to go toward Your will where I’ll spiritually grow
Through Your nourishing Word that makes me divinely glow
And nurturing love from where Your blessings flow.
Thank You for bidding me to do Your command to fight…
Yes, to fight against unrighteousness and its sinful blight
Through Your strengthening might
And assuring battle-victory of truth and light.
Thank You for bidding me to do Your command to labor…
Yes, to labor in Your work of heavenly endeavor
Through Your overtaking blessings midst ministry-rigor
And refreshing rest of comfort’s succor.
Thank You for bidding me to do Your command to worship…
Yes, to worship You while in blissful fellowship
Through Your delighting presence in Your offered friendship
And compassionate leadership in my stewardship.
February 15, 2022
Author Dana Redricks
February 12, 2023
I know how it feels when your body is constantly tired, you want to do things, but it's a constant battle and your body doesn't even want to spend time in the Word of God Yahweh, and even eat, but I press on no matter how I feel. God gives me strength to make it from day to day. I push myself despite how I may feel. I thank God Yahweh for His Holy Spirit Who fills me with power and might to stand firm in the battles of the night. I'm fighting the Good Fight and standing firm in the faith I have in Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, and the King of King the Lord of all things. I'm standing on the promises of God Yahweh.
That damn weekly times (circa 1900),
Afternoonified with Gigglemugs
sending me off my chump
Editors Half-rats, Not up to dick,
the meater.
Genderfied, I am
A woman of incredible script,
stylograph committed,
deemed a whooperup,
yet her prose is
umble-cum-stumble.
The longing expressed
through the lovers eye
poked-up the meater,
who Batty fanged my dyke
with his footle
His "Enthuzimuzzy"
was unwarranted
and the mutton shunters were called
Collie shangles erupted
yet concede he did
overcome with blue devils
He purchased my script
published it last page
like a Skilamalink
I cared and did not
for published I was
weekly times circa 1900
I bested the ragger
Rough translation - deceived
that damn weekly times editors
all snobbery and fake smiles
sent me crazy
The editors drunk, and unwell
he's a coward
I am a woman
a writer, a poet
committed to my craft
deemed inferior
yet my writings are
thoroughly understood
The topic in question
a female lovers romance
embarrassed the coward
who thoroughly thrashed my lover
with his nonsense
Ohh the insulting "enthusiasm"
was not necessary
the police I did call
heated arguments won the battle
and he apologised - albeit begrudgingly
His saddened state,
as he was forced
to take my manuscript
and publish it in the back
like some dirty secret.
Last page was bothersome
yet published I was
in the weekly times no doubt,
as I defeated that trouble making editor
yes i admit it
that yes i'm an addict
give me something to cling to
and i'll take it to the limit
no i'm not proud
of some of what i've done
hard some days to keep the count
but definitely more than once
and now my latest addiction
seems to be poetry
some have even mentioned
that's not a bad place to be
are they too in denial
are they themselves too far gone
not knowing all the while
they're also playing to its song
with anything once you lose control
and it has control of you
the deeper you dig the hole
the more you tend to lose
to me it's a constant battle
i'll be fighting till the end
because yes i am an addict
and poetry, my latest addiction
The 5th of May has paved the way,
A journey end 2 years today,
My partner gone by the cruelest cause ,
It's left it's mark my life has froze,
It has destroyed broke all I had,
And left my son a motherless lad,
I cannot seem to brake a smile,
Make a go it's been a while,
Her presence meant so much to me,
The bond we had for all to see,
To have that taken just like that,
Is something I just can't combat,
I'm not as strong as some may think,
I won a battle with the drink,
But that was won when we were two,
To battle as one is completely new,
I carry on she is a miss,
She may look on from the abyss,
So if she knows our loves so true,
That builds my strength to get me through.
We all have moments when happiness rings true
When everything seems to finally be going right
No nimbus clouds to spoil blue skies or the view
until fate steps in and our lives turn dark as night.
What efforts we've made to stay in balance is lost.
No matter what we try, harmony does not prevail
and life is stressful, for hardship comes with a cost.
So, we need a counterweight that will tip the scale
To use a simple analogy, think of a teeter totter ride
where balance keeps us from landing on the ground.
The ups and downs we face are very difficult to abide.
What will keep us standing? Where can it be found?
With a positive attitude we can begin in heart and mind
when they battle over things on which they don't agree.
Not an easy task to keep them harmonized and aligned.
When they struggle for power, it can end in catastrophe.
A bit of faith may lead to symmetry and set things right.
Nature handless it perfectly with its seasonal changing,
and like migratory birds on feathered wings that take flight,
tipping the balance in our favor can work with rearranging.
( On the eternal non-sequitur of Prose Poetry )
The mess on the passenger side floor of my dodge van is prose... or poetry?
The battle rages!
Are we dialectical heirs, or hairs?
"The cross or the cross hairs". Carrol said that.
"He was awake a long time before he remembered his heart was broken". That's Hemingway.
"A rose by any other name". Shakespeare, of course.
A poetic work in the making... A poetic mess!
Of all, only the half-drunk bottle of Merlot taunts me to exhume it.
The rest are content to be casts off of a crippled civility,
becoming themselves reminders, of the broken heart that names them.
As for me, I smoke life-shortening cigarettes in the sun-damaged van,
drink blasts of black Merlot in the shadows hush, and somewhere,
in midst of these confusing conspiracies, value oscillates- a shame-faced moon wanes.
Some draw to the light. Others, the flame.