Long Befits Poems
Long Befits Poems. Below are the most popular long Befits by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Befits poems by poem length and keyword.
Two little girls stand dream by dream
unaware of what their feelings mean.
The instinct to laugh and play
often leads them inside on a Sunday
where two imaginations see spun
what innocence befits be done.
The long years go by so very slow
they're sure it takes forever to grow.
What should Barbie wear today?
Should she talk to Ken?
and
If they saw each other naked
would it be a sin?
Pretend cooking for little Mama
(her breast is just stuffed socks)
while acting Daddy reads and rocks.
Acting out their sure adult dreams,
they imitate life as it seems –
a wonderful grownup scene.
Innocently they play out future goals,
unaware of time's mark on such roles.
Flying from out of the eerie world of spirits
The Sphinx has come to crouch and pose :
'To close Pandora's Box solve the puzzle of Greed !'
Trust not Luck , nor Fate but work with wits ;
The fire of greed and desire plays havoc ,
Crippling the ability to seek content even in bits
And wipe out the artefact of divine replica ;
"Abracadabra " ,here is the only panacea that befits ;
Will Oedipus or Jason rescue the race , comatose
' Solve the puzzle of Greed to close Pandora's Box ! '
And find the new glow of hope that emits .
How long have we known you, a lifetime it seems,
upon reflection, about ten years have passed.
The first thing one notices is your face that beams,
smiles leave an impression that will always last.
Always, and without effort, you flash your smile,
and we've never seen you when your face was dour.
It's who you are and it befits your profile,
Your smiling face will never portray glower.
I oft think your days can't all be just aglow,
do you lift others spirits with hurt hidden?
From your sunny disposition one won't know,
You're always found doing what God has bidden.
Your smile is an asset which God has endowed,
a blessing that has often helped me to mend.
You give them away always making God proud,
Thank you Sister Toni for being our friend.
What’s In A Smile?
Written: by Miracle Man
1-13-2020
How long have we known you, a lifetime it seems,
upon reflection, about ten years are past.
The first thing one notices is a face that beams,
smiles make an impression that always last.
Always without effort you flash your smile,
I’ve never seen you sister when your face was dour.
It’s who you are and befits your profile,
A smiling face is unable to portray glower.
I oft think, all your days, can’t be rimmed in glow,
do you lift others spirits, keeping your hurt hidden?
From your sunny disposition one wouldn’t know,
you’re always found doing what God has bidden.
A smile is an asset in which all aren’t endowed,
your smile is a blessing that helps others mend.
You give them away thus making God proud,
Thank you sister for being our great friend.
"A warm smile is the universal language of kindness"
William Arthur Ward
Seal pup eyed,
forgiveness she cried.
Mistakes were made
but deceit and lies
remain to blame
for where she now lays.
Bludgeoned to death
by a word made club.
Born of revenge
for sins to my heart,
punishment fits
her backstabbing ways.
She took the kicks
but wasn't aware
the blows came from me.
Slanderous jibes
to colleagues and friends
tore down her life.
The breakdown befits
her crime to mock.
She sought my shoulder.
Comfort I gave;
"Pills are the answer,
they numb the pain.
Swallow the bottle,
vodka will help"
Following my call
tragic news came.
Oh no what a shame,
I won that game.
Your front view, might be stunning;
Your back stunt as well be cunning
Whenever you walk on busy street-
Hearts' eyes blink to skip a beat...
But beyond that are much more
Than what eyes alone could explore...
Like minds would view with intent clues,
Unto caution to be far away timing cruise
When not driven by the appropriate attitude,
Engrossed by SORRY but not also gratitude
Cum little concern to a bit of help as surety,
When beaten to crazy bets off maturity...
Then comes a beautiful mindset,
That's more attractive than regret,
When beauty alone couldn't bail out worries...
Indiscipline sets in from how caution horries
Away from frown that warns,
Cos it's painful more like thorns;
Frustrating logical fights' set back-
Reasoning far above lustful attack.
It is tough but shameful,
We have come to a time
Where decency is a crime,
Yet imprudence is beautiful.
A time:
Where character ain't cherished,
Let alone of value like treasure
To be treated with delight and pleasure,
But rather be left behind till it perished.
A time:
Where loyalty in friendship,
Don't count as much as benefits...
But cherished more of what look befits-
Each face of the day despite the hardship.
Your inner beauty,
Is your ideal choice-
Of how, what, when to voice...
With care, value, trust cum duty.
Often, lust normally don't seek beyond look...
Accompanied by nice gestures,
Until deceived mind concurs,
Then needs arise what beauty can't hook.
The mice are out, it is a wonderful night
The waxing moon is in a laid back mood
Mice pass through the grass out of sight
About “em there's a mysterious attitude
The mice are out tonight
There’s no dilly dallying, they have plans
Skipping up, and over the dry stone wall
Down the alley, and jumping empty cans
Being sure, as to miss the tomcats brawl
The mice are out tonight
The cobble stones glisten as they spring
Into someone’s, un-suspecting backyard
Up the drain pipe, and at last they are in
The cat’s away tonight there is no guard
The mice are out tonight
Now a feast of a lifetime is for the taking
All settle in a circle, they have their prize
Mrs. Crumble, has been doing her baking
So much pie that befits their hungry eyes
The mice are out tonight
With bellies full, they a take a timely nap
Backpacks ready, for their journey home
With one eye open, watching for that cat
It would not do to have their cover blown
The mice are out tonight
Once awake, no time wasted, home to go
With more caution shown when bellies full
As down the drain pipe, to the yard below
Onwards, there’s no time to stop and mull
The mice are out tonight
In the shadows of the night they kept low
Where the waxing moon sees, and smiles
The mice feel safe under his fatherly glow
As the mice, now have their food supplies
The mice are out tonight . . .
It’s passed down from generation to generation
and though it might seem simple to you and me
their is a knowledge
a method
a spiritualness
an artistry to climbing a tree.
When you find a tree you’d like to climb…you must pause…
as part of the tradition
pause to give thanks for this tree and to quietly ask permission.
For though you are happy to have found a tree that, for climbing, now befits you
you must wait for an answer from the tree…
it is the tree who must permit you.
If there is a nest in the top or it’s branches are to weak
the tree will tell you now is bad timing
and ask you to come back when the nest is unoccupied
or its branches are more suitable for climbing.
But when you find a tree that is willing
when a tree lets you know it is time
you ascend to the top without effort
as the branches seem to assist in your climb.
And it’s just as important when you’ve finished
when the tree gently sets you back down
to again thank the tree for it’s generosity
the minute your feet hit the ground.
Yes, it seems when it comes to climbing a tree
what’s important is the spiritualness you exude…
It has less to do with your ability to climb
and more with your kindness and your gratitude…
It’s been passed down from generation to generation
and in each generation there comes a time…
when they realize the same magic that works for climbing a tree…
works for whatever in life they might climb.
Now, Railroad Bob has lost his job, he’s got no place for working,
His wife, she cries with desperate eyes, their baby’s head’s a’ jerking.
The union man don’t give a damn, Big Brother lies a’ lurking,
the boss’ in cabs are picking scabs, they count their money, smirking.
A pregnant lass with eyes of glass has never learned to cope.
Once set adrift her fall was swift, she slid a slipp’ry slope -
she casts the Curse, the Holy Verse, and shoots a shot of dope,
and stalks discreet Asylum Street her daily horoscope -
the stray was struck by random truck which was her only hope.
Well, Banjo Boy, with little joy, he strums her life entire:
“The wayward waif was never safe; her stars were dark and dire.
Born midst the rues and avenues where lack and want aspire
where no one heeds the childish needs that little ones require;
where faith survives in tempest lives, a swirl within the briar,
Infinity grinds as time unwinds, until the winds expire.
Her last caprice? The final peace that no one could deny her -
whipped by the flood, stray beads of blood are spattered on the spire;
though beads of sweat are cool and wet, cold clotted blood is dryer.”
Though broken there, she’s fled the snare with dying thoughts serene.
And now she’s dead, the rumours spread: her age? a sweet 16,
with child, unwed, her soul dyed red, her body so unclean.
A place is sought where she can rot, avoiding churchyard scenes,
in limey pits, as well befits, behind forbidding screens;
and all the while a dirge is styled on tattered tambourines
which echo through the human zoo in valleys of the Queens.
Without rejoice, in hissing voice, near soil that’s seldom trod
“In pious role, God bless my soul”, was mouthed with mitred nod,
neath scarlet trim with black, and grim, behind a robed facade -
“She’ll burn in hell and sulphur smell”, spat Priest and man of god.
Well, angels sweet with cloven feet, they sing in girl’s attire,
but Banjo Boy, he’s playing coy while chanting in the choir:
“The clueless search within the church to find what they desire,
but near the nave or gravelled grave, there is no Rectifier.”
And when he’s through, without ado, he stacks some stones nearby her.
Continued
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