Long Begun Poems
Long Begun Poems. Below are the most popular long Begun by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Begun poems by poem length and keyword.
In this time the cloth is unwoven, the threads laid bare.
Most of the dung removed, cleared, given no fare.
Massive steel plates hold back the uninvited from boarding the train.
Going and coming returning from far, how special the precious Saved Ones are!
Not as many by count, as expected to be, go only the accepted glorified in He.
The One by name Jesus Christ is He, by birth our Savior, God’s only Son.
The rapture has started transformation begun!
“Multitudes Missing” is what is said both of the living and of the dead.
Glory shone at the uniting above as Jesus ascended taking the Throne.
Angels and Saints at the table were there, celebrating the beginning
As promised by some, in the Book it is written the time has come.
To those uninvited still sinning below Tribulation unending they endure
Because death is not given for the unforgiven there is no cure.
Now that The Holy Spirit is gone replaced by the unholy one.
Three and one half years his reign will be before his anointment as
King of the land, then after another one half and three
From his throne he gathers his forces to make his stand.
In Jerusalem, after the Temple’s complete, is the place Armageddon has come.
Many the forces pressing the land foul and dirty sinners are they.
Angels from above sweet music they play, as their swords slash, many they slay.
The rest are all gathered sorted like sheep the wicked on the left and thrown into the deep
Where welcomed by him unholy for sure cured not forever burning in hell.
Be it certain, known for sure, Jesus has returned all hail the King.
For a thousand years he will reign all living forever no sickness or pain.
He is my God the only pure one born of a mortal, Spirit raised, God’s Son.
On the cross our sin debt He paid glory forever so easily gained
Not by good works impossible to do only in accepting as Savior, our Lord, King.
In living and doing such a small little thing why do so many risk certain despair?
Is it that we tangled in our lives, mundane as they are, have little care
For those less willing the truth to be know spread the message they must be shown!
Think now of forever the price they bear become an ambassador in Jesus’ name!
Hot is the pit with its flame burning bright engulfing a loved one what a terrible sight.
The time is at hand the cloth becoming bare; Jesus is the answer show you dare.
My favorite hobby has always been scrapbooking
It's such a creative activity to do
For pictures and poems, I'm always looking
Forever scanning magazines through and through
I look for pictures of people and places
Some happy, some excited, some tired, some sad
I try to find real emotional traces
And whatever I like, to my scrapbooks I add
Over the years many books I have made
Scrapbooks of poetry old and new
Old web sites and online pictures I raid
Some of my scrapbooks are happy, some blue
Certainly, on this hobby you can say I'm hooked
There's nothing like it to keep me involved
No one would believe how hard I have looked
For rhymes and riddles that will never be resolved
I started this past time at our church
Each Wednesday all the ladies would look
Each one in her chair quietly perched
Consumed with finding the perfect hook
Everyone knows that you must create ideas
Inspiring and intriguing to reel in a person
Someone who will cast off all their fears
And stop to read your poem for a life lesson
I love scrapbooking, it's so rewarding
It brings childhood memories back to me
School days when with friends consorting
Times that were so happy and carefree
Often I reread through my many books
Books I've created by myself
Sometimes I find things that I've overlooked
Words that reveal how I once felt
Poems about family and friends so dear
Poems about God's creatures so lovely
Poems about Nature, Seasons, and Fears
Poems about things you can't buy with money
I'm planning on leaving my scrapbooks all
To my kids and grandkids after I'm done
When this life with its troubles are just a sad pall
And all they have left is the legacy I've begun
I never had many pictures or prose
Left me by parents or other relations
That's why I suppose I strive to compose
Scrapbooks to leave to younger generations
I want them to always remember me as
The Grandma that loved them so
I hope they realize that I had pizzazz
Even though I can't leave them much dough
The things that are important in life
Aren't always the things that are seen
When you live through all the sorrow and strife
You'll understand just what I mean
A love of poetry is what I will leave
For my children and grandchildren too
For what is a life and to what will you cleave
If great poetry is missing from you
By Julia Shaw
May 2020
10/10/2019
I tried to write today, but I couldn’t manage it.
You see, there’s a speck of dirt stuck to the paper.
I tried not to let it get to me, but to no avail,
And had already begun trying to get it off.
Scratching at it was no use, I couldn’t get under the thing.
And washing a paper would defeat the purpose.
It seemed impossible to pry off.
I can’t live with it in my sight, yet can’t throw it away.
I’ll have to take my mind off it somehow,
So I can rest easy tonight.
Just the thought of it will haunt me.
Tomorrow I can write again.
10/11/2019
I got another piece of paper today,
And had managed to get the speck out of my head,
Just long enough to get some thoughts out.
But something else is bothering me.
Now that I think about it, I can’t stop myself.
All the abnormalities of the patterns on the wall,
The crumbs on the desk,
Even the nearly invisible creases in this paper.
I need to get out a bit more,
There’s no way I can function like this.
I can talk more when I’ve dealt with this,
But for now this is all I can think about.
10/12/2019
I couldn’t go to sleep last night.
I had turned on the fan in my room,
But its spinning motion had fascinated me.
The quink motion blurs it together,
But if you focus on a single blade, following it,
It starts to become clear.
After a while I decided to get up.
There was nothing to do, but anything was better
Then staring at the cursed fan.
I found a rubber wall stick toy, molded into the shape of a dragon.
My brother probably got it from a teacher.
After spending the rest of the night trying to keep the wings apart,
I passed out.
10/13/2019
I can’t stay in this house,
The abundance of dust has only become more clear.
My brain won’t rest and I’m seeing things I haven’t before.
The edges of my nails that are begging to be cut,
The imperfections in the palms of my hands,
The papers not all in a straight pile,
The lines of my handwriting inhabiting them,
The dust scattered over the tables,
And the finger marks breaking the unity.
My head is spinning
And I can’t make it stop.
Round and round the ceiling goes.
10/14/2019
Ah, the beauty of sleep medicine.
I finally had a good night’s rest,
And I think I have an idea on what to write about.
Until next time, Journal.
And please, deal with the erase marks,
I need a break.
-Connor Lotts
I lay in my bed.
Thoughts come in waves.
When will it end?
The Dragon slain.
No amount of time.
No person, no thing.
Can change the fate,
That the needle brings.
Sights of Orange,
Delight my eyes.
I pick up a crystal,
And to no surprise.
I crush it down.
In that damn orange cup.
I’m so overwhelmed.
The sinking feeling abrupt.
I carefully decide,
The amount to pour.
Then mix it with water.
And dissolve once more.
I take off the cap,
To reveal the shine.
Of that needle so enticing.
That it blows my mind.
I feel so small.
As I stare at that point.
My body quivers.
I can’t disappoint.
Thoughts of guilt.
Invade my brain.
But my body keeps saying,
This will soon end the pain.
So I draw the solution,
Into the stem.
Then flick it twice.
Let the bubbles settle in.
I slowly push the air out.
That’s collected on top.
And wonder to myself,
If I will ever stop.
But I shrug it away.
And again think of pain.
Then tie on my tourniquet.
And say “ it” again.
The veins start to pop.
And spread on my skin.
They bulge and prod,
And trickle within.
Sometimes this takes hours.
Sometimes days of my life.
I get so frustrated.
But search on with strife.
I stab myself over and over again.
Until the blood flows red into my syringe.
Seeing the blood,
Makes my whole body weak.
But I surrender with ease.
No more words can I speak.
I push the plunger forward,
Till she entires my veins.
Down to the last drop.
Empty and insane.
I wait just a second.
Pull the needle out.
My body turns to fire.
This is what it’s all about.
From my toes to my head,
Her venom spreads.
Ecstasy at last.
No more feelings of dread.
Then the fire fades,
Just as quickly as it came.
And then there’s just calm.
A final break from the shame.
I’ve given my life to this process,
So many times.
The bigger the shot.
The bigger the crimes.
When I’m in this state,
The dragon has one.
My mind and my heart,
Become unspun.
I do terrible things,
To all of my friends.
My family, my children.
But she always wins.
I always think I can only do one.
But that’s never the case.
The cycles just begun.
“The devils tool” I’ve heard it said.
Takes every ounce of life.
And leaves you for dead.
But you rise up and start
The process once more.
A zombie. Tortured chaos.
I don’t know anymore.
Stella Williams was eight years old, living with her widowed mother-
Happily, though a bit lonely, like powder blue skies, sans sunset color.
The Williams lived in a rural area, with no child Stella's age, nearby.
A farmer in the valley, was the only neighbor, like waves of no reply.
Still, school hours were fun for Stella, like rollicking days of summer;
When plum sun, waltzed with stars of glitter, often going undercover.
Stella, at times, threw coins in their well, to wish for a special friend,
Besides the birds and blooms of beauty, and rolling hills of never end.
As faint rays forgive after furious storm, distant family came, finally;
In fancy days of dinnerplate dahlias, of gold, pink, or maroon vitality.
Stella lived in the house of empty rooms, that recollected sunny joys;
There the nostalgic past, argued with hopeful future, making no noise.
A purple path close to their front door, seemed painted with petunias;
In amethyst days of evening sparkle, and sunrises, the hue of peaches.
Numerous nightingales sang at hiigh noon, when new neighbors called;
In notable, precious moments, not ever forgotten-redolence enthralled!
'String of hearts plants,' trailed love petals, as 'oyster plant,' culled gems.
The rich pink, 'quill blooms,' shot daggers, like vexed queens, in diadems.
'Enchanting hostas' charmed summer moon, as 'elephant ears,' harked;
Then 'rising sun redbud' trees sang, with dawn on gloss petals, marked.
Stella still wandered to the well to wish, some afternoons and evenings,
As some yet gaze at mysterious stars, to uncover astrological meanings.
Stella was reading in her favorite spot, on a day of hot, persimmon sun;
And she looked up and saw a girl her age. A new friendship was begun!
Veronica was the daughter of the farmer in the dell, who was divorced;
And she was now living with him. Stella was invited to dinner, of course.
In time, Stella and her mom got to know, their nearest neighbors, well;
For Stella got her wish, when her mother married the farmer in the dell.
'The farmer in the dell.
The farmer in the dell.
Hi-ho, the derry-o!
The farmer in the dell.
The farmer takes a wife.
The farmer takes a wife.
Hi-ho, the derry-o!
The farmer takes a wife.
The wife takes a child.
The wife takes a child.
Hi-ho, the derry-o!
The wife takes a child.'
There seems to be silence within the serene night,
yet those indoors have eternal cries of unspoken fright.
One man drowns in chocolate, shamefully eying his hips,
as the woman next door kisses the hundredth man’s lips.
Two floors below, one screams out in pain,
as fatal anger has won the game.
The killer, shadowed, makes no remark,
but watches the blood flow, immersed in his soul of eternal dark.
Three doors across, an elderly man sits, rejected and broke,
hiding his face with tendrils of smoke.
His trusty cigarettes always at the ready,
when his finances where never steady.
Another flight down, a woman drowns in her agony sip by sip,
her life seems to slip by like a commercial blip.
Yet all she can think
is that her marriage is on the brink.
Before she fades into the night of another day,
all she remembers is throwing her wedding ring away.
Traveling down to the ground floor,
the troubles seem to equal more.
A woman tosses about in her anxious bed,
while her worries do pirouettes in her head.
Try to let the past and present go,
but the future looms like a horror show.
Outside, in the darkness, a piercing light shines
as a moth flutters by, on the still air it climbs.
It seems this beacon, as bright as the sun,
new hope has just begun.
The moth bangs itself against the glass,
trying to reach glory at last.
Yet no matter how much its antennae bend,
or wings grow fragile and not able to mend,
it seems like the only thing to do
to deal with its feelings, old and new.
Until it steps back and looks at the light
realizing that harming itself won’t set anything right.
With the last of its strength, ending its plight,
the moth flies off into the night.
At this moment, the man decides to rid his house of fat-packed glory,
as the woman on the ground floor takes a deep breath, changing her story.
The killer at large turns himself in,
the end to his years of sin.
The woman pours the bottles of wine down the drain,
finally she can remember her name.
The elderly man exhales his last puff of smoke,
the grueling memories no longer prod and poke.
And the woman kissing her hundredth man
lets him go, heart no longer sinking in deadly quicksand.
The light of dawn finally breaks,
and the darkness of the mind no longer takes
away from the people’s lives
as the light of hope is now by their sides.
"The Union"
You lift me up when I have no strength
When I feel things are too rough
Today tomorrow and forever you go the extra length
Because of you I've been given a chance to be tough
In your arms you show me true love
As a symbol of security you've become my dove
You've taught me in all things we will cling to hope
The reason I don't need to get scared when I feel I'm at the end of my rope
In the moments I feel things aren't fair or just
You've taught me to believe in the two of us I must
It's protection and security when we are joined together
That things go from heavy as a rock to light as a feather
You're there through the worst the unsure and the best
And united together we are a force that stands every test
Through every minute hour and second that time seems to stand still and freeze
You make the whispers of the wind give a refreshing calm breeze
I find myself assured that with you as we hold hands we are one like a strong lock
Your love I know has been my rock
I know time no longer stands still as we become united together as one
As God our heavenly Father says my children my work has been done
Joining hand in hand two hearts become one and I proudly say our lives have begun
The race to the finish line we are determined to run
As the world meets for the first time Mr. and Mrs. McGee
I'm humbled to say that lucky bride will be me
We will take this world by storm through the example of faith we walk
Through honest communication we glide like the beauty of a hawk
It's a privilege and a gift to know that you're going to be my husband
But you're more than just that you're my inspiration
And as we exchange vows that we've had since our first day together we promise
To be all that each other needs, wants, and ever could dream or imagine
Thanks to hard work discipline and remaining determined
As our prayers were heard and answered the Lord said we were forever destined
In honor of all he had in mind for us we will be strong and evolve to make our future ours for the making
In awe of everything yet to come I promise to give you all I have and all that I am
Before you God and our family we stand, joined hand in hand
Celebrating our union today tomorrow and for eternity
Congratulations to husband and wife, we are presented with a bonding kiss
Mr. and Mrs. John McGee
I love you John McGee
On the day of your birth, joyous or tragic at the girth.
With sun or light, opportunity gains flight.
The moon or night, once begun always a fight.
A choice to make, a path to take, to find your way night or light.
Signs along the way, though in plain sight have no sway.
Words and actions unmatched, alludes balance and remains detached.
By the time a connection is made, aged and tired we begin to fade.
Born to die, lived a lie.
2
A death begins, with truly no end, regardless of the course.
The start as well, has no tell, of what life contains, within it’s well.
Seek to find in this grind, a way, a path, a place.
Where peace at last has finally cast a role, a sign, a space.
For time has no friends, it’s always there at the end.
Do the best, pass the test, meet every challenge.
When this is so, the time will go, like the tides ebb and flow.
In the same way , make every day a death that can never stay.
3
Remember when the days begun, fiery like the midday sun.
Battles fade and wars won,
Heated by words and deeds fired by our own guns.
In a time of no fear never knowing what was dear.
All things gained and nothing lost
leaving someone else to pay the cost.
Like this is not the way, to waste this precious day.
In the end we all pay at the end that’s all to say.
But to realize before begun, a job that must be done.
For born are we to die, living when we know the reason way.
Die we all do, return to dust we will.
Taking nothing when we go leaving everything for life’s show.
So the question remains,
Born to die or live and know why.
4
In the brew when we begin, never knowing till the end.
What, will we become, when our time, here is done.
Lead your’s through stress and stiff or glide with glee as joy fills your life.
Regardless of the circumstances as we enter life’s stage
We alone will or won’t choose to play the roles life has paved.
It’s not a fight when we begin, we know it all and can do it all too.
Toward the middle we start to wonder, if we shoulda...,
A fleeting thought because another distraction comes along.
Before you know it, the time is gone.
You sit and think, you ask why.
As you think you realize, like a brand new light bulb, Bright.
It shine, you see on the places and seeds,
you chose thus far not to go or sow.
Your at the middle and again you choose.
You now know, what will you do?
Form:
“The Shedding of our Skin”
I am writing about the transition from lost now found,
Darkness to light, one being into another, death to life,
Old skin to new skin.
Its like the rejuvenation of skin
The restoring of flesh over flesh of an open wound
And that does not happen all at once but over a duration of time.
Little by little not specific, but unpredictable start to finish.
My skin was tough, tough as leather
It had to be broken in, sat and stomped on over time
It was miss-used, abused
Unappreciated, contaminated and unpurified with uncleanliness toxic substances, people, places and things.
Miss-guided with ill desires and will
But by grace my transformation had begun
Before it was to late there was a death to life ending activated
In my darkest space, In my mess
The shedding of my skin had begun
There was a shift in my ways my desires my walk and talk
My mind and heart had started to align up with the whispers of Gods divine word.
My old skin of the one-track roads, addictions, attitudes and desires.
I no longer craved or desired
My mouth was filled with affirming empowerment for myself and others.
I was able to articulate the things I felt, thought, wanted, and needed, liked and disliked.
Speaking fluent in the moments with no more hesitation or reluctancy holding my words or fear.
I am shedding my broken past of my childhood strongholds and obstacles.
Letting go of my resentments and anything that has kept me in chains.
I’ve moved from complacency to contentment with a peace and understanding I cant explain.
Compelled to be of service and good works with a drive of passion energy and love.
I AM SHEDDING
No longer stagnant in my engrafted past
Now free and flying through the fog, trauma and strongholds that once hindered me and my growth in so many ways.
Today my mind is renewed with thoughts and visions of life and light.
My new skin enables me to persevere on in faith and hope.
Trusting and dreaming of an abundant life sober and free
To properly handle and face life gratefully
Overcoming any of its obstacles that may come up against me
I am shedding with new profound revelations and abilities
My shedding has provided me with a variety of new talents and gifts.
Something that my old skin would have never allowed....
Continuing to shed “The Shedding of my Skin”
I should really be writing my essay (due tomorrow!) but I can't have this poem stand here
under my name without some well due editing. I would remove it but I feel like I have not
given the idea a fair amount of my effort.
Let me tell you the story of the man who wared with time
Let me tell you of the lying man who thought himself free from fate's monotonous rhyme:
This lying man would not a true story tell
To the masses: tales of himself in a regal crown he would sell
And they would ask: How come you here, great king?
And he would weave tales of abandoning his office for a woman's ring
Some would jeer and others cheer
But always he would smile ear to ear
At time in its grandeur he would leer
To priests he would lament of his heinous crimes, to never repeat them he swore
Begging their pity and reveling in the new skin he wore
So why, you may ask, does the liar lie of heinous acts
When he could lie of owning the grandest tracts?
And the snake of snakes would slither its tongue
And shed its skin, a coat in its closet so neatly hung
It would tell you a million tales, not one of them true
And never itself shed in any hue
For the flesh beneath may be soft and fickle
But the skin above is always rough and brittle
The flesh beneath once shed, would still the beating of his heart
The skin above once shed, would instill in his life immortality, the one true art
And always the happiest man alive he would be
Living the lives of any man his mind could see
And so the lying man would not a true story tell
The lying man would lie till the day he fell
That day the king of kings dies
The day the criminal meets his demise
While the lying man that was lives on in every story
As friends and foe would debate the king's glory
All the while the lying man that is sinks deeper into his grave
And that priest would remember a criminal who only mercy did he crave
And that coat of skins would weaken and tumble
The skins within gone brittle and begun to crumble
As the lying man that was, flesh and vulnerability, decays
All those skins he left behind, time will one day erase.
And so lying man, you had smiled in the face of time,
Done no great dead but steal what was theirs and mine
You had fallen thinking you had bested the clock
When only you had deafened yourself to the echo of tick tock
© Samir Georges
2010