Long Belief Poems
Long Belief Poems. Below are the most popular long Belief by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Belief poems by poem length and keyword.
In shadows deep, once trapped in woe I trod,
A world of misery, with delusions spun,
A realm where joy was but a fleeting nod,
And every day seemed like a setting sun.
But midst the darkness, through the foggy haze,
A glimmer shone, a belief took its firm place,
A beacon bright, igniting hopeful rays,
I glimpsed a path to find a saving grace.
With newfound faith, the chains began to break,
Love's tender touch embraced my weary soul,
A transformation, from the brink I wake,
In love's warm light, my heart found itself whole.
From misery's grip, I rose with strength to move,
A life redeemed by belief and love's own groove.
Faith is not blind belief.
But trust in the unseen.
It's not wannabe thinking,
But a real hope that's keen
It's not a passive attitude,
But a willingness to act.
And it's not a crutch for the weak.
But a strength that's intact.
Faith is a journey.
A way that we must tread.
It's a path less traveled.
But one that we are led.
It's a challenge to our doubts,
And a test of our resolve.
But it's also a comfort.
A solace to our souls.
The path of faith is not sleazy.
But it's worth the climb.
For it leads to eternal life,
And a love that's divine.
So let us walk in faith.
With courage and grace.
For it is through our faith,
That we find our resting place.
Written: June 06, 2023
Renunciation
noun
the formal rejection of something, typically a belief, claim, or course of action.
"a renunciation of violence"
synonyms: abstention from, refraining from, going without, doing without, giving up of, eschewal of, rejection of, repudiation, rejection, abandonment, forsaking, forswearing, disavowal, denial, abjuration
Beatrice Portinari (1265–1290) was the primary muse and idealized true love of the Italian poet Dante Alighieri. They met only twice—first at age nine, then at eighteen—but she inspired his Vita Nuova and served as his guide to heaven in The Divine Comedy. Though Dante married another, Beatrice represented divine grace, virtue, and his spiritual journey.
The River Kwai (Khwae Noi) is a river in western Thailand famous for the World War II "Death Railway" bridges built by Allied prisoners of war (POWs) under Japanese occupation. Though immortalized in the novel and film, The Bridge on the River Kwai, the iconic steel-and-concrete bridge actually spans the Mae Klong River, not the Kwai Noi. The area near Kanchanaburi is a major historical site featuring museums and cemeteries.
Out of all those (Renunciation)!
None knew a croon arose o'er the meadows and greeneries to linger farther
incessant an usher monsoon reigned upon a feather, as light stroke the quencher
Fancied an orator verse as day ignited o'er the river kawai gone all too short until shorter
the ripened and the hue left only a day and an inconclusive queue for the fragrance
the garden and a vow and to brim to the fullest churn unto an ambivalence
lamented for the voided and the void chasm as the cosmos sits in interstellar space
It was a crisp day October 27th 1942
that's when my pop set out for WW11
right after my grandmother Nona
gave birth to my dad orders arrived
his job assignment was to protect the
priest arch bishops and future Pope's
being captured and killed for their
religious belief safety guarded in
Saint Sebastian church in Rome
the actual sight where Saint Sebastian
was arrowed to death I adore my military
family my husband saved Pow's during Vietnam
two uncles served and now my granddaughter
the history of thee armed forces within my
family is quite a treasure my pop protected
Pope Benedict and stood side by side
Pope Saint John XX111 1944 during
the Victory after liberating Italy he would
often shed tears about the mafia in America
with Al Capone how they actually portrayed
all Italians as criminals left a sore spot for my
own great grandmother born Mason Vicentino
all of pop's letter from war read somewhere
in Italy Apo New York my Pop died at 97 years
old clutching this photo of Arch bishop Pope
Saint John XX111 he made me swore on his
death bed to protect it from the mafia hoodlums
so it would stay in the hands of the Vatican
sadly Mafia hoods broke into my home trying
to retrieve the photo without success I'd copied
it several times sharing with the Knights of Columbus
the Abby of Monks the Franciscan sisters Arch Bishop
most Reverend Cardinal Francis George of Chicago
of course storing the original for safe keeping
and Honor for the sake of his sorrowful passion
over Saint Peters Square Di Vatican in Rome
my Roman heritage Somewhere in Rome I'm home
Whispers of faith rain over my heart
Reminding me why I’m here, I’m alive
Feeling the joy and delight of knowing
His love is here inside, breathing hope
Into my soul, where I can always know
The light that shines down from heaven
Is filled with inspiration, kindness, grace
Wonders so beautiful they imitate the
Praise that frees my thoughts and mind
With admiration, adoration, devotion
For the One who makes my life so bright
It feels like love has colored the skies
Serenity so soothing it seems to embrace
My thoughts, my feelings, my belief, my dreams
With jewels of elation freeing me from fear
Assuring my heart that I’m forever His
Child of the King, believer and receiver
Follower of Jesus, the way, the truth, the life
The One who brings me forgiveness for sin
And fills my soul with a brilliant assurance
That He is always there for me, faithful,
Praiseworthy, the answer to my every prayer
For hope that uplifts and cheers my heart
With kindness that knows He brings satisfaction.
Prayers are lifted to spark His insight
Into the moment, the position, the heart
Who needs His love, His light, His kindness
Poured out on the appeal for His tenderness
His gift of grace, His inspiration and faith
The miracle of the love that He brings
To every need, each request, every blessing
All the feeling that comes alive inside
The soul who knows His unconditional love!
With every thought, each moment, all that comes
There is the blessing of His captivating hope
His enchanting faith and His charismatic love
Flowing through the veins of those who know
His blood covers every sin, each offence, all wrong
With the purity of His everlasting sacrifice
For the ones who believe in Him through it all
Give back to Him their hearts who know He is
The answer for us all, the light in the darkness
The joy that lives in the soul who knows Him.
Tribute to Maradona
TO SKY HIGH
Small structure in five feet five frame
flashed in fabulous fame.
Little Argentinian Golden Boy
Bullish, buoyant, graceful with eyes angelic,
Rustic, over confident, playing magic.
Appeared an exceptional footballer
Nonparallel on strut and swagger
with tangled disarranged hair.
Careful yet without care.
mesmerizing spectators.
Promising skill on challenge of arrogance.
Strong sturdy solid sense of balance
pivoted on self-belief.
His real relief
to sky ball high playing on loops of eyes
with magic of swift feet showing miracle.
Public was marveled on blink less glance.
Excitement, emotions to enhance, not perchance.
Sometimes tagged by adverse label
as Sport’s misguided rebel
or misdirected: Full of flaws,
violating norms and laws.
Fair-fine or foul play,
Right or wrong! Useless to say.
Legitimate or illicit! No way.
Maradona, World Celebrity
charmed populace with same intensity.
Extremely impatient cocky,
Yet He was the STOCKY
NUMBER TEN
reaching heaven.
Beyond football ground crossing cheekiness
Maradona proved his splendid sunniness.
Amazing talented player touching excellence.
Left too early the high heroic spirit.
An athletic genius touching summit.
12/01/20
First Place
'Obituary Maradona' Contest by Mohan Chutani
Poetry in Motion
Contest by Matt Caliri
Kapow! Here’s mud in your face!
Poetasting rhymes, rhythms and nuclear waste.
Playing in mud pits, kitchens and certainly laced
Everyting that’s made . . . in this mysterious place.
Prob’ly shouldn’t eat this mud in this pie,
It may be somthin’ that’s all just a lie.
Interesting reads and certainly flies . . . beyond belief . . .
High above all that’s high in the sky.
Grand Master Chefs with their heads in the sand
When they pop out unleashing their impossible plans,
Amaze me mind with swirling twirling expands
Me into magical worlds of colorful lands.
Creating recipes so fabulous and untamed
Makin’ somethin’ outta nothin’ - sometimes insane.
Like potters awakening monsters in clay,
I read with a fever . . . Poet of the Day.
New poems always put a smile on my lips,
“What’s this,” I say, “that puts new pounds on my hips.”
Feeding my soul with soupster’s gluteness glips
Coming to life like birds pecking their way thru the crust,
Flocking to screech that it’s Poetry or Bust!
Come one, come all! Don’t miss the bus!
It’s time to unleash the beast . . . in all of us.
I’m not sure I’d eat mud pie turned into soup,
But I’m sure it tastes better than anomalous poop.
No bird brains here, weird just expressing our scoop,
You’re all wonderfully wonking a world worth a damn,
Nothing here can poss’bly be wrong or a scam . . .
No hackers allowed, A.I.s or plagiarizing posers,
Only original awesomeness of incredible composers.
I see you . . .I feels you all . . . eating this soup . . . making the call
To the restaurant that feeds the needs of us all.
No one here starves, no one at all.
So, thank you for being you
And always know that it's true
you’ll always be welcome
in my sandbox of blues.
As I soared at forty-thousand feet strapped in the aluminum-tubed aerie,
Racing through my skull was a tune made famous by Peter, Paul and Mary!
They made leaving on a jet plane sound so very romantic and swell!
Contrary to their soothing ballad, mine was the flight from hell!
Ah, the thrill of going through the security check still lingers,
Recalling a most "touching" pat-down by Freddy Feely Fingers!
I had to remove my belt, shoes and the change from my pockets,
And open my carry-on bag to prove I had no guns or rockets!
I was "squoze" betwixt two guys leaning on my shoulders snoring!
One was built like Hulk Hogan - the other as fat as Herman Goring!
A squalling kid hollered for the entire trip! I suffered beyond belief!
I ordered a Manhattan on the Rocks in hopes of finding blessed relief!
About the flight, I told Betty Boop the attendant, "I'm tired of this fuss!
Next time I travel I'll skip all this nonsense and ride a Greyhound bus!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
NOTE: I've suffered through many such flights wondering if the agony
would ever end!
Entry for Debbie Guzzi's "Songs to Poetry" Contest
In every crevice where I look
Every cranny, every nook
Creeping, crawling in their hoards
It’s my world they head towards
Swarming over every leaf
Numbers that defy belief
Out of holes, from under rocks
Now they’re even in my socks
They’re up my legs, they’re here, they’re there
I think one’s bit my you-know-where
At my feet the ground’s alive
I start to think, “Will I survive?”
I have some powder that I rate
It has the strength to decimate
Just a puff in cracks and holes
And all those ants will lose their souls
Trouble is, those bites are itching
For my powder’s in my kitchen
In a cupboard ’neath the sink
“Useful: NOT!” I hear you think
I ran a bath to set me free
And drowned those ants that didn’t flee
I laughed out loud as gleefully
I pulled the plug out, “Tee hee hee!”
Sat down that night to watch TV
And found an ant sat on my knee
I told that ant I couldn’t see
What kind of use an ant could be
I guess you’ll think that it’s a joke
(And yes I’d had a Scotch and coke)
It didn’t squeak nor bark nor croak…
I swear to you that damned ant spoke!
“Sir,” it said, “we pollinate
plants that then regenerate.
We make ourselves an aphid farm
which helps to save your plants from harm.
And all those slugs that make you squirm,
That horrid curly wurly worm,
We’ll eat them if we find them dead…
And then we shall infest your bed.”
Four millimetres of annoyance
For the sake of doubt avoidance
I hate insect sycophants
I won’t pretend to love those ants
He bit my leg; I wished him dead
But what the hell just bit my head
Sometimes nature makes me sigh…
What’s the point of ants that fly?
In ancient times, scholars did not agree,
On the order in which the gospels were written, you see?
Augustine thought it was Matthew, Mark, Luke and then John,
And his belief was widely accepted until Griesbach came along.
"Mark copied from Matthew and Luke," he more or less said,
But later scholars argued that Mark was the one who led.
Soon others posited the existence of someone called "Q,"
For it seemed there wasn't just one source, but two.
But this two-source theory would be challenged as well,
Did Q ever exist? They just couldn't tell.
A few scholars even applied a statistical technique,
But if a consensus exists, it remains rather weak.