Long Betides Poems
Long Betides Poems. Below are the most popular long Betides by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Betides poems by poem length and keyword.
Love like hope betides,
nature is her ere scene,
what if the world would host, tis,
things flowing monsters, if wise, otherwise,
oh!, I think that the earth,
has blue and green and red...,
a little calendar of this savannah.
As the border is not based,
since nothing tends towards.
Alas!, what I can see willingly or unwillingly,
nature is beautiful and horizon rainbow,
were the earth wild there is a prayer of holy,
were this life frenzy and spoiled still there is throw,
alas!, besides this longing of centuries,
alas!, besides this civilization trails,
alas!, besides this cultivation of memories.
How when a need arises society frowns,
how it will use basic there drowns.
But, the tale is gloom if it is held,
if it is tis thou relied,
what I cannot depend upon is a restraining mood,
one turned wild and one turned fiend,
nature says her love and butterfly her ecstasy,
and nature dreams and dreams,
oh!, nature is but a factory.
And even on it, a child claims poesy,
is not, for a trival reject,
since to shed a light on this contemporary horizon,
since nothing is for nothing or non.
Like here I fancied a ribbon of tide,
I think this part even is around,
is their IDs beheld tie,
then next I bound and found,
ere nature is democratic, better indeed,
since two is many a time paired,
and desire alone is a rare bond.
On an occasion in life,
it matters the experience but none to falter,
because it is to at least bind.
Ah!, if a little wave,
escape tomorrow like charcoal of ruins,
and this difference in life,
the earth on her revolution contends,
thus not that what is not known,
is acted to the favour of greed,
because it was not known at a dawn.
Now like a bee he/she is around within this frail,
what then clarity connects us concerning this trail?,
it actions are just nightmares,
alas!, a worst form of such vile sought reward,
worst is last lost failures.
Now odd is a life depending on such a mod,
for may be it is ruined,
I cannot hold that I was torn and scared,
somewhere nor hold that I failed or missed,
this same fancy to fun the earth,
later I didn't mis entail,
and now is happy and wish to fold.
Why to you have sides, front, back,
left and right besides, betides?
I'm offside, on no one's side.
Why regret and hide the gnarls,
scars and wrinkles on your hides?
Why be ashamed of the 'love-me-dos',
cut into your trunks,
by strangers with sharpened blades?
Why do you hide and cower in my shade
and not reach up with your leaves skyward,
into the warm sun's arms?
Instead you rake up my dead leaves? Why?
Where are your roots, in which my true strength lies?
Leaving your strength to arms and legs, denies you, your roots?
Be like me, rooted in the earth, reaching for the sky!
Why do you hate the passing of season so much?
For shedding and renewal,
allows green shoots and buds to grow.
Your quest for permanence and stability
begs your leaves to free-fall, unexpectedly,
leaving you stripped bare and unprepared.
Each winter I stand proud and tall
with limbs bare, resilient against the cold.
I well know that such absence, lack and emptiness
can never make me feel old.
For trees we never strive,
but lean to and in, compliant,
and stretch and bend gracefully.
Trees stay still and never leave, yet they claim their place.
They never seek tomorrow, satisfied with what is here and now.
Happy to shed what they no longer need, for renewal sake.
Growing slowly old, with dignity and grace.
They're mostly *'Ents', rooted in the earth,
with trunk and branches, twigs and leaves,
content with their lot.
My burning red raw, bloodshot eyes,
strain expectantly, under reluctant skies,
counting fingers, with tearful sighs,
longing for sunbeams, to defiantly prys,
open cracks in gray clouded sunrise.
An eye soon cries when a spirit expires,
lowering a curtain over its own demise,
knowing that gray clouds, in soft disguise,
conceal a heart, where storm rage resides.
We can’t grasp, retrieve, or analyze,
every drop of tear that fate applies,
or drown out our faltering hopeful smiles,
with splattered stings, spat from leaden skies.
Let's stride forward beyond what woe betides,
that arise from seeing skies cloudy at sunrise,
to cherish every moment, without compromise-
as bearers of gifts that bring joyous surprise.
The beach holds my footprints, briefly etched between tides,
until the waves come in, wash them away, with woe betides.
The sand remembers me, when my feet return to shore.
knowing the cadence of steps, that have been here before.
The sound of the waves washes my toils and troubles away,
as time stands still on each bright, and bold beach day.
My memories echo, as white bridal veils that rush and gush,
over smooth wet sand, as if stroked by a soft sable brush.
Gulls cry and caw, swirl and soar, in the sky above,
sharing their free-flung flights with the watchers they love.
Each sea shell hums with seaside revelries and memories,
in strange echoing voices, drifting in ears to haunt me.
The tide is always turning, waves tossing and churning.
The ocean is always pulsing, swirling, yearning.
Waves breathe in - breathe out, inspiring by respiring,
matching my breathing, seesawing with such awe and admiring.
The roar of the sea continues far out from the shore.
Beckoning me not to leave, to come back again, once more.
Each wave breaks with a crash that knows my name,
surging with joy, as its calling me back, again and again.
We built sandcastles with sticks, shells, and sand.
Taunting the waves to smash our feeble grandstand.
Children chase the waves playing catch-me-if-you-can,
knowing the rhyme and reason, for the wave's, cunning plan.
The cliffs, shore, beach and sea, are a scene so pleasing to me
stretching to the horizon, out as far as an eye can see.
It's an ancient place of mystery, where all life began.
It's mater and mare, milieu and medium, for sustaining man.
The beach is my home, the sea my land.
It knows my name, is printed in sand.
I come and I go, at the sea’s command.
To savor its ambiance, so soft and grand!
The beach so soft and grand!
The beach so soft and grand!
Nestled is the slender twisting trail canyon between timeless steep
aspiring mountains and meditative sopheric sea waters
The frail road deepens into lofty thickness further from the harsh
volcanic valley where passion’s throes are ever in abeyance as days grind
on at a petty pace, as winding cathartic minds strive to be free and leave their
fears of mortal sin, intrusive family— religious dogma dismissive, oppressive
My yearning heart writhes in agonizing prose knowing senses magma
guilt etched into my very core, now behind
I’ll unwind, in a soft bed of sand that awaits
Spring’s strong winds of life call, visible the sea in the
distance, in instance, heads tilt, abut, falling upon my
wooer’s shoulder, he presses gears, downshifts reaching tireless
slate-gray force spreading over ocean floors flooding with no remorse
An uncommon gallantry he displayed, a warrior’s valiant looks
fired up my very essence
A dimming sun immerses into a hesitant horizon, sweeping breezes spin
warm spells embracing an enchanter’s realm,
with its charm he gazed into languid eyes
Silhouettes stark, foreheads bow, touch, sweetened sweat from
jasmine bushes alongside the road, perks of riding the stallion of steel
evoked smiles in sideview mirror, heated rims, spokes spun
Dismount a stroll, toes sank in sand, holding hands dodging driftwood
washed ashore, I chose a serpent shaped, a souvenir!
I’d glue turquoise stone eyes, a keepsake, or an omen?
Zena’s cove of guilty pleasures seal fates, certainly
not rhythmic lapping waves against the shore nor salmon sunset
or a waxing crescent moon, and not the wistful ocean’s teary spray
Its tears wetted my cheeks in afterglows
Lest moonlit sky amongst shy hidden stars
Pangs subside, panic betides, doctrine ridden not from our marrow
Womb’s flower in bloom, a secret kept, an advent arrival
The planets wept, forms beyond birth of celestial bodies,
one existence yet does sin exist in celestial angels?
He held tightly, softly whispered let’s run away,
his proposal on adulthood’s precarious cusp,
bestowed him a refusal, sweet youth ruins
Alas and alack life proceeds
steady as ebb and flow of the tides
After a precious gem she’s named, sweet lord
never more blissful, daughter
Caressed are tranquil ocean waves
Years lay over,
tilt to shed tears,
from eaves of leaves
that sway, stay and,
stray away to far beyond.
Lay, lady, lay.
Come allay your fears
and I'll let your colors shine,
if you'll stay with me, for awhile.
Lest, I lay to rest,
a wreath for you,
for the good times we shared
long gone.
The years drift away,
way out wide on the tide.
Marooned as lullabies
of lilting longing shadows,
echoing woe, and go, betides,
way out beyond the breakers,
beyond the lay of years.
The ring of fresh colored flowers,
you once wore around your neck,
now lies forlornly lain,
as a garland of petals,
dropped from a ring of flowers
onto the ground.
Onto the layers of years,
spread out on a mound of tears,
never to grow old,
beyond the lay of years.
Sunbeams flood into my room like a tide on the rise creeping in.
Woe betide me be, wet or dry, warm or cold, enlightened or beam blighted.
Dawn bears beams of revelations, comings and goings, flotsam and jetsam,
Some floating, others dissolved, suspended, dragging in sentiment grains of sand.
Behold sea, what betides in seeps you oozed in?
Seconds or first, ticks or crosses, daze lost, or minutes expanded?
Wins or losses, deposits or payments, credit or bills, older but deeper in debt or bathing in clover?
Will forget-me-knot bloom, rose petals fall off, buds pop open or dead-heads drop down?
Who will call by, drop in, blow in, come in, arrive on door step, or be shown the door with good riddance and boot?
What will the postie deliver, inbox spew up, or social media blurt outs in entrails of you-have-mail?
Will you step up, step forward, take two steps back, make progress or stumble and fall?
Will your dreams be realized, shattered, made, recalled, befallen, denuded, dewatered or deluded be splat?
You can't stop progress.
Time marches on.
'Now' it reigns, and we all get wet.
Fate's clock is never fast.
Destiny blooms and booms.
'Sun' it shines, and 'ce sera tout fait' translates
Good morning
Day its brung!
(Out of Eden IV)
I’m cross as I cross The Cross
And wonder as I wander
My Spirit has rejected the spirit in me
For fear that it’s fare is fair.
The cause of my ‘coarse’, of course
Is as tied, as the tide betides
Fight then the fete of fate with faith
The feat, by the feet, defeat.
The bait of my bate the debate
As I bare the obeah that I bear
I’m taut with thought of tort I’m taught
Indecent descent to dissent.
Now, Requiem of Carpe Diem
Like a fool, I lived life to the full
My sinews of sins are a scene of obscene
Whether it’s seen or unseen.
It’s whether I’ll weather the weather
Just pray that I’m not the prey
My life is a life, in life, for life
Too dear and so dear to ‘dare’!
Please pass me a piece of peace
And sing me a song sung strong
To laud The Lord as loud as allowed
His Reins shall arraign to Reign.
(The Fg 81.5.8)
Fittingly hallowed gods must intrinsic majesty hold.
Even before deities invoked weigh the caller's case,
The deity's potent title should alone spell the balm,
And tint with nourishing grace the supplicant's face.
Woe justly betides gods modelled by mortal skill,
Conjured to define the worshiper's creative spans.
True deity outdoes their adherent's most avid drill,
And defeats most faithful admirers' keenest scans.
If while engaged they varied ethereal trends display,
But when left alone they silent and unbothered stay;
You already got there a freaking raw deal indeed:
You're the mighty guy your own-made gods need!
The worshiped must by heart the worshiper know,
And both will ever commune as if by infallible law.
It’s the supreme being mightily seeking the follower,
Who grasps it well and submits to the bigger power.
It’s a fake god if it bends to suit whimsical desire,
Or at once plays into your infinite imaginative fire!