Long Biggest Poems
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Your every whim, your heart's desire
Dream of Dreams comes from higher
God birth that in
You your tender nest
Your patience
Your words of Praise bless me days on days
A gift of helps yourself, respects all blameless
God verse that in you your warm smile
Just calmness here Bears love, joy, peace, happiness, you're a way with words
That must be heard God verse
That in you those cords you played a Sweet Serenade music from the Lord words Also is your every whim your heart's desire
God verse that in you I pray as peace it is now released
And heard words so dear means more than man's ever greatest biggest fears God burst that in you and the glory is it's all his and the glory is its all gives from The one above
It all comes from God the gifts in you
Tho your mother, helper, teacher, preacher, brother the gifts in you a builder Receiver, listener, counselor I pray as peace it is now released
And I heard your word so dear means more to me that man's biggest fears
The gifts in you what you do
You know it's true don't delay nor take them to the Grave God birth that in you Release the gifts today you're everywhere
While your heart's desire dream, dreams of Dreams comes from higher
God birth that in you
Walking through many doorways every day,
think of them as doors of perception if you may.
As you create those mental spaces and ponder,
many other doors open like a chain reaction wonder.
Those spaces creating new potential trace,
intuitive virtue inspired by the space.
Creation for sake of purpose with no limit,
visions by pure concentrations illuminate.
Those moments holding the golden key,
into a divine knowledge appointee.
Prejudice thoughts will look many doors,
preconceived manipulation that soars.
The doors of reasons have the sign of solicitation,
while the doors of creed are named desperation.
The biggest doors are the kingdom of relief,
and doors that not exist are for the thief.
Sacramental openings are other gold painted passages,
propaganda with mass psychotic gavages.
Believing doors are the ultimate cell,
by inferior power to keep the shell.
The doors in the lovers dream open themselves,
with guardians of sprites and elf’s.
The great architect places carefully its doors,
the inside of creation and its adores.
The art of thinking and its creation,
freewill and rainbow sensation.
The doors to heaven are always open,
the eternal lovers key and invisible token.
The older I get, the more loud noises
Annoy me and cause irritation
Got sensitive ears since becoming a senior
Sometimes prefer isolation
Alone with my thoughts of a better world
And how to be good girls and boys
Instead of bickering and squabbling all day
About who's got the biggest toys
It surely is time for us guys to grow up
Been acting like kids for too long
We should smarten up, start acting our age
No more conflicts from now on
A world where people love one another
In spite of language or colour
It's really not difficult to imagine a day
Us all getting along with each other
© Jack Ellison 2013
When is ‘Almost Good Enough’
never good enough?
When is ‘Clearly Not Enough’
an ounce more than enough?
When is ‘Almost What You Need’
the most you’ll ever have?
When is ‘It’s Not Only That’
the only thing that’s left?
When is ‘In Almost Every Case’
not in any case at all?
When is ‘In Lieu Of Everything Else’
the thing sure to be missed?
When is ‘In Actuality’
in real terms actually not?
When is ‘To Be Perfectly Honest With You’
the biggest lie you’ll hear?
When is the serious ‘Last Ditch Effort’
the one you continue to try?
When is the ‘Absolute Final Time’
the one you repeat again?
When is ‘Really’ not real at all
and spoken then in vain?
When is ‘Probably’ not probable
or even close to that?
When is the phrase ‘The Bottom Line’
the top of your agenda?
When is the trusted ‘Old College Try’
strictly out of school?
When is ‘Painstakingly Difficult’
the easiest thing you do?
When is ‘No Sweat—The Deal Is Done’
so much harder than before?
When is ‘Let’s Start At The Beginning’
the end of the debate?
When is ‘The Last Word On The Matter’
the beginning of what comes next?
When is ‘So What’ a euphemism
for the most important things you do?
When is ‘It Is What It Is’
categorically not, and never will be?
When is ‘The Bull In The China Shop’
ceramic and for sale?
When is the celebratory ‘Victory Lap’
the one taken in disgust?
When is the magical ‘Three Point Shot’
four points more than its worth?
When is the special ‘Love You Lost’
the only one you’ve never found?
When is the figurative ‘Bird In Hand’
the one that flies away?
When is ‘Bantering Back And Forth’
the silence you extol?
When will your words line with copper wire
to conduct the truth unrobbed
When will you cease to pander and mislead
—naked before the mob
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
I want to ask you something, a question from me to you.
What is Mother? What was she here to do?
She started life just like us, a child one day was born.
A child born for greatness, a soul to be adored.
She started life as a child, a teen and then a wife.
Blessed with children of her own, to help guide them through their life.
She gave us life and love, protection from within.
She would wake up every morning, and greet us with a grin.
Our Mothers are very special, so love them while you can.
My Mother is my hero, I am her biggest fan.
I carry her in my heart, reminding nobody but me.
Of the fact that I am loved, no matter where she may be.
Character.
That's where the biggest measurements,
truest tests of worth
should lie.
And yet, 'tis not so.
Sometimes, mostly, I believe
that it's indeed enough.
That being a good man
is enough to keep me afloat.
Sometimes, rarely, . . .
I don't.
How many good men die?
How many great people, nice guys,
saintly women, shining paragons of humanity -
are shunned?
People don't always look at you
with virtue in mind,
don't gaze through honor's eyes;
too often they look through you, into you,
to what you can do for them.
Too often they choose,
not to see the real source of light in front of them,
but instead just the glow of fool's gold;
warping your worth to mean usefulness
instead of selflessness,
utility instead of altruism.
Or they misread you entirely;
focusing solely on your looks,
or your wealth, or your mannerisms,
your attitudes;
one is chosen, only one is seen -
the one made to blemish and demean.
Very few gaze on the whole picture,
take in the whole work;
these are those you treasure.
The ones, also, of value,
the ones who are what they claim
and claim little more than living
in a respectable way.
But still, in this life,
character matters oft too little;
gathers all but nothing corporeal.
In the end, one must make a choice;
tangible wealth, or wealth of pride?
What matters to one more -
the character of the substance,
or the substance of the character?
I strive to continue
to believe that great people are there;
that who you are
makes a damn bit of difference.
But throughout that strife,
ever am I haunted, shadowed,
by one ceaseless question.
How many good men die?
That's it. That's what I want to know.
That's what follows and taunts me.
How many of them fall, without ever knowing
just what they've meant to those they've helped -
those they've served, protected, assisted, befriended?
Whether it was a much-needed pat on the back,
picking up a dropped cane, searching for something lost;
or something bigger -
a life given, an oath fulfilled,
a love or a friendship began and striven for -
how many never believe they've made a difference, however slight,
never realize what they truly were?
How many good men die,
having once or more asked a question of their own -
am I a good man,
was I a good man-
without their answer?
The Valley of Decision
Is the place where our life is lived.
The many small decisions
that we make without thinking,
creates much of the fabric
of which our whole life is made.
From the moment we awake
to the time we crash in sleep,
through every waking moment
decisions are being made.
Some are trivial and routine
Others weighty and impactful.
What to eat at breakfast time
Or to skip because we’re rushed.
What to wear for the workplace
And when to dress to impress.
These decisions are trivial ones
Whose outcomes do not shape our lives.
The education we forego
Because we think it does not count.
The mate we choose for nuptial bond
With no thought of their character
These are some of the decisions
that shape the course of our life.
The biggest of all decisions
That each of us can ever make
Is about the relationship
We form with our Creator
For it is this relationship
That determines our destiny.
Life can be good in the valley
or filled with heartaches, grief, and pain.
The big and small decisions all
combine to shape for good or ill
the future life that you would live
be it enjoyable or sad.
So, take time to plan your life.
Determine the future you want.
Then each day, choose with wisdom
from the options life presents.
‘Tis how to live in the valley
and to make choices work for you.
(For Her Birthday last January 8, 2014)
N-ice and loving poet friend’s birthday is finally here,
E-ntering another year of her life, I loudly cheer!
T-his simple poem of mine may bring sweetest thoughts and prayer,
T-hat her life may be blessed abundantly today and forever.
E-very single day, may all things in her life make her a lot perkier.
O-n this day, 8th of Jan. 2014 is her very special day,
N-o matter how busy we are, may we give her big hugs and kisses today;
C-akes, roses, balloons and birthday serenades are now on their way,
L-oving thoughts of this poem may also make her happy.
A-sking God to give her the best of health,
U-nderlying are fulfillments of her dreams and wealth,
D-ropping now to our dear celebrity these gifts wrapped in golden sheets.
Jan. 11, 2014 2.10 p.m.
I’m so sorry if this birthday greetings to u comes only now my very dear friend Nette because I didn’t have time again this week due to our 2-days Sports Day, Thurs. & Fri. (It’s one of our biggest events. After school, I’m already knocked down on bed;) HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Biggest hugs! Wishing you all the best. hope it’s not too late.
I’m a poet who was made not born
Molded by God through people, my inspiration
I became a poet so I can stand on my own
With God’s love and strength
Through my creative expression.
Poetry is my aesthetic way to express
By writing my stories of joy and loneliness
I became a poet to share my failure and success
For a day-to-day’s journey
God’s love is just around to give hope, bless.
Why did I become a poet?
Because of the people I’ve loved and met
To creatively reveal God's nature’s wonders, not a secret
In fear, doubt, stress or exhaustion
I lean on poetry’s comforting wall, my parapet.
Along with my job is my ministry
Done in my special way through poetry
I became a poet with Almighty Lord’s precious gift
To share His words like songs with praising arms like a tree.
..........................................................................................
(The poem below wasn't included in the contest. I'm posting it today, Aug. 10, 2024 5.49pm for keepsake. I've scribbled this just after writing my contest entry above.)
How Nature Made Me A Poet
Seed of poetry has been sown in my heart,
By sowers who played the biggest part;
Poetry seed grew and nurtured from the start,
From reciting rhymes with actions at age five.
Seed of poetry has been watered by mom and school,
When memorizing poem was my forte, so cool!
As I bloomed, I started to admire and fall in love like a fool,
To words where I express creatively gliding like waterfall.
My words came in various poems filling my paper,
When joy and love spark as odds to nature’s wonder;
In pains and sadness, writing poems is my comforter,
‘Til I realized, I’m also poet to share and adore our Almighty Father.
"Oh, hi!"
"Uh, huh?"
"Sorry did I wake you?"
"No this is my resting tree face."
"Oh thank goodness. Did they tell you I was coming?"
"No one tells me anything. Will you please stop doing circles around my trunk?"
"Sorry, I'm a skipping stone. It's kind of my thing."
"Is disobeying Newtonian laws of physics also your thing?"
"You sound like my mom."
"Why are you here?"
"I need to interview a dying tree for my school project. I picked you!"
"You go to school?"
"Pebbles Academy, can you believe it? They said it was based on my application essay. Do you wanna know the title?"
"No--"
"Stuck Between a Rock and Unrealistic Expectations of my Family."
"Title's too long."
"Can we start?"
"Start what?"
"The interview."
"I guess. I do have a nail appointment at 5."
"Oh."
"I'm just kidding! I can't move to make an appointment and I don't have nails. Fire away."
"What do you admire most?"
"Flexibility. I used to be flexible. Not so much anymore."
"Hm. Fascinating. What's you biggest fear?"
"The sound of a chainsaw. And department store vans filled with furniture."
"Favorite movie quote?"
(Austrian accent) "I'll be bark!"
"If you were stuck on a deserted island what 3 things would you bring with you?"
"A copy of Pyramid of Success by John Wooden, a copy of the The Wooden Bible, and a DVD of Castaway. I'll figure out how to watch it later."
"What is you biggest regret?"
"I never took a chance in life. I'm just too grounded."
"My last question: in 5 words or less, what advice would you give to a young sapling?"
"Leave it to beaver. Honestly beavers do most of the work around here."
"Thanks again, old tree."
"Anytime, skipping rock."
With that the rock skipped away and into a floating stream.
Left in the quiet, the trees branches swayed in the breeze.
The old tree sighed, a slow groaning creak.
"Anyone else need help finishing assignments?"
At once fawn and fauna crept out of the grassy shadows,
With tiny notebooks and miniscule writing utensils they slunk.
They crept to the edge of the old trees roots,
as many had waited for this moment their entire lives.