Long Birthing Poems
Long Birthing Poems. Below are the most popular long Birthing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Birthing poems by poem length and keyword.
In the mirror of this world
I see a face that is not my own
A stranger,dripping tears of blood
And cast with impunity to the very depths of hell
Dwelling in the haunted shadows
Cursed to wander this accursed world alone
Forbidden to love,hate a name to be embraced
Lest you fall asunder in the bosom of a friend
The horrors of living oft in a void
Seeing the evils that man doth did alone
Flesh eat flesh,blood cast and trampled in mud
Power and fame,the price of one's soul to sell
The world, a place where evil grows
Birth to death birthing a cycle of woe
Preaching of godless men yet hearts unfazed
Man or fiend,both journey towards the same end
But is this all there is
Is the hope of men like burnt wood?
Is life a brutal endless cycle
That death is but a welcome reprieve?
Nay,but there is a cycle of love and peace
There is the end of all that is good
A greeting that ends with a smile
And a deed of which is hope revived.
I delight to ponder on...
...how love reigns as home blooms
with care and kindness that my parents tend well
breeding in our hearts midst kindness
along blest compassion.
I find serenity when I ponder...
... that peace rules while Dad and Mom
set family adventures for triumphant togetherness
with grace that memories cannot bury in oblivion
since we cannot defy their emergence during reunions.
As I ponder along reminiscence explosion...
...joy bursts with sibling bonds' experiences
vanquishing separation-anxiety
while missing milestones' celebrations
that let growth's nurture to flourish.
Gratefully pondering upon home-sweet-home wonders...
...hope keeps on glowing as partnership is strengthened
even via online and virtual fellowship
around zealous prayer fellowship
faith-filled and trust-propelled
Surely, pondering about family dynamics...
...that ceaselessly beautify life, prevailing yon goodness
my spirit is thankful for endowed with legacy, birthing marvelous days
as I prayerfully look forward to grand meetings
with the next generations, bearing divine heritage.
*Psalm 34:8 O taste and see that the Lord is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in him.
May 31, 2026
2nd place, "2026-05-21 Ponder" Writing Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 6/1/2026
FRUIT OF WAR - PORTMANTEAUS
Brusted gree skirt the terrain --
its fortress now smog of pains.
Sprolled brave emoticons flurst
floppled by remorse.
Alive, lovely floriage.
no mercy, at once loafted!
Finentual world ethics
forgotten clang cries.
Blind men sinduced to power:
justice then a fadograph.
Bescraped kindness ,dusten traits,
birthing woes and death.
Precious breathing counts one, two.
In and out wheezing some help
Oozing damage marks hatred
Peace start when war ends.
(c) Olive ELoisa
10:41pm
August 20, 2014
from the list: smog, emoticon
from research:
brusted - Brown Broken and Rusted
gree - any number of green trees
sprolled - sped and rolled
flurst - flew and burst
floppled - fell, flopped and toppled
floriage - flowers and foliage
loafted - floated and drifted
finentual - final and eventual
sinduce - sin and seduce
fadograph - fade photograph
bescrape - escaped and broke
dusten -dusty and beaten
Cradled by rain and wind
weeps the tree bare of green
recalling sunlit days of spring
birds romancing by foliage hid
birthing life in flowery inns
fruits swinging like rosy kids
waving colors pushed by wind
orange cherries nectarines
strawberry hoods in festive green
robins songs at brake of dawn
sparkling tears of marigolds
all of a sudden whistling wind
rips memory sick limbs
tickled by bite of icy kiss
laughs the tree turning green
aha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
do I make spring
or does spring make me
aha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
laughing within is forever spring
God's love print in voiceless tree
makes it share its pulp and drink
rest in serenity winter bliss
explode like fireworks again in spring
with brilliance of colors in fields of green
and nights of songs with fireflies dreams
man has only four seasons at best
can't circle back on its aging steps
always forward on untrodden path
free to believe or God reject
with power to love or destroy at will
but only the chaff eyes can see
can't touch paradise or hell within
the eternal wheat that lasts
livening the chaff that pass
joy is staying in God's love nest
keeping faith's treasure chest
a princely crown awaiting head
that bows down to Him with yes
kingdom of marvels without end
circling in love with family of friends
in vigor of spring at the banquet of joy
with the King forever in love.
Fifth Place Winner: A Brian Strand Premiere No. 1215
First Place Winner: Brian Strand-All Yours May 5- 5/5/21
Every impulse begins
as well as ceases
in the void of nothingness
It’s reflections are felt
as seeming reality
by mind body sentience
As long as believing
body to be our real identity
we remain in delusion
Using body as an interface
aligned with God consciousness
is an awakened orientation
Thus the world but a reflection
of thought energy manifestation
upon the screen of awareness
Within the dream felt as real
unfulfilled desires are enacted
to dissolve in a sea of lovingness
The ebb and flow of all tides
as they rise and fall in a rhythm
but the breath of the Universe
Separation birthing innate yearning
for reuniting by dissolving identity
a play spontaneity does not rehearse
As such no doing need be done
as all reflections originate in ether
playing out for engagement & delight
Illusions seen by mind body seem real
until aligning with divine magnetic pull
identity merges back into love & light
01-October-2020
The origin, it’s all about duality; creative force birthing all; from the void is love and hate, light and dark,
opposites.
Alternating, evil naps while good awakes; no shadow is a conspirator, only realities of past, present and future.
Dusk induces creativity, dreams from the realm of soul; guidance to tame the would-be monsters in man-made realities.
The darkness of the void, harbors a god particle, easily tapped with belief; it’s a paradox were all is revealed,
in quantum waters; where illusion breaks the abuses of life. The Phoenix dies and arises from it’s own ash-essence.
Spirituality’s secret, direct opposites create perfection, for those with eyes to see beyond to infinity.
1-3-2022
In conversation with our soul Poetry Contest
Unseeking Seeker
In The Waiting Womb Thereof
(Apropos Of Poetic Onement)
Thanks for being here with me
in the waiting time of the birthing
flow from the poetic womb thereof:
We mind-pregnant poets have all experienced
that spacing time reality of which poets must be
in waiting for the waiting poetic womb to give birth:-
At times, we’re forced to realize that we, too, must be,
and become as was Shara, waiting God’s timing of poetic
pregnancy and mental water breaking delivery of the crying word:-
In doing so, we sometimes just stand while waiting on the word;
or walk around or just sit, while waiting on the word’s water to break;
and sometimes, we just lay down, and feel it pushing to freely break out:-
My fellow poets, be not in poetic dismay; rather, be in the awareness
that in the waiting, we are where we are, as yesterday was where
we were so that tomorrow will be where we are willed to deliver:-
Know that the graceful beauty
of our cisterned mind’s womb is in
the guided wisdom that is poured out.
As in nature, so it is with us: poetic words are not born ripe,
and ready, but like all else, they are born to become so in their
own time, and when their water breaks, nothing can abort the flow:-
Thanks, I’ll soon be there with you,
and the birthing of the echoing words
from the waiting womb of yours thereof:-
My true self wanders through other realms,
Far from my life, invisibly, it roams endlessly, free of burdens.
In oceans of dreams and sparkling stars, it is born,
Where no moment of the present can ensnare it.
On fields of the aurora borealis, my steps melt into the wind,
Wandering like a leaf in an astral dance of light,
In the depths of boundless forests of memories,
I am the whisper, lost in echoes of ancient dreams.
Never bound to this fleeting land,
My self pours into the waters of stars, where everything feels lighter.
A world of crystalline clarity and turbulent skies,
Filled with mysteries and warm lights of shimmering stars.
My true soul travels through emerald dreams and abysses,
Each wing's beat sings a ballad of molten black and white.
In the ocean of time, I find myself again and again,
In an endless dance of experiences, lost in unknown horizons.
In the pages of silence, thoughts flow like honey,
A flux of infinite consciousness finds its way.
A traveler in parallel universes where time stands still,
There, my self recognizes itself in a mystical fire.
Lights dissolve into shadows that rain glistening silver,
Each moment is a star birthing another reality, a new season.
I meet myself in ancestral dreams, in eternal breezes,
A free, invisible self, wandering through lands of serenity.
I gaze at the realms where my self flies, a rainbow of secrets,
No worldly worry penetrates the spheres where I escape.
I, the true self, free from life's constraints,
Wandering through infinities, in the magical and melancholic flow of eternity.
An infinite dance of the spirit, seeking the ultimate truth,
My self, an endless story, flowing through celestial currents.
In this universe of metaphors, I have found pure ecstasy,
An eternal self, traveling in the web of magic and relentless destiny.
Written: March 05, 2025
***********************
As the final petal droops
upon quivering leaves,
while the soul begins to decay
akin to the evening lights
fading into a coffin.
Tears flow quietly across vacant rooms,
sheltered in the hidden retreat,
of a hapless fool folly.
Aged and forsaken, an ancient blade lies
on a ragged oak table.
All around the termite-ridden
floorboards are strewn with
tattered sheets of stories.
Valiant voices of victory,
vibrate in vivid verses,
preserved with lively Ink.
Decades of disarray have faded away,
leaving behind a cherished tale,
its inked revelations whirl into a frenzy,
as I peer through the glass,
reminiscing about those golden days
when my youth overflowed with joy.
I couldn't assist but notice
the drooping scarlet dahlias.
A gleaming golden crown,
sparkling with lovely
crimson queens
rests upon the head of a forlorn exile—
and that is all that remains.
Under the relentless sun
that preys upon the flames,
how can I rise above
the crimson chaos
that encroaches at the edges,
surrounding the ghostly grave
of the poetic soul
I have lost in the quest for acclaim.
Within the weeping window,
a wild wonder reveals itself,
draped in a vivid shade of vermilion.
Amid the whispers of wayward spirits,
the flawless porcelain of our past
now bears unsightly marks.
Fractured dreams are embellished
with delicate threads, while shafts of
sunlight slices through shadowy skies.
The family fortress,
frozen in cold stone,
waits for its wary wanderer,
beckoning the illustrious
to traverse its dimly paths.
In the serene silence of slumber,
the sorrowful saga emerges.
The embrace of eternal sleep.
A chilling chronicle of the collapse
cascades in the corridors
akin to a haunting harmony.
The aspiration and avarice
ultimately overwhelmed us
As the clock chimed cheerfully
at midnight on that chilling night,
the cunning usurper brandished
a blade and brutally
broke their beings,
birthing ghosts of grim,
unspoken words to weep
behind weathered walls.
At this moment, I am
the emerald evening
of the early dawn,
The waxen white wick
that waits before their
weathered tombstone is
withered to a whisper.
Every season I think is my favorite
until autumn comes painting the trees
oh Autumn you are such delight
carpeting forests with colored leaves
Oh clouds who the sun do hide
the wind move's your cotton puffs
these such times our cherished days
where the weather's goes turning rough
Fading are the days whose warmth
will emerge to the rising chills
and trees undress their lofty boughs
standing naked upon barren hills
the colors of the fields are fading
the sky dawns with a dusky hue
the fledgling rain in it's delivery
stays the grasses wet with it's dew
You've redressed the bounds and landscapes
and the sunsets have started to blush
birthing all the rhythms in nature
and of seasons transforming their flush
The sunlight's zenith will be shedding
exchanged for the blankets and veils
where the finery of your mountain valleys
wear ash gray along with your dales
The cauldron of life's ever stirring
expression is cooked on it's range
the shades of the paintings dynamic
and it's canvas always subject to change
Like spices you alter the flavors
of the years ever changing their gown
where the fare you serve on times table
finds the trail to joy you lead down
all rights reserved
2017 Poetry of Providence
C. Michael Miller
Ecc 3:1 For everything there is a season,
and a time for every matter under heaven: