Long Bring Poems
Long Bring Poems. Below are the most popular long Bring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bring poems by poem length and keyword.
Tale in a sale,
Spice with fine price;
Veil that shrouds pale,
Prize that fits vice.
Take what you make,
Dyke to speak right;
Stake a fine break,
Sight comes with light.
Glow with wise show,
Reach what you preach;
Flow as you grow,
Beach as you teach.
Laugh at vain stuff,
Thought helps the plot;
Rough can be tough,
Slot brines buzz lot.
Say to the way,
Deep in sure sleep;
Pay well for play,
Weep for vain keep.
Run to sweet fun,
See what you see;
Pun in hot sun,
Glee styles to be.
Note that old rote,
Mad in grime bad;
Vote for the tote,
Glad in things sad.
Look for wise book,
Tense clouds each sense;
Crook in a nook,
Cleanse blur old lens.
Way casts in clay,
Soul bland and cold;
Pay then each day,
Cold sweat takes hold.
How fits your brow,
Free what you see;
Now zest can plough,
Be your own fee.
Fling joy you sing,
Ink a bold link;
Bring a new thing,
Brink verge of ink.
Leon Enriquez
03 October 2014
Singapore
Toe shack
Put another log
On the near burnt out fire
They tell me to charge more
Then tell me they did the job for a song and a story I've heard before
The Government is prohibiting the bites that is never chewed
Useless you write your story
Validation goes miscued
Let us fight any way we can afford
Don't think to bring me a gun
It time the care of the people
Wins and this wars won
Coming to carry me home
when the church bell tolls
In the Serenity of early morning
The break of silence a raccoon knocking a garbage can over
You wake up eyes blurr
It feels like a Tuesday
Looking out the window
Silhouettes cast the shimmer of bleached blonde arms cradled by the fire of the beast we call life
The first break of dawn
Forgotten fears
Head surfing in the clouds of toluene
Rising from the surface of thousands of fallen chem-trails
Impressions of yesterday
Now turned to a soup of graffiti in my brain
Into the spotlight
Into flame
Into the dirt
The same knife I kill with
The same knife I eat with
For me and you
The clouds will clear
Tearing the Cold out of the heart out of the man of Silver and Gold
Who Paved the roads of liquid glass shards and gasoline paid for with dime bags
homeless roads roadless homes
Trained killers licking poison toads
Your boss will be proud
Do the work thats needed done
To impress no one but yourself
Before you have to choose a bullet or a gun
Get rid of all the detours in your head
We are not the thought but the deed
We are just a seed of a god that has left us
For the all the good parking spaces have been taken
Please Leave a word at the desk
Let it define you
Buried by others
Who proclaim to be the leader of man
Will I ever be truly who I am
Line of inquiry:
“as we passed her she did wilt
which caused in us sense of guilt
since our stance perhaps did cause
to put her heart’s joy on pause
though we’re gentle, not hostile
we diminished her soul’s smile
since our aura as she viewed
scent of love did not exude”
~ Unseeking Seeker
******************
Are we perceived as hostile beings
by flora that we tend in our gardens?
If we intimidate petals of peonies
each time we walk past their stems,
we should make amends and ask for pardon.
Is the pink tint of their blush mistrust of us?
Withering zinnias and wilting wisteria!
We wouldn't want to burden them with fear
when we speak of how lovely they'd look
in a crystal vase, set upon our parlor mantle.
To ease their worry and not cause their tears,
in our pockets, we don't carry pruning shears.
We personify flowers as if they have feelings—
but do our innuendos have that effect on people?
We label shy ones as loners or 'wall flowers'
who pull back, often going unnoticed for hours.
Do some of us unintentionally cause that reaction?
If this proves true, we need to take a moment
to have in depth contemplative consciousness,
a change in our stance and make an atonement
if it's determined we're at fault— guilty.
If so, our aura indeed has need of correction.
One that shows us emanating a kinder reflection.
The one who wilted as we passed by—
was she the shrinking Violet we refused to see?
Would we bring her heart joy if we paused
and spoke to her with a gentle greeting?
Words that would give the fragile one cause
to not think of us as hostile and vile?
If a kind word is spoken with a sincere smile
wouldn't those greetings be worthwhile?
It's plausible that we'd then have a pleasant scent,
the treacly aroma of consideration and love.
Time taken to say, 'hello' would've been well spent.
Hold out a hand as a metaphorical invitation to dance.
It might give a wallflower the confidence and the chance
to stand tall and no longer cringe at being approached.
If we've been at fault for diminishing the smile in souls,
offer them emotional strength. Be someone who consoles.
The eternal seaman
Coming from the sea, he stayed at a B/B hotel Churchill
near the railway station in Liverpool, a handy place for working women
to bring their customers, who would come home late
blaming overtime at the office.
At the hotel was the captain/lieutenant waiting for secondment,
he suspected the wait would take some time because the officer
had seen a blue angel In Hamburg,
The army officer was an expert on the railway system in Germany
why the army would like to know this in 1972
when they could buy a timetable, a leaflet that explained it all.
He, himself, was a seaman when tired, of confinement on a ship
He paid off and spent his money in a small hotel walking around
drinking beer and lunching at a Chinese café, usually a curry dish.
One can say he was constrained by his lack of imagination.
Not that he was unsightly, women smiled at him, he smiled back
he walked on, not knowing what to do.
He had been a seaman all his life and never found his way home
his experience with women involved money, sex without any
emotional entanglement.
Nearing middle age, he, in the evening, drank with people who
meant nothing to him, like the deluded officer and his blue angel.
However, lately, he sensed dissatisfaction with his cosy life, like it
was coming to an end, perhaps, he will find his way back home.
In opposition to social injustice
Colin Kapernick took a knee
To bring national attention to
Black American police brutality
But an unexpected result was
Eventually affected
Colin was black balled
From the NFL he was rejected
But what most people can't seem
To simply comprehend
Is that God will always cover and
Look out for His children
Uncertain of what his future
Would be
Unsure of how to earn a salary
But the blessings of a new beginning
For Colin did arise
He received an endorsement
From Nike and from Harvard
A prestigious prize
Don't allow society to ever box you in
And don't accept anyone telling you
You don't have what it takes to win
For when God designed you
It wasn't to be one dimensional
You're more than linear
You're multi- purposeful
For God's turning power
Can rotate 180° degrees
God's turning power
Has omnipotency
Endurance during transition
God wants us to stay true
And cleave to our convictions
No matter what we have to go through
And yes there will be some heartache,
Tragedy and pain
There will be metaphorical tornadoes
Hurricanes and torrential rain
But out of the carnage
A blessing will emerge
As God needs to get our attention
So He stages a purge
In order for a new beginning
To now take place
As a reminder of His
Infinite power, mercy and grace
Just don't take for granted
All that God has given to you
As answered prayers and actualized
Possessions aren't your due
So put your pride to the side
And don't ever forget
That you didn't give life to yourself
It was God's Holy Spirit
Yes there are somethings
Of which which you have no control
Just don't create situations
That can cause you to lose your soul
And most of all allow nothing
To separate you from God
In the midst of your chaos
Keep Him in your heart
As divine activities always
Manifest in the dark of night
Just hold on, keep praying
For the morning brings
A new beginning with its light
Yes the blessings of a new beginning
Will surely come
As only God can turn it around
When all is said and done
In the zodiac of poets with furrowed brows, born from the shadow of the world devouring the moment,
I am tired of narrow verses, of word sculptures without soul and echo.
Poems that whisper, halt - they fear their own sneeze,
Now is the time for Big Poems,
that grow from slime and mud, defiantly snatching themselves from heaps of disdain.
It's the time when the verse rummages through the dark stomach of existence,
To bring forth heavy, bloodstained poems, born of vomit,
Poems that pull out the carving knife, that let their feather fall into nightmare.
It's the time of these titanic works, poems caught in steel chains,
Verses without truth are naught but dead meat on the skeleton of time.
Hungry souls demand big poems, to fill their empty canvases,
That roar, moan, and crackle, not those that quiver under a brittle twig.
It’s the time for poems like raging rivers in the heart of forests, that battle with the rock,
That grapple with conflicts, not those that retreat at the first attempt to fall.
Now is the time for poems with bones, with hearts beating in rhythm with untrodden centuries,
With blood and pitch, with wounds that give no peace, that ask no forgiveness,
That sprout from the cold earth, dismantle templates and birth revolutions.
It's the time, for giant poems, that burst from the cracks of the soul,
Make us hold our breath, to feel as the heart breaks and rises, big and Majestic.
They say I am insane for repeating the same motions -
So why is not the moon; who always pulls the tides of oceans?
The seasons fall in pattern, for every year the bring the same -
So why condone their cycles... Sun, the Fall Leaves, Snow & Rain?
Some cycles are required for certain things to thrive -
Consistency? No, insanity, is what keeps some things alive.
But I am not the Moon and so, Alas, can't pull the waves -
So, sadly, my insanity shan't lead to better days.
I fail to know what separates the strong willed from deranged -
Perhaps, of course, just that alone is why I am insane.
~Praying For Love ~
( Linked )
Praying for love
P
Love in this World
R
World Lord can change
A
Change with His love
Y
Love He can bring
I
Bring in all hearts
N
Hearts be transformed
G
Transformed by love
F
Love, no more hate
O
Hate evil, wrong
R
Wrong, sad, destroys
L
Destroys lives, souls
O
Souls, breaks hearts, men
V
Men need praying
E
Praying for love.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2016
July.18.2017
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain
~Author's notes:
The 'Linked' is a poetry form or style created by Erich J. Goller.
Why me? Why not me?
these questions flare like wildfires—
Why now? Why not now?
queries bring you to your knees
as forget-me-nots beckon.
Why not? is the hinge—
on the ledge between staying,
and stepping over,
as your fear guards the threshold,
courage dares you to pull through.
Ask 'Why' when your dreams
feel stolen or locked away—
Ask 'Why Not', to pick
the lock open granting you
consent to reach, risk and see!
'Why not's' have blue blooms
with five petals for plucking
like forget-me-nots—
Count: why not, why, why not, why...
the last is always 'Why Not'!
When all why's are still,
the heart leans over towards—
a 'Yes' not a 'No',
for risk and courage reward
pucker picks of 'Yes! Why Not!'
In the vast expanse of twilight,
where the shadows of trials dance and whisper secrets,
I wander through the labyrinth of existence,
meeting you, adversity, with an open heart,
Like a seeker among ancient stars,
searching for hidden strength in the embrace of darkness.
Oh, adversity, have you not grown weary of your relentless pursuit,
Of trying to unbalance me,
to make me weep a river of unending sorrows?
You arrived yesterday, intent on cleaving me in two, with bells adorning your ankles,
Ringing with the promise of triumph and the sound of impending defeat.
But all you received in return was merely a shrug,
indifferent to your grand entrance.
No sign of weakness did you witness,
not on the surface, nor deep within my soul,
You waited for tears that never manifested,
for cries that never echoed in the silence.
You kept prodding, your needle pricks persistent,
but they did not make me flinch,
You stabbed with daggers of despair that never pierced my skin,
nor drew a single drop of blood from my resilient spirit.
Are you disappointed, adversity,
surprised that your sharp weapons bring me no pain,
but instead, they tickle my endurance?
Go on, keep trying, for you only make me stronger.
In this mystical, esoteric dance of shadows and light,
where magic and melancholy converge,
I find truth hidden in the heart of adversity,
a secret whispered by the cosmos,
And in each trial, a lesson unfolds,
in each pain, a strength is born,
In each challenge, a chance to grow and transform,
like a phoenix rising from the ashes.
So come, life, bring all your adversities,
for they are but steps in the dance of resilience,
They only strengthen me, transforming, shaping me into something more profound,
In an endless waltz of power and grace,
where every misstep is but a prelude to mastery.
And in this stream of consciousness, I find poetry in the paradox,
and truth in the heart of your relentless trials,
shining like a hidden gem in the dark.