Long Builder Poems
Long Builder Poems. Below are the most popular long Builder by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Builder poems by poem length and keyword.
The wrecking ball long since
demolished boyhood house zen
located at 324 Level Road,
a once rural residence,
which soulful yen
I called home
since February 28th, 1968, when
Boyce and Harriet Harris
(my octogenarian
widower father, a transplanted urban
cowpoke father, and late outskirts
of poker flats mother) than
experienced livingsocial in the country,
cuz aforesaid domain didst span,
and encompass,
one hundred plus acre estate
listed in national register
as "Glen Elm", where ran
woodland surrounding a golden pond
favored by Canadian Geese,
but under game plan
of commercial developer Donald Neilson
(a tall lumbering
"all business no play doh" man
blueprints drafted for
an army of vinyl city
exemplifying Little boxes
on the hillside ditty
Little boxes made of ticky tacky...gritty
material upending wildlife refuge,
ah...what a pity
yet, impossible to stop industrialization,
the das capital way
spurring thy preferential longing
for nature preservation oye vey,
and to make a million bucks in USA
if land left off limits
for propertied class today
then in the near future,
an aggressive builder will sashay
confirming prophecy
scooping up gobs of profit
out maneuvering competition
analogous to a marathon relay
race quickly witnessing little boxes
to sprout all the same
by construction workers,
who hammer away,
nailing steady income,
viz all work and no play,
who maxim eyes
American middle class dream
asper buying affordable home
after acquiring a mortgage to outlay
their limited choice sans, may
be there's a green one and a pink one
and a blue one and yellow one, how zing
free enterprise, and they're
all made out of ticky tacky
held together on a wing
and prayer they all look
Jesus was a patristic carpenter,
a non-nationalistic builder
of goodnews communal structure,
a nonviolent communicating leader,
a multispirit-natural facilitator,
divinely humane bilateral
spiritual health is natural wealth
facilitator of recreative green
and blue
and red-blooded sensory communion.
I am a mere custodian
of messianic intention,
practice,
discipline,
caring for co-empowerment,
vocational integrity,
ecopolitical EarthHealth and Safety
re-enlightenment,
A custodial health care giver
and wealth sensational receiver,
practicing this sacred vocation
of proactive kindness
for improving health sensory outcomes,
scouring systematic memories
and green clean freeing imagination
of multiculturally furnished resonance,
harmonically polishing resilient gleaming finishes
Of climaxing compassion
recreating passionate
yet safe
incomes extending polycultural communion
more free of risking segregated collapse
of healthy form
with wealthy functions.
Cooperative custody of wide spatial
and deep tempered
resonant wellbeing,
integral systemic order,
therapeutic win/win cleanliness
for organic peace
through interdependently cooperative custody,
Physical sensory longevity care
for stable healthy spaces
and metaphysically safe, dust-free mental wealth
neuro-healing traumatized at risk places.
Custodians can integrate daily mindbody life
and EarthMaintenance sensory work
as occupational
sacred vocational
prayer.
Earth's custodians
mediate regenerative compassion,
meditate in practical
mindful
actively evolving revolving
inter-flowing sensory spiritual/natural
interdependent/integral custody practice
Humble custodians
of healthy natural green mind
and wealthy sensory-spiritual
red-blooded healthcare
of EarthPatriotic
wondrously awesome
resiliently resonant hearts
with wholesome healing minds
embodying sacredly cooperative life.
Large heads
The Modern Slavery Crisis Must Be Addressed.
Calling on all poets for an urgent meet-up
The Pied Piper has surfaced again in this world.
On this occasion, he is dressed in a Jojo Armani suit.
He never drinks bottled water from the guest tables
He questions the labels, he questions the cell phones
He reacts to the earplug in their ears
It brought on a wave of sadness,
What is this madness? He said under his breath!
He looked across at the audience,
And whisper how convenient!
Stand up, stand up, stand up for your rights
Did this new generation go down without a fight?
No pointed hats, but why so many large heads?
Here ye hear ye, hear ye, have the men and women
This generation sold their souls for honey.
Misery is a life sentence in which love company,
That is why he called the meetup today, per se,
Cats and dogs will never be friends, he said in an unknown language
Timekeepers cannot stop time, time will run out,
Large heads will Strunk because it filled with air,
Great leaders of the world, I welcome you all.
But I am not Bob the builder, I can't shape your future
I am the Pied Piper:
Luke 23:34 of the Scriptures, expressed this truth clearly:
“Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”
Grateful am I for that divine plea of my Saviour and Lord Jesus Christ
for erring sinners like me.
What a compassionate supplication of a supreme God!
Such exemplifies how it is to reach-out to someone
who offended, angered and hurt me in the God-entrusted ministries
I'm a part of as a volunteer care-giver and life-builder.
Here am I humbled, humiliated, helped, and hoisted
in the exercise of genuine forgiveness required by the holy Pardoner.
Yes, I’m humbled as I admit my inability
to forgive absolutely, readily and completely
…the street child who called me a “fool”
while I was teaching him with my utmost best;
…the orphaned boy who would steal and lie about it,
despite being provided with his needs;
…the abandoned teen who reported me as a tyrant tormentor,
when in fact he was given a gentle discipline
packed with cheer-filled clemency;
…the arrogant pupil who disrespectfully accused me
as a lousy instructor, embarrassing me.
Indeed, I’m humiliated as the Lord reveals to me
my hypocrisy, half-heartedness, and haughtiness
in granting forgiveness along faith's fervor.
Thus, with the Holy Spirit’s conviction and power,
I confess my iniquities while persevering to overcome and forsake them.
Now, I’m helped in my desire to forgive with graciousness
based on the God’s imparted love to me,
bearing in mind Ephesians 4:32,
“…forgiving one another, even as God
for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.”
Praising the Lord, I’m hoisted by God’s mercy
in seeking for His forgiveness for my very own sins
while worshipfully acknowledging His admonition
asserted by His Word in I John 1:9:
“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins,
and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
November 6, 2018
1st place, "Someone Forgiven You: When Is The Last Time You've Forgiven Dramatic Verse Contest"
Sponsored by James Edward Lee Sr.; judged on 12/9/2018.
He never called it teaching,
just small repairs on ordinary days—
a tightened bolt, a patient pause,
a way of looking twice at what life says.
In his silence lived instruction,
not carved in stone, but lived instead—
in how he met the hardest hours
with steady hands and level head.
I learned the world from how he walked it:
not rushing where the ground was thin,
but placing care in every footprint,
as if each step must count within.
A father is a kind of builder
who measures more than wood or wall—
he frames the space where hope can stand
and learns to catch you when you fall.
And there are fathers all around us
whose names the world may never know,
yet cities rise in their quiet labor,
and generations learn and grow.
They shape the laws of love and waiting,
the grammar of resilience taught,
in lunches packed, in doors left open,
in every battle never fought.
So here’s to him, and all such fathers,
who turn the unseen into art—
for what they build is not just life,
but the steady shape of every heart.
Though small in size you stood strong' and wise
In your answer to him, of your intended demise!
And that of our fair state.' In our great land.'
For right here i recount of that old 'dingo dan'
He'd paid the blood money, he's bought a plot'
Oh how my blood boils.' And i can tolerate a lot.)
Its plain he had a dirty plan, to cottaging; that spot; on prime Murray river bank land'
Well it did not come good.' No not at all.!
For a true blue builder, rejected that call
He came like a demon..yet left like a cur.!
On that; may freedom loving Aussies all concur!
Keep shunning the dingo.' May mange be upon him'
I praise our publican, may all blessings be on him.!
Satan said I am a sinner, a rebellious individual
God also accuses me of sins. But who is not that?
I just think God and Satan aren’t right. Yes, yes
They know humans are not saints. Only mortals
Why were we created for mortals? For sinners?
God created us straight away for guilty mortals
God created angels and saints. For innocents!
Of course. Hmm. Creations made the differences
Could this be discrimination? Hmm. This is fate
Okay. The individual got a life, but some of…
You can see the word, the life. Oh, life is a teacher
You're given special life. Say thanks to the creator
You can enjoy your life in the alleys among rats
You can feel an enjoyable life in an ultra city, like Dubai
Your life is incredible, amazing. Say thank you to God
Okay, I know the answers. Hindu yogis will say “karma!”
I will answer this: “There was no difference between,
Between Cain and Abel.” God made it, and for sinner Cain
The question is, why? Answer: Test. And start the process
The life and history of humanity. Yes. I feel life for a theatre
For a very difficult planned and unplanned system. It’s that
We are here because the big builder of the world needs us
To create his art, he draws on new eras, ages, and civilizations
Hmm, so we are colleagues of the creator in his company
God created the universe and all the living creatures, and
And human. Because God was lonely alone. Hmm. Yes
We can’t live without God. God can create without us
“God can create without humans, but he won't give love.
I mean the mind to understand his great work and life.
He gives you a mind, like god’s, to create, enjoy his life.”
“Satan, I understand your explanation, but what about suffering?”
“Suffering, suffering… Do you know what that is? Demon Vilmos.
Suffering is only an answer, a sign of a present of your life.”
“Really?! Then why turned my love into panic, fear, and pain?”
“Oh, that English lady from the train. Forget, past, illusion.
Way is given, follow the path. You are a builder of the plan!”
“Hmm, you look like a despotic conservative teacher.”
“Oh, really? Just remember, please, what your religion teacher said.
He said: Who are you?! Do you want to tell God what to do?!! He is the boss!
Not you!!!”
“The world is full of bosses,” I noted
“There is only one.” Said Satan
The mocking is shocking
Aunty Mavis stopped rocking
Then mourners were flocking
A cavalcade blocking
The streets of South Dorking
Rumours and talking
Like vultures out squawking
Proportionate baulking
Reputation ignoring
So boring, I'm snoring
The eulogy diction
Precise in it's fiction
The perfect life stitched on
Close the sale, get the pitch done
Now the coffin is sliding
The red curtain slow gliding
Velvet box soon residing
On a mantle piece hiding
It's a travesty clearly
Distant relatives merely
Hanging round for a number
Pass the bread and cucumber
Social etiquette blunder
Now poor Mave is asunder
The circus is closing
Uncle Sid is left dozing
With sandwiches curling
The world keeps on whirling
Lesson learned: be a spender
Be a builder, defender
A love fight contender
Not reciever, but sender
All that thrift doesn't render
A relationship mender
Remember, remember
God decides where to send ya
When it's goodnight Vienna
Sam Scott
24th September 2023
You seem such a put on, so full of disdain, filled with deceit
Another shady deal to buy or ruse, forms your restless sleep
Your name is above reproach, with cash to throw on the pile
Another display of excellence to honor your smirking smile
Oh, the laughter of your friends, so in awe of your name
Yet, so blind to the extortion of your latest and greatest scheme
You turn admirer’s heads so only your wealth is on display
And shades the smirk behind your smile, invisible night and day
It’s the smirk in the eyes that testifies against you in the end
And reveals the false pride on top and the lies deep within
For when the mask is torn away, exposing the smirk on the face
That wink says you’re keeping score, your mind is keeping pace
Reminder of a castle that crumbles with its foundation of sand
And the builder stands in judgement with a slap from the jilted hand
For as each stone falls away and the echoes heard for many a mile
A lifted chin can’t cover the cost bought with a smirching smile
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See the smirching Smile on Soap Operas
William Harrison Hardy
1823 - 1906
I believe a fair introduction is in order here.
Not that a handshake from me could ever take place anytime soon.
I was Captain Bill Hardy:
Proud Indian fighter!
And celebrated toll road builder!
I was the one who built the big road
From San Bernardino to Prescott Arizona!
And it was I, Captain Bill Hardy,
Who founded old Hardyville in Arizona
On the sandy banks of the cool Colorado.
Back when Lincoln was still warm
And the blood of Gettysburg was still not dry.
Back when the old west was coming alive
With wagon wheels and railroad ties.
Growing as a child would
With intrepid enterprise and such derring-do
The likes of which few eyes have seen since!
I came out west from New York
As Captain of a California-bound wagon train
And found a fortune in gold in Placer County.
But it was in the Arizona Territory where I later
Made my mark, and lost my fortune.
Oh my friends. I found out.
Found out what plain hard work can accomplish
And I learned of its resultant riches.
I found out.
Found out what plain greed and dishonesty can accomplish
And I learned of its resultant poverty.
Alas, I was but a survivor in life,
And that was my final legacy.
My friends, have you ever stared death straight in the face?
Have you ever seen the eyes of a wanton murderer
Only an inch away from your own eyes?
Nothing is more frightening and more sobering than that!
But I, Captain Bill Hardy, at your service please,
Experienced it first-hand that day in the scalding desert sand.
That Indian devil was right there!
His nose next to my nose!
But I got away!
Ran away from that place and lived to tell about it!
My friends, next time you come to Clark Cemetery in Whittier,
Go to the eastern fence by Dorland Street,
At the corner there, you will find my little plot of land.
It is a far cry from having an entire city named after you!
But it is a fine and restful spot.
Come closer and lean down to me.
I wish to extend my firm handshake to you all!