Long By no means Poems
Long By no means Poems. Below are the most popular long By no means by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long By no means poems by poem length and keyword.
"Who I am, is the understanding what is important in my personal narrative world, my feelings, motives, and desires." Quote by poet
My long journey
to present time holds its effect
in own cultured human imperfection,
woman emotional
resilience, but have achieved expectational
victories because of those that have encouraged
its last unique lasting effects
significance, not a copy of another.
Self-awareness
will by no means cease to exist,
but shall emerge encouraged and shall keep
exploring my beacon
spirit from the inherited knowledge, values,
memories, and the writings, arts, and those who love
me, will keep me from vanishing.
Cherish every empowering moment of self.
The stars both numb and inspire,
awe either enraptures or terrifies.
The word ‘infinite’ becomes a conjectural sum
to be defined by pundits in bow ties
and star-crazed, white coated messiahs.
Tilt your head back on a cloudless night
feel the cold mathematical anesthesia
of the infinitesimal, not anything fathomable,
not even a reckoning in an unsolvable puzzle;
a nonplus that breeds only more numbers
until like a train calculations runs out of rails
to travel upon.
Each mental abacus
must be pre-set for incomprehension
and that beyond the tyranny of numbers
we can, in the end, count only ourselves in
and that is by no-means certain.
"That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind."
Neil Armstrong.
None dare doubt the human spirit nor conceive of thoughts that
minimizes its potential and power. Although the human spirit
is by no means God nor even a little god, it is made in God's
image. The expression, human spirit, has always connotated
to me the ability of mankind to rise above and beyond; to reach
the afore-thought-of as unreachable; and being willing to pay the
ultimate price or sacrifice to achieve its goal.
The human spirit relative to its exercise, although resident
in all humans, does not always express itself equally in every
human being. Hitler had a human spirit as did Mother Teresa.
It was a human spirit driven by hate. The human spirit inside
of Mother Teresa was one driven by love.
Indeed, all men and women are made in God's image and likeness.
However, we are equally marred by sin, having taken on the sin
nature through Adam and Eve. Moreover, the human spirit that can
fall to the greatest depths of sin and willful disobedience; that
can become dead weight for all intents and purposes, can also rise to
the heights of Godliness by way of our 'new nature in Christ'. Adam
did not earn the image of God. It was a gift. Nor do we earn our
new nature of righteous. It too is a gift from God.
NASA's mission of landing on the moon on July 20, 1969
was one of the greatest portraits of the human spirit.
091222PSCtest, The Human Spirit, Mystic Rose Rose
I use to sit and wonder
What life was all about
Spent my days & nights
Wandering all around
Is it about the enjoyment
When I was playing like a child
To use my imagination
To know It's all worthwhile
To know I was truly loved
When my momma tucked me in
Playing with my father
Then he huged me with a grin
Then the moment came, When life
Wasn't fun anymore
I got a taste of death
It left me crippled on the floor
Sorrow moved in
Like a storm to the west
The death of my grandmother
Broke my heart, that lies in my chest
Then growing older,anger & envy came about
It fueled my life for many years
Until I decided just to kick them out
Happiness is wholesome
Sorrow is never good
Jealousy is dangerous
Hatred Itself; is just an awful word
By no means am I the wisest, man around
But I think it's just about living
And enjoying all that life offers
Even, when the rain is coming down
R.K.H.
10/19/2021
Cicely Catherine Charlotte,
Child of a cosmopolitan century,
Captain of the cruise vessel
Cooling its boilers in the cove.
Cicely dispensing catnip
creates crazy feline
cuckoo climbing, jumping with
crack me up comedy, provided free.
Conjuring cat creativity
catnip can’t cleverly control;
calamity aboard a cruise ship.
In crystal dreams of cat-hood
colors writhe in catnip fields
containing cat-antics, a
cabal of cat’tastic
conjuring cats.
Consequentially, the not-so-cute problem
cast upon the ships crew
causes a great cleaning bill
cleaving its way into my cruise line
capital when, cute catnip filled kitties
cast cat-cookies and crap on the carpets.
Cleaning is by no means cathartic;
coughed up catnip-furballs, neither.
Even worse when cats like eating Cajun food;
coloring the ships carpets a saffron red.
Crafty cleaners, I suppose
could create some conquering detergent but, the
cost could easily run sky high,
for calamity cat’s cursed ills, so
cruise ships might best consider not
allowing cruises with cats.
This is war
Babies just got killed
No justice
For the innocents
Deadly bombs
Blood throughout the streets
Criminals
Are ubiquitous
Poor babies
Are executed
What a shame
The truth is handcuffed
Yet, we want
Everlasting peace
North and South
No justice
West and East
There’s no peace
And yes, no justice
Bloody streets
Civilians are killed
No cease fire
Stop the injustice
The devils
Are roaming the streets
Bombardments
Are ubiquitous
Where is God
In this brouhaha?
Stop fooling
The whole universe
Stop the lies
No democracy
It doesn’t rhyme
With evil
But hypocrisy
Does not rhyme
Either with Hell
Stolen land
Is not an award
A reward
Is complicated
We want
Everlasting peace
By no means.
Copyright© January, 2024, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
William the First was our last king to come uninvited
though invincible armadas have sometimes been sighted.
Foreign kings were imported in cases of doubt.
Native kings had the habit of getting thrown out.
In the War of the Roses none tipped the scales
till the fray was joined by young Richmond from Wales.
A house like the Tudors for to bring to an end
on virgin queens you may safely depend.
Then came the Stuarts, who in Scotland had root,
but being too tactless, they were given the boot.
Though of Orange the house was not without fame,
some Irishmen spit when they hear Billy’s name.
George the First from Hanover as in matters English ill versed;
for affairs of state a state of affairs by no means the worst.
George the Third, however, spoke English quite well,
so Yanks up in arms told the Liberty Bell.
Thus Frenchmen and Dutchmen, Germans and Danes
have made their subjects rack their poor brains.
But the history of monarchs whose accents were poor
holds even today many lessons in store.
At the hustings all parties will promise us aught,
but after elections some memories are short.
“A kink is a man, no less and no more,”
said a very wise king as he sat on the shore.
“Let each of you here, thane or serf, be astute.
Don’t expect me to do what I plainly canute.
Apologies, that title line
Is not intended to cause harm.
Exactly what Saint Peter saw,
This, heaven's vision, was no charm.
A sheet descending from the sky,
By its four corners, lifted high,
And slowly, then did it descend.
It was laid flat upon the earth.
It teemed with reptiles, beasts, and birds,
A voice said, "Peter, rise, kill, eat."
But Peter said, "Lord, by no means,
I won't eat common or unclean."
The voice was heard a second time,
"What I, the Lord, have declared clean
You would do well to not decry."
Then, yet again, the voice did chime.
And just as quick as it appeared
It was withdrawn back in the air.
While Peter, inward was perplexed,
A knock was sounded at the door.
Inquiring for Simon within,
Cornelius, seems, sent these men.
So Peter said, "Why do you come?
I am the one you're looking for."
Said they, "Our lead, Cornelius,
An upright and God-fearing man,
An angel told to visit you
That you might join him at his house,
So he could hear what you might say."
And so they went upon their way
With Simon Peter now in tow.
What God prepared, he did not know,
But once arrived, the words just flowed.
"With you all Roman, I, a Jew,
Cannot associate with you,
But now I truly understand
That God has declared all are clean
For that is what the vision means.
He simply asks that you do right,
And what's acceptable to him.
That you believe He sent his Son.
That, though they nailed him to a tree,
God raised him up for you and me,
And from our sins has set us free.
That all who call upon His name
Abide for all eternity."
Though Peter still was sharing this,
The Holy Spirit fell on them
And all attending were amazed
For on the Gentiles, Spirit rained.
Then they were baptized, one and all
And for two days, Peter remained.
(from Acts 10)
We only talked sanely a few times,
About how he also had a condition like me,
Although my dad, who was a pharmacist, when James was small wouldn’t say,
Obvious as it was that he had CF from his cough n' inward-growing finger-nails,
Dad decided to bypass the issue, medicine to assail.
I have CP, and needed James’s comfy chair to read,
It was given to him in misogyny because it was blue,
About three months before he died he said,
I could have it, and must convince mum and dad that it was mine;
They were Christians, fundamentalist and strict,
And so sometimes there was an elephant in the room,
Between me and James, about the physical.
Death is inevitable, but to them it was only a maybe for James,
When the doctors had said that 14 was the expectation,
I prepared myself for the worst well before it occurred,
As an atheist I am, with no qualms or hesitation.
James wanted for me the best, happiness and friends,
Wanted me to do my best physically, ‘cos he knew I wanted that too,
But he also suspected that I would grieve for him rightly,
Not like a sentimental fundamentalist who believes that Jesus is risen,
But as a steadfast atheist who knows what has been given;
So he knew to remark on my immediate life without him so as to adjudicate.
I cherished Christinna Georgina Rossetti’s poem, Remember,
Long before and for some time after James’s death,
And quietly held in my heart the loved-one’s good wish,
Mum used to think that sometimes I was cold as stone,
But really I'd faced the fact that James was dead and gone.
Although Rossetti was by no means an atheist,
Her poem recites the mantra of the bereavement psychologist,
That to get on with your life as best you can,
Is a right, the partner of grief, and the pathway for your lone self;
In the Bleak Mid-Winter puts Christ as relational to nature,
Instead of pertaining nature to Christ, as it is normally,
And so we must partake of it within our space and our pasture.
Rhoda Monihan
13/09/2015
On a chilly Sunday morning
In a land she didn’t belong
She walked along an English road
To a place of Holy Song
She sat in this sacred dwelling
Three sisters by her side
United together
Since their mother died
By no means was she religious
Still unsure in what she believed
The four sisters sat in stillness
As they silently grieved
The church was modest and quaint
Rows of aged solid oak pews
Glorious stained glass windows
Where the morning sun peeked through
As she wept for her mother
In Gods peaceful home
She was engulfed by a powerful emotion
One entirely unknown
It was feeling of absolute tranquility
A joy so pure and whole
Of comfort and abundance
That radiated her soul
A sense of complete inner peace
She didn’t quite understand
A warm loving embrace
Touched by gentle guiding hands