Long Caring Poems
Long Caring Poems. Below are the most popular long Caring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Caring poems by poem length and keyword.
It wasn’t that she was the only woman
in the group, that mingled precariously
beneath the bronze figure, or her classic
stance, when placing immaculately the
newsprint covered bottle to lips willingly
breached, but more her opulent style, her
contrast of attire, her hair as yet unspoilt.
Although jewel less except for a wedding
ring in her recently pierce blood stained ear
lobe, (this bearing signs of some street wise ritual?)
she still wore a suave sophistication, eyes
that bred a wanton life, fingers more use to
the gentle stem of the crystal goblet, than
the demure grasp of the shapeless neck of
the common brown. But alas maybe the
corrosion has not as yet penetrated her
foreboding mind, a mind that in time will
be given to surrender, never to realize that
this volatile life will plunge her deeper, into
one shambolic life, whilst still trying to escape
from the previous. But! Who knows what ills she
was force to bear, what tribulations life brought
upon her, maybe her new found acquaintance
comfort her, listen to her sympathetically,
understanding her predicament, also a novelty
this sharing, this caring, respect and reverence
showered upon her, like solicitous petals
falling gracefully upon her shoulders,
removing the burdens of a lifetime.
Her head
began to lift higher and higher with every
mouthful of distant courage, every courteous act.
Then! A look of deep despair, as the bottle was
released from her reluctant deep red lips, a
senseless shake only proved her greatest fear.
Immediately to her aid, came one of her new found
companions, swiftly finishing his own endless gorge,
he commence to wipe the neck of his perpetual habit,
with his mucus soiled cuff less sleeve, before
passing it on to her veracious hand, his eyes eagerly
awaiting its return.
One can imagine when the long day
is over, the sun finally at rest, only the motley bench will be hers, only the best that fleet street can offer, will cover her chilled body, her metabolism soon accelerating, to become one with theirs, a license to enter their dissipation, only then will all options for her diminish, external metamorphosis soon to blend with inner corruption, life’s destruction almost completed!
© Harry J Horsman 1991
Our beauty is hidden in our words!
Rumi (M. Mafi, trans.)
Our content in contentment
hides within commitment toward integrity.
Our beauty is hidden in our words
said only toward ourselves.
Barometers of mental health
for how we are and are not feeling
beautiful,
good,
fair,
balanced,
just,
harmonious,
confluent,
content,
graceful,
like good mentors without external hypocrisy,
and sometimes not such good mentors.
Mentors with words redolent of harmonic peace,
or maybe sometimes too much non-violent peace,
passive aggressive surfing, searching back and forth,
or even violently imagining unworded diverse futures
of yourself,
those around you,
generalized economic and sociopathological
and therapeutic
States and Species of thrive or demise,
and planet Earth,
and our Universe,
sometimes a metaphysically closing system,
sometimes more beautifully opening
although with considerable stress
tipping points,
trimming tabs and scissors,
adjusting balance, halves of ecologic,
within our internal voices of environ-mental health
as hope for cultural beauty.
Humaned nature adds economic
and cultural
and psychological freedom to evolve
kindness of mutual subsidiary intention,
an active love of peaceful mind.
Nature is only limited by absence
of regenerative orthopraxis,
caring and nurturing,
economically and politically powerful values
exercised within the classroom of each day.
Ecotherapeutic voices in our nights
and days of reconnecting consciousness
create our daily practice
of natural systemic design,
this song of synergy,
creative universal intelligence.
Cooperative kindness and competitive unkindness
are capacities coincident to all of nature,
a polar range from regeneration through decomposition,
from synergy through negentropy,
Kindness and love self-optimize as "Truths of Beauty"
when we freely choose sufficiency of contentment,
with full will and ecojustice intent.
My words surf my beauty and hope and synergy,
in and out,
back and forth,
listening for my listening gracefilling bicameral heart
and comprehensive consciousness,
discovering contentment within my content,
form within my information,
ecobalancing function within form,
fractal frequencies within bioregenerative
self-optimizing function.
Surfing echo frequencies,
Earth's words of microwaving grace.
In the tapestry of life's intricate design,
A journey filled with love and loss intertwine.
From childhood's embrace to the call of duty,
A path of resilience, courage, and beauty.
Blessed I was with parents whose love knew no end,
Guiding pillars, companions, forever friends.
With every step, their love paved my way,
Teaching lessons of kindness, all through my day.
I joined the Marines to see the world's vast expanse,
Encountering new cultures, taking a chance.
In the midst of service, love's light I did find,
Meeting my soulmate, destined to be mine.
Love at first sight, a bond unbreakable and true,
Discovering in her, my reflection, a clue.
Embracing the role of husband and father with all of my might,
Living my life, filled with love's pure light.
Tragedy struck, tearing apart my happy home,
Loss of my wife, and mother, I was left alone.
Grief's heavy cloak enveloped my days,
Yet through the darkness, my spirit would not be swayed.
The strength of a woman, my mother so dear,
Fighting through pain, and facing her fear.
Caring for her, as she faced her final fate,
In her grace and courage, with God there's no debate.
Through loss and pain, my writing became a guide,
A channel for emotions, for tears I had cried.
Penning poems of raw truth and grace,
Touching souls, shining a light in that dark space.
Seeking to share my words, to reach those in need,
To offer help, hope, in every word indeed.
Mental illness, struggles, faith's ebb and flow,
Uniting humanity, in joys and in woe.
I hope my verses find wings to reach far and wide,
To touch hearts, to heal, and in love abide.
In sharing my story, my voice it finds its power,
An offering of empathy, in life's uncertain hour.
I can only hope my poems are a beacon of light in the night,
Shining for those who may have lost their sight.
A testament to resilience, faith, and love's grace,
In a world that yearns for kindness as it's embrace.
With each stroke of the pen, my story is told,
Of love, of loss, of courage so bold.
In sharing my journey, and truth leaving nothing unspoken,
May hearts be lifted, and barriers broken.
Thank you for reading my tale of joy and woe,
I hope my words continue to inspire, to grow.
For in storytelling, I find my peace, and in the memories I hold deep.
And in love and faith may our souls the Lord shall keep.
We have a tendency to focus on our flaws, despite it being what makes us human; what we despise is what one desires, and what we desire is what someone despises.
I felt this way for years; I still do- the perpetuous feeling that I’m horrendous.
When I look in my mirror, I don’t see my full lips, my long lashes, or my hourglass; I see my short legs, protruding stomach, and my eyebags.
Yet people with those flaws are beautiful- so why am I not?
The answer is that I am; I am beautiful, I am worthy, and I’m not horrendous- I simply haven’t been able to process my worth yet.
It seems that each passing year, I reflect on myself, making those negative remarks, rendering myself as unattractive.
Though, next year, I’ll look back on myself and realize how gorgeous I truly was; though it’s not that simple to prevent those negative feelings from pursuing.
Does beauty even exist, though?
It’s repeatedly changed over time, and it’s quite subjective, which has caused me to believe that true beauty doesn’t exist; it’s simply a perception.
I shouldn’t waste my time trying to ease the perceptions of others; I should follow my own, because short legs, protruding stomachs, and eyebags are beautiful; they’re only viewed in a negative way because society itself is ugly.
If I abide by every standard of others, I’ll only feel regret, for my happiness shall pulverize.
If I create myself to be someone who is healthy and who I love, my happiness shall thrive.
Though these insecurities will persist, even with the most attractive individuals- they’ll always haunt you, whether or not you believe in yourself.
So I dissected myself.
…
Carving every inch of me until my insides are out; but when I do so, my organs look the same as everyone else’s.
Bathing in perplexion until I realized; we’re all the same on the inside- and as I try to stuff my organs back inside of me, I remember what people say-
See, I’ve been told before, just like anyone else, that I’m ugly.
People take advantage of others' sensitivity in order to ease their insecurities; but they’re morons who don’t know what they’re talking about.
They try ridding of their “flaws” by projecting it on others, though those rigid thoughts will always remain inside.
But truth be told, we all have the same interior- and..
You’ll truly be happy if you stop caring about the perceptions of others.
I love to travel anywhere, the more foreign the better for me,
Strange lands and how other people live is very interesting to see.
This travel bug I caught got started when I was only eighteen years old,
A college friend and I went to the Bahamas, we were fearless and so bold.
Then I started my career and I knew to take advantage of this time,
Each year I’d set off somewhere new, after saving my every dime.
I traveled to beautiful Hawaii followed by South America the next year,
One of my favourites was Bermuda, I was young, memories so dear.
I flew over to England and stayed for a fortnight to visit a new friend,
We toured all around Scotland traveling as far north as Land’s end.
After that I spent a lot of time in the Caribbean, the trips become a blur,
Many islands look the same, palm trees and beaches, others will concur.
Mexico was interesting studying the Mayans from Chichen Itza to Tulum,
Manzanillo to Puerto Vallarta, high cliffs where the waves crash and loom,
Got engaged in Myrtle Beach, so it holds a special place in my heart,
Then honeymooned in Jamaica where we spent not a moment apart.
Once the children came along, the travel plans required a major adjust,
We would go away on 5 year anniversaries, this was an absolute must.
A Caribbean five island cruise then the next trip two weeks in New Zealand,
But my favourite place remains the Greek islands, windmills, sun and sand.
Liechtenstein, Austria and Switzerland was a mother-daughter trip,
I showed her the ropes of travel and how much to leave for a tip.
Seems this travel bug of mine has proved to be a little bit contagious
My daughter now loves travel but her destinations are more outrageous.
While traveling is usually an educational journey, one that I just adore,
I’ve had moments in Egypt and the Holy land, that chilled me to the core.
But even during these very scary times, one thing that stands forever true,
The people there were kind and caring, someone always willing to help you.
I think that I still have a few more trips left in me, if my pocket book holds out,
Need to see eastern Europe, China and Africa, there’s more to learn, no doubt.
For the meeting of new people and learning their culture, gives my life new lease,
It provides the burden of proof that all should know, we need to work for peace.
Written by Lee Ramage
For Contest "Close your eyes and click your heels"
>Are the best things in life free?
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad Author
& Poetry Soup Honourably Mentioned
One of my cousin’s on Facebook one day.
Said the best things in life are free.
Then she wrote a list you see.
Well not you, as it was seen by me.
I had of course, to reply.
Well my writing bug did, I sigh!
1. Hugs! To have a hug that close honey.
I need deodorant and that costs money.
2. Raise a smile! For that I must clean my teeth.
Toothbrush and paste, they are not cheap.
3. Family! That’s not free.
Just think of the mortgage fee.
4. Sleep! Really need a bed for that.
They are not cheap. That’s a fact.
5. Kisses! Flowers, chocolates and all that.
Leaves my wallet looking flat.
7. Friends! No doubt my turn to treat.
Every blinking time at pub we meet.
8. Memories! Now that is the one.
Don’t need cash to remember one.
That was before all those things I did do.
You said were, ‘free,’ you did it’s true.
Sadly they were not for me.
The seven things you said were free.
So that’s all now, you’ll get from me.
And all of this, ‘was,’ blinking free.
ooo0ooo
Some of my Angels are on loan.
I say I have four caring for me.
Two in the day and night you see.
As my cousin was ill, you know.
I ordered two, too her go.
My cousin later informed me she was okay.
her operation done she did say.
So my two angels she thanked that day.
And bless sent them back yesterday.
I sent the following message on Facebook 9-8-15
I have trolled, you have been told.
And I don't know what to say.
Those angels I did send you know,
Are still not back today.
Did you tell them to travell by train?
I know their wings don't like rain.
I checked the air at Felixstowe.
Just in case there they did go.
Sadly there was no sign of them, you know.
You know I am a patient man.
Bet they are talking as angels can.
Expect they'll turn up, and when they do.
I'll tell you when to cover your ears too.
As the air here might be blue.
Bit like the sky, i'm telling you.
Oh yes! Hope you are well soon too.
Having released those angels two.
I'll clip their wings that's what I'll do.
And next time, send my men angels to you.
(TMA)
As we are both recovering the Angels are on stand by. Well you never really know when, or where they will be needed do you?
Never will another season bring so much joy
A feeling of love, togetherness and happiness
Ring out them festal bells and let’s be jolly
A savior was born, condescended, we are happy
We go to church, offer praise most joyful
Screams of delight, Children playing happily
Lovers holding hands gazing happily
At the beautiful sites, mountain's peaks, rivers of joy
Birds singing sweetly in the air, their songs so melodious and joyful
Every home, through their windows flowing sounds of rapture and happiness
The drunk on the street had one wish to make him happy
Give me some rum, he said, that will make me good and jolly
I played this song last night and it is so fitting, for the topic says Joyful, Joyful
It’s the season of good cheer, a time to give, to dance, to eat and be jolly
Only you can determine your level of happiness
To give of your means it is easy, but to give of yourself many cannot do this happily
Give without grudge, with no intention to receive, that's how giving becomes a joy
To exercise these gems will cleanse the soul; give warm feelings, make us happy
Laughter in the trees, laughter in the breeze, season of laughter, everyone is happy
Gift for baby, gift for mommy, gift for daddy, even the cats and dogs had to be joyful
What the world craves, so elusive for some, thank God in His love, we find great joy
Come one come all let’s jump on the bandwaggon, riding the coach called Super Jolly
The invitation is out, don’t settle in doubt, cast off your cares, ride with us, happily
Great people great love, warmth, sharing caring, all things good gives you happiness
Take friends, co-workers and fellow poets, toss in this great soup pot of happiness
Recycle love, make this world wonderful, song writer says, ‘don’t worry, be happy’
The world needs people who are positive, will see the best in others happily
A smile, a word of cheer, a few words of encouragement, make another’s day joyful
‘Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way’, what good is that if we are not jolly
The Lord has come, so unto this world be peace, love, and most important of all, joy
There is truth and beauty in the person with happiness, looking radiant and joyful
I would give my money just to be happy, to see my loved ones and friends real jolly
Luxury of life I would trade off hapilly, to have the thing the world craves for, joy
thank you. thank you for finally leaving. it's been 7 years now that i have had to put up with your abusive and toxic habits. that i've had to deal with you adding to my emotional trauma every single day. that i've had to repress my feelings to accommodate yours. that i've had to act like something isn't bothering me when you're talking about your issues that are "far worse than mine". that i've had to leave my comfort zone and be a person i don't like so that you wouldn't leave. that i've had to be okay with being interrupted so you could talk about yourself. so you could brag about how much greater or worse your life is than mine, whichever fit the situation. that i've had to believe your lies and defend you when i know you're wrong. that i've had to look like a bad person for supporting you.
because i was.
you made me a bad person. you made me into a person that i've grown to hate. i am finally released and trying to love the person i left behind. before our friendship, i was a sweet, innocent, caring 8 year old girl. you ruined me. you took my innocence. i remember lying in my floor from "bedtime" to 6 AM doing things that no 8 year olds should. Watching scary movies that still haunt me and discovering “omegle”. i remember in 8th grade when i opened up to you about the girl you left behind when you moved, the girl that you broke. i opened up to you about my sexuality and my depression, and you brushed it off because you had it worse. "oh, you were depressed? that’s okay because my dad hit me". not that abuse isn't awful, but i have feelings too. and since that day i learned to never find myself important because to you, i wasn’t. you showed me that no matter how hurt i was, you had it worse. that no matter how good i had it, you had it better. you always had to one up me like trauma is a competition.
i am damaged. you broke me. i can’t even begin to describe the issues i will hold for the rest of my life. this trauma will never be fixed. i can’t undo your damage, no one can. do you even realize? do you even care? i am a real human being that you f*cked up. how does that sit right with you? how do you have the nerve to act like I’m the bad guy? i will never understand how you don’t even care about a real human life that you ruined.
but i guess that’s the difference between you and i.
( lowercase intended )
-m. macleish
Two hundred and forty seconds or more,
Laying, fetal position in Mother’s fluids,
Fighting for air, for life
Foreshadowing his existence.
Birthed, alone
Taken from one home of solitude to
One of solitary confinement.
To us, a tragedy, to him; life.
December 3, 1930,
Before the stock market crashed
Before this child would be set aside with lost children,
Before he had a chance, he was raised by strangers.
“Institutionalized” from 3 years of age to 18 years old.
Everything being done for him, is measured doses,
Single serving packages were his normalcy,
And nurses squawking, “He’ll never be able to function on his own”
And finally, 18 years old, she came to get him out.
Let him be in the world amongst family, amongst people,
Amongst the living, instead of amongst the helpless.
This “cannot” man, got a job
Cooking for our countrymen
Caring for all encountered on a daily basis,
Permanent smile, glued to his face.
He had done everything he wanted
Even as people looked at him with sympathetic eyes,
He was oblivious to their gaze, yet he knew.
He didn’t mind, didn’t hit the nerves with this man.
He invested money
And made more than most “able” men are capable,
To him, however, it was of no consequence.
He was just as happy to smoke a cigarette and drink coffee.
O, the adversity, the near-death birth,
The late-night mugging, broken mandible,
Never disfigured his smile, or his outlook on life,
Could never dampen his demeanor.
Who ever came, or has come into contact with him, at first
Ultimately felt bad about themselves, as I did,
Never has there been a man so selfless, so unaware,
So angelic.
Like he had already transcended humanity within those
Two hundred forty seconds, and decided to stay for the Ride.
Everything was so new, so awed by life in general.
Family and friends of Larry,
Should know something they might have overlooked.
This man, rather, this man-child, although sheltered,
Institutionalized, disregarded, downtrodden by others,
Accomplished more than most men that have been referenced and revered.
never said a dull or commonplace thing, and for that he will be remembered.
Two hundred forty seconds or Less,
Laying, embracing the life he had, opened his
Eyes, and it’s December 3rd, 1930,
and Mother and son stare at each other for the first time.
It stands alone four square, white-washed straw-thatched,
small window panes, black frames, and out back chickens hatched,
pecking weedy ground around a single willow.
Set just a little back from single country lane,
high-hedged between the farms with tracks for bumpy tractor rides,
strong arms to try and guide wobble wheels on hardened sun-dry ruts,
to draw trailored dung across winter's dark and muddy fields.
Father's fingers, numb with frost by hand-picked sprouts,
with dawn's dim light not yet bright enough to warm his back.
And hundred weights of summer grain on neck and shoulder,
staggered through barn doors to store, to tip hessian sacks piled high,
sack upon sack.
My mother, crushed and bruised at milking stall,
squeezing squirting teats to fill the milking pale,
to complete them all before mucking out the dung and straw,
then moving on to something more which bends the back
and rubs sodden foot sore in chilled hoof-trodden boot.
This was no Eden's garden which followed war enough to harden
even softer souls.
Yet, it was a paradise for smaller feet to roam free among the fields,
not caring when to make for home and sup on sprouts that dad had picked
and mum had peeled, and soft cooked, with such hard labour,
all overlooked by youth, and by youth's youthful ignorance.
For some, certainly for dad, and for mum,
Eden's garden gave way to thistle and to thorn,
and to sweated furrowed brows serving children's carefree days,
and precious hopes for first and second son.
These rode upon the carts and crossed the dykes in leaky barrels
and threw their stones at tethered bull not caring for the weather,
whether fine, or whether dull, or whether small gloved fingers numbed with chill.
For them that Eden's garden was a Paradise still,
and though choking staining seed was sown, it was not yet grown,
and eyes not yet exposed to serpent's smaller gardens,
composed for ever younger eyes, for the tainting and enslaving of ever younger lives.
That wiley snake now lurks and lies inside dark orchards of delight,
a world explored unseen from pillowed comfort,
and sometimes in the darker night with a different sky blue light,
that Eden web now known world wide, that Eden made with fallen pride,
that Eden oft obscene, that Eden all of lies, that lies behind the pixel screen.