Long Chore Poems
Long Chore Poems. Below are the most popular long Chore by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chore poems by poem length and keyword.
Human life is sublime creation of Him
Every birth has certain intent.
Preaching or praying
Can’t get you the unsurpassed Moksha
Indeed, He never anticipates them
Identify the chore and accomplish it.
Obstacles may hamper your attention
Continue the journey without stopping by woods
Action and result are like water and a lotus leaf
Water can never make a lotus leaf wet
Let not your mind get agitated by the outcome
You carry out action ; He manifests result.
If you rejoinder your conscience,
You can steadfast in front of God.
But God questions only those who evade
What is stupendous? Living after dying.
From the Wilds Of Effea.......
By Guitaurious Mousk
Didn't I make it clear
sorta like yesterday
Love got you here
Love won't let you get away
Sing it in my ear
sing your song
your way
don't chore me
don't ignore me
listen to what I say.....
Tame your wildside
stop reacting to my
againstments
calm the shore of
ignorance
study Love
allow me to be
just let me be
Don't be stupid
aint no body
feeling that way
I looked at my options
bet you think you
can sooth me away
get a grip on reality
it's surreal aint it
my freinds gonna talk
me outta romance with you
they'll love your love away
Moving throughh each sample she
employed a various range of sound.
Her voice moved through each octave
with her concern to how she
sounded.Rushing through each
phrase choring
to make them rhyme: one noted of
the recitive nature and how
the composition was laborious
and unkind.To the advancement of
the scheme I discovered
the plot. A story of a wishful lover:
who labored more
where others had not. An expression to
make story of then to be put to song.
A man wished to love a woman:
who would
chore to get alone.Those who saw
the drama and
but refue to provide the scripts.
Those who would
rather be audeince to the classic
script. Or those
would speak these characters in the
order might
they marry and be one. Or those
who who are
happiest to make two into one.
I don't want you to know-- not all of it
the good, the bad, the dirty
No, there's no such thing when I try to speak my truth
Just for a moment, let me hold your hand in mine
it's you, not him
it's you, not her
it's you, it's me
Did it ever cross your mind what the little me looks like?
Every drop,
every little whisper we shared
buried deep in our souls and seared in to our minds
All the things we wished and wanted
Pushed under the dark
I want to rip her apart, I want to tear him to shreds
Whisps of agony settle in the wind
Biting back my words, I'll wait
There's something missing--
something I know that's important
But what's one more day?
When did eating become a chore,
When did the bathroom become a sanctuary?
Pinch, poke and prod at my insides
Shoving them deep in my throat
I hope I gag and choke,
before they reach too far
Death is a sinful prayer
I'll pray for it
Never one for a party-- I'll show you a smile if you ask
Flash to the left, flash to the right
Party over
Good Child; mature, a quiet thing
when did you last say, "No"
Keep your head down
do as told
Good Misfit
Dirty little secrets from a dirty little Angel
Fallen from the kingdom
and disgraced by the one most dear-- the only one left
No farewell was needed
I hope you burn, spoken like a true gentleman
Tearing, breaking us apart in such a way
Did you care?
Come back for one moment,
let me say my peace
Time is never kind, never fair
not to you,
not to me, not to us
There's no such thing as "I wish"
"I should've"
I know what happened,
how I stood by and watched-- a coward
I will be your shield
Let me take your hits
Waiting for the Holy Spirit
As we stand amongst the pews
Waiting for the basket to go ‘round
Hearing the hymns from the choir
Smelling the incense that burns so sweetly
His Holy Spirit is coming.
As we stand amongst the parishioners
Waiting to receive the body of Christ
Feeling the breath of the person behind you
Whispering prayer on the back of your neck
Seeing the altar servers standing at attention
His Holy Spirit is coming.
As we kneel in the pews for prayer
Waiting for the ministry to complete its chore
Hearing the infant cry
Seeing the mouths move in silent prayer
Smelling the wood of the pew
Feeling your knees adjust
We all wait for the Holy Spirit.
His Holy Spirit has arrived.
No matter existence (mine) lamely, mostly, and nearly spent...
I barely experienced
getting clothed (think fashion wise
as metaphorically swiftly tailored
harried styled mortal)
approaching naked truth
regarding life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness..,
nonetheless yours truly forever gropes
in the darkness of ignorance analogous
to imagined (envisioned) asymptote
demarcating experiential enlightenment
heading toward verity of righteousness,
yet never subtending arc of enlightenment.
Quite the contrary woebegotten mortal
forthwith struggling to acquire
consciousness raising awareness
approximating essential virtue
offset (er... rather severely deflected)
toward pitfall of vice
(comprising gamut of lurid temptations),
which default status
exerts overwhelming, overpowering, overemphasizing
draw (think powerful magnetic force).
I frankly, grievously, and honestly attest
predilection finds this hoary beastie boy
scarcely able to tread water swiftly rising
above his hairless fabby, & doughy chest,
where left and right man boobs delineate
miniature (albeit sagging) Mount Everest
quite obviously feeble human specimen
(farcical) gentleman quarterly not hottest
male within Schwenksville, Pennsylvania,
nor anywhere upon oblate spheroid, he jest
I kibitz re: absent good humor lie bull lest
stubbornly refusing to leave debauchery
rather remain holed up within rats nest
steeped in familiarization re: egg guarding
hen pecking (matt er fact) Harris sing pest,
where no spring chicken thwarts impossible
mission (mother clucker sabotages rooster)
offsetting opportunities to experience nirvana
quaffing electric koolaid acid test brew rest
assured (me not snorting while typing) test
ting out (lit Miss, really haint no chore), and
merely sounding out prospects to make vest
head interest for prosperous friendship with
brio, extra mayo, sauteed onions and zest.
The smell of the sage Mom always puts into turkey stuffing
Still makes my taste buds go insane with delicious puffing.
Thanksgiving would not be complete without the cinnamon and sugar crust
Rolled out to perfection, and baked with every bit of fuss.
The table is set with a cloth tablecloth, reserved for special days.
We have wiped down every surface spotless, until we are crazed.
Potato casserole, and corn pudding are set to come out of the oven together.
If we could have a tiny bit of snow, we would be grateful for the sweet weather.
Sister and I are flitting and fluttering around the table, setting forks in place.
The cousins are coming from two directions, we know for them it’s a race.
Our room is all cleaned up, so we can park ourselves and our cousins in there.
This was in the sixties, when adults did not let children linger or stare.
It is 1960 and our cousin has not turned into a mean girl yet.
We very much love her, and share her, like she is a pet.
Our mother calls us to the kitchen and we agree to take care of the little ones.
She thinks it is a chore, but it is actually all kinds of fun.
The hot rolls and biscuits come out the second the relatives arrive.
There is laughter and hugging, and we all seem to thrive.
But first the blessing, which our mother imparts in the very best way.
I can remember this Thanksgiving in so many smells and sights of the day.
Written 11-3-2019
Contest: A Thanksgiving Memory
Sponsor: Regina Riddle
Has God Made You My Judge?
Written: by Tom Wright
January 2015
God hasn’t ordained any mortal,
To judge previous activity of another;
Whether it be parent or close friend,
A sister, child, or perhaps a brother;
For we all have made lamentable choices,
That we’re helpless to cause undone.
But we don’t need incessant reminding,
Once God has forgiven each one,
He places these matters behind His back,
Never to be called back any more.
What family sometimes doesn’t realize,
Reminding us isn’t their assigned chore.
While reminding others of former transgressions
Our own lay hidden in the periphery,
Undetected by man, while under God’s spotlight
Tom
Matthew Scott The Marionette...
(Concocting cock and bull poetic pap
promises to approximate bovine rap
worse case scenario..., you will snap
so friend me at funny farm in Trappe
Pennsylvania, or frankly yukon zap
this poppycock poetic
emetic entailing...vowel)
movements deftly managed skilled puppeteer
unseen hands adroitly maneuver paraphernalia
bajillion miles away deep into thee atmosphere,
where Soundgarden's black hole sun serves as
infinite energy-feeds performing artist career
inherent behind the scenes trickster leveraging
mine every move master of ceremonies appear
ring poking his oblate spheroid noggin thru walled
sky inquiring, asper state of being paternal care
oft times addressing him as father, cuz proficient
craftsmanship forged me from nought meticulously
rendering yours truly complex functions, an engineer
ring feat cosmic artisan whipped out applying greased
lightning rods (unbreakable accouterments) endowing,
and endorsing creation with uber tender loving care
divine intervention nary clue hinted, thus me unaware
leverage, sans remote control bound tethered bond
most every day of "FAKE" existence never suspected
every aspect of my being linkedin at mercy of pioneer,
who more or less cornered, fabricated, patented... the
market, sans configuring sophisticated kin o'man near
lee indistinguishable from offal housed in Augean stables
essentially explaining incessant mooing "holy cow" & rear
ring like a bucking bronco, though mastermind did milk
golden opportunity calf full not to exploit this cash cow
loose sing hybridized mutant amidst green acres, where
past chore age of cornucopia frequently dredges muck
cob bray, and remembrance of things past, I Angus here
hoof hit might be convenient Taurus to part ways lest
ye accuse me being lame provocateur, spewing this slop
(from well chewed cud) out the figurative derriere!
so many times beneath the stars
our lives are lived for fate and scars
infancy seems to abound
from everywhere it screams its sound
too loud to hear the voices true
without a sound, it comes to you
it strikes with force, a fist, a roar!
so strong a warmth you can't ignore
the vision marred by human sense
for now the journey must commence
the trials begin with fervor rise
a gaze glares straight within the eyes
so hard to suffer ends defeat
victories are ever sweet
the sky preludes the next advance
all surety, no happenstance
a place of firm and solid lore
where the light and night I wore
as symbols of forever more
no longer will I toil and chore
-Sam Robinson
Poem genesis from:
Stardust Road
by Poet Destroyer A