Long Clean Poems
Long Clean Poems. Below are the most popular long Clean by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clean poems by poem length and keyword.
THREE MINUTES TO DONE
Do I first bring water to boiling point
To time the egg from that moment on
Or from cold, to then be soft not hard
That one might be tempted to discard
But plonked in a cup, the magic’s gone
And then with a woollen cap to anoint
Not poached nor coddled, just boiled
A simple egg, with soldiers for dipping
And on the shell, one may draw a face
Then beheaded, incurring no disgrace
A clean knife cut, without any slipping
But brutally smashed, it’s easily spoiled
A delicate teaspoon must be provided
To dig into the white but after the yolk
A touch of salt and that’s quite enough
Leaving it smooth inside, never rough
It is a simple breakfast for simple folk
Three minutes is perfect, once decided
Recovery may be needed after going through many difficult storms,
Dysfunction can be performed in many different forms,
Some may cope with drugs,
Others may suffer from the impact of a child never being hugged,
Many work so much they never stand still,
While others simply get stressed out and take several pills,
Some overeat to stuff their emotions down,
While others partake in getting drunk when no one else is around,
Some are less subtle and may secretly self-abuse,
Cutting, picking and inflicting pain hiding all they bruise
Some get into bad relationships because of low self-esteem,
While others live a life where all they do is constantly clean,
Whatever you need recovery from its important to know you’re not alone,
Many people are stuck in cycles and never have been shown,
They forget to be honest with themselves and those who truly care,
Afraid that they will be judged, pointed at and never be repaired,
Many live in bondage all alone inside,
Spend their existence always having to hide,
So many people would be saved from an early grave,
If we learned in life to stop and listen,
Find out what we are really missing,
Some people won’t seem to budge
We forget to let God be the real judge,
Embrace a friend or even a stranger
Help someone that’s in some sort of danger,
The power of just one person embracing others,
Can change the world for another.
By: sabina
Fresh shower and a shave
First one I've had in days
Clean pressed jammies, and new sheets
Off to meet the girl of my dreams
I pull down tight on the shades
Hoping against hope I'm not running late
We get together most Saturday nights
When I pull up the covers and shut out the lights
I often wonder where we'll go
As neither of us ever really knows
Where the mind travels in its comatose state
Or where dream girls like to go on dates
We might end up at some fancy dance
Or a beach somewhere in the South of France
It all depends on her or is that depends on me
When I'm out cold with the girl of my dreams
Sometimes I play her hero well
But not that super if the truth I must tell
Slowing moving as if in a dream
Most Saturday nights in my sleep
Over time she has never changed
In fact even I look pretty much the same
Whenever we have a chance to meet
Out on a date with the girl of my dreams
The striking strawberry-colored roses refused to give up,
Resisted the snow as valiantly as any dragon-slayer
They standout artistically against the sparkly white backdrop
The first thing you notice, symbolizing courage and resilience
A lone blueberry dangles from a stiff gray limb, holding his own
Unnoticed at first, but photographed and plucked after being spied
Red, white, and blue. The pure colors stand out proudly and clearly.
Standing at attention in the glow of oncoming winter’s majesty
My land, my roses, my yard, my blueberry too.
First snow on Veteran’s Day,
possibly reminding us to give each other
A fresh start, wiping our slates clean,
remembering all of the soldiers whose hard-earned sacrifices and
fights for freedom’s rights were done, so we could voice our unique perspectives and views
Respecting and appreciating those who have sacrificed
everything, so that we can have differences of opinions,
Honoring them, as they honored us.
Our country ‘tis of thee. Not yours. Not mine. All of ours thanks to them.
just saw myself in the mirror
after feasting a box of pizza
cannot stand the sight of horror
and realized 'twas a bad idea
the main goal is to get lean
have my ass busy and active
but i'm lazy af to go clean
i guess its fate to get massive
got advised to get balanced diet
to lessen on sugar and carb
but the cravings are hard to quite
even giving up rice for lard
so this is what they called keto
gobbling more on fats and grease
less on meat, rice and potato
and more on veggies and cheese
some of you might get irked
but i need options and hope
please advise will this work
before i eat up this whole loaf
I come before your throne of grace
I seek just a glimpse of your face
Lord, Lord I come to interceded
For the hurting ones to plead
Lord, Lord, bring healing
Jesus, show your mighty power
Bring forgiveness in this hour
These, your children, are in need
Hurtful words have made hearts bleed
Lord, Lord, bring healing
We are sinners, EVERYONE
We need cleansing from the SON
Every sin to wash away
Blot the vicious words we say
Lord, Lord, bring healing
Jesus, hear my fervent plea
Set us from our vengeance free
Lift our hearts to heaven’s sphere
Show us, Jesus, you are near
Lord, Lord, bring healing
Every tear on every face
Wipe away with heaven’s grace
Clean slates free from all the hate
Please, Lord Jesus, do not wait
Lord, Lord, bring healing
Hear this prayer from my heart
Take us back to a fresh start
Lord Jesus, I believe in You
With love make hearts beat anew
Lord, Lord, bring healing
LORD, LORD, BRING YOUR SWEET HEALING!
AMEN
Eileen Manassian Ghali
She screams—
and the world cracks open.
Her body, a battlefield
and a cradle
all at once.
Bones shift,
skin stretches,
time stops.
Pain like no other—
a flood,
a fire,
a tearing of heaven
through flesh.
And then—
a cry.
The cry.
And in an instant,
it all unravels.
The agony dissolves
into awe.
She holds the child
to her chest,
and all she can feel
is love—
wild, uncontainable love
that pulses stronger
than memory.
She should remember.
She should swear
“never again.”
She should count the cost
and close the door.
But already,
somewhere deep inside,
a whisper stirs:
I could do that again.
I would.
I want to.
What strange grace is this—
that the worst pain
is buried
beneath the weight of wonder?
What mercy
wipes the memory
clean with just one breath
from a newborn's mouth?
This holy forgetting—
it must be divine.
A miracle wrapped
in flesh and tears.
A mother’s heart,
made
to break
and love again.
The black pen with black ink is running out,
The paper on the desk is clean but creased.
It must hurt to have been crumpled up and straightened out time after time again,
Only to be used by someone else.
One year, and I am an entirely new person.
My tears have left permanent stains.
They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,
But what if I feel too weak to pick up the pen?
The thoughts swarm in my head,
They are buzzing,
Too many tangled lines,
I can’t make straight of the messy strands.
One question is determined to mute the noise,
It reigns in my head:
How can I write? How can I write?
Time has buried me alive,
Yet, somehow, I survive.
No one understands; they try but they can’t.
I crave the sound of an apology,
As if I will ever get the satisfaction of hearing one.
The hard truth is,
They don’t care to and I know that I can’t make them.
Words can’t be unsaid; wounds take time to heal.
But despite their cruelty,
The earth keeps spinning, and I keep going.
I can smooth the crumpled piece of paper but I can’t erase the pain,
I can shake the pen and plead for one more droplet of ink,
But maybe it has already given me its best.
The black ink is spotty as I guide the pen across the page,
My handwriting not neat quite enough.
Dear Seventeen.
You ask yourself how you can write,
when you feel that words aren’t enough.
Maybe you can’t.
You ask yourself how you can make them understand,
giving them chance after chance.
Maybe you can’t.
You ask yourself how you can make them feel sorry
for the way that they destroyed you.
Maybe you can’t.
But when you’re wondering if you can survive it— all of it—
Trust me, you can.
Herman Wenzell 1863--1944
My classical alarm channel
--98.5 Block Island—
Cues me this morning
to a parlor-piano tune
percolated over
forgotten days
and the sweetness
of possibility.
You were there, I think
somewhere across
the clean smelling linen,
and there was breakfast,
unhurried and savored,
“O golden dream of youth”
That was the name of the piece, and
Wenzell—a name as obscure as my own
My Must-Feet hit
the Necessary-Floor
in the
reflex of Business.
The cat stretches
and jumps
from the bed
She has all day
with the radio
left on
to watch the gold
fish swim by
in glass
from her sill perch
Snow White’s vain and wicked stepmother
And her weakling of a father
Forced her with seven dwarfs to live
Whom all her love and attention she’d give
She’d love to get the jewels they’d bring
And wore them round her neck on the string
But when the prince kissed her and woke
She agreed to ride away with the bloke
But soon she started terribly to miss
The seven dwarfs who were such bliss
She remembered the days she would lie around
While the dwarfs would clean up without a sound
She longed for the love of seven men
Who’d keep her well fed in their den
So back she came with a lot of joy
With a promise to soon return for her baby boy
Inspiried by the fairy tale-Snow White and the seven Dwarfs.