Long Common people Poems
Long Common people Poems. Below are the most popular long Common people by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Common people poems by poem length and keyword.
His deepest belief was in truth,
His greatest faith was in God,
He was selfless in his pursuit,
Millions followed where he trod!
He wore no crown, robes or tie,
He was no king, had no kingdom,
Thin and small at five foot five,
He won his people their freedom!
He lived life about the same time,
Adolf Hitler unleashed his anger,
millions perished to Nazi crime,
But Gandhi put no one in danger.
race discrimination he boldly fought,
in South Africa as a young lawyer,
No guns or swords he ever sought,
But he lead by fasting and prayer!
He was by birth a religious Hindu,
But respected all the world beliefs,
All religions were one in his view,
They were same in their motives.
Love, peace, path of nonviolence,
were all his weapons of resistance,
Absorbing anger, showing patience,
he lead India to its independence.
Great minds, common people like us,
Called him Mahatma, a great Soul,
He was likened to Jesus and Moses,
As they revered and pursued his goal.
He fasted to unite the rioting people,
Who killed because of religious strife,
They prayed in mosques and temple,
And thay all prayed only for his life!
On a prayer morning in late January,
Two hate bullets tore his loving heart,
His life put out by ignorance and fury,
he was killed by a world torn apart!
Even several decades after his death,
His message of love shines through,
Like many prophets before his birth,
His life’s mission, to save me and you!
*2nd placement in the contest
Sponsor Chantelle Anne Cooke
Your Favorite Legend ' Contest
Written 10/03/2020
Bloody civilians
Yes we are the bloody civilians
The ones that pays with it blood
I wonder what you see
When you see us
Is obvious we are the reason
You are out here
Is clear you are meant
To protect my right
But now to you oh
man of guns and bullet
Dress in Kaki uniform
am just a common
Bloody civilian
What else can a brutal man see
What feeling does an evil heart bear
No wonder they love our pains
We never called out ourselves
Yet to them we just
An ordinary bloody civilians
Despite they are meant
to protect our right
Bloody civilians
I smell blood
Each sunset each sundown
There is a bloodshed always
Out there some were
The most percentage
gone too soon
Are common people
There bloods smells
Everyday
Each sunrise each sundown
Our bloods kisses our land
This romance is evil
Cos of the brutality
Of the same few we
Are suppose to trust
For our safety
But is unfortunate
That all we are to them
Is just but an ordinary
Bloody civilians
What else can a brutal man see
What feeling does an evil heart bear
No wonder they love our pains
We never called out ourselves
Yet to them we just
An ordinary bloody civilians
Despite they are meant
to protect our right
Bloody civilians
We are the reason
We are the questions
We are the answers
We are the solution
We are the wars
We are the peace
We are the unity
We are the intimidation
We are the resistance
We are the rise
We are the fall
We are the power
We are the energy
We the adventure
We are the magic
We are the miracle
We are the love
We are the hate
We are the life we need
We are the people
And yes for sure
We are the bloody civilians
What else can a brutal man see
What feeling does an evil heart bear
No wonder they love our pain
We never called out ourselves
Yet to them we just
An ordinary bloody civilians
Despite they are meant to
Protect our right
Sock drawer poets they called us,
All our scribblings secreted away,
Composed then filed unread,
Hidden from the light of day.
And then along came the Tablet
And universal broadband,
Fast Internet coverage spreading
Length and breadth of the land.
Friendships made on common
Interest sites, ideas exchanged
Unpublished works published
Concepts read and explained.
Performance Poets appeared
Open Mic nights became the rage
The musician and the poet often
Willingly sharing the same stage.
We performed in bars, pubs clubs
And they called it Spoken Word
And against all the odds
Sock drawer poetry was heard.
It’s a thriving living culture now
Not quite, they say, high art,
But in its own little way
It’s certainly playing its part.
The poetry of the intellectual,
Needing a classical education,
Has now greatly been replaced
By that accessible to the nation.
No longer is it necessary to have
A dictionary of quotation to hand
For the reader or the listener
To appreciate and understand.
Let them have Ballet and High Opera,
Their Fine Dining and Modern Art,
All those acquired tastes that help
Split out society into its various parts.
The culture of the masses has given
The common people greater choice
It’s vital and it’s vibrant and growing
And it’s given the people their voice.
She!
Intimated by guilt broken by perplexity
Waiting for the love her life but until then,
committed to memories of forlorn moments
Threading on the joy rides of halcyon days.
Her!
Heart of a woman in the depths solitude
Plunged and played by people she called friends
Lonely soul tormented even by happy melodies
In her emptiness void her soul forever shivers.
He!
Four and half years in self enclosed walls
Loosing very essence of youthful love in a rage
Finally tumbled down the walls of solitude blind
Enclosed soul spirited away into the blues
Man!
Living in the love of the common people
Somewhere in the back streets of the slums
Upholding the dream of becoming a hero
With nothing more than hope and love from above.
Woman!
Years upon years of sitting at lecture rooms
Graduated with a class but no pass for a job
You know the norm of the day
If it’s not in she won’t be on board
Keep calm hold onto your faith
God is at work .
You!
Balancing ambition with conscience
On the road less traveled.
A tapestry of soul breaking fortuity
That eyes the very core of your maturity.
The start ups ,the gigs and realities you quest,
Gradually you will get there .
I
In my simple form in rolling waves
Light hearted or heavy ladened
With poetry or with spoken words
Even in my nothingness and in my woes
I will forever defy the cryptic void of silence.
She will smile .
Her heart will find home .
Man will find love .
She will be a wife ,A woman of dignity.
His dreams will come true.
Hold on to you faith and let’s go and get it,
Everything we’ve been dreaming.
God have our backs
We!
We are a work In progress
There will be fails but we will never regress
Steady and gradually we will evolve
In love and in laughter all the pain will dissolve
In due time when we are done,
They will thread here to see
From far and near they will travel over the seas
The atheist will sing hallelujah
The doubters will lurk in their disbelief
Our tales will be history
Our memories will be legacies
For we are a work in progress; Winners
within.
This youth, with its curiosity to follow dreams,
always finds us among the tallest sunflowers
that hide us from the bewildered faces
of the common people who surely envy us
for being here between sunset and darkness,
carefully drawing images of a future that could be:
choosing those colors that are a bit daffy;
and why is isolation a favorite place for two little darlings?
And that answer lies in Nature itself surrounding us
with an ideal beauty predestined for faithful lovers-to-be:
willow trees drooping to reach down to us,
brushing our sun-dried hair with their sweetest lullabies of spring;
you'll be surprised how the rascal wind teaches them to sing;
and we listen to that medley as if it were sung by humans,
and the mixed sounds enthrall us with their mellowness...
and how did the silent robins,gathered by the shady spruces,
ever agree to hear that lovely and tender melody?
Live, young hearts, live with a joyous spirit that sets no limits,
be like us among the tallest sunflowers:
exchanging innocent caresses and timid kisses,
and even if your gladness turns into delight ...
never be afraid of the approaching night:
you will have the steady company of stars;
lay down, side by side, and sweetly imagine your paradise!
Vanished are the nightly shadows,
puzzled butterflies land on your shiny noses...
they tickle them until your senses are awakened,
you rub your eyelids to be dazzled by an intense glow;
is morning the emptiest promise without any dream realized?
Run, vibrant hearts, run towards the gleaming horizon miles away;
the zealous eagles will keep pace with your footsteps,
and before you reach the golden ocean with soft waves:
you'll be soaring, like them, over the crimson clouds,
and forever remember that the earth was a beautiful place for a day!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
Illegal immigration from Mexico, I don’t know what to do
Shall I send the military into Canada or try to invade Peru
My time is almost over, my term is almost done
Eight years of dumb decisions has been a lot of fun
The economy is fine, so why do the people feel drained
I checked with my advisers and not a billionaire complained
Don’t ask me for the truth, to tell it’s not my place
Besides, I wouldn’t know the truth if it slapped me in the face
In my lifetime being president was my biggest thrill
I ran the country like a ski resort, everything down hill
I’ve helped the corporate thieves and pirates acquire wealth untold
Then I robbed the common people, their security I sold
They asked what the biggest problem I’d face leaving after eight years
It’s walking upright like a man and getting the sand out of my ears
The damage I did to the country is no longer a mystery
I am the worst elected leader in American history.
Our church for common people
Stands here in the yard
Its shining silver steeple
Is crowned with two hearts
With hand on heart, our faith
Does not require a cross
We’re of the gentlest race
Our love is not a loss
You’ve gone, it means that I
Will carry both of shares
Until the end of time
For both our hearts I'll care
In our church I stay
Blessed with our sacred dove
Its clear as a day
I live for you, my love
I have a little request
You know it, I believe
It is no more a secret
That we shall be retrieved
So when I go, please meet me
At that old station, where
We all arrive, and greet me
Just call, and I’ll be there.
Freedom’s Quest
They bravely set sail and escaped on the Mayflower.
Those first settlers, common people from Europe,
Came ashore from the Atlantic with faith and hope.
Freedom is what they sought.
“No Bishop, no King”
Is what they said.
In a Mayflower Compact,
They established a body politic.
One quest done; four more to go
The American Revolution,
Mr. George Washington,
Independence Day.
Freedom is what they sought.
Freedom is what they obtained.
Three quests more
Abraham Lincoln,
The Civil War,
And Unity.
The cost was high
for the freedom they bought.
Three quests done
Desegregation and equality,
Civil Rights and Martin Luther King.
Bold symbols of the fourth quest.
Freedom: neither free nor cheap
Separation of Church and State,
Moral decline, War and Peace.
O’Hare says, “No Prayer in schools”.
Roe v Wade says, “It’s a woman’s choice”.
Supreme Court says, “Same Sex Marriage”.
Ever fluid, the Spiritual War is ongoing.
Symbols of the fifth quest, ever evolving.
Whether fires of emotion or literal flames,
Freedom’s Quest seems to be packaged in fire.
05052013;3302016PSContest, Where Freedom Finds the Fire
Justin Bordner
As a child, I was never bored
I spent hours gawking
going through my mother's
home decorating magazines
seeing things I'd never seen
that we could never afford
So full of spacious Southern homes
described as “gracious”
all wrapped in white porches with
white wicker chairs, clean, pristine
untouched, untainted
by 'common' people
and poverty
When they said “gracious”
they didn't mean
universally welcoming
But there were other issues
featuring “rustic” things
cabins and sheds, antique folk art
and cast iron beds
carefully curated collections
of antiquated stuff...
and these were my favorite fads by far
Yes, I thought- here was something
a style more attainable
for the likes of me
Rough, aged structures with
cracks in the walls
like my great aunt's hundred-year-old
cabin, except
theirs were prettier
than hers, all gussied up-
without the necessary utilities
utensils and ugliness
of everyday life
Theirs were not
actual homes, but mere display cases
for fancy flea-market finds
a backyard curiosity
not an actual place to live- because
Oh no- they would never consider
actually
living there
For there is nothing picturesque
about poverty
Extension cords like life discordant stretch out electric
Powerless they fail the families stumbling in the dark
Who turned off the lights?!
Late night is no time to have these natural catastrophes
Volcanoes need to respect hard working people in their sleep
Earthquakes need to wait till morning
To have respect for hard working common people
Have common decency for Pete's sake
Pete is sleeping too and pets are shaking in their boots
All four of them if I'm not mistaken
Ash explodes volcanic with its spontaneity debris
Blows the top clear off the mountain side
In that second red lava flows labyrinthine twisted
Down to take the village with inhabitants away
To fall on the darker side of nature
There needs to be more laws enacted on creation
This criminal activity must stop...starting at the top